#Three Princes Crowned Of Ice AU

[shaiyasstuff]

a dance of ice and fire | zayne

synopsis : Betrothed to the Crown Prince for the sake of peace, you are seen as a weapon to be wielded, not a queen to rule. But it is not your arrogant, power-hungry fiancé you fear—it is his brother, Zayne. As alliances shift and tensions rise, one truth becomes clear: he never wanted the crown, but for you, he will take it. content : medieval!au, strategist/advisor!zayne x princess!reader, loads of eye-fucking, savage reader and zayne, political intrigue

parts | one | two | three

The war table stretched long across the chamber, its surface weighed down with silk-draped maps, shifting borders inked with precision, and the quiet hum of consequence. The scent of melted wax and parchment clung to the air, heavy with the unspoken weight of decisions yet to be made.

At the head of it all sat your betrothed.

Not the man your heart was bound to.

Not Zayne.

He stood at his younger brother’s side, arms folded loosely in front of him, the very picture of indifference.

Pft, look at him. Acting like he doesn’t want to be here.

The courtiers droned on, voices blending together in a swirl of politics, war, and of course, predictably, your marriage.

More specifically, the matter of your so-called uncontrollable fire magic.

They spoke of you as though you weren’t in the room.

“Indeed. Fire is unpredictable. Dangerous, if left unchecked,” one noble mused, his voice carrying the same tone one might use when discussing a volatile weapon rather than a person.

Not a princess. Not you.

You resisted the urge to sigh, fingers curling against the edge of the table.

“They think themselves clever, cloaking their insults in diplomacy.”

A slow burn simmered beneath your skin. You cleared your throat, feeling the warmth coil deep in your core.

A subtle glance from across the table, Zayne’s hazel-green eyes meets yours.

He gave you a look as if to say, “Calm down.”

You flicked him a sharp look in return but obeyed, cooling the heat creeping up your spine.

Your betrothed, the crown prince, leaned back in his chair, a smirk barely masking the insecurities you knew festered beneath his skin.

His tone was condescending. That smirk, arrogant.

“You forget that she is to be my wife. Under my guidance, she will serve as an asset to this kingdom.”

The words landed like a slap, an attempt to remind you of your place.

You did not react.

You refused to.

“Heh. Asset, he says?”

“Do they think I’m a tool?”

You met his gaze without flinching.

A moment stretched between you, unspoken but clear, and you watched as his smirk faltered, just slightly.

Tilting your head, you let the silence settle before finally speaking.

“A wife or an asset, Your Highness? You speak as though they are one and the same.” A slow, deliberate smirk of your own curved at the edges of your lips.

The crown prince’s eyes narrowed. “I speak of ensuring stability. It is in everyone’s best interest that your… passions are properly directed.”

You inhaled, the simmering heat rekindling beneath your ribs.

It was always the same.

These men. Weak men, had never known fire. Not truly.

They only wished to harness it, shape it into something convenient.

Something obedient.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, a voice cut through the thick tension like a blade.

Low. Calm. Unhurried.

“You mean contained?”

The air stilled.

Zayne.

For the first time since the discussion began, he stepped forward from the sidelines, his posture casual, but his presence undeniable.

He leaned against the war table, fingers drumming idly against the polished wood, his expression unreadable.

The crown prince stiffened. “Then what would you suggest, brother?”

Zayne tilted his head, his movements slow, deliberate. “That you recognize the difference between ruling with fire and being burned by it.”

You saw it. The flicker of doubt in your betrothed’s eyes. The way his jaw clenched, frustration barely contained. “And you believe I am incapable?”

Zayne exhaled, the sound closer to an actual than a scoff.

“I believe the court is still debating whether you are capable of ruling at all.”

A murmur spread across the room, an uneasy shift in posture from those seated at the table.

Some looked away. Others suddenly found the tapestries on the walls utterly fascinating.

Zayne was not a man to waste words.

So when he spoke, even in the quietest of tones, everyone listened.

Your lips curled into the faintest smirk, hidden behind the rim of your goblet as you lifted it to your lips. “Perhaps the real discussion should not be about my power, but how little faith your court seems to have in yours.”

You could barely conceal the amusement in your voice.

A pointed silence followed.

One of the older lords cleared his throat. “That is not what we meant, Your Highness—”

“Isn’t it?” Zayne’s voice was still calm, still soft. And yet, it carried weight heavier than any decree the crown prince had ever issued.

Your betrothed’s grip on the armrest of his chair tightened. “Enough.”

You set your goblet down with a soft clink against the table, tilting your head slightly.

“On that, we agree. I tire of being spoken about as if I am not in the room.”

The words landed like a challenge, wrapping around the court like a vice. You let your gaze drift, meeting the eyes of every lord and lady present, watching as they struggled to form a response.

Beside the crown prince, Zayne smirked, just barely.

“A mistake they will not make again.”

Your betrothed was barely containing himself now. His pride wounded, his patience wearing thin. “And you speak for her now?”

Zayne shifted, crossing his arms with effortless ease. “No. She speaks for herself. You were simply… thoughtless enough to ignore her.”

Silence.

No one dared to fill it.

And there it was. The opening.

You did not hesitate.

“You assume I need guidance,” you said smoothly, your voice steady as you turned your attention back to the court.

Your fingers traced the rim of your goblet, slow and deliberate. “You speak of control as if it is something I lack.”

The room had fallen so quiet you could hear the faint crackle of the hearth.

“And yet, here I sit. Regal, composed, unmoved.”

The tension in the room was palpable, thick like smoke in the air. You could feel Zayne’s presence beside you, unwavering. No words passed between you, but it didn’t matter.

It never had.

This was how it had always been. Moving in sync without needing to speak.

“I am not a weapon for you to wield,” you continued, voice even, but edged with something unmistakable.

Authority. Power. Fire.

“I am a ruler. And if you cannot understand the difference, then perhaps you are the ones who lack control.”

Silence stretched long.

Zayne smirked, just barely, the glint in his eyes almost approving. “Well played.”

The crown prince’s glare burned with poorly hidden rage, but for the first time tonight, he had no retort.

—•

The court had been left in stunned silence, your words lingering like smoke in the air long after you and Zayne had walked away from the war table.

The heavy doors shut behind you with a dull thud, sealing the courtiers and their feigned diplomacy within.

The corridor was dimly lit, lined with towering stone pillars and torches that flickered against the cold walls.

You exhaled, pressing your fingers against your temples, the weight of the evening pressing against you.

Footsteps.

You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“You handled that well,” Zayne’s voice was laced with amusement, his tone as effortless as ever.

“Though, I think you nearly gave my dear brother an aneurysm.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Pity.”

Zayne chuckled under his breath, then leaned casually against the nearest pillar, his arms crossing over his chest. He was watching you, observing you, as he always did, with that unnerving calm.

It made you shift. You knew what came next.

“You’re fuming,” he observed, though it wasn’t a question.

You sighed, letting the flames of your frustration flicker beneath your skin. “Wouldn’t you be?”

Zayne tilted his head. “I don’t let idiots bother me.”

“And I’m supposed to?” You shot him a look, eyes sharp.

His smirk was slow, almost infuriatingly so. “You’re better at playing this game than they are. You shouldn’t let their pettiness get under your skin.”

You scoffed, stepping toward him. “And you shouldn’t have had to speak for me.”

At that, his expression flickered.

“I didn’t,” Zayne said smoothly. “You did just fine on your own. I only nudged them in the right direction.”

You gave him a dry look. “Oh, of course. And your ‘nudge’ just happened to be a complete dismantling of your brother’s authority?”

Zayne shrugged. “He walked into it.”

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face before glancing up at him again. “It’s dangerous, Zayne.”

His smirk faded, his features turning unreadable. “It’s the truth.”

You studied him, the way the flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows over his face, making him seem even harder to read.

Zayne always had a way of slipping through cracks, of appearing indifferent while moving pieces behind the scenes. But tonight, in the way he had stepped in, the way he had so effortlessly undermined his brother in front of the court, it felt different.

It felt like he wasn’t just playing a game anymore.

“…You enjoyed that,” you realized, narrowing your eyes.

His expression didn’t shift. “What are you implying?”

You took another step forward, voice quieter now. “That you aren’t as disinterested as you pretend to be.”

Something in his gaze flickered. “What I am,” he said, “is someone who knows when to speak.”

You held his gaze.

“And when to stay silent?”

A beat. Then, slow and deliberate, “Yes.”

A shiver ran through you, though you weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was the way his voice dipped, the way he looked at you like he was trying to see something beneath the surface.

You swallowed, turning away slightly. “You’ll make an enemy of him, you know.”

Zayne exhaled through his nose. “He was already my enemy. He just didn’t know it yet.”

That should have unsettled you. Should have made you wary.

But it didn’t.

Because the way he said it, the quiet ease of it, the certainty made it sound like a promise.

And that, perhaps, was what made it more dangerous.

—•

The scent of blooming nightshade lingered in the air, blending with the crisp bite of the evening breeze.

The palace gardens were quiet at this hour, the sky painted in the deep purples and golds of the dying sun.

This had always been your place.

Yours and Zayne’s.

Hidden away behind the hedge-lined paths, far from the ever-watchful eyes of courtiers and expectations, you sat on the low stone wall that framed the fountain, your bare fingers trailing over the cool marble.

He stood before you, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other tucked loosely into his belt. Silent, as always. Watching.

“You’re brooding again,” you teased, kicking your foot out lightly, the tip of your slipper grazing his knee.

Zayne raised a brow. “And you’re distracting me.”

“Good. You could use a distraction.”

His lips curled slightly, but he said nothing.

Instead, he moved closer, standing between your knees, his presence a quiet weight in the space around you.

The air changed, charged with something neither of you dared name.

Your throat felt tight. “You’re leaving soon.”

Zayne sighed, glancing away. “You know I have to.”

You swallowed. You knew it.

Of course you did.

His duties and obligations would always call him elsewhere.

That was the nature of his existence, the shadow to his brother’s gilded throne.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

“I hate this.” The words left you before you could stop them. “I hate that you always go, and I never know when you’ll return.”

His gaze snapped back to you, sharper now. “And you think I enjoy it?”

You looked down, fingers curling against the stone. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, unwilling to be spoken aloud.

Zayne exhaled, then very softly, carefully, he reached for you.

His fingers brushed against your wrist first, hesitant, as if giving you a chance to pull away.

When you didn’t, he traced his touch upward, gliding over your forearm, curling around your hand.

A shiver ran down your spine, though it had nothing to do with the cold.

“I always come back to you,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “You know that.”

You should have pulled away. Should have scolded him for making promises he had no right to make.

Instead, you curled your fingers into his, holding him there.

“I know,” you whispered. “That’s the problem.”

His grip tightened.

The space between you narrowed, the warmth of his breath brushing your cheek, but neither of you moved further.

Because this was what it had always been.

A breath away.

A step too close.

A love neither of you could afford.

And yet, when he finally let go, his touch lingered like embers beneath your skin, one you knew would never fade.

But that was in the past, a past that no longer existed.

Buried underneath so-called duties and obligations, and your betrothal to his brother.

And yet, standing there in the dim corridor, bathed in the flickering glow of torches, you could still feel it.

The past.

Him.

Zayne.

The memory of his touch ghosted over your skin, as if time itself refused to let you forget.

The walls around you were cold, suffocating in their silence, but the air between you?

Charged.

Stifling.

Dangerous.

“You’re thinking about it again.”

His voice was smooth, quiet, but it curled around you like smoke, and you could not escape.

You swallowed hard before turning to him. “And what exactly am I thinking about?”

He leaned against the archway, arms crossed, his posture lazy, but his gaze?

Unyielding. Searching.

His lips barely curved. “Us.”

Your stomach twisted.

“There is no ‘us’,” you said, keeping your voice even.

Zayne didn’t blink. “And whose fault is that?”

Your breath hitched before you forced out an easy shrug. “Fate’s, I suppose.”

A sharp exhale. “Ah, yes. Blame fate. Much easier than blaming yourself.”

His words struck something deep, something raw, and you hated how effortlessly he could do that.

How he could still see through you, past the composure, past the armor you had so carefully crafted.

Your jaw tightened. “You walked away just as much as I did.”

He pushed off the wall then, his steps slow but certain, closing the space between you too quickly, too easily.

“No,” he murmured, voice impossibly low. “I let you walk away. There’s a difference.”

The air changed.

Your pulse pounded, your breathing shallow as he came closer, his warmth wrapping around you even before his body did. The heat of him was too much, too familiar, too tempting.

You should have stepped back.

Should have stopped him.

But you didn’t.

Because this was Zayne.

The man who had once held your hand beneath the stars, who had whispered your name in the dark, who had been everything before duty and responsibilities had torn it all apart.

He stood before you now, the space between you nonexistent, his voice barely a breath away.

“Say it like you mean it.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Because how could you?

How could you lie when his gaze was burning through you, when his scent, his heat, his very presence was pulling you under like a tide you had spent years trying to resist?

His fingers brushed your wrist like a whisper of a touch, but it sent fire racing beneath your skin. You shivered, your breath unsteady, and his eyes darkened at the sight of it.

“Say it,” he murmured again, softer this time, but no less demanding.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Say it like you mean it.

Say it like it doesn’t keep you up at night.

Say it like your body doesn’t still crave him in ways it shouldn’t.

Say it like it wasn’t the worst mistake of your life.

You opened your mouth, searching for words, for anything, but Zayne wasn’t patient.

His fingers lifted, grazing along your jaw, his touch soft and gentle, like he was daring you to pull away.

You didn’t.

Because god, you still wanted him.

Zayne’s fingers barely touched your skin, but it was enough.

Enough to set fire to the air between you.

Enough to make your breath catch, your pulse erratic.

His thumb ghosted over the curve of your jaw, his touch deliberate.

Too light to be possessive, too heavy to be innocent.

You should have pulled away.

Should have reminded him of the ring on your finger, of the man waiting beyond these walls.

But when you exhaled, it wasn’t in protest.

It was in surrender.

His eyes flickered to your lips, just for a second.

A heartbeat, a breath, a mistake waiting to happen.

He was close now. Too close.

You could feel the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breath mingling with yours, the weight of his presence.

His cold ice pressing against every inch of restraint you had left.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet. Dangerous.

“Say it, and I walk away.”

Your fingers curled at your sides. “Zayne—”

“Say it, and this stops.” His forehead nearly brushed yours, his words laced with something unspoken, something almost desperate.

You swallowed, but you didn’t say it.

His fingers slid down, grazing the column of your throat, lingering just below your pulse like a silent challenge, a dare.

Your heart pounded against his touch.

His breath shuddered.

“…that’s what I thought.”

And then ever so slowly, so torturously, he pulled away.

Cold air rushed between you, but the damage was already done.

You were burning, and it was not because of your magic.

—•

The next morning.

The war table, its silk-draped maps spread wide, was marked with careful ink strokes, shifting borders that could just as easily shift again with the wrong decision.

You sat poised, your hands resting lightly against the table’s surface, composed yet unyielding.

Across from you, a noble, Lord Callas straightened in his chair, his gaze sharp, his mouth already forming another shortsighted argument.

Zayne stood near the edge of the room, arms folded, unreadable.

But you felt his presence lingering as if beside you.

Watching.

Waiting.

Just as he always did.

Callas exhaled sharply. “Your Highness, we must establish dominance.”

You tilted your head slightly, fingers grazing the edge of the map.

“Dominance?” Your voice was smooth, measured.

“Tell me, what kind of dominance do you imagine? One built on empty threats? On brute force?”

Callas narrowed his eyes. “A display of strength is necessary.”

A soft hum left your lips as you tapped a finger against the capital city inked onto the map.

