#but getting hit with the freight train of hos voice + 'i want to live' literally made me cry adfghj

[good-beans]

Repeating to myself "I am strong-willed and I will not listen to Cat until tomorrow, I am strong-willed and I will not listen to Cat until tomorrow" over and over again 😭😭😭

[seancekitsch]

pizzatarian: a Diego Hargreeves x reader fic

Warnings: a lil toxic if you squint but not really, mentions of violence, no smut actually, self deprecating shit, high key based on ‘your honor’ by regina spektor, david even called diego a sobby fuckboy and thats what he is

You don't exactly flinch when you hear the jingling of keys, or the struggling noises on the other side of your front door at two in the morning. It’s just Diego. Diego who had a key to your apartment but didn't call you his girlfriend by the light of day. Diego that basically lived here but you have never seen where he actually lives. Diego who once he finally has the key in the door and is turning the lock comes stumbling in. You can hear the thudding of his boots grow louder down the hall as he reaches your bedroom, where you've been up reading, a cardigan draped over you as you fight insomnia. You try to beat him to the door, putting your book aside and jumping up, but before your hand can reach the handle, he’s pushing it open, quickly guiding his way through to your form, cutting off any questions you might have. You sink into the kiss, plump lips warm and inviting as always, kissing you with force that makes your brain fuzzy. Your arms instinctively come up around his shoulders, but you don't miss the way he flinches at your touch. Somethings off, but you push the thought from your mind as your tongue darts out of your mouth, ready to be welcomed into Diego’s mouth. But then you taste copper. Warm, slick copper. Blood.

“Diego,” you try to get his attention, but he’s adamant to keep his lips on you. So you push, hands coming to find his chest and push against him, at least enough to get an answer out of him. You fight his grasp, pulling your face away from his as his lips chase yours.

“Diego, wait, Diego stop,” you push him away, at arm's length when you finally get a good look at him. He’s got a split lip, the beginnings of a black eye which bloomed near his cheek bone and ended near his brow.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“There was… a fight,” he offers, way more nonchalant than you want him to be right now. He lets you go, but stays close. He’s caught and he knows it.

“A fight about goddamn what, Diego?” your voice comes out strained, exasperated.

“I’ve been fighting for your honor, babe,” he offers to you, almost slurring from a hit to the mouth, but then adds, “You wouldn’t understand.” when he sees your puzzled face. Babe. That’s funny. Not the first time he’s called you babe, but it feels facetious coming from his lips. You would understand if it was just another boxing match, you would understand if it was bullshit having to do with that family he’s never introduced you to. But to somehow be fighting for your honor was alien, dishonest of him to say. Now, you know Diego is a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them. He’s holding out on you, holding back. So if he didn't want to tell you, why was he even here?

“I don't understand? You’re right, I don't,” and then, fuck. You realise what this is. He’s asking for help, showing vulnerability in his own little messed up way.

You sigh, deeply, crossing the floor in front of him.

“Hold on, your honor,” you snort, the ghost of an affectionate smile on your face, “I’ll get ice for your hands.”

If he was going to come up with some bullshit line like your honor, you were going to at least patch him up and give him the couch treatment. He doesn’t get bed privileges for bullshit excuses of kissing you with bloody mouth, you decide.

The walk to your kitchen in the dark is something you have memorized, the fuzzy blacks and greys of your apartment shaping into the furniture and corners you know by daylight. How different they are, shapes and their familiarity based on your perception of them. Your sock clad feet trace steps ghosted over by months of bumping around for midnight water, for candles during storms, for late night snacking. Your hands reach out, and meet the handle of the freezer mechanically, wrenching it open and fumbling for an ice pack or something frozen to help him. Your hands find a box that will do, just before you hear heavy steps following your path.

Diego grabs you by the hips from behind, but not harshly. You feel him wrap his body around you, molding to your form as his head dips and nuzzles against your hair, sighing as he lets himself enjoy the feeling of you.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispers, almost a moan, “Let’s just make love. Let's make love and go to bed. It’s the only thing that’ll make me feel better right now.”

Like hell it is. For someone who won't call you his girlfriend, Diego is a hopeless romantic, and has been the entire time you’ve been doing whatever it is you'd describe this arrangement as.

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ as you continue, “I don’t kiss people that lose fights.”

He scoffs, sounding legitimately offended.

“Lose fights? Baby, I won the fight. C’mon let’s just get you out of that sweater.”

He pulls the cardigan off of one of your shoulders, exposing you to the chill and his warm hand, immediately making you try to shrug it back up to its original location. This isn’t how tonight is going to go.

