#but this is not that and they do not romance

[judgeitbyitscover]

The Princess Bride (1973) by William Goldman

Cover art by Ted CoConis

Ballantine Books, July 1974 First Paperback Edition

As Florin and Guilder teeter on the verge of war, the reluctant Princess Buttercup is devastated by the loss of her true love, kidnapped by a mercenary and his henchman, rescued by a pirate, forced to marry Prince Humperdinck, and rescued once again by the very crew who absconded with her in the first place. In the course of this dazzling adventure, she'll meet Vizzini—the criminal philosopher who'll do anything for a bag of gold; Fezzik—the gentle giant; Inigo—the Spaniard whose steel thirsts for revenge; and Count Rugen—the evil mastermind behind it all. Foiling all their plans and jumping into their stories is Westley, Princess Buttercup’s one true love and a very good friend of a very dangerous pirate.

[meanbossart]

if Drow were a romancable companion what do you think his kisses would look like :3

This art is well over a year old, but the kisses still stand :3

[bean-spring]

As somebody who has struggled with mental health all of their life and still does, Jinx's romance with Ekko means the world to me.

I'm sick and tired of people considering mentally ill people just "not interested in love" or, on the other side, "not healthy enough to be loved". Which is utterly stupid. Ekko falling for Powder but clearly showing signs of wanting to learn more about Jinx and on his way to love her too, realizing that her damaged past and issues do change her but she's still his girl. It's brilliant writing.

He can't be a savior to her, because there's nothing to save. There's nothing to fix. The whole message Jayce gives with "there's beauty in imperfections" goes hand in hand with Powder's "sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind". Ekko goes from wanting to save her to wanting to see more of her and leaving Powder behind to know about Jinx. With Ekko loving Jinx nevertheless it shows that mentally ill people can be loved. And with Powder reciprocating and Jinx making amends with Ekko (with the romantic context behind already seen) it's breaking the whole stereotype of her being this "insane maniac with no remorse and unable to show love".

So I guess what I want to say is that their relationship would've worked in another universe, but I want to believe it could've worked in this one (with time), too.

[jasonisaacs]

"I mean, it ended with the elven god of lies in my head. Is that enough to win the 'worst job' contest?"

[dollyyun]

HOUSE OF BALLOONS ✧ SERIES MASTERLIST

PAIRING ✧ hyung line + jungwon x fem!reader GENRE ✧ 18+(mdni), reverse harem, eventual poly, romance, adulthood, aged-up characters (enha members are older than reader), morally grey characters, office romance, forbidden romance element, mystery, dark themes, underground fighters!hyung line + jungwon GENERAL WARNING ✧ possessive male leads, obsessions, tensions, angsts, toxicity, explicit themes, profanities, corruption, coercion, perversion, alcohol consumption, violence, blood, graphic descriptions, traumas, tragedy, office/medical/underground fighting inaccuracies, smuts (warnings will be indicated on each part under cut), other k-idols appearances and made up ocs DISCLAIMER ✧ credits to nia (@intromortal) for indulging my enha!boxers agenda as well as for coming up with the idea! not to forget aj, who helped me with the tropes for each member with reader! TAGLIST ✧ open!comment💌below [ageless, blank, minor blogs will be denied]

SUMMARY ✧ you never would have planned for your New Year's resolution to turn out entirely different than the initial one, because moving abroad and choosing to settle where you grew up had never been on your mind nor have you considered, but heartbreak does wonders to a person. In spite of your unannounced arrival that takes your uncle by surprise, he warmly welcomes you with open arms. He even offers to support you both financially and non-financially while you take your time to settle down and explore your options here, considering your decision to move abroad was done rather impulsively, but you refuse his generous offer. While you remain adamant in your hunt for a job that is relevant to your degree, your uncle makes another offer that you deem acceptable, and that is to work for him. Though his company is relatively small, you find no issues in it as long as you manage to do something productive in the meantime, but the moment you step foot into the building, five highly attractive men pique your attention. They’re older than you and obviously more experienced working in the corporate industry, and that is probably why you're attracted to them, but you can’t deny that there is something dangerous about these men. Your suspicion for them grows when you begin to notice odd patterns in regards to their work shifts as well as the bruises they try to hide under their ironed suits. Maybe you were right to be suspicious, because your taking of preventative measures resulted in an alarming discovery of the underground fighting club, which had been directly underneath the corporate building all this while. Somehow, you have a strong inkling that the illegal business that runs right under your uncle’s nose is meant to be a secret only they share, but little do you know that the owner is the same person you trust the most. Now you are caught in a dilemma where the secret is stuck with you, and you have no idea how to confront your uncle about this. Eventually, the five men catch up to your discovery of their dual life and the underworld, and despite their differences, they don’t intend to let you escape the house of balloons, not when you are their most precious gem. You’re in their world now, and you belong to them.

➤ PROLOGUE

➤ PART ONE [ EARNED IT ]

SYNOPSIS ✧ Your second week on the job is already unpleasant, all thanks to Park fucking Jongseong. He irks you to no end, constantly getting on your nerves and never missing the opportunity to compete against you despite the fact that he’s the company’s auditor whereas you are the company’s secretary. Duty calls when you are required to work together with him, which means he’ll be glued to your side during office hours, no matter how much you hate it. Surprisingly, you begin to tolerate each other’s presences, where playful banter is often exchanged and the closeness feels rather intimate. His gaze turns into something sultry, as though inviting you to break the professional boundaries, and you do, multiple times, because Jay and his allure are simply impossible to resist. But your suspicion eventually begins on the same day Jay proves that he will always see you as his rival.

PAIRING ✧ jay park x fem!reader GENRE ✧ office rivals to lovers, underground fighter!jay, auditor!jay, company secretary!reader, eventual fluff, jay may be annoying and loves to get on reader's nerves WARNINGS ✧ angsts, toxicity, profanities, corruption, coercion, power imbalance, miscommunication, violence, blood, graphic descriptions, smut, dom!jay, sub!reader, unprotected sex(no!), pet names (baby, angel), light degradation, ice play, nipple play, breeding kink, multiple rounds & orgasms, overstimulation, vanilla sex mostly (jay is lowkey a loverboy),

➤ PART TWO [ THE HILLS ]

SYNOPSIS ✧ From the moment you first stepped foot into the office, you already knew that Sim Jaeyun would be trouble — the way his eyes constantly fix on you whenever you appear in his line of sight, gazing at you brazenly even after you catch his gorgeous brown eyes, and your presumption proves correct when he finally makes his move on you. Compared to Jay, Jake is more tolerable to be with in spite of his relentless yet harmless flirtatious attempts that you often brush off, but that doesn't mean you are immune to his charms. You know that he is playing around with you, and based on your experience, guys like him are no good news, but you can’t help with your attraction that is growing dangerously towards him, making yourself a fallen victim to his dark, irresistible allure. Little do you know that your intimate involvement with Jake infuriates Jay, which eventually leads to a brutal face-off without your knowledge, or so they thought.

PAIRING ✧ jake sim x fem!reader GENRE ✧ friends to lovers, friends with benefits kinda, underground fighter!jake, business analyst!jake, company secretary!reader, fluffs, golden retriever!jake who is also a major flirt WARNINGS ✧ light angst, eventual toxicity, profanities, corruption, coercion, violence, blood, graphic descriptions, smut, softdom!jake, sub!reader, unprotected sex(no!), dry humping, rough and messy sex, oral (f & m.receiving), pet names (sweetheart, gorgeous), slight degradation, biting, creampies, cum eating, multiple rounds & orgasms, overstimulation, pussy munch jake, he's a huge simp for reader

➤ PART THREE [ HEARTLESS ]

SYNOPSIS ✧ If you thought Jay was unbearable, then you clearly haven’t met Park Sunghoon, except that you did meet him on the first week of your job, but he hadn’t been making himself prominent within your radar as you notice that he often steers clear of you whenever you are in any part of the building, as if you are the plague. That goes on until Sunghoon begins to make an unfavourable approach towards you — constantly criticising and nitpicking everything you do, his cold eyes glaring at you, showcasing his superiority over you, and just doing everything in his power to remind you that you are undeserving of your position and diminishing your worth in the workplace. There is no doubt that he hates you just as you hate him, and yet you want to understand what qualities you have that incite his hatred towards you in the way he treats you. As the tension intensifies quickly, it's inevitable that both of you will succumb to the temptation, particularly when Sunghoon's desire for you matches his loathing for you. Time will prove to you again that heartless is the perfect word to describe a callous man like Sunghoon.

PAIRING ✧ park sunghoon x fem!reader GENRE ✧ enemies to lovers, slowburn-ish, underground fighter!sunghoon, manager!sunghoon, company secretary!reader, eventual fluff, morally grey!sunghoon (he's mean af) WARNINGS ✧ tensions, heavy angst, toxicity, profanities, corruption, power imbalance, coercion, violence, blood, graphic descriptions, smut, harddom!sunghoon, sub!reader, unprotected sex(no!), rough sex, oral (f & m.receiving), fingering, choking, biting, hair pulling, brat tamer, pet names (princess, red), manhandling, spitting, size kink, degradation, creampies, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, crying

➤ PART FOUR [ AFTER HOURS ]

SYNOPSIS ✧ Throughout the weeks of complication surrounding the three men, you are more than thankful to have someone who you can depend on for moral support. Yang Jungwon has been by your side since day one, and unlike some other people, he has no malicious intent nor is he intolerable. His amicable approach, as well as his overall amiability, makes the workplace a little less dull. He often offers you guidance and helps you in any way he can, even if you are having a hard time with the office printer. You feel an instinctual safety whenever you are with him, and you trust him the most, but there is a slight problem. You often notice how Jungwon completely detaches himself from you after office hours, and it hurts your feelings as you acknowledge that he will always remain as your work friend. Nothing more, nothing less. You should be grateful that nothing changes in your dynamic with him in the workplace, but you want him to notice you not only as his work friend but maybe something more. So when you finally gain the courage to confront him, it also leads to your eventual discovery of the underworld, where violence persists and normalises, causing a drastic change in your view towards the man who you thought was harmless.

