Hey tumblr friends, I wrote a thing (not a Cat & Queen thing yet, sorry). I was poking around the Elsanna fandom this week and noticed some borderline hostile exchanges about Elsa being portrayed OOC in certain fics (which were not mentioned by name and I’m not about to speculate). Thoughts bounced around in my head about how Elsa’s personality would/could evolve in a Modern setting and this ficlet was born. (I’m going to shut up now, there’s more of my rambling below!)

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When you’ve been best friends with someone for years, for like, practically your whole life, and that someone calls you over one afternoon for an impromptu fashion show in her bedroom, you show up. You show up with bells on because she’s your best friend and you’d do pretty much anything for her. The fact that she’s gorgeous and, even though you’re straight, you’re kind of in love with her is totally irrelevant. I’m – you, you’re just being a good friend. Totally.

“Anna? What do you think of these?” Elsa, my best friend, asks me. She’s taller than me, has unbelievably perfect platinum blonde hair in a plait down her back, and the bluest eyes in the whole world, and she’s super fit and hot and goddamn that ass in those jeans.

“What?” I’m so eloquent. Like really.

“The jeans. Do they look okay?” Elsa turns, twisting her body to try and see better in the floor length mirror attached to her closet door.

I’m sitting on her bed, my own jeans frayed and torn from months of abuse (because me walking out the door in the morning is abuse, I promise), and I’m trying not to stare at her ass. I’m really, really trying, but shit, “Those jeans fit you like a glove.”

It takes me a minute to register, from Elsa’s shy giggle, that I’ve spoken aloud. Is she blushing? No way, Elsa never blushes at compliments.

“You think so?” Elsa smiles at me through the mirror. Like, she’s looking at my reflection and we’re making eye contact, which is fine because it means I’m not starting openly at her ass anymore. or her legs. Or her hips. I swear I’m straight. She’s just that hot.

I nod, swallowing thickly, and there’s this moment – the air is really heavy and Elsa’s room feels too warm for the first time ever in our lives, and we’re still looking right at each other and it’s weird, but not uncomfortable. I’m not explaining it well, sorry about that, but it’s really tense. If Elsa was saying this, or thinking it or whatever, it would be all flowery Shakespeare words and shit. She’s cultured like that. I still laugh at my brother Kristoff’s fart jokes.

Anyway, there’s this super tense moment of eye contact, and I finally look away and say something just to break the mood, because Elsa’s eyes are kind of intense after a while and I start to feel like I’m drowning in them. “Why are you doing this again?”

Elsa frowns at my reflection. I see it out of the corner of my eye because I’ve looked away and I’m self-consciously brushing some loose hair behind my ear.

“I told you, Anna, some of my university friends don’t believe I’m gay because I dress so… straight, I guess. Feminine.”

Elsa seems to be struggling for words, which is so rare that it’s kind of cute, or endearing, or some word that sounds less like I’m gay for her, because I’m actually the straight one in this relationship. Friendship. Shit, she’s still talking.

“…and Mulan kept muttering about how I was breaking some ‘lesbian dress code,’ so I went shopping.”

I look around at the new clothes scattered on Elsa’s bed and the floor, and there’s this purple and blue plaid shirt, like a guy’s shirt, hanging off Elsa’s desk chair and it totally looks like something Kristoff would wear, or something I would steal from him and wear ironically (because I’m cool like that), but it’s so…. Not Elsa.

“Wait, so just because you’re gay you have to wear jeans and flannel?” I ask, sounding unconvinced because, seriously? “I wear dresses sometimes and jeans other times because I like both. What I wear has nothing to do with me being straight or not, but you’re a lesbian so you have to wear this stuff?”

“Apparently,” Elsa doesn’t sound too happy about it either.

“But you’re… you. You are feminine, Elsa. Like, there’s nothing wrong with being more boyish, like Mulan – or my friend Merida, and she’s straight. I mean, your ass does look great in those,” I gesture to the jeans, totally losing track of what I’m saying, otherwise I’d shut up, “but –”

“You said that already,” Elsa’s always so soft spoken, but her voice always stops me in my tracks. Like right now.

“I – yeah, I, uh, I did,” I try to swallow again, but my mouth is randomly dry for absolutely no reason. “You can totally wear this stuff if you like it, but you should keep wearing your skirts and dresses, too. They’re you. You shouldn’t have to change how you dress for anyone or anything except yourself and your own desires.” The word ‘desires’ comes out kind of choked, like I ran out of air, and I think my lungs forgot how to function for a minute because Elsa bent over to pick up one of her favorite skirts (it’s blue and it brings out her eyes) and oh god, maybe I’m bisexual because any second now I’m going to have a nosebleed like in a fucking anime if I keep starting at her ass.

And she’s totally blushing.

“Thank you,” Elsa’s basically whispering now, and sounds almost as breathless as I feel. “I appreciate the compliments, Anna, and obviously your opinion matters – because you’re my best friend – but you’re straight.” She pauses, like she’s unsure of what she’s trying to say.

Or of my previously stated sexuality and at this point I wouldn’t blame her.

“I’m a bit more concerned with catching another gay girl’s attention, you know?” Elsa’s fidgeting with the skirt in her hands, looking back at the mirror and examining her body in those sinful jeans.

“Yeah,” I manage to reply, but I sound so stilted (Elsa taught me that word) that I want to laugh at myself, “I understand that. Makes total sense. Obviously, yeah, but, um, you should keep the jeans.” Now I’m the one mumbling, but I know Elsa hears me because she’s blushing again.

“I think I will. Thanks,” Elsa smiles at me and it’s like the afternoon sun exists just to shine on her through her window.

Maybe I’m Elsasexual. Is that a thing? Probably.

And then my heart stops for, like, half a second because I’m thinking about how stereotypes are stupid and if I can get Elsa to give me that plaid shirt and I have a horrifying thought. “You aren’t going to cut your hair short, are you?”

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