#and exist warmly outside blanket cave

[gem-in-the-horizon]

liveblogging my struggles!! power has been out since i woke up so going on five hours now. theoretically it will be back on in an hour. however, they also said that four hours ago so who knows!

at this point, it is now dark out so we get to scramble with flashlights. it's also barely above freezing right now, which is usually but not ideal when you have No Power and Shitty Windows that let out too much warm air and let in too much wind.

mind you, my situation is not dire. just mildly unpleasant. I do however, for some odd reason, find myself with a lot of inspiration for another "snowday" fic

[percyxcalypso]

PJO Riordanverse Rarepair Week 2022 September 1 : Stars @them-awesome-rarepairs

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 || Percy Jackson x Calypso || Fanfiction || credits: The Battle of The Labyrinth + Underneath the Stars

Ogygia Percalypso part 3 of ?

“Percy, what do you see?” 

I brought my eyes back to earth. However amazing the stars were, Calypso was twice as brilliant. I mean, I’ve seen the goddess of love herself, Aphrodite, and I would never say this out loud or she’d blast me to ashes, but for my money, Calypso was a lot more beautiful, because she just seemed so natural, like she wasn’t trying to be beautiful and didn’t even care about that. She just was. With her braided hair and white dress, she seemed to glow in the moonlight. She was holding a tiny plant in her hands. Its flowers were silver and delicate.

“I was just looking at…” I found myself staring at her face. 

– Percy Jackson, The Battle of The Labyrinth

It was nighttime in the phantom island, Ogygia, where its existence was an enigma. A few days or weeks ago –nobody knows because time works differently there– he was injured badly, he gasped “Holy Poseidon” when he saw himself in the bronze mirror after the last occurrence in Mt. Hellens. He did not heal by himself. He was helped by a beautiful sorceress, Calypso. She tended his wounds, fed him ambrosia and foods, and gave him change of new clothes. 

One night after dinner, they sat on the edge of the grassy meadow right before it slopped down to the sandy beach. It was dark but the stars, moon, and moonlace shone, providing them a shimmering light. They felt the breezy air, smelt the sweet-scented plants combined with the freshwater of the lake, and heard the sound of waves crashing to the shore. The feeling was just intoxicating and heavenly underneath the stars.

It was perfect. They looked up to the night sky and stargaze. This wasn't the first time they were stargazing, not the first time either Percy caught his eyes staring down at Calypso and thought nothing but how beautiful she is.

When her eyes met his, he blushed and looked away in embarrassment. 

“Have I told you the stars in Manhattan are nothing compared to the stars up here?” Percy let out a contented sigh, “they’re brilliantly stunning.”

He brought his eyes back to her, “I have never seen anything like this.”  

Then he saw the sad expression again. He didn’t know she was disappointed because she thought she would never see this Manhattan of his. 

“Well, Brave One,” Calypso’s expression changed, “the stars won’t go anywhere, you can admire them for as long as you want.”

Maybe it was the atmosphere of how brilliant the night was, or maybe he was still tired and too lazy to get up to the cave and sleep, or maybe it was the company that made him want to spend more time outside. Whatever it was, he was just too fond of this state. He instantly spoke out his idea to sleep outdoors. Calypso hesitated at first, but after Percy's persuasion, she succumbed to his charm.

She raised her hand and waved at the cave. Just a few moments later, some cushions and blankets flew to her arms and a big mat flopped to the ground and rolled out by the invisible aerial servants. They arranged the cushions and lay down comfortably. They didn’t feel cold at all. The blankets wrapped them warmly and the wind blew softly.

Percy told her stories of the outside modern world, then Calypso unfold the stories of how the world is before she got imprisoned and quickly changed to other topics like musical instruments, favorite things, blue foods, and Percy telling jokes which Calypso genuinely found funny. They learned that they both were deeply compassionate towards other people around them.

After hours of engaging conversation, they kept letting out yawns but were hardly willing to sleep. But in the end, their eyelids got heavy and surrendered to bed. 

They both contented to this, of how sublime the night was. But somehow they can’t shake off the feeling this will never happen again.

Calypso turned to sleep facing Percy, she thought of how she loved this moment, wanted to be selfish, and never wished for it to be over.

"Stay," she whispered.

Percy looked to his left and saw that she was already asleep peacefully. He turned to face her so she was the last thing his eyes saw, before he closed them to sleep, he mouthed:

"I'm not going anywhere."

And we drifted to another state of mind

And imagined I was yours and you were mine

As we lay upon the grass there in the dark

Underneath the stars

Weak in the knees wrapped in the warm, gentle breeze

I, so shy, a bundle of butterflies

Flushed with the heat of desire

On a natural high

As we drifted to another place and time

And the feeling was so heady and sublime

As I lost my heart to you there in the dark

Underneath the stars,

Young love

Beautiful and bittersweetly

You were fading into me and

I was gently fading into you

But the time went sailing by

Reluctantly we said goodbye

And we left our secret place so far behind

[whimsicallyreading]

Dark Roast, No Sugar

Part Two

Aelin leaned her head against a solid chest and counted the beats. These stolen moments were what she and Sam lived for. His breaths were even, and the gentle rumble of thunder outside assured their temporary safety.

 Arobynn's plain was delayed due to the torrential downpour flooding Rifthold. They'd received the text at the same time, and Sam immediately came to find her. Sneaking into the manor was risky, but Tern, Harding, and Mulligan were all occupied, and no one would dare enter Arobynn's office while he was away.

Well, everyone besides them. The danger was definitely worth it, Aelin mused as she stretched like a cat and sprawled into a more comfortable position over the muscled torso. A hand reached up and dragged calloused fingers through her hair, making her preen with satisfaction.

 Sam chuckled from below her, spread out like a starfish on Arobynn's poached polar bear rug. She felt sad for the untimely death of the creature, but she couldn't deny it made the perfect spot for their rendezvous.

 "We can't stay like this forever," Sam reminds her gently. He works his fingers down her long blond hair to the nape of her neck, where he works at the knotted muscles.