PAIRING ✧ yang jungwon x fem!reader GENRE ✧ friends to lovers, work besties, underground fighter!jungwon, marketing coordinator!jungwon, company secretary!reader, fluffs WARNINGS ✧ tension, light angst, toxicity, profanities, corruption, coercion, violence, blood, graphic descriptions, smut, meandom!jungwon, sub!reader, unprotected sex(no!), rough and messy sex (some vanillas), pure filth, oral (f.receiving), fingering, edging, choking, pet names (doll, bunny), degradation, pwp, manhandling, dirty talks, bondage, squirting, multiple rounds & orgasms, overstimulation, crying

➤ PART FIVE [ DIE FOR YOU ]

SYNOPSIS ✧ After keeping your promise to retain your discovery of their dual life as a secret to Jungwon, there is an unsettling feeling of both fear and wariness upon having the knowledge that these men are more than capable of killing with their bare hands, and yet there is a sinister part of you that finds them hotter than they already were. Most especially, it is harder to ignore your direct superior, who you will remain working for until your uncle returns from his prolonged overseas business trip, otherwise known as Lee Heeseung. He is by far the most reserved and mysterious man you ever met, and while he is not a man of many words, his dark eyes hold masses of dominance. Though he isn’t exactly as callous as Sunghoon, there is something about him that makes you meekly submissive, unable to refuse his order in any way. Just as you decide to assume the worst of him hating you, he proves your presumption wrong when he breaks the forbidden boundaries, no longer holding himself back and allowing his burning desire for you to consume him. You are prudent to the fact that this man is dangerous and is capable of causing damage, be it in the office or outside, especially after witnessing his fighting element, but you have never felt safer than you are in his arms.

PAIRING ✧ lee heeseung x fem!reader GENRE ✧ slowburn-ish, underground fighter!heeseung, cheif operation officer!heeseung, company secretary!reader, eventual fluffs, morally grey!heeseung (he appears coldly mysterious and reserved in reader's pov) WARNINGS ✧ tension, angst, toxicity, profanities, corruption, coercion, violence, blood, graphic descriptions, smut, mean & harddom!heeseung (he's unpredictable), sub!reader, unprotected sex(no!), rough sex (some vanillas here and there when reader least expects it), filth, oral (f.receiving), fingering, choking, pet names (love, darling), degradation, dirty talks, praise kink, light bondage, blindfold, spanking, orgasm control, squirting, multiple rounds & orgasms, overstimulation, crying, heeseung is obsessed over reader

➤ PART SIX [ PARTY MONSTER ]

SUMMARY ✧ Words begin to circulate around the corporate building of your secret affair with Heeseung, resulting in you receiving unwanted attention and scornful stares from your fellow employees, but above all, this incites bitterness from four specific individuals, albeit you have no strings attached to Heeseung that pertain to romance, as he has made it clear to you that you are nothing more than his secretary. In the midst of your predicament, you remain headstrong, refusing to allow anyone to see a glimpse of the brokenness in you, but your wilfulness leads to an adventure that is both thrilling and risky as you venture into the underworld, and choices do have consequences. Yours happen to be the very men who you have been avoiding for days. Little do you know that you are in for a wild ride of the night, or maybe for a few nights.

PAIRING ✧ hyung line + jungwon x fem!reader GENRE ✧ 18+(mdni), reverse harem, eventual poly, romance, adulthood, aged-up characters, morally grey characters, office romance, mystery, some dark themes, underground fighters!hyung line + jungwon WARNINGS ✧ tension, angsts, toxicity, profanities, jealousy, denial, miscommunication, misunderstanding, corruption, coercion, alcohol consumption, partying, violence, blood, graphic descriptions, smuts, dom!hyung line + jungwon, sub!reader, unprotected sex(no!), dry humping, oral (f & m.receiving), fingering, choking, degradation, dirty talks, brat tamers, praise kink, teasing, squirting, multiple rounds & orgasms, overstimulation, threesome, foursome

➤ PART SEVEN [ LOST IN THE FIRE ]

SYNOPSIS ✧ It turns out that there are still shards of rationality left in you, and it brings a bitter taste to your tongue as you agonisingly acknowledge how scandalous your trysts with these five men have been, betraying the trust your beloved uncle placed in you. Despite their collective assertion and the reassurance, you know that it is for the best to walk away from whatever strings they have with you, even if the weight of devastation weighs heavy in your heart. But you have underestimated their persistence in having you permanently in their lives, even if it means they would have to share you. Unbeknownst to them, problems emerge that involve your safety. Will they be able to get back their beloved gem unscathed?

PAIRING ✧ hyung line + jungwon x fem!reader, GENRE ✧ 18+(mdni), reverse harem, eventual poly, romance, adulthood, aged-up characters, morally grey characters, office romance, mystery, underground fighters!hyung line + jungwon WARNINGS ✧ tension, angsts, toxicity, intoxication, profanities, possessive, corruption, coercion, violence, blood, graphic descriptions, smuts, dom!hyung line + jungwon, sub!reader, unprotected sex(no!), dry humping, oral (f & m.receiving), fingering, choking, teasing, degradation, dirty talks, biting, spitting, praise kink, breeding kink, cum eating, squirting, anal, double penetrations, multiple rounds & orgasms, overstimulation, crying, threesomes, sixsome (if that's even a word)

➤ PART EIGHT [ SÂO PAULO ]

SYNOPSIS ✧ Things finally work out pretty well between you and these men. After the incident, they have become fiercely protective and possessive over you, fearing that they might lose you again. Despite the violence and unrefined qualities in their nightly job as underground fighters, you are supportive of them, especially knowing that they are the elite underground fighters in all of SoKor, which is why they have been personally invited to the eminent underground fighting club in São Paulo, Brazil. Of course, you will join them in their adventure, not that you are given any choice, but nevertheless you feel excited to venture into this new aspect of your life with the ones whom you can now call home.

PAIRING ✧ hyung line + jungwon x fem!reader GENRE ✧ 18+(mdni), reverse harem, poly, romance, adulthood, aged-up characters, morally grey characters, office romance, mystery, underground fighters!hyung line + jungwon WARNINGS ✧ tension, toxicity, intoxication, profanities, possessive, alcohol consumption, partying, violence, blood, graphic descriptions, smuts, dom!hyung line + jungwon, sub!reader, unprotected sex(no!), dry humping, oral (f & m.receiving), fingering, choking, teasing, exhibitionism, degradation, dirty talks, biting, spitting, praise kink, breeding kink, cum eating, squirting, anal, double penetrations, multiple rounds & orgasms, overstimulation, love-making, eventual sixsome

PERM TAGLIST:

@ja3yun @yzzyhee @sunpov @vveebee @jiryunn

@nshmrarki @roslayy @machambrx @wonnienyang @punchbug9-blog

@hollyoongs @chicxxy @tunafishyfishylike @norucking @riribelle

@lol6sposts @skzenhalove @reading-wh0re @tinie03 @cyjhhyj

@jungwonsstrawberriesnchocolate @mitmit01 @strxwbloody @woorcve @1309zip

@fancypeacepersona @tsukiflwr @karinaever @wolfhardbby @moonpri

@lucid-sombra @kittylicious-purr @addictedtohobi @lillotus17 @minahaeyo

[stabby-apologist]

I’m a dark romance girlie but do I really want someone I’ve seen stalking me to actually break into my house and do stuff to me without my enthusiastic consent?

Absolutely not.

But I’ll write it and frame it as romance. Because it’s ✨fiction✨ and I still have control of the situation.

Hot fandom discourse take but framing dark content as only being acceptable if its a vehicle for exploring personal trauma is just giving ground to the puritan segments of fandom.

Simply liking dark content for its own sake is perfectly fine.

[gojosoups]

Whatever Happens, Happens ── series masterlist

gojo satoru x reader | modern au, 18+

ღ summary: Your sister was a bitch, the biggest bitch, for taking almost everything from the divorce settlement and full custody of her kid. You could never say anything though, because your parents always said family is everything. But that didn't stop you from falling into a rhythm with her ex-husband. That didn’t stop you from helping him quit his smoking addiction and taking care of his daughter from his first marriage—your niece—who would rather call you "mom" than "auntie."

ღ pairing: sister's ex-husband! dilf! gojo satoru x reader

ღ warnings/tags: 18+ fluff, angst, smut, modern au, female reader, age gap (reader is in early 20’s, gojo is in late 20’s), friends to lovers, single dad gojo, divorced gojo, jealousy, pining, insecurity, use of alcohol and weed, use of vulgar language, gojo develops a smoking addiction, unhealthy coping mechanism, eventual romance, family drama, family dynamics, reader's sister is problematic, reader is the younger sister and the coolest aunt ever

ღ taglist: open

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

[lexiconne]

I totally get shipping Jayvik--I do, and my (qpr) partner is a big fan of gay Jayvik, and if they did get together I'd have been elated with them as a couple.

