author's note | i don't know where this came from, i don't even ship the two of them ;_; mainly just for humor practice, i guess? i'm not a very humorous person ^^' a shitdump of ooc drabbles, in any case. basically my friend bounced prompts off of me and i wrote whatever came to mind.
it should also be noted that *most* of these drabbles are non-linear.
i am open for prompts. i will probably do anything short of smut. :p
the worst idea he ever had
"I wish we weren't in the dark, so you'd notice that I'm scowling at you."—"Shut up, Elsa."—"I wish I had paper and a pencil in front of me, so I could write a book about your exploits and call this chapter 'The Worst Idea He Ever Had.'"—"Fine. I'm not giving you chocolate." In other words, Elsa discovers migraines. / elsa, hans "friendly bonding times" — au modern-era
prompt i: chocolate
(i. the problem being he thought she didn't like chocolate)
.
"So?" Han's sugar-coated voice came drifting across the tiny room. "What do you think of our new...quarters?"
Elsa only buried her head in her hands and tried not to let herself wring Hans's neck.
They were locked in a broom closet in the middle of the night.
They were locked in a fucking broom closet in the middle of the fucking night. She didn't know how Hans had dragged her into this one—didn't remember how—and frankly didn't want to know why.
"Elsa?"
"I wish I had never met you," came a muffled reply, "so I don't have to deal with the collateral damage your antics cause every time we cross paths."
"...Shut up, Elsa."
"I wish we weren't in the dark," Elsa irritably continued, "so you'd notice that I am scowling at you right now."
"Shut up, Elsa."
"I wish I had paper and a pencil in front of me, so I could write a book about your nefarious exploits, and call this chapter 'The Worst Idea He Ever Had.'"
"If you don't shut up right now, Elsa, I'm not giving you any chocolate."
"You don't even have chocolate."
The sound of snapping candy filled the air, and something that smelled...astonishingly delicious was being waved underneath her nose.
Elsa instinctively drew away anyway.
"Jesus, woman, how can you not like chocolate?"
"...Did you just say that I didn't like chocolate?"
"You don't want my chocolate bar, therefore, you don't like chocolate."
"That's an invalid premise and a completely incorrect conclusion. Did you fail Mathematical Logic or something?"
"Really, Elsa? I don't see how this situation has anything to do with math class."
Instead, Elsa snatched the Hershey's bar away from him and tried to make a run for it.
She smacked right into the closet door and cracked her head instead.
Hans's sarcastic voice filled the air. "Going somewhere, Elsa?"
Elsa slowly peeled her face from off the wall, "Shut up, Hans."
She still couldn't see anything, but she could practically hear the leer in his voice when he answered, "Lips sealed."
prompt ii: drunk
(ii. a matter of love in its weirdest form)
.
There was never anything between her and Hans, of course. Sort-of-friends-slash-archenemies was more like it. It didn't help that last week, Hans had showed up at her apartment oozing of marijuana and cheap booze.
A drunk Hans had never been and never would be a sight for sore eyes.
"Elsa!" he had cried, throwing the entirety of his body into a revolted Elsa's arms and clinging to her like a kindergartener too scared to go to school. "Oh, Elsa! My love, my darling, my other half..."
He sounded like a lovesick prince out of a really moronic fairy tale, and Elsa practically had to peel him off her chest to push him a good couple of feet away from her.
"You're drunk, Hans," she sighed, trying to rebuff his staggered advances. "And...what is the purpose of this, exactly?"
"Ooh, it's only because you're the best, Elsa."
She rolled her eyes, sidestepping past him before heaving him up, "Yes, Hans, I know that."
It wasn't the first time that this happened, and she knew it wouldn't be the last.
(Sometimes, Elsa wondered vaguely whether or not Hans was really just talking drunk or he actually meant what he said.)
prompt iii: beginning
(iii. and that time when it all began)
.
It was on a Wednesday, in the early throes of morning, when all the trouble started.
"Help me," Kristoff squeaked in a very un-manly tone of voice.
Anna looked around, spotted the irregularity, and leaped back into a bleary-eyed Elsa's arms—"Hans?" She wasn't that sure.