“A display of strength, you say.” A pause. Then, you lifted your gaze. “And when has brute force ever earned peace?”

The tension crackled.

Besides the crown prince, Zayne shifted slightly, just enough that his attention became unmistakable.

Callas scoffed, his fingers curling against the table’s edge. “My father served in—”

You leaned forward slightly, voice turning smooth, precise.

“Your father.”

His jaw twitched.

“What about you, Lord Callas ?” Your hand moved across the map, fingertips gliding over contested borders, lingering over cities on the brink of war.

“Have you ever stood on the battlefield?”

Callas hesitated.

Your eyes locked onto his.

“Have you ever seen men bleed for thoughtless orders?”

A flicker of uncertainty passed over his face.

Your voice lowered.

“Have you watched as cities burn under the weight of a war that could have been avoided?”

Silence.

A moment too long. A pause too telling.

And in that hesitation, you struck.

“No?” You leaned back, your fingers leaving the map as your hands folded in your lap.

“Then I suggest you reconsider before you advise me on matters you do not understand.”

The room stilled.

Callas’ face darkened, but his mouth remained shut.

He wouldn’t dare argue.

Across the table, Zayne smirked.

Just barely.

But enough.

Silence settled over the chamber, heavy and sharp, the weight of your words pressing against the gathered nobles like a blade to the throat.

Lord Callas sat rigid in his chair, his lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

He did not speak.

Because he knew he couldn’t.

But, of course, your betrothed would not allow the silence to linger.

The crown prince leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair in slow, deliberate movements.

His expression remained composed, but you could see it.

The flicker of irritation in his gaze

The faint tightening of his jaw.

“Lord Callas speaks from experience, Princess.” His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, cold and thin like a knife’s point.

“He has studied warfare extensively, as have many on this council. It would be unwise to dismiss their counsel so easily.”

You inhaled slowly, fingers grazing the edge of the map before you, tracing the ink-stained borders of a world they sought to carve into something that suited their desires.

“Studied warfare?” you echoed, tilting your head.

And then, with a slow blink, you lifted your gaze, your voice turning soft, thoughtful—dangerous.

“Tell me, Your Highness, has Lord Callas ever read about the sound a man makes when his lungs freeze from the inside out?”

Callas stiffened.

You did not stop.

“Or perhaps he studied the way a body turns brittle in the cold, the way flesh cracks apart like shattered glass when left in the dead of winter?”

The temperature in the room seemed to shift.

It wasn’t real, at least not yet, but the weight of your words made the air feel thinner, evident in the firelight flickering against the frost creeping at the edges of the war table.

“There is a difference,” you continued, voice cooling like a blade dipped in ice, “between knowing war and surviving it.”

The crown prince’s fingers stilled against the wood.

His smirk, polished and practiced, barely flickered.

But you saw the tension settle into his frame.

“You forget your place, Princess.”

You tilted your chin slightly, meeting his stare without hesitation.

“No, Your Highness.” A slow smirk curved your lips, one that did not reach your eyes. “I believe you forget mine.”

A sharp inhale, his eyes narrowed.

And the tension stretched.

And then Zayne spoke.

“Careful, brother.”

The words were low, unhurried, amused.

He hadn’t moved from his position, still leaning against the table’s edge, arms crossed, posture effortless.

But there was something different now.

There was a quiet shift in the air, a subtle weight settling across the chamber.

Zayne tilted his head slightly, his smirk lazy, his words laced with mock concern.

“Wouldn’t want to raise your voice at your future wife.”

A beat.

“It would be… unseemly.”

The jab landed clean.

A few courtiers glanced away, shifting in their seats while some others barely concealed their intrigue.

The crown prince’s patience snapped like ice underfoot.

“Enough.”

Zayne arched a brow.

“Oh?” He exhaled, feigning a look, thoughtful.

“Have I offended you? That wasn’t my intention.”

A pause.

“Not entirely, anyway.”

The crown prince stood.

And Zayne, never one to be outdone, stood his ground.

The shift was immediate.

The air turned sharp, the warmth of the torches dimming slightly, the faintest hint of frost licking at the stone beneath their feet.

A subtle show of power.

Silent, but undeniable.

A challenge.

The room stilled as the tension coiled, as cold crept along the edges of the chamber, biting at the air between them.

Zayne’s smirk remained, but his breath misted slightly in the cooling air.

The crown prince’s fingers curled against the wood of the chair, frost cracking along its edges.

The courtiers felt it.

You could see it in the way they hesitated, in the way they darted quick, careful glances between the two brothers, one, the heir to the throne and the other who had no interest in it.

But of course, power did not care for intentions.

Zayne’s voice was softer than it should have been, given the weight behind it.

“Careful, brother.”

A quiet breath.

The frost spread an inch further.

And the crown prince said nothing.

Not yet.

You could feel the frost creeping along the war table, spreading in thin, jagged lines across the polished wood.

The torches flickered, their flames dimming under the weight of the cold pressing into the chamber.

The air was sharp, biting, charged with a tension that no one dared to break.

The prince sat rigid, fingers curled around the armrest of his chair, ice cracking under his grip.

Across from him, Zayne stood with effortless ease, hands resting against the table, expression unreadable.

The cold between them wasn’t just power, it was a warning.

No one in the room moved.

The courtiers watched carefully, caught between fear and fascination, knowing full well what a battle between brothers could mean.

You, however, were already tired of it.

Fingers tapping against your goblet, you let out a slow breath.

“Tell me, are we really going to start a blizzard indoors?”

The frost stopped.

The crown prince’s eyes flicked toward you, irritation flickering behind them.

Across the table, Zayne’s smirk deepened.

“I’d win.”

The prince’s jaw tightened. “Would you?”

The torches wavered and the temperature dropped another degree.

Zayne leaned forward slightly, ice blooming beneath his fingertips, creeping just a little closer to his brother’s.

“Do you really want to find out?”

The courtiers stiffened.

“That’s enough, boys.”

With a calm breath, you placed your palm against the war table, letting your fingers trail through the frost.

The ice melted beneath your touch, fading into nothing.

The shift was immediate.

Not an attack. Not a challenge.

A reminder.

The frost recoiled.

The tension however, did not.

Your gaze slid between them, unimpressed.

“Are we done?”

Silence stretched, heavy and unyielding, before the prince finally exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to relax.

The ice at his hands faded, his expression smoothing back into his normal, unfazed look.

Zayne watched him for a moment longer before leaning back, smirk still present, but the storm in his eyes dimming.

He met your stare briefly, as if to say he understood exactly what you had done.

You pick up your goblet, fingers curling around the metal that was still warm from your touch.

“If the theatrics are over, perhaps we can get back to actual politics.”

Zayne chuckled under his breath.

The prince said nothing, but the irritation in his gaze was clear.

The courtiers hesitated before shifting back into quiet discussion, the meeting resuming as if nothing had happened.

But as Zayne tilted his head slightly, watching you with quiet amusement, you knew the fight wasn’t over.

It had only just begun.

—•

The corridors of the palace were empty, save for the two of you. The torches lining the stone walls flickered weakly, casting shifting shadows against the cold marble floors.

The weight of the meeting still clung to the air, lingering like frost long after the ice had faded from the war table.

You walked beside Zayne in silence, steps slow, measured.

You could still feel the tension from earlier, the quiet storm between him and his brother, the unspoken challenge.

But, this felt different.

This wasn’t the casual, detached Zayne who always lingered at the edges of power, just close enough to influence, but never enough to claim it.

No.

This Zayne felt closer. Sharper. Decisive.

“You handled them well,” he said eventually, voice smooth, but lacking its usual amusement.

You glanced at him, arching a brow. “You mean I handled you well.”

That earned you a flicker of something familiar.

A smirk, faint and fleeting. “If that helps you sleep at night.”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “You enjoyed that too much.”

Zayne’s smirk didn’t last.

Instead, he slowed, gaze drifting toward the high windows where moonlight stretched across the stone floor.

“He makes it easy.”

He.

You didn’t need to ask who.

The crown prince. His younger brother. The man you were meant to marry.

The man Zayne had once let rule without challenge.

But something had changed. You could feel it.

His fingers twitched at his sides, barely noticeable, but enough for you to see the tension in him.

A tension that hadn’t been there before.

You studied him carefully. “You never wanted the throne.”

His jaw shifted slightly. A slow exhale. “No.”

But there was something else in his voice now. Something new.

“And now?”

Zayne didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he leaned against one of the columns, arms folding across his chest, eyes flickering toward the darkened hallway beyond.

“Now, things are different.”

Your breath caught, just slightly.

“Because of him?”

A humorless chuckle.

“Because of you.”

You stopped in your tracks.

Zayne tilted his head, gaze settling on you fully now.

Nog lazy, not indifferent, but weighted with intent.

“I spent my whole life letting him have it,” he murmured.

“Because I knew what that crown did to people. What power did.”

His fingers tapped absently against his arm, slow, deliberate.

“You take the throne, and suddenly you don’t own yourself anymore. Every move, every word, every alliance, every sacrifice—”

His voice dipped lower. “You don’t rule it. It rules you.”

His eyes darkened. “And I never wanted to belong to it.”

You swallowed. “But now you do?”

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t break your gaze.

But the shift in him was undeniable.

He wasn’t just watching the game anymore.

He was stepping into it.

“Now, the prize is worth it.”

He didn’t say your name.

He didn’t have to.

Because you both knew exactly what he meant.

The air between you was cold, but the tension was sharper.

The corridor stretched long and empty, the torches casting flickering shadows against the stone.

But you weren’t looking at the walls, or the flames.

You were looking at him.

At the weight of his words still hanging between you.

“Now, the prize is worth it.”

Your expression didn’t change, but something in your chest twisted.

Heat curled under your skin, not from anger, but from something close to disappointment.

You stepped forward, closing the space between you, forcing his full attention.

“A prize?” Your voice was soft, feeling offended.

Zayne didn’t move, his expression unreadable, but you caught it.

The flicker of tension, the way he had expected this.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” You didn’t let him look away.

“You talk about power like it’s a game. Like the throne is a war you’ve suddenly decided is worth fighting because of me.”

His jaw tensed. “That’s not—”

“I am not a prize.” Your voice was steady, unwavering. “Not a throne to be claimed. Not a crown to be won.”

His eyes darkened, but he stayed silent.

“I have spent my life being bartered, measured, weighed for my worth. I won’t let you do the same.”

Zayne’s gaze held yours, quiet but relentless.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was low, but there was something behind it, something deeper than frustration.

You swallowed, but didn’t speak.

“You are not a prize, Princess.” His words were deliberate, calm, unshaken. “But you are worth fighting for.”

The torches crackled in the silence. His expression didn’t soften, but the intensity in his gaze was unmistakable.

“And you deserve someone who will.”

Zayne never wasted words.

That is why they are impossible to ignore.

You know you should have walked away.

Left him standing there in the dim corridor, let his words fade into the silence.

But you didn’t.

Zayne watched you, waiting.

His words hung between you, firm and unshaken. He wasn’t taking them back.

He wasn’t giving you an easy way out.

“And if I don’t want to be fought over at all?” Your voice was quieter now, controlled, but not weak.

His head tilted slightly. “Then I’ll stop.”

The words came too easily.

They should have reassured you, should have given you the control you wanted.

But something about the way he said them, the way his gaze held steady, the way his body remained perfectly still, made you wonder if he was lying.

Or worse, if he was telling the truth.

If you told him to stop, he would.

But that didn’t mean he would ever truly let you go.

You exhaled, fingers curling at your sides. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

Zayne let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t care about simplicity.”

Your lips parted, ready to argue, but before you could speak, he moved.

Not closer, not away, just a shift of weight, a breath of space given and taken in the same moment.

Your breath caught.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

His gaze flicked down to your hands, still clenched at your sides.

His fingers twitched at his own, like he might reach out. Like he had the right to.

He didn’t.

But it would be so easy.

Your throat tightened. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?” His voice was smooth, maddeningly calm. “Tell the truth?”

You inhaled sharply. “Act like this is a choice.”

His smirk faded slightly. “It’s always been a choice. The only difference is I’ve finally made mine.”

Your stomach twisted. “Zayne—”

“No.” His voice was steady, firmer than before. “You don’t get to tell me I should have wanted the throne all these years, then be angry when I finally decide to take it.”

Your pulse pounded against your ribs. “You’re only doing this because of me.”

Zayne’s gaze darkened. “Yes.”

The admission was too quick. No hesitation.

Your fingers curled. “That’s not how this works.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Then tell me…how does it work?”

You weren’t sure who moved first.

But suddenly, the space between you disappeared, stolen in an instant.

The cold of the corridor pressed in, but his body was warm.

Too close, too much, too familiar.

Zayne’s breath brushed against your skin.

His voice was low, controlled, edged with something raw.

“If you think I’ll stand by while you’re bound to another man, a man who wants to use you as a bargaining chip, then you never knew me at all.”

Your throat tightened.

Your hands shook.

But still, you didn’t move away.

The space between you disappeared.

Not by hesitation. Not by accident.

By choice.

Zayne’s breath was warm against your skin, his body close enough that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest.

The flickering torchlight caught the sharp angles of his face, the shadowed curve of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes that had been building for way too long.

Your pulse pounded.

Every rational thought screamed for distance, for restraint, for control.

But control had been slipping since the moment he stepped into this fight.

Since the moment he chose you.

His hand lifted, hovering near your waist, fingers twitching as if caught between restraint and inevitability.

You felt the hesitation, the last fragile thread of self-control fraying at the edges.

You could stop this.

You should.

But you didn’t.

Your fingers curled into the front of his tunic, just barely, just enough that he felt it.

The moment stretched between you, heavy and breathless, before he finally moved.

His lips crashed into yours, fierce and unrelenting, years of tension snapping in an instant.

There was nothing hesitant about the way he kissed you, nothing careful in the way his hands could finally grip your waist, pulling you against him, pressing you into the cold stone wall as if he had been holding back for too long and had finally given in.

Heat surged under your skin, your body igniting in a way that had nothing to do with magic.

You gasped against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, gripping tighter when his teeth scraped against your lower lip.

Zayne exhaled sharply, breaking the kiss just long enough to rest his forehead against yours.

His breath was ragged, his grip firm.

Like he was afraid to let go.

“Say it,” he murmured.

Your fingers curled into his sleeves, voice barely steady.

“Say what?”

His lips brushed yours again, teasing, testing the last remnants of your resolve. “That you don’t want this.”

“That you don’t want me.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because it would be a lie.

And you both knew it.

His smirk returned, softer this time, his thumb tracing slow circles along your hip. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t stop him when he kissed you again.

Because, you wanted this.

[andorerso]

REBELCAPTAIN APPRECIATION WEEK 2024 | @therebelcaptainnetwork

↳ Day 2: Media Adaptation/Missing Scene: My Lady Jane AU

Lady Jyn Erso wanted nothing at all to do with Lord Cassian Andor, the man she was set to marry. If anyone bothered to ask why, she would give them three simple reasons.

One, anything her villainous Uncle Krennic wanted was usually a dreadful idea, and the opposite of what Jyn wanted.

Two, she hadn’t met her husband-to-be, but she’d heard his reputation. Ice prince, they called him. Unflappable and unconscionable. Jyn was fire and fury, not at all a good match to someone who was rumored to be the most impersonal man in all of England.

Three, she didn’t desire the burden of marriage. Jyn Erso wasn’t built to sit around silently, obeying her husband like a dutiful housewife.

But nobody cared how she felt. Krennic wanted the Andors’ wealth, and the Andors, from what she gathered, wanted the title and prestige that came with her familial ties to the crown. The matter was decided; she would be marrying Cassian Andor, even if they had to drag her down the aisle kicking and screaming…

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg <3 | divider by @jiyaxedits <3

Through The Years

Jotun!King!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Æsir!Queen!Reader

Summary: This story takes you and Loki on a journey through the twins life. From their first steps all the way to their first time falling in love.

