#valiant anna
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
tribus-semitae · 4 months ago
Note
Which of your gals likes titties more?
Tumblr media
"Not me chief I'm more of a booty person myself~"
Tumblr media
"I-i dont really care about that too much honestly... "
Tumblr media
"That would be me babe ~"
5 notes · View notes
ace-queen-of-arendelle · 1 year ago
Text
7 notes · View notes
maddiemuu · 29 days ago
Text
i wish actually participating in fandom spaces wasn't so scary to me. i just can't bring myself to do it!! even though not having anyone to talk about stuff with makes me lonely. the most i can ever do is just stand on the periphery or mmmaayyyybe draw One piece of fanart if i'm feeling really brave. i can never make fanart of something TOO close to my heart either... it feels so vulnerable!! all of it's scary!!! far far too scary by far. i am scared.
1 note · View note
pedroam-bang · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
Valiant Hearts: The Great War (2014)
1 note · View note
sunflowers-and-sandwiches · 6 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Valiant Reindeer Ice King
Please do NOT use or repost my art for any reason without express permission.
I don’t know what has inspired this, because I mostly read modern AU Kristanna fanfics (@loonysama (annas-hair-donut), @glassslippers-n-cowboyboots (flowersinherhair), @hiptoff @annaofthenorthernlights you’re all inspiring authors) and don’t look at sneak peeks for future Frozen sequels because I don’t want to ruin the ending for myself, be surprised and enjoy the moments we already have with these characters. But I woke up suddenly in the middle of the night the other week and this image filled my entire mind. He’s back again with an entire origin story, so guess I better post it!
Note to self: don’t draw weird things late at night!
57 notes · View notes
taemcains · 8 months ago
Text
your love is sunlight — cainlane
Tumblr media
lane helps cain wash the blood off his wings and gets a thank you in return. ao3
cw: blood mentions
🎧 julia shortreed - broken wings
Pale golden light streams into Lane's shared room, falling on the soft carpet in a mosaic mirroring the elegant swirls on the balcony door. The picture of coziness it creates, along with the spread of reference books spilled like a domino of cards around her, brings her back to high school and days spent cramming for exams with the spring sunshine in North Carolina watching over her like a guardian.
The tremors of a door slamming shut on the ground floor dispel the mirage. Lane blinks hard, bringing herself back to Rotkov's eternal winter and her task, which is considerably more crucial and much more demanding than memorizing chemistry equations.
The Book and her notebook are each balanced precariously on her knees. Reference books lay further down from her, tossed away in rising frustration. Her wrist aches and her back has been steadily cramping from her abysmal posture, but she remains hunched over, picking up her trail of thought and leaving behind unnecessary memories to continue scrawling in her notebook.
Shadows pool on the floor, chasing away the imitation of home and warmth. Lane's head whips up to face the balcony, hair lashing against her back.
White obscures gold. It flashes once, painting the room cold before swerving to the back of the estate.
Real warmth bubbles up in her chest. Cain is back from his night patrol.
Lane spent all of ten minutes in the morning trying to inconspicuously grill the squad about his whereabouts before her mind grew disgusted by her pathetic state. Cain is an immortal. Whatever stalks the forest and whoever hides in the town should be, are, terrified of him. Worrying about someone who can handle himself, when she has a plethora of problems is fatuous. She resolved to put it out of her mind and surrender to the Book instead.
An hour later, huddled under every blanket and comforter looted from her room, the upholstered chair doing little to battle the cold, she muses. Why do you become so irrational when you
 have someone? Her hand is unsteady, fingers trembling from the cold, but she makes a valiant effort to jot something down.
Anna shoots her the most judgmental glance she's received in her life. ‘Why are you freezing to death near the balcony when the bed is right there?’
Lane tries to shrug but she doubts the slight movement would be visible under ten layers of wool. ‘The cold will keep my mind awake. I could get a new perspective on the Book.’
Anna almost looks offended at how little thought Lane put into lying to her. She scoffs. ‘Is that what they're calling it now?’ She scowls at a distant spot in the sky, willing the extent of her disdainful glare to reach that angel wherever he is, before turning on her heel and leaving, muttering about ‘beautiful women falling for idiot men’ and ‘why do you never learn, Anna?’
Her mind doesn't linger too long on Anna, but circles him, as always, a whirlpool of memories and longings. She tried to choke down her worry along with mouthfuls of tea earlier, but it spews up with a redoubled vengeance. No matter how many times her exasperated mind reassures her of the angel's strength and safety, her heart refuses to quiet, pacing anxiously with a thump-thump-thump echoing through her very bones.
Are you satisfied? Everyone wants to know whether I even have a heart anymore but you keep it, toss it, and catch it with the dizzying speed of your changing whims. I don't miss that. But I miss you.
Admitting that she missed him was apparently the last straw for her mind, who was jeering at this display of yearning. Lane leapt to her feet, yanked around by the strings of her rational mind that was hard at work to erase this maudlin moment from her day. She climbed into bed, pulled the required materials to herself like a shield and lost herself in the arcane, her mind alight and awake, ready to beat her heart into submission.
Now she allows herself to exhale a shameful ‘I missed you’ to the knowing shadows of her room and let relief unfurl through her bloodstream like a ribbon.
All the romance novels and movies she'd gorged herself on in her teenage years with the relished humiliation of crawling back to an unfaithful lover, had painted love in pink, soft and bloodless. But for Lane, love is a violent intrusion, spinning her mind and heart out of control. If she'd known she would feel so foolish, she would've accumulated more experience, to chart cumulative data and predict the best response in any situation. But Cain's not like anyone she's ever met. He's not like anyone at all.
Plotting Cain would be an impossible task as he shifts a little every time she sees him, a kaleidoscope that never shows the same pattern twice. But won't he let her try? To map his impossibilities across a lifetime like counting stars in the night sky, the only futile task she wants to squander away her time on with the languidness of summer days slipping away.