But honestly? I enjoy knowing that they just genuinely love each other without romance being involved. I love that we got a QPR onscreen even if it was never stated that that's what they were (and fat chance of it ever happening in the next fifty years or so.) I so rarely get to see deep, genuine platonic love portrayed with the same closeness and affection and exclusivity. I love that we got to see their souls just genuinely loving each other without any kissing or physical attraction.

^how it feels to be in a QPR

Idk, it was just really nice. And I hope one day I can see one in explicit terms

EDIT: Adding on to say that I especially appreciate the conscious choice to say partner. Not "brother", not "friend", but partner. A platonic partner. A queerplatonic partner, if you will. Sure, they were science partners, but Jayce said that word with such warmth and meaning that I have to believe it was intentional.

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.2

AN: this is still being edited and I'm not entirely sure if it'll be everyone's cup of tea. it'll be a slow burn, and a long fic but I have an idea laid out! each chapter will be around 3k just to keep things spaced and easy. Thank you for reading!

warnings: i'm putting these here for future chapters too, and ill sprinkle some in as I go. I want to make it clear, there is no underage sex, but later on there will be some more raunchy shit. this is somewhat non-canon compliant-make it up as I go

-ok for the real warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build. I'm already 20,000 words into this shit so if your ready lets ride.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside his moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

Lets Begin

Your arranged marriage with Toji Fushiguro had been quick and unexpected.

The black sheep of the Zenin clan wasn’t exactly known for his well-rounded reputation, teetering on the edge of severing all ties to his family. He hadn’t been in contact with them for years, and financial support from their end was nonexistent. He was constantly broke, especially after Megumi was born. He assumed it was retaliation for marrying outside the clan—without their approval. But when his late wife passed, he had already taken on her surname, somewhat severing himself from the dingy clan he had once called "family."

After her death, he picked up side gigs, earning just enough to provide for the two of them. Megumi was older now, around thirteen, which made it easier to leave him alone for longer periods. Toji often took days-long "business" trips. He’ll admit he wasn’t a great father, but he had kept his promise of keeping Megumi away from the Zenin clan and that sorcerer bullshit.

That was until he received an official notification from the Zenin clan head.

He hadn’t heard from the bastard in years, only to be met with a request—a demand—for his compliance in an arranged marriage. Initially, he planned to refuse. He wasn’t interested in an arranged marriage, wanted nothing to do with the sorcerer world, and even less to do with the Zenin clan. Hell, the only reason he bothered showing up at the clan house that day was to set that fucker straight.

Then he saw you—a pretty little thing. You couldn’t have been more than ten years younger than him, likely just turning seventeen, maybe eighteen. He couldn’t say for sure. But you were just too young for this shit—he knew that much.

They’d already brought you along for the proposal, as if they knew it would change his mind when he saw you. And, fuck, if they weren’t right.

You were beautiful. Polished and respectable, speaking in low tones like the proper little housewife he was sure they’d trained you to be. He could see the endgame here—the reason they were pushing this arrangement on him. It wasn’t subtle.

The higher-ups likely wanted a presence in his home—someone to keep tabs on him and Megumi, no doubt. They hadn’t explicitly stated as much, but Toji had caught whispers through the grapevine about their interest in his son’s cursed technique. And with his own tendency to remain elusive, it wasn’t surprising that they’d want to keep a closer watch on him, too.

The thought of them using someone barely older than Megumi to achieve their goals left a bitter taste in his mouth. The arrangement reeked of manipulation—a calculated ploy to plant a spy in his home, someone to funnel information back to your clan, his clan, and the higher-ups that were still keeping tabs on him.

Toji didn’t give a damn about his reputation, but it was clear they were fishing for confirmation, likely hoping to uncover whether some of the rumors about him were true. No matter how much he tried to brush it off, the whole setup just didn’t sit right with him.

But then he caught the way your eyes stayed steady, resolute. You looked indifferent to the situation, but he could tell this wasn’t what you wanted. It couldn’t be. You were really just a child. And yet, that unwavering expression of yours sealed his decision.

He accepted.

Another mouth to feed, another brat to deal with, no doubt. But maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to help keep Megumi in line while he was out working. Better that than leaving you to the wolves. He understood the clan system all too well—how they saw their women, how they treated them.

He’d seen how young brides were shuffled like pawns, paired with whichever man could best serve the clan’s interests. The thought of you being handed off to some pathetic bastard made his stomach churn. At least here, under his roof, you wouldn’t have to endure that.

Call it generosity if you wanted. But if he were honest, it wasn’t that. You reminded him of his late wife—the fearlessness bordering on defiance in your eyes, the sheer willpower it must’ve taken to show up in the first place. Most girls in your situation would have cried or begged, pleading not to marry some old geezer, especially one infamous in the community as a Sorcerer Killer.

But you didn’t beg. Didn’t cry. You just stood there, composed, unshaken. Bored. 

He could respect that.

And like that, the black sheep of the Zenin clan would become your husband. Your family. And your sole protector. 

He remembers the quiet way you stepped into his apartment for the first time, your gaze sweeping the room with a calm, measured air. There was no hesitation, no unease—just a quiet assessment of the space, as though you were cataloging everything in that sharp mind of yours. The look on your face didn’t suit someone your age. You carried the weight of forced maturity, a burden that stirred an old, painful memory he immediately shoved back down.

He could tell you were judging, though you didn’t say a word. It was in the faint crease of your brow, the almost imperceptible way your lips tightened. It sparked a flicker of irritation in him, the kind he couldn’t entirely shake. If you didn’t like it, you didn’t have to stay, yeah? 

But Toji was surprised when you didn’t say a word. Finding your way to his bedroom, You set your things down without complaint or hesitation. Then, as if you’d been living there for years, you got straight to work. No requests, no questions—just quiet purpose.

It was like you’d already claimed your space, like you’d accepted the role handed to you without a second thought. Color him impressed. He wasn't necessarily gonna ask you to do all that, but hell he wasn't going to complain. 

Your former clan must’ve trained you well. He could see it in the efficiency of your movements, the way you moved through the apartment as though it were second nature. No hesitation, no asking for instructions, no unnecessary chatter. Just straight down to business.

Toji didn’t linger.

He slipped out quietly, already lost in his thoughts about the job he had to handle. He’d be gone for two days—maybe one, if he played his cards right. Not that he needed to tell you. You didn’t need to know the details. You were here to stay put, to take care of things while he was gone. Simple as that.

As he rounded the corner outside the apartment, that nagging feeling crept in—a vague itch at the back of his mind, like he was forgetting something. He paused mid-step, frowning as he patted his pockets. Wallet? Keys? No, he had those. His smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly shrugged it off, muttering under his breath.

"Can't be that important."

Megumi had taken the long way home today.

Several boys in his class had been pissing him off to no end, and he’d been itching for a fight. He needed a distraction—something to cool him off. He really couldn’t afford to get into another school fight. The pitying looks his teachers gave him felt degrading, especially when Toji never bothered to show and pick him up.

The long way home was scenic, at least. Trees and plants lined the path, offering some peace as he trudged along. He wasn’t sure whether Toji would even be home when he arrived. He never really knew for certain. And honestly, Megumi wasn’t in the mood to hear his dad’s loud TV shows or his obnoxious phone calls. If he wasn’t, then the apartment would just be empty, cold, and silent.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

What Megumi really cared about was dinner.

The fridge had been empty for weeks, and his deadbeat dad hadn’t bothered to restock it. Megumi had been scraping by, finding ways to earn enough cash for food. Sometimes he’d deliver things for the neighbors or help them with spring cleaning. Those odd jobs usually kept him going, but lately, there hadn’t been any requests. The lack of work only adding to his frustration.

He didn’t interact with Toji much. Their relationship walked a thin line between hatred and indifference.  Most of the time, Megumi ignored his father, much as Toji seemed to ignore him. On the rare occasions Toji remembered Megumi existed, it always ended in chaos—loud arguments, dismissive grunts, or worse, painfully awkward attempts to act like a parent.

It had been that way ever since Megumi turned eleven. And today, more than anything, he was just hungry. Too hungry to fight with his absentee father, even if he was home. Too tired to care.

Walking up the stairs to his apartment, something caught his eye. The kitchen window was open. That stopped him in his tracks.

Toji wasn’t the kind of guy to leave windows open, even in decent weather—a weird thing to notice, but Megumi was always acutely aware of his surroundings, always attuned to his father’s patterns.

Megumi made his way inside, creeping slowly and so, so quietly. Peeking around the corner, he froze. Someone was in the kitchen—a girl. No, a woman? Your back was to him as you worked at the counter, slicing onions with quick, precise movements. He blinked, his sharp eyes narrowing. You were young—maybe just a few years older than him.

Younger than Toji’s usual type, that was for sure. You didn’t fit. Toji wasn’t a stranger to bringing women around the apartment, but they never looked like you. And they never lingered. Most were gone by breakfast, hurrying out with an awkward smile and a strained “bye” when they spotted Megumi at the table.

He watched you chop onions, noticing the glint of a ring on your finger. So, you were married—

“You can come out from there, y’know.”

Megumi flinched slightly, caught off guard. For a brief moment, he felt the sting of embarrassment—spying and getting caught wasn’t a good look—but he quickly reminded himself this was his home. He had no reason to feel embarrassed. Straightening his posture, he stepped out from behind the doorway, his sharp eyes fixed on you as you casually wiped your hands on a towel.

You turned to face him, a soft smile playing on your lips. The first thing he noticed was how pretty you were. Tall and poised, you stood at least a head above him, dressed in modest, traditional clothing that seemed entirely out of place in this shabby apartment. There was something elegant about you, a kind of refinement that felt worlds away from the usual chaos of his father’s one-night stands.

