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𝑊𝐻𝐼𝑇𝐸 𝑊𝐼𝑁𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑀𝐴𝐷𝐸 𝐹𝐿𝐸𝑆𝐻. #verglase. elsa of arendelle, written by effie — 21, she / her, gmt +8. RULES + INFO. AES SIDEBLOG. PINTEREST.
hi hello, i suppose now is as good a time as any to say that i will be archiving this blog very soon, and moving elsa to a new one! i’ve been feeling a little cluttered & overwhelmed on this blog lately, which has all but killed my writing brain where elsa is concerned …thus the decision to move. i’d prefer to keep a smaller dash on the new blog, with mutuals i know for sure i’d be interacting with — so you’re free to give this a like if you’d like to remain mutuals on there!
addendum: drafts + asks that i owe (of which there are many…) will likely be carried over there, too, especially if we’ve plotted / are plotting something out. if you’re wondering about a thread of ours, do send me a message!
hi hello, i suppose now is as good a time as any to say that i will be archiving this blog very soon, and moving elsa to a new one! i’ve been feeling a little cluttered & overwhelmed on this blog lately, which has all but killed my writing brain where elsa is concerned ...thus the decision to move. i’d prefer to keep a smaller dash on the new blog, with mutuals i know for sure i’d be interacting with — so you’re free to give this a like if you’d like to remain mutuals on there!
addendum: drafts + asks that i owe (of which there are many...) will likely be carried over there, too, especially if we’ve plotted / are plotting something out. if you’re wondering about a thread of ours, do send me a message!
* . ✧ CIRCE ✧ . *
- STARTERS -
❝ He showed me his scars, and in return he let me pretend that I had none. ❞ ❝ Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. ❞ ❝ I cannot bear this world a moment longer. ❞ ❝ You cannot know how frightened gods are of pain. ❞ ❝ I would say, some people are like constellations that only touch the earth for a season. ❞ ❝ You have always been the worst of my children. ❞ ❝ I will do as I please, and when you count your children, leave me out. ❞ ❝ When I was born, the word for what I was did not exist. ❞ ❝ When we are young, we think ourselves the first to have each feeling in the world. ❞ ❝ I will not be like a bird bred in a cage. ❞ ❝ This is what it means to be alive. ❞ ❝ But perhaps no parent can truly see their child. ❞ ❝ Yet because I knew nothing, nothing was beneath me. ❞ ❝ Some things are worth spilling blood for. ❞ ❝ You can teach a viper to eat from your hands, but you cannot take away how much it likes to bite. ❞ ❝ You threw me to the crows, but it turns out I prefer them to you. ❞ ❝ The grudges of gods are as deathless as their flesh. ❞ ❝ Those who fight against prophecy only draw it more tightly around their throats. ❞ ❝ Who knows what is in me? Will you find out? ❞ ❝ Bold action and bold manner are not the same. ❞ ❝ How many of us would be granted pardon if our true hearts were known? ❞ ❝ If you want it, I will do it. ❞ ❝ All my life I have been moving forward, and now I am here. ❞ ❝ Fear of failure was the worst thing for any spell. ❞ ❝ Imagine such a happiness. Like drinking wine your whole life, instead of water. ❞ ❝ Most men do not know me for what I am. ❞ ❝ You are right, this world is a wild and terrible place, and worth shouting at. ❞ ❝ He was no husband, scarcely even a friend. ❞ ❝ We bear it as best we can. ❞ ❝ Timidity creates nothing. ❞ ❝ It is youth’s gift not to feel its debts. ❞ ❝ What was I truly? In the end, I could not bear to know. ❞ ❝ They do not care if you are good. They barely care if you are wicked. ❞ ❝ Oh, sweetheart, it cannot be done. ❞ ❝ Lady, you and I are in accord. ❞ ❝ Why should I care what is in their hearts? ❞ ❝ You must keep your tricks close or you will lose everything. ❞ ❝ I never claimed to be good. ❞ ❝ My whole life, I had waited for tragedy to find me. ❞ ❝ You must understand people if you would rule them. ❞ ❝ Be sure not to dishonor me. ❞ ❝ Do not try to take my regret from me. ❞ ❝ Even those who had loved me a little did not care to stay. ❞ ❝ I can please you, I swear it. You will find none more loyal than me. ❞ ❝ I do think he loved me a little. ❞ ❝ Well? What do you have to say to me? ❞
I am perfectly aware, perfectly cold;
H.D., from The Dancer in “Collected Poems 1912-1944” (via adrasteiax)
𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐀,
THESE ARE EYES THE COLOR OF WEATHER . twin rivers of blue pooling into each other . this is what it is like to be kindred ; my lightning-bolt limbs traversing the snow of your making ( when i make ground you do not burn ) out of the wreckage two will forever remain . this is the place of annihilation : a cottage by the sea at the edge of the world . havoc inhabiting anonymity ━ for the catastrophe she brings is a death on high / a death from above . a necessary cruelty that acts with the kindness of quietude ( but here we are not ash ) there is but a low azure blaze of the stovetop / the reaching of a boiling point .