 "Not now, but soon," she reminds him as if he wasn't the one to concoct their crazy escape plan.

 A kiss pressed against her forehead marks the seal of his promise. "Soon," he agrees. "This hell will be over for you and me." The conviction of his voice lets that little tealight of hope in her chest flicker dangerously.

 "We will be free. The only dreams we will be having is what our home together will look like," she nuzzles into his chest and urges him to keep going. He knows she likes it when he talks long term to her.

"In the mornings, I will wake up to you in my bed. Your hair all over the place, and your arms constricting me like a hungry python."

 She cracks her eyes open at that and gives him a sleepy glare.

 "I wouldn't change a single thing about it," he continues. "Knowing you are safe with me is all I will ever need to be happy. Waking up to you in my arms is enough beauty to sate me wherever we end up. I'll be the happiest man alive."

 Tears burned the corners of her eyes, and a lump ached in her throat. For so long, she'd been deprived of affection and relationships of any kind. Aelin couldn't help the feeling of free-falling every time Sam declared his love. It was a treasure she thought she'd never had again. "I love you, Sam," Aelin whispers against his chest and presses a messy kiss to the muscle there.

 "Then why didn't you look for me?" His voice cracks in pain.

 Startled, Aelin's head shoots up. Ice chills her blood, and the screams that pour from Aelin's mouth are unearthly when she's faced with the gaping holes where his eyes should be.

 His eyes. She feels that familiar pain beneath her ribs. Those eyes that had been so kind. Made her feel so safe and radiated warmth. Aelin mourned their loss. Mourned him.

 "You didn't look for me," those damning words left his lips again.

 Aelin wakes up with a sob. "I'm sorry," she yells to the empty room.

 "I'm sorry," she keens. There are no hands in her hair. No beating heart beneath her cheek. She curls into a ball and grabs locks of her hair, pulling at them until strands fall loosely into her hand. The agony builds until it pinches her gut so hard and wrenches her heart so profoundly that she barely makes it to the toilet before hot, acidic bile burns a path up her throat.

 It burns through her over and over until she's leaned against the toilet seat sobbing. Her arms wrapped around her midsection protectively.    

 Morning sickness should have passed by now, but she still spent a great deal of time in this position. It never got less painful, and Aelin's seemed more aggressive than what other mothers recounted experiencing online. Her constant sickness and nightmares were leaving her feeling weak.

 Maybe it was a punishment for bringing a little life into a world that had savaged its father? That thought crossed Aelin's mind often. Perhaps it was penance for her selfishness. Her wanting to keep this small piece of Sam despite knowing the kind of life it would be subjected to endure.

 There was no forgiveness for the things she's done. Why would the universe let her have this? She should just be grateful it hadn't been taken from her entirely.

 Spineless, coward.

 Aelin laid curled up on the bathroom floor for hours. Existing in a constant cycle of sickness followed by mental torment. Chills wracked her frame, and she trembled on the cold tile. She barely had the energy to lift herself up when the urge to vomit struck her. Words floated in her head, furthering her misery.

 Coward. Liar. Oathbreaker. Life taker.

 That's where Lysandra found her, at a much more reasonable hour of the morning. Aelin was so tired she could only sob when the door cracked open. Her head fell forward and rested against the porcelain seat, too weak to hold it up any longer.

 Lysandra had cringed and very gently guided her head from the toilet rim to her shoulder, nestling Aelin's forehead into the crook of her neck despite the cold-sweat there.

 She crooned sweet nothings and soothed Aelin until she had the strength to stand up and collect herself. Lysandra helped her dress and brush her teeth. She left Aelin to sit on the couch and came back with lightly buttered toast, a glass of water, and a cup of ginger tea.

 Her attempt to decline it was futile. Lysandra left no room for argument. Slowly, Aelin bit the toast and sipped the tea. Bite by bite and drink by drink, she finished the breakfast.

 Lysandra didn't relent her hovering for the rest of the morning. As she was forced through her morning routine under her friend's watchful eye, she began to feel more human, and that awful pain slowly faded to the background of her mind. Nausea still rolled in her belly, but the food and drink helped settle it enough for her to function.

 Now here Aelin was, only a couple of hours later, filling muffin cups to have ready for the early morning regulars.

Her attitude was dismal.

 She felt sick. Her body ached from hours of lying on the cold tile. Sweat soaked her clothes and chilled her forehead. Just looking at her cup of tea made her angry that it wasn't coffee, but her stomach burned so furiously that not even coffee sounded good. It was a horrible paradox and was only just that much more upsetting.

 Aelin felt her eyes begin to burn with tears, and she slammed the bowl of batter down so hard that it splattered up her apron. She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes and tried to will the tears back down.

 Maybe she would cave to Lysandra's demands that she go upstairs and rest. It went grated against her desire to be self-sufficient and independent, but taking a hot bath and curling up in her bed sounded like pure bliss. The baby would likely benefit from her decompressing, too. That thought sold her on the idea.

 The bell at the counter rang.

 Aelin took a deep breath and washed her hands quickly. She would take this customer and then let Lysandra know she was taking the day off.

 Thinking of the jasmine soap and the warm blanket waiting for her upstairs was just enough for her to plaster on a smile.

 "Goodmorning, how can I- you," The last word came out in a hiss. Aelin's smile melted as quickly as it came.

 The asshole was back, and he brought a friend.

 Whoop-dee-freaking-doo.

 To his credit, the friend was equally as beautiful as the Asshole himself. He had dark skin, the color of polished pennies, and long blonde hair that coiled just above the arches of his cheekbones. If his choice of companionship didn't perturb Aelin so much, she might've found him attractive.

 Hell, she found him attractive anyway.

 "Is that how you greet all your customers, sweetheart?" The friend smiled at her, and his perfect teeth were bright enough to signal plains.

 "Do you call every girl sweetheart or only the ones you want to spit in your coffee?" Her tone is sharp enough to cut glass, and the man's eyes widen at the challenge.