“Who are you? Why’re you here?” His tone came out sharper than he intended, huffy and childish, and it made him bristle. He hated how it sounded.

You studied him for a moment, his scowl almost endearing, before introducing yourself and explaining, simply, that this was now your house.

Megumi’s brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms, his voice defiant. “You don’t live here. Leave.”

The attempt at a threat would’ve been more intimidating if his stomach hadn’t chosen that moment to growl, breaking the tension. You bit back a laugh, quickly covering your mouth, but it was hard not to find the situation entertaining.

The way he stood there, furrowed brow and stubborn glare, reminded you of a fussy kitten—all bristling fur and misplaced bravado. It was clear he wasn’t used to strangers lingering in his space, and his defensiveness only made him seem more adorable. Still, he was serious—you really shouldn’t laugh.

He looked so much like Toji—same sharp features, same brooding energy—minus the flat hair and scar. You’d heard about him before coming here, mentioned briefly by your clan head, but the reality of meeting him was different. He was much cuter than you’d expected, truly embodying the “fussy kitty” vibe, and you had to resist the urge to tease him outright.

“Ah,” you said lightly, your tone soothing, “but I’m in the middle of cooking. Why don’t we eat first, and then we can talk?”

Your tone was gentle, your smile genuine, and Megumi couldn’t sense any malice from you. Besides, whatever you were making smelled incredible, and his stomach had been growling from the moment he walked in. His gaze shifted to the counter, where ingredients and half-prepped dishes were laid out. He hesitated. Sure, his dad had brought women home before, but none of them ever bothered to cook—especially not for him. Against his better judgment, he gave a small, reluctant nod.

Before long, the two of you were sitting at the kitchen table, three plates set neatly in front of you. It was late, but you still held onto the hope that Toji might come home. You made light conversation with Megumi, trying to get a feel for the boy you now understood to be your stepson.

You’d been briefed by your clan about Toji and his son—vague instructions to “watch Toji” and “get on his son's good side.” They hadn’t been specific about why, but their motives were never selfless. Still, you had no intention of playing into their games. Not fully. What you wanted was to build an honest connection with your new family, especially with this grumpy, sharp-eyed boy who seemed to have a chip on his shoulder as big as his father’s.

As the meal went on, you began to learn little things about him. He remained distant, his responses clipped and matter-of-fact, but the warmth of a good meal and your gentle smile seemed to soften him, even if just slightly. You managed to coax his name out of him, and though he said it without much fanfare, it felt like a small victory.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

It was a Friday night, and you figured Megumi would be around the house tomorrow. As you finished the surprisingly comfortable dinner, your eyes lingered on the third, untouched plate at the table—Toji’s. You wondered, briefly, if he’d show up at all.

“He probably won’t be back tonight,” Megumi said, breaking your train of thought. His voice was matter-of-fact, as if he had long since grown used to this routine. He shoveled another spoonful of food into his mouth before adding, “Probably be gone for a few days.”

This surprised you, sure, but you weren’t going to complain anytime soon. As long as you didn’t have to go back to that horrid clan house, you could put up with a missing husband. In fact, you kind of preferred it this way.

You laughed softly at Megumi’s puffed-up cheeks, making him flush red as he swallowed quickly. Your smile still seemed to throw him off guard. The conversation flowed easily—a mix of lighthearted bickering and probing questions on both ends.

“What’s the ring for?” he asked suddenly, his sharp gaze flicking to your hand. His tone was casual, but there was an underlying curiosity, as if he hadn’t noticed the simple band until now.

Your fingers instinctively twisted the warm metal as you glanced down at it, the question catching you off guard. “Ah, well, I’ve just married,” you replied softly, your voice carrying a faint melancholy despite your attempt to sound neutral. You hadn’t meant to let that slip, but the truth clung to the edges of your words. Quickly, you smiled, lightening the moment as you reached over to ladle another spoonful of food onto Megumi’s empty plate.

“Arranged marriage? With who?” he asked, the concept not foreign but undeniably unsettling. You seemed like such a nice person, except for the fact that you were sitting in his kitchen—someone he’d assumed was just another one of his father’s passing flings. But unlike the others, you’d cooked for him and his father, cleaned the kitchen until it looked better than it had in weeks, and now you were sitting down to dinner with him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Though he’d only known you for a few hours, he didn’t think you’d be the type to cheat on your husband or worm your way into their lives without cause. His mind caught up to him, the pieces falling into place.

“…Not Toji. Right?” His voice faltered, and you couldn’t help but think how strange it was to hear him refer to his father by his first name.

You let out a soft laugh at his shocked expression, shaking your head before nodding. “The one and only,” you admitted.

The look on his face was almost comical, his brows raised high, his mouth slightly agape. But beneath the initial surprise, there was something darker—an unease that settled into the lines of his frown. Wary, guarded. He didn’t like this, not one bit. 

After dinner, you sent Megumi off to bed, tidying up the plates left behind. He didn’t wait for you to finish cleaning, retreating to his room with his thoughts spinning.

As he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in his head. His father was married—to you, of all people. And for some reason, that knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It was weird. Megumi had left the house empty and returned to find you. If what you were saying was true, you were about to take over as his stepmother. He wouldn’t put it past his shitty father to pop up suddenly married—it was exactly the kind of thing Toji would do.

Still, the whole situation didn’t sit right with him. An arranged marriage wasn’t out of the question. You seemed way too sweet and proper to have chosen someone like Toji willingly. Megumi’s knowledge of clan life, hierarchy, or how arranged marriages worked in the sorcerer world was frustratingly limited, thanks to his father’s insistence on keeping him far removed from all of it. 

Then there was your age. You were young—too young for his dad. Closer to his age than Toji’s. The thought churned his stomach. Was Toji an even bigger pervert than he originally thought? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to want to settle down. What was this about, then? Did he just want a housemaid? Someone to clean up after him and Megumi while he went off on his “business trips”?

It didn’t seem fair to you. What were you getting out of this arrangement? What could have possibly led you to agree to marry someone like Toji?

The more Megumi thought about it, the more wrong it all felt. You seemed too kind, too proper, too... normal for this situation. Surely there was more to the story. Were you being forced into this? Did you have your own reasons that you weren’t sharing?

But then again, there was always the chance you were lying.

People lied all the time. You could be some psycho ex-girlfriend worming your way back into his father’s life. Or worse, a manipulative stranger with motives that had nothing to do with Toji at all. You might’ve seemed nice now, but Megumi wasn’t about to take anything at face value.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall, his thoughts racing. He didn’t know what to make of you, couldn’t figure out whether to trust the calm sincerity you projected or to see it for what it might be: a well-crafted facade.

One thing was certain—he wasn’t going to let his guard down so easily.

He’d just have to wait it out, keep an eye on you, and see what happened when Toji finally dragged his ass back home.

p.2?

AN: Thank you for reading! Please reblog and like if you enjoy this series!

[parasign]

Genre Savvy

Each player chooses a different genre and medium (e.g. romance novel, epic poem, precision platformer). They think they’re the protagonist.

Entities pursue the players. The Narrator describes each new Entity’s nature using any five nouns. Players interpret these nouns as themes or motifs to describe the Entities’ appearance and behavior within their genre and medium, and what manner of threat they pose.

Players start with 3 Immersion and 0 Deconstruction. They can only do things a typical protagonist of their genre and medium could do (hereby Tropes), or things most real people could do. If success is uncertain, roll 1d6.

Over Immersion: If Trope, fail. Otherwise, succeed and -1 Immersion.

Equals Immersion: Partial success, or success with consequences. +1 Deconstruction.

Under Immersion: If Trope, succeed and +1 Immersion. Otherwise, fail.

At 0 Immersion, you accept you’re not in a work of fiction and return to your soul-crushing day job. At 7, you become entirely fictional and cease to exist from the perspective of the other players. Either way, you’re out.

At 3 Deconstruction, reset it to 0 and announce a twist to your genre. Explain what new Trope it gives you, and what old one it takes away.

Decided to take the "cut an existing WIP down to 200 words" approach. I think it worked surprisingly well. I did lose the original's primary mechanical gimmick, but I'm happy with the new (to me, at least) core resolution mechanic I came up with.

I'm okay with having this RPG archived off-site.

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

[msunitedstatesjames]

I've touched on this in a couple of other semi-related posts before, but I find it hilarious and I appreciate how much Johanna Hezenkoss thinks Emmrich is the protagonist of Veilguard. Like, this woman could not give less of a fuck about Rook. She almost always refers to Rook only by their relationship to Emmrich. She refers to Rook as "one of Volkarin's hangers-on," "that impudent whelp following [Emmrich] around," "Volkarin's companion," and as Emmrich's "paramour." None of these imply that she thinks Rook has much agency. Instead, she acts like Rook is just helplessly following Emmrich around like a puppy, helping him complete tasks (which I guess is partly true).

If Rook romances Emmrich, Hezenkoss assumes that Emmrich seduced Rook and not the other way around, even though Emmrich is noticeably older than Rook and has hardly left the Necropolis in years. She's seemingly amazed by it, and yet it never once crosses her mind that Rook might have initiated the relationship (which is actually the case).

She also refers to Emmrich as the one who destroyed her construct, which is technically true, but she ignores the major assistance he had from Rook, another companion, and most notably Manfred. He couldn't have pulled it off without their help, and had in fact given up, but Hezenkoss acts like Emmrich was her sole opponent in that battle.

