"Happy Anniversary"

Story Rating:T
Chapter Rating: K
Words: 617
Pairing: Kristanna
Summary: A multi-part modern!AU fic following Kristoff and Anna’s life as seen through their Wedding Anniversaries. For better and for worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health, never shall they part.

Notes: Here it is! My first ever multi-part/chap thing! Enjoy? :)

Warning: This story will include themes of cancer and near death, just not in this chapter. There will be a warning at the beginning of the chapters it occurs in.

-Day One-

"OOH! Can we take one on the carousel?"
Anna was bouncing up and down with excitement, silken high heels clicking on the pavement of the Magic Kingdom. Her wedding gown hiked up off the ground to her ankles, so she wouldn’t soil the fabric.

The photographer chuckled and nodded, “Of course, Mrs. Bjorgman. This is your special day. We take the pictures wherever your heart desires.”

Anna squealed, fisted her hands and raised them in absolute glee; then grabbed Kristoff by the arm, pulling him towards King Arthur’s Carousel.

As Anna climbed up onto a horse covered in yellow roses, similar in color to the sunflowers she had just carried down the isle not half an hour ago, Kristoff stood behind it. Arms crossed over the cold white metal horse, with his head leaning on Anna’s arm. Anna sat sidesaddle on the carousel horse while the photographer snapped the pictures, one hand on the horse’s ‘reins’ (the seatbelt) and the other on Kristoff’s arm. The photographer gave a brisk nod when he had taken all the shots needed.

Anna skipped off of the carousel, fingers intertwined with Kristoff’s. No. Her husband’s. That was certainly something she didn’t think she would ever get used to saying. Kristoff, the most sweet and gentle and caring and clever and gorgeous person she had ever met, was her husband; and she had just said “I Do” in the most happiest place on Earth. No less, it was in front of her now much bigger family and in front of Cinderella’s Castle.

The brief recollection of the ceremony from only a half hour ago made Anna remember, “We didn’t take any pictures in front of the castle!” And with that Anna was off again, tulle veil flapping in the wind as she rushed past the few shops to reach the castle. Kristoff, the photographer, and the rest of the wedding party followed after her, crossing their fingers that there was nothing that could cause her to slip.

Anna wrapped her arms around Kristoff’s neck. Her freckled forehead rested against Kristoff’s, while he kissed Anna’s button nose — just as the photographer had positioned them. She was standing on her tip toes in her heels, but no one noticed.

After the “Okay” from the cameraman, and a quick touch up to Anna’s braided bun, the couple switched to the next picture: Kristoff holding Anna bridal style while Anna laughed so hard she snorted. Then the next, where Anna climbed up onto Kristoff’s back and wrapped her arms around his chest as if he were going to give her a piggy back ride. And of course, a photo of Kristoff swinging his lovely bride around in the air.

"Do we have to stop? Can’t we take one by Cinderella’s wishing well? Or Rapunzel’s tow-" Anna was cut off by her sister, "The park is about to open, Anna. Unless you want tons of tourists crashing your wedding photos or to miss your own reception, I do believe it’s best we head Grand Floridian."
Anna let out an exasperated sigh, “But we’ve been here for only a few minutes! How could Mr. Walter even have enough pictures?”
Kristoff smiled and wrapped his arm around Anna, “We’ve been here for a good hour and a half just taking pictures, Feistypants.”
“Wait, what? We have not!”
Kristoff chuckled and helped her up into the Cinderella’s carriage that would take them to the ballroom for their reception, “Cross my heart. But don’t worry Mrs. Bjorgman, I’m one hundred percent certain the reception will be even more fun than taking pictures.”
“Hmm, certain? Huh?” A smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, “Well if you say so, Mr. Bjorgman.”

Closed Rp with Blueroseddevil

A slow click of heels echoed on the stone floor, accompanied by the shuffling of fabric from her modernized Victorian outfit. It seemed like a slow walk through the ruins of the long forsaken tower of Fear, an expression of unamusement on her face. Unbandaged fingers danced lightly along the wall, while long white strips danced in the air from her wrist. 



she surveys her appearance with a satisfied smile, and that is what she’s
doing when she hears aaron at the door. taking a few more moments to
appreciate the outfit chosen to make him squirm - maybe even to the extent
to prompt the jealousy in him she so enjoys - just to have him wait, alaska’s
heels click against the floorboards of her apartment before pulling the door
open to reveal aaron on the other side. “you ready to go or do you want a
pre-drink here? also, if you don’t say something appropriately complimentary
right now there’s no special dancing for you.”

The Threadbare Synanthrope

He wears a wig of spiderweb threads that trail down below his hips. He walks in stilettos, parading these long dew-tipped translucencies as though they’re the climax of nobility. 

His pupils seem to carry knife-points, his chest moves like a hallucination, and his steps strike the air like the lighting of a match.

He eats nothing but madeleines with carmel spun over them. As he’s told me before, his lips are for sugar and for cursing and nothing more. 

He might die soon, I can tell, with his face so pale and the wig so long, but that coming ending does not rattle him. I hear his heels clicking from behind four closed doors, and I know I must stop writing soon. He is still formidable and balletic in a venomous sort of way, but there is a catalepsy that creeps upon him, waiting to strangle the ember-glow out of his grins. Someday it will get close enough to topple his thread-crown and leave his scepter of loftiness in the care of a limp and bloodless palm. 

I will keep my hands tender so that when I outlast him, and I will outlast him, I can lower his tied carapace softly without doing him any insult. 

                - C. Essington