“Well, I don't kiss winners either,” you pull the box out of the freezer and close it, still not turning around to face him, “Instead you're making me play nurse.”

“I- I can leave. If y-you dont want me to be here.” he deflates, playful tone leaving, but he doesn't back away. You sigh, deeply.

“No, Diego that's not what I mean. But I’m not rewarding you for this. I don't fight for honor.”

You don't, and you wouldn't; and he shouldn't fight for yours. He shouldn't waste his energy on just a fling.

“So, nurse,” he’s back to joking, “What’s my charge? Gargle with peroxide? A steak for my eye?”

You laugh, actually laugh, and turn to face him, finally. You hold up the box in your hand, and he takes it.

“I’m a vegetarian, remember? It’s a frozen pizza pie.”

He laughs, and accepts it gratefully, looking like an idiot holding the pizza up to his face. You tell him to follow you, and lead him in the darkness to the couch, letting him sit and spread out, legs wide. You opt to perch on the cushion farthest from him, letting him own the space as it’s about to be his bed for the night. His hand that isn’t holding the pizza to his black eye brushes the back of the couch, reaching for you in the darkness. You pick at the fleece of your cardigan, white as snow. You’re lucky he didn’t manage to taint it with his blood, you think, but then dismiss the thought. Staining the cardigan and letting him ruin it would be fitting at this point.

“It’s because I care,” his voice comes out in little more than a whisper. You don’t say anything, hoping he’ll continue.

“It’s because I care about you. I don’t want anyone to get that twisted.”

You really hope his good eye can’t see how wide your eyes are right now, your eyebrows finding a new home in your hairline.

“Diego you— You don’t have to,” fuck, how do you say this? Your hands run through your hair, lip trembling in a way you don’t understand, “You don’t have to defend me, or anything like that.”

He turns to face you, whole body turning with the movement as he hikes a knee up onto the couch.

“You got me, or… whatever this shit is,” you sigh again, the weight of these words hard to pronounce on your tired tongue, “but it’s not like you've asked me to be your girlfriend or anything special. I’m like a common ho, a bootycall that you sometimes get brunch with, Diego.”

His hand along the back of the couch reaches for your hand, and your instincts tell you to rip your hand away from him, but you don’t. You let him hold your hand, let his fingers cage your own and hold them tight. Let your palms fit against each other.

“Just…” your mouth is trembling again, and you wish it fucking wasn’t. “Don’t get cut or anything for me, because it’s not going to change anything. I still won’t be a saint. Don’t be out there fighting for my honor when you haven’t made it yours to defend.”

Even in the dark you can see your words hit him like a freight train, and you wish you hadn’t opened your stupid fucking mouth. You wish you hadn’t been angry at Diego. You wish you had something better than a stupid fucking pizza for him to be holding against his face right now. He moves closer to where you’re sat curled in the corner, makes sure his thigh is brushed up and nestled under your calves. If you want to, you can rest on him. If you want to, you can be sitting in his lap.

“Y-you wanna know why I was fighting, baby?” he's deadly serious. “Because you’re worth it. You don’t need to be a saint. You’re my little pizzatarian that makes me hold deep dish against a black eye.”

You laugh, watery and trembling, and you let your legs relax against his.

“I w-want you to be my g-girlfriend. I want to fight everyone in the city with my bare hands if it means I get to be y-yours.” his voice sounds just as shaky as yours now. “Y-you know I love you, R-right?”

He loves you. You believe him. Diego Hargreeves is a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. You nod, not bothering to ask for clarity, or why he thinks you’re worth it. You just nod. He releases your hand, and uses it to pull you in against his chest. He lets you re-adjust to curl up and fit into his lap. Like it was made for you. You stay like that in the dark, resolving to reinstate his bed privileges.

“Let’s go to bed, Diego.”

You can feel him nod against you. He waits for you to get up, your hand outstretched and waiting for him as he rises to his feet with a groan. You walk by his side until you reach the threshold, and then stop.

“What is it?”

“You get comfy, your honor, I’ll be in there in a minute.”

[the-cosmic-blogger]

I finally finished another story for my Post-AHiT AU! hope you like!

(//////////////)

Apologies and Fulfilled Wishes

Mustache Girl, ever since her defeat, had been counting the days in Mafia Town. She crossed out tics in the cave she had called home, and kept the time piece she'd woken up to safe and hidden. The hooded blonde sighed and leaned against a wall, crossing her arms, and then slid down it, her hazel eyes glancing downward.

A shadow soon loomed over her, and it looked fluffy and familiar. "Oh, there you are, kiddo. I've been looking all over for you!"

