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aries1708 · 17 days ago

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Frozen fanfiction: Kjølig Vennskap

Summary: Before the events of Søsken, two seemingly different lives cross paths. Marshall, trying to set his life straight, finds himself drawn to a young woman. While dealing with his own struggles, he takes advantage of Elsa’s trust. Guilt and quiet understanding shape the unspoken bond that forms between them. As the seasons pass, they begin to lift each other’s burdens.

Elsa - Marshall - Marshmallow - hurt/comfort - Modern AU - Søsken universe - Elsa & Marshall

Links:

AO3 - HERE

Chapter 1 - Here Chapter 2 - Here Chapter 3 - Here Chapter 4 - Here

Heart like yours is rare to find

The snow had started to thin in patches near the lower slopes. The air still carried its winter bite from the peaks, but the sun had begun to shine more often, the days were longer, and tourists were slowly disappearing. At least the kind Elsa could work with.

The season was coming to an end, and Elsa had to admit things didn’t work out for her. Not the way she’d planned. Not the way Gerda and the family had imagined. They had all put too much faith in her, in her abilities, and she hadn’t been up to par. She had barely made enough to subsist through the coldest months, meaning she had no money left for the rest of the year.

She didn’t depend entirely on the income she made. Kai had insisted on sending money, helping her for as long as she needed. She was looking after the cottage on her own as well as building her life in that place. But still, she had been allowed to believe she could actually do something she wasn’t ready for, and the letdown felt a lot worse than she wanted to admit.

She had wanted to prove to Gerda and Kai she could do it. She wanted to be able to keep herself afloat and make their load lighter. But the more she thought about it, the more she realised it had simply been wishful thinking.

And nothing reminded her of that better than standing in Westergaard’s office again after just a few months.

She had avoided coming back to the resort for as long as she could. But as the amateur skiers started to leave, she knew she needed something to keep her afloat during the low season. She wasn’t even sure if there were openings. She no longer cared about being hired as an instructor. All she needed was something. Anything. A repetitive task no one liked. Preferably far from people. But she could adapt. She had to… if she ever wanted to learn how to live among others.

The resort office smelled faintly of wood, ink, and the sharp tang of a coffee left forgotten on the corner of the desk. Elsa stood near it, clutching a folder tightly in one hand.

She tried offering Westergaard the folder. The man didn’t even bother to look up when she did. And kept scribbling on a notepad, flipping a paper over.

The information inside was the same, so it wasn’t like he was missing anything important, still she felt a spark of anger rising. This time, Kristoff had been the one to write the information. He had lied a bit more and suggested she used a folder.

“I��ve told you before,” Westergaard said, breathing out, clearly exasperated. “We need certified instructors. And we won’t hire new ones till next year.”

Elsa’s fingers tightened on the folder, creasing it.

“I know,” she said, quietly. “But I wanted to ask if—” She breathed in, calming her nerves down, making sure the room didn’t get too cold. “If there’s anything else I could do around here. I haven’t got any experience, but—”

Westergaard pinched the bridge of his nose and cut her off. “I’m not running a charity.”

Before Elsa could respond, the door behind her creaked open.

“Oops, I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know you had company,” a young man said. Nodding an apology in Elsa’s direction.

“I don’t.” Westergaard signed a paper and put it on the side, finally raising his head addressing the man. “Miss— what was your name again?”

“Elsa.”

“Elsa was just leaving.” He didn’t even glance at her. “Talk to the secretary if you want more information about the certifications. That’s all I can do for you.”

He then leaned on the back of his seat, inviting the man to sit on the opposite chair, as if she had never been there. “Yes, Dan. Tell me.”

Elsa didn’t offer him a thank you nor an apology this time. She just gave a small nod and stepped back, her heart hammering in her chest. She was humiliated once again, and all she wanted to do was get out of the place as quickly as possible, but she needed the job. If not now, then maybe next year. She couldn’t rely on Kai forever, and she doubted there was anything else she could do other than skiing. So she ignored the lump in her throat and made her way to the front desk.

The secretary, a woman a few years younger than Westergaard, looked up when Elsa approached her. Her demeanour was serious, but not unkind. At least she seemed willing to talk, unlike her boss.

“He told me to ask you about certifications,” Elsa said, though it sounded more like a question. She wasn’t entirely sure what the certification was and she didn’t expect to get much help either. But the woman nodded regardless and started flipping through a folder.

“You want to look into training?” she asked, when she found the paper she was looking for.

Elsa gave a faint nod and the woman pulled out a folded schedule from the back. “This is the course they offer not far from here, through the regional winter program.

“It’s expensive,” she warned. “And it was full this season, so I'd recommend signing up once you're certain you meet their criteria.”

“Criteria?” Elsa asked, brow furrowing.

She smiled and circled a few things on the paper for her. “What they expect of you. References. Experience. Basic form and technique.” Handing the schedule to Elsa, she continued explaining. “There’s another round in early autumn. You’ll need at least one or two instructors to vouch for you. I recommend talking to people who’ve done it. They’ll give you hints. Help you get ready.”

Elsa hesitated. “Is there anyone you know who has?”

“Every instructor at this resort, darling,” she chuckled. “But I guess it’d be best to talk to one of the newly certified.”

She held her hand up, asking her to wait a moment and began writing names down in a list. When she was finished, she slid the paper across the desk. “They work here. They’ve joined us in the last two years.”

Elsa reached for it, quickly scanning the list to see if she recognised anyone’s name. To her surprise, she did halfway down the list.

Marshall Hålkesen.