Contrary to his own impossibility, he seems to have her entirely mapped out, tracing the rivers of her veins with his fingertips and the ridges of her spine with his eyes. She didn't have to ask. Cain understood her, like he once promised, and her working style which he condensed aptly as ‘You wouldn't look up from the Book unless there's a second apocalypse.’ So his wings blinked at her, sending her a sign.
Was he counting on her being able to glimpse the maelstrom of riddles behind every guileless movement of his? Delivered with a susurration of his wings, an order, a request, or the gentle luring of a lover: Come find me.
His wishes are clear, but Lane hesitates, out of her own warring desires. Her heart is almost halfway out the door, straining to settle sleepily against his voice, but her feet remain planted to the floor, roots extending through wood, bypassing time and space, sprouting out of her father's office.
Wood polish. Expensive leather. An angular man leaning over her seven-year-old self. ‘Please do not bother me when I'm working, Lane. Go see to your mother.’ Which was perhaps the greatest condemnation of all, her own father who could not see her mother's umbilical cord strangling her lovingly around her neck, a tie she could never rid of even two decades later.
The memory fractures. Warmth beckons her from the fissure and she follows as if ensorcelled. The press of a thigh to her own. The specter of fingers through her hair. The fracture widens. The tickling of feathers against the small of her back. Her father's office and her younger self preserved in contrition are swallowed into the dark.
The last fragments of the memory are brushed away by an ambrette voice that lifts her and carries her back to the body of her present self, gently setting her down in reality. Tendrils of him and his essence are already curled around her, sweetpea flowers budding around her neck, watching over her when he can't.
Glimpses of him in her memories don't appease her. Lately, even his fleeting touches, light enough to absolve him of intention, do nothing to sate the hunger roiling in her. Come find me.
Guided, or rather, misguided, by the reckless abandon that entangles with desire, Lane crosses the room and doesn't let herself hesitate to wrench the door open. Her eyes hone in on the ornate door at the far end of the hallway, quiet and anodyne.
The estate is still, the history of those hallowed halls, almost a physical presence draped heavy over her shoulders, watching as Lane's hushed footsteps ghost over the floor. She knows her efforts are in vain; he must've heard the click of her door opening, but it felt sacrilegious to stomp over in an estate teeming with revenants.
She comes to a standstill outside his door, heart awake and thrashing. He could probably hear it through the wood, no barrier fortified to the aching of her heart to be a plaything in his hands again. But he waits, lets her settle on going to him or turning away.
She knocks lightly.
‘Come in.’ His voice, smooth and even, with the barest drops of an emotion she couldn't identify, sends a trickle of reassurance down her chest.
Ominous that the creaking of the door is, when Lane peers inside, gingerly stepping past the threshold like an inexperienced thief, Cain is whole and unhurt, lips curving up as salve to her twinging unease. Her heart finally rests.
As relief streams through her blood, her eyes cascade down his figure intently. Silvery fabric molds to his skin, translucent where pearls of water trickle from the damp ends of his hair. Black slacks cling enticingly to his thighs, every slight shift flaunting the statuesque lines of his body. His wings flare, serrated edges silhouetted by daylight, a personal sunset.
Her eyes widen. Cain, who was watching her riveted gaze with a touch of satisfaction pulling up the corner of his mouth, interjected smoothly. ‘It's not mine. A spawn was found close to city lines.’
‘Is that what you were busy with all morning?’ She asks, alarm fading into distraction. Blood lashed against white wings, macabre and ethereal. Offsetting, Lane thinks, no, enhancing temptation, disoriented by her own strange desires.
‘Yes.’ His voice dips, softness melting it. ‘Were you alone for long?’
‘No,’ she answers absentmindedly, eyes transfixed to the startlingly intimate sight of his bare feet. Unarmoured like this, without the chainmail of his condescending sneer and paradoxical words, he seems closer than ever. Like she would only need to reach out for her fingertips to graze soft skin and sculpted muscle, obscured to the rest by shadows and secrets.
Appeased, he turns to the side, pushing back his drenched sleeves around his elbow. Only then does the room start to come together in snatches. Clothes strewn across the carpeted floor, his jacket a bloodied heap by the balcony, transponder thrown on the bedside table. A basin with murky water seated on the dresser, a rag dangling haphazardly from it. Precise to him, messy to others. Not unlike the owner himself, she thinks.
Satisfied with her appraisal, she peeks over at him. Leaning over the basin, rag coiled loosely around his hand, he looks half sunken in a dream. Only the rustling of his wings betray his restlessness.
Her spine is yanked straight by a part of her, a phantom cerebrum spawned to gauge and dissect every shift in his body and every quirk of his mouth. Cain would never allow himself to be so absent. Her heart screeches with alarm, and her mind reluctantly allows the theatrics, admitting the oddness of his behavior.
‘Cain?’ she calls quietly.
Regret follows almost immediately. At the most inopportune moment, she realizes she has no idea how to proceed when he responds. Cain has always taken care of her in his own absurd way, the experience irksome even as the memory fills her empty soul with sunlight. But Lane could hardly care for herself, much less an immortal.
His lashes flutter, moth wings skimming his skin as he blinks out of his daze. ‘Sorry, I was lost in thought.’ His eyes clear, latches clicking shut inside him. ‘I should clean my wings.’ They flick, avouching his words. ‘Not exactly the amorous activity you were envisioning, I'm sure.’
Her eyes narrow but they cannot lance metal. He meets her scouring gaze with calculated repose. His shoulders sink, memories imploding within, then return to their usual assured set, dust settling in the span of a blink.
Only a second, but it's enough for Lane to pry at the chips in his marmoreal mask. She sighs softly as slivers of his bare face come into view. He's
 tired. So, so tired. Abandoned by heaven, shunned by earth, untouchable on his altar of divinity. Angel, priest, soldier. Beautiful as a statue, but who dares to touch him? Who can he hold?
Sensing the weight of her thoughts, he straightens imperceptibly, shuttering off any weakness.
