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[morozkov]

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#morozkov:         breathed to life by the sting of the permafrost,  forged from the powers of clay and ice to outlast the summer’s light and stand ever proud as our world’s cast of ancient,  primordial winter.    carrd wip.

❛ every bird, gone unheard, starving where the ground has froze. the winter sunrise, red on white . . . ❜

private & selective writing blog for morozko:   chys khaan, dzyed maroz, the demon of frost. best known from alexander pushkin’s fairytales and deific folklore spanning eastern european & north-eurasian cultures, as well as multiple siberian, mongolian & northern chinese indigenous & central asian cultures and mythologies. ( and others ).  loosely affiliated with the bear and the nightingale series.  21+. written by béla. VERY LOW ACTIVITY.

[morozkov]

winter is coming. :)

[morozkov]

[  See, Winter comes to rule the varied year, sullen and sad, with all his rising train— ] ... ind. sel. priv. morozko (chys khaan) of eastern european & north-asian folklore. the demon of frost.

[morozkov]

one of the few things i will be keeping from The Bear and the Nightingale is the magic system, which i found particularly simple and beautiful in how it was described.  that magic did not exist; but that someone’s will is how it could manifest.    

“You are too attached to things as they are,” said Morozko, combing the mare’s withers. He glanced down idly. “You must allow things to be what best suits your purpose. And then they will.” “You can’t change it to a brush,” said Morozko, seeing her. “Because that would be to believe it is now straw. Just allow it, now, to be a brush.”

morozko’s magic comes from his strength of will, able to turn a stone into a sword by merely believing in his core that it is so. in some ways, it could be said that this is the magical strength of his imagination; a childlike quality that brings to life whatever it is he wishes.  and it will be so. 

[morozkov]

“I am not a little girl anymore, dazzled by your magic.” deathless starter call for @madraya .

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ"then i must try to impress you more diligently," came the voice of winter, bereft of all but chill. his face told another story: kissed by the touch of mirth, eyes alight with mischief and wonder, mouth slashed to bare the bones of his wild dragon-smile.

" what are you, if not that little girl? where has baghra gone? the one i found in the woods that so beloved the snow, who danced beneath her petals. has she died and gone away, claimed by the soulless trifles of old age and death? you cannot persuade me. " his hands touched her shoulders, hovering just barely, scentless with penetrating cold. " no. you are too stubborn yet to be turned into fruitless words. a story on the tongues of others to be told. you are yet too brave. "

[morozkov]

starter / 𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡.

[lovecurst]

it doesn't scare her. maybe snow misspoke. there's little about the things of the wood that scare her these days. even the most fearsome tend to pass her by, glancing at her and then going on their ways without a pause in their step. snow can remember running breathless and reckless through the underbrush with the knowledge that sharp teeth and wicked claws could be pursuing her ; these days she simply walks, sidestepping things she ought not tread upon. snow sidesteps such a thing now, a patch beneath the blanket of her namesake where she knows there is a circle of toadstools. though she doubts her company need fear the faefolk snow still gestures for him to follow along in her footsteps, the gloved hand not wrapped 'round a basket handle darting out from the confines of her worn pale purple cloak. her boots have left prints in the snow, which seems strangely more wont to melt where she steps now.

"i'm not afraid of them," snow says with a smile that she tips her head so he might see from behind the fur-lined hood she wears pulled over her curls, "most of the beings out here scarcely bother me, or have helped me in my life here," the friendly faces of her friends who have helped build her home, who bring her trinkets they have found, who sit with her in the garden on sunny afternoons to chat ; the companionship she has found between the trees and in fine clearings is better than any she found within castle walls. "but i worry whoever it is might starve in this weather." the basket is lifted a little, its contents covered by a secure wrap of fabric, "though i must admit that because i don't know this face in particular i'm not sure what they enjoy, so i thought we might bring a bit of everything." the fabric is untucked so he might peer into the basket and at its contents. a few small glass jars of golden honey and jewel-colored jams, preserved meat and a some cheese, a bundle of dried flowers, and a small tin of what might be tea. "they only come out at night, though, so i suppose i'll just leave it where i usually see them and come back in the morning to see what they liked best."

[morozkov]

ㅤ' this weather, ' and as i spoke, i heard a sound that was not unlike the splintering of a great oak tree. the icy water bordering that road was cracking at my whim, responding to the gentle heat beneath my temples and the way my pulse had quickened. was it simple human nature to so readily insult me? i pondered this a while each night, for mortal kind in general were so quick to judge that supposed cruelty of my cold. and she had come with the bounty of spring and autumn, a humble offering for my servants to behold out there wandering the enchanted wood. my eyes were sharp as daggers, peering at her from their narrow corners with my mouth both wide and tight. ' claims only the unprepared and, i suppose, those unfortunate humans that are left to die in the wilderness around us. '

but life was cruel. those who possessed the brain to stay alive would do so of their own volition. and spirits would not hearken to her kindness as she wanted. would not bow to her whimsy and break bread or eat it from her hands. we were made of stronger sinew with a taste for flesh and bone. ( and besides, spring was around the corner. it wouldn't be long until fresh green shoots began to sprout from underneath the snow. and then the berries would bloom fresh and the geysers of kamchatka would bellow and steam the air... ) i must have looked very annoyed at the concepts she presented. at least, i could feel my brows were furrowed. and so i bowed my head from the weight of what snow had dusted from the branches, and felt it lining the black exposed-bones that were curled on top my hair.

