Alexandria is a safe haven in the storm. High walls, a stocked armory, a thriving garden and a community united by one goal; optimal survival. It wasn’t easy. It took sacrifice. It took blood. You were there for it all, an Alexandrite turned family, and when the battle with the Saviors took Carl and nearly decimated all you worked for, you stayed to pick up the pieces. And little by little, it worked. Food was restocked, ammunition was made, and what was destroyed was rebuilt. Life in Alexandria has moved on, The Sanctuary has been resurrected into something closer to its namesake, and the dead are quiet. Too quiet.
He has traveled the cosmos to find you. From future Philos to present Earth, Xavier braved the light years to find you now, in a simpler place where time is borrowed but full of you.
[the princess diaries (2001) insp. plot] three months of summer, three months to turn a normal girl to a princess, three months to prepare for university… in three months, will y/n be able to choose who and what comes next?
(obsession (2026) insp. plot!) You’ve never told anyone. Not your closest friends, not your diary, not even the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall that witnesses everything. Loving Draco Malfoy is the kind of thing you keep to yourself, because saying it out loud would only make it real — and real things can be laughed at. It was hopeless, anyway. Everyone knew Draco Malfoy didn’t do relationships at school. He was an island, deliberate and unreachable, and you’d made a kind of peace with that. Then came the night at Madame Puddifoot’s.
Caldmere is a small but proud kingdom on the western coast — salt-bleached cliffs, terraced vineyards, and a capital built around the largest deep-water harbor on the continent. It grew rich on shipping tariffs, famous for its astronomers, and trusted as a neutral broker between the three great powers that ring it. Its banner is a silver heron on a field of midnight blue. Its motto: We do not bend. For three hundred years the Caldish crown has passed through the eldest child of the line, regardless of sex, and the firstborn is presented to the realm in a tourney held on their eighteenth name day — half festival, half political summit, openly used by neighboring courts to send suitors, spies, and rivals all wearing the same colors. That tourney is yours.
Everything Zayne can’t say out loud, he says with hands — checking a pulse, catching a wrist before a fall, the deliberate space he leaves or closes between two bodies. He built a career reading bodies for a living, but this is the first one he can’t just diagnose and file away.