Even now, after hurting and helping and licking their wounds, they still hesitate, circling each other like sharks scenting blood, the instinct to hurt before getting hurt honed and layered like second skin, excruciating to rip off. But they can't keep holding onto an infected limb that devours the rest of the body. Years of violent instinct wars with a fragile, blossoming ache.
The words spill out of her lips, noxious blood evanescing, her first breath without her own violence pressing down on her sweet and fresh. ‘Let me help.’
His eyes snap back to hers and lock their gazes. Narrowed, assessing, wary, they're as entrancing as ever. He sighs, the same side emerging victorious in him. ‘I'll give you a chance to back out. I'm warning you now that your arms will ache for the next week.’
‘I won't come complaining to you,’ she says dryly, the secret curve of his mouth sending a flurry of warmth through her.
He follows her lead, effortlessly carrying the basin to an empty spot in the center of the room, sunlight casting the illusion of warmth on the rug. He sets it down and folds himself into a cross-legged posture, somehow elegant even while sitting on the floor.
Lane follows suit, kneeling behind him on the plush carpet. She ties her hair back into a loose knot and pulls back her sleeves, goosebumps arising on her exposed skin immediately. She shivers, body noting the frigidity of his room while she herself is enraptured by the angel.
This close to him, the diaphanous material of his shirt coyly divulges flashes of his body. The slope of his shoulder blade. A channel down his lower back. The sylphlike curve of his waist. Lane exhales slowly, expelling the need to touch him and trace his skin. The intoxicating heat radiating off him doesn't abate the desire to drape herself over his back and see what he'd do.
‘Having second thoughts? Maybe your delicate arms hurt already?’
She rolls her eyes, abruptly breaking through for air. The same person who tenderly drowns her in the thick, languid ocean of desire also hauls her out of it with his infuriating quips.
He slides the basin over to her in reparation.
Experimentally dipping her fingers into the basin, she sighs with relief at the lukewarm water. She dunks the rag in, drenches it, and pauses, water dripping rhythmically onto the floor, lapped up by the carpet. How sensitive are his wings? She remembers the library incident with a quivering in her stomach, the idea of her touch making him still heady more than any wine or pomegranate juice. How hard can she use the rag on them?
His voice is glazed with amusement. ‘This feels familiar. Now is the time to ask me if I'm gloating.’
That settles it. ‘Why should I when I know the answer?’ she replies as she presses the rag to the base of his wing agonizingly gently. He jerks, the beginnings of a low gasp escaping past his teeth before he quiets, wings flaring.
Lane bites her lip to rein in a smirk, throat going dry at the noise and where else she'd like to hear it, again and again.
‘Have it your way, then. Is this payback for that time in the library?’ he retorts, shoulders unnaturally tense.
‘What do you mean?’ she says lightly, carefully moving the rag from the base to the top. His wings rustle and flick, but settle quietly.
A light laugh floats through the air, melding seamlessly with this impossible afternoon.
Cain stays quiet as she works her way through the large expanse, occasionally trembling as she grazes certain spots. She makes mental notes of them, for future reference. Or for leverage.
Her nose wrinkles as she nears the tip of his wing. Spawn gore clumps to the feathers, a sickly sweet smell emanating from the blood.
Cain almost whirls around at her first cough. ‘I'll deal with the rest. You've done enough.’
She waves him off. Before she could think it over again, her hand cups his shoulder, turning him away. A tremor goes through her at her boldness, the heat of his muscle and bone against her fingers warming her entire arm.
‘You reek,’ she says airily, only to douse the incalescence of his gaze, burning her more than his skin as she touched him like she had the right to.
‘Who came to whose room?’
A gradual undoing, Lane watches as her own hands cast magic, turning back time, water swilling blood from his wings, leaching them pure and white.
She retraces her path, returning to the base of his wings where stubborn flecks of blood linger on the feathers. Faltering for just a second, she discards the rag. Her fingers, a gentler heir, glide over the plumage, outsing sanguine settlers.
Cain arches like a cat, allowing himself a muffled moan before rebounding, curving into her. A shuddering breath is the only movement she shows. His back barely brushes her front, the faint contact sparking a riot in her head, one side chanting lean in close, closer, the other pull away I can't breathe anymore.
As the sun drops lower into the sky, in tandem he sinks lower onto her, the silky strands of his hair chilling her chin, the weight of his body warm and comforting. His initial wariness washed away with the blood, he's as cozy and relaxed as a housecat dozing in a patch of sunlight.
Disappointment unfurls petals inside her chest as the last of the blood is wiped away, wings gleaming in the sunlight. Enveloped by him, his body, his scent; sweet and faintly musky, entirely him with the effect it had of wanting to fall headlong into his lies, time has no meaning. The world waiting with ravenous jaws holds no importance when he's quiet and boneless in her arms.
‘Cain?’ she whispers, unsure if he's awake.
‘Hmm?’
Her toes curl into the carpet. His usual liquid smooth voice has been rendered low and thick, drowsiness dipping his tone.
She hesitates. Is it worth jolting him from his place against her—as it should be, her heart croons— for her selfish desire of wanting to look at him?
Ironically, it's her indecision that awakens him, alertness seeping back in. He slips out of her hold, a gentle thief escaping into the night, and turns to face her. ‘What is it?’ he asks, traces of worry playing in his voice.
I wish I could look at you when I want to without searching for an excuse. I wish you would keep being near to me. I want you to keep seeing me.
‘Nothing,’ she bites out, frustrated with herself, eyes catching on an anomaly in the blinding purity of snow. ‘There's dried blood crusted in your hair.’
He sighs, mindlessly patting his hair, completely missing the spot.
‘Let me,’ she interrupts quietly, pieces falling into place, desire breathing her wishes to life.
He eyes her curiously. Whatever he finds makes his mouth twitch and obediently lower his head, submitting to the ministrations of her fingers. A thrill fires through her like an arrow. She quite likes the idea of him bowed and hazy-eyed in front of her.
Her fingers ease into silken strands, white and gold playing on her skin. They trail unwillingly, longing to linger and straighten the wisps hanging over his eyes for him. She flicks the rusty flakes off, careful to not tug at the strands.