Warnings for this Chapter: bit angst? sad/slightly desperate Loki, drama, yelling? fluff

Word Count: 3k

a/n: This chapter is a very important one, I'd say. After all, we are going to find out who is going to be the heir to the throne! 👀

Also, I thought I post this today, because it's Tomathy's birthday! 🥳🥰

Tags: @eleniblue @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @multifandom-worlds @huntedmusicgardenn @lokiforever @captain-camille @lokisgoodgirl @smolvenger @hisredheadedgoddess28 @glitchquake @chennqingg @icytrickster17 @princess-ofthe-pages @crimson25 @buttercupcookies-blog @elegantcheesecakecrown @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @loz-3 @herdetectivetheorist @simping-for-marvel @km-ffluv @stupidthoughtsinwriting @jennyggggrrr @lady-rose-moon @salvinaa @lovingchoices14 @irishhappiness @sheris532 @princessdragon23 @xxannyxx

❄️ Chapter Three ❄️ Chapter Five ❄️

Ice Flower AU Masterlist ❄ Loki Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

Chapter Four - The Crown Prince

"What bothers you, my king?" You asked your husband in a soft, hushed voice - not to startle him. He was standing on the big balcony of your shared chambers, gazing into distance. Loki and the landscape to his feet were bathed in bright, soft blue moonlight; illuminating the dark. Summers on Jotunheim were beautiful, you learned. Some might would not expect this, but it was true. It wasn't super warm though, unlike on Asgard. Warm enough to grow crops and such, but that was it. Certainly not warm enough to run around naked - at least for you. While Loki stood there in nothing but his sleep loincloth, you were tightly wrapped up in your Asgardian dressing gown - plus some warm fur slippers. The nights were colder anyway.

"Is it what I think it is?" You questioned him further; now wrapping your hands around his strong torso; hugging him from behind. "The announcement?" You felt how Loki took a deep breath and sighed, "Yes, my queen." before he put his big hands on your smaller ones. "I... I am afraid I made the wrong decision and..." You ran your thumb in a caressing manner over the bulging muscles of his abs. "And?" He swallowed. "I never wanted to choose. I knew from the moment they were born that I had to one day, but... I never wanted to carry this burden. Why cannot decide someone else? The people? Or our advisors?" You sighed as well, knowing how bad he felt. "I know, my love, I know, but... Unfortunately, it's the king's decision. It always was; always will be." He scoffed, clearly affected by all this. "I remember that day... Clearly. Father chose Thor. Being the first born was to his advantage, but... Nevertheless, Odin would've chosen my brother. He believed he was the better king. Wiser. More mature. I accepted it - and in the end, I'm glad he didn't choose me. Because if he had, who knows if our paths ever crossed? I doubt it." The king squeezed your hands gently; loving - bathing in your embrace. "Well, I am glad, too, love. I am lucky to call you my queen now - and wife. I wouldn't want any other princess. Just you. Always you..." He muttered, pausing. "But this is different... Our boys are twins. No first born. No one of them has an advantage. By the norns, I wouldn't even want that... We always treated them equally - how it should be and now... Now I am forced to favour one of them. As a father, this is cruel."

Your heart broke at his words. You knew very well how he must feel. It wasn't fair - but that was a burden of being alive... Sometimes it was just not fair. "I know, my love, I know," you whispered and pressed a lingering kiss on the soft skin of his bare back. "I find this just as cruel as you do. Parents shouldn't have to ever put one child over the others and it's just not fair, but... Life unfortunately isn't fair..." You spoke the words on your mind, but stopped to press another reassuring kiss on his skin. "You need to remind yourself that this is a decision you make as a king. Not as a father." You could hear your husband swallowing again, before he turned in your embrace and lowered his upper body, in order to press his forehead against yours. "Should I mirror your words in front of them? Tell Áki and Váli that I'd never make this decision as a father, but have to as a king?" You nodded. "Yes. I think it would be important for them to know." Another deep sigh left your husband's lips. "I hope they'll understand... I don't know what to do if they don't."

You loosened your grip around his torso and lifted your hands to cup his cheeks; giving Loki a soft smile. "They'll understand. I know they will." The king nodded, squeezed his eyes shut and held you even closer. You let him, of course, enjoyed the tight embrace you were in.

"Let's go to bed, my king, shall we?" "Yes." You led Loki back to your marital bed then, sunk together with him in the sheets and held him close. It was just what he needed that night. The undying, unshakeable love and support of his wife.

Nevertheless, didn't have Loki a restful night. He tossed and turned from time to time; thoughts running wild inside his head. That was the reason why he was up quite early; watching the sun rise over Jotunheim.

You woke up with the sun as well; sleepy eyes searching for your husband. "Loki?" "Over here, my love." Your eyes followed his voice. He was sitting on the settee in front of the empty fireplace; gaze settled on you. "Good morning, darling." You smiled sleepy; stretching your limbs. "Good morning." You could feel his beautiful ruby eyes on you; watching you with an overwhelming amount of love and gentleness. But when your gaze met his, you could also see how troubled he was. Still. Your expression softened. "C'mere, my love." Reaching out your hand towards him, you waited for him to take it.

It only took him a few seconds to bridge the distance between the settee and bed; eagerly taking your hand into his and intertwining your fingers. You pulled him gently closer, until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he had no other choice but to lean down. With a soft, loving smile, you caught his lips with yours; kissing him lazily. Loki's eyes fluttered shut; heart beating faster. He'd never get tired of kissing you. Never.

"Have you decided yet?" Your sweet voice urged to his ears; pulling the king down on the harsh reality. Perhaps he got lost in your eyes for a few moments... With a deep sigh he nodded, "I have, yes." and told you this important decision.

"What do you think of it? Do I... Do I make the right choice, my queen?" Loki was so uncertain and troubled. You'd even go as far and say that he was afraid. So, you tried your best to comfort him. Just like you did last night. "I'd say you do, yes." You said honestly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "He'll make a great further king. I am convinced by that."

Mere hours later, the king of Jotunheim was in his throne room, sitting upon his throne. His leg bounced nervously up and down; he definitely felt the burden of the upcoming event on his shoulders, weighing him down. Like hypnotized, he stared on the big doors, waiting for them to open - which they did only a few minutes later, revealing two guards and his twin sons. The guards let them in, took a bow and closed the doors again, leaving the three men alone.

"You wanted to see us, dad?" Áki was the first one to talk; being definitely the braver twin. Puberty changed the young men, of course, but not their characters. Áki was brave and talkative, while Váli was shyer and more reserved. Not that Váli didn't have braveness within him, but not as much as his brother.

Loki nodded, took a deep breath. "How to begin with?" He muttered to himself, before standing up and stepped closer to his sons. "I have to talk with you both about something important. But not here. Let's take a walk, shall we?" Said and done. Father and sons left the palace only minutes later. "Do we have to be afraid of what you need to tell us?" Váli asked, eyeing Loki with a slightly worried gaze. "No, it's... It's..." The king took another breath. "You are now 20 years old. You've grown into big, strong and wise men - without a doubt. And I couldn't be prouder of you. I really am - and so is your mother." The twin brothers exchanged a sceptical look. Not that they never heard those words from their father before, no - quite the opposite, but... Something in Loki's voice was different. Áki and Váli could tell. "You learned so much in all those years. About Jotunheim, about your heritage, about how to act as princes - and you're doing it to perfection." Loki paused. "It is time for me to make a decision. I avoided it for a long time; tried to escape it, but... I can't do it much longer. Our people, the advisors - yes, the whole kingdom expects from me to finally decide. And I have. I had to."

Váli frowned at his father, while Áki already had a guess. "What is this all about, dad?" Loki sighed. "The throne. My successor." Váli was definitely more surprised than his brother. "T-The throne? You are telling us who the crown prince is going to be?" "Exactly, my son." Áki just nodded. "We're ready for it. I am ready for it." Loki smiled at his sons. "I know you both are. I just don't know if I am ready. Well, I guess I'll never be - but that doesn't matter." The king swallowed hard. "But before I am going to tell you this, I want you both to know that it wasn't an easy decision for me. I thought long about this. Mostly even at night. I want you to know, that I made this decision as a king - not as a father. I never would. My love for you is equally strong. It always was and it always will be. I love you more than life itself, my sons." Áki smiled, just like his brother. "We love you, too." Váli agreed. "We do - and we know that you'd never favour one of us above the other as a father, but have to as a king."

Those words meant a lot to Loki; helping to ease his fear and worries a bit. He stopped and turned to place a hand on a shoulder of each twin. "This means a lot to me. I'm glad you understand. Now that that's settled..." Loki swallowed hard. "Váli, Áki... Each of you is perfectly qualified for the throne, but... I'd like you to be the future king of Asgard, Váli." The young man's eyes widened. He absolutely hadn't seen that coming. He always had expected his brother to be the future king. Áki was stronger, braver - a warrior and a true Jotun, while Váli was... Just himself. A bit dreamy, quiet and had his nose always buried in a book. Despite that, he looked like his mother - an Æsir. Not Jotun. Was that really what his father wanted? What the people wanted?

"W-What? M-Me?" Loki nodded. "Yes, you, Váli." "B-But... Why?" The king smiled softly. "Because you are smart, wise and kind. You always make the right decisions. You are well-read and know how to rule." Váli was literally speechless. His lips moved, but now words left his mouth. "And I am not?!" The angry, clearly jealous voice of Áki cut through the air. Loki quickly redirected his attention, looked his other son in the eyes. "I never said that, Áki. You are smart and wise. You have a lot of kindness in you as well, but-" "But what?!" The furious prince literally spat. "You're a bit hot-headed. You have so much passion and energy flowing through your veins. You, my son, are the greatest warrior I have ever seen. Even greater than I am - which is why I believe, that it would be better for you to defend our home. Make sure it's safe. I want you to stand at your brother's side as his first advisor and leader of our army."

Unlike his brother, Áki rather had expected to be crowned future king. He always found himself perfect for this. Worthy of becoming a king. He didn't want to be jealous of his brother. He really didn't, because he loved Váli dearly. But the heat of the moment and his slightly hot-headed nature blinded him.

Áki answered nothing to his father's almost desperate try to explanation. He just scoffed and stormed off, leaving a distraught Loki behind. This certainly didn't go as planned. That was exactly what Loki always wanted to prevent... What he was fleeing from...

It was already quite late, when Loki decided to approach his son again, in order to talk to him. The king knew, that he couldn't spend the night in peace without having talked to Áki. You told Loki to give him some space, which he understood - but he couldn't wait any longer. He had to talk to him. So, Loki went to his chambers, but found them empty. Áki wasn't there. It didn't stop the king, though. He had a guess, knew exactly where he would most likely find the prince. While Váli preferred to escape into the secret room in the library, whenever he needs to be alone, his brother fled to the training grounds. That's where Loki went next - and he was successful. Áki was there, letting out all his anger and frustration on a Jotun sized target. His sword beat down on it, over and over again; abusing the wooden surface and causing it to splinter. Loki took a deep breath, feeling his nerves again.

"Son..." Áki immediately stopped at the sound of his father's voice. Breathing heavily, with his chest rising and falling quickly, he turned around to face Loki. "What do you want?" "I want to talk with you." Áki released a breathless, derisive chuckle. "Didn't we already talk enough?" Another deep sigh left Loki's lips; desperation crawling up in him once again. "Please, Áki. I know this frustrates you, but-" "No!" The young prince cuts him off. "I don't understand your motives, father! We both know I'd be the better king!" Áki insisted; fury ruby eyes meeting his father's identical ones. "I never denied that! I know you'd be a great king!" "Then why I won't get to be king?!" Loki inhaled sharply and closed his eyes for a moment. "Because of your temper and hot-headed nature. Those aren't exceptionally bad characteristics - and you know that, but-" "But what?!" The prince spat. "Let me finish my sentence, young man, and you'll hear!" Loki had a short fuse sometimes as well. Like father, like son... Áki clapped his mouth shut at Loki's small outburst and took a submissive step back; turned into a little boy again within seconds. "A-Apologies, father." Loki gave him an intense look and crossed his arms over his chest. "I believe that you can use those... abilities of yours way better in being the leader of our army. You fit perfectly in this role. You were always destined to be a warrior. Just like I am. Just like your mother was." The king's anger deflagrated quickly again, when he saw the hurt and sorrowful look in his son's eyes. A little boy once again, indeed.

Loki sighed and stepped closer to his son; placed a hand on his bare shoulder. "Look, I... That is exactly what I always wanted to prevent. What I always was afraid of - since yours and your brother's birth. I knew I had to choose someday - and it scared me to death. Because of that. Because I had to disappoint one of you. I am sorry, son. I truly am. I... I hoped I would be able to compensate your loss of the throne with the position as the leader of our warriors and first advisor, ruling at your brother's side and supporting him like nobody else could..." Loki swallowed, "But I'm afraid, I failed." and shook his head. "But my decision stands. My offer stands." He sighed. "Again, I am truly sorry, Áki. I hope that one day you can wrap your head around this and forgive me - and perhaps accept my gift for you. You can be angry. You have every right to be angry, but please... Don't blame your brother for this. Don't let him feel your wrath." With those words Loki let go of Áki and stepped back in order to leave. "And please... Don't let me lose my son. I couldn't bear it." The king knew when he lost - and that was the case, so he turned around and walked away.

What he didn't expect, though, was Áki's voice, holding him back. "Dad, wait!" He almost yelled, before adding in a quiet voice: "Please..." Loki stopped dead in his tracks. "I... I didn't mean to react the way I did. I shouldn't have reacted that way. It was... inappropriate." Loki swallowed and turned around slowly to face Áki again. "You're right. I have a temper... And I am hot-headed as well. It took over. I got lost in the heat of the moment. I should be grateful for what you're giving me... Not angry." Loki's words hit the young prince; cleared his foggy brain. He could see straight again. "If anyone should be sorry, it's me. Please forgive me, dad." Áki lowered his head in shame and regret.

The king couldn't believe his ears. His son's opinion changed within seconds. His heart skipped undeniably a beat; hoping for an immediate reconciliation with his son.

Loki stepped closer again - and once more found his hand the young warrior's shoulder. This gesture caused him to lift his head again; looking straight in his father's eyes. All Loki could see now in those pools of red was regret and pure honesty. He smiled softly. "Apology accepted." Áki's eyes widened. "W-What? Really?" Loki nodded. "Yes. Like I said... You had every right to be angry. I often acted the same way when I was your age." "Really?" "Really." "S-So... You're forgiving me?" Another smile grazed Loki's cerulean lips. "Of course, son. You're forgiven - but... Apologise to your brother as well. He's blaming himself already the whole day... He even thought about refusing the throne, handing it over to you and learning to fight...." Áki's eyes widened. "By the norns... Of course, I am going to apologise!"

[kenttyy]

Been listening to this song for a while now and Ive already drawn something for it (i dont know how to link im sorry i dont know how this shit works)

Let me tell ya more about the au! I think it fits alternate universe - magical realm

Micheal is the king and he has three children. Nico R., Sebastian and Nico H. He doesnt have a good relationship with Nico R. because he is from his first marriage with a Finn princess which was arranged by the king’s council. Him and Rosberg are really different from each other because Nico is more like his mother and he has absorbed his mother’s magic while he was in the womb. So when he gets sick of Micheal forcing him to be a fire prince he runs away to North, to his mother’s kingdom.

Micheal doesnt have much time with Nico H because Hulk dies at young age. Im thinking about his fire and ice powers being exhausting to his child body. Nico R. and his mother is the same princess. The princess is Mika’s sister. Micheal mourns for him but quickly turns his attention to Sebastian, his one and only true heir according to him.