“Is this…?” she wondered out loud, catching the secretary’s attention.

The woman leaned over, glancing quickly where her finger was pointing. “Oh, he’s one of the new ones. A tall, quiet guy. He had been working as a handyman before, but he started as an instructor earlier this season.”

She clicked her tongue after she thought about him for a moment. “He isn’t too cheerful. Always in a mood. I’d ask Bjorg.” Pointing to the name with a pen, she made a small red mark next to it. “Or Dan. He’s with Mr. Westergaard now if you want to wait for him. He works in the office as well as in the trails. He could vouch for you for the training, and here as well.”

Elsa shook her head quickly. Truth be told she wasn’t paying too much attention to her anymore. She had the information she needed, but it no longer mattered. “No, I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll talk to someone later. Thank you.”

Before the woman could say anything else, she walked out the office and towards the main gates. She walked slowly, boots crunching over the muddy snow that still remained in the shadows. Her mind kept going back to the name on the list she was now gripping tightly in her hand.

He never needed the lessons.

It wasn’t anger that settled in her chest. Not exactly. It wasn’t betrayal either, since she barely knew him. But something she didn’t have a name twisted inside of her. An uncomfortable weight that made keeping control a lot harder.

He hadn’t lied to her. Not really. But he’d come back again and again, asking for her help. Letting her explain things. Letting her believe she was teaching him something. He had listened like he needed her instructions, even when he clearly knew what he was doing.

Strangely enough, it had felt real.

Why pretend? she wondered. And as soon as she asked herself the question, a thought slipped into her mind, quiet and unwelcomed. What if Westergaard —or some other person— sent him? To test her. To see what she could do…

It seemed absurd. Her family had explained to her it wasn’t common nor normal for people to do things like that. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone took their time to observe her. To record what she did and how.

The idea alone sent a shiver down her spine.

She shook her head and tried to get rid of the feeling. A man at the gate may have noticed her discomfort and asked her if she was feeling all right. Unsure of what to say, she apologised and stepped past him before he could speak again.

She walked fast to her cottage, choosing the shorter path, even if it meant going through the forest. On the way she couldn’t stop her mind from drifting back again to Marshall.

He didn’t strike her as someone who would benefit from studying her, nor someone who took orders like that. What was more important, he didn’t seem insensitive in that particular way. He hadn’t pried nor asked personal questions. Not once had he mentioned anything about the cold or snow, other than what was strictly related to the sport.

There was nothing that would suggest he was what she feared. All the same, he had been pretending to be someone he wasn’t. And it hurt more than she wanted to admit. Because she had tried —really tried— to step outside her comfort zone. To talk to someone who wasn’t family. To act normal and build something real, even when she didn’t know what that was supposed to look like.

Marshall sat at his usual table while he waited for his friend to meet him. Dan was running late that evening. Still smitten with the Danish girl he had met, his friend was enjoying the extra week he got to spend with her. Dan had already declared her the love of his life —like he had done with many others before—, and Marshall couldn’t do more than laugh and bet how long this one would last. He’d lost the original bet however. He hadn’t expected her to stay an extra week just for his friend, and part of Marshall suspected Dan had paid for her extra nights just to mess with him.

Regardless of his new relationship, Marshall hoped he could make it that night. It wouldn’t take long for Dan to go back to town and he was hoping to see him before it happened. The end of the season meant fewer people around, less work for most, and half the staff were already heading back to town. It was a matter of time until Dan followed suit.

The resort had officially closed the season. Snow was too thin to make the slopes safe anymore, and Westergaard had agreed to wrap it up as the tourists stopped coming. Everyone was pleased with how things had gone. The numbers were good, their performance as a team quite positive, and Marshall in particular had adapted nicely to his new routine.

He hadn't started on the right foot, but in the end, things had taken a surprisingly positive turn. Westergaard had not only offered him a spot for the next season, he had also extended an invitation to stay through the summer as a climbing guide. A position that paid a lot better than simply working as a handyman in the resort. The idea of stability made it easier for him to breathe, and it felt good. Even if it hadn’t been entirely guilt-free, he finally had something to look forward to and he was excited.

All things considered, it had been a good week. One of those rare ones. And all he wanted to do was celebrate with his friend at the bar after so long.

He was grateful Dan had stepped up and helped him. He had made it clear he needed to cut back or risk ending up with a real problem. And truth be told, things had worked out better than he’d expected after he had. He no longer went to the bar on his own, and the few times he drank, he’d stick to just one beer. It hadn’t been easy at first, to the point it had scared him to some extent. But as the days went by, things began to fall into place, and he noticed the difference.

Surprisingly, after the first month, the guilt had started to feel lighter —easier to carry— and drinking wasn’t the first thing on his mind anymore. Getting Elsa out of his head, however, turned out to be a lot harder.

No more lessons meant no more excuses to see her, no reason to talk, and no way of knowing if she was doing okay.

Truth was, he’d looked for her. On the trails. In the small shops near the resort. He told himself maybe she’d stopped teaching when business dried up. That would have been the smart thing. Perhaps she had done what everyone else did and gone back to town.

Still, more often than not, he caught himself glancing toward the door whenever it opened. Wondering.

Right as if the universe was laughing on his face, the door to the bar opened and a gust of cold air from the peaks slipped in.

He raised his eyes and then he noticed her. She wasn’t wearing that worn-out jacket anymore, but a bluish cable knit sweater, slightly oversized, like it had once belonged to someone else.

The mood shifted the second she walked in. Not because people noticed her. They rarely did. But because Marshall did. She didn’t belong in bars like this. She moved like she wanted to disappear, always small, always careful, like she’d only come in because she had no other choice.