 "I don't drink coffee, but I supposed the hot chocolate I was going to order is just as easy to violate," he laughs warmly, and her eyes follow the motion of his adam's apple. "How about I lay off the pet names in exchange for a warm cup of sugar without saliva?" His face was sincere enough that she felt less inclined to spite him for his choice of friends.

 "Your name?" she asks.

 "Fenrys," he offers without a joke, and Aelin writes it on a cup.

"I want a dark roast, black." The asshole reiterated his order from the day before. He had his arms crossed, and his face was set in a grimace. His comment the other day still rang in her ears, and she was certainly not feeling generous. Aelin scowled at him and left them both at the counter without a word.

 It only took a few minutes to make the cocoa. She made every cup from scratch with a recipe she'd been perfecting since childhood. As she prepped the drink, the store bells rang again.

 Turning around with the drink, she spotted her cousin Aedion at the door and smiled.

 She and Aedion had been separated by the system shortly after her parent's death. He was five years older, and their caseworker though Aelin stood a better chance of being adopted by herself. It was a traumatic memory for both of them. They'd found each other about a year ago, and it took little time for them to rekindle their relationship.

 She set the cup on the counter in front of them. "That will be three-fifty." The Asshole raised a pale eyebrow. "My coffee?"

"I have the right to refuse services to anyone I wish. That will be three-fifty." Aelin felt great satisfaction as The Asshole's lips pinched together and his scowl deepened.

 Aedion raised his eyebrow from across the room.

Lysandra chose that moment to walk back in, and when she caught sight of Aelin's expression and saw the seething man in front of her, she hastily made her way over.

"Can I help you?" She asks, looking towards the men. Aelin knew the question was directed at her, though.

 There were a lot of eyes on her. Aedion. Asshole. Handsome Fenrys. Lysandra. Aelin thrived on attention, but there was a difference between attention and being a spectacle. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller and crowded.

 Fenrys placed a hand on the Asshole's shoulder, concerned. "Hey. It's fine. We can get your cup of dirt water somewhere else. It's not a big deal, Rowan."

 Rowan.

 "I am a paying customer," the man, Rowan, gritted through his teeth.

 "You are paying for my coffee and pastries," Aelin snarled. "Your money does not purchase you the right to verbally abuse me.

 Aedion was over in an instant, chest puffed and oozing with male bravado. "Well met, gentleman. I believe my cousin said three-fifty." He edged close enough to bother their personal space. "If it's too difficult for you to figure out, I can help you count your coins and show you the door?"

 At six-two, Aedion was an intimidating figure. He was physically massive—layers of dense muscle from underground fighting and patrolling the streets with his gang, The Bane. An impressive tapestry of ink sprawled across his chest, curling out of his sleeves and collar just enough to let others know it's there. Most people would see him and think twice about approaching him.

 Rowan was taller than Aedion even, and perhaps more muscular as well. They squared up, neither breaking eye contact.

 Fenrys seemed displeased with the turn of events, but when Aedion turned to glare at him, there was a flash of recognition in his eyes. He was next to Rowan in an instant, pushing on his chest. "That's enough of your shit. I'll pay, and we are leaving."

 He fished out five dollars from the pocket of his trousers and tossed it on the counter. "Keep the change. Sorry for disturbing your day, ladies."

 When the shop bells jingled, and the door slammed shut behind them, Aelin sighed and felt herself wilt against the counter. Her breathing was labored, and her heart still thrummed with the excess of adrenalin. She was prepared for a fight. Muscle memory had her tense and ready for the situation to escalate, which of course, it didn't. Old habits died hard, though.

 A steadying hand was gripping her elbow and helping her lean into a solid body. "Hey, Ace. Relax, it's fine."

 Lysandra shook her head, "That was the bastard from yesterday, I am guessing? You should have let me take care of that." She points up the stairs. "Go. You need to take a day off. Upstairs. Make sure she sits down, Aedion."

 "I had it handled," Aelin grumbled, allowing Aedion to tug her towards the stairs in the back of the little kitchen.

 Her cousin snorted, "Oh, I know you can handle yourself. The stress isn't good for Little A, though."

 "You just want to throw your street cred around."

 Aedion laughed, "That too."

 Aelin slumped onto the thread worn couch and tugged at her tennis shoes. She sighed when they finally slipped off, and she could rest her swollen feet on the old coffee table. Their apartment wasn't the luxury she and Lysandra were accustomed to, but it was more of a home than the Mannor had been.

 "You look exhausted," Aedion stated bluntly.

 Aelin closed her eyes and hummed. "Is that the language you use when you talk people into your bed?"

 "Not a lot of talking is required for that," Aedion says with a straight face. "Even if it was, I would be practicing on Lysandra, not you."

 Few words passed between them after that. They weren't necessary. Aelin and Aedion talked and texted all the time, but there were times when they just needed to soak in each other's presence. Years apart starved them of that unspoken bond they'd had as children.

 Being close to Aedion was one of the few things that staved the fear and allowed her to relax. He was like the familiar taste of hot tea and the warmth of a childhood blanket wrapped into one. She had no doubt that Lysandra had called and ordered him to come to see her at some point this morning.

 The Bane typically showed up on Friday nights to play poker at her tables and hang out. Aedion would stay through the weekend, and they would catch up then. An early morning visit on a weekday was out of the ordinary. Occasionally Kyllian or Jerome would pop by and make sure nothing was amiss.

 When Aelin and Lysandra liberated themselves and opened the shop, Aedion had insisted they find a location in The Bane's stomping ground. Arobynn was less likely to stumble across them outside of his territory. She'd seen Tern and Mulligan prowling the streets.

 Arobynn wouldn't let them go so quickly.

 Aelin hadn't wanted Aedion to get involved, but there was no way he would leave them defenseless.

 They compromised.

 Once a month Aelin would donate a small share of The Stag's tips for their protection. It was a pitiful amount. So she also offered her spare bedroom as a hideaway for Aedion's friends who needed a place to lay low. So far, only Ren had utilized it, but it was always ready to go.

 Aelin was by no means someone to screw with. Her other name was just as well known on the streets as The Bane were. It was a good arrangement.