Hyperaware of every steady inhale and exhale of his, her own breathing wavers, growing shallow. She attempts to veer her attention back to his hair, instead of the proximity of her chest to his face, when his arm curves around her waist, long fingers splaying out, burning her from rib to hip.
Before she could steady herself to this, him, his thumb traces the jut of her rib. All coherent thought dissipates. Heat whirls up her insides. His fingers trail teasingly over the curve of her waist before stilling on her hip, and she wishes with sudden, fervent clarity that he would play on her skin. Be so familiar to him that he would reach for her to ease his restlessness, her hipbone echoing his music, instead of an undeserving slab of wood.
‘Your knees must hurt. Sit.’ He sounds from below her, words almost breathed into her throat. His voice lowers, a surrender just between them. ‘I can bow down for you.’
She lowers her eyes to his. A misstep. Hazy from sleep, sharp in the corners, sunlight sands down his usual jagged gaze and wicked smirk, turning him into a visage of heaven. Angelic, she thinks for the first time since she awoke to him, both at the rift and at the estate.
Cain has always been inhumanely beautiful from the moment she saw him glowing like an impossible mirage amidst blood and snow, but his beauty is almost unbearable now that she's seen the planes of that same untouchable face contort in anger, slacken in tiredness, soften in fondness. Every feature has been slashed into her mind since their first meeting, but he's a mystery she'll never tire of. She studies each detail with the same fascination as the first time.
Gold clings to every lash with the devotion of the sea returning to sand. Dawn rises in his eyes, the only place where she looks forward to sunrise. Cheekbones like cliffs, sweetpea pink lips. Twin moles wink at her from below his eye and cheek, a taunt mirrored in his eyes: What will you do now?
He tilts his head up, her hand that lay forgotten in his hair sliding down like rain. Brow bone, cheekbone, till the base of her palm curves against his jaw.
She's holding his face in her hand. What will you do now?
Her eyes hesitatingly find his again. The same eyes that speared into her being, trying to unravel her before she could undo him, that held and kept all his secrets, now betray him and look at her with undisguised tenderness. His gaze is the only mirror she can stand to look at herself anymore, her callousness and apathy smoothed over by his affection.
She loops her free arm around his neck, feeling his shoulders tense in surprise. In no reality will she come out of this unscathed. But would it be worth being hurt by these same hands that hold so gently?
Her eyes flit to his lips. Oh, but it would be worth being condemned to hell by this mouth. His lips part, luring her in before the din of doors slamming and a chorus of intermingling voices shatters their retreat.
Lane is off the floor and three feet away from him before he could even blink. His tenderness ripples into a scowl. His eyes glint a lurid red as he rises to his feet.
‘I should go,’ she says hastily, impatient to curse every member of the squad and then pore over every second of this afternoon before it dissipates like a dream.
‘And where are you rushing off to?’ he asks, notes of ire lurking in his voice.
She raises an eyebrow. ‘My room. I don't think the General will be pleased about me spending quality time with you instead of working.’
His mouth curls in derision. ‘If Dmitry's concern is incompetence, you're the least of his problems.’
His tone gives her pause. The second she tilts her head, his cool nonchalance snaps back into place, clicking shut with the finality of a lock.
‘I'll get going,’ she echoes before her heart could rope her into some foolish scheme. ‘Will you go to sleep now?’
‘Yes.’ He pauses, eyes sliding to her, lingering on her exposed collarbone. His voice lowers, softens, a snake coiling around flesh and she feels his words like he whispered them onto her skin. ‘Will you miss this opening?’
Her heart jolts. He can't possibly be
?
‘To watch me sleep again.’ He tilts his head innocuously, the effect offset by his growing smirk. ‘What were you thinking?’
Entirely unhelpfully, her mind bestows her with a visual. She thinks of him asleep, cheek pillowed by his arm, lashes casting needle-thin shadows, his ever-furrowed brows relaxed and a physical burn flares to life under her ribs.
She knits her brow in irritation, saving face too late, hastening to leave. The Cain who curved into her like the moon, who she'd christened angelic had fallen asleep, dreaming in some crevice of his mind. The one who stands in front of her, challenge highlighted in every plane of his face, is familiar, familiar and dangerous, familiar in a sense that she could hardly guess his next thought.
Just as her hand wraps around the door handle, she senses his searing presence behind her. Her body reacts instinctively, gearing up. Cain sends all of her emergency responses into overdrive, fight, flight, and fight speeding and crashing at the junction of her mind. All thoughts come to a screeching halt, leaving only expectant silence, air thrumming with possibilities. A discordant note or a lilting melody?
His fingers curl around her wrist, a gossamer touch. He lowers his head while raising her wrist, night falling as the moon rises to meet as a sunset, as a kiss. His cool breath snakes across her skin, travelling the course set by her veins, the faint brushes of his lips blissful torture.
A marionette in his hands, he angles her wrist to his mouth, setting the stage. The first act: the bite of his teeth against her pulse.
Her shoulders seize and she bites her lip, the blooming pain-pleasure shoving a gasp back inside her mouth. He presses, so gently, an invisible divot to savor and linger over at night, an ephemeral mark of him on her skin.
Can he feel her hand trembling? Her knees will give out if he continues.
In answer, in tender defiance, he scrapes his teeth across her pulse point, shrapnel and velvet, mouth feverishly hot, teeth deliciously sharp. Her spine jerks, pulled by his strings, aching to lean against his body. A low noise escapes her before she could haul it inside.
He halts, knowing when to coax with hardly a look, pulling her along to freefall into desire, another line they can never uncross, and when to let her be. He presses a full kiss to soothe her skin, before the curtain falls with a delicate graze of his lips over the faded cut on her palm.
He pulls back and she blinks as the world rushes in, both the celebrated principal actress and the dazed, breathless audience. He lowers her wrist gently, fingers falling away like the night. ‘Thank you,’ he says quietly with no trace of the smugness she was expecting.