I've said before that part of the reason for this is that Hezenkoss seems to think of herself as the main villain of the story, so Emmrich must be the main hero. Hezenkoss says that some of the other big bads of Dragon Age, the Venatori, were nothing more to her than slightly useful and genuinely annoying. She clearly thinks herself above an entire organization of some of the most powerful mages in the world. And she sees Emmrich as pretty close to her in terms of raw power, since she almost invited him to her Vengeance Party but ultimately decided he was too much of a danger to her plans. She also states that she tried to get him to join her in the past, which I don't think she would do for anyone she considered to be less than her equal. Emmrich is genuinely the only person in the game she shows any respect for. Though she mocks his age and finds him to be too sentimental, too moral, and too fearful, she shows signs of agreeing with him on some topics, and she obviously respects his abilities if nothing else. No one else in the game acknowledges his frankly ridiculous knowledge and skill level (except Solas in the end) as much as Hezenkoss does.

And really, Emmrich does have main character energy. Though he does have some age and mortality related fears, dude is overflowing with confidence. When you first meet him, looking for a Fade expert, he has absolutely no problem telling you he's the best possible person for the job. Though he apparently hasn't left the Necropolis in years, he's totally down to join the team and go anywhere you want him to go. If you romance him, he is initially surprised, but he quickly turns into the smoothest dude around, and throughout the game you can hear him comment on some of his many relationships through the years. He's well-dressed, well-spoken, charismatic, highly educated, unfailingly kind, extremely powerful, and he's done so well for himself that Harding mistakes the son of a butcher and a cook for a member of the Nevarran nobility. No wonder Hezenkoss thinks he's the protagonist. The real protagonist is just out here winging it on guts and good luck alone.

[can-u-not-14]

I love MCR fans bc Frank will post a pic of like some random ass bottle of dettol hand soap or smth and everyone will be like 'huh HUH Frank posted a pick of soap with EXACTLY FIVE squirts left OMG OMG OMG thats MCR5 yk???? And the mirror has exactly FIVE drops of water on it. Honestly he could not be more obvious. They're announcing MCR5 right now GODDAMIT YRNT U LISTENING TO ME U UGLY FUCK RAHHH 🦅.' And i love y'all for that

[aspecpplarebeautiful]

Sex and romance are opt-in not opt-out. You don't need a reason not to do them. You should do them because you want to not because you feel obligated to.

[lemainestudio]

have we considered that using pop psychology to analyse every single tiny behaviour we do is sucking all the romance out of everything and making everyone really fucking boring

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 12: The One Where We Start Laying the Yellow Brick Road to Italy

I realized the other day that, even though I like to bounce around from place to place in the Lukola timeline, I probably needed to start tightening things up on the ship if I ever wanted to get to the end of the story. And, yes, dammit, this story better have a finale at some point because there’s nothing more annoying than an open-ended ending, particularly in the romance genre.

Today we’re going to take a quick jaunt over to Italy because –

NO! Not because Luke is allegedly filming there. If you’re into real-time stalking, you’re in the wrong blog. But, I’m sure there’s a Discord for that.

It’s because I’ve had several people ask for my opinion about the change in behavior between Luke and Nicola during their Day 1 interviews there. Wait – people are interested in my thoughts? Wow, that’s actually kind of nice. Thank you! Okay, back to what I was saying –

Was there a change in behavior when Luke and Nicola reached Italy? Yeah, actually, there kind of was.

By May 9, we had been gifted with a slew of material from Luke, Nicola, and the Bridgerton cast and, I must admit, those early interviews are some of the most entertaining of the tour. In the very beginning, Nicola appeared as the utmost professional – charming, intelligent, and witty at the right moments – and Luke played her likeable counterpart to “Book Colin” perfection – bouncing between being awkwardly boyish and wickedly roguish, all while looking at Nicola like she had just served him homemade peanut butter crumble.

The two of them together, playing off each other, in my opinion, was better than Bridgerton Season 3 (you cannot beat the World Tour being 99% Luke and Nicola, with only a few random side characters taking up screentime). There was some major “Electric Love” radiating from those two throughout the tour, but it seemed very much heightened in the beginning (probably because they hadn’t yet answered the same question 67 times). By the way, if you haven’t heard that song by Børns, go have a listen. It will, at the very least – hopefully – put you in an upbeat mood for the day.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes – was there a change in behavior between Luke and Nicola when they reached Italy?

Absolutely.

Do I know why?

Absolutely not.

Perhaps Luke was bent because someone spilled his coffee, or Nicola was upset because her stylist made her to wear that little silver bow in her hair. In my opinion, the most intriguing part of Day 1 of the Italy press junket was that Luke and Nicola struggled with answering the question, “What is love?” I swear they both babbled on like two kids in debate class who hadn’t bothered to read the material given to them before taking their respective podiums. They finally seemed to settle on Luke’s “Maybe it’s, like, connection.” Well, they seemed to be missing the “connection” that day.

Honestly, no one can explain their “don’t stand so close to me” vibe during those first day interviews except Luke and Nicola. But, we can at least have some fun and speculate about it with a bird’s eye view. At this point, you should know that I love spreading the puzzle pieces out and seeing how they might all connect. Most people – when putting a puzzle together – start with the side pieces, right? You’ll get my joke in a moment (I hope).

In March 2024 – I don’t know the specific date because my timeline is rather murky going back that far (I was unaware Lukola even existed!) – Luke traveled to Los Angeles for a photo spread with InStyle magazine. I’ve heard two versions of this story. The first being that Luke traveled to Los Angeles with Antonia alone; the second being that he traveled to Los Angeles with his friend group, which included Antonia. I couldn’t tell you which is true, and it really doesn’t matter because it doesn’t necessarily add or take away from today’s story.

Before I get started, I wanted to give a “hurrah” to The-One-Whose-Group-Chat-Fills-in-Lots-of-Missing-Bits-for-Me-Including-the-Part-Where-Video-Footage-of-Antonia-in-Los-Angeles-Seemed-to-Indicate-a-Celebrity-Was-Not-the-Videographer-and-There-Were-So-Many-British-Accents-in-the-Background-One-Would-Fancy-a-Guess-She-was-Traveling-with-a-Group.

Moving along…

On April 7, 2024, Antonia posted a series of photographs and clips to her Instagram grid indicating she had been in Los Angeles, including one where she was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory and one where she was sitting at a table marked with the number “95.” On April 14, she posted a second set of photographs, tagging her location as Beverly Hills, California and using “End of Beginning” as her audio (yes, I side-eyed this choice of music so don’t feel bad if you did as well). The second photo dump included her lounging on a rooftop.

I’m not going to delve into posts made by Luke and Nicola during that timeframe. I mean, I’m sure Nicola’s comment, “’Friends’…sure Jan,” on Luke’s April 11 reshared post about Bridgerton Season 3 was only meant to be applicable to Polin. And, if Luke wanted to use yellow and black hearts to represent the colors Nicola and he were wearing in his April 12 post, that’s cool, too. And, I am definitely not going to speculate on Nicola’s April 15 post (for Big Mood) that Luke liked, and she captioned, “I will bite off anything that dangles.”

By April 21, Luke and Nicola were in Australia at the World Premiere of Bridgerton. I am only going to provide a quick overview of Australia instead of a full-fledged recital because, at some point, I will almost certainly dedicate an entry to this country. Let’s start with Luke pulling off the hottest walk-up in Netflix human history (I mean, have you watched it in slow motion?). Then, we had the hard launch of the handholding business (because why again?). And, we had Luke tripping over his words, “We’re very, like, giving…I’m not talking about those scenes…” Oh, and Nicola telling an interviewer that, “[y]ou can’t keep a good girl down,” and, in response, Luke’s lips curling into a wicked-ass Cheshire cat's. We had them in the garden, with Nicola bending down to hug Luke after she had scratched/hit/petted his head. Perhaps I should not mention the possibility of a man’s shirt being visible on a bed behind Nicola (I said possibility not that it was). And, Nicola telling Luke, “You’re the funnier one,” when he was concerned that perhaps Benedict was funnier than Colin. Then we had the “Nicola-in-the-green-dress” day where, as they were going down the steps, Luke seemed to instinctively reach for Nicola’s hand, but she played it cool and took his arm instead. Oh, and that entire “green dress” day in general (I mean, there was so much shit going on that day). And, best we do not forget Nicola saying, “the best foundation for love is friendship,” which mirrored the bracelet “someone…in Australia” gave Luke that read, “Do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?” Because that’s not suspicious at all. Alright, let’s get the fuck out of Australia – but not before I mention Nicola commenting on Luke’s April 27 Instagram post with “Ready for the next?” and Luke replying, “Absolutely.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, their shenanigans in Australia expanded the USS Lukola tenfold.

Oh, also, let me throw this in here because, if you are a “ring truther,” this fact plays a significant role in the Lukola timeline. If you do not know what a “ring truther” is, that’s perfectly fine. You can catch up by reading Entry 6 (The One Where I Explained the Claddagh Ring to My Dad) of my blog. I mentioned in Entry 6 that some Lukola sleuths have stated the metadata they pulled from the sketches of the Claddagh ring uploaded by Chupi indicate they were done as early as April 26. In other words, it means the Claddagh was likely commissioned between Australia and Italy. In fact, if we are to believe Chupi when it said it took four weeks to make the ring, then it had to have been commissioned by May 9, 2024, at the latest. Oh, lookie there, that’s Day 1 of the Italy interviews.