 It's why Rowan had gotten under her skin so badly. She needed those tips to keep The Bane well equipped and for other resources to keep Arobynn out of her hair.

 He didn't know about the baby. Didn't realize the depth of how much Aelin had actually betrayed him. There would be hell to pay if he ever found out.

 Plus, baby shit was expensive.

 "So," Aedion finally broke the silence. "How did you piss off the cops?"

 Wait. "What?" Aelin sat up and leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

 "That was Detective Fenrys. He booked me the last time one of our fights got broken up. Nice guy. Let me out on a technicality." Aedion smiled. "Maybe he just thought I was good looking. He's not wrong. I am assuming the other guy is his partner."

 "They are detectives?" Aelin spat.

 "The best and brightest Orynth has to offer," Aedion ruffled her hair as he stood. "You sure know how to pick your fights, cousin."

 Well shit.

[gryfon-spanish-werewolf]

Uuh dunno if you would like this prompt : Anna and Elsa as a mythical creatures.

Would love too see what you will write them as ^^

@like-redhead-probably I sat thinking about this ask for a long time, because while I IMMEDIATELY thought of one for Elsa, Anna’s absolutely eluded me. And I know you were probably looking for a story, but I am unable to stop myself from first EXPLAINING my choices xD

I was already thinking about the myth of the Hulder (or huldra if we’re speaking of the creature in general instead of the specific Norwegian myth) for other story-related reasons, and as I did more research, I felt like the Hulder REALLY shared similarities with Elsa.

Generally speaking the huldra is a Scandinavian myth of a pale skinned, blonde or brown haired, attractive young woman who lives in the wilderness, often luring men away with song or dance to be killed or misled, stuck wandering forever. Sometimes she’s connected strongly to water, and instead of making men lost, she drowns them. Sometimes she is described as similar to an elf or fey-like creature, with characteristics related to other Huldufolk (we’ll get to them later) such as living in a parallel world, or a world Underground, and therefore preferring caves or appearing and disappearing suddenly. Sometimes she is depicted as having a hollow back, or a cow’s tail, which she hides out of embarrassment or to conceal her true identity. Which… how cute is that?

Before the 11th century, the myths were focussed more around the Huldufolk, which literally means “Hidden Folk”. There are lots of stories as to why and how the Huldufolk came to exist, but for the purpose of Elsa I think it most appropriate to look at the Christianization of the myths. Why?:

Frozen and Frozen 2 are modern movies made by an American company and Christianity is nigh untanglable with American culture, they take place in ~1840s Norway, F1 has a dedicated place of Christian congregation depicted in said movie, an official royal crowning overseen by a Christian faith leader, and the adaptation of Frozen generally comes from author Hans Christian Anderson and therefore should take his life and society into account, etc.

The Christianized myth says that one day Eve was washing her children (presumably after Cain, Abel, and Seth) in the river, when she heard God approaching. Ashamed that He would see her kids unclean, she hid the half she wasn’t done bathing, and when God asked, “Where are the other children?” Eve claimed that she had all of them present, indicating the clean ones. This gave God pause, but in the end He said, “Then let all that is Hidden, remain Hidden.” The children that Eve lied about became the Huldufolk, unable to live among humans. These people would eventually become characterized as dwarves, elves, fairies, etc., as time and interpretations rolled on, the huldra being just one of many mythical “species”.

So. Who is Elsa? She’s a:

fictional, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned young woman who led thousands of men wlw to wander helplessly into the dark caves and wildlands of social media with a power ballad and a jaw-dropping transformation sequence

Okay I’m joking… mostly…

In fact my interest in choosing the Hulder for Elsa lies purely outside of any romantic or sexual appeal, especially since Elsa as a character exhibits next to 0 romantic or sexual interest across two whole movies and an additional two shorts. Indeed, there’s a reason people headcanon her as either asexual, aromantic, or both! No, the reasons I chose the Hulder are:

Elsa’s name

Her upbringing

Her duty as queen, and

Her general behavior, specifically in regards to Frozen 1, as Frozen 2 Elsa is, at times, an almost completely different character

Elsa’s name was chosen very specifically by the filmmakers because it means “God is my Oath”. Oaths are binding, heavy, and invoke the maker’s or subject’s actions and personhood in the future. In Elsa’s case specifically, it invokes divine witness: perfect for a queen, someone born to rule. A promise to be fair, to uphold, to protect, to lead, to be a dignified and honorable face for the country. And Elsa was so ready to be that… except for the powers of course. Or at least, when they became something other than a magical gift of wonder and joy. When they became dangerous. Then there comes another oath, spoken to powerful creatures of magic, the Trolls, and born from parental fear: “She can learn to control it.”

Binding, heavy, invoking of Elsa’s future. As she grows, Elsa becomes closed off, quiet, hiding in her own home. She still takes her duties seriously, but now that she has been Other’d, taught to hide herself and her curse, she is just as much shadow as person. To young Anna, Elsa must have been almost ghostlike, disappearing right when Anna thought she’d cornered her, only to reappear sometime later down the hall, out of arm’s reach.

God promised Adam and Eve that their children would inherit the earth, even after leaving the Garden of Eden. Then suddenly that changed, due to Eve’s fear and shame of her unwashed children, and some would now inherit Underground, or somewhere else entirely. The lost children of Eve had become Other’d, needing to hide, disappear, and resort to inhuman tactics just to exist. Maybe they’re jealous, maybe they're just tricksters. But it’s not their fault. And it wasn’t Elsa’s either. Another reason they are similar.

Now, it’s not all doom and gloom for the Hulder, or for Elsa. While the Hulder is generally known for her more chaotic and negative attributes - just like our favorite snow queen, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. There are a few myths that say burning a charcoal fire -instead of a coal or gas one- is most pleasing to the Hulder, that she’ll even watch over it during the night, and wake the sleepers in case something happens. If a traveler leaves supplies behind with a note or offering for the Hulder, they will travel safely. In fact, some people leave caches for her, as though to cater to specific requests. Coming across the Hulder by chance can have a multitude of outcomes, but if an astute observer spots her cow tail and mentions it, she may become shy and run away. Don’t mention the empty back though, that’s almost certain death.