She stood near the counter, eyes fixed on anything but the people around her, as she waited for her turn. Oaken was too busy to notice her, and Marshall knew it would take a while.

Dan was nowhere to be seen, probably too distracted to even remember he was waiting for him, and so Marshall thought it wouldn’t hurt to try and talk to her. At least keep her company while she waited. He hadn’t even given her a real excuse the last time he’d spoken to her when he cancelled the lesson.

“You, uh… waiting on food?” He winced as soon as the words left his mouth.

He scratched at his beard and closed his eyes, trying to shake the awkwardness off. The answer was painfully obvious.

Elsa looked up. Her eyes flicked in his direction, then dropped to the floor just as fast. The faint smile he was expecting wasn’t there, nor the shy glance that told him she was listening. This time, she pressed her lips. Not a scowl, not quite, but it hit him like a punch to the gut.

He straightened and took a small step forward, careful not to draw attention.

“Elsa?” he tried again. “It’s been a while. I just wanted to say hi.”

Elsa nodded, still not meeting his eyes. She muttered a quiet hi and turned back to the counter. She raised her hand, hoping for Oaken to notice her with no luck as a taller man stepped in front of her.

He heard her huff and the annoyed sound brought a smile to his face. She was not in the mood to wait or chat, and he could relate to that.

“Give me a second,” he said, stepping forward.

He moved the drunk man aside and explained she had been there first. The guy mumbled an apology and stepped back. Marshall gave him a pat on the back before turning to Elsa.

“Can I get you anything?” he tried. “Hot tea? Or—” He hesitated. He had no idea what she liked. “Anything?”

“I ordered some food,” she mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Bjorgman!” Oaken’s voice cut through the room as he slapped a wrapped package on the counter. “Move aside, ya. She ordered first.”

Elsa stepped in, nudging Marshall aside. The action seemed a tad unnecessary, but he figured she just wanted to grab her food and go.

He stayed beside her, feeling a bit awkward under Oaken’s curious stare.

She paid, then slipped away from his side, heading toward the exit with quick steps.

“Hey, wait,” Marshall called after her, a sinking feeling in his chest. She didn’t owe him anything, but he thought they’d ended on better terms. He followed, keeping his pace careful, as not to invade her space.

“Let me…” he said, when he reached the door.

She paused and raised an eyebrow, unsure what he expected of her.

“Let me…” He reached the handle. “I wanted to help you with—” He cleared his throat. “With the door.” Shame crept up his neck. He was grateful his friend hadn’t been there to see him making a fool of himself.

She stared at him blankly. Then her expression shifted. The politeness that characterised her vanished. She narrowed her eyes and walked out of the bar, leaving him utterly dumbfounded.

Marshall stood frozen, breath caught in his throat and heart hammering in his ears. Deep down he knew this had nothing to do with him cancelling the lesson.

“Elsa.” He called after her. “Elsa, wait. Hold up.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. She seemed tense as she turned to him, her jaw clenched. Before he had the chance to ask her what was wrong, she mumbled.

“What?”

“Fuck off, Marshall,” she repeated quietly, like she didn’t want to be heard but couldn’t stop herself. And just like that, she was gone.

He stood there, holding the door open. The words echoing in his head, sharper than they had any right to be.

The bag of food in her hand had started to cool down as her fingers gripped it tighter. She kept her eyes forward, pretending she hadn't heard him call her name.

“Hold up,” Marshall had said.

And she had stopped, surprising even herself. Her teeth clenched, her eyes burned, and her hand holding the bag trembled. Not from the cold, but from the effort of holding back her words, her powers back.

A sudden memory hit her right then and there.

Kristoff, months before, maybe a year. Sitting across from her at the kitchen table, eating leftovers after a particularly long shift at work. They were both still living with their parents back then and she’d stayed up to wait for him.

She had been planning to move to the mountains, but as the date drew nearer, she had begun second-guessing herself. Afraid of what might happen if things got difficult with a client, or with people in general. Afraid she might lose control, or not know how to set boundaries when she needed space.

‘You can just say 'fuck off', you know,’ he had said, mouth full. ‘Seriously. If someone makes you uncomfortable, say it. You don’t need to yell or fight back. Just say it. You don’t owe people anything."

She had laughed at the time. Shaken her head thinking how little he understood. How hard it was for her. How wired into her brain it was to avoid attention, avoid conflict, keep herself small enough to survive.

But he’d been right.

And so, the moment she turned around to face him, the words had slipped. “Fuck off, Marshall.”

She didn’t wait to see his face. She didn’t need to. The weight lifted as soon as it left her lips. A trembling kind of relief. Her feet found the ground with more certainty than before, her strides longer, more confident.

He didn’t follow, and for that she was thankful. She wasn’t sure what to do if he did.

She wasn’t angry anymore, nor afraid. Not really. But she was more guarded now, and still disappointed. Not in him, but in the foolish hope she’d let grow inside her. The one that told her she could belong somewhere outside her family.

It was only when a couple asked Marshall to move out of the way that he moved. He blinked, stepped aside, and walked back to the bar. He sat down by the bar this time, the stool creaking beneath him. He leaned on the counter and pressed his palms to his face, dragging them down slowly. The shame was immediate and hot, spreading over his skin.

He should’ve said something. Weeks ago. He should’ve told her from the beginning that he worked for Westergaard. That he’d been stealing parts of her lessons to keep his job. That his job was safe because of her. He should have thanked her and offered her something in exchange. He could have done anything and it would have been better than that mess.