But, before we get to May 9, let’s pause on April 29. That was the day Luke’s InStyle spread was published – yes, the one I mentioned earlier. Luke has pictures from this photoshoot still on his Instagram grid – in fact, Nicola commented, “Yess dude!!” on them – but those aren’t the pictures I want to talk about. No, I want to talk about the pictures InStyle posted on its Instagram grid that day. These photographs came directly from Luke, which was confirmed by the InStyle article when it said, “…the actor delighted the InStyle team by delivering the polaroid photos he’d taken for this story tucked oh-so-carefully in a little brown bag for safekeeping.” The pictures Luke provided, among others, included one where he was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles; one where he was sitting at a table marked with the number “95;” and one where he is sitting in a lounge chair on a rooftop. If you want to see the pictures, InStyle still has them available – you just need to go through hundreds of posts to find them. Luke did not like this InStyle post, which was kind of odd because he was tagged in it, and they were reportedly his pictures.

Why did these InStyle polaroids seem so familiar?

Oh, that’s right, because they were.

Remember that April 7 post of Antonia’s I mentioned a bit ago? Yeah, the one where Antonia posted a bunch of random pictures from Los Angeles and – only after InStyle posted Luke’s polaroids – fans realized Antonia had preemptively posted her version of some of Luke’s polaroids.

I am not going to speculate too much about these pictures or their implications in this blog post, but these pictures may resurface in future posts because I find myself side-eyeing the fact they even exist. And, we should probably accept that Luke was aware of them before his pictures came out on April 29 because he threw a like on Antonia’s April 7 post. Could it have been a “blind” like? Sure, I guess, but the logical side of my brain says he probably looked through them at the time she posted. Let’s not worry too much about it right now, though.

After trying to write out my “general” opinion about the pictures several times, I finally decided that the best way I could articulate my thoughts was through the conversation I had with my father. Yes, Dear Dad returns again for another insightful Q&A.

I started by showing Luke and Antonia’s three “matchy” pictures to my dad and then asked him to compare them. To be clear, the pictures were their respective Griffith Observatory, Table 95, and Rooftop Lounging pictures.

Me: “So what do you think?”

Dad: “About what?”

Me: “Ugh! Why did Antonia take those pictures?”

Dad: “Well, to show she’s part of the ‘in’ crowd. The only reason I can see them being taken is if she was going to put them on the Internet.”

Me: “Uhh, as a matter of fact, she did put them on the Internet! Approximately three weeks before Luke’s were published.”

Dad: “See! I’m not as dumb as you think.”

Me: “Whatever. So, you really believe that? She took them to show people that she was, like, there?”

Dad: “Yeah. Why else would she take them? They’re not the kind of photos you’d take normally. What’s she going to do, put them in an album and show her friends in five years and say, ‘Look, I sat in Luke’s chair?’ Who does that? Nobody. Plus, Luke’s pictures look like they were taken with a polaroid camera and Antonia took hers with, I guess, a phone. Why use two different cameras? Again, it doesn’t make sense. Seems to me like she knew what pictures he was taking, and she was trying to copy them so she could put them on the Internet.”

Thanks, Dad.

You do not have to accept my father’s thoughts on the photographs. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. However, I think we can meet in the middle and opine that, at a minimum, Antonia’s pictures caused the weak Lukolas to jump overboard; at most, they gave some people stalker vibes; and somewhere in between, they introduced Antonia's negative influence over the fandom and what some may consider trolling behavior (even if it wasn’t recognized then).

Now, before we land in Italy on May 9, let’s summarize what has happened during the preceding two months.

First, we had Luke traveling to Los Angeles in March with Antonia, either alone or as part of a friend group. Luke had pictures of himself taken while there.

Second, we had Antonia posting pictures in early April that would be linked directly to Luke’s pictures by the end of the month.

Third, throughout the month of April, we had Luke and Nicola traveling together for the World Tour. We have all seen these interviews, and we have all formed independent opinions about them.

Fourth, based on Chupi’s own words, we know the Claddagh ring must have been commissioned no later than May 9.

Okay, now we’ve reached May 9, Day 1 of the Italy press junket.

Besides the press interviews, what happened on that day?

Well, Antonia reposted Luke singing Coldplay’s “Yellow” to her TikTok account.

Uhh… Huh. Interesting.

I mean, it’s possible that this was just a coincidence and she just liked Luke’s version of it. Or, it’s possible Antonia knew that “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song and she anticipated trolling Nicola and/or the fandom with it. But, if we believe she knew “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song, that means either Luke told her, or someone with that knowledge told her (i.e., someone from Luke’s team or family/friend group). We also know that Luke mentioned this song in the May 16, 2022 Netflix Tudum article when Nicola and he were asked about their song choices for Season 3. Luke stated his frontrunner was “Yellow” by Coldplay “because of Penelope’s dresses.” Regardless of why Antonia posted the song, I find it hard to imagine Netflix, Bridgerton, Shondaland, Nicola, or Luke were too impressed by Antonia resharing it on TikTok. I mean, at this point, Netflix & Co. would surely have been aware that Antonia’s “copycat post” went over with the fandom like a wet blanket in December in Canada. I imagine some questions were being asked and Luke may very well have received a hand slap from Corporate – and maybe even from Nicola.

But, that’s not the only thing that happened on May 9.

Luke posted his Homme magazine spread to his Instagram grid on that day, too. He captioned the post, “Chatting through all things S3 with @hommeplusmag [o]ut next week x.” Nicola commented, “Yessss,” and Luke tagged his post with the location of Hackney, London. That last part – about Luke tagging the location in Hackney – apparently sent the fandom into a deep-dive of…Nicola’s backyard. Why? Because Nicola lives in Hackney (Nicola herself confirmed she lived in Hackney in a March 18, 2024 interview with Derry Now), and rumors started to circulate that Luke’s pictures were taken at her home.

Hmm, I didn’t realize May 9 was such a busy day, did you?

So, which came first – the chicken or the egg? Did Antonia repost “Yellow” to her TikTok before Luke posted his Homme in Hackney images to Instagram, or vice versa? I’m sure someone out there has this information. The answer might help shine some light as to why Luke and Nicola seemed “off” in the early part of their Day 1 Italy interviews. But, then again, does the order really matter? Regardless of who posted first, it would seem to me that “Yellow” was a very possible culprit for the different energy on set that day.

That, or Luke really was peeved over someone spilling his coffee.

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

six | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, implied chubby!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

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“Why aren’t you hitting me?” James asks. 

The safety mat under your feet does little to assuage your fears. James Potter is perhaps the last person on earth you’d expect to hurt you, and yet you can’t shake the image of him deflecting your punch and sending you reeling. 

With his lovely curls slicked away from his face, his nice mouth, the curve of it where he’s smiling encouragingly, you don’t really want to hit him. 

“I can’t,” you say. 

“Yes, you can. One day you might have to, and I need to know you can do it without breaking your own hand.” The no nonsense tone he’d tended to sport when you first met barely three weeks ago is seemingly gone, replaced by a friendly, almost cavalier tone. Like this is fun. “It won’t hurt you much, I swear. And you should get your revenge. I hit you pretty hard.” 

“You didn’t hit me,” you say. “The door did.” 

“It was my fault.” He smiles, readjusting his stance with feet planted firmly against the mat. 

“James…” 

“Just hit me,” he says. 

You tense your fist around your thumb and hit him square in the chest. It’s not a punch by any means, a weak landing of your knuckles that doesn’t move him. Still, you’re surprised with yourself, checking his face for a sign that you’d done any damage. 

“There are so many people who’d love to punch me,” he laughs, nodding to your hand, “you can do better than that, if only to do what they couldn’t.” 

“I don’t want to hit you, James.” 

“I know, you have to. Come on, it’s easier than you think. You bring your first back to your shoulder and you move into it, okay? Use your weight to do the work. You’ll never hurt anyone if you don’t.” 

“I’d rather not, though.” 

“I know that, too, but you might need to. God forbid you be in a situation where I’m not there to protect you,” —here he does something strange with his eyebrows you’ve yet to encounter, sending a straight shot of butterflies through you, their wings fluttering in the soft part of your throat— “but you don’t have to be defenceless if I’m not. Give me a good swing and I’ll make sure Marlene has that pear ice cream at dinner tonight.” 

“Marlene would make it if I asked,” you say unsurely.

“But if you hit me, I’ll ask for you.” 

“You can be very manipulative.”

“Sometimes. Alright, hit me. Or I’ll tackle you again. You didn’t like that last time.” 

Obviously you hadn’t enjoyed being tackled, because James hadn’t hurt you, he’d simply overpowered you. In one sense, it had been panicky to realise you were at someone’s mercy. James had grabbed you simply behind the back with your chests pressed together and hooked his calf behind your legs, taking them from under you, and following you to the ground. You didn’t like it because he didn’t hurt you, he’d pressed his weight into yours with an arm tight across your chest, just under your throat, and you could smell his hair. Smell almond or jojoba or– or something warm. 

It isn’t that you have feelings for James. You don’t know him well enough. But having someone like James pressing down on you was impossible to ignore, consciously and subliminally.

You really don’t want to do this, drawing your arm back, tightening your first two fingers. James’ eyes widen, his lips falling open as you hit him hard enough to bruise a half inch from his heart. He stumbles and you follow, before flinching back hard, tucking shameful arms to your chest. 

“Sorry!” you burst. “Fuck, sorry! I thought you were ready!” 

“I was ready.” James grins widely. “Awesome. Do that again, yeah? Let’s have one on the cheek this time.” 

“I am not punching you in the face.” 

“You could always aim somewhere softer. The point is to incapacitate me. Hitting me in the chest won’t do that.” He rubs a hand into his shirt, the dark compression material barely moving. “You might have bruised me, though. I’m a good teacher.” 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” you say. 