Sebastian is the one who turned out to be a fire prince just like Micheal and he has been tutored for ages to take over the crown from his father. He deeply cares for his siblings. He still writes some letters to Nico R. to inform him about whats going on and visits Hulk’s tombstone at their sacred garden.

Sebastian is everything to Micheal and when he is on his death bed he gives the crown to him and tells him to thrive just like him. While Micheal was suffering an enemy strikes. Who? Of fucking course Fernando!

Anyways I really like this au and I plan to draw more :D

[bts-0t-7]

Breaking Bonds | PJM | Chapter 1

Pair: Fae Jimin x Nymph reader 

Summary: Stripped from your own birthright, you suffer at the hands of your people. But after all, you couldn’t blame them. Having enough, you left in the middle of the snowy days but things didn’t go as you planned. Jimin, pulled by an unspeakable force, ventures out into the blizzard to find a body face-first on the ground. Your love and connection is forbidden - looked down upon. But the both of you are willing to try. However, where there are dreams there are prices to pay. How will the both of you push through? Can the both of you do it?

Genre: Strangers to lovers, fantasy au, Jimin is the CROWN PRINCE (I mean-), angst, kidnapping, smut

WC: 2932

The history of the fae and nymphs - elements that used to live together harmoniously. Like the primary and secondary elements of life and magic, the love between faes and nymphs was sacred - so sacred that only royals had the right to arrange a marriage between their children. 

But hundreds of centuries later, amongst the roots of enmity that were fueled by old grudges and misunderstandings, blew out of proportion and affected many citizens. 

The dark history between them that started was marked by blood in the ledger books. The first is The Great Rift. The conflicts between faes and nymphs are often referred to in this phrase as the powerful fae kingdom taking lands that were traditionally inhabited by the nymphs. Territorial dispute ignited much hostility and opposition. This therefore caused the lack of resources. Both mystical beings relied on the same natural elements to thrive from the magical essence in their forests. 

And within these battles of dominance grew something more than just territory but also magical supremacy. Each mystical being possesses its own unique and elemental powers. As the war grew to a larger scale, betrayals were not able to be prevented. A web of alliances and betrayals intermingle with the supernatural races while leading to mutual distrust. 

The history was marred by not one, not two, but five different wars at different times. Both sides inflicted much suffering on the other. The wars led to untold loss with neither willing to yield. The main lasting repercussions come in, especially in the revised laws that were enacted to prevent any form of interaction or alliance between fae and nymph. Love between individuals of two races was seen as a dangerous threat to the stability of their respective societies.

The history was written in blood and the older generation of both races have a hard time letting go of their prejudices. 

And here lies the snowstorm. 

In the middle of the forest, where the snow blasts down like little chilling knives slicing through your skin and a good three feet of snow -

Your kind were the ice nymphs, once the royal family, now stripped of your title and an outcast amongst your kind. Where the fae folk thrived, you ventured - away from the place you once called home, now a barren room barely the size of a storage room. The scars of the Cold War between the nymphs still lingered, leaving the kingdom in the easy grip of the Lyrin fae.

You kind - the ice nymphs - were rare to come about, each one of your veins flows with the power of winter. In the lores, your kind was told to have a beauty that was like a fragile kind of enchantment, with hair as pale as frost, and skin as delicate as the first snowfall. 

There were only a few times that you have looked in the mirror - countable with five fingers. After your family was stripped of their title, with you accordingly, life was never the same. Your people, with no place to go, lost trust and justice in you. 

Desperation drove her journey as she yearned to escape the dark shadow of your people’s fall that hung over her head like a knife over the bed. Even with the ice in your veins, that winter night, when the biting frost finally embraced you and hunger gnawed at your core, your strength failed. You had pushed yourself as far as you could but as the sun dipped below the horizon, your body could no longer hold you up, giving in to your exhaustion and malnutrition. 

Lying beneath the icy canopy, you were a fragile, half-dead being that is an easy hunt for food for predators living around the area. Your eyes swerved back, trying to calculate how far you might have to go back for shelter. But you didn’t know. 

You had walked without a direction, lost in the depths of the Lyrin forest. Frostbites numbed your limbs and your brain was moving slower from the exhuation. But there it was, amidst the unforgiving cold and darkness, you sensed a presence stirring. 

Your hazed hearing registered the crunch of footsteps in the snow as your blurry vision sent your brain to somebody standing next to you. Your eyes roll around until you have a clearer picture of who it is. A man with dark hair, brown eyes, and plush lips, dressed in regal attire with a crest of the fae kingdom. Lyrin was one of the biggest fae kingdoms and everybody knows their crests. After all, it was them who led the battles many years ago. It was them that inflicted the harm and loss on your people. It was them that had killed the ruling family back then. 

Your family. 

But he wasn’t the one who took the action. No, he was almost as old as you were and then, the both of you were barely kids. 

Prince Jimin, they called him. 

The golden sunlight. 

The crown of Lyrin weighed heavily on his shoulders. He knew the crowning ceremony would be soon, and this winter, he wanted to let go and be just a man until he could no longer. Once he takes over the throne from his father, his duty to serve his country is solely on his shoulders. There was much to do and many things he would like to change, but even as king, these little ideas - as his father likes to call them - had to go through the council. 

And Jimin knows that the old hags would never approve of it. 

It went beyond the revised edition of the old laws. 

To reconcile with the nymphs. 

Jiminhad ventured into the forest today, going around with no direction, guided purely by an inexplicable force. The kingdom, although a realm of enchantment, was deeply tainted by the darkness of its past. If all was silent enough, one could still hear the shrieks and cries of the souls. The darkness had bred a strong sense of hatred and fear between faes and nymphs. Their mating was now an old tale of forbidden love - a story buried deep in history. 

As he ventured further into the woods, he stumbled upon the nymph, your frail form half-buried in the snow. Your beauty, even in your weak state, took the breath right out of his lungs. He recognized you as a nymph with your small frame and pale, white hair. But it wasn’t completely white. It shone like the silvers of the moonlight when light reflected off it. 

But it was when he moved to pick you up that he saw your family’s sigil, now faded from royal to common, that told him - you were no ordinary nymph. As his arms went under the ice, you stirred slightly at the movement. As you opened her eyes, he was completely taken aback by the sheer blue shade of your pupils. 

Even with one foot into the Underworld, you looked ethereal to him. Jimin was snapped out of his daze when your frostbitten lips whispered a plea for help. In that moment, all history and hatred were forgotten. With fae swiftness, he scooped your fragile state - lighter than air - into his arms and covered you with his coat. 

Determined to save her, he summoned a warm breeze that melted the frost from your body and sealed you in a cocoon of warmth. Jimin only dared to start running faster to his horse when colour slowly came back to your lips. Ensuring that you were safely tucked in his arms, Jimin ran back to the castle, fighting against death who wanted to take the girl in his arms. 

As days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. The little nymph’s life continued to hang in the balance and Jimin was a mess. He made every doctor attend to you, pacing around the bedroom day and night. He had caused an uproar in the kingdom when they found out that their crown prince had brought back a nymph - even more than this one that was from the late royal family - and was nursing her back to health. 

His father had threatened to strip him of his title if he did not abandon you. But he could not do it. So it started the feud between father and son, neither backing down. Jimin understood that his late grandfather and his father had a feud among the nymphs, had been the ones who executed them and had been the ones to fight at the front lines. They were the ones who brought Lyrin to what it is today - expanded. But as Jimin studied the history of both parties, he felt a certain connection to the nymphs. 

He did not want to be a ruler where their mystical counterparts would be afraid of them. He did not want to be a ruler like his father - ruling by fear from an iron fist. 

While doctors attended to you, Jimin watched them with sharp eyes, ensuring that none of the doctors would slip anything into your bloodstream. When nothing helped and your state was only getting worse, Jimin grew more and more anxious. He had sifted through books and hunted down the Old Scripts.

He learned that your name was L/N Y/N, the youngest of the last ruling family. Your father had been killed in the war, your mother led you and your siblings to safety but soon after passed due to the broken mate bond. Your siblings were either caught by his father’s cavalry or died of starvation, leaving only you. Your records were still in the kingdom, seemingly down till two days before he met you. That means that you were active in your own kingdom, at your people’s mercy until you left.

He looked back at where you lay still on the bed. 

And if he didn’t find you, you would have probably been dead by now. 

You woke up to the warmth and luxury of a place you had only dreamed of. Your body was still weak and you didn’t know what happened after passing out. Slowly rising to consciousness, you found yourself in a room of blue and white, drapes swinging in the wind. But you registered that the windows weren’t open and the room was cold like… ice?

Winter may be the season but no room was made to stay cold unless the elements of the magicians’ are meant to stay cold. 

Like you.

You curled your fingertips, feeling the soft, silky sheets beneath them. Trying to view the room from your current position - lying flat on the bed with a head that feels as heavy as bricks - you were taken aback by the sheer language it screams. 

Royalty. 

From the materials beneath your body to the furniture displayed, the decorations and architecture of the room, they were all beyond your imagination. You had not stepped into such a room since the battle. As you looked around, you realised the room was not originally made to stay cold. The fireplace seemed to be covered in a layer of dust but the decorations on them were clean. 

And although you knew that this was not your room, the calming temperature felt just like home. But you had not been in a room like this for a very long time. Distantly, you heard the opening and closing of a door. Your eyes immediately shot in the direction of the sound just to find a man already standing beside the bed. 

You were immediately broken out of your thoughts when you realised who it was and where exactly you were. You did not need to open the windows to know - you were on enemy territory. The rulers who killed your family. The rulers who brought demise onto your people. 

But looking at the man, clad in a loose tunic and pants, dark brown hair ruffled in all directions, you couldn’t find yourself to hate him. Even as you knew that he shared the purest blood with the murderer, you knew that he… was just like you. 

A family’s misdoings do not mean a child’s downfall. 

One’s choice does not equal the choice of another. 

You sink deeper into the sheets, holding in your sigh as you close your eyes. 

“Oh!” Your eyes shot open to see the man right in front of you. “Oh, you’re awake! Oh, finally! Wait - wait - let me call the physicians!”

Your brain couldn’t register his words fast enough before you saw his body move so fast it was just a blurry shade running down the stairs. Or maybe it was just your vision that was a little crusty. Rubbing your eyes as you yawned, you got up from the bed. You wouldn’t like to overstay your stay, especially not in a place where your head was on a bounty. 

You had left your kingdom only to be stuck in another. 

Sighing, you looked down to your feet -

Your arms shot to cover your already clothed body. Wait, wait, wait - 

Your hands patted yourself down. You - 

You were changed. 

Your plan to secretly escape was a fail the moment your ears picked up the sound of multiple heavy footsteps coming towards the room. The large doors were banged open, revealing a line of physicians behind the prince. 

“There! There! I told you, she is awake!”

Squinting at the all-to-cheerful sound that the prince makes, the palm of your hands pressed against your ears. 

“Careful, Prince. The Lady just woke up, her senses will be sensitive. You must lower your volume, Prince.”

Sheepish eyes shot at you, a guilty smile lifting the corners of his lips. The physicians fussed you back to bed and ran a thorough check of you, reporting back to the prince whenever they found something. Whether it was something healing or something that needs healing. Over the next few weeks, you realise how persistent and petty the prince can get. 

He would refuse you bites of food if you were to call him by his royal title. He would refuse to help you up from bed, just standing at the corner of the bedpost when you need the restroom, always claiming, “If you aren’t going to help yourself, you don’t get to do your business.”

But you also realise how much he has gone through. As the only child, he was meant to take the throne a couple of weeks before he found you. But he had caused a huge uprising and a big fight with his father. When you were sneaking out one of the nights, Jimin found you during his nightly duties of patrol and whisked you back to the room. 

Although you had left with the intention of Jimin’s life getting back to normal, he has increased your security so that you won’t have much of a chance to run away again. 

Keyword: much. 

You still had your chances and when that came, you took it. You had everything packed and ready, but this time, you left with a note at the bedside table, paired together with a magic-infused healing charm for the man. 

Safe to say, it was a bad idea. 

You knew it was the moment you penned down your goodbyes and gave him the charm. But you didn’t have much on you to give him for thanks other than the occasional swirls of magic in his office. 

Yes, it was a horrible idea - of course it was! You were caught - again. 

This time, Jimin didn’t just leave you back in the room. He was silent the whole time after he found you. The ride back, up the stairs, and even after the both of you entered the room. You saw the note on the bed. 

Jimin’s back was to you. 

“Why - Why would you think that?”

You were taken aback by the tears that streamed down his plum cheeks that you had teasingly squished the past few weeks. Looking down at the note, you felt a pang of… sorrow.

A sorrow that wasn’t yours. It shouldn’t be. “Because it is against the laws.”

“I do not care what the laws claim!”

“I am nobody, Prince. You have a duty to serve your kingdom and its people. I am a princess, stripped of my title, belonging to the very kingdom your father and his father killed through. The very princess that they couldn’t care less before killing off my father on the battlefield.” He couldn’t be yours. He was a prince, deserving of one better than a bond that was looked down upon. 

“My ancestors can go suck their dicks.”

You pulled a face at the crude language. You knew that he would be insisting - you found out that much about him - and you prepared yourself for a situation like this. But your resolve was already crumbling. 

“Prince -”

“Stop, stop! I am yours! Please - I beg of you - stop calling me by my title.”

You sucked in a deep breath. “You are more than your titles. But you are also the light of your people. The only heir to the throne and you will not shove it away just because we are bonded. I refuse.”

“I will lay the world down on your feet for you, please. Do not leave me.” His cries hurt you more than knives and ropes splitting your skin raw. 

“My world is not one you can provide.”

My world is you. 

But you wouldn’t dare say that as you turned your back to him and walked out of the castle, following your original plan in mind.

[multiversal-madness]

So I’m making another ‘which Au should I do next but this time I’ve made sketches to go along with each of them:

(These were quite fun to make I should do simple sketches more often-)

So the three Aus you have to choose from this time are Magwood’s Will, Ice Prince Present and Adventure Valley. Here’s a brief description of each:

Magwood’s Will - Magwood lives on in the crown, wearing away at its wish over eons. By the time Simon puts it on, the crown breaks and Magwood takes Simon as its host. Pretty much lava werewolf/dog Simon.

A few extra details I didn’t put in the last post: Betty doesn’t ‘leave’ straight away so there’ll be some pre-war post-‘crown’ Simon and Betty stuff. Also Simon being a dad is a big part of this au.

Adventure Valley - After the encounter with GolBetty and spitting up a whole universe, Simon’s physical form wasn’t very stable. If sent back to Ooo, the abundance of magic and weirdness would distort him further but if sent to a magicless world it’s resistance to anything magic or weird would snuff out the instability and take Simon with it.

GolBetty managed to find a universe that would let Simon’s instability settle without making it worse or killing him, so she sent him there, having him end up in an abandoned farm house on the edge of Pelican Town. Basically this is a Stardew Valley Crossover.

Ice Prince Present - Due to the uncertain and unbound nature of Fionna and Cake’s universe, when all of the magic ‘disappeared’, some of it ended up in Fionna’s head causing another universe to appear. This one was much smaller than hers though and while she and cake could visit it in their dreams, it could only permanently house one conscious person. Ice Prince.

When Simon accidentally draws Fionna and Cake out of his head, the ritual also frees Ice Prince from Fionna’s head. He will join the trio on their journey across the multiverse in search of a crown while trying to figure out just who he is outside of Fionna’s fantasy.

[some-one56]

Sanders Sides Frozen Au

Chapter Three

“Ugh. How long will this Coronation thing be again? Can we just get some food, steal some wine and leave?”