❛ perhaps not lose it but misplace it on purpose ? ❜ bemused there is airy lightness to her tone , one that usually crackled with thunder . the tea is then poured into fine porcelain cups , the mixture of leaves and spices a fragrance of comfort at the heart of winter ( umber and autumnal / a season gone and past ) ❛ you know the company of a witch is not frequently sought after . ❜ a great irony considering the company they shared at the present , as the sorceress intended . ❛ mind ? quite the opposite actually … ❜ both mugs are placed upon the kitchen table as a chair is pulled out as an offering to her companion . ❛ i hope that’s whisky so we can put it in our tea . ❜
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐘 𝑾𝑬, HALITES OF THE RHEUMY EARTH — surfeit of the heavens, bottlenecked cataclysms foredoomed to a terrene peregrination, indelible. the most natural calamities are helicoid, feminine; irony’s elision is the eye of the storm, imbued with a 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆 elsewhere truant, as if anemic nirvana is earned by stomaching nature’s chromatic assault. ( all of this to say, we are at once the eye and within it . . . ) we world - edgers, eluding obsequies, derive succor only from 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸, from the shared cryogenic existence — two limbo - lives embroidering absolution.
❛❛ now THAT is something of a reach; i’m not so 𝐢𝐥𝐥 - 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝, unfortunately. besides, where else would i be if not here? ❜❜ who else would i haunt, if not you? even winter’s accumulated acrimony wilts the BITTER - GOURD, by and by sundering its solstice from agrarian mundanity. ❛❛ & trust me, i would know. ❜❜ [ i, the many - named. 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 - 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒 - 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 - 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒. ] ❛❛ just as well that witches hardly seek varied company. ❜❜ ambrosial aromatics pervade, conjuring the dearly departed harvest; definitive repose momentarily dissolved by light - fingered decantation, intermingling monochrome spirits. ❛❛ 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆 — what do you take me for? rare as my visits are, i dare not disgrace you with something so banal. ❜❜
don't ice me out 😳
— ice, ice baby
𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃,
𝙻𝙴𝚅𝙸’𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂 𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙳 𝙿𝚄𝚁𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚂𝙴 in dipping his fingers into the flesh of her hips, his mouth a tangled heat of passion and acidity. it mingles with the ghost of his breath and the 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 of restlessness against a tapestry of battery acid, and the fine line of his lips briefly turns into the most translucent of smiles; he would sooner pass it off as a trick of the light, his thoughts in a web of opaque existence as consequence of her devotion. ❛ in a … ❜ the thought trails off 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 and whatever he wants to say finds difficulty in slipping through, snagged against his teeth with her weight pressed against him. he huffs against the mold of her condition, her own hands causing an increasingly obvious short-circuiting in the confines of his consciousness. ❛ 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝘂𝘁𝗲. ❜
documents are inelegantly scattered across the surface of his desk, a fixture of his attention now discarded and shelved at the back of his mind despite their importance. the upward cant of his head is curious, the dart of his tongue dangerously inquisitive as it runs along the edges, and his eyes lid with the predatory snarl of intrigue.
❛ but you know i can’t really sleep. can we just [ … ] find another way to 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 ? ❜
—𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊, the meandrous mouth enjoins asphyxia for a symptom of feminal pride (half a simper, mounting). the heart, VAINGLORIOUS at his bowline tongue, is indulgently onomatopoeic; hammering amour into a rubescence that envigors her ghastliness, an 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆 - 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 stain. ❛❛ that’s not particularly inspiring. ❜❜ notice, sententious crooning to belie a most crescive affection — its undulations, the 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑁𝐼𝐺𝐻 - 𝐻𝐴𝑃𝐿𝐸𝑆𝑆𝑁𝐸𝑆𝑆, against the thew of him. ❛❛ you don’t quite subscribe to the sixty - second minute whenever you’re engrossed with work. ❜❜ motility encumbered by grappling palms, impelling intercession by pendulation: SUBVERSIVELY DEFERENTIAL to the hand that feeds in future - tense.