He reached for an empty glass, like he had done so many nights in the past, and waved at Oaken for a drink.

The first four went down fast, bitter. Burning down his throat as it tried to drown the guilt and shame. He kept drinking despite the odd look from Oaken and those around him. At some point during the night, the alcohol pushed the shame down and the guilt began to morph into something different. Something uglier that he knew too well and despised just us much…

Anger and frustration clawed up in its place before he could control it.

She was so good. Better than him. Better than most people he’d seen on a slope. But she couldn’t sell herself to save her damn life. She couldn’t look people in the eye nor string together more than a few words. She couldn’t even hand out a flyer!

Westergaard would’ve kicked him out before he ever had a chance to steal from her if she’d just tried.

And now it was his fault she hadn’t got a chance. Now he was the arsehole.

Did she truly think a few lessons meant she’d make it out there? Did she even ask for help?

The thoughts hit like an avalanche, and he hated every one of them. Hated himself even more for letting them in. But that didn’t make them any less true.

His gaze drifted to the stack of Elsa’s flyers still sitting untouched not far from where he was sitting. A hand-drawn logo, awful handwriting and a vague promise of a ski lesson. Marshall pushed himself off the stool and clumsily grabbed them all. He stared at the crumpled paper in his hand unsure what to do with them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oaken’s voice stopped him, a loud warning.

“I’m just—” He tried to find something to say. But there was no reasonable excuse.

Oaken rounded the counter with surprising speed for a man his size. He planted himself in front of him and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

“You just what?”

Marshall swallowed. The alcohol clouded his thoughts. “She’s not gonna get anywhere with this crap. I was just… trying to fix it?”

“By stealing her flyers?”

Marshall opened his mouth, but no words came out. He wasn’t sure what he had been trying to do. “I— It’s my fault. I did something stupid,” Marshall muttered, stuffing the flyers back on the table with shaky hands. “I messed it up.”

Oaken studied him. Not angry, but no patience left to deal with him either.

“You’re drunk,” he finally said. “And making less sense than usual.”

Dragging Marshall by his collar, he walked him out of the bar. The cold outside slapped him awake, but not enough.

“I don’t know what your mess is with that girl, but you’re not dragging it into my bar.”

Marshall found his eyes. The shame was back, like a weight pulling him down. “I wasn’t—”

“Go home, son,” Oaken said, softer now. “Sleep it off. And maybe stay home for a while, ya?”

Marshall blinked. “You’re kicking me out?”

“I’m telling you to be a man,” Oaken said, walking back to the bar. “Starting with knowing when you’re not welcome somewhere.”

The finality in his tone hit harder than it should have. Marshall stood still, wondering how he had managed to let things get to that point.

He walked back home in silence. The taste of alcohol in his mouth and Elsa’s voice still ringing in his head.

I’m glad I decided to divide chapter 4 into two chapters, it allowed me to explore a bit more the characters’ inner thoughts.

I’m having a lot of fun writing this and I hope you guys are enjoying it as well.

Don’t forget to share your thoughts! They always make my day!

Take care and read you soon!

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aries1708 · 17 days ago

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meow meow 🐱🐈🫠

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aries1708 · 2 months ago

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A place for dreams

I would never leave... 💜🖤

📷: worldai

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aries1708 · 2 months ago

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Frozen fanfiction: Kjølig Vennskap

Elsa - Marshall - Marshmallow - hurt/comfort - Modern AU - Søsken universe - Elsa & Marshall

Links: AO3 - HERE

Chapter 1 - Here

Sweet ones are hard to come across

It took Marshall a week to call.

He’d kept the flyer. Not for any noble reason, it had simply sat forgotten in his jacket pocket. And if he had to be honest, it had annoyed him more than once, getting in the way when he tried to reach for his keys or wallet. But every time he thought about throwing it away, he was reminded of how close he was to slipping into her shoes, ending in him putting it back inside the pocket as he cursed under his breath.

He didn’t tell Dan, nor the guys at the resort for that matter. After all, the only reason he decided to call was to save his arse; he wasn't proud of himself.

Westergaard was hiring. It was no longer a fleeting comment going around. The owner had seen a few candidates that week, and it was only a matter of time before he got tired of the complaints and hired whoever happened to walk through the door. So far three people had shown up. Dan didn’t know the first two, but he did recognise Elsa. She was the third to walk into the office. Her interview hadn’t lasted long —for what Dan had told him— but she was the only one who actually lived near the resort.

The idea of booking a class had crossed his mind as soon as Dan told him. Though at first, he didn’t give it much thought. Partly because he felt guilty about only wanting to see how good she really was, and partly because he wasn’t sure how useful the information would be. Even as he waited for Elsa to pick up, he kept thinking about hanging up. Despite his past mistakes, he liked to think he still had some decency left in him.

Elsa answered before he could make up his mind, and before he knew it, he had booked a single private lesson.

He didn’t mention the free lesson advertised on the flyer. If he was going to take advantage of her goodwill, the least he could do was pay her full fee. The rate was cheap. Meant to secure some work rather than charge what a professional lesson was worth. And the more he thought about it, the more he despised the man he was becoming. His grandfather would’ve been disappointed in him, no doubt. But then again, he was running out of options.

The following morning, he made his way to the slope she had chosen. It was far from the main runs and the main one near the resort —beyond a deep forest and above the cliff. It wasn’t easy to access, and Marshall doubted any amateur would willingly hike that far with so many easier options available.