She could hardly remember what she replied or how she stole away into the hallway. Half her mind still trembling in that room with him, the other half lazily waking up from a pleasant dream, she muses as she stumbles to her room.
The weight of the emptiness in her soul is always lurking, always ready to drag her into nothingness. Being around others only seems to chip away the remnants of her soul clinging to her insides; their strained laughter, easy anger and human hope shattered mirror shards reflecting the humanity long gouged out of her. You are not like us. Each irregular mosaic amplified till the message was deafening. You are not like us!
But as she stood in the hallway, vision golden with dust motes swirling around in a lazy waltz in the ballroom of sunlight, her soul is
 silent. Not clamoring in its depleted state, begging to find its stolen half and fill it up. Cain's mere presence lifts this particular veil of half death, making her heart pumping in lazy disinterest startle awake, having to work overtime to make up for her lungs slacking.
Though she was the one who wished to lighten his burden today, it seemed he was imbuing her with his own life force with every touch. A thirst for life, and just not survival, gasped for air within her, only to see him again, to touch him again and make him tremble.
The corner of her mouth twitches as she turns the handle.
She has to find a way to get him back for that kiss.
82 notes · View notes
kristanna-days · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Frozen x BATB Yuletide Exchange 2024 Master List
This year, we have 12 fanfics and one piece of fan art for the exchange! You can find the entire collection here. Links to individual fics with descriptions are below.
Frozen
A little expertise @lyricalark (@snowberriesromanoff)
(Anna/Kristoff, T)
Kristoff is a wedding planner who took over his mom Bulda's business when she retired. She's always said she'll come out of retirement to plan his wedding but he's not holding his breath. Anna is a bride-to-be like any other, except she's clearly not happy and her fiancé Hans doesn't see or doesn't care to see. And Kristoff is starting to care. Or, the Kristanna Wedding Planner AU
Fir-needles and Crocuses @be_my_druidess (@true--north)
(Anna & Elsa; Anna/Kristoff, T)
Anna and Elsa invite Kristoff to spend Christmas with them.
How You Kiss an Arendellian Princess @annas-hair-donut
(Anna/Kristoff; Kristoff & the Trolls, M)
The Arendellian princess will die in the eternal winter if she doesn’t stay the night in Kristoff’s cabin. All Kristoff has to do is get through one night without falling for her. It would be easier if there weren’t just one stack of hay, one blanket, and seven rock trolls living in his head who keep trying to fix him up with a woman who’s engaged to someone else. Or, an alternate meet cute where Anna wanders into Kristoff's cabin instead of Oaken's and the rock trolls live in Kristoff’s head instead of the Valley of the Living Rock.
Snowed In With Open Doors @chibiotaku4life
(Anna/Hans, G)
Hans has a special surprise for Anna this year when they are snowed in during her favorite holiday.
Under the Winter Moon @sunflowers-and-sandwiches
(Anna/Kristoff; Anna & Elsa, T)
Christmas can be a wonderful time of celebration and giving, but sometimes gifts aren’t the only things that come unwrapped. Will Elsa and Anna get their hearts’ true Christmas wishes?
Valiant, pungent, Santa baby! @annaorthenorthernlights
(Anna/Kristoff, E)
Kristoff has planned a special Christmas surprise for Anna...
You'll Never be Alone @flowerinherhair (@glassslippers-n-cowboyboots)
(Elsa/Hans, T)
Hans Westergaard is in a friendly little competition with Elsa Arendelle for the top spot in the law school class. Maybe Hans wants more than for things to be friendly between them though.
Beauty & the Beast
Hidden Desires Seeking Satisfaction @biblioscribler (@99goosebumps)
(Belle/Beast, E)
Belle plays a naughty game of hide and seek with Beast.
Something sweet @firawren
(Beast/Belle, M)
Belle challenges her grumpy roommate Adam to take part in her Christmas tradition of doing acts of service for people. He thinks it’s ridiculous. Everyone knows Christmas is just about selling shit and families fighting. But as he starts to give it a try, he discovers that maybe he kind of likes being nice. And maybe he really likes Belle, too.
Stories @flowerinherhair @glassslippers-n-cowboyboots)
(Adam/Belle, T)
Adam is risking being kicked out of his university program if he doesn't get at least a 75% on his final English essay. He needs a tutor and the one person who can help him is the beautiful, smart, intimidating girl who sits in the front row.
Frozen x BATB Crossovers
Behind the Curtain of Snowfall @chibiotaku4life
(Belle/Ryder Nattura, T)
Belle and Ryder have a terrifying run-in with wolves, and find what's really important in the winter woods.
Books of a Flurry @paigebstorey
(Belle & Elsa, G)
Belle works in the local bookstore cafe, a place of wonder and escape from the hustle and bustle of the world outside. This is the story of how she met her favorite customer.
The Icy Roses @magentacravat
(Belle & Elsa, G)
Belle has rose powers or even plant growth powers that, like Elsa's ice powers, are tied to love. The icy goddess finally meets her counterpart with the power of roses of love.
This year's batch is so great! Here's some quick stats from this year's exchange:
We had 3 Frozen x BATB crossover fics, including 2 Belle/Elsa and the very first fic in the Belle/Ryder Nattura tag. We need more of both ships!
We had 11 fanfics created by 9 writers and 1 piece of fan art, with @glassslippers-n-cowboyboots and @chibiotaku4life both writing pinch hits for the exchange! Thank you so much for showing a little extra love so everyone could participate!
@sunflowers-and-sandwiches created the beautiful banner for this year's exchange. Thank you so much for lending your talents!
@paigebstorey served as our co-mod this year. Thank you so much for your help! Hopefully she'll take over one day.
We had 5 NSFW fics and 8 SFW works this year.
I also want to apologize for posting this so late, especially since some of these are Christmas themed. It's 100% my fault so please go and read those fics anyway!
DM me or @glassslippers-n-cowboyboots if you're interested in joining the Frozen/BATB writing server, Frozen Hearts Worth Melting.