( i seize a deliberate hebetude, ) wristlock by the nape, makeshift carapace of the tenderest locus. all performative coquetry in the bichrome hum, a study in underlain susurrations: ❛❛ 𝐇𝐌. ❜❜ [ she takes a halfhearted whitewash to the vehement red — tacitly, for the forefinger’s leisure, for peeling integument and BEHOLDING ARDOR. artfully ariose, her color - play. ] ❛❛ well, there’s hardly anything to do at this hour . . . what would you suggest? ❜❜
𝐙𝐔𝐈𝐊𝐊𝐎,
❛❛ this party is lame, don’t you think? ❜❜ calloused fingertips pick languidly at the sleeve of his robe; the fabric feels suffocating on his shoulders now, his benign temperament wavering as fatigue makes a home in his bones. gold eyes flicker to meet hers ( a mirror of him in more ways than one, synonymous in their existence. ) he offers a smile then, gentle & honest. ❛❛ lets go for a walk, i can’t hear myself think anymore. ❜❜ > @verglase
❛❛ 𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 using the word “lame” where anyone may hear you. ❜❜ jointly descrying the locomotive pageant of the (noble) kitsch, concurrence befalls the ELFIN LILT despite an ostensive chastisement. ❛❛ i myself prefer prosaic— 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈. ❜❜ blue - gold rendezvous impelling a dispensation of shared lassitude, the dire mouth roves uphill, a fond, commiserative arc. ❛❛ i expect the gardens to be 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞; CLEARLY, everyone (else) seems to be having the time of their lives here. ❜❜
𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐒,
laughter was the hymnal which encompassed the room : idyllic in time , although they have grown , their juvenescence was not assuaged. knees brought close to her sylphine frame , willowy arms hold them close in an embrace : ( oh my dear friend , your touch is gelid , yet your smile causes flowers to bloom , your friendship is something ached & yearned , the winter : is merely the beginning of rebirth. and perhaps that was it , the winter preluding christine’s spring ) apples of her cheeks dusted their rose color , tiers of white peering from plumes of roseate lips a rise , habitually she looks to the mirror , the vivacious animation of their gestures and merriment all played out as if upon stage. her hands reach for the porcelain teacups , offering one to her treasured companion , rim brought to her lips [ Fika needn’t a definite time , now ]
❛ you truly enjoyed the aria then ? ❜ her syllables are doused in saccharinity, her sepia pigmented eyes alight in avidity ❛ if only i would have known you were seated in the box , you hold bravery you know ❜ she says impishly, a cant of her head the latter a gossamer of curls to follow in the motion ; look peering through lowered lashes ❛ box five is said to be forbidden ❜
𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 CRESCENT ATARAXY, all in sensation — that earl gray waft; those canorous remnants of arias concluded, plaited like woodbines along the mighty stalks of 𝒋𝒖𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒆; . . . & this LAMBENT DEMOISELLE, her prolonged fulguration against a hedgerow of would - be prima donnas — twain hearts cleft athwart by time, now sewn afresh. ( to our conjunct girlhood, relegated to the floes of memory: we meet in the equinox, portend 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑊. ) ❛❛ of course i did. you were magnificent. ❜❜ fond fervency dulcifies the cadence, simper skimming porcelain to subdue (however bootless) its luster.
❛❛ i admit i had been 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑 — & therefore remiss about the whispers that surrounded your opera house. ❜❜ [ and i, a thing of myths ]; beholding songstress by 𝒂𝒛𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒕𝒉, ensconced in swansdown sound. old friend, how you have grown. ❛❛ all i knew was that you were to perform, and i needed to be there for it. ❜❜ & here, the LACHRYMAL EPIPHYTE declares itself in afterthought, coiled perpetual about the pneuma — 𝑎𝑠 𝑖 𝘩𝑎𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒.
𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐀,
❝ how 𝖔𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖓 have you gone 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 here ? ❞ curiosity paints her words a sweet shade of baby - blue, and She watches the Other with a careful eye. A 𝔻𝔼𝕋𝕆𝕌ℝ into the woods and here She finds herself, a hand on the 𝙷𝙸𝙻𝚃 of her sword and her feet ready to carry her out. a stranger, both to these parts and to the woman, her maidenhood becomes excommunicated. once again, she requests : how often have you gone through here? and She moves backwards, a bit further away.
❝ they used to believe that witches lived in these woods. ridiculous, isn’t it?. // @verglase ( + a )❞
legends have inklings of truth –––––– 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖌 on her tongue and even stronger to leave her mouth, her sword forgotten as intrigue takes a hold on her skull and enters through her ears. do you believe in them? and She shakes her head, forceful, before scoffing.
❝ THERE MAY BE WITCHES HERE. ❞ a change of heart, quicker than the first. ❝ some 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔, however, are just that. ❞
❛❛ 𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇, i would say, to know the truth of the matter. ❜❜ THE VISITANT, A SECOND SOMA — stirring the 𝖓𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖝: she who saunters balletic into scattered god - rays, purposefully half - limned. firmamental gaze ( i become what i haunt . . . ) maunders in appraisal, that bloodless haruspicy, chronicling circumspection & a glinting glaive, engendering a precipitant 𝒄𝒐𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒛𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 of subsequent action, the making of an anodyne mien (— relenting the unworldly ).