The place was quiet. No tourists, no chatter, no signs of life. Realizing this made him both relax and wonder if she actually knew what she was doing. Maybe he was overthinking and his doubts were unfounded. And perhaps booking a lesson to see what he was competing against wasn't worth the trouble. Despite the problems he'd been causing Westergaard, he knew the man wouldn’t hire someone unfit for the job.

He arrived over half an hour earlier, wanting to see the way she prepared for the lesson. He stood among the trees, away from the trail that led to the base of the slope and waited.

Elsa arrived ten minutes early. On foot. Completely alone.

Part of him wanted to warn her about the risks of meeting a strange man in the middle of nowhere. After all, she’d only asked for a name over the phone. Nothing else. It unsettled him more than he would've expected. Was someone aware she’d come all the way there to meet him? She wore no ski school coat nor ID badge. There was nothing to testify to her credentials —if she even had any— or that there was someone else working with her. She was by herself with that same beat-up jacket, a backpack and some old ski equipment.

Marshall sighed as he rubbed a hand over his face, he was regretting his decision already. Not only for wasting his time, but Elsa’s as well.

He watched as she ordered her own gear and equipment. She was quiet and efficient as she straightened the poles and set the skis. She was focused and methodical. Maybe a little tense, for some unknown reason.

She’d brought along extra skis and snow boots. It was a small detail that caught his attention. She’d asked for his boot size over the phone, but he hadn’t thought much about it at the time, especially since he’d told her he’d bring his own equipment. Yet, here she was, ensuring there was extra gear for them both. That detail alone was more than he had ever done for his own students. It rubbed him the wrong way, like she was more put-together than he was.

After a few minutes, he checked his watch and realised it was time for the lesson to start. He didn’t say a word though, and instead decided to stay where he was, leaning on a tree, arms crossed, simply watching.

She started warming up, stretching her arms and legs. Only checking the time sporadically.

He didn’t show up on time, but she waited. Ten minutes, then twenty. She stayed way past the half hour. As he watched her organise her things for a third time, he tried to put himself in her shoes for a moment. He realised then that he wouldn't have waited more than fifteen minutes. He would have already left, swearing like a sailor, making his way to Westergaard’s office to cross the client out of his list. One more thing she'd do differently.

She paced. Checked the time. Rechecked the trail. And when he was certain she was ready to leave, she sat down. Arms wrapped around her knees.

Marshall saw her try to keep it together, but he also saw the moment her hands balled into fists, the moment her breath caught in her throat. He didn't need to know her to understand her disappointment. After an hour, when it began to snow slowly, she packed up her things and left, the backpack hanging heavily on her shoulders.

He didn’t call after her. He didn’t follow. He simply stood there like an idiot, having wasted both their times.

That night he didn’t meet Dan at the bar. Still, he managed to drink one too many beers and he ended up calling her again.

She answered, despite how late it was. From the sound of her voice, he could tell she wasn’t pleased, but she remained as polite as the day before. That, more than anything, threw him off. He had stood her up on a cold, snowy morning, and now he was calling to reschedule like it was nothing. He wouldn’t have been half as patient in her place.

He tried to come up with an excuse, a task harder than usual with the alcohol dulling his thoughts. Eventually he managed to convince her by promising to pay for the lesson he’d missed.

After he hung up, he sat in silence, wondering why he kept insisting. He told himself it was about paying her what he owed. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure what else she might do differently. What else she might be quietly getting right. And he didn’t want to take any chances.

The second lesson was scheduled for the following morning. Boots crunching against the snow, Marshall paced the same spot where Elsa had waited for him the day before. A light snow storm had painted the landscape in white once more, the trees in the distance now barely recognisable. The cold chilled his bones, yet he stayed, waiting for her.

Just like before, Elsa arrived ten minutes before the lesson.

She approached him without a word, dropped her things between them, then crossed her arms and finally spoke. “You’re not late.”

Marshall used the moment to study her more closely. She wore the same thin jacket. The mere thought of being out here so inadequately dressed made him wince. Her cheeks were red from the wind, still she didn’t seem to mind. The shadows under her eyes suggested she hadn’t slept much, yet her gaze still carried a distinct shine. There was a spark, some eagerness or energy he couldn’t name, let alone share.

Adjusting his gloves, he avoided her eyes and gave her a half-shrug. “Didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

That earned him a dry look, but no reply. She didn’t ask why he hadn’t come the first time. She simply pointed at the slope and gestured for him to follow her.

“How much experience?” she asked, only when they were high enough for a simple descent.

“Enough,” he replied. “I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m not a tourist.”

That got her attention. She turned around to make sure he was being serious. “So… why the lesson?”

“I want to improve,” Marshall said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

She studied him for a moment. She must’ve sensed something was off, but she didn’t press. Instead, she nodded once and began her lesson.

“We’ll start with short turns. I want to see how you handle picking up the pace and slowing down.”

Marshall raised his eyebrows, surprised not only by Elsa’s straightforwardness but also by how easily she had trusted his word. He would’ve tested his own clients before starting a lesson, just to make sure they actually knew what they claimed. He wasn’t sure what was the best approach, but he couldn’t say he was displeased with hers.

Not wasting any more time, he did what she asked. Not to impress her —at least not on purpose— but to give her something to start with. When he came to a stop at the base, he turned around and noticed her watching him, her expression unreadable from a distance. She slid down after him, stopping smoothly beside him.

“You’re using your hips too much. That’s why you’re catching the inside edge. Try using your core more, and keep your movements smaller. Don’t overdo it.”

Marshall stiffened. “Overdoing it?”

“You're trying to look like you know what you’re doing,” she said, tone calm and surprisingly kind. “But that’s not the same as doing it right.”