"Really?" Mu frowned, recognizing the voice, and slowly looked up at him. "Come to gloat or perhaps finish the…" and that's when she noticed that Snatcher looked so much different from before, and the rest of her words died on her lips. Her eyes were wide.

There floated Snatcher, green tips marking his fluff, claws and tail. What's more? he had defined eyebrows! and he looked less relieved now and.. sadder.

"Snatcher?" she squinted, before the demon ghost quickly rushed to hug her, seeming to sob. Mu had let out a yelp, before she just.. stood there, brain not working. What the…

"I'm sorry, kiddo.." the dark apparition muttered.

And that's when her brain started working again, and she pushed him away slightly. "What? I literally made life hell for all of you. And you're the one who's sorry?"

The demon sighed, tears still falling from his almond-shaped golden eyes, and those white and large oval pupils stared into the red-clad girl. "You were just a kid… and.." he glanced around, biting his lip rather hard and rubbing at his arm. Her situation only just now hit him like a freight train.

"Homeless? resentful because of what those goons did?" she supplied with her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes.

He slowly nodded. He also added, "You had grown up.. without anyone to guide you properly."

Mu's eyes widened and tears started to well up unbidden. Her stance got much less hostile. "How did you..?"

"A little birdy told me," Snatcher replied. He bent down to gently wipe the tears. The blonde raised an eyebrow, before she raised an arm and pushed his comforting claw away, unused to the feeling.

The demon understood. The mustached girl furrowed her brow. Hat Kid.. she was the little birdy. She eventually shook her head. "Who said I needed your help? I'm not some damsel in distress."

"I know, kiddo," he sniffled, and let out a shuddering sigh. "But you.."

"Not from you," Mu scowled, and he flinched back. She got up and started to pace, not once removing her stare.  "I recall quite clearly everyone saying that you all 'don't need a hero; get lost'. Well, guess what?" she stopped pacing, hands on her hips. "I lost. You won," she pointed at him, "and you don't need to associate with me."

"...I'm really sorry, kiddo.." Snatcher bowed his head.

Mustache Girl gazed at him, frowning. She eventually broke the silence with,  "You're a bad guy. Why aren't you acting like one anymore?"

"People change, kid," the demon ghost didn't hesitate. "It's been years since the fight."

She looked at her tics on the wall, grabbing one arm, and her eyes widened. He was right. Six years had passed. And everyone looked the same as usual. Including herself. Snatcher was the only one who visibly changed too.

"Well. I suppose I've also changed," she glanced towards where she kept the time piece. They didn't solve her issues at all. They seemed to have made them worse. Mu fidgeted. "All I've wanted now was for things to go back to how they were. Where there weren't any bad guys. Where mum and pa were still here. Where my friends were still here." She sighed. "But it's been so long that they're probably gone. Even if I use the time piece, it'll just be one shot and I can't handle that."

Snatcher just listened, his brow furrowed upward. Mu bit her lip and suddenly whipped her head up, both eyebrows raised. "Why am I telling you all this?"

"Dunno.. but you have a time piece?" he inquired.

The girl nodded. "It must have fallen from Hat Kid's ship. Somehow. But I've come to accept the fact that I can't change a thing. The one time I did I messed up." She shrugged nonchalantly.

Vin bit his lip. It was sad how accepting she was towards this issue. So much so that she stopped trying. And it was all his fault. She was just a kid. He reached for her chin to provide comfort, but pulled back when she gave him an incriminating stare. Right. "What if I helped?"

Mu's eyes practically bulged, but she quickly regained composure, looking up at him. "You'd really help a hero?"

The demon ghost didn't hesitate in nodding and the girl kept staring. He felt her shields lower when she finally nodded back. "Thanks, Snatcher.."

He replied with a soft smile, "Please, call me Vin."

The mustached girl raised an eyebrow. "Is that your real name or something?"

Vin took a sharp breath. He shook his head. "It.. just sounds right, kiddo.."

Mu blinked. Did that strike some sort of nerve? she felt a little bad, but this demon was also formerly a bad guy. So she didn't feel that bad. "So..?"

"You stay here," the demon gently instructed. "I'll find Mafia Boss."

The girl was about to protest, but the last time she did something herself she messed up and lost. So she crossed her arms. "Fine."

"Things will be okay, kid. I promise," he reassured her again before he flew out and off into town.

The blonde watched the demon ghost disappear pensively. Before she smirked a bit. Since when did she follow directions?

=========

Many interrogations and much Mafia fear later and Vin found himself in the lair. There was so much gold and jewelry here. He figured they were stolen goods from the people who used to live here. He floated down the halls, unknowingly being followed by a certain someone.