“You don't need a whole bottle of wine.”

“The hell I don't! That's expensive royal wine!”

Logan sighed and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. “Anyway, I'm staying for the entire Coronation, including the Ball afterwards. It's polite.”

“It's boring.”

Logan looked at his friend, Remy, and chuckled. “Sometimes that's how it goes, I'm afraid.”

Remy huffed and leaned against the wall of Logan's house. “It's just some pompous-ass prince being crowned king who can't even bother to be seen in our village. They're all fake.”

Logan shrugged. “That's your prerogative, I suppose.”

Remus had definitely forgotten that the Coronation was today.

He was in bed, snuggled up under his blankets- well… Half of him was hanging out of the bed. How he slept like that, nobody will ever know. He was snoring, albeit loudly when a knock sounded at the door.

Remus didn't wake up. He slept like a rock.

Another knock sounded, a bit more persistent.

Zzzzzzzzzz…..

“Prince Remus!” A voice called out from behind the door with a loud knock, startling Remus awake.

Remus yelped and fell out of bed and onto the floor. “Ow.”

“Your Highness, you need to wake up so you can get ready.”

“Give me a minute, I'm…sleeping on the floor,” Remus muttered in his half asleep state. “Get ready for what again??”

“Your brother's..Coronation…?”

“Ohhhhhhhh….mhm…” Remus closed his eyes again. And then he let that sentence sink in. His eyes snapped open.

Remus bolted out of his room and ran to get changed.

Remus grinned at his suit, which was tailored specifically for him. He thanked the servants that helped him get ready and ran out to the balcony in his room. “Whoa…” He whispered, seeing thousands and thousands of people waiting outside of the gates. People getting to come inside. This means Remus won't have to be alone. At least for this one day.

This perfect, wonderful one day.

Remus laughed and ran down the stairs, waiting by the palace entrance for the guards to open up the gates and let the people inside.

Roman paced around in his room, taking several deep breaths to calm his racing heart. He knew he couldn't get around this. Definitely can't just get crowned King another day.

He closed his eyes and took a final deep breath. He took off his gloves, revealing his trembling hands. He had picked two random objects to represent the Sovereign's Orb and Sceptre that he would have to hold during the ceremony. An empty candle holder and a chalice. Hesitantly, he grabbed both objects and imagined he was in front of the crowd.

The crowd of thousands of people. All watching his every move. If his magic slipped out, he would be done for. He would hurt someone again. Hurt Remus again-

He let out a gasp as his powers went slightly out of control, turning both objects into solid ice. He dropped them after being startled.

Roman quickly put his gloves back on and returned to pacing. “You can't keep them waiting. They're all out there…”

Putting on a neutral face, Roman walked out of his room, met face to face with a guard. “Tell the rest of the guards to open up the gates.”

The guard nodded and briskly walked off.

~*~

1 2 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 Epilogue

[iveneverdoneanythingwrong]

So I have the day off today, and I marked the entirety of it down to watch Red, White, and Royal Blue. This was a good decision as I've had to pause three times and I'm 3 min and 40 seconds into the movie. I just get so

and I have to stop and calm down. So I'm blogging when I have to pause.

Such a fanfic set up - Enemies to Lovers, royalty AU, slow burn, 400k.

I'm at the after-wedding party and the cake is SO BIG I KNOW WHATS COMING I CAAAAAN'T

IT'S LOOMING LIKE ITS READY TO ATTACK

ALEX IS DRUNK ALEX STOP ALEX YOU ARE AT A WORK FUNCTION AAAAALEEEEEEXXXXX

OH NO OH NOOO DRUNK!ALEX HAS SPOTTED HIS NEMESIS HARRY IN FRONT OF THE FERAL CAKE

The cake has chosen a victim. To be fair, Alex attacked it first, so I can't blame the cake…

This is the funniest face, I don't know why but I can't stop laughing at Alex's reaction to icing. You'd think it was cum

THE CAKE HAS ATTAAAAAACKED . Alex FAFOd. RIP Alex.

I love how this whole thing is basically Alex's fault, but the crown prince blames Henry. Family tension, yay!

I also love how Alex is called on the carpet in the oval office and it's ALL WOMEN IN THERE. He's cracking jokes, and they're talking trade negotiations and polling numbers around him.

Zahra is my favorite person ever. GET HIM!

Ok, Alex, sweetheart, honey, you are FIXATED on Henry being 6'2''…. do you have a, shall we say, issue? "Making it was one of the most depressing moments of my career - and I once saw Mitch McConnell eating a banana." Thank you for your service, ma'am.

Smile, boys. I SAID SMILE.

"Alex has very strong opinions. And he shares them. Loudly." 🤣 He's just American, Henry. 🤣🤣🤣 This is our Get-Along-Press Conference.

OK, so my friend who is also watching says her first unbelievable moment was the wedding gown without sleeves. I don't know enough about fashion or royalty to argue, but MY first unbelievable moment is shots fired at a hospital and they're NOT in the US? DOUBT.

Active shooter and Henry is more focused on how Alex smells and why Alex doesn't like him. "Makes sense." "What do you mean by THAT?" "It means you have good taste, Alex."

Oh wow, Henry is showing some emotional intelligence here.

Nevermind, I take it back. Henry! Don't be a douche! Ok, I take it back take it back. Thanks for being vulnerable, Henry.

Fireworks. OK, that makes more sense.

I also love Alex's bodyguard.

"Kill me and I won't have to go." Hey writers, this is more relatable than making him talk about how expensive the cake is. Same, Henry, same.

My god, Alex's eyelashes are insane. Why. Why does he need those? To flirt with men?? Oh wait, yeah, I guess he does.

Oh my god, they actually POINTED OUT HIS EYELASHES. This movie was made for me. Is that guy flirting? Back off, man!

Henry is an amazing texter. I love the way they fit social media into the movie format.

Can I have another two or three hours of them just hanging out and snarking at each other please? kthx.

Alex's NYE party - is this the first time Henry has been underdressed for an event? *gasp* the mutual "oh no he's hot" moment.

aaaand already Henry has been bit by the little green monster. Pugsley. That was fast.

EEEEEE the kiss. Alex is like, I'm not touching I'm not touching I'mnottouchingIswear.

"The first fifty rows of a Gaga concert." 🤣🤣🤣 The women in the movie are On Fire.

"He grabbed my hair in a way that made me understand the difference between rugby and football" WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?????

"He can't ignore me all night. Can he?" Oh honey....

LUNCH BREAK - I started this at 8:30 am, it is now 11:30. I am 37:45 into this movie. 🤣

Why is Miguel coming off as skeezy to me? I want him to go awa-ALEX, your literal prince has ariiiiived.

Henry, sweetheart, you are not fooling anyone.

Damn Alex, *fans self* So... this was the "fade to black" of a sex scene. I mean, I wasn't expecting this movie to be subtle, but c'mon!

Henry: I just don't want you to fall in love with me. Me: How's that clown makeup feel?

Well now I gotta know. How many/which famous men have you shagged. Henry? Henry, COME BACK HERE!

"I'm so not playing this cool right now." Don't worry Alex, you guys are dork4dork.

I KNEW MIGUEL WAS A SCUMBAG

Ugh, Dickbag alert! Ah, jealolus dickbag alert!

Alex!! You've broken Zahra!! Zahra my loooooveee!! Put these boys in their place! That ENTIRE scene was AMAZING. This movie was worth it just for that.

HAHAHAHAH they didn't even get through the whole gag set up "I'm definitely not doing karao-*singing karaoke*

It's taking me forever to get through the floating dock/Alex confession scene. The whole "rope attached to my chest" is real Jane Eyre vibes. Henry, you need to say something. Communication is key, my dude. Or drown yourself, that's valid.

Oh you are NOT just sneaking out. No. I forbid it. Ugh, men.

"What happened in Texas?" "I ended things with Alex" NO YOU FUCKING WELL DIDN'T, YOU DICK.

Of course there's thunder for the big romantic confrontation scene. It has to be raining! For reasons!

oh, that is some grade-A projection there, Henry.

Mr never had a key has a key....

Damn, Alex, you have game.

"When they write the history of my life I want it to include you" Damn, Henry, you have game, too.

Ok, the most unrealistic thing in this movie - these motherfuckers don't move in their sleep??! The covers are always immaculate when they wake up. FAKE. FALSE. THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN.

DOUCHE DOUCHE DOUCHE DOUCHE DOUCHE DOUCHE

Zahra is so done. Go ahead, Zahra, smack him with a pillow again, I know you want to. You've earned it! "mooning over the prince like a cow in labor" 🤣🤣🤣 Marry me, Zahra!!

Stephen Fry playing a homophobe?? He really stretched his acting chops for that. "Take the American with you." Thanks gramps.

Do you think anyone noticed??

Final tally: It took me 5 hours to watch this, not including the hour lunch break.

[gulliblelemon]

gulliblelemon’s fluffy fics

(You can also find lists here: all, angsty, hurt/comfort, pining)

Happy 18th, Crown Prince Wilhelm (post-canon-div, G, 4.3k) - fluff Canon divergence from end of s2. Outsider's POV of Wille's 18th birthday celebrations if he hadn't stepped down.

What Would I Do Without You? (AU series, T, 37k) - fluff, angst, hurt/comfort How things might have gone differently if Wille and Felice were already best friends before Hillerska. Starts with some (very) fluffy one shots, gets angstier.

See You (Soon) (AU, T, 18k) - fluff, pining Wille didn't go to Hillerska but sees Simon at the jubilee. And does everything in his power to see him again. And again.

Making Music (AU, M, 15k) - fluff, pining A non-royal AU where both Simon and Wilhelm are on a three week intensive music course in the old Hillerska building.

The Last Slice (post-canon, T, 2.9k) - fluff(?) Wille is invited to play video games with The Gang. He has a few things he needs to say.

Unconventional (canon-div, T, 1.8k) - fluff Canon divergence where Wille doesn't step down, a moment where he makes a decision about his future with Simon.

Controversial Clothing Opinions (post-canon, T, 1.3k) - fluff What does Wille think of the infamous plaid pants?

It's Just Us Now (canon, T, 1.8k) - fluff, light angst Wille's internal monologue during movie night s1e2.

Thirteen (AU, T, 4.1k) - fluff Wilhelm is not enjoying his thirteenth birthday. That is until a beautiful boy stumbles across him and invites him to join him and his friends having fun in the palace grounds.

Paper Frogs and Fairy Tales (AU, T, 21k) - fluff, pining Simon works in a bookshop. Wilhelm shows up for a royal book event. Neither of them are particularly pleased with this set up... at first.

Purple (post-canon, G, 1k) - fluff Simon asks why Wille chose purple for his nails. A small post canon conversation, and then a peek into the future.

In The Crowd (AU, T, 7.6k) - fluff Ex-Crown Prince Wilhelm enjoys open mic nights at small, unassuming bars. Simon is an aspiring musician trying his hand at performing.

Intoxicating (post-canon, G, 300) - fluff Simon likes how Wille smells

Dear Diary (canon, T, 2.1k) - fluff Three entries from Simon's diary, one during s1e5, two post canon.

Multicoloured Snapshots (AU, T, 6k) - fluff, pining Linda is getting remarried. Simon approves of her husband-to-be but the wedding preparations he's gotten roped into are a huge hassle. At least the photographer is cute...

Future Favourite Regret (AU, T, 12k) - fluff, pining Simon spots Wille across a crowded room. After spending a night together, they go their separate ways. But apparently the universe thinks they're not done yet.

Anywhere With You (AU, M, 57k) - fluff, angst, hurt/comfort When Simon lands a singing job on a luxury cruise liner, he expects to work for a few months and head back home. What he doesn't expect is to fall in love.

Simon Eriksson Is Not Sick (post-canon, G, 1.3k) - fluff, hurt/comfort Simon Eriksson is not sick. Except he is. Luckily he has the best boyfriend in the world.

Trick or Treat Drabbles (post-canon, G, 1.4k) - fluff, hurt/comfort A series of 14 drabbles written about the first autumn post-canon. Almost completely fluffy.

YR Drabble Week Collection (mix, T, 1k) - fluff, hurt/comfort A series of 10 drabbles. Some AU, some during canon, some post-canon, some canon-divergence.

The Icing On The Cake (AU, T, 12.3k) with @iwouldnevergetintofanfic - fluff Somehow, Wille has managed to end up holding the fort in Felice's cake shop. Of course, the worst case happens and a customer walks in. Not just any customer, though. No, the most beautiful man Wille has ever laid eyes on.

Paper Stars and Fairy Lights (AU, T, 11k) - fluff Simon has already had enough of Christmas when his car brakes down just when he's trying to buy a Christmas tree. Help comes from the most unlikely of places, and maybe he and the Prince of Sweden can help each other to rediscover the joy of Christmas.

Warm This Winter (AU, T, 6.7k) - fluff Simon is helping Linda run her stall at the Christmas Market. And he is cold. Luckily there is hot chocolate. And intriguing strangers who make it their mission to make sure Simon stays warm.

Ally Wherever You Land (canon-div, M, 47k) - (light) fluff, (light) angst, pining, (light) hurt/comfort The initiation scandal breaks before Wilhelm is enrolled at Hillerska. Erik finds himself having to win the public's approval and recruits Wilhelm's help, along with a Hillerska student who might raise Erik's profile within the LGBTQ+ community: Simon Eriksson.

Take a Punt (AU, T, 20k) - fluff Wilhelm has been shipped off to England for university and he is not happy about it. That is, until he accidentally bumps into a fellow Swede. Of course, Wille tries to "accidentally" bump into Simon again. Luckily, the universe is on his side for once.

Yours If You'll Have Me (canon-div, T, 9.4k) - (light) angst, fluff, hurt/comfort At Ludvig's funeral, Wille has a realisation about his best friend Simon. After an ill-thought-out kiss, he panics that their friendship is over. But luckily neither of them are willing to give up on each other that easily.

Your Words Next To Mine (AU, M, 43k) - angst, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort Aspiring author Simon Eriksson meets an anonymous stranger online who helps him to find the joy in writing again. Together, they start to write Simon's childhood fantasy novel: an epic tale of bravery, found family and two boys falling in love against all the odds. Sometimes, if we're lucky, life imitates art.

With Your Hands On Me (canon, T, 1.1k) - fluff Wille's hands were going to make Simon lose his fucking mind. A short insight into Simon slowly unravelling when Wille won't stop casually touching him.

An Excellent Idea (AU, M, 17k) - fluff, pining Wille has always found that sleeping with his friends is the perfect arrangement for him. Apart from an apartment, his friends Felice and Nils share that philosophy with him, and therefore occasionally his (and each other’s) bed. When Simon is single for the first time since moving in, Wille’s conviction regarding the superiority of friends with benefits gets put to the test.

[lululeighsworld]

writing attacks for FE Art Scuffle's June 2024 event: Part 2!

blossom (387 words) -Though the storms of fate may encroach, in this quiet moment, there is only just the two of them. A vignette depicting Sumeragi/Mikoto's wedding day set before the events of FE14.

someday (2,524 words) -Benevolence, grace, and encouragement. These are the things Azura's young heart holds dearest as she learns to dance amongst the waves. A love letter to the Vallite royal family.

persistence (590 words) -The magic Arete imbues her song with is no longer enough to abate the curse plaguing Nohr's king. There remains one last hope to quell his suffering. Garon/Arete Vampire AU.

dawn's mosaic (2,709 words) -The short holiday that Hoshido's new king and queen planned for themselves will be remembered as the one with never ending surprises. Post-Birthright Ryoma/Scarlet fluff.

service (632 words) -Never let three summoners get their hands on strawberries, ice, and a maid dress. The Crown Prince of Nohr can tell you why. Comedic!

