Baby Kristoff’s first troll birthday. And our headcanons were right, he doesn’t know his own birthday. But the trolls decide to pick a day and throw him his very first surprise party ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ this is fine I’m fine

Kristanna Pioneer AU, anyone?

Picture it:

Kristoff and Anna are huddled close in their covered wagon. Anna has the biggest grin on her face as she gazes out at the magnificent vastness of the golden prairie, a whole world of untamable adventure. Seeing the flash of Anna’s smile, Kristoff smiles in turn. His smile is soft and warm, gentle as the fall of the scattered tufts of a dandelion.

They take strength from each other. They find passion for the future in each other. Together, they can take on crashing rivers and wilderness. They can take on anything together.

Picture them settling down in some green place where all is fair and still. After traveling so long, it is like sweet heaven. When Kristoff says simply, “Let’s stay here,” his words are plain and true, rich as the earth he plans to farm. Anna springs into his arms, delighted.

Picture Kristoff, golden hair wild, hewing trees to make a cabin for the two of them. Anna fetches him water from the nearby brook, fresh blue water that is sweet to Kristoff’s lips.

But Anna knows one thing Kristoff would find sweeter. And after he drinks, she kisses him delicately. When Kristoff resumes his work, his energy is more than renewed… by the power of this soft kiss…

Picture Anna adding homey touches to the rough cabin, ever optimistic. This is their haven, their home, after all.

Picture them snuggling under thick quilts in the evening. Even when rain roars on the rooftop, it matters little to them. They are as one, bound tighter than tight.

Picture a town flourishing around them in time. Picture Anna trying on bonnets at the general store and Kristoff basking in her radiance. Anna is innocently coquettish and adorable.

Picture those times when Anna is sick and feverish in bed. No one knows if she will pull through. But Kristoff is by her bedside always, squeezing her hand. And Anna is strong as the sturdiest oak.

Picture them in old age, their hair silver. They rest in rocking-chairs, the fire crackling away…