A powerful Russian voice bellowed through the halls, and Vin now knew exactly which way to go. A jar of fluids and eyes and a mustache sat on the throne, thick eyebrows furrowed constantly. "Foolish girls. Foolish time pieces. If time was set back to how things were, how did I not get my body back too?!"

"Mafia does not know, boss!" a goon fanning him replied.

"Sorry, boss!" another goon standing guard responded, bowing his head.

"Eh!" the jar hopped with anger. "It's that little girl's fault! I'd do anything to get my body back!"

"Anything?" a new voice resounded through the halls, and it froze every goon in earshot. They knew that voice.

"Oh?!" Mafia Boss raised an eyebrow, floating blue eyes glaring around. "Who goes there?!"

And that's when Vin started to materialize from the shadows on the floor, and that's when the goons nearby ran for their lives. The jar looked up and up and up as the dripping shadow formed into a purple demon with freckles. "Wh..who are you?"

"Your worst nightmare…" the demon scowled at Mafia Boss, those glowing golden eyes staring down at him.

"Are you the one who's been eating the souls of the Mafia?!" the jar's eyes widened, and so did a certain kid's. "Don't eat mine, please!"

That question and plea were like arrows to the heart and Vin flinched, losing his terrifying aura. "I.. didn't want to.."

Mustache Girl gazed at them from the shadows, silently gulping down fear. She didn't exactly fear Vin before, but that was when she was all-powerful. Now, though…

"Preposterous!" Mafia Boss yelled, backing farther into his throne. "You enjoyed every minute of it, you monster!"

The demon bit his lip, and his thick eyebrows furrowed. Oh, that really hurt. But he simply threw it right back. "And you're not a monster?"

The question made Mafia Boss jump slightly, those eyebrows rising in the liquid. Vin got a little closer. "You and your goons drove the true natives of this island off, and you don't consider yourself a monster?"

The jar blinked, before he scoffed. "No other island is as perfect as this for Mafia! the residents were weak!"

"And that gives you the right…?" Vin was up in his face now, snarling, and Mafia Boss immediately lost heart, thinking this would be the end. But he kept strong, and didn't bother to reply. The demon backed up a bit, crossing his fluffy arms. "Well, how about we work out a deal? I heard you want your body back. I could make it happen."

The jar tilted to the side, eyebrows rising higher. "What will you get out of it?"

"Nothing much, just for you to give the former residents their livelihoods back," the demon replied.

Somewhere in the room, Mu smiled.

Mafia Boss found himself shaking and sweating. That was impossible now. "Oh ho.. but that's a no can do! it's been hundreds of years and I'm afraid the residents who lived here are long gone probably! Mafia doesn't know where they went!"

Vin bit his lip, and scowled harder. "Then I guess you won't get your body back…"

He turned to leave, but was stopped by a frantic jar. "Wait! I'll try to find them! every single one of them! we'll search every nook and cranny just please let me get my body back!"

Vin glanced over, and smiled. It wasn't warm in any way though. "Glad you reconsidered. And you better find them."

A scroll popped up in front of the jar, detailing the exact terms and conditions. A contract. Mafia Boss didn't hesitate signing it with a purple quill that appeared by his side.

"There. I'll send boats and airships right now!" Mafia Boss nodded rapidly.

"Good," Vin bestowed magic on the jar, and a cloud overcame the jar. Next thing they knew, it disappeared, revealing a mustached human being, clothed and all. He saluted and shakily reached for a microphone, and then slowly stood up and headed for the curtains.

Vin sighed, drooping slightly. If only he could give Subcon Forest and himself a second chance at true life that way. The demon started floating away, head bowed. Time to go tell Mu what happened.

But the girl herself jumped out of her hiding spot, startling the fur off Vin. "Woah! kiddo.. didn't I tell you to stay-"

"There, I know, but how could I miss this?" she grinned, eyes sparkling. "You really showed that bad guy what for! now I can have my family and friends back!"

"Easy there, kiddo.." Vin found he couldn't be mad at Mu, and smiled sadly. He wanted to break the news to her, that her family and friends may not be found or even exist anymore. But that'd break her heart. So he'd just let her be happy for once. It was a good look on her.

And then he found himself in a hug. Mu hummed. "Mmmm, thank you so much, Vin!" The part about him eating souls didn't exactly matter to her anymore. All that mattered was that she'd finally be at peace.

The demon blinked, and smiled even wider, hugging back. "You're welcome, kiddo…"

And so they strolled out of the palace, and lo and behold airships and boats were lined up and ready to depart. Sure, Mu would be almost alone on this island for a while, but she was more than happy to have a break from the Mafia. After all, she had a prospect to look forward to, and Vin promised to come visit her again.