Sleep, my darling, night is falling (1,070 words) -It is late. Corrin is tired. Her baby is crying, she can hear, from the nursery the next room over. Post-Conquest Xander/Corrin navigating the seas of parenthood.

[shaiyasstuff]

a dance of ice and fire | zayne | chapter two

synopsis : Betrothed to the Crown Prince for the sake of peace, you are seen as a weapon to be wielded, not a queen to rule. But it is not your arrogant, power-hungry fiancé you fear—it is his brother, Zayne. As alliances shift and tensions rise, one truth becomes clear: he never wanted the crown, but for you, he will take it. content : medieval!au, strategist/advisor!zayne x princess!reader, loads of eye-fucking, savage reader and zayne, political intrigue quote : “Loving him is a sin; of that I’m fully aware. But a sinner I am.” — Bella Jewel

parts | one | two | three

“If you think I’ll stand by while you’re bound to another man, a man who wants to use you as a bargaining chip, then you never knew me at all.”

The scent of nightshade drifted through the air, mingling with the crisp bite of the evening breeze. The sky had deepened to violet, the last streaks of sunlight fading beyond the treetops.

The world was quiet here, hidden away from the grand halls and watchful eyes of the court.

You sat at the edge of the fountain, fingers tracing the water’s surface, watching as ripples distorted the reflection of the sky.

Beside you, Zayne leaned back on his elbows, one leg stretched out, the other bent, sword resting lazily against his shoulder.

He was quiet tonight. More than usual.

You glanced at him. “You’ll be king one day.”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk, but he didn’t look at you. “Will I?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not a question.”

Zayne exhaled slowly, shifting his gaze to the water. “No, it isn’t.”

His tone was unreadable, but something about it made you pause.

The air between you felt heavier now, the silence stretching.

You watched the way his fingers tapped absently against the hilt of his sword, his movements slow, deliberate, like he was thinking of something else entirely.

You frowned. “You don’t want it.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t deny it.

You tilted your head. “Then what do you want?”

Zayne let out a slow breath, tilting his head back to the sky.

His eyes followed the stars, his expression unreadable, unreadable but knowing.

And then, without looking at you,

“Something else.”

The words were quiet. Unshaken. Final.

You watched him carefully, waiting for him to say more.

He didn’t.

Because Zayne never needed many words to tell the truth.

And at the time, you had believed him.

Because Zayne never wanted the throne.

Until now.

—•

The grand hall was alive with the hum of conversation, the clink of goblets, the low murmur of politics veiled beneath laughter.

Golden chandeliers bathed the room in a soft glow, casting long shadows across the polished marble floor.

Nobles swirled in their silks, indulging in excess, oblivious to the shift in the air.

A shift that came from them.

The brothers.

At the center of the banquet, near the head of the long dining table, the air had grown cold.

The torches lining the walls flickered, their flames shrinking as frost began to creep along the silver goblets, delicate but unmistakable.

It had started small.

A remark.

A glance.

A slight too veiled for the courtiers to notice, masked beneath the smooth cadence of conversation and the clink of goblets.

The calculated tilt of the crown prince’s head, the smirk hidden behind his goblet, the way his words curled just a little too deliberately, aimed not at the room but directly at him.

At Zayne.

And he noticed it instantly.

Of course he had.

The crown prince had spoken too carelessly, too smugly. He had leaned back in his chair, lips curled in amusement, fingers tracing the rim of his goblet.

A performance. A taunt.

“Strange, isn’t it?” His voice was smooth, barely audible over the chatter of the hall, but the words were aimed at one man alone.

“For all your careful planning, brother, you still seem so… powerless.”

The ice cracked.

It was subtle, almost unnoticeable.

A small fracture along the prince’s goblet, a thin web of frost spreading outward.

The nobles nearest to them barely noticed, but Zayne did.

His fingers tapped against the table once, twice. His smirk was slow, practiced, but his eyes were cold.

Sharp. Calculating.

“Powerless?” His voice was light, but there was something beneath it. Something smug. “That’s an interesting word choice.”

The crown prince chuckled, tilting his head. “Is it?”

Zayne leaned forward slightly, elbows resting against the table.

“Coming from a man who needs alliances to keep his kingdom together, I would say, yes.”

The prince’s expression flickered.

Just for a second. Just long enough.

Zayne saw it. And pushed.

“Strange, isn’t it? Wearing a crown, holding a kingdom, and yet the one thing that truly matters still slips through your fingers.”

The crack was louder this time. The goblet in the prince’s hand shattered.

The conversation around them stopped. The nearest nobles turned, expressions shifting between curiosity and unease.

A thin veil of frost stretched across the table, creeping toward the prince’s untouched plate.

His jaw tightened. “Mind your tongue, Zayne.”

Zayne didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop.

“And if I don’t?”

The tension snapped.

The crown prince stood so fast his chair scraped against the marble, the sound slicing through the silence.

His hand shot forward, fingers curling in the fabric of Zayne’s tunic, a warning, a mistake.

In an instant, Zayne was on his feet, the air dropping around them.

His fingers wrapped around his brother’s wrist, prying him off with a grip too firm to be casual.

Frost spread along their skin, two forces colliding, neither willing to yield.

The nobles stared, some whispering, others watching in stunned silence.

And then.

You walked in.

The room shifted.

The torches swelled back to life, warmth rushing in, but the tension remained thick.

Your gaze swept the scene, the shattered goblet, the frost-laced table, the brothers locked in a silent battle of strength and will.

And you knew.

You knew exactly what was happening.

Not a dispute over politics.

Not a clash of pride.

This was about you.

The grand hall was frozen.

Not in the way of silence or stillness, but in the way frost had spread across the table, curling around the shattered goblet at the crown prince’s feet, creeping toward the legs of the nobles seated nearest to them.

It had reached the silver plates, frosting over untouched wine, dulling the candle flames until they barely flickered.

And yet, in all that cold, Zayne’s grip remained firm and steady, his fingers curled around his brother’s wrist, prying him away as if he had all the time in the world.

The crown prince’s jaw was tight, fury barely restrained beneath his controlled expression, but his ice cracked first.

The doors had barely closed behind you when the words left your lips.

“What are you both doing?”

Your voice echoed through the thick, heavy silence, a thread of warmth against the chill that filled the space.

Both men turned.

Zayne was the first to release his grip, fingers uncoiling from his brother’s wrist, though his expression remained unapologetic and unreadable.

The crown prince inhaled sharply, regaining his composure as he flexed his fingers, as if shaking off the remnants of a fight.

Neither spoke.

The nobles sat in rigid silence, some glancing between the two men, others staring at you, waiting.

You let out a slow breath, exhaling warmth into the frozen air.

The torches lining the walls flickered back to life, the frost receded from the silverware, the thin layer of ice along the table melting beneath your presence.

The temperature in the room shifted.

A quiet, deliberate reminder of who you were.

Of what you were.

The nobles felt it.

The flicker of heat pressed against their skin, the lingering cold dissolving like mist beneath your quiet fury.

The crown prince’s ice was strong. Zayne’s restraint was stronger.

But none of it mattered here, not when you chose to break it.

Your gaze swept between them expectantly. “Well?”

The crown prince was the first to speak, his voice clipped but steady. “A misunderstanding.”

You arched a brow. “A misunderstanding?” You turned slightly, eyes landing on Zayne. “That’s all?”

Zayne, to his credit, didn’t even try to feign innocence.

He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if he hadn’t just nearly shattered the balance of the room.

“We were just talking.”

A muscle ticked in the crown prince’s jaw. “Is that what you call it?”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, taunting. “You’re the one who reached for me first, brother.”

The prince’s fists clenched at his sides, his patience already hanging by a thread.

You lifted a hand before he could respond, fingers splayed, heat radiating from your palm just enough that they both felt it.

Not enough to burn, but enough to warn.

The torches flared again and the last remnants of frost evaporated.

The nobles exhaled.

Some shifted in their seats, a few murmuring among themselves as the tension in the air cracked and dissolved, as if the moment had never happened.

But you knew better.

You dropped your hand. “Whatever this is, it stops now.”

The crown prince exhaled sharply, stepping back, his control snapping back into place like a mask fitted perfectly over his face.

His voice was smooth, practiced. “Of course, Princess.”

Zayne, however, held your gaze a second longer. He wasn’t smiling anymore, wasn’t taunting.

He was watching you.

And you knew exactly what he was thinking.

This wasn’t over.

Not even close.

The door slammed shut behind you.

Zayne barely had time to turn before you were on him, words sharp and furious.

“What the hell was that?”

His smirk was immediate, lazy, like he had expected this.

Like he was waiting for it. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

You exhaled sharply, stepping closer.

“Don’t play with me, Zayne. That wasn’t just a fight.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t argue.

He simply watched you, waiting for you to burn yourself out.

But you weren’t done burning.

“I told you to stop. This isn’t a game.” Your chest rose and fell quickly, heat radiating off your skin, pressing against the cold he carried like opposing forces colliding.

“You don’t get to throw ice at your brother across a table like children. You don’t get to start a war in a banquet hall just because you—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly you were close.

Too close.

Zayne’s fingers brushed against your wrist—not to restrain you, not to challenge you, just enough.

Enough to make you realize how hot your skin had become.

Enough to make you realize how much he had noticed.

His eyes softened, flicking over you, quiet and knowing.

“You’re burning up.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t move away.

“That tends to happen when I’m angry.”

Zayne hummed, head tilting slightly.

“Or when you care too much.”

The words landed like a challenge, but not a cruel one.

Not a taunt. Just the truth.

His fingers, cool and steady, skimmed over your wrist, trailing up just enough to make you shiver.

The heat beneath your skin simmered, just barely tempered by the way he touched you—calm, careful, like he knew exactly how to quiet the storm inside you.

And maybe he did.

You swallowed, voice quieter. “You can’t do this, Zayne.”

His smirk faded. “I can.”

His hand lingered, just for a second longer, before he finally pulled away, the absence of his touch sending a sharp contrast through your skin.

He exhaled, trying to calm himself.

“You think I want to be at that table? Playing politics with men who don’t deserve to rule?” His usual sarcasm was gone, replaced by a seriousness you weren’t used to.

“I never wanted the throne. You know that.”

You held his gaze, waiting. “But?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Zayne let out a slow breath, his fingers curling into fists at his sides before releasing.

“But I can’t watch him take everything and do nothing. Not when it involves you.”

Your heart stumbled.

Because that was it, wasn’t it?

This wasn’t about ambition. It wasn’t about power.

It wasn’t about proving himself.

It was about you.

Zayne had never wanted the throne.

Until you became the price of losing it.

The air between you felt thinner, stretched tight with something unspoken.

The heat that had flared beneath your skin had cooled, but not completely. Not when he was still watching you like that.

Like he was daring you to understand him.

You exhaled, body shaking in frustration.

“So what is it you suggest? Going to war?”

Zayne huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“You nearly froze over a banquet hall.” You retort, crossing your arms.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, his voice lowering just enough to make you listen. “That wasn’t war. That was a warning.”

You held his gaze. “And if they don’t listen?”

His lips curled slightly. “Then they’ll wish they had.”

The weight of his words settled.

He wasn’t speaking in riddles or games this time, he meant it.

Every word.

You studied him carefully.

“And where do I fit into this plan of yours?”

Zayne didn’t blink. “You already know.”

The response came too quickly. Too easily. And it sent a shiver through you—not of fear, but of something dangerously close to understanding.

You inhaled sharply. “You want me to choose you.”

He smirked as he tilted his head slightly. “You say that like you haven’t already.”

Your breath caught, a sharp inhale before you could stop it. His confidence was infuriating.

But worse, it was accurate.

Zayne has never asked for power, had never fought for it.

Until now.

Until you.

Your fingers curled, your nails pressing into your palms. “You think this ends with just the two of us?”

Zayne exhaled, hands sliding into his pockets. “No. I think this ends with him losing.”

You weren’t sure which truth hit you harder—the fact that he meant it, or the fact that you didn’t hate the idea as much as you should have.

Because you knew what kind of ruler the crown prince would be.

And for the first time, you weren’t so sure that Zayne stepping out of the shadows was a mistake.

You just weren’t sure if you could handle what it would cost.

The torches lining the walls flickered, the heat of them barely cutting through the cold still clinging to the space between you.

Zayne was waiting.

Not for your answer, but for your realization.

That you already knew what he was asking.

That you had known for a long time.

Your jaw tightened. “You want him to lose.”

Zayne’s head tilted slightly, his smirk slow, almost lazy.

“I do.”

Your pulse stumbled. Not at the words—at how easily he said them, more at how sure he was about it.

Zayne has always been meticulous in his planning.

Always watched from the sidelines, always played the long game while letting others take center stage.

But that wasn’t the man standing before you now.

He already made a plan, a solid, fool-proof one.

And he was done waiting.

You exhaled. “If you do this, there’s no undoing it.”

“I know.” His voice, confident.

Your stomach twisted. “And if I say no?”

For the first time, something flickered in his expression.

A moment of hesitation, gone almost as soon as it appeared. Then he sighed, voice quieter now.

“Then I’ll stop.”

A pause.

“I won’t force you into this.”

Your breath caught, something too heavy, too real pressing into your ribs.

Because you knew him.

You knew he meant it.

And you could not decide if that was worse.

Because if you told him to stop, he would.

But the war wouldn’t.

The crown prince would still rule and the court would still whisper about you as if you were a tool to be tamed, something to be bartered, something to be controlled.

And Zayne would step back, let the game unfold without him, let fate take its course.

Even if it meant losing you.

Your throat tightened. “You’re asking me to betray him.”

Zayne let out a soft breath, a low chuckle. “And what makes you think he hasn’t?”

The words landed.

Because you knew.

The crown prince had never seen you as an equal, never seen you as anything more than an asset, a weapon to be sharpened and wielded.

He would never fear losing you because he never thought you had the choice to leave.

But Zayne did.

Zayne only ever saw you.

And now, he was offering you something the others never had.

A choice.

You inhaled sharply, fingers curling at your sides. “And if I say yes?”

Zayne stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

The air between you cooled, the heat beneath your skin tempered by the quiet intensity in his gaze.

“Then we win.”

Your breath caught.

It wasn’t an if, it was a when.

Because this is Zayne who does not fight his battles unless he was sure he would win.

Especially now that you were his battlefield.

The realisation settled on you like a veil over your head.

Zayne’s gaze held steady, his confidence unshaken, but you felt the weight of what he was asking.

This wasn’t just about power. It wasn’t just about politics.

It was about choosing him.

And that was something you weren’t sure you could do.

Your fingers curled, breath unsteady as you forced yourself to speak.

“This isn’t right.”

Zayne faltered. Just barely.

But you saw it.

The flicker of something raw, something he didn’t bother to hide around you.

“It feels right.” His voice was quieter now, lower, but still unwavering. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

You felt your heart drop.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And that terrified you.

You shook your head, willing yourself to push past the way he was looking at you, past the way his presence cooled the fire raging inside you when nothing else could.

“I can’t just betray everything I’ve been raised to uphold. I can’t—”

He moved.

Not away. Toward you.

Fast. Reckless.

Before you could say another word, his hands were on your waist, his mouth crashing against yours, stealing every last thought from your mind.

You should have pulled away.

You should have stopped this.

But when his lips parted against yours, when his fingers tangled in your hair, when your own hands betrayed you and gripped onto him like he was the only solid thing left in your world, you let him.

His mouth slanted over yours, firm, demanding, unchained.

Heat and cold clashed where your bodies met, his touch sending shivers down your spine while your own magic curled beneath your skin, fighting the pull of him, yet craving more.

Zayne’s grip tightened at your waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your gown as if he could brand himself into you.

