#jackfrostday

[coldfeetwarmflames]

happy jack frost day! take this super quick sketchy thing that i did at the last minute

[bunnimew]

Coffee and Fruit Snacks 4

It’s still Jack Frost Day somewhere. And by somewhere I mean California.

Rise of the Guardians

Blackice Jack Frost/Pitch Black

On AO3 here.

“Um.”

Pitch’s attention was immediately… half on Jack. The other half was doing research. And by research, Pitch meant he was utterly lost on Wikipedia and loving it. “Yeah?”

“I know I’m just sleeping on your couch…”

“Uh huh,” Pitch automatically replied.

“And that this is a temporary situation, in general…”

Not if Pitch had anything to say about it. Jack turned out to be an excellent cook.

“And that I’m not really supposed to be leaving my stuff here, because I have a place and all…”

Pitch nearly snorted aloud. Jack barely had any stuff to speak of.

“But there has got to be a better place for my clothes than the dining table.”

...That was a good point. Pitch’s eyes shifted sideways to look and sure enough, more than half of the thing was covered in freshly washed, neatly folded clothes. Somehow, the clothes made it here but never made it back home. When Jack said some off-hand thing about taking a load to the cleaners, he’d dropped rolls of quarters on the kid and told him about the laundry room downstairs and apparently eliminated his need to leave campus altogether. Or something.

“So grab a drawer and fill it,” Pitch shrugged and went back to his laptop.

Which meant he missed Jack’s flat stare entirely as the unimpressed teen worked through the logistics of this.

There was, in fact, a second bedroom in the dorm, because every living space on campus was intended to be shared, but Pitch bought both slots because he wanted to live alone (So much for that.) It had no furniture in it, however, save the bedframe and bare mattress, because Pitch did not actually need a second bedroom. The dining table was a terrible place to pile his clothes, yes, but it was better than the floor of an empty room.

The bathroom was so stuffed with things, Jack was surprised a human still fit in there to use it.

Pitch had a couple dressers in his room, and Jack could probably shuffle things around to fit his clothes in, but… Jack’s face turned red and he stopped thinking about it.

Which left the only other living space in the dorm.

And so Jack’s first drawer in Pitch’s place was in the fucking kitchen.

…

It took Pitch a week to realize some pots had been moved.

[myaekingheart]

And one more thing even though this is super old and short.

[myaekingheart]

Happy Jack Frost day ^_^ To celebrate, here’s some of my favorite Jack things that I’ve made/acquired over the years. Happy birthday, you frosty little jerk <3

[frostbittensprite]

❆ ❄ ❅ || celebrate all the nose-nippin fun || ❅ ❄ ❆

[a-wondrous-thing]

Because I am filled with Jack angst and a need for fluffy fanfics, here’s my real contribution to Jack Frost Day.

There’s a smile on his face, and tears on his cheeks, and Jack has never felt more alone in his entire existence.

His voice is lost. If there were words to describe what he was feeling, Jack was certain that speaking them out loud would tear the world apart.

Because he keeps trying, and trying, and trying and nothing he does ever changes anything.

There’s a strangeness in the air, as though the weather isn’t quite sure how to properly react to his emotions, and the sky is in a state of uncertainty, for Jack isn’t sad or disappointed, and he is not happy and excited either and the clouds simply don’t know what to do. The people in the town below are looking up at the sky, trying to decide if it was going to snow or not, and the weathermen are scratching their heads in confusion, because all their equipment said that it was supposed to rain today, and it should be funny to Jack, but it’s not.

The wind is whispering in his ear, in its unearthly language, and it too is confused at Jack, because he is crying and he is grinning and it’s not snowing, but it’s not fun either and the wind doesn’t like it, not at all.

His fingernails are chipped and dirty, there’s a strange pounding in his head, there are bags under his eyes, and Jack wonders if this is what it feels like to go insane.

Perched on the edge of a roof, he can’t help but feel as though the world is crashing around him, everything closing in and smothering him, and drowning him in grief and sorrow and hurt.

Because it’s been years and he hurts from the loneliness.

He’s not quite sure how long he crouches there, trying to smile away the tears that keep falling, but it must have been a while because the sun has moved, and people are moving too. He hears them below him, in their own little worlds where he doesn’t exist, and he aches for a smile in his direction, or a pat on the shoulder. Just something to remind him that he is alive.