James deliberates. He tips his head back, showing you the rather nice point of his chin and his neck. A beauty mark sits nestled atop his Adam's apple. 

“Alright. Sorry. No more hitting. Maybe we’ll give the offensive a break for a while and go back to defence again in a few days?” he suggests. 

You relax. 

You’re wearing clothes you’re not used to, a compression shirt like James’, a pair of dark trousers of a similar material with loose ends. Sirius had done some online shopping with you, not worrying as your elbows brushed. He pointed at things and you’d given weak yesses or resolute nos. The total had climbed and climbed, and Sirius had taken your choking for self-preservation. “Not to worry,” he’d said, grinning, “the royal coffers will pay for this lot.” 

It doesn’t feel real. Endless money with no limit nor reason. He’d opened Curry’s swiftly after and asked you what laptop you wanted for uni. He’d attempted to goad you into two. 

It’s alien. All of it, even James across from you where he’s sitting now to put his trainers back on. He doesn’t feel anymore real than the day you met, this handsome, tall boy tasked with keeping you safe. You’ve never been someone’s number one priority. 

“Come and put your shoes on, lovely.” 

You’re not sure how to cope with that, either. He and Sirius both seem quick to coddle when you’re distracted, and you’re distracted often. You shrug away your thoughts, relaxing your tight shoulders as you cross the empty gym to sit next to him. Your trainers are new, too, a sporty pair that cost more money than your last three pairs combined. 

“It’s nice to have new things,” you confess, “but odd.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I’ve been wearing the same pair of converse for two years. I had one pair of proper shoes, and one bag. One purse. And I didn’t mind it, just… just, it makes you feel sick sometimes when you want stuff. It’s embarrassing.”

If James is surprised at your sudden admission, he doesn’t show it. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in wanting things,” he says, hands braced on his knees, “but I can guess why you might’ve felt like that. We try not to think about the things we want because that can make not having it worse.” 

What couldn’t you have? you think, searching his expression for a hint. 

“I’m glad it’s nice,” he furthers, tapping his heel against yours. “They look good. Are they comfortable?” 

“They feel like I’m wearing socks half the time.” 

James nods appreciatively. “Well, get them on. We’ll nip into the pharmacist before we go home, do you have your sunglasses?” 

“It’s too grey outside for sunglasses, we look ridiculous.” 

“You look like the front page of every newspaper. Ever. In the entire western world. Here, put your hoodie on.” 

You and James leave the gym with a wave to the women at the front desk and begin down the street. James hates the city obviously, wrinkling his nose at the grey cobbled streets and all of its sooty puddles. He walks from place to place rigid as a tentpole, swerving in front of you the second that someone looks at you too long. You wonder if this is what having a boyfriend is like. James is constantly making sure you’re safe, that you’re on the right side of the pavement, that you’re warm and fed and smiling. But you don’t suppose a boyfriend gets paid to spend time with you, nor do they spend nights on the lumpy sofa in the living room when they’re too tired to drive home at the end of a long shift. 

You think without wanting to of James climbing into bed with you, a split second of his warm arm over your back, and shake it away as he pulls you into the pharmacy. 

“Can you look at something else?” you ask, turning to him as you pull off your silly sunglasses. 

James raises his eyebrows. “Whatever for?” 

“I need stuff.” 

“I know you need stuff. You asked me if we could come here. Which, by the way, you don’t need to do. You’re supposed to boss me around.” 

You look over a shelf of shampoos and deodorants and begin reading their labels. James took you shopping the day after you got back, but you’d been stuck in your old ways and what you didn’t skimp on, you forgot. You eye a large bottle of shampoo that brags deep moisture for your hair type and take it from the shelf, then the matching conditioner, and then its hair mask. Your shoulders curl forward, worried James will think you greedy or sad or something in between, but he just says, “Pass them here, Princess.” 

“It’s fine, I can–”

“I’ll have them. I’ll go get a basket.”

He scoops everything into big hands and walks back to the pharmacy’s entrance. 

It’s a big pharmacy, modern, with white walls and bright fluorescent lights behind shelves. You catch yourself in a mirror next to a stand of cosmetics and wince. You look odd in these sporty clothes. Your nose is shiny. 

You wipe your face with your sleeve and stare at the cosmetics with no clue what to get. Should’ve asked Sirius to come. Or better yet, someone who regularly wears makeup. Only thing is, you don’t really know anybody who does. 

“You don’t have to rush,” James says, joining you at the makeup section, such a long walk from the shampoos. “Did you sprint down here?” 

You’d speed-walked past the sexual health aisle actually, but James doesn’t need to be privy to that information. “You don’t want to be here all day.” 

“I want to be exactly where you are. If that’s looking at lip gloss, then so be it.” 

You smile, a little shy, a little rueful, and turn your attention back to the lip glosses in question. There’s browns and pinks, blush-rose red and moodier cherries. “I don’t…” 

“That one,” James says, poking a barrel with confidence, “would suit you. And this one, too. You’ll look lovely.”

You don’t know what to say. The colours he’s chosen get added to your basket without comment, after you’ve wrestled it out of his unwilling hands. You spend a few minutes spready tester shades of concealer against the back of your hand, where James again recommends the one that matches your skin tone best. He leans behind you, and he does his job, sweeping the aisles and giving the shop a long up and down every once in a while, but for the most part he acts like he’s there to be there. 

You get to the bit of the pharmacy you’d come for initially, the shorter but well-stocked supplement and vitamin aisle. Realistically, you aren’t going to take ten different vitamins a day, and with Marlene’s cooking it isn’t as though you need them, but there are things you’ve always craved. Biotin and collagen, for healthier hair and nails. Multi-nutrient sachets for every day, the good stuff, and so expensive your eyes initially skip over them. 

Your hand hesitates in front of a box and James makes a warm humming noise. 

“They look promising.”

“I’ve never had them before.”

“I have a killer magnesium deficiency,” James says. “I usually take the magnesium and zinc, but that throws my copper out of whack.” 

You can’t tell if he’s messing with you. You smile at him, not quite stickily but getting there, your cheeks appled with it. “Not your copper.” 

“It’s not funny, Princess. It makes me want to sleep all day.” 

“Not funny,” you agree, grabbing the box of sachets and placing them atop the new electric toothbrush you’d fancied. You feel gluttonous and weird with it, because you don’t suppose you really need one, but James had only said That’s a nice colour. 

“James,” you say, meandering with him toward the tills, “you didn’t need anything, did you?” 

He grins at you like you’ve said something different. “I have everything I need, don’t worry.” 

“You sure?” 

His eyes seem lighter, then. Amber flecks in the browned honey of his irises. “Promise.” 

He tries to get you to visit the perfume counter, but the basket is getting heavy and you’ve spent enough as it is. Not even a tenth, a hundredth, a thousandth of what you have now at your disposal, but so much more than you ever would’ve before. 

The lady at the till eyes James behind you. She beams when James opens his wallet and passes you the card you were given by Sirius for expenses, and laughs when you refuse to take it. “I have mine,” you say, ��this is all for me, I can pay.” 

“Technically it’s your upkeep,” James argues. 

“James.” You pass the cashier your card as James frowns. 

“I wish my boyfriend offered so quickly,” the cashier says. 

You go hot all over, but before you can tell her James isn’t your boyfriend, he’s laughing and taking the handles of your heavy pink carrier, pulling it toward him as the cashier sorts your receipt. “I shouldn’t have tried, really.” 

“It’s the thought that counts.” She hands you your receipt. “You should to let him pay, chick, especially if he’s offering.” 

“Maybe next time,” you appease. 

You’re still flushed when you and James break outside again, the cold a blessed relief. James lets your pink bag rest in the crook of his arm, while the other hovers behind you, looking around the street unhurried. “Anywhere else you want to go, chick?” he asks. 

You laugh. “She was nice.” 

“Very motherly.” 

“I want to go home, I think. Did you need anything else?” 

“I do all my shopping when I’m not working.” 

“When aren’t you working?” you ask genuinely. “You spend more than half the day at my flat, and when you leave– if you leave, it’s night time.” You give him a sideways glance. “I have nothing else to do today.” 

James contemplates this. “I– I’ve been meaning to get Sirius a gift. It’s his birthday next week, did you know?” 

“No! When?” 

“The third.” 

“What does he like?” 

James beckons toward a neon signed music shop. “He loves music. Music and the macabre, you know, like, horror movies. And he reads, despite what he might have you believe.” 

You fall into step. “Alright. You’ll have to tell me what to buy.” 

Again, he gives you a look like you’ve said something different, like you’ve said something lovely. 

“I can do that,” James says. “I won’t steer you wrong.”

—

Later that evening, after another tentative hour in the car with James’ patient coaching, you return home to shower. It’s luxurious and strenuous simultaneously. The new hair mask is fragrant and silky between your fingers, leaving the bathroom thick with its smell, the warm air clouding the windows. You hurry between the bathroom and your bedroom in a bath sheet and pretend you don’t notice James’ head tipping in your direction. 

“Everything alright?” he calls to your bedroom door. 

You spy on him through the gap. “I’m fine. Sorry I took so long.” 

“Remus has asked if he can come early and have dinner with us.” 

“He doesn’t need to ask!” you call, closing the door soundly. 

It will be nice to have Remus for dinner. He doesn’t have to tell you what fork to use here, you only have one kind, but he explains the heritage or main flavours of each dish and doesn’t make you feel embarrassed when you don’t know the Genovian Marlene uses. Honestly, you hadn’t even realised Genovia had a language, a hodge podge, Remus says, of Italian and French. And Remus has a steady voice that feels evidence of his more humble background —he’s like you, you’ve found out, working class and humbly brought up. He attended their boarding school on a scholarship of academic prowess, and served as a prefect for all seven years. 