You gasped against his lips, and he seized the sound, swallowed it, claimed it like he had been waiting for this moment far longer than either of you would ever admit.

The cool stone wall bit into your back, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through your body as his hands touched you slow, deliberate, starving.

His lips left yours only to trail down your throat, his breath hot against your skin, his teeth grazing at the sensitive spot beneath your jaw.

A sharp inhale left you, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling, needing.

This was wrong.

This was reckless.

This was everything you had fought to avoid.

But when his hands slid lower, when his lips moved over your collarbone, when his teeth nipped at your skin before soothing it with his tongue, all you could do was arch into him, your body betraying you as it pressed closer, seeking more.

“Zayne—” Your voice was a whisper, barely more than a breath, but it made him freeze.

Just for a second.

His breathing was uneven, his forehead dropping against your shoulder, his fingers still gripping your waist.

His lips hovered over your skin, his chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths.

His voice came low, gravelly, as he forced himself to still.

“Tell me to stop.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted him to stop.

And that terrified you.

Your hands were still in his hair, your body still burning beneath his touch.

But you said nothing.

Zayne lifted his head, his gaze locking onto yours—intense, dark, filled with something dangerously close to possession.

His fingers trailed along your thigh, slow, teasing, testing. Your breath hitched, a shudder rolling through you at the cold of his touch against your overheated skin.

“Say it,” he murmured. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

You parted your lips, but nothing came.

Because you couldn’t.

Because this was the moment you had been avoiding, the truth you had buried beneath duty, beneath reason, beneath everything except what you really felt.

And that was all the answer he needed.

His smirk returned, slow and dangerous, his fingers tightening at your waist. “That’s what I thought.”

His lips crashed into yours again, this time deeper, hungrier.

You didn’t fight it anymore.

Because god, you wanted him.

The room was quiet, save for the unsteady breaths between you.

The air still carried the lingering heat of your magic, but it was nothing compared to the fire curling beneath your skin—the fire he had ignited.

Zayne’s gaze burned into yours, dark, intense, his body still pressing you against the cold stone wall.

His lips were kiss-swollen, his breathing ragged, but his hands? His hands hadn’t stopped moving.

“You can still tell me to stop.”

His voice was low, rough, his fingers just beneath your skirts, tracing slow, lazy circles against your thigh. The threat of restraint still lingered in his touch, but barely.

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming against his fingertips, every part of you caught between hesitation and pure, desperate desire.

He wasn’t just waiting for your answer—he was waiting for permission.

But you had already made your choice.

Your hands slid into his hair, pulling him down as your lips met his again, a kiss that held no more restraint, no more second-guessing.

A deep, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest as he grabbed your thighs, spreading them apart, lifting you effortlessly until you were wrapped around him.

His hands gripped your curves, kneading, pulling you flush against the hard press of him, molding you to him like he had every right to take, every right to claim.

The cool of his skin was a stark contrast to the heat rolling off you in waves.

You burned for him and he knew it. He had always known it.

His mouth moved to your throat, teeth scraping, lips soothing, tongue teasing, working his way lower as his hands pushed fabric aside, found more skin, more of you.

Your body arched into him, seeking, needing, powerless against the way he unraveled you.

His fingers teased at your core, a slow, maddening stroke that had your breath catching in your throat. You could feel smirk against your collarbone.

“So eager.”

You had never felt like this.

Like you were coming undone and being put back together all at once.

Like he had all the control while making you feel like you held it.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, back against the stone, thighs tightening around his hips. He groaned at the feeling, his grip bruising, his restraint breaking.

His lips found your ear, breathless, full of promise.

“Let me ruin you, Princess.”

And when his fingers finally slipped inside you, claiming, knowing, teasing you open for more

You did not hold back.

—•

The air was thick with the scent of heated skin and fading restraint.

Your breaths were uneven, your body still trembling against his as you came back down from the high he had torn from you.

Zayne’s forehead pressed against yours, his grip still firm on your hips, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Like if he did, reality would come crashing back in.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Not uncomfortable. Not uncertain.

Just the stillness of two people who had crossed a line that could never be redrawn.

Your fingers traced the damp strands of his hair, your heartbeat still wild, still trying to catch up.

He exhaled sharply, his hands sliding down your thighs, squeezing once before setting you back on your feet.

Your legs nearly gave out, and he smirked, steadying you, his touch lingering longer than it should have.

His voice came low, husky, tinged with amusement.

“Careful, Princess. You look like you might fall.”

You swallowed, forcing your body to remember how to move, how to think. “You’re insufferable.”

His smirk deepened. “And yet, here we are.”

Here.

In the dimly lit chamber, with your dress askew, his tunic undone, and the taste of his lips still lingering on yours.

The weight of what had just happened settled between you like a dangerous secret.

Zayne’s expression flickered, something serious, something darker, before he reached up, brushing his thumb over the mark he had left on your skin.

“No regrets?”

You knew what he was really asking.

You held his gaze, your chest rising and falling as you forced the words out. “This changes nothing.”

Zayne let out a slow exhale, but he didn’t look disappointed, as if he expected that answer.

Like he knew better.

His lips curled, slow and knowing. “If you say so.”

And when he stepped back, when the cold air rushed between you, you realized something that made your stomach twist.

It did change everything.

And you both knew it.

—•

The royal court had always been a place of veiled threats and measured words, where influence was played like a finely tuned instrument.

Today was no different, maybe except for the fact that Zayne was no longer playing from the sidelines.

You felt the change the moment he entered the chamber.

It wasn’t loud, not a grand display of force or some reckless grab for power.

No, Zayne was smarter than that.

It was in the way the nobles subtly straightened, in the way conversation faltered for just a breath before resuming, as if pretending they hadn’t noticed the shift.

But they did.

You did.

His steps were unhurried, controlled, the soft click of his boots against the marble floor carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before.

He didn’t linger at the edges of the room today, didn’t settle into his usual place of quiet observation.

Today, he moved with purpose.

Like he belonged there.

You sat beside the crown prince, poised, unreadable, but your attention was fixed on Zayne as he approached the war table, his fingers brushing idly over the map sprawled across it.

Not studying it. Not learning it. Just… familiar.

Lord Callas cleared his throat. “The eastern border remains volatile, Your Highness. Reinforcements are needed before the rebellion grows.” He glanced toward the crown prince, awaiting the usual nod of approval.

But before the prince could speak, Zayne’s voice cut through the room.

“And what do you suggest? More soldiers? More bodies to feed a conflict that should have never started?”

The nobles stilled.

Zayne didn’t look at them.

He remained focused on the map, tracing slow circles over the disputed territory.

Callas shifted in his seat. “Without proper forces, the region will fall further into chaos.”

Zayne hummed, tapping his fingers against the wood. “Funny, considering the coin sent to reinforce those garrisons never actually reached them.”

Callas stiffened. “That is an unfounded accusation—”

“Is it?” Zayne finally lifted his gaze, slow, calculated. His smirk was faint, but his eyes? Cold. Unyielding. “You seem awfully defensive for a man who has nothing to hide.”

The murmurs started, hushed but undeniable.

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening in your lap.

He wasn’t just making a statement. He was setting the stage.

The crown prince’s tone was clipped. “Enough, Zayne.”

Zayne leaned back slightly, as if considering. “Of course.”

A beat.

Then, with an easy shrug, “After all, I suppose it isn’t my responsibility to keep the kingdom from crumbling, is it?”

“I believe that is your job, brother.”

The court went silent.

The shift was subtle, effortless, but devastating.

Zayne wasn’t just calling out a failing strategy.

He was questioning the throne itself.

The crown prince’s jaw tightened. “Watch yourself.”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “Have I said something untrue?”

The room held its breath.

The weight of Zayne’s words settled over the court like a storm waiting to break.

He didn’t need to say it outright.

He didn’t need to declare that he had been cleaning up his brother’s messes for years.

Didn’t need to point out that he has been the one managing the generals, soothing the nobles, securing the stability that the crown prince took credit for.

He made his point.

And everyone in this room had understood it.

You inhaled, the flicker of heat beneath your skin warning you of what was coming next.

Because for the first time, Zayne wasn’t just standing in his brother’s shadow.

He was stepping into his light.

Soon, the court dispersed, leaving the battle that had only just begun.

Whispers trailed behind you as you walked, the echo of hushed voices filling the grand halls.

The tension from the war table still clung to the air, an invisible weight pressing down on the walls, on the floors, on the very foundation of this palace.

And at the center of it stood the two brothers.

The crown prince, the future Emperor.

And Zayne, the man who had never wanted the throne.

Until now.

You weren’t meant to be here.

But you stayed.

Because this wasn’t something that could be ignored.

Their steps were slow, calculated, the silence between them stretched tight. This wasn’t a simple disagreement.

This wasn’t even a rivalry.

This was war.

You could feel it.

The slow, brewing storm. The tension threading through the air like a knife against silk, waiting to cut.

Finally, the crown prince exhaled, breaking the silence first. “That was bold of you, Zayne.”

Zayne barely spared him a glance, his smirk lazy, unbothered. “You’ll have to be more specific, brother. I do many bold things.”

A flicker of irritation crossed the prince’s features, there and gone in an instant. “You’ve never overstepped like this before.”

Zayne hummed, tilting his head slightly, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

“No, I suppose I haven’t.” He smirked. “That should tell you something.”

You saw it then.

The brief flicker of unease in the crown prince’s eyes.

The tension in his stance, the way his fingers twitched, as if resisting the urge to react.

Because for the first time, Zayne wasn’t standing in his shadow.

He was challenging it.

The crown prince came to a stop, turning to face his brother fully. His voice was low, controlled, but beneath the surface, you heard the threat.

“I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but let me make something clear.” He took a step forward. “I am the future Emperor. Not you.”

Zayne finally looked at him then.

Not lazily. Not with amusement. But with something colder. Heavier. Unshaken.

And then, he spoke.

“And yet, I do all the work.”

The words cut through the air like a blade, precise, deliberate.

The crown prince inhaled sharply through his nose, his composure slipping, just slightly.

Zayne’s smirk turned sharper. “Strange, isn’t it?”

The air shifted.

Not visibly. Not enough for the nobles still lingering nearby to notice.

But you felt it, the drop in temperature.

It wasn’t a warning.

It was a challenge.

Zayne felt it too.

But he didn’t tense. Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Instead, he took a step forward.

A fraction of movement. Subtle, barely noticeable.

But the crown prince stepped back.

Not by much. Not enough for anyone else to see.

But you saw it.

And Zayne knew it.

His smirk deepened, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “Be careful, brother.”

The prince’s fingers curled at his sides, his breath slow, measured.

But he said nothing.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Because Zayne had already won this round.

And you had just witnessed it.

You inhaled slowly, aware of what this meant.

Zayne was no longer just a prince on the sidelines.

He was claiming the space he had been denied for too long.

And he was doing it for you.

—•

The quiet of your chambers was deceiving.

Outside these walls, the palace still buzzed with the aftermath of the court session. The nobles had seen it.

Zayne’s words, his challenge, the moment he had made them think.

And that was dangerous.

Because once a ruler’s strength was questioned, the throne beneath them began to crack.

And you weren’t sure if you should stop him.

Or help him break it entirely.

Zayne stood by the fireplace, one hand resting against the mantle, his expression unreadable as he watched the flames flicker.

You sat across from him, perched at the edge of your chair, fingers curled against the armrest.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with everything that hadn’t been said.

Finally, you spoke, “You’re going to push him.”

Zayne exhaled slowly, tilting his head slightly. “I already have.”

You narrowed your eyes. “How far?”

His gaze flickered to yours, sharp, calculating. “Far enough to make him doubt himself.”

Your pulse stumbled. “That’s dangerous.”

Zayne hummed in agreement. “It is.”

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your gown.

“So what’s next? You make him paranoid? Isolate him? Turn the court against him?”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, deliberate. “I don’t have to.” He stepped closer, his presence sinking into the room, pressing into the space between you.

“He’ll do it himself.”

You inhaled, the weight of his words settling into your chest. “And what about me?”

Something flickered in his gaze. Something dangerous.

“You will be by my side.”

The certainty in his voice sent a shiver through you—not of fear, but of something else.

Something inevitable.

You swallowed. “The nobles won’t just fall in line. They need something to believe in.”

Zayne nodded, tapping his fingers against the chair beside him. “Then we give them something.”

“Meetings.” You thought aloud.

“Strategic alliances. We need to control the conversations before my betrothal to your brother becomes the chain he tries to bind me with.”

Zayne’s smirk faded, replaced with something colder. “He won’t control you.”

The way he said it sent heat curling under your skin.

You exhaled slowly. “Then make them believe in something bigger.”

Zayne tilted his head slightly. “You mean us.”

The words settled between you.

You weren’t sure if he meant the political alliance.

Or the one that had already crossed far too many lines.

Before you could answer, a sharp knock at the door shattered the quiet.

You exchanged a glance before the door suddenly barged open.

A guard stepped inside, his face unreadable. “Your Highness.”

His gaze flickered to Zayne before settling on you. “The crown prince requests your presence.”

You inhaled, already knowing what this was.

Already knowing he wasn’t going to sit idly by.

Zayne’s jaw ticked. “And if she refuses?”

The guard hesitated, shifting slightly. “Then he will come here himself.”

You pushed to your feet before Zayne could say anything else. “I’ll handle him.”

Zayne stepped closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “He’s already desperate.”

You held his gaze, fingers brushing briefly against his wrist before you pulled away. “Then let’s see how desperate he’s willing to get.”

And then, you left.

Because the real fight was just beginning.

—•

The halls felt colder as you walked.

Not because of the evening air, nor the marble floors that never retained warmth. It was him.

The crown prince.

He stood near the large windows of his chambers, dressed in royal black and deep crimson, the embroidered crest of the empire stitched into his sleeves.

He looked composed, regal, every inch the future Emperor he was supposed to be.

But you could see it.

The tightness in his jaw.

The way his fingers curled against the window ledge.

The way the frost that had begun creeping along the glass betrayed his control slipping.

You stopped a few paces from him, your own posture unyielding. “You summoned me.”

He turned, slowly, eyes sharp as steel, glinting with something dangerous. “It seems I have to.”

The tension in the room coiled tight.

He gestured toward the cushioned chair near the hearth. “Sit.”

You didn’t move.

His gaze flickered over you, unreadable, but his tone remained smooth. “You are my future Empress. This game with my brother ends now.”

Your breath steadied.

“Game?”

The crown prince let out a slow exhale, his head tilting slightly, his expression measured. “I don’t believe I’ve been unclear. You will marry me.”

You didn’t flinch. “Because you command it?”

His smirk was cold. “Because it has already been decided.”

The words landed like a lock clicking into place.

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest.

“Funny.” Your voice was smooth, measured. “Because from where I stand, it seems you’re the one who feels the need to secure it.”

His jaw tensed, just barely, but you saw it.

He was pushing now.

Because for the first time, he felt the need to.

He took a step forward, slow, deliberate. “Do not mistake patience for weakness, Princess.”

The temperature in the room dropped. The torches flickered, the frost spreading further along the glass behind him.

Still, you didn’t step back.

Your voice remained steady. “And do not mistake obligation for devotion.”

Silence.

The flicker of something dark in his gaze.

“You overestimate your choices.” His voice lowered, smooth as glass, but it did nothing to hide the warning beneath it.

“This marriage is not an option. You and I will rule, and you will uphold the duty you were born for.”

Your throat tightened, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of what he refused to see.

“And if I don’t?”

A slow inhale.

His expression remained calm, but his power pressed into the room, into your lungs, into the very air you breathed.

And then, he smiled.

“Then I will remind you why you must.”

Ice spread beneath your feet.

A cold so precise, so controlled, that you knew this was no warning.