Now.. to find a proper home...

The End

(//////////)

And there we go! I'll edit the master post soon and include the link in there! hope you enjoyed!

[ravenwritesstuff]

Best Laid Plans (5/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Helsa, established Kristanna, lotsa frohana Rating: T for now, M later almost for sure A/N: Take it and go.

[ Part one ] [ Part two ] [ Part Three ] [ Part Four ]

Her alarm goes off after three hours of sleep and she can hardly move enough to turn it off. Sun peeks in around the edges of her curtains. She needs to get up and go about her day and force herself back into a regular rhythm. Normally she is quite good at it but this time it seems impossible. 

It isn't that she is unused to this routine. After a thirty hour event she often takes a long nap to reset her mind and push her through to the next night and a normal bedtime. While never easy she is typically able to roll out of bed in her studio apartment and get started on whatever task is at the top of her list, but today….

She swings her feet over the edge and sits up, head swimming, and she can feel every inch of her body. She knows if she stretches her spine will snap, muscles releasing, but she can hardly find the energy. She tilts her head side to side, neck cracking, and there is laundry to do. There is laundry to do and errands to run. There is laundry to do and errands to run and things to return and clean and this is her only day off this week and she has so much to catch up on and -

She can feel it. 

When she is more awake, more lucid, she can convince herself that she is making things up. She tells herself that whatever symptoms she thinks she is having is just stress, exhaustion, dehydration…. But here in that funny place between being asleep and awake she knows. 

This is not just something she is imagining. 

She bends over her bedside trashcan and vomits.

When she is done she wipes her eyes and mouth with a tissue. She takes a deep, shuddering breath. 

She has today. 

She will take it. 

Sleep is for the dead, and she isn't there yet. 

She stands up and starts her day by cleaning her mess.

….

Dinner that night is at Anna and Kristoff's modest home. The team gathers around takeout and discusses the event, what went well, what didn't, where improvements can be made, and how they can grow. It is informal, less structured than Elsa likes, but she knows that the community of her team is just as important as the efficiency especially considering this is supposed to be their day off. Also none of them brought up Hans Westergaard for which she would be eternally grateful. 

They are past the business point of the evening now. Elsa is in the kitchen putting dishes in the washer as Anna and Kristoff split the leftovers into plastic containers for everyone to take home. Rapunzel and Eugene always take home whatever anyone else doesn't want because Rapunzel will eat anything. The rest goes in the Bjorgman’s fridge to share later. Anna always saves aside a portion of something sweet for her sister, but she doesn’t need much. 

She isn’t ever that hungry. Even less so recently. 

By the time it is all said and done it is just the three of them: Anna, Kristoff, and Elsa. 

She remembers when Kristoff had first come on the scene, how she had been unimpressed but quickly won over by his devotion to her sister. Now she can hardly picture Anna without Kristoff by her side and for that she is thankful. Anna thrives when she has someone steady beside her. Kristoff is definitely steady.

They stand around the kitchen island cleaning up the last of the mess and Kristoff grabs a leash and harness off a hook on a nearby wall. 

“You ladies seem to have this under control. Sven needs his walk.” He clasps the contraption onto a mutt big enough to be a horse. “We’ll be back soon.”

He is off before there can be any discussion and Elsa gets that tingling feeling down her spine that this was not a spontaneous idea on Kristoff's part, no matter how much he loves the gigantic Sven. She pauses wiping the counter to see Anna all too diligently avoiding her gaze. 

This has happened enough that Elsa knows it is best to just get to the point. It is almost always the same point anyway, but this time she does not feel as prepared. 

“All right. What is it?” She pops a hip and lands her hand upon it. 

“What is what?” Anna straightens a towel on the oven handle for the thirtieth time. 

“Whatever it is you aren't saying. That’s what.” Elsa steels herself, ready to deflect any foolish accusation Anna might throw her way - especially if it had to do with one particular groomsman.

Anna bites her lip, still not meeting her sister's eyes, and Elsa knows now what is coming. She wishes she hadn’t asked, but now:

“It's happening. Isn't it?”

Anna’s voice is small, as if she can hide the question while asking, but it hits Elsa like a freight train. She remembers the look on Anna's face after they had changed yesterday, remembers the look in her eyes as she had tested the waters of this conversation. How long has she suspected…? 

Elsa doesn't want to lie but she is also not ready to admit the truth. Anna has bared her fair share of Elsa’s troubles. Elsa does not want to burden her with more than she needs to carry now.

“Anna. If there was something to know - you will be the first to know it.”

