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@magicalelsaarendellex

task 15 What I want

At first, I struggled to define what Elsa truly wants because, on the surface, she seems content. She has found her place in the world, surrounded by people who love and accept her. Yet I don't think that means her deepest desire has disappeared. If anything, it has simply become quieter.

More than anything, Elsa wants to live without fear. She longs for the kind of peace that isn't constantly waiting for the next tragedy to strike. Part of that desire is rooted in closure—closure over the loss of her parents and the guilt she carried for years, believing that their deaths were somehow her fault. Even if she knows rationally that it wasn't, guilt is rarely something that disappears overnight.

Beneath her confidence and newfound happiness lies a fear that has never truly left her. Elsa has spent so much of her life believing that joy is temporary, that the moment she allows herself to be completely happy, it will all be taken away. Every time her life feels too perfect, a quiet voice reminds her that happiness comes with a price. It is a fear born from grief, isolation, and loss—a fear that she will once again lose the people she loves or become the reason they suffer.

Ultimately, Elsa doesn't simply want closure over her past. She wants to embrace happiness without waiting for disaster. She wants to believe that she deserves peace, that love can last, and that she doesn't have to spend the rest of her life preparing herself for the day everything falls apart.

#happiesttask15

Let it go!

Elsabeth had never been one for concerts. Crowds, noise, and the overwhelming rush of so many people packed together had always been enough to keep her at home. But this evening was different. It was for the Redwood Trees, and that alone was reason enough to step beyond her comfort zone. As she scanned the festival grounds, knowing her soon-to-be wife was somewhere in the sea of smiling faces, a quiet smile tugged at her lips. Life had taken turns she never could have imagined. She was happily engaged to Honeymaren, her sister Anna had made a home with them, and for the first time in a very long while, the future felt warm instead of uncertain.

Seven years ago, she would have hidden away in her bedroom, curtains drawn tight, convincing herself the world outside was too much to bear. Now, she stood beneath glowing stage lights with a red plastic cup cradled in her hands, swaying and laughing as the music washed over her. Therapy hadn't erased the difficult days, but it had given her the courage to live through them instead of hiding from them. Each beat of the song, each carefree step she took, was a quiet reminder of how far she had come—and perhaps the greatest victory of all was that she was finally allowing herself to enjoy the moment.

"Oh! You're here as well!" she said happily seeing a person in a distance.

@happieststarters

#elsbeth's starter #happiestevent16

continue from here {@honeymxren}

Elsabeth had been carrying the thought around for weeks—no, months—turning it over in her mind like something fragile she was afraid to drop. The words never seemed to come out right when she rehearsed them alone. They either sounded too selfish or too uncertain, and neither felt acceptable. Change, especially this kind of change, wasn’t something she took lightly.

It meant stepping away—at least partially—from the safety of numbers, from the predictability of accounting books and balance sheets where everything had a place and everything made sense in the end. Ice, on the other hand, was unpredictable. It demanded everything from her—her body, her focus, her heart—and gave no guarantees in return.

Still, she couldn’t deny the pull.

She would keep working for the amphitheatre, of course. That part wasn’t negotiable. It grounded her, gave her structure, and more importantly, it meant she wouldn’t have to hand over full responsibility to Anna. Not that she didn’t trust her sister—she did, with her whole heart—but trust and capability weren’t always the same thing when pressure came crashing down.

Anna felt everything so deeply. Sometimes too deeply.

Elsabeth had seen it, the way anxiety curled around her sister’s shoulders, the way certain memories still lingered in her eyes when she thought no one was looking. The PTSD wasn’t something that simply disappeared with time, no matter how much Anna tried to smile through it. And Elsabeth knew—knew—that placing the full weight of the amphitheatre on her would be like asking her to hold up the sky with trembling hands.

And Elsabeth couldn’t do that to her.

Not after everything.

Not after what had already been taken from them.

A familiar guilt twisted in her chest, sharp and unwelcome. It never really left, no matter how much time passed or how many people told her it wasn’t her fault. In quiet moments like this, it crept back in, whispering the same cruel truth she had convinced herself of years ago.

She had already hurt Anna once.