32 notes · View notes
taraross-1787 · 17 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
This Day in History: The Battle of the Alamo
On this day in 1836, the Battle of the Alamo is fought. Despite a valiant defense by the Texans (then called Texians), the Mexican Army is victorious.
Those in the Alamo had been under siege ever since February 23, when Mexican General Antonio López de Santa Anna’s 1,500-man army arrived at the Alamo. The Texians were badly outnumbered: Depending on whose figures you believe, the number defending the Alamo was between 150 and 250 people.
The youngest of these Texians was 16 and the oldest was 56.
FULL STORY: https://www.taraross.com/post/tdih-battle-alamo
7 notes · View notes
tribus-semitae · 9 months ago
Text
@lostusagis
Tumblr media
She tilts her head to the side like some overgrown puppy, was there something wrong with the police force here? Maybe they were corrupted and this nice girl didn't want her to get involved with them!
That definetly must be it!!
"Thank you so much uhmm...truth to be told I don't know much but would love to look around so ...what would you recommend for a newcomer? Ah...I'm sorry are you busy? I could buy you lunch if you want!"
4 notes · View notes
likehandlingroses · 1 year ago
Text
I just feel like. If/when Anna and Bates leave Downton. Or Baxter and Molesley. Or Daisy finally goes to the farm full time.
There will not be the same level of handwringing re: their *Downton family* like there is with Thomas.
And it does feel like he is supposed to be content with relationships with people who all have. Families and homes they absolutely prioritize above him. And it’s only his desire for romance or a home of his own that is characterized as regressive or oh-so typical of stories to prioritize THAT kind of thing (when in fact it is actually incredibly transgressive and valiant of him to believe in that and take steps to live the life he wants).
44 notes · View notes
justforbooks · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Alive in the Merciful Country by AL Kennedy
A primary school teacher navigates lockdown in an ambitious novel that asks potent questions about abuses of state and personal power
A.L. Kennedy has made no secret of her despair about post-Brexit Britain under the “rage-tweeting, Nazi-curious” Tories. “My government has become more radical, and that is difficult to explain to someone living in a European democracy,” she told the Swiss German-language newspaper NZZ in 2023. “Very dark people are at work here.” Kennedy, the author of acclaimed short stories and novels including Paradise, Everything You Need and the Costa-winning Day, has claimed that her views make her work less welcome in Britain. In her book The Core of Things, published in German, she writes: “I may not be the kind of writer our media watchdogs like.”
Alive in the Merciful Country, her 10th novel, was first published in translation in Germany and Switzerland back in 2023. As the book opens it is 2020 and, with her London primary school in lockdown, Anna McCormick is teaching her year 5 class online and doing her best to keep their spirits up. Together they discuss the story of Rumpelstiltskin, the “tricky wicked goblin with a secret name”. They invent Stiltskin dances and do Stiltskin sums about spinning and the weight of gold. For thousands of years, Anna tells the children, people have told versions of this story about lying and the misuse of power, reminding themselves “that the way to defeat all monsters is by knowing who they really are”.
Anna, a single mother to a 20-year-old son, is determined to model to her pupils “functional adulthood of a type that can still insist on expecting a better world”. But Anna’s own faith in that world has been fundamentally broken. As a student in the 1980s, she fell in love with Buster, a fellow performer in the UnRule OrKestrA, an activist street theatre collective. It was only after he vanished without trace that Buster was revealed to be an undercover cop. Decades later, Anna encounters him, her very own “Stiltskin among Stiltskins”, at the Old Bailey trial of five of her OrKestrA colleagues, exhuming long-buried anguish. Then, as the Covid crisis deepens, she discovers an unaddressed envelope propped outside the gates to her flat. It contains a manuscript: Buster’s own story in his own Stiltskin words.
The spine of the novel is Anna’s private journal as she struggles to make sense of both past and present. Traumatised by Buster’s betrayal and a subsequent abusive partner, Anna is furious and fearful in equal measure, raw with pain and paralysed by self-doubt. But although her country is “trapped in a national Bad Relationship”, bullied and gaslit by its Stiltskin government, she still believes in kindness and hope and silly jokes. She wants desperately to believe in her new partner. She tells her year 5 pupils the story of the murderer who kills 99 people and finds forgiveness. She knows that “the Stiltskins must get mercy, because the acting out of mercy cleans and saves us all”.
Into her account Anna interleaves extracts from Buster’s manuscript, detailing his shift from spy cop to self-funded vigilante killer targeting sex traffickers and racist Tory MPs with predilections for cocaine and underage sex workers. “The narrator is part of the bargain when you let a story in,” Anna warns, and Buster – who has as many names as he has stories – is far from reliable. Perhaps he is, as Anna insists, an out-and-out villain. Perhaps, like her, he is on the side of righteousness, his violence an inversion of her own valiant efforts to mend a broken system. Or perhaps his story is like the story of Rumpelstiltskin, a fable to reinforce our faith that goodness will ultimately triumph, and his words do not belong to him at all.
Alive in the Merciful Country is an ambitious novel that asks potent questions about abuses of state and personal power. It is also something of a curate’s egg. At her finest – and there are many fine moments in this book – Kennedy combines a beadily bleak eye with a standup’s comic timing and a profound humanity that breaks open the heart. Too often, however, she shows her political workings. For all her anguished contradictions, Anna is simply too perfect, her sensibilities – and those of all her friends – unwavering and irreproachable. As for Buster’s wearyingly long sections, they all play the same dogged tune. While he remains opaque, his targets are caricatures, numbingly unremitting assemblages of every cliche of their type. The effect is not eased by his stilted writing style: Buster claims to be Scottish but “I am small indications of self-harm and limp aloneness. I am a perfected personality and also clean effective within my truth in a place where I rest and play” reads more like Google Translate.
Whatever game Kennedy is playing with the reader, and she deliberately leaves that question open, it is a game that demands a primary school teacher’s patience. The tilt of her politics is not the problem here – anger at the toxic Tory legacy and the act of national self-harm that was Brexit is hardly unique among British novelists. The frustration of this novel is that she has allowed her absolutism to compromise her remarkable literary talents.
Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books
?
6 notes · View notes
darkmaga-returns · 10 days ago
Text
At the time Travis sent his letter, the commander-in-chief of the Texas Republican Army, Sam Houston, was negotiating a treaty with Cherokee Indians who inhabited the northeast region of the territory and was unable to respond in time with reinforcements.
When I was a kid visiting the Alamo for the first time, I wondered if, had I been of fighting age at the time, I would have gone to the Alamo to join Travis. He, a young man of 26, knew that his refusal to surrender meant certain death. Would I have been prepared to die for the Alamo to keep it out of the hands of the vainglorious Santa Anna?
On a recent visit to San Antonio, I was surprised by how desolate the downtown area was at night. I drifted over to the Hotel Menger for a drink at the bar where Teddy Roosevelt recruited local cowboys for his valiant expedition to liberate Cuba from the Spanish in 1898. I found the place strangely empty.
The following photo is of Teddy and his Rough Riders at the top of San Juan Hill, which they had just successfully stormed.
3 notes · View notes
nommyzommy · 6 months ago
Text
I've finally caught the time to explain some for Reborn: Rainbow! So let's gooooo!!!!!! (Yayyyyy, I'm getting to talk about some of our original stuff!!!)
As explained by @flowerveil02 in an ask recently, Reborn: Rainbow is a special AU of Pokémon Reborn that combines elements of both the Zekrom/Black and Reshiram/White routes! (So obvious spoilers ahead!!! Those will be under the cut, though.)
First, let's introduce our protags!
Tumblr media
Ever After Cozmyx
25y/o, They/He/She/Zi
Ever ( @flowerveil02 's OC) acts as the main protag. They're incredibly valiant and competitive with a huge compassion for everyone. They hail from Tandor (Pokemon Uranium) along with the rest of the protags. While she's normally a logical thinker, she does think with her heart a lot. They're super friendly and mothering to all of their peers. Along with Sable and August, he busts his ass to protect the region and sometimes becomes absorbed in these responsibilities, also helping out a whole bunch with Reborn City. Above all, they're the best friend you could wish for!
Tumblr media
Sable Morgan Umbra Cozmyx
23 y/o, She/Her
Sable (my OC) is Ever's sister by adoption. She's a reckless goofball often driven by her emotions. Casually, she's a go-with-the-flow kinda person with a huge sense of humor, but when she's started, she goes OFF. She deeply cares for those who can't defend themselves and often sees a younger version of herself reflected in them. She's the douchey bigger brother friend with dumb dog energy.
Tumblr media
August Asterian
22 y/o, He/They
August ( @flowerveil02 's OC) is Ever's cousin. He's a daydreaming romantic who believes in the good in everything. As a lover, they never pick fights and will always choose pacifism and redemption. He's a really mellow guy with a huge, soft heart in pursuit of happiness. They prefer to hang loose, although they're courageous and brave in the face of danger.
SPOILERS FOR GAME LORE BELOW!
Below the cut is story-building, so spoilers for game lore!!! None of this is set in stone, and we're going to be updating the AU frequently.
This is gonna be really long, so buckle up and enjoy the ride!
Reborn: Rainbow is set in the in a different timeline than the main game. The timeline reset never occurs in this universe because our protag, Ever, survives the train bombing the first time. This means that differences caused directly or indirectly by the timeline reset aren't relevant or never occurred. So Anna/Fantasia never makes a wish on Jirachi, Fern doesn't join Team Meteor, Shade remains as Euphie, and Zina isn't sealed away in Byxbision with Giratina, among other changes. This also affects smaller things, like Miss Direction's reading!
Team Meteor has received quite the overhaul as well. The group has a coverup operation called the True Believers. This operation poses as a charitable religious organization in order to lure unsuspecting individuals into joining Team Meteor. It's how many of the younger members wound up joining, either that way or by proxy.
As I've said in an earlier post, the New World is interpreted as a mysterious dimension called the Idyll of Spiritism. It's responsible for a lot of the strange occurrences in the story, along with acting as an alternative reality that the protags and many more must explore to complete their journies. The Idyll can be accessed in Citae Astrae behind a door called the Quartz Door. Like the other sacred doors, it requires a key to open, being the Quartz Key. Instead of being four keys (Emerald, Ruby, Sapphire, and Amethyst), there are five, the Quartz Key being the only key that Phoenix was able to keep through the years. While the Idyll can be temporarily accessed by opening the Quartz Door, its power is contained within, and opening it requires great sacrifices...
Instead of Radomus stealing the Crystal Keys, fashioning them into jewelry, and selling them, the Keys were lost in a very different way. August's mother, which we'll call Lucille after the Pokémon Uranium protag's mom, stole them. She grew up around Pheonix and witnessed Taube and his wife's deaths, so she understood the power of the Keys (she was born in Reborn, not Tandor. August's father, Kellyn, is Tandoran, however).
When August was young, she joined the True Believers while overseas and climbed through the ranks until she was trusted with the Crystal Keys. She then took all five keys to Citae Astrae and opened the Quartz Door. However, this requires sacrifice, so Lucille was spirited away into the Idyll of Spiritism, only leaving behind the Quartz key. Lucille and all four Crystal Keys were spat out of the Idyll and back into reality, leaving Lucille with severe amnesia and trapping a piece of her energy within the Idyll, cursing her. The Crystal Keys were scattered around the Reborn Region, where their eventual owners picked them up and had them fashioned into jewelry individually. Lucille returned to her family in Tandor and hid in fear of Phoenix finding her.
Ever, Sable, and August are some of the only people from the "regular" dimension that can visit the Idyll, although they must first be alseep/unconscious. This is due to a curse that was cast upon them by Solaris/Phoenix when they were young. This happened when Phoenix found out that Lucille's family had come to visit Reborn a couple of years after she stole the Crystal Keys. He wanted to punish Lucille for her betrayal and lured the young trio down into 7th Street and then the Subseven Sanctum, where he attempted to lock them up, resulting in a curse that gave Ever and her family supernatural abilities. The kids escaped, and their families swore never to come back to Reborn.