This was a promise.

Your fingers curled at your sides, heat humming beneath your skin, ready to melt every ounce of frost he dared to place at your feet.

But you didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, you met his gaze, unyielding, unwavering. “We shall see.”

The smirk that crossed his lips was slow, confident, but there was something else beneath it.

Something uncertain.

Because he didn’t expect you to fight this.

And that would be his first mistake.

The frost beneath your feet crept forward, thin veins of ice threading through the marble, a slow, deliberate claim.

The crown prince watched you, his smirk carefully measured, but you knew him.

You saw what he was trying to hide.

Frustration.

Not because of your defiance—he had always expected you to fight.

But because he couldn’t control you the way he did the others.

And he knew that.

He took another step forward, close enough now that the chilled air clung to your skin.

“We shall see?” His voice was smooth, the tone of a man used to winning before the battle even began. “There is nothing to see, Princess. This union is sealed. You are mine.”

Your jaw tightened. “I am not yours.”

His smirk didn’t falter, but something in his gaze hardened. “Not yet.”

Your breath steadied, heat simmering beneath your skin, pressing against the cold, but you kept it contained.

Controlled.

“Do you think this will work?” You tilted your head, keeping your voice calm, even. “That you can… freeze me into submission?”

His smirk faded slightly. “I think you are playing a dangerous game.”

You stepped forward, the warmth of your presence pushing against his cold, countering, challenging.

“And you think you aren’t?”

A flicker of something dark in his gaze. He exhaled sharply, his control tightening, restraining whatever impulse was itching beneath his skin. “I am offering you power. I am offering you a throne.”

“You are offering me a cage.”

His fingers twitched at his sides. “Careful, Princess.”

The crown prince stood before you, his posture stiff with controlled rage, his eyes dark with something dangerous.

“You think you can fight this?” His voice was smooth, but beneath it, you heard the strain.

The frustration.

The fear.

You exhaled slowly, keeping your voice steady. “I don’t have to fight.” You tilted your head, gaze burning into his. “Because you’re already losing.”

His jaw clenched. The cold around you thickened, the air becoming thin, biting. “You forget your place.”

You took a step forward, the ice melting beneath your feet. “You forget that I am fire.”

The torches flared higher, shadows stretching along the walls, warmth flooding the space between you.

“You think your power makes you untouchable? That your ice will cage me?”

Your gaze hardened, your voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “It will never be enough.”

The crown prince inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, his control barely holding. “You overestimate yourself.”

You let out a quiet laugh, slow, deliberate. “No. I think you’re finally realizing that you’ve underestimated me.”

For the first time, his silence was not power.

It was defeat.

Suddenly, the door opened.

A guard entered swiftly, bowing low. “Your Highness, the nobles are gathering. They request your presence.”

The prince inhaled slowly, his expression smoothing over in a practiced motion, his power retreating like an ocean wave pulling back before the next storm.

You knew this wasn’t over.

Neither did he.

He turned to you, his smirk returning, but colder now. “We will finish this later.”

You smiled back, slow and deliberate. “I look forward to it.”

He left without another word.

But as the door closed behind him, as the frost faded, your heart was still beating too fast.

Not from fear.

From the certainty that the real war had just begun.

The moment the door closed behind him, you let out a slow breath, releasing the fire you had held so tightly within you.

The heat hummed beneath your skin, the tension still coiled in your chest, but you had won this round.

You had stood your ground.

But you also knew he wasn’t done.

The crown prince had been pushed before, but never like this. Never in a way that made him feel as if his power was slipping through his fingers. He would not take this lightly.

You turned away from the lingering chill in the room and made your way back toward your chambers. Zayne would be waiting.

And you had much to discuss.

—•

Zayne was already there when you arrived.

Leaning against the fireplace, arms crossed, head tilted slightly in that way that told you he had been expecting this.

Waiting for you to come to him.

His gaze swept over you the moment you stepped inside, sharp, already knowing what happened.

“He tried to secure the marriage.”

You exhaled, closing the door behind you. “He’s grasping at what’s already lost.”

Zayne’s smirk was slow, pleased. “Good.”

You took a measured step forward, arms folding neatly at your waist. “Don’t look so smug. He’s going to lash out.”

Zayne chuckled, tilting his head. “Of course he will. It’s the only thing he knows how to do.” His gaze flickered toward the window, thoughtful. “But he’s not thinking ahead. He never does.”

You met his eyes. “And you are.”

He lifted a brow. “Always.”

Your lips curved slightly, mirroring his amusement, but your voice remained steady. “Then tell me.”

Something flickered behind his expression, something that wasn’t just amusement, something that had been there for longer than either of you had admitted.

He stepped closer, his presence calm, certain, inevitable.

“The nobles are already watching. I gave them a reason to doubt him today.” His voice was smooth, unwavering. “Now, I give them a reason to follow someone else.”

You didn’t hesitate. “You mean you.”

Zayne held your gaze. “I mean us.”

Your breath didn’t catch. Your pulse didn’t stutter. You had already made this decision.

His eyes flickered down, searching for hesitation, for doubt. He found none.

He exhaled slowly, something dark, something hungry curling behind his smirk. “He is desperate to keep you. And when a man is desperate, he makes mistakes.”

You tilted your head slightly. “And what mistake will he make?”

Zayne’s smirk deepened. “The one where he forces your hand too soon.”

Your fingers traced the carved edge of the chair beside you. “And when that happens?”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering to something intimate, lethal.

“Then we take everything from him.”

The words settled between you, but there was no tension.

No uncertainty.

You had already chosen.

This wasn’t a question, there was no hesitation.

This was a declaration.

Your fingers brushed his, deliberate, a promise more than a touch.

“Then let’s begin.”

masterlist

[amarioe]

Hello everyone! I am here to finally tell you a bit about my Ice Prince Zane AU lolol

Basically, the concept is that shortly after the serpentine wars, the elemental master of ice mysteriously dissapeared (AKA somehow ended up in the Never-Realm) and became the ruler and protector of the Never-Realm.

Im not sure whether Dr.Julien was born in the Never-Realm, he somehow got trapped there too, or he can somehow travel between realms(i really need to develop this sheesh) but he was there okay-

Anyway, Dr. Julien built Zane and they bonded like in canon, except there was a woman who was friends with Dr. Julien. Her name was Eleanor, she was an owl formling who would take care of and even learn how to repair Zane when his father couldn't. Her and the young nindroid quickly became friends in the process.

Moving on, the same fake old age death scene happened where Dr. Julien erased Zanes memories. This is where we get to the prince thing lol

Ignoring the criminally underdeveloped Dr. Julien and Ice King lore, the Elemental master of ice had passed away after crowning a new king(and passing his power down onto him), who eventually took Zane in and made him a prince, passing his powers onto the nindroid in the process.

Zanes original purpouse, 'protect those who cannot protect themselves' was switched out with 'become the perfect future ruler'. Eleanor was not happy to learn about what had happened, attempting to get Zane back to no avail. She could only really reach him through her daughter who worked in the castle as a maid, or send him letters. and Zane didnt realise it at first, but he wasn't happy either.

He spent his whole life ignoring his gut, telling himself that this was his purpouse. Because what else would he think? That he was somehow never meant to be a prince and this life wasnt even meant for him? Probably not!

But still. Constantly being served, learning battle & strategy techniques, avoiding being robbed every time he left the castle, being constantly dressed head to toe in fancy garments, all of it made him sick to his core. And yet, this was what he was built for right? To be a prince and a king, to be served and to rule over his nation skilfully and ruthlessly, this was his purpouse.

Well, atleast thats what he thought.

All of it changed on one faithful day when three color coded Ninja were captured and taken as prisoners..

Zane took a big step forward by secretly rebelling against his kings orders, and trekked down into the dungons. After interrupting their argument by unintentionally insulting them, he met the Ninja, who had turned to look at the strange figure in confusion.

And thats when their friendship blooms and he eventually frees them and gets kidnapped by a wolf masked prick with a cult following who wants to invade other realms finds his true purpouse with the help of a little bit of trauma, then makes the big decision to go to Ninjago and become a Ninja like his friends!

So yeah thats about it, have more IPZ art(used a drawing base)

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Everyone, I have another 🐉Wings of Fire AU...

It is a 🔮Prophecy AU...

The Prophecy of Ten...

(Okay, explaining time: In this au, the conflict lies between dragons, mainly. An old war that has lasted long enough that the tribes are struggling to have enough eggs and dragons alive for their tribe, their kingdom... Queens wanting more power, greedy generals and princesses and princes, oily advisors, and panicked citizens don't help, either... It has lasted long enough that most younger generations aren't even sure how it started, although each tribe has a different story for that, usually depicting them as valiant heroes saving the tribes, unjustly wronged victims struggling to right the wrongs, or opportunists who seek glory for the tribe and treasure... As of now, I haven't decided who anyone is, who is in the prophecy, or which prophecy dragonet the reader is... But, this is a platonic yandere Marvel au, and rest assured, the characters I've written about before will have their place in this... All of that said, here is the prophecy proper:)

One full moon on darkest night

Shining down its silver light

Unto ten eggs within three years

Hatched to end the dragons' tears.

Wings of mud in valley deep;

Wings of sky in mountain's keep;

For wings of rain look up from down

While wings of ice hide with hidden crown;

In the nook of coral red

The wings of sea finds its bed;

Above the buzz and hums, alive,

Shall you find the wings of hive;

Wings of leaf in tallest tree;

Wings of silk in cradle be;

The wings of night arive from far

Right to where the Talons are;

Find wings of sand with final clue:

They lie aside oasis blue...

To end the fear and blood of war

Fire must then temper ore,

For flames make pure the hearts of gold

To bring forth strength in battle old.

Rise above all to stop the fight

Ten tribes whole under burning light

Set right the wrongs by hatching day

Lest all be lost by bloody fray...

(Fun, right? Who doesn't want to make their own prophecy? I will be setting up a poll to decide which tribe (and verse!) the reader is! After that, I'll decide everyone else... Let's have some fun😊)

[annieqattheperipheral]

accidentally writing an entire sidnate hrpf AU inspired solely by the gifs that came up in whatsapp's gif search for sidney crosby

chapter one | two | three

Royal Hockey Love

chapter two

Secret evenings with MacKinnon in North America, they chat about their childhoods in Schluxemburg. Secret smiles. But Crosby also starts to think that the weight on his shoulders is not a burden, but a privilege and gift

I'm laughing and crying 😭❤️😭❤️😭❤️

They keep finishing each other's sentences

Crosby's a cute rich dork but MacKinnon can't help but adore him anyway

My heart has melted. I am a mess.

Cuz after all, Crosby's realizing he has power and prestige that anyone else would kill to have. MacKinnon teaches him about his country's people

Cinematographer checking in again. You think it's all happy go lucky. Things are going well. He's so happy. He feels so good. He's playing so well

This is my favourite part of the movie that I'll make you rewind and watch over and over again

Fast forward to after his confrontation with the King and the Royal Guards after that on ice fight and tough game with a nothing bully from MacKinnon's team. "Have you been talking about us? Did you blow my cover to your teammates? To your uncle in the Royal Guard?! I've never felt such betrayal."

"I can only ever watch out for myself. I will never trust anyone with my heart ever again."

This movie is everything. I'm at the edge of my seat. My heart is breaking for my young prince

Quick rewind insert: this was that moment right before the big fight that got him thrown out of the game. Chirping from the bench and then when line changes, he launches himself over the boards and then, well, you know. (Ok back to the climax now)

His father's given him an ultimatum. He can play through to the end of the season. But if he wins the Cup, then he has to leave the NHL and return to Schluxemburg to lead up his charitable initiatives as the Crown Prince. Every game in the playoffs feels like a death march. Especially since he doesn't even have MacKinnon's sweet smiles to lean on and reassure him.

The pressure has never been this high and tight. It's even worse than before, when the only thing he was worried about was his father finding him. Now, everything is on the line and he's completely alone in his heart.

Will he do it? Will he shoot the game winning goal? Will he win the Cup? Can he deke around these D-men in these final few seconds of the final playoffs game?

chapter three

[shyrose57]

Dream SMP Descendants AU. I have like three different ideas for this, so...

Version one/Three Princes Crowned Of Ice AU:

Isle kids consist of Wilbur, Techno, and Tommy.

Tommy is the son of the leader of a group known as The Organization, Clara, who rules with an iron fist.

However, the rest of the kids of the Organization and Tommy tend to run together, and they’re all a gang called Business Bay, that controls one of the dock areas. They’re also allies with Boffy, son of the Snow Queen.

Wilbur is the son of the Sky Gods, who were sealed for their malicious behavior, but used the last of their magic to create a heir.

Techno’s the son of the Blood God, who was sealed for causing war and bloodshed everywhere.

The two get along due to their ties to divinity. They’re both reluctantly fond of Tommy as well.

Anyway, Phil’s the king of the Antarctic Empire. When the three kids are taken from the Isle to be enrolled in Auradon, he offers to host them until school starts, since it’s summer. 

Tad bit awkward since the Organization was his antagonist to the throne, and the three are just wary in general, but he’s doing his best, trying to make them comfortable and ready for school.

Basically SBI based.

Version two/Raze The World And Raise Your Crown AU:

Isle kids consist of Phil, Wilbur, Techno, Tommy, Bad, Dream, Ranboo, and Puffy.

Phil’s the son of Maleficent and Hades-the Angel of Death bit was too good to pass up, honestly, and now we can give him wings!

Dream and Ranboo are the sons of Dr.Facilier and the Queen of Hearts. Dream was born naturally, but Ranboo was created(blood from a man, tears the shadows weep, and the heart of a cardsmen) due to Facilier wanting a heir, and the Queen wasn’t willing to let him have Dream.

Tommy is either their half brother on the Queen’s side, the son of the Evil Queen, or the original queen that cursed the brothers in the tale of The Six Swans. Haven’t decided yet. 

Wilbur’s going to be his brother though, so he’ll also be the son of one of those. That, or the son of the Enchantress that cursed the Beast.

Puffy’s the daughter of Captain Hook, of course. 

Bad’s the son of the witch from Hansel and Gretel, as well as an unknown demon. 

Techno’s the son of Madam Mim and Hans.

The eight arrive to Auradon and discover that it’s not as free as it suggest, suppressing magic. Lucky for them, the students of Auradon have their ways around this problem, and are eager to welcome them all to the fold. 

Unique dynamics and everyone bonding and supporting each other while trying to figure out how to flip the entire system on it’s head.

Including George as the son of Sleeping Beauty, Quackity being part fae and forming a friendship with Philza, and Niki being a mermaid.

Version three/Hardly Need A Hero For A Fairytale:

Isle kids consist of Tommy, Tubbo, Purpled, and Ranboo. 

Purpled’s the son of Maleficent, Ranboo’s the son of Cruella and Dr. Facilier, Tubbo’s the son of the Evil Queen, and Tommy’s the son of Captain Hook.

They’re all very close to one another, even if they pretend otherwise. 

When they get sent to Auradon, everyone becomes attached soon after, and would probably die for these kids.

Purpled and Ranboo commonly run together, as do Tommy and Tubbo, Then Tubbo helps Ranboo, the two became friends, and the two groups join together, despite Purpled and Tommy being at odds.

They’d all literally kill for each other. 

[nerajaana]

ARYA STARK VALENTINE’S DAY CHALLENGE

|| Day Three: Headcanon ||

306 A.C- Prince Aegon, son of the disinherited Hand of the King Rhaegar chose to marry not his sister but his half brother Jon Waters and his lady cousin, the she wolf of Winterfell, Arya Stark who’s said to resemble her aunt Lyanna Stark to an uncanny degree leaving the Seven Kingdoms shocked beyond measure.