He stared at her, unsure of how to take her words. He didn’t want to admit it, but part of him wondered if she was right. He had been trying to make himself look better than he felt —an old habit that had only gotten worse in the last year. But he hadn’t meant to show off.

She stepped in front of him and, patiently, she demonstrated what she meant. Her voice didn’t waver, not even when he rolled his eyes and threw a sarcastic comment. She didn’t back up nor was she condescending. She simply taught what she thought was missing and treated him with the same kindness as before.

She showed him how to position his feet in a slightly different way. And then he tried again. And again. Until he understood exactly what she meant. When he turned around to see her reaction, she was already skiing down towards him. This time, she offered a small smile and gave him a simple nod.

“Better,” she said. “You’re more centered. Less effort for the same result.

Despite knowing she was right, and having actually improved at something he already knew, he felt frustrated. With her or with himself, he wasn’t sure.

Deep down he wanted to see what else he was doing wrong. Where else he was wasting his energy. Though he was still too busy thinking about how easily she’d slipped into the instructor role. How clearly she explained things. How much she understood the ground, the snow, the steepness. She knew how to break it down, how to deliver it in pieces that actually made sense. It was simple, and it worked. And more importantly, she didn't look like she was trying to prove anything to him. She just wanted to help him get it right.

Something twisted in his chest. It wasn't admiration, it wasn't envy either. Something strange in between.

He didn’t say much for the rest of the session. Just watched. Listened. Took in the little things: The way she paused to give him space when he got frustrated, the way she never raised her voice, the way she adjusted her pace according to the snow at her feet.

She was everything he wasn’t. And it scared the hell out of him.

“Who taught you?” he asked, still trying to catch his breath after two hours going up and down the slope. The things she could achieve in a single lesson if only she had access to a proper slope with rope tows or ski lifts.

Elsa hesitated for a moment, avoiding his eyes in the process. “My family.”

Marshall gave a small nod, not really buying it. The way she moved in the snow told a different story after all.

It was also strange how she managed to be so sure of herself when she was delivering her lesson. And so hesitant the second their conversation drifted to something other than the skis, the slope or the snow. She was quiet, distant in a completely different way than he was, and awkward when she wasn’t teaching. But as soon as their focus returned to the lesson, she became somebody else.

He wanted to transform like that. To manage his emotions and conceal everything in order to teach the way she did. It was easy to listen to. Easy to follow… Exactly what Westergaard needed.

After the lesson, they didn’t linger. He paid in cash, both classes, despite Elsa insisting it wasn't necessary. Only when he made it clear he wouldn’t book another lesson unless she took the money did she finally accept. She thanked him politely and slipped away before he could say anything else.

That night he didn’t sleep much. He stayed awake doodling and writing everything he could remember from the lesson in an old notebook.

The next morning, while the slopes were still wrapped in early fog, he walked into Westergaard’s office. There was a stiffness in his chest. And no matter how many times the voice at the back of his head told him the reason, he kept ignoring it.

As soon as Westergaard asked him what he wanted, he began telling him about restructuring his lessons. He needed smaller groups and less pressure, to allow for a more personal, deliberate approach. He remembered using the words “personal,” “deliberate,” —as if saying them out loud would somehow make the idea his own.

Westergaard didn’t even lift his eyes from the paperwork. “That’s not your usual style.”

“I want to adapt,” Marshall replied honestly. “Not everyone responds to drills. Perhaps the clients would appreciate a different method.”

Westergaard gave a slow nod. “We’ve been getting some complaints. I’m willing to let you try, but don’t waste this chance I’m giving you.”

Marshall nodded, knowing exactly what it meant. If things didn’t improve, he’d be out of the resort before the season was over.

He left the office with an ache in his stomach. He wanted to convince himself he was just nervous, as well as eager to try something different. But deep down he knew it had nothing to do with it.

That very same day he booked a new lesson.

It started with that third lesson, and then he couldn’t stop.

Elsa didn’t question it at first. There were tourists who stuck around too long, locals who spent their winters learning a new skill. Marshall wasn’t either of those things, but still she was happy to have someone booking lessons.

For his part, Marshall felt like a fraud every time he walked away. He kept insisting he just wanted to move better. To have more control on the ice. But he took advantage of her lessons in a way no-one else did. He asked too many questions. The kind people asked only if they were either very serious about learning or very lost.

Every quiet afternoon spent skiing with her gave him something new to bring back to his lessons: a phrase, a gesture, an easy enough drill. Things that worked. Things clients noticed.

Westergaard noticed too. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it,” he told Marshall one morning. And so he did. He couldn’t afford not to.

As long as Elsa didn’t ask questions, he’d keep doing it. She didn’t even seem to realize how much he was taking. But the guilt had started to settle in. Silent and sharp, like cold biting underneath his skin.

Okay… I’m both eager and nervous to see the reactions this chapter gets. If there weren’t countered opinions about Marshall already, I came up with this.

Funny thing, Marshall wasn’t supposed to stand Elsa up in the first lesson. But after a student of my own stood me up, I used that hour I had to waste to write, including that small detail. Don’t stand teachers up. Let them know you won’t be able to make it.

This message is part of the “Teachers are people too” movement. lol

I hope you have fun reading. Depending on the way people react to this, I might continue with this or Søsken. We’ll see. I wrote another scene for chapter 56 btw. I’m working on it, I promise. That’s why I haven’t been answering your comments lately. There are only so many words I can come up with in a week apparently.

Hope to read you soon!

