INDIE JACK FROST, AS WRITTEN BY OWL. MOSTLY DASHBOARD BECAUSE I AM TOO LAZY TO MAKE ADDITIONAL BLOG PAGES.
RULES UNDER CUT:
Be chill! Follow the golden rule and treat others how you'd like to be treated.
My Jack is not particularly interested in romantic ships! He does love hanging out with people and interaction. If you're lookin' for a ship partner, it's all platonic here.
Be Reasonable about Saucy Things: if it's too sexually Spicy and you wouldn't show it to your grandma, please don't put it in Jack's ask or submission box. Go nuts, don't show nuts, that kinda thing.
mun is over 21, muse is 314 but mentally pretty damn 14. no alcohol for the boy. he doesn't like the taste anyhow. the only difference is in kpdh verse, where he's 16 to 17 (when idols usually train and debut).
general triggers/broad content warnings will be tagged! if you have any requests, feel free to shoot me an ask and i will do my best to tag that thing specifically.
AND FINALLY, i don't bite! i love talking to people, so if you have any further questions or you wanna plot or anything, just shoot me an ask or a tumblr message. i love rotg a lot and cant wait to do some writin'!
About Jack: He's 314 years old, five foot something, and getting used to exploring a world where people can see him and want him around to visit. He was also a descendent of his own Nightlight and Katherine, along with his sister- and his sacrifice for her touched Manny's heart and got him resurrected as Jack Frost. His sister lived on to continue Nightlight and Katherine's family line- so while Nightlight may be gone, as long as humanity lives on, so does he. Jamie and the Bennetts are descendents of Jack's younger sister!
this is incredibly messy bc i heard the song and then had to get the idea out of my brainpan. starring pop star jack and the song 'im alive' from the musical next to normal
Jack finds the North Pole quicker than expected. Tales of St. Nick and his assistant, Krampus, are pretty common across Northern Europe in the 1800s- Mostly because kids swear up and down that there really IS someone giving them presents, and an even scarier hairy guy who’s leaving coal with a disapproving glare.
And come on, it’s not like Jack has much else to do than go looking for adventure. Besides sleep, and make it snow, and ignore the gnawing loneliness that never seems to go away.
The town- because it has to be a town, with how big it is and all the smoke coming out of the chimneys- is full of strange small elves who seem to love baking and causing problems, and large hairy creatures that remind him of the Bigfoot colony that roams the western coasts of North America. They all have very common names, when he hears them. Given where St. Nick seems to operate most, it makes sense.
He presses himself up against the glass of one ornate window, and watches the show going on inside with the same fervor one might observing bees making honey. Jack doesn’t understand Yetish, and whatever dialect the elves are speaking is just as impossible to unravel. They’re working on decorating an enormous evergreen tree, untangling a vine lined with little glass ornaments. Sometimes one bites the line, and they twitch and jump like they’ve been stung by bees.
One of the yetis shakes them from the operation like fleas, and then fiddles with the end of the vine.
The feeling that burbles up in his chest is impossibly wonderful when the ornaments light- brighter than candles, brighter than fireflies. The sparkle is gorgeous, and though he knows joy and fun this is something different. A brief flash of an idea splashes through him, and suddenly he pictures- what if there were thousands of these? What if people put them everywhere, their own little universes of stars on Earth, and Jack could wander through the empty towns at night and not feel quite so alone as his heart would have him believe?
Would the light of the moon even matter, surrounded by cheery lights that bid him to imagine such amazing things?
Frost explodes from his fingertips in his excitement. The wind celebrates with him, and the panes of the town rattle, rattle, rattle as she yells YES! This is a good place! A good place for my boy!
The motley group of creatures in St. Nick’s little town turn to see what the fuss is about. A dozen eyes alight on the window, but Jack doesn’t react, trying as hard as he can to clear away the frost that’s blocking his view without accidentally spreading more.
When he can finally see the tree’s lights clearly, they’re blocked from him. Jack huffs, and tries to see around the furry creature in the window who’s looking around, one eyebrow cocked in confusion.
“C’mon, move,” Jack sighs, shifting his weight to stand atop his staff and perhaps be able to see OVER the Bigfoot. “Nobody out here but us snowflakes! Moon, these guys are tall.”