ㅤ' the creatures that you feed, lisichka? they are foxes and wolves at best. their death is part of nature, and will feed the coming spring. interfering will save one or two. but this stupidity will deprive another creature their meal come that morning. so, why must you continue? '

[infinityrph-deactivated20230819]

‘𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘’ 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒, 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈.

🌀 Sentence starters meant to be used as roleplay prompts .  This is from Netflix’s Wednesday, episodes 1-3.  Please feel free to change pronouns and words as needed.  (Part II)

emotion equals weakness, pull yourself together.

i’ve recently been plagued by visions.

the only person who gets to torture my brother is me.

i never had a problem with outcasts - my counselor at summer camp was a werewolf.

i find social media to be a soul-sucking void of meaningless affirmation.

you’re soft and weak. you’ll never survive without me. i give you two months, tops.

any plans you have of running away end right now.

you’re brilliant, but sometimes you get in your own way.

 will never fall in love or be a housewife or have a famly.

when i look at you, the following emojis come to mind: rope, shovel, hole.

maybe if you whined less and practiced more, you wouldn’t suck.

let’s see if you bleed in black and white.

at least i’ll have an imaginative death.

i would have rather saved myself.

someone who crochets for a hobby isn’t a worthy adversary.

i hope we can forge a bond based on trust and mutual respect.

i see the world as a place that must be endured.

do you make a habit of scaring the hell out of people?

there’s just something wrong about this place.

tears don’t fix anything so i vowed never to cry again.

your secret’s safe with me. i still think you’re weird as shit though.

are you still willing to help me escape?

i wish i was going with you. at least one of us will get out of this hellhole town.

you should know i’m waiting on someone.

i don’t have time to explain. but you’re in danger.

this story’s about to take a dark turn. usually i love dark turns.

dead people are notoriously bad at returning calls.

you want to reject my claims, but you can’t.

believe nothing you hear, and half of what you see.

why should i bother telling you anything? you’ve already decided i’m lying.

i refuse to play the role of a pawn in someone else’s corrupt game.

i am not submitting to your emotional blackmail.

breathe a word of this to anyone and i will end you.

to tell you the truth, i’ve never really fit in anywhere.

the most interesting plants grow in the shade.

i’m not the girl of your dreams, i’m the stuff of your nightmares.

i don’t believe that i’m better than everyone else, just that i’m better than you.

luckily, i’m not afraid of the dark.

it’s amateurs like you who give kidnapping a bad name.

remember what happened last time we did this dance?

secrets are like zombies, they never truly die.

i have a strange feeling the answers to my future lie in the past.

who i speak to is my business.

you’re really becoming obsessed with this monster in the woods thing.

there will be no escape for you.

do you have a death wish or something?

are you mansplaining my power?

i don’t believe in heaven or hell but i do believe in revenge.

those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.

one coincidence is just a coincidence, two are a clue, and three are proof.

the truth is, there are monsters everywhere.

sometimes the monsters we least expect are the most dangerous.

[morozkov]

‘  on  lonely  nights  i  stare  into  the  trees,  and  a  strange  face  leers  back.  ’

ㅤㅤi had no guess as to where i was being lead, but could not think of any way i might complain. the soles of my boots were soundless against the white expanse, and what fear i had of my exposed horns subsided with the shade of trees. my skin was dark against the blue fabric woven into silver, spotless still despite the stroll through open land. the same could not be said of her, for she was no vasilsa. i could see very plainly that the hem of her dress was dirty even despite the row of crystals that had formed from the freezing ice. how, i had to wonder, had @lovecurst braved the freezing temperature and her toes had not frozen solid? the favor of mat zemlya was all i could assume. but the world turned at my behest, and the ground would warm beneath her feet. it was a small trick, and i would suffer little.

' there are many things that live there, moya lisichka. and fewer who would wish you ill in the bowels of your own home. ' i wasn't lying to her. i couldn't. i would never besmirch the kindly natures of the domovoy or the dvorovoi who are so diligent in their work. but i could not shake the knowledge of what was darker and more hungry laying dormant in these woods. there was of course the upyr, and the indistinguishable vulkodlak. but they need not be mentioned now. her friendliness unnerved me. i am used to fear and a mouth of snaggle-toothed teeth chattering from the cold. snegurochka favored this girl who was named for the softness of winter, and much as so loathed it, there was some vulnerable part of me that did not want to disappoint her. ' what man mistakes as monster are who tend to the very land and the spaces in between. '

[morozkov]

it warms me to know that if morozko ever came within 3 feet of koschei, it would be on-sight in a denny's parkinglot.

