the frozen royalties

9

The Losers Club as Disney Royalty

Mike Hanlon// Kristoff

“Hang on, you mean to tell me you got engaged to someone you just met that day? …didn’t your parents ever warn you about strangers?”

  • a sweetie pie who also isn’t afraid to tell it like it is
  • doesn’t go looking for love, always the one to keep a level head
  • also, I’m all here for the irony of farmboy mike exclaiming “WOAH, woah, woah, put your feet down… Seriously, were you raised in a barn?”
  • softest boy with the toughest exterior
  • can talk a big game pulling comebacks out of nowhere but is simultaneously awkward and speechless when it comes to love
  • is super passionate about his hobbies/interests in the goofiest, most adorable way
  • ”woah, now that’s ice. I might cry.”
Frozen Heart

I purposely spelled certain things wrong because copyright reasons…although this is FF so I don’t know why I was worried.

Written for the jily royalty fest happening thanks to tumblr so have a Frozen crossover AU Romance Party Adventure Thing...whoops who gave me this prompt…

Prince James has an icy secret but so does the fiery Princess Lily…

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December 17th- The Body Guard

I’m still plugging along guys. It might help if I wasn’t so dead set on writing thousands of words per fic, but here I am, esentially attempting to write a novel’s worth of fanfic. Haha, well better late than never I suppose. Really enjoyed writing this one!

Oneshot
Universe: Modern AU/ Modern Princess Anna AU
Rating: T (Teen and Up) for a brief mention of sex
Length: 3044 Words

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when you and a character have the same last name

when you and a character have the same first name

when your parent and a character’s parent have the same name 

when you and a character like/love the same thing

when you and a character hate the same thing 

when you and a character crush on the same character

when you and a character have the same birthday

when you and a character had a similar/same life experience

 

when you and a character would make an AWESOME couple

but remember that it could never happen since you live in different universes 

watch the queen conquer

AN: royalty au, and ref to nicki’s verse in monster; some of it underlies this


[day 14: hunger]


Lady Haruno has no noble blood.

This is what the servants whisper when she walks through the halls, when she follows Lady Tsunade on her healing duties. It’s Sasuke’s understanding that she’s one of the brightest doctors of her generation, and that Tsunade’s favor is in some ways a kind of law.

Though the elders sneer—how can she treat our Family, when she has grown up a commoner with no knowledge of our ways—Sasuke knows she’s already begun new treatments for nii-san’s eyes.  

“They’re better,” his brother replies when he asks. There’s a knowing smile on Itachi’s lips, and Sasuke scowls automatically.

“What,” he says.

“Nothing,” Itachi says, that smile still on his lips. “She’s very capable, that’s all.”

Sasuke turns away, cheeks flaming at his brother’s stupid, infuriating grin.

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burning in the fire of a thousand smiles :: ever after

happiest of (early) birthdays to @peggyyswan​! i love you, darling. as requested, a one-shot/fic bit set after the end of my modern royalty au from a while ago. enjoy. :)


Emma Charlotte Victoria Elizabeth Windsor – Her Royal Highness The Princess of Wales and Duchess of Cornwall, heiress to the throne of sixteen countries and eventual symbolic leader of thirty-seven more as head of the Commonwealth, Supreme Governor of the Church of England, etc. etc., whose face would one day decorate the most valuable currency in the world, the pound sterling – was currently having a terrible disagreement with the doors of a District Line service departing (or rather attempting to depart) from Cannon Street, and the doors were winning. It was doubtful whether the automated voice scolding her for delaying the departure of this train was aware that she was its future sovereign, but it was entirely better if it wasn’t. Taking the Tube was the only way she was going to get to Westminster faster than walking, as half the streets in central London were blocked off or rerouted in anticipation of her mother’s Silver Jubilee celebrations over the weekend (London, of course, being a place known for its wonderful traffic) and after six hours in four-inch heels, that was not an option. Emma had spent the day in organizational meetings for her new charitable foundation for at-risk young women, going over board members and bylaws and financial transparency regulations, which celebrities were interested in being honorary patrons and exactly how many fundraisers she was expected to attend a year, and she was practically seeing double. With her face hidden behind a pair of large sunglasses and her hair twisted in a messy knot, she looked no different than any other stressed businesswoman crowding onto the train at rush hour, and in fact would have made a clean getaway if not for the doors and their stringent objection to her purse, which was apparently crossing into the sacred perimeter zone that the London Underground’s little mechanical brain knew was Just No Good. If there was six more inches of space, she’d have moved. Good grief.

Avoiding the censorious stares of her fellow commuters, Emma reorganized her offending accessory, squeezed in a little more cozily with the Rasta next to her, and allowed the doors to swish shut with an air of wounded superiority. The packed train rolled out of the station; fortunately, it was only a few stops down the river, as the fug of unwashed beatnik was overwhelming and she began to reconsider her willingness to mingle so readily with the hoi polloi. Certainly it was a habit that the rest of the Royal Family found bewildering, as rather dangerous. Even with a discreet security detail in tow (two large men a few poles down, one currently being used by a little old Chinese lady to hold up her shopping) what if something happened? (Most likely they meant something worse than the purse incident.)

As a result, it was generally concluded that it was probably Killian’s fault. As he not only still worked at the British Library but took public transit from Kensington every day, there were entire People photo albums dedicated to “Modern Royal Prince Killian Rides The Train!,” as if this was a noteworthy event for someone who had a nine-to-five job in a large city with a heavily relied-upon transit system. Plenty of opinion pieces had been written about how this showed that Killian wasn’t letting fame and fortune get to his head, was still working even though he obviously would never have to worry about money in his life, and that a salt-of-the-earth London lad like him was just what the rest of the layabout bluebloods needed as an example. Others felt that this clearly meant he wasn’t fitting in with their lifestyle (a “Royal Marriage in Crisis!” story appeared in the tabloids approximately every three months or so) was passive-aggressively rebelling against their strictures and silly rules, and this was all part of a secret cry for help. Killian himself, after being enlightened as to the ridiculous hullabaloo surrounding his travel habits, had looked at Emma in bewilderment and said, “I’m just trying to get to work, love.”

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