The wind whistles at him, and Jack corrects himself. “Nobody out here but us weather phenoms. And apparently a wizard who makes lights that don’t burn trees down.”
The furry guy doesn’t move. His eyes are fixed on one point, but Jack can’t tell what it is. Whatever, he decides. There are more windows, and they’re almost all floor to ceiling. He darts over to the next one available. The boy’s pleased that he can see the magic tree just as well from this side.
It’s just as he’s bracing his arms against the sill that the furry creature- possibly a krampus, if not a Bigfoot? Is once again BLOCKING his view, and now looking slightly down, as if…
Jack’s mouth goes dry.
Desperately, he tries to shove down the hope and desperation that swells up.
He holds up one hand, and waves. Just slightly.
The creature seems bemused, but waves back. His hand is enormous, weathered, and leathery in the way that one who builds things is.
Jack Frost is seen. Jack Frost has been greeted.
It’s been a few years, so Jack hopes this person doesn’t hold it against him when he yelps and falls back into a snowbank in the Arctic’s pocket of Wonder.
Jack doesn’t speak Yeti. That makes the whole ‘introduce yourself and ask the other person’s name’ thing a lot harder than it should be. But the Yetis seem to understand English, which means most of the struggle is just on Jack until someone grabs a slate and a slate pencil and writes the answers to some of his questions.
Who are you? Filya.
Where are we? Santoff Klaussen.
How can you see me? With my eyes.
They’ve opened the window for him to come inside. The wind stands guard just out of the frame, and Jack himself can’t bring himself to creep much further than a few feet away from her, like a kitten investigating its first household.
Even this little taste is almost too much to bear. But Jack is a brave boy, and a desperate one- even if the warmth burns, he will face this fire.
Who knows when he’ll feel warm again? He has to take what he can get now, so that he has memories of the sensation during the leanest years.
Upon closer inspection, the clear ornaments on the tree have wires inside. The wires are so hot that they give off little bits of light, but the glass keeps the limbs of the pine they decorate safe. It’s really beautiful.
There are some packages under the tree, but most have been opened. There are gingerbread cookies scattered across the wood, and occasionally elves scrabble and fight over them like children, jingling and chattering in a language that isn’t what the Yetis speak, but he still doesn’t know.
One of the elves notices him staring and offers him a cookie. It has a bite out of it.
Filya the Yeti has turned back to the tree.
Jack takes the morsel and pops it into his mouth. He scarcely chews- it is sweet and mealy and a bit damp from saliva, but it’s also the first thing he’s eaten in a long time and nothing could be better if it tried.
He was given a piece of food by a potential friend. It’s the most precious treat one could ever want for.
The elves tempt him to distraction with a lovely polished spinning top, and he gives in easily. He doesn’t even notice the window being shut behind him.
The time passes more quickly than he’d like. Jack chases the elves, listens to a portable music machine loaded with flat discs that have different songs on them, and has a large cup of warm, sweet, slightly bitter drink that makes him feel like he could fly even without the wind’s help.
Eventually, his new little friends drop away into sleep. Filya stays awake, seemingly waiting for something, but Jack can’t see what he’d be waiting for on this particular night. Christmas is almost over, and presents have already been delivered and unwrapped.
With less grace than usual, Jack Frost ambles to a large, comfortable looking chair covered with a quilted blanket- and he crashes into the cushions, practically purring from a warm, full stomach and a crowded room where people look at him instead of THROUGH him.
« Jack ! Its today ! You said you and the wind would help me learn to fly today ! »
« Oh— Trick can come, too ! »
From @cliippedwiings
"Aw, I forgot to tell you. The wind took today off. She's doing her taxes." The wind is not, in fact, filing paperwork. And she doesn't appreciate the fib, sending up breezes to muss both children to kingdom come.
Jack can't help but laugh.
"Okay! Maybe she got done early. You lucked out. C'mon, we're heading for a meadow if you REALLY insist on getting up in the air. Take it from me, when you're first figuring it out? You want a soft landing.
Trick is napping in the deep shadows of a tree. The horse is pretty nocturnal, and will likely cause more trouble when the sun goes down.
The little thing bucks and twists and trots in place. Its clearly trying to use the same Magik as the greater Fear essence.