“How exhausting,” you’d said. 

“With those two? You wouldn’t believe it.” 

His disdain was feigned, mostly. It’s why you’re excited to have him for dinner. When the boys are together, they end up telling you stories about their hijinks at school, and you get to peek into the window of their lives, see their fondness for one another in praises and shoulder squeezes and their ridiculous nicknames. 

You haven’t managed to ask about them yet. They slip out every once in a while, and in multiple variations. Moony, Moons, Moon and Pads, Pad, Padfoot. Remus’ you’ve deduced from a story they told, how Remus could be oh so moody when he wasn’t very well, like a wolf, a werewolf. Isn’t that clever for a gang of twelve year olds? Lupin, the wolf boy. You have a feeling it didn’t start out as a particularly kind nickname, but it morphed into a loving moniker later on. Sirius’ nickname, however, you’ve no chance at working out. Padfoot? 

And Prongs? You assume James had a nasty run in with a fork. 

You dress in soft, new clothes. Prongs, you think, doesn’t suit him at all. The James you know is only ever prickly when you’re at risk. He doesn’t flinch when you panic, never hardens. He has a soft hand for your back whenever you need a pat. 

Your socks slide on the living room tiles as you make your way in. James is clicking away on his phone, a dark business phone with many, many buttons. It’s dwarfed by his hand. He swears under his breath. 

“Everything okay?” you ask softly. 

James looks up and his gaze snags on you, his head tilted to his phone and his eyes steadfast where they look you over. “Fine. Nice shower?” 

You’re rich now. Every shower is nice, the boiler turned to a high six, hot water neverending. 

“It was good. Where’s Sirius?” 

“I’m actually not sure.” 

“Isn’t that your job?” 

“No. And if it were I wouldn’t know anyways.” He turns back to his phone. “He’s a slippery one, Pads,” he murmurs, “I couldn’t really keep track of him if I tried.” 

You feel as though you’ve caught him at a bad time. Restless, you turn away from him and head for your small kitchen, unsurprised to find Marlene still cooking and the continued remodelling of your kitchen. Old countertops find themselves housing new oiled cutting boards. Your grody cooker seems small beneath a HexClad Dutch oven, where oil bubbles and spits lightly, dough cuts set on a baking sheet beside it. 

“Hi, Marlene. What are you making?” you ask curiously. 

She grins at you from over her shoulder. “Apple cider doughnuts. I’ve made cinnamon sugar, do you mind it?” 

“What’s the thermometer?” you ask. 

She laughs at you lightly. She’s used to you dodging questions. “Just making sure I don’t set your house alight. At home I can do this by eye, but it’s finicky with your oven. She’s temperamental.” 

“Sorry.” 

Marlene waves a hand. “You want to try?” 

“I’ll just be in your way.” 

“No, you won’t. Frying doughnuts is fun, here. I’ve put each of them on a bit of greaseproof paper. They slide right off.” 

Marlene doesn’t usually take no for an answer. She’s not bossy, but decisive. You’re hesitant at first of the boiling oil and the greaseproof paper doesn’t cooperate when you try it, but eventually you’ve freed a crispy bit of paper from the dough, watching patiently as Marlene turns the doughnuts. She tells you about the dark colour you’re searching for, “I’ve put apples in the dough, see, so they’ll come to a brilliant dark colour without burning. We’ll have them with ice cream or whatever you like.” 

”James told you I wanted it?” you ask shyly. 

“James didn’t mention you at all, he just begged a bit for it. He can be quite pathetic when he needs to be.”  

“I resent that!” James calls. 

Sirius and Remus arrive in their usual pair, Remus tall and light to Sirius’ tighter darkness. Remus wears glasses today, black thin frames perched atop a scar on his nose. Sirius is being himself, poking at them and reminding Remus that just because he is an insufferable swat doesn’t mean he has to look like one. 

“You’re worse than insufferable,” Remus says. When he sees you, he brightens. “Ah, Princess. James hasn’t injured you, that’s brilliant.” 

“And you clearly haven’t killed him in a motor vehicular disaster,” Sirius says cheerfully. “Praise be.” 

“We’re both fine,” you say. 

“Were you worried about us?” James asks. 

“I wasn’t worried about you, James,” Remus says with a smirk. 

You eat as you have every day for the week since you’ve been home: around the coffee table, five plates and drinks rearing to get knocked over and ruin it all. Your knees press into Remus’ on the left and Marlene’s on the right. James sits across from you now that Frank’s shown up for his night shift, digging in with vigour, beaming around his fork as Sirius gives him a good nudge. So many people in your crammed flat. It doesn’t seem real. Half the time, they’re just here to keep you company. 

Paid to keep me company, you think, biting your tongue as you do. This isn’t… real. 

Something taps you under the table. James’ hand, you find, long fingers pressing soft into your kneecap. You quickly lift your head again to find him frowning at you mildly. Okay? he mouths. 

“Bit my tongue,” you say. 

“Ouch,” Remus says. 

James pokes his lip with his tongue. “Be careful,” he says eventually. 

You ignore whatever it is he’s not saying and pick at your food instead. For dinner, Marlene has made a traditional Genovian pasta dish heavy with red pesto and steak. It isn’t what you’re expecting, used to the paler whites and greens of the last week's worth of dinner. James couldn’t be enjoying it more, and Sirius has pledged his undying love to Marlene three or four times since you sat down. 

“Jesus, I barely miss Genovia when you cook like this,” he says. “I will happily serve my country.” 

“Unlike before, when you were here unhappily,” Remus teased. 

Sirius looks you dead in the eye. “Princess, I would follow you anywhere. Marlene is an added bonus.” 

“I– I really wish you guys wouldn’t call me that.” 

Sirius looks gently chastened. “Sorry, sorry. It’s muscle memory at this point. If I called Princess Julianna by anything but her title, she would’ve had me drawn and quartered in the royal courtyards, is all.” 

“And the rest,” James snorts. 

“I try not to address her at all,” Remus says to himself. 

Everyone laughs. You join in a second later, wondering about your unknown cousin. “She was rather spoiled, wasn’t she?” you ask. 

“You’d think she’d tone it down some. Her royal status is rather tenuous, you know.” 

James gives Sirius a look. Careful, it says. 

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

“Well, she’s a royal by marriage, not blood. We explained that, didn’t we?” 

James had said it was complicated. You’d been too startled about your own royal status to inspect it any further. “She’s not a Renaldi?” you ask. 

As it’s explained, your uncle (uncle! who is indeed royal by blood, and the eldest son) forwent the throne when it became clear he wouldn’t be allowed to marry a divorced lover otherwise (reminiscent of certain British scandals). Said divorced lover already had a daughter, a young Julianna. And so your uncle remained a prince but not a king, and Julianna became a princess, to the ire of half the country. 

Traditions have changed in time, but Julianna still lacks Renaldi blood. 

“It drives her mad,” James says. He’s leaning back against the armchair now, dinner finished, a big glass of apple cider in his hands. 

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say. “Sorry, I sound horrible, just. She wasn’t super friendly.” 

“It would’ve been better for everyone if she was,” Sirius says. 

You wait for him to continue. Marlene prompts him, “You think so?” 

“Well, yes, I suppose. Anything is better than a country ruled by Baron Riddle. Evil, loathsome man. He thinks that nobody knows he’s had a nose job, you know.” 

“Who’s Baron Riddle?” you ask. 

A hush falls around the table. You look down at your plate, eyes on the red shine of pesto and olive oil where it’s grown cold on your plate. A hunk of soft bread is discarded beside it. You poke at it with your nail until crumbs flake away, lips parted, not sure what to say. “Is he–?”

“He’s a bad man, Y/N,” Sirius says. His voice has turned soft but not thin. “He’s prejudiced and cruel. If nobody of Renaldi blood takes the throne when your grandmother steps down, he’ll rule Genovia. And he’ll run it into the ground.” 

James isn’t looking at you when you drag your head up. He downs the last of his cider and stands up, murmuring about clearing the table as he carries his and Sirius’ plate to the kitchen. 

“I didn’t know,” you say. Well, you’d known someone would ascend to the throne if you didn’t. But you didn’t know about Riddle. A guilty heat builds in your throat. “I had no idea.” 

“James asked us not to tell you,” Remus says pointedly. 

“She has a right to know,” Sirius says. They glare at each other, but the heat in Sirius’ voice doesn’t rescind. “What? She does. She’s a grown up.” 

You shake your head. “Thank you, um, for telling me. I’ll just take these out, should I?” You gesture to the plates and stand up quickly. You can’t escape the feeling that Sirius is very angry with you, and you don’t want to face it, so you escape the room instead. 

James’ shoulders are tense in the kitchen. He scrapes his plate clean into the food recycling bin, offering his hand without looking for your own. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly. 

“Of course.” 

Silence blossoms like an achy bruise. 

“James–”

“Thank you for having me for dinner, but I really should be going now. I promised my mum an overdue call.” 

He’s angry. 

You cringe away from him. “Okay. Yeah, no problem.” 

“Okay. Stay safe while I’m gone, yes? Remember your panic button.” 

Your hand inches up to the opposite wrist, where your tennis bracelet of sapphires sits tightly. You’d forgotten all about the panic button embedded in disguise under one of the gemstones. 

He smiles at you briefly, and in a minute or two he’s gone. Sirius goes out after him, leaving you and Remus and Marlene to the heap of dishes, a bad taste lingering on your tongue that has nothing to do with dinner.