♛ snowqueen ♛

{ You and I, we’re born to fly— 

                                 because you see,                                                     even the brightest stars,                                                                        f a l l  from the sky. 

                                                                                            And we owe it to them,                                                                                                         at least to try }

For a dizzying moment that feels like it lasts hours, Roboute is not a Primarch. He is not a Space Marine. He is not a prince of the Imperium of Man and Lord of Macragge. He is not a being that knows no fear, a man that talks and reasons. He is injured, and he is furious. He can feel the poison pounding in his neck, the warm blood seeping down his throat from the open wound left by the tainted hand of Chaos. It would be attempted fratricide, if Roboute still considered Fulgrim a brother. The beast was all that was left of the Primarch of the Emperor’s Children, and now, in his weakened state, Guilliman was little better.

It was only as the woman lifted both of her hands in something akin to surrender, to supplication, that Roboute’s temper slowly began to cool. His breathing was labored now, sweat peppering his face. She wasn’t striking when she had the opening. The woman was either playing a very long con, or meant no harm. Speaking slowly conveyed this even less than speaking normally, but Roboute started taking in in formation again, dissecting every detail. Practicality begged that he consider her no threat. He was lost, he was isolated, and-

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                       She watches his body language soften, though his                         body looks nothing even close to soft---and she offers                        him a smile, eyes catching on the gaping wound at his                         throat, a shiver wracking through her as she wonders how                        on Earth, he’s still alive. And then she remembers---he’s not                        from  E a r t h  clearly, so that would make somewhat                        more sense. 

                                     “Please, I can help you,” she says, taking another step forward                                       and holding out her hand; a crowd is gathering in her periphery and                                        she can almost hear Fury’s voice in her head--acquire the damn                                        target or fall out. 

y o u ’ r e       t h e        [ PRIDEOFBERK ]    s o n .  .  .  .

                                a n d      i        

                                             c o u l d n ‘ t     b e     p r o u d e r… .

The overwhelming pressure to succeed, the brutal refusal to simply accept one’s limits and talents as is, is a self-cruelty Karin is all too aquainted with. It is with knowing eyes that she regards the otherーthe supposed ICE QUEEN. All she sees is a girl ( a girl like her, fighting a battle that will never result in VICTORY, regardless of how hard she tries ). Barely a beat has passed since the glacial girl’s words, yet Karin has fell victim to reflections and reverie. She thinks of the girl she wasーwho had no power and then suddenly, all of it. To feel life, to restore life, she had been reborn again from DEATH & ASHES, and with what preparation? What help? She, the Phoenix-girl, little Lazarus, had only moved to a darker birdcage and forced to learn ( and isn’t that just a fancy way of saying survive? )

Failure is never an option for girls like them, girls who are forced on thrones built from bones.

Perhaps this small empathy, this sense of kin she feels with this girl, is why her anger fades. A little caring, if mutated from its once pure form, reminiscient of a girl long dead. 

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                                 Easy---Elsa almost laughs at the thought--nothing                                  ever comes easy, not for her--she glances up at the                                   newcomer, this woman not much older than her, with                                  hair like skyfire, and eyes sharp as pine needles, just                                  as crisp. Elsa pants, fingers clenching in on themselves                                  because they are never good enough. 

                      “I can’t---a Queen cannot go easy,” she pauses to take                         another deep gasp of air, oh sweet air, how hard it can                        cut when it dances hand in hand with the cold, how soft....                        when Elsa doesn’t force it to be anything but hard,                        “Especially not on  h e r s e l f,” she pins the woman                         with a look and squares her shoulders. 

                     ❝ were you nervous on your coronation day, queen elsa? ❞  they were not far apart in age and her father’s health was declining and soon, she would have to take the crown. she had already been sent on numerous trips to visit dignitaries and other royal families. getting herself aquatinted with the trade negotiations and royal duties.  ❝ i mean i’ve always known that i would be queen, it’s just–it’s coming so quickly.  ❞ 

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                                               “Oh, absolutely terrified,” Elsa says, giggling as she                                                 reaches for the princess’s hands, “I don’t think I’ve ever                                                  felt my heart so eager to be free of my chest!” And she                                                  presses her palm to her chest as if she can still feel it now---                                                 and for a split second, she can, the deafening thundering of                                                 it all---she’d thought it had been a terrible storm, stolen from the                                                 horizon right into the space between her ears, replacing thought                                                 and logic with unadulterated fear. 

❛     AGENT ARENDELLE.  i see your mission,  and the debriefing,  went very successfully.     ❜   a smirk,  coated in a fine sheen of  professionalism  hiding teeth.  a month has passed since his official recommendation as the new  DIRECTOR;  but of course,  varying periods of adjustment were to be expected.   ❛     i have to ask again though,  was there a  specific reason  that the vehicle you were assigned was destroyed,  and  i quote,  ‘  beyond functional repair  ’  ?     ❜

███▓▒░░ ❅ ————

                                      Elsa resists the urge to click her heels against the                                       glass-paned floors, eyes flickering between der neue Direktor                                        and the portrait of said director right behind him. She                                        hikes an eyebrow at his question, grinning like she might                                        know things he doesn’t although, even statistically speaking,                                        it’s hardly possible--- 

███▓▒░░ ❅ ————

                                        Elsa regards the Prince with a cold look, her lips                                          thinning into a smile that can only be called                                          d i p l o m a t i c  as she holds up her hands in the                                          signature Fire Nation greeting, bending her waist---- 

███▓▒░░ ❅ ————

███▓▒░░ ❅ ————

                                  Elsa lets her shoulders fall, a smile pressing between                                   her lips. She reaches for the coffee or for him, or for                                    s o m e t h i n g, and hopes she can find it--- 

❝ Oh, god !!                        I’m so sorry !! ❞

A GLARE was shot in the direction that thrown snowball had been launched from; a group of YOUNG BOYS unconcerned with  their error her target.

███▓▒░░ ❅ ————

                                    Elsa wipes her eyes, the snow already seeping into her                                     skin, her cheeks turning pink under the snowkisses---she                                      shakes her head and laughs, “It’s okay---I wasn’t paying                                      attention to where I was going.” She quirks her eyebrows at                                      the group before her, heart thudding in her throat. 

        A slight frown finds Jibin’s lips. Did he really say that?         What is wrong with him? Usually, social interaction of any         kind is met with immediate trepidation from his stupid brain         and he can barely imagine himself initiating it. Meaning,         she’s full of shit. Or … would be, had he not remembered         that ah, yes, he had actually invited the other to play some         games with him, because he was trying desperately at the         time to make conversation and happened to blurt the first         thing that popped into his head. 

        Great fucking going, Jibin. 

        Resigning himself to his fate ( awkward floundering and         critically reviewing every second of their time together later,         probably from his bedroom floor ), he finally puts his phone         away. 

███▓▒░░ ❅ ————

                                     Elsa lights up like a horizon line, bouncing up in her sofa,                                      smile stretching her face even as she shrugs, “I dunno! What                                      games do you have? Do you have any two-player ones? So                                       we can play together---or,” she frowns, tapping her lips in thought                                      a giddiness welling up in her stomach as she considers the options,                                      “We can play a racing game! I’m not bad at Mario Kart---”