It doesn't do more then snort a bit of dark smoke and sound like a cougars yowl in excitement. Then it shoves its muzzle into him again. Searching for other missed shards of dark and fear. Tail swaying occasionally with a sound like tree branches rattling lightly.
It blinks open an extra eye to watch him better.
Pitch does not appear.
"You like tricks? Well, I've got tons of 'em," Jack hums. He's mostly free of fear, aside from his normal anxieties- and it's difficult to eat those, because he keeps them all tucked up inside his head. "Try this one."
He summons a little blue snowflake, and with the same motion one might use to offer a sugar cube, presents it to the little foal. Palm flat and open.
It snuffles at the snow flake. Snorting in stsrtlement before it inches in to whuff at it a second time. It noses his cold fingers. The texture snapping between water sodden silk and hard smooth glass. It lips at the offering.
Then it's silver teeth snap shut around it. Darting away to dance back and forth with its tail up proudly. It resumes bucking about with its back hooves. Trying and failing to change shape again.
The little horse CAN be bribed! And apparently likes eating snowflakes as much as any other kid does. Jack beams and tousles its little mane, feeling... kinship, mostly.
Which is strange. Nightmares are generally not to be trusted, but this one feels like seeing a bit of himself in a mirror and getting startled at it. Harmless, and a bit goofy.
"You'll get the hang of all that... sand stuff someday," Jack reassures it. "And hey, if you don't, you can hang out with me."
The little thing bucks and twists and trots in place. Its clearly trying to use the same Magik as the greater Fear essence.
It doesn't do more then snort a bit of dark smoke and sound like a cougars yowl in excitement. Then it shoves its muzzle into him again. Searching for other missed shards of dark and fear. Tail swaying occasionally with a sound like tree branches rattling lightly.
It blinks open an extra eye to watch him better.
Pitch does not appear.
"You like tricks? Well, I've got tons of 'em," Jack hums. He's mostly free of fear, aside from his normal anxieties- and it's difficult to eat those, because he keeps them all tucked up inside his head. "Try this one."
He summons a little blue snowflake, and with the same motion one might use to offer a sugar cube, presents it to the little foal. Palm flat and open.
A little Prince will hear the grating whickering of a nightmare.
It appears from nowhere. Trotting by him with a flicking ragged velvetine tail. It looks cut from dark crystal and it's body flashes and flickers as it moves. Like a mirage made truly real. It's the foal- come cantering to him.
It shoves its snout near his sleeve. Chewing a fear shard it finds contently. Shaking its head with a sound like a breaking window as it's mane flicks. Then it resumes prancing around the spirit.
One eye the color of a dying star, the other the color of a blue Nova. Long tapered ears turn like a bats to listen around it intently.
First, Jack is on guard. Then he notices that THIS particular evil horse is very small, and honestly... not particularly evil. Hungry, certainly, but not evil. It just doesn't carry the same horrifying gravitas of the full-grown ones, and it doesn't scatter sand when it walks. It's all neatly frozen up in its mane and hooves, even if the center does appear to still be a bit... gooey.
Well, what kid has never played in the mud before? Jack isn't particularly worried about mess.
"I thought Pitch was sleeping off our snow battle," he hums, turning to keep the little foal in view. The two differently colored eyes are funny- endearing, actually.
"You better not be pulling another trick," he says, reaching out to poke at that sculpted mane. "I'm tougher than I look."
There’s something between searing shame and panic building in his gut. How do you warn someone against an interred version of yourself? How much do you dig up before it swallows you deep into dead earth?
“Hmm,” comes Kozmotis’s noncommittal answer. He watches strange and poignant evidence of a soul deep in the massive shadow playing with Jack Frost. Irrational sensations clamor through him: more shame, rage, even jealousy.
I
Don’t touch my kids. Don’t come NEAR my kids.
Calm down, or it’ll sense your misgivings and forge a weapon to slice you open.
You know because you used to do it, when you were the thing you now watch.
Eventually, Jack trudges back up the slope to the other, offering a tired yawn and a stretch- maybe a bit too calm for someone who literally fought fear itself, but everything had been fine. Heck, the one who was almost falling apart from it was the other Pitch, not Jack.