...That is until Ever decided to go back and find out what had happened all those years ago! Present day, Ever, August, and Sable have returned to Reborn to discover the truth behind what happened when they were young (and get dragged into some crazy predicaments while they're there)!
I think that's it for now! More info on certain characters and their backstories coming soon, so keep your eyes peeled!
6 notes · View notes
littleharpethcrossfit · 4 months ago
Text
Thursday, 5 December, 2024.
Dress Warm and wear gloves. The high today will be a FREEZING 32 degrees.
Miss Sabrina fired up a patio heater on arrival.
The post workout wine and snacks will be inside the Barn.
Warmup
4 Rounds
5 PVC Squat Snatch's
10 Back Raises
Strength, Coordination, Balance
Overhead Squat Practice
3 Reps EMOM X 10 Minutes
Use PVC To 95 lbs
Good Form Is Required
No weights were posted.
WOD
12 Minute EMOM
Alternate Rounds Every Minute
3 Power Snatch's..........(75% Of Your 1 Rep Max)
Row or Ski..........15 / 10 Calories
There was no score for this WOD.
Extra Credit
Barbell Curls
"21's" X 3 Sets
(45 / 35 / 22)
Note:
Attendees: Linda/Coach/Lindsay/Kayla/Sabrina/Shane/Herb/Tom/Chase/Tim/Alicia/Shannon/Armando arrived late.
Wine & Snacks Followed Inside The Barn.
There were about 4 nice red wines and one white found hiding in the cooler for lo many weeks. Much later they disappeared into the basement wine cellar and Tom/Kayla/Shannon and new girl Lindsay returned with a Martinelli Pinot and a Harcourt Syrah.
Snacks were better than usual. Miss Linda brought cheeses/crackers/olives, and Shannon brought cupcakes left over by drunks at her office party. Who has a Christmas party on 5 December? Kayla didn't bring crap, but made her friend (more later) visiting from Los Angeles bring very expensive Chicken-Ka-Bobs and tasty individual cucumber salads. Chase brought Anna Bread still warm from her oven, and God-all-Mighty Alicia brought the formally much maligned Hamburger Soup that I have belatedly come to highly appreciate. She even kept it hot on a hot-plate in the lawn-mower room until time to eat it.
The workout ended before 5 PM. Sabrina left at 5:05. The wine and snacks party ended at 7:30 PM. Shane crashed into Shannon's car as he was attempting to leave and get home before he was missed.
The new girl was Lindsay. Kayla brought her and she was singularly the best thing Kayla has ever done for LHCF. They do one of those Pod-Cast things together. It's called "DOSE OF SOCIAL" I think. Lindsay has lived in Los Angeles for all her unfortunate life. Lindsay made a very good impression on everyone especially your Coach who made a valiant effort to get her to relocate to Middle Tennessee even though that would mean bringing her 2 daughters and a husband (a Lawyer) along with her. Lindsay did CrossFit as far back as 2011 but her attendance has not been constant. She sat with me as I talked a lot and she is a patient listener. She was very curious about "Grundles" (sp). Although she is almost certainly a Kamala fan, I think that if she lived in Brentwood for 5 years she could be swayed to vote RED. She was personally fitted with a LHCF T-shirt.
Saturday at 0930. I haven't checked the weather.
2 notes · View notes
eleanorwolfson · 6 months ago
Text
Rosewood Readathon Day 15!!
Chapter 46
- I would have simply tripped and fallen down the stairs if I had to make a grand entrance as a princess for the first time
- It’s so funny, rereading book 1 is really reminding me why I was so obsessed with Jamie x Lottie in the beginning. “As your princess, I order you to dance with me.” ????? Are you kidding me??
- But no Ellie x Lottie solos every time. “Our princess is here” Jamie that’s Lottie’s PRINCE CHARMING ELLIE WOLF
Chapter 47
- Do you guys think Maradova is LGBT+ friendly?? Because it’s funny to imagine everyone clutching their pearls watching the princess dance with another girl but I don’t think the king and queen would allow it if they were homophobic lol
- It’s actually crazy how Lottie would even ask Ellie if she’s ever been with a boy. For so many reasons. Like how have you not figured out that she’s a lesbian? It’s kind of impressive that she doesn’t know somehow. And also when would she have dated someone Lottie?? The only boy her age she knew up until Rosewood Hall is Jamie.
- I always pictured Lottie falling into Edmund as the scene in Frozen where Hans catches Anna at the ball; lots of parallels between Edmund and Hans
- Edmund is described as having icy blue eyes here but in the etiquette class scene his eyes are described as hazel
Chapter 48
- It’s so sad that this is Lottie’s first kiss :(
- He is literally Prince Hans monologuing rn I can’t
- I don’t really necessarily want screen adaptation of RWCH but I would pay good money to see Ellie punch Edmund’s nose in 4K.
Chapter 49
- Edmund calling Ellie a commoner is so funny because I just would love to imagine his face when watching Ellie reveal herself as the princess on TV like oh my god. The girl who broke my nose.
- Jamie is better than me because I wouldn’t have fixed the nose I’d let him keep bleeding out. I’d ditch him first because seeing that much blood might just make me faint but nevertheless
- JAMIE DOES NAWWWT CARE AT ALL IM DEAD “the dress was an accident!!!” “I know.”
- “She didn’t need a valiant prince: she already had two” don’t make me cry now. Because I know it’s supposed to be symbolic but Jamie is LITERALLY A PRINCE
- But why is no one suspicious about Saskia bringing “loads of spare dresses” . Why would she have that. She’s not even wearing a dress and Lottie doesn’t know she’s Ani’s partizan at this point
- This reveal is so dramatic I don’t remember it being this dramatic omg!! The tea!! The poison tea!!!!
Allllmost done with book 1!!! I promise I will get caught up soon!!!
4 notes · View notes
chiadikobiahnn3 · 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Valiant, Princess Anna
2 notes · View notes