She wouldn’t risk doing it again.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides as she forced herself to stay present, to keep her voice steady when she finally spoke.

“I have been wanting to for a while.”

The words came out softer than she intended, almost as if saying them too loudly would shatter the idea entirely. But there was something else beneath the quiet tone—something steady, something real. This wasn’t just a passing thought anymore.

It hadn’t been for a long time.

“I used to be a professional ice skater,” she continued, her gaze drifting slightly as memories surfaced—bright lights reflecting off pristine ice, the sharp sound of blades carving into the surface, the electric hum of a crowd waiting for her next move. “Before my parents passed away.”

There was a brief pause, not heavy, but meaningful.

“And I love teaching kids. I really do. Seeing them learn, seeing that spark when they finally get something right…” A small, genuine smile touched her lips, fleeting but warm. “It matters to me.”

Her expression softened, though something more wistful slipped in.

“But I miss it. Not just skating, but… all of it. The adrenaline. The pressure. The way everything feels like it’s balancing on a single moment.” She exhaled slowly, as if releasing something she’d been holding onto for years. “I miss the thrill of competitions.”

Her eyes lifted again, clearer now, more certain.

“I don’t just want to teach anymore. I want to go further than that.”

There it was. The truth, laid bare.

“I want to aim bigger.” A faint, almost disbelieving breath escaped her, like she still couldn’t quite believe she was saying it out loud. “I want to try for the Winter Olympics.”

It sounded impossible when spoken, like something meant for someone else—someone braver, someone less burdened by the past. But even as doubt lingered at the edges, there was something else growing stronger in its place.

Hope.

Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was too late. Maybe the world would tell her she had missed her chance.

But for the first time in a long while, Elsabeth allowed herself to hold onto the possibility anyway.

She could dream. She wanted to Dream, and she'll continue to dream with Honeymaren at her side.

#honeymaren #ship: honeymaren x elsa #elsa #mention of: anna #parental death #parental death tw

continue from here {@honeymxren}

Elsa often found herself quietly studying Honeymaren in moments like these—head bent, pen moving in thoughtful strokes, the soft furrow between her brows deepening with every paper she reviewed. It made her wonder, not for the first time, if being a teacher was far more exhausting than most people gave it credit for. The sheer stack of papers alone felt daunting, but it was more than that—these weren’t just assignments, they were pieces of effort, of ambition, of someone’s future laid out in ink. And university students, she imagined, came with arguments to untangle, ideas to weigh, and expectations that stretched far beyond simple right or wrong answers.

Elsa leaned against the doorway for a moment longer, arms loosely crossed, a small, fond smile tugging at her lips. Honeymaren had been at it for hours now, barely pausing except to sip what had long since gone cold in her mug. There was something deeply admirable about the dedication—but also something that made Elsa feel a quiet need to intervene, if only a little.

Crossing the room, she bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to Honeymaren’s temple, lingering just long enough to soften that crease in her brow. Without interrupting her too much, Elsa slipped away toward the kitchen.

The warmth there was immediate and comforting. She moved with practiced ease, reheating the pumpkin curry soup she’d made earlier, its rich, spiced aroma quickly filling the space. While it warmed, she prepared toasties—mozzarella melting into slices of tomato, the bread crisping to a perfect golden brown. Simple, but made with care. Always with care.

By the time she returned, the tray in her hands carried a quiet promise of a much-needed break.

“For my hardworking wife-to-be,” Elsa said brightly, her voice light but warm as she set everything down in front of Honeymaren. She was careful, as always, placing the food just far enough from the papers to avoid any tragic accidents—ink smudges or soup spills would be a crime against both effort and sanity.

She straightened, brushing her hands together softly, her smile softening into something more tender. “You’ve been at it for hours. Even the most dedicated professors need to eat.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to the papers, then back to Honeymaren, a quiet understanding there—Elsa knew better than most what it meant to pour yourself into your work, to care so deeply it became hard to step away. That was exactly why she insisted on these small interruptions.

Tilting her head slightly, she added with a gentle, teasing lilt, “And before you even think about saying ‘just one more paper’—no. This is your break.”

She nudged the plate just a little closer, her smile turning playful again. “Bon appétit.”