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aries1708 · 2 months ago

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aries1708 · 2 months ago

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La Fiesta de la Divina Misericordia

La Fiesta de la Divina Misericordia tiene el rango más alto de entre las cinco formas de devoción a la Divina Misericordia, debido a la magnitud de las promesas que Jesucristo le reveló a santa Faustina Kowalska, y a su posición en el calendario litúrgico de la Iglesia, al celebrarse el primer domingo tras la Pascua de Resurrección.

La celebración de la Fiesta de la Divina Misericordia está estrechamente unida a la devoción de la Imagen de Jesús Misericordioso, ya que ese día, según el mandato que Jesucristo le transmitió a Sor Faustina en 1931, la imagen de la Divina Misericordia que le había ordenado pintar ha de estar expuesta en todas las iglesias, para que el mundo entero conozca la infinita Misericordia de Dios hacia el hombre, al que ama sin límites, deseando su salvación eterna. Por ello, Jesús quiere que los pecadores se acerquen a Él sin miedo, con plena confianza en Su infinita Misericordia.

Las palabras de Jesucristo fueron recogidas por santa Faustina en su Diario. La religiosa relata que al salir del confesionario escuchó estas palabras del Señor:

(...) «Deseo que haya una Fiesta de la Misericordia. Quiero que esta imagen que pintarás con el pincel, sea bendecida con solemnidad el primer domingo después de la Pascua de Resurrección; ese domingo debe ser la Fiesta de la Misericordia» (Diario, 49). «Las almas mueren a pesar de Mi amarga Pasión. Les ofrezco la última tabla de salvación, es decir, la Fiesta de Mi misericordia. Si no adoran Mi misericordia, morirán para siempre. Secretaria de Mi misericordia, escribe, habla a las almas de esta gran misericordia Mía, porque está cercano el día terrible, el día de Mi justicia» (Diario, 965).

Las promesas de Jesucristo en la Fiesta de la Divina Misericordia

Jesucristo vinculó importantes promesas para quienes celebren la Fiesta de la Divina Misericordia según Sus indicaciones, tal y como santa Faustina dejó escrito en su Diario:

(...) «Hija Mía, habla al mundo entero de la inconcebible misericordia Mía. Deseo que la Fiesta de la Misericordia sea refugio y amparo para todas las almas y, especialmente, para los pobres pecadores. Ese día están abiertas las entrañas de Mi misericordia. Derramo todo un mar de gracias sobre las almas que se acercan al manantial de Mi misericordia. El alma que se confiese y reciba la Santa Comunión obtendrá el perdón total de las culpas y de las penas. En ese día están abiertas todas las compuertas divinas a través de las cuales fluyen las gracias. Que ningún alma tema acercarse a Mí, aunque sus pecados sean como escarlata. Mi misericordia es tan grande que en toda la eternidad no la penetrará ningún intelecto humano ni angélico. Todo lo que existe ha salido de las entrañas de Mi misericordia. Cada alma respecto a mí, por toda la eternidad meditará Mi amor y Mi misericordia. La Fiesta de la Misericordia ha salido de Mis entrañas, deseo que se celebre solemnemente el primer domingo después de Pascua. La humanidad no conocerá paz hasta que no se dirija a la Fuente de Mi misericordia» (Diario, 699).

Obras de misericordia presentes en la Fiesta

Jesús le reveló a santa Faustina la exigencia de ser misericordioso con el prójimo y cuáles son las tres formas de realizar obras de misericordia, que deben estar presentes el día de la Fiesta de la Divina Misericordia. Esta exigencia se extiende a toda la humanidad:

(...) «Te doy tres formas de ejercer misericordia al prójimo: la primera – la acción, la segunda – la palabra, la tercera – la oración. En estas tres formas está contenida la plenitud de la misericordia y es el testimonio irrefutable del amor hacia Mi. De este modo el alma alaba y adora Mi misericordia. Sí, el primer domingo después de Pascua es la Fiesta de la Misericordia, pero también debe estar presente la acción y pido se rinda culto a Mi misericordia con la solemne celebración de esta Fiesta y con el culto a la imagen que ha sido pintada. A través de esta imagen concederé muchas gracias a las almas; ella ha de recordar a los hombres las exigencias de Mi misericordia, porque la fe sin obras, por fuerte que sea, es inútil» (...) (Diario, 742).

La Fiesta de la Divina Misericordia se celebra el 27 de abril de 2025

En 2025, la Fiesta de la Divina Misericordia se celebra el domingo 27 de abril. Jesucristo nos está brindando un regalo maravilloso, propio de Su Misericordia sin límites: el perdón total de las culpas y penas.

A quienes se sientan arrepentidos por sus pecados, Jesús les invita a acercarse a Él sin miedo, con plena confianza en Su Misericordia, a confesarse sacramentalmente y recibir la Santa Comunión. El Señor también nos pide realizar obras de misericordia por el prójimo, mediante la acción, la palabra o la oración.

Te invito a profundizar en las revelaciones de Jesucristo a santa Faustina Kowalska sobre la Fiesta de la Divina Misericordia. Las encontrarás en las páginas de mi libro Las claves de la Divina Misericordia, un ensayo publicado con licencia Imprimátur de la Iglesia Católica. La obra incluye análisis e interpretación de los principales extractos de las más de seiscientas páginas del Diario de santa Faustina para que puedas conocer y comprender los mensajes clave que Jesús le reveló en el siglo XX a la religiosa polaca.