[back-to-december235]

[hapless-hollow]

If November’s drunk with death, then December’s bounty will be ghosts.

Helaena C Moon  .  instagram  .  helaena.c.moon  (via hapless-hollow)

[morozkov]

snegurochka, or snezhevinochka.  the daughter of morozko.  a beautiful, witty young maiden that is happy to be his helper.    she ever is his heart.  and i mean that in a literal way          

            she was hand sculpted with snow by the childless couple in kievan rus: a boyar named ivan and his wife,  marya,  who sent silent prayers to morozko that he bestow life upon the doll.  the pseudo-god takes pity on the couple and grants them their wish, transforming the snow doll into a healthy baby girl.   but morozko being her true father,  knows how brittle and fragile snow can be.  so he condemns the girl to a life without love, quite literally taking the emotion from her, so that her heart will never grow too warm and melt her from within.

but snezhevinochka yearns to be around humankind, a nd she grows to very much like a young shepherd named lel.   marya, her mother, takes pity on her when she sees that snezhevinochka is suffering from her lack of love and understanding.   marya begs morozko to let her sacrifice her love for her daughter’s sake, so that she can fall in love with Lel.       morozko,  feeling both pity and love for his child and creation, agrees and gives the snow-doll this ability despite knowing the risks.     but as soon as snegurochka sees Lel, her heart warms and she melts before his eyes.

morozko,  feeling suddenly deprived of joy,  cannot handle the knowledge that his only child lay dead.    And so he spends many years perfecting a new body of snow and,  unwilling to part with her,  resurrects her from the dead by giving her a piece of his own heart,  and what little goodness he possessed within.

rather than call her his daughter,  snegurochka calls him ’grandfather’ because he is much, much older than her, and she had come to love ivan and marya as her parents.   but in order to protect her now that Lel (and the townsfolk he told) know her secret and condemn her as a witch, she must stay behind in lukomorye (with morozko) until the season is at its peak - and only then return to see her parents in the cold of dead midwinter.   until then she busies herself by learning the way of magick and helping him with his brews.   she has become something of a paragon to those in the deep countryside, appearing with first snow to give them bread, wool and medicine to last them until thaw.  what parts of morozko that were once generous enough to give a girl a queen’s dowry from the palm of his opened hand bloomed within his child.  and it is for her that the snowdrops bloom in the vacant winter fields,  giving life and kindness to a barren and desolate space.

[morozkov]

moral alignment test

morozko is 26.7% evil, 39.2% chaotic, making him chaotic neutral.

                 morozko believes that there ultimately is no order to anything, including their own actions.   with this as his guiding principle, he tends to follow whatever their fancy tells them to.   good and evil are irrelevant when making a decision.   morozko is often extremely difficult to deal with.   although he promotes the ideals of freedom, it is their own freedom that comes first.   he is free-spirited and does not enjoy the unnecessary suffering of others, but if they join a team, it is because that team's goals happen to coincide with their own at the moment.   he resents taking orders and can be very selfish in his pursuit of his personal goals.   yet his methods of achieving his goals are often disorganized, unorthodox, and almost entirely unpredictable.

tagged by:  @jokethur​  /   tagging:  @helsng,  @mnhia,  @viiolencia,  @solstis  and you. 

[morozkov]

❝  sounds like nothing but a tall tale,  but i’m certain most people would eat it up.  ❞    scenario prompts 'of fairytales, folklore and faekind'.     always accepting starter memes.

         was it not the point of all stories to leave one thusly entertained?     such had been their purpose for the frost demon during those centuries in silence,  clinging tight to the bark of a thousand blackened fir trees until the thaw had come.     the eerie winter stillness enabled him to listen;  to hear the distant echoes of little whispers on the wind.    to piece together footprints left in deep, dark snowbanks between the mountain crags.    a smile plays on morozko’s mouth regardless,  siphoning what little heat remained amidst the grove.   

‘  it matters not if the tale is tall.   if people did not believe them,  then you would not be here.  ’    chin lifts indignantly,  eyes shining bright.    they are sizing up @helsng​ like a succulent left for dead and bleating at his door.    every word drips from his maw like the remnants of a violent, bloody meal.    perhaps heightened in voracity by the pair of bear’s teeth left gnashed inside the mouth.      ‘      kievan rus is beautiful this time of year,  and the air thick with merriment.    but this is a different place;  and there are not many that would venture so far out to find the winter wilds.    they fear the beasts, the men and the devils deep within.  ’

[morozkov]

morozko can fill his belly with the taste of meat and honey, but it will not truly sate him as much as the taste of death.  death from winter’s chill,  from the intense freezing cold.  he does not eat the soul, no, but is emboldened by the decay in vast snowy pastures the way that soil is enriched.   while it is not through his mouth,  it can be said that he eats death the same way the humans eat their bread. and while he enjoys the taste of the richest foods and often feasts at night, it is death that will sustain him.

[exspirawit-deactivated20220409]

The Silver Rivers, South Iceland (2019) 

Dani Guindo