Basically my point is… trade out the word “traveler” for the name “Anna” and we can draw all the similarities we want. Anna did all of those things, in a way. Anna gave Elsa a little gift of their favorite snowman every Christmas. Anna knocked on Elsa’s door and spoke to her, treated her kindly despite the distance between them, literal and metaphorical. It’s not hard to imagine that Anna left little notes around the castle, hoping Elsa would find them, read them, and know that Anna still loved her, still missed her. And, well, hopefully Anna wasn’t setting any fires and falling asleep next to them - but Anna always kept a light on for Elsa, in her heart. And it flickered and wavered sometimes, but it was a strong fire most days. And we know Elsa was always drawn to it, drawn to Anna because she loved her right back. Loved her first, even. And because it was a warmth that pleased Elsa, she tended it, quietly, carefully, warmly. Like putting a blanket over an Anna that had fallen asleep in the painting room, refusing that slice of chocolate cake so Anna could have two desserts, and listening, for hours and hours, days and days, for the sound of Anna’s glorious bonfire-like soul outside her bedroom door. Even when her secret was revealed, Elsa believed that the best way to protect Anna’s life, her flame, was to distance herself, running to a secret, special place all her own - much like the Hulder might run away back to the Underground.

And this last part’s just me, but I’d like to think that if the Hulder was treated kindly, respected, and given dignity, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if someone came across her accidentally. That instead of being instantly drowned, or the Hulder becoming sheepish and attempting to run, it would feel recognized. It could be called by name. And instead of feeling the need to hide it’s Otherness, it could be treated as part of it, and cared for just the same. I don’t even need to be subtle here: Anna called Elsa by Name, really saw her, and reframed her darkness into light. Anna hasn’t fought God yet, but she did walk through hell and back for a sister that everyone else saw as a threat, monster, and sorcerer. A category 9 Other. Too bad for them, Anna’s got a Category 10 heart.

Speaking of. We finally got to Anna.

Anna was difficult to pin down because to me, Anna is so very, very human. That’s what makes her special! Yes, yes, you could throw any mythical creature at Anna and the fun part would be trying to make it work within her personality and characterization BUT since the question was Anna AS a mythical creature, that changes the game! The word ‘creature’ itself tends to conjure something distinctly INhuman. So I…. tried, and cheated maybe a little. Because I picked for Anna the Norse Valkyrie.

Most people know what Valkyries are so this one takes significantly less explaining. Valkyries are women that are warriors, shieldmaidens, and the hands of Odin, and they choose who lives and who dies during battle. Their chosen dead ride with them to Valhalla, while those they choose to live are usually granted honors in life. There are the darker sides of Valkyries that paint them as blood hungry maidens waiting on the sidelines before a war, singing the names of who will die with glee… but generally speaking the version of Valkyries that most people know and admire today are accurate! And thank goodness because attempting to depict Anna the other way would probably give me an ulcer.

Anna, much like the Valkyries, is a woman of valor and strength, who is perceptive, guides others, sees into people’s hearts and reveals their goodness. Valkyries are also warriors of prowess themselves, and Anna in Frozen 2 with that ice sword? We all know she was ready to use that for real. She also exemplifies traits that Valkyries both look for and have! Bravery in the face of danger: hello Marshmallow, Elsa’s own blizzard, Hans’ lethal sword strike, LIVING MOUNTAINS, and a damn collapsing.... dam. She also defends those who cannot do it themselves: saying publicly that, “My sister is not a monster… she was scared, she didn’t mean any of this,” even if that cast suspicion or doubt on herself, and the crown, as a whole. Anna knew and believed in Elsa, despite all the years and heartbreak and anger. Despite the impossible magic that literally just happened before her very eyes. Belief in character, despite appearances. And once they were reunited, Anna made every effort to stay by Elsa’s side because she STILL had that faith in her. Anna’s name means “Grace” or “of Grace”, and damn if she didn’t extend that to the person others found most unworthy, even to Elsa herself. Valkyries see what others don’t, and their decisions are final.

[Deep breath] SO! You asked for Anna and Elsa as mythical creatures. You got… a small academic paper, by social media standards xD. I intend to write a little piece about a Valkyrie who encounters the Hulder on the edges of a battlefield and… realizes she never made a choice about this particular woman. And wonders why she can’t ;). BUT I didn’t wanna leave you hanging any longer. Hope you like my choices!

Oh also, nobody asked, but Kristoff is a werebear. No research required

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus x Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 6: Memory of A Dream

Trying to restore order in a world gone mad is never easy. An archdemon appearing out of nowhere and kicking you in the head can make things a bit more complicated. But nothing beats being appointed the official leader of an upstart rebellious organisation with vague religious undertones, and having people swearing fealty to you left and right. Thankfully, Dorian is there to provide some much needed company. 

Read here or on AO3 !

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The sound of howling wind echoed as if from a distance when Tristan opened his eyes. Blinding, throbbing pain was the only thing his senses could perceive for what felt like hours before he managed to push himself on his feet.

His hand touched smooth stone. He was in a cave. All was dark except for a small, imperceptible light in the distance. With effort, he forced himself to move towards it, supporting himself on the cave walls.

Every step made him more and more aware of the pitiful condition his body was in. His arm socket and wrist were pulsing painfully where that… creature had grabbed him and lifted him off the ground, shaking him about like a puppet. A quick pat down his sides made it clear that he had broken at least two ribs during his fall. His feet were numb. He didn't even know what time it was, or if it was day or night. And to add pain to injury, his stomach growled like a disgruntled bear. Just bloody perfect.

Groaning and mumbling curses while staggering on in the dark, he soon found himself at the cave opening. The snow was falling so thickly, he could barely see a few feet ahead. Squinting, he searched for a landmark, anything familiar that might help him recognise where he was. It didn't take long to bitterly admit to himself that it was useless. He sat down at the mouth of cave to catch his breath, and the hopelessness of his situation crushed him like a boulder.