Anna looks at her then, blue eyes sharp and clear. “What are your symptoms?”

She thinks of the headaches, the vomit this morning, and tells a bald-faced lie: “I’m not having any.”

Anna's eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”

“It is my body. I am pretty sure I would know. This isn't exactly my first go at this.”

“Yeah, but… this time is different."

Elsa sighs. Her sister sound so bleak and she supposed she understands. The situation is grim at best, but it is all she has known. It is all she will ever know. She supposes it is all Anna will ever know of her sister as well. That thought stings. She will do her best to protect Anna as long as she can.

"What was it that mom said? Today has enough trouble. Don’t take tomorrow’s.”

Anna doesn’t smile, not distracted by Elsa’s attempt.

"But you will tell me, right? You will tell me when it is today?”

Elsa is good at lying. She has to be, but Anna is the hardest one to fool. She puts on her best poker face and meets her sister's eyes. 

"I will tell you."

Anna smiles. 

Elsa has to decide if it if fake or not and suddenly the tables are turned.

They don’t mention it again when Anna drives her home.

….

She sleeps through her alarm.

In all of her adult life that has only ever happened once and it was from a power failure and the alarm itself didn’t go off.

She pops up ten minutes after she is already supposed to be at work to her phone buzzing with text messages from Anna, Rapunzel, Kristoff, Eugene….

And they probably all think she is dead. She can’t blame them, but she also doesn’t have a single second to waste in replying to their messages. 

She also hardly has time to register that today, as opposed to yesterday, she feels fine. She has no nausea, no headache - nothing. 

Her symptoms could have just been fatigue and stress from the wedding. There is no way to know for sure, but she really doesn’t have time to think about it.

The days that actually count against her are so far and few between at this point that she just moves forward. Elsa does not like dramatics and she will not indulge in them.

The weather, however, has a different idea. 

The world outside her window is a deluge. Everything outside of her window is gray and bleak, but that happens. She has a plan for it. Her umbrella sits in its proper place by her door in its own small stand. She will be fine.

There is no time for breakfast which is fine because she usually skips it anyway. She grabs a granola bar just in case and will get her coffee at the office.

She does her hair and makeup in a flurry (a low braided bun with just enough mascara and blush to pop her features) because there are no meetings today (which is good because if she was late to a meeting with a client - she shudders). All she has to do today is show up and answer questions (hopefully through email) but she would deal with it either way. She opts for a shapeless navy blue dress that hits just below her knee to combat dealing with a wet hem all day and secures her locket in place around her neck.

The beauty of her job and living space is that it is only three blocks from each other.

She always walks.

No matter the weather.

But right now, when she is running late, she sure wishes it was only one block. Or maybe she could convert her office to her bedroom. She is there enough.

She puts on her trusty rain boots as thunder crashes outside.

It will be a soggy walk but she has done it before. She will do it again and again and again for as long as she is able.

When she isn’t so rushed she feels lucky to be able to walk to work since she cannot drive. Whenever she needs to meet a client she catches a cab or (depending on the client) orders a car service. More often than not Anna picks her up and takes her where they need to go. It keeps things simple. She likes the predictability of it all, the reliability. It makes everything else that much more manageable. 

She grabs her purse and stuffs a pair of sensible flats in to change into once she reaches the office. Then with her lunchbox and umbrella in tow she dashes out into the hallway. When she gets outside she pops up her black umbrella and starts down the sidewalk at as brisk a pace as her boots will allow.

It is gusty. She hadn’t realized, but about half way in to her walk a strong swoop of wind catches her umbrella and pulls. Elsa does her best to fight it while juggling her purse and lunch and trying to down a granola bar and respond to the distressed texts and calls to let them know she is on her way but it is a losing battle. 

The umbrella flips inside out just as the rain picks up from torrential to basically a waterfall. It takes all of five seconds before she is soaked to the bone. Unfortunately it takes about ten seconds to fix her traitorous umbrella so by the time she gets herself sorted it is rather a moot point. 

If she wasn't already nearly half an hour late she would turn back around and change, but she will just have to make due at this point. From the outpouring of texts from her family and colleagues she does not have time to do anything but show up. 

So with rain dripping down her nose, pooling in her boots, and making her shift dress cling to her skin she finally makes it to the steps of E&A Events. It is a modest brick building that shares a foyer with several other local businesses. In the heart of the city it is a sleek mix of chrome and brick that has been arranged in a way that is both modern and welcoming. She bee lines to the frosted glass door with their logo etched into it and slogs inside soaked and humiliated.

She is met by a frantic, yet enthusiastic, Rapunzel. 