[ THAT IS TO SAY: ] of the mouth, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧, benignity tinctures the perianth, avowing mildness . . . ❛❛ trust, then, that there are NO WITCHES here. ❜❜
— for what is a witch, anyway, but an aberration of nomenclature, ascribed to the (𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏) misknown? antiquity’s BELDAMS have evermore been lampooned for a shortfall — intentional(?) — of comprehension; and 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐬, heritors to the arcane empire. ❛❛ but stories are quite powerful, no? to make us BELIEVE that there are. ❜❜
forever looking into the (perceived) symbolism behind arendelle’s crest, the crocus that commonly blooms between late winter and early spring — that is often considered a sign of winter’s wane and spring’s arrival . . . personally construed as a sign that elsa’s reign as regnant was never meant to be long-standing.
Winter is for women—
Sylvia Plath, from Wintering in “The Collected Poems Of Sylvia Plath” (via adrasteiax)
thinking about ahtohallan, as i do on some (see: a lot [of]) days,
𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄,
the night wraps around his feet, curling like vicious animals around the hem of his scarf and the drapery of his cloak. and from the edge of his eyes where magic once slept, he could see the chill of the evening do the same to her, snowflakes gently laid upon her in the finery a queen would have. ❛ forgive my candor ——— it’s just me, mademoiselle, and my strange way of acquainting myself with the world. if you choose not to heed the unusual ramblings of a midnight stranger, it’s a choice none shall fault you with. ❜ still shame is not a knife in his heart, adamancy a sharp edge instead, to his neck. it would have drawn blood, had he any. ❛ receive it as an … unorthodox compliment, then. ❜
𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓'𝐒 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄 - 𝐄𝐘𝐄 — to grasp BOREAS - BREATH and its nighttime ululations, meticulously decrescendoed in maintenance of a mortal farce. snowfall furbelows: every dendrite is a herringbone is a 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒕 - 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒅 accoutrement . . . [ is an evanescent affirmation to louring hour plaint. ] ❛❛ i requested your candor, DID I NOT? that you would grant it hardly necessitates an apology; i regret that mine own surprise had led to the impression that it did. ❜❜ 𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐨, cleaving truth in halves for gentrified consumption— ❛❛ i should like to ask . . . what coaxes you out in such an hour? and at the mercy of SUCH WEATHER, too, unorthodoxly complimenting strangers? ❜❜
𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐑,
“ i couldn’t agree more . . . besides , i’m not one for parties anyway . ” THERE’S A BRIEF MOMENT OF RELIEF as the young prince steps from his perch next to her , the extension of his hand beckoning her to follow . hiccup offers her a fleeting smile , mossy hues trained on the elegant contours of her features as a faint chuckle escapes as a few quiet puffs . quietly , he mouths : “ let’s get out of here . ”
❛❛ 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐴𝑅𝐸𝑁'𝑇 𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑌? ❜❜ the mouth is a crescent, waxing cochineal across an ivory empyrean — hemorrhaging immaculacy into something more EARTHBORN, by an extended (commiserating) hand. ❛❛ quickly, before duke whomever finds a way to tether us to the ballroom. ❜❜ ensue a clandestine escape, summoning juvenescence; thresholds REND themselves like brume to permit runaway royals. ❛❛ — i feel 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄, taking off like that. ❜❜
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄: a pronounced dearth of thermal caress, bequeathing recumbent beloved to december acold — I WAKE. ( peignoir & consciousness both donned in halves. ) bleary - eyed somnambulist sojourns to the lodestone (him), caliginous but for a blue - light aureole, limning the sleepless lover. I WALK. she of the soundless footfall, gloaming’s pale phantasm drawn into corporeality (the rousing consummated); by the touch of a sinewed shoulder, primrose mouth descending onto a 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏. ❛❛ ——— is this a day to be working so hard? ❜❜ [ leisurely, i inveigle attention … ] she slides into the cradle of him, pinion - furled sylph into a sweetened maw. I FEAST, UNHURRIEDLY. a most harmonious assemblage of fleshly constitutions, intertwined mouths a gateway to 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐏𝐔𝐍 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐍: the heart’s demesne, all yours. * concluding satiation, a nip to the nose. ❛❛ happy birthday, mitt hjerte. ❜❜
❛❛ 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘, to bed with me. ❜❜ GHOSTING alabastrine touch, traversing neck to hands, cajoling half a weight into pliancy. ❛❛ i’ve plans for us in the morning, & i would like you well - rested. ❜❜ archly, the curl of lip, coquettish in asymmetry, ❛❛ the bed is much too 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 without you. ❜❜
HONEY BETWEEN OUR SHADOWS, @recadia . . .