He was alone. He was completely alone, and he had no idea which way to go. Even if he died there, no one would ever find him.

His everite ring glinted in the half dark, and he gently brushed his thumb over it. The familiar movement jolted some sort of sullen determination within him. I can’t die here, he thought. Not like this. He hauled himself up, took one step out of the cave, and immediately sank up to his knees in the snow. Pulling it out was so painful, it almost knocked the air out of his lungs. He glanced at the upward slope ahead of him and shivered. It would be a long, excruciating night.

Silently, he cursed himself as he wobbled awkwardly ahead. What on earth had possessed him, going out there and facing that beast? The scene in the Chantry building was playing over and over in his head, with the people watching him and that stupid, righteous anger overtaking him. Everyone, even those that had openly opposed him, had turned to him as if he were a saviour. And he had willingly stepped in to play the part.

He couldn’t help a mirth. The disgraced son of the Trevelyan family, that had once been the primary source of gossip for Ostwick nobility, was now regarded as the only person capable of delivering the people from madness and destruction. And wasn’t he, in a way? With that blasted mark on his hand, he had managed to seal the scar in the heavens and banish demons. Why not beat archdemons and self-proclaimed Gods while he was at it?

Worst of all was that he had agreed, once again, to do it. Blight, he had even suggested it. He had placed his life on the line to save others. People that he liked, and people that he loathed, some that he had exchanged a couple words with, and many that he didn’t know at all. Even those damned Chantrics, that seemed to exist only to irritate him, like annoying, buzzing flies. He had stepped forward, and wagered his hide just so they could have a chance to escape. Was he going mad?

But then again, hadn’t he always been a little mad?

He chuckled softy to himself as he wobbled through waist-deep snow. If Tilly was watching him from somewhere, he would bet all his gold, and his fancy daggers too, that she was having the laugh of a lifetime.

He didn’t know how long he had been trudging through the storm before his knees finally gave way. Ice and snow on his face was the last thing he felt as darkness took him.

~

A pink and golden sun slowly dipped below the horizon. The grass was soft where Tristan lay. The light from the setting sun felt warm against his skin, and the wind blowing through the apple trees made the leaves stir.

Tilly was picking flowers a little way ahead. Her hands were full of lilies, and she was wearing that yellow dress that she loved. It billowed in the wind, its fabric rippling as she moved.

She turned to look at him and smiled. Her hair fell around her face like a halo, so pale blonde it almost looked white.

“Get up, sleepy head” she laughed. “We have to go back to town. We’ll miss the fireworks.”

Tristan had forgotten all about the Summer day celebrations. The town square must have been full of people already. He groaned as he sat up.

“We can see the fireworks from here.”

“Not as clearly” she said, hopping to his side. “Come, let’s go.” The everite ring that he had gifted her glistened on her finger when she extended her hand to him.

“Let’s stay a little bit longer” he pleaded.

She frowned, placing her hands on her hips. “We’re late already. Mother will be expecting us.”

With a sigh, he hauled himself to his feet. The last thing he wanted was to go back to Ostwick, but he hated to see her frown.

“Come on, it will be fun!” The mischievous glint that he knew so well flickered in her eyes when she looked at him. “I’ll race you to the horses.”

Her hair bounced as she ran, and her bubbly laugh echoed strangely in his ears. Don’t go, he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. His heart tightened as he watched her draw further away.

Please, stay with me.

~

The dream dissipated like smoke in the wind as Tristan landed slowly in a cold and painful wakefulness. For a long moment, while reality took form around him, he thought he was still gazing at a pair of blue eyes, so dark they looked like deep, whirling pools. A mirror of his own.

“What would you have me tell them? This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

“We cannot simply ignore this. We must find a way!”

“And who put you in charge? We need a consensus or we have nothing!”

The loud, bickering voices grated at his nerves. His body was heavy and stiff, and his head felt like it would split in two. He blinked a stray tear away as he tried to make sense of what was going on around him.

He was in a tent. There were several thick blankets on top of him, but he still felt frozen and numb. The voices outside… they sounded familiar. A man, and two women. He tried to push himself up to get a better look, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Shhh. You need rest” a soft voice told him.

A woman wearing a chantry bonnet, her robes red and white, was sitting next to him. Her face was dark and wrinkled, and her eyes regarded him kindly as she helped him back down on his pillow.

“Mother Giselle” he croaked, and was immediately taken over by a coughing fit that brought stabbing pains to his injured side.

The woman pressed a cup of water to his lips, and he drank thirstily, not paying mind to the liquid dripping down his cheeks. “Where am I?” he grunted after resting back on his pillow.

“You are safe” she replied. “You were found lying in the snow not two miles away from our camp. Commander Cullen and Seeker Cassandra had been leading search parties all night to no avail, until one of their scouts spotted you. Most did not believe you had survived the avalanche, but they persisted. And then, you appeared. As if by a miracle.” The sister was smiling at him warmly, patting his forehead with her handkerchief.

Tristan closed his eyes and breathed as shallowly as he could, every inhale only increasing his agony. His arm was bandaged, and the sweet and slightly astringent scent of elfroot ointment lingered on his clothes and blankets.

“You were terribly injured” Mother Giselle continued, seeing him wince. “You were all but frozen when they found you, and had a terrible fever. It hasn’t broken yet, but it’s getting better. You’re getting better.”

He was only half listening to her. The pain and whatever it was the healers had given him were making him hazy, hardly capable of coherent thought. He almost drifted back into a light sleep, when he cracked his eyes open and stared at Mother Giselle.

“What about the others?” he asked breathlessly. “Did they make it back to the Chantry? Cassandra, Varric… Dorian?”

The woman’s mouth twisted imperceptibly at the sound of Dorian’s name, but her voice was soothing when she spoke. “They are all well. They made it out safely.”