"We called it a draw," Jack tells Koz, slinging his staff over a shoulder. "I woulda felt too bad if I kept it up and beat up an old guy."
His hair is still standing tall from being tiger-groomed.
"I wasn't scared for a second. You were right there." He trots to finally come to Koz's side. "C'mon, I know you've got cocoa somewhere in your weird shadow house."
He makes a sounds that's as old and heavy as the caverns humanity hadn't even touched yet. His entire shape ripples and arches slightly.
He barely forces himself off to the side. Contact with the snow Mae's him flinch. Until he's the facsimile of a man. His night ares gather from the shadows again. The foal canters to sniff at Jacks pale hair. Biting it curiously. One eye contains a glint of blue amid the gold.
" I should...withdraw." It's a gurgling murmur from the man heaving himself to his feet by clutching at a nightmares neck.
The boy brushes free the teeth in his hair- yes, thank you, Little Guy, but he's not grass- and sits up himself, dusting free his sleeves and front of sand and darkened snow.
He tilts his head, and then decides to get up. ...Where'd his staff go? Oh, there, it's not too far.
Jack collects it, and his magic resonates within him once more- but he's kind of... even-tempered, actually, because he's felt so many things in such a short time period. Even lots of fun will make a person tired, but lots of fun and maybe a few startles? That requires some down time.
"Can you make it back to the hole under the bed?"
If the man can't, Jack might have to help. Field trips are fine and dandy, but Pitch IS grounded.
Oh yes?! He dare snow smash the Pitch in such a cowards attempt at victory? His tongue drags like light sandpaper from Jackjs chin to forehead. The look on snowy speckled dark furred features are decidedly smug.
" Draw Childe." His head drops back down. Thats it. It's all he's got. It's hard to hold shape. Yet leaving would mean return to the abyss... He would have to go in time. A shadow of his self could only contain the maw so much before it grew emboldened.
...
A few minutes more.
He could spare that. Yellow eyes droop and his shape blurrs at the edges.
...y'know what, Jack thinks, covered in shapeshifter spit and sporting a rather embarrassing cowlick. A draw sounds fine. He can live with a draw.
"Next time. Next time I'll get you good."
The storm dies down from its fervor. Snow settles, but it's still pretty deep- Luckily it's the right time of year for snow in this part of the world, or people might be a bit confused. Jack had been surfing around the colder places on the planet trying to get away from North America's ever-present heat wave.
"Now gerroff, you're gonna make my legs fall asleep."
❅— "I didn't see your name on it. and even if I did technically it would be our name so it's still my cookie. so... who are you really mad at, me for getting it first or you for being too slow? "
Once. Twice. Thrice! The last shakes his whole frame and the snow with it. He then spits out a blue-white chunk of ice to one side.
He sniffs then uses his multiple paws to roll Jack off his back without moving off him.
Flopping down with his massive head on Jscks chest. His entire frame aches. It's a deep ache that pulls at his core. The world is bright and sweet. Its...it's very painful. Pitch refuses to move though.
Jack drops his ammo when he's rotated. It's not on purpose- his fingers just kind of loosed and then all his snowballs started rolling around and away from him.
And then he has cat on him. If a tiger could be pure black, that's what Pitch looks like at the moment- though a very sleepy tiger.
And Jack huffs and grumps, because the score is just about even with that drift dump earlier, and he really DOES dislike losing things he's good at-
...wait. His chest is pinned, but his arm is free.
Jack reaches out blindly with one arm, and a few seconds later manages to mash half a mangled snowball onto Pitch's big cat head.
Pitch twists as he dives to his claws. Lengthening into something like a Wampus cat. Elongated snout snaps open to show a row of shark lile serrated teeth. Crouching to a halt only to spring coil lunge for Jack with front paws spread.
Yellow eyes locked on their target.
Tail snapping back and forth at the fear snow soaked spirit.
They collide in a whirl of bright colors and darkness.
Jack has snowballs pressed up against his shirt, so even while he's sent tumbling he holds onto hope. He can fire off one last volley when the world stops spinning.
And eventually, it does.
Jack heaves a breath, because the cat he'd hoped would fall off is now planted FIRMLY on top of him. His own chin is sitting in the new snow, arms pinned by his own torso.