Hans glanced up. "Hi. By the way, you're out of facial scrub."
"Why are you here?" Anna choked out.
"Why is who here?" Elsa yawned hugely.
"I've decided to atone for my extremely shameful acts in the past," Hans announced dramatically, pressing a hand into his chest, "and show you what a good person I can actually be." Giving an overly dramatic bow to Anna—"I really do hope we can remain as friends—"
Elsa's eyes finally popped wide open at his voice—"Hans? Is that—?"
Hans looked down at his body, and then up again at her before stating in a very confused tone of voice, "Yes, it is me."
"Are you sure?" Anna whispered loudly.
Elsa glared at the healing bruise on Hans's forehead.
"I just checked!"
Then Anna, in a most uncharacteristic manner, deadpanned, "Why."
Elsa pinched herself hard enough on the forearm to leave a bruise, and waited carefully for a few seconds before opening one brilliantly blue eye.
Against all odds, the world was still precisely the same as when she had left it.
Then Elsa prayed loudly to whatever higher being lived above her, "...Strike me down here. Now."
prompt iv: disembowelment
(iv. would just like you to disembowel yourself thanks)
.
Elsa was making a painfully obvious attempt to act civil around him.
"Who let you into the apartment, exactly?" she asked in a terribly strained tone.
"Your attempt to procure a winning smile is very disturbing," Hans said, winningly smiling at Elsa.
This, of course, wiped the grimace straight off of her face (which was probably for the better, anyway). "...Just...answer the damn question..."
Hans wiggled his eyebrows and hitched even more dazzle and sparkle onto the white beam spread across his face. "Kristoff."
Anna turned and glared death at the wall which Kristoff was pressed flat against.
"Didn't mean to!" the wall shouted in fear.
Elsa massaged her temples and addressed Hans, "Please get out."
"Absolutely." Hans gave her a charming smile. "Provided that you come with me."
"Excuse me?!" Elsa blurted out, and then shook her head. "I mean—wait, no—what the hell kind of request is that?
"Now, come on, don't be that way." He grinned ever the more widely at her, if that was even possible. "I'll share."
Elsa turned even more deathly pale than she already was, "Are you trying to imply anything?"
"Not at all."
"..."
Hans only grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out the door.
"Are you trying to kidnap me? This could be considered a kidnapping."
"But I'm not kidnapping you."
She sighed in exasperation. "What do you want? For me to commit seppuku? No, strike that; it would be much more appropriate for you to do so." She brightened considerably. "It's a perfect fit, actually!"
Hans stopped short and wrinkled his nose. "Seppuku? What is that? Some sort of ghastly hair conditioner?"
"No, it's a form of ritualized suicide that the Japanese samurai would commit to atone for particularly shameful acts."
The last five words rang through the air.
Hans coughed into his hand, "...Point taken."
prompt v: bottles
(v. the broken bottles were all that stupid bartender worried about)
.
Really, it wasn't Elsa's fault at all that Hans was passed out on the ground of the bar in front of her. It was sheer luck that she found him here, and the bastard brought that negligible part wherein she smashed only about eight bottles of beer on his head upon himself. Apparently, he had cheated on Anna with some other girl—Elsa didn't really know the fine details, but she certainly knew precisely how the aftermath of that break-up went. She was, after all, left to deal with the ensuing destruction—which was actually quite extensive—and was also left to conduct damage control—which was actually very annoying.
"You broke eight glasses over his head!" the bartender bawled, his eyes popping and fists shaking. "Eight!"
Elsa sniffed; poked Hans with a toe and then said in a not-very-concerned tone, "Well...I'm sure he'll come around...soon enough..."
Then she faltered at the wild look in the bartender's watery gray eyes, and began sprouting a whole new fountain of excuses.
The alcohol she had just ingested a few minutes prior was not helping her case at all.
"Eight glasses!" came the shriek once more, and Elsa had to resist the urge to cover her ears, "I should have you arrested!"
Shit.
"Um," Elsa breathed, blue eyes round and pleading even as she pawed at her wallet, "please just take my money."
(tbc)