Tristan slumped back down on his pillow, relief washing over him. Cullen, Leliana and Cassandra were arguing amongst themselves outside the tent. Josephine chimed in occasionally, perhaps in an attempt to quieten their spirits, but was often met with backlash and more shouting. “It sounds like they have been at it for hours.”

“They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten us as much as this Corypheus.”

Corypheus… In his feverish haze, he had forgotten to ask about the most important thing. “What happened after the avalanche? Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are?”

“We… are not sure where we are” she said thoughtfully. “Which may be why, despite the numbers he commands, there is still no sign of him. That, or you are believed dead.”

So Corypheus was still out there, looking for him. “If they’re arguing about what we do next, I need to be there” Tristan said with determination.

“Another heated voice won’t help, even yours. Perhaps especially yours.” She paused to look outside the tent, where Cullen was pacing up and down, and Cassandra was shouting, gesturing wildly. “Our leaders struggle because of what we have witnessed. We saw our Defender stand, and fall. And now we have seen him return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained. That is difficult to accept, no? What we have been called to endure? What, perhaps, we must come to believe?”

Tristan groaned, half in pain, half in frustration. Could a Chantric ever go five minutes without talking about faith, or belief, or whatever other nonsense they fill their heads with in the Chantry? “I escaped the avalanche, perhaps barely. But I did not die. Anyone who thinks that is either denser than an oak trunk, or has listened to too many tales and songs for their own good” he spat, possibly with a bit more vehemence than was deserved.

The old woman listened to his outburst calmly, her expression never changing. “Of course” she said after he had finished. “The dead cannot return from beyond the veil. But the people know what they saw, or perhaps what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment, and how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”

“So, the people think that I have been sent straight from the Maker. Does believing something make it true?” Tristan said, grimacing with pain and annoyance. “What about Corypheus, then? He believes he has a claim to the heavens. Perhaps if he wishes it strongly enough, it will become true as well.”

Mother Giselle regarding him calmly for a moment, as if she had not picked up on his sarcasm. “If even a shred of what Corypheus says is true, all the more reason Andraste would choose someone to rise against him.”

Her sombre tone made him feel like an indignant child, lashing out at everyone around him for want of better judgement. Still, agreeing to the existence of a godly plan with him in the centre was more than he could concede to at that moment. “Mother Giselle” he started, putting on his most serious scowl, “I just don’t see how what I believe matters. Lies or not, Corypheus is a living, breathing threat. We can’t match that with faith alone.”

The woman looked away, beyond the opening of the tent. She did not try to refute his words, or argue with him, and that made him feel even more petulant. It was infuriating.

The argument from outside had quieted down. Perhaps they had finally reached a consensus, or simply agreed to disagree. In any case, he had to force himself out there despite his injuries. Steeling himself against the pain, he tried to push himself up onto his elbows. Hot, blinding agony filled him as the stitches at his side tore open, and once again he was fading in blackness.

Tristan examined the blade of his dagger, glimmering in the morning sun. Running his finger on its sharp edge, he was surprised to see it draw a tiny bit of blood, even though he only applied the pressure of a feather on it. Perhaps he had worked it too much on the whetstone the previous day. He sucked on the line of blood forming on the tip of his index finger, and placed the dagger back on his belt.

Languidly, he leaned back on his elbows on the large feather bed, and inspected his new quarters. The desk in the corner was dark mahogany, with a plush leather chair and a golden fountain pen. The library behind it was stocked full of books, all leather bound and most of them rare editions, he assumed. The chest of drawers next to his bed had been equipped with several different outfits, both casual and formal, in case of a noble arriving to visit. It was evident that Lady Josephine had spared no expense this time. He was the Inquisitor now, after all.

He rose from the bed and walked over to shut the ornate glass doors leading to the balcony. As fetching as the view of the Frostback Mountains was, he felt like he had had his fill of them for the day. Snow and rock was all that one could see in that place.

Sometimes he reminisced fondly of his own room back in his family home in Ostwick. The Trevelyan mansion was situated on the hill within the inner wall of the city, overlooking the Waking Sea. His own balcony had a lovely view of the mansion’s flower garden. That time of the year, the rare hundred-leafed embrium flowers would be in full bloom, and the apple trees would be heavy with fruit. He used to love nothing more than to walk the mansion grounds with Tilly on those quiet, lazy afternoons, admiring the flowers and the tall bushes, pruned by the gardeners to resemble all sorts of different animals and objects. Afterwards, they would sit underneath the cool shade of the gazebo, talking and laughing for hours, sipping on berry tea and nibbling on ginger biscuits.

Better times, those were. Comfortable. Safe. Tristan could not recall a time in his life since then that he had felt as safe. Or comfortable, for that matter.

He sighed heavily as he moved over to his desk. A stack of reports was waiting for him. Several reviews of the armoury and Skyhold’s defences in Cullen’s neat and stark handwriting, information from Leliana’s spies on possible locations of Corypheus’ army, as well as numerous invitations to nobles and letters of thanks in Josephine’s elegant penmanship. A new stick of crimson wax had been left next to his fountain pen, along with his personal signet. The Inquisitor’s signet.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan…” he mouthed silently as he signed the first paper. There were times he forgot his new title and signed with Herald of Andraste, or Lord Tristan of House Trevelyan -he did have so many fancy titles, after all-, and had to chuck the page away and start anew. Admittedly, his new title had a much better ring to it than his previous one.

Along with the new title, he still hadn’t gotten used to his new treatment. Several days after his appointment and he still found it difficult to walk around the castle grounds, amongst the people. The days of him wandering the streets of a city unnoticed were long gone, that he knew, but this was something else entirely. Back in Haven, folk would greet and nod at him when he passed, or whisper behind his back when he was out of earshot. Now, they all but fell on hands and knees upon catching sight of him, or asked him for his blessing with trembling voices.

Mother Giselle had been right about one thing, he ruefully admitted to himself. After the battle of Haven, he was no longer just a man with a strange mark on his hand and a refutable link to Andraste. He had become something of a demi-god.