Source: La Fiesta de la Divina Misericordia

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aries1708 · 2 months ago

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Where to Buy Hardcopy Frozen Books: My Guide & Ratings ❄

Since I've posted my novel photoshoot and timeline guide for various books, lots of people have asked me about where I bought all my Frozen books. Some of them were bought in my local bookstore, but most of them are from online, so here's some online bookstore list that I'm using and highly recommended 💙

Before read:

- This guideline is only for hardcopy books since I’m a huge fan of hardcopy books and have only collected hardcopy books so far. - Since I'm not from US, this guideline is a general guideline based on my experience which supports worldwide shipping (at least it's available in my country which is in Asia 😁). - Availability may vary by country and cannot guarantee that all books will be in stock. - The ratings and comments are rated by me, so it's just for your references.

Amazon US

Website: https://www.amazon.com

Book Variety and Availability: Wide.

New or Used Book: Both.

Shipping Fees: Very expensive.

Shipping Tracking: Accurate.

Shipping Time: Within 2 - 3 weeks.

Mobile App: Yes.

Overall Rating: ★★★☆☆

My Review: This was the first international online bookstore where I bought physical books. I’ve purchased quite a number of books from Amazon US. It used to be my go-to option whenever a book wasn’t available on local online bookstores, at least until I discovered a few more international online bookstores, which I’ll mention below. The biggest downside is the shipping fee, it’s very expensive, sometimes even more than the book itself.

Check out the unboxing of books from Amazon US in the video below (starting at 01:23):

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Thriftbooks

Website: https://www.thriftbooks.com/

Book Variety and Availability: Wide.

New or Used Book: Used only.

Shipping Fees: Expensive.

Shipping Tracking: Inaccurate.

Shipping Time: Within 2-3 weeks.

Mobile App: Yes.

Overall Rating: ★★★☆☆

My Review: I used to buy books exclusively from Amazon US until I came across this online bookstore. The shipping fee is still expensive, but more affordable compared to Amazon US. The condition descriptions for used books are fairly accurate (note: new books are only available for shipping within the US; international shipping only supports used books). The main downside is the tracking, it’s not accurate, so I never know exactly when my book will arrive. I tried reaching out to customer service but I didn’t get a reply. Also, there was no contact number printed on the package, so the postman couldn’t call me. Instead, they just dropped the book into my mailbox without informing me. I had to check my mailbox every day, which was a bit of a hassle.

Check out the unboxing of books from Thriftbooks in the video below (starting from 00:50):

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Better World Books

Website: https://www.betterworldbooks.com/

Book Variety and Availability: Wide.

New or Used Book: Used only.

Shipping Fees: Not applicable (included in the item price).

Shipping Tracking: Accurate.

Shipping Time: Within 2-3 weeks.

Mobile App: No.

Overall Rating: ★★★★☆

My Review: I discovered this online bookstore recently. The book prices are higher than the previous two, but that’s because shipping fees are already included. Still, the overall price is quite similar. Shipping was surprisingly fast, which I didn’t expect. I highly recommend this one.

Check out the unboxing of books from Thriftbooks in the video below (starting from 00:26):

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Blackwell’s

Website: https://blackwells.co.uk/

Book Variety and Availability: Limited.

New or Used Book: Used only.

Shipping Fees: Not applicable (included in the item price).

Shipping Tracking: Inaccurate.

Shipping Time: At least one month.

Mobile App: No.

Overall Rating: ★★☆☆☆

My Review: This store has fewer options than the previous three. The tracking is unreliable, and the shipping time is very slow—it took over a month for my order to arrive. I don’t recommend it.

Check out the unboxing of books from Blackwell's in the video below (starting from 01:14):

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Conclusion: Rating breakdown

Note that so far, I have only bought two books from Better World Books and one book from Blackwell's, as I only discovered these bookstores in the past few months. Therefore, my experience with these stores is limited.

Book Variety (More → Less): Thriftbooks = Amazon US -> Better World Books -> Blackwell’s Packaging Condition (Good → Poor): Better World Books = Thriftbooks = Blackwell’s -> Amazon US Shipping Fees (Affordable → Expensive): Better World Books = Blackwell’s -> Thriftbooks -> Amazon US Shipping Times (Fastest -> Slowest): Better World Books -> Thriftbooks = Amazon US -> Blackwell’s Shipping Tracking (Most accurate → Least accurate): Better World Books = Amazon US -> Thriftbooks = Blackwell’s Overall Rating (Highly Recommended → Not Recommended): Better World Books -> Thriftbooks -> Amazon US -> Blackwell’s

Additionally, there’s one online bookstore that doesn’t support worldwide shipping but is highly recommended. Its availability depends on your country:

Kinokuniya

Website: Depends on your country.

Book variety and availability: Lesser.

New or used book: New.

Shipping fees: Affordable.

Shipping tracking: Accurate.

Shipping Times: Up to 5 days for in-stock items; 2 to 3 weeks for out-of-stock items.

Mobile App: No.

Overall Rating: ★★★★★

My Review: This is always my first choice when it comes to buying books. The prices are the most affordable among all international bookstores I’ve used. One of the main reasons is that I get extra discounts as a member (usually 10%, sometimes 15%, and occasionally additional vouchers). I also get free shipping when I spend over a certain amount. Plus, customer service is responsive, they usually reply within a day. The shipping time is also the fastest. The only downside is that sometimes a book appears to be available and you can add it to your cart, but later customer service will inform you that it’s actually out of stock. However, don’t worry, they won’t charge you for it.

At last, if you have any experiences you'd like to share using any of these online bookstores, or if you have any recommended bookstores, feel free to leave a comment!

Thank you for reading this long guide, I hope it helps!

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