“Elsa! Hi! Let me take your umbrella.” The springy brunette grabs the handle right from Elsa’s hand. Elsa blinks - stunned. Even for Rapunzel this greeting is over the top. 

She bends to pull off her water-logged boots as Rapunzel shakes her traitorous umbrella onto the hardwood entry hall floor. 

“Pascal’s gonna be living in this hall mopping up messes if this rain doesn’t stop.” Rapunzel laughed. “It’s a miracle Mister Westergaard didn’t slip and crack his head open the second he came in. You didn’t update the calendar so I didn’t know he was coming and -”

Elsa nearly loses her balance as she pulls off her second boot, the last shred of her dignity saved only by the thought that there are thirteen possible opportunities for who it could be other than the one she dreads the most. 

“Mister Westergaard?” Her stomach flips back and forth, but she manages to keep her tone even. “He was here?”

Rapunzel rolled her eyes. “Not was. Is here. What? Did you forget about your appointment?”

Elsa stares at Rapunzel for a long moment, mind not computing what she is being told. Surely Rapunzel is not telling her that Hans Westergaard is there, in their office, at that very moment except the look on Rapunzel’s face says that is exactly what is being said. Elsa almost runs back out in the rain, but instead she rolls back her shoulders and places her boots neatly by the door. No one needs to know how fast her mind is racing beneath her professional exterior.

“I must have gotten my days mixed up.” She buys herself a bit of time as she presses a soaked tendril behind one ear. “Has he been waiting long?”

Rapunzel looks at her watch. “Twenty two minutes.” 

Elsa groans inwardly. “Who is with him?”

“Well it was me and Eugene - but then Anna and Kristoff got here and they took over. Hans is really insistent about talking to you specifically.”

And although Elsa has never breathed a word about anything that happened that night to anyone - not even Anna - she knows that everyone knows at least the bare bones of the situation. Her cheeks heat. 

If she had ever suspected he actually would show up at her office she never would have -

“I need to talk to Anna.”

“But she’s with -”

“Yes. I know.” Elsa cuts in. “Could you please go in and tell her she has an urgent call that she needs to take in private?”

A wash of understanding floods Rapunzel’s face. She nods, razored bob slashing across her cheeks at the motion. 

“Yes. Yeah. Okay. Got it.” She puts Elsa’s traitorous umbrella in the stand and gives her a thumbs up. “I got this.”

Elsa forces a smile, too distracted to even consider mustering a real one, and watches as Rapunzel goes to the wide frosted double doors that lead to the client meeting room. She tucks herself into the shadowed corner as Rapunzel goes in and waits there until she and Anna return a moment later. 

“There you are! I’ve been texting you!” Anna says as she reaches out to hug Elsa but stops when she touches her shoulders. “And you’re soaked. What happened?”

“It’s been a long morning.”

“It’s only 9:30.”

“Still.” She does not need to say more. Elsa knows Anna understands in the way she does not press the matter. 

Instead she skips forward. “Hans Westergaard is here.”

“So Rapunzel said.” She keeps her voice even “What does he want?”

“Well…” Anna spreads her hands in front of herself. “I don’t really know? An event of some kind to be sure, but he is not exactly forthcoming. He says he wants to talk to you about it first.”

Elsa’s mind goes a thousand directions.

“But - I don't have a vision board.” She can hardly think over the pounding of her heart. “I - I haven’t had time to put together an intake package and what about the Clemmons wedding? I don’t know how we could possibly take on another project when - he has to go. There is just no way - ”

Anna catches Elsa’s emphatic hands in her and cuts her off with a worried stare.

“Okay. Slow down. Elsa - what exactly is going on here?”

Elsa feels her defenses rising in the midst of her unprofessional behavior. “I just think we should think twice before even considering taking this on. It could be beyond our capability, our scope. And if we can’t meet and exceed expectations then think of the liabilities.”

Anna’s face scrunches. “I think what you meant to say there is that this is the break we have been working for! It could mean the biggest leap of clientele in the history of our lives with one event. Elsa - this is the Westergaards. We may as well plan something for the governor - or the president - but they don’t have nearly as much money.”

Elsa knows Anna is right but she cannot stop the riot rhythm of her heart at the idea of spending any kind of extended period of time working with Hans Westergaard. She thinks of all the meetings, the phone calls, the shopping trips and vendor consults that they would complete side-by-side as she did with all her clients. She thinks of the intimacy that accompanies her role guiding people through the planning process and seeing their tastes and preferences under a magnifying glass. She cannot do that with him. She will not. It will break her.

“Anna.” Her head throbs. She struggles for a way to put what she feels into words without saying too much. “This just isn’t going to work.”