It was odd. In fact, it was more than odd. He felt completely out of his depth. Like a mabari dressed in human clothes, that had somehow managed to fool everyone. Eventually, someone would find out that he was indeed a mabari, and he would be driven away, humiliated and disgraced. And this charade would just be another epic failure on the list of epic failures that was his life.

He stood abruptly, placing his pen down. Pondering on the past, and lamenting about his present situation would not help. He had to do something, anything, to take his mind away, otherwise he would soon drive himself mad. His gaze fell on a couple of thick and dusty tomes of Tevinter history he had asked from Hellisma in the library. Normally he would ask a servant to return them, but he was in desperate need of some fresh air.

Snuggling the books under his arm, he exited his quarters, taking a deep breath for good measure. He walked down the throne room hastily, nodding and forcing himself to smile at the visiting nobles and the Chantry sisters that greeted him, and made a left towards the stairs that led to the east tower. Hopping the steps two at a time, he reached the library door, and pushed it open gingerly, careful not to attract too much attention. The few scholars that were there were too engrossed in their own research to pay him any mind. With a sigh of relief, he followed the circular railing all the way to the other side, from where he had taken the books.

A warm scent of sandalwood and oakmoss greeted him as he turned the corner.

“Dorian.”

The dark-haired mage was placing a book about Dwarven artefacts on the shelf, when he turned abruptly, hand on his chest. “Inquisitor! You startled me” he said, his soft laughter reverberating across the circular tower.

“Forgive me” Tristan replied. “I only wanted to return some books.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed inquisitively over the book covers. “Let’s see, what do we have here? Tevinter history? How curious! If you’re interested, I can recommend a few editions that are much more engaging. Or” he said, his lips curling in a half smile, “you can ask me. I am a walking, talking encyclopaedia on the matter.”

“I might take you up on that offer one day” Tristan said as he placed the books on the shelf.

“I’ll hold you to that” Dorian joked. He leaned back on the library, arms crossed in front of his chest and one ankle on top of the other. “Word around here is that you’ve become something of a hermit. I have to admit that I almost forgot what you looked like.”

“Did you now?” He certainly hadn’t forgotten how Dorian looked. “I’ve been tending to my duties. Josephine and Leliana have been keeping me quite busy.”

“Ah, yes. Now that you’re the Inquisitor and all that. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never really pegged you for the dutiful type.”

“Neither did I” Tristan replied thoughtfully. His glanced at his ring as he twisted it on his finger. “After the attack on Haven, there have been infinitely more things to do. Corypheus has made the Inquisition’s tasks a lot more complicated, as you can imagine.” He intended the last one as a mild jest, yet couldn’t keep a sombre tone from creeping in.

“What happened was a great shock to everyone involved” Dorian said quietly. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you.”

Tristan lifted his gaze to Dorian’s face. The affection and warmth in his sterling grey eyes startled him. He didn’t remember Dorian ever looking at him so fondly. For a long moment, they simply gazed at each other, neither of them daring to break the silence that stretched between them.

Tristan coughed softly to clear the lump that had lodged itself in his throat and looked away. He could only hope that his cheeks didn’t look as flushed as they felt. “It has been… challenging. To say the least.”

Dorian settled back on the library with a soft sigh. “Tell me about it” he said, shaking his head. “One moment you’re trying to restore order in a world gone mad. That should be enough for anyone to handle. Then, out of nowhere, an archdemon appears and kicks you in the head! Not to mention that “Elder One” riding on its back as if it were a pony.”

Tristan couldn’t help the barking laugh that bubbled from his lips. “It took me by surprise as well. I couldn’t decide who was uglier, the archdemon or Corypheus? Gives me headaches still.”

“Oh, yes. That Corypheus fellow was downright frightful to look at. And you were so close to him, poor thing! I would have nightmares also” Dorian said with a soft, throaty chuckle. “I have been thinking about him quite a lot, you know” he continued, his smile soon fading to be replaced by a sombre expression. “I always assumed this “Elder One” behind the Venatori was a magister, but this… This is something else entirely. In Tevinter, they say the Chantry tales of magisters starting the blight are just that: tales. Yet here we are. One of those magisters. A darkspawn.”

“We only know what Corypheus claims to be.”

“True. He might be a convincing liar. Or delusional. Or insane. But how many delusional maniacs could have the knowledge of breaking open the Fade? If Tevinter and those magisters are behind the Blights, then that means that what I’ve been taught all my life has been a lie. It was us all along. Tevinter destroyed the world.”

Dorian’s voice was low. He was still leaning casually against the library, but there was nothing relaxed in his demeanour now. He seemed… crushed.

His tone made Tristan’s heart tighten in his chest. He took a step closer, lowering his voice as he held his gaze levelly. “You didn’t do anything, Dorian. Those men did. A thousand years ago.”

Dorian shook his head glumly. “True, except that one of them is up and walking around right now. Not to mention my idiot countrymen that would happily follow him.” He fixed his grey eyes on Tristan. There was steely determination there, but something else as well. An awareness of defeat hung over him, like a dark and heavy cloud. It seemed like it had been there for a very long time. “No one will thank me, whatever happens. No one will thank you either. You know that, yes?”

Tristan crossed his arms in front of his chest, sniffing in annoyance. He never cared about people’s approval, and he wasn’t going to start now. “I couldn’t care less if they thank me. That’s not why I do what I do.”

Dorian regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Then, a knowing smile spread on his lips. “I knew there was something clever about you.”

Well, there might be one person whose approval he cared about.

“Now” Dorian exclaimed, standing straight, “I think we’ve talked enough about evil magisters and darkspawn for a day. How about you join me for some brandy, Inquisitor? What with all those nobles you’ve been meeting lately, I’d be shocked and disappointed if you hadn’t come across any decent gossip. Come” he said with a wicked smile, extending his arm in front of him to let Tristan lead the way. “You must tell me all about it.”

A wide smile spread on Tristan’s face as he followed Dorian to the tavern. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t really mind that people were staring as he walked through Skyhold’s corridors. This time, at least, the mark on his hand shared the spotlight with something far more interesting; Dorian and his impossibly flashy outfit.