Anna releases Elsa’s hands to grip her shoulders, fabric squelching under her fingers, face softening as she picks up on her sister’s distress. “You’ve gotta help me understand this one sis. Did something happen at the wedding that you aren’t telling me?” 

Elsa is in a corner and she knows it. If there is even a chance of getting Anna in that corner with her she is going to have to come clean. She looks down and presses clenched fists to her eyes.

“He asked me out.”

Anna is quiet for a long moment and Elsa is not sure if she heard her, but she will be damned if she repeats herself.

Then, tentatively: “You have been asked out before…?”

Anna phrases it as a question even though she knows the answer. Elsa has been asked out, but it had been a non-issue. She had never had difficulty turning away the attention of men who were often all too happy to move on to the next thing that caught their eye when they realized she was not worth the effort. Never, however, had she been so relentlessly pursued by someone she finds so frustrating and attractive in equal measure. Never has it come at such an inopportune time.

“Not like this.” Elsa replies.

“Oh - oh - !” This time Anna is all too quick to respond and Elsa rips her hands from her eyes and glares at her sister.

“No. Don’t.” She will not have her weakness spoken aloud. 

“But Elsa -” 

“Stop.” 

“Did you say ‘yes’?” 

“Anna.”

“Oh crap - you did. Didn’t you? Or you didn’t but you wanted to?”

“What I don’t want to do is talk about it.”

“Elsa.”

“Anna.”

“Elsa. This is Hans Westergaard. Do I need to remind you again what that means?” Anna’s eyebrow quirks.

“I know what it means.”

 Anna purses her lips. “Look. I’m going to be you for a second, because I think you need it and I don’t want to seem mean but you’re talking crazy.” 

Anna pauses for a second to gather her thoughts, takes a deep breath, and then launches her attack.

“We need this, Elsa. Everyone at E&A Events needs this to happen so you are going to have to suck it up and put on your big girl pants because we need this. Not you, we. This company is more than you and we need you to not screw this one up, okay? We need you to be calm and collected and professional and to do this event no matter how much it twists your personal panties, okay?” 

Elsa blinks, mascara smearing into her eyes and stinging but that burn is nothing compared to Anna’s words. She is normally the rational one, her business sense always winning out, and a taste of her own medicine is bitter. Anna is right. If Elsa truly wants to set up E&A Events for long lasting success then she has to approach this the same as she would any other client. 

Elsa takes a shaky breath.

Anna rubs the clammy skin on Elsa’s arms, as close to a hug as they can get with Elsa soaked the way she is.

“Remember when we started this business you said you wanted to live a normal life as long as you were able?”

It is an odd question, one Elsa had not anticipated, and she frowns. There had been so many discussions over the years. Each one had hinged on the fact that Elsa was not like the rest of them. Each one had tried to navigate the careful balance of the inevitable and the ignoring of it. The application of these conversations and plans however had never made her heart pound in her chest like she had just sprinted a mile. 

Elsa shakes her head.

“You’re right,” she holds her hands up in surrender. “You know you’re right. Of course you’re right. Mister Westergaard is just like any other client.” 

Anna casts her sister a knowing look. “That is not what I meant and you know it.” 

Except Elsa didn’t. She blinks, wide eyed and confused. 

“Elsa. If you want to date the guy, just date him. Dating doesn’t have to mean getting attached. It can just be fun. That is what normal people do. Normal people have fun.” She plants her hands on her hips. “Plus he is loaded so you know he can probably take you on some pretty amazing dates.”

Elsa’s defences fly up. “Not going to happen.”

“But you know it would be okay if it did.” Anna goes soft in almost perfect opposition to Elsa’s rigidity. “All I’m saying is we all only get one shot at this life thing. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow or Kristoff could get struck by lightning. I get that you are trying to protect yourself and whoever else might come along but don’t you think that maybe you’re just hurting yourself more by not even trying?”

The words hit Elsa like a fist to the chest.

She is absolutely dizzy with them. 

Of all the ways she thought this Monday would go.

She bears down.

“We’re doing this.” 

She pushes past a surprised Anna and heads to the doors to where Hans Westergaard is waiting. If he is going to lay down a challenge she will be damned if she shrinks down from it. 

She will meet him just as she is, streaming mascara, skin soaked dress hot mess, and she will not back down.

She cannot.

She pushes past her sister towards those ominous frosted doors knowing that she looks a mess and accepting every bit of it. There may have been objections, but with the way Anna put it she knows that this is something she must face. 

This isn’t about dating or a relationship.

This isn’t about love.

Hans Westergaard has the nerve to come to into her territory then it can only be one outcome for this.

This is war.

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