There’s a gasp and a shriek of surprise below him, and he turns his eyes toward the street again. A woman, with two little children beside her and a husband in back carrying bags of...stuff, has slipped on some ice that had formed. Time doesn’t pause like it does in the movies Jack is fond of watching at drive in theatres, and the woman falls on her behind. There’s a shocked silence for only a moment, and then the two children are beside her, and the man has set the bags down and rushed toward his wife.

And Jack feels himself start to really smile as he hears the relieved giggling below and the teasing remarks.

He stands - his back protesting from lack of movement - and leaps to the ground. The family is smiling and the man has helped the woman stand again, and the two grab the bags and usher their children around the slick spot. Jack stares at them as they go, the painful throbbing in his head diminishing, but the envy in his heart tripling in size. His legs move before his brain, and before he knows it, he’s gone from the town, breathing in the clear air and laughing in joy as the wind playfully tosses him through the sky.

His call of, “Snow day!” can’t be heard, but the snowflakes that start to drift from the clouds above serve as a message all on their own.

Jack is gone long before the children start to run outside to play in the flurries, for he must move on - it’s what he always does.

His laughter is in the air, and there are tears on his cheeks, and Jack has never felt more happy in his entire existence.

North’s voice is louder than Jack’s laughter and the man keeps on with his hilarious story about Bunny and the Groundhog. Bunnymund himself is scowling at the man from his place by the fire, but Jack can just barely see the twitching of the Pooka’s mouth that he knows is an almost smile.

That just makes him laugh harder, and beside him, Tooth and Sandy crack up as well.

For Jack’s laughter - his real, belly deep, more than just simply amused laughter - isn’t dainty. He is all guffaws and unmanly giggles and snorts and laughter-tears, and he knows it’s infectious because he’s managed to get Tooth and Sandy - who’ve heard this story enough times to make it dull - to laugh along with him.

North is trying so hard to get through the story that his own big blue eyes are watering with the effort of not bursting into laughter in the middle of the tale. Bunny is still trying to look angered a the man for telling the ridiculous story, but the smirk on his face gives him away.

“ - and zen Bunny grabs the Groundhog in a chokehold and says ‘I vill not allow your foolishness to ruin my holiday’ and throws ze Groundhog across ze room!” North exclaims in delight, his arms waving about as his mimics the memory.

Tooth bursts out into louder giggles and adds, “Oh, I remember the look on the Groundhog’s face! It was hilarious!” Tooth, Jack notices belatedly, is a breathy laugher, constantly trying to breath in and laugh at the same time.

Sandy nods in agreement with Tooth’s statement, his chest heaving as he expels silent laughter, his golden eyes glinting with amusement in the light of the fire.

By this time, North has joined the other three in laughter, much too busy with his own hearty guffaws to continue with the story.

“A’kay,” Bunny butts in, “North’s had his turn, but have you ever heard about that time the Snow Queen got ‘im dressed in drag?”

Jack can’t help but burst out laughing again at the thought, and he covers his mouth to muffle himself so that Bunny can tell his story, but this just makes him snort - loudly - and he brings up his legs so that he can bury his face in his legs, wrapping his arms around his calves. His shoulders are heaving with the effort of remaining quiet as Bunny starts his story, North cutting in almost right away to correct the Pooka about some odd detail or another.

There’s an odd burning his his chest, and there are happy tears on his face, and there’s an arm wrapped around his shoulder thanks to North, and he can’t help but laugh.

He laughs at the ridiculousness of the stories and he laughs at the other’s reactions, but most of all he laughs at himself.

Because only a few years ago he was smiling and crying because of sadness, and now he was laughing and crying because of happiness.

For Jack wasn’t alone anymore, and that was plenty to smile about.

[sakuradancer3]

Day Four of #jackrabbitxmas! Read it on AO3 or click Keep Reading!

Day Four: Family Dinners

Christmas was fast approaching, and despite his best efforts, Jack had made absolutely no progress on finding the perfect gift for Aster. He thought about it while icing over the Eiffel Tower, he pondered it while dispersing a nasty blizzard in Norway, and he worried about it as he flew towards North’s Workshop for dinner.

He had received a standing invitation from the jolly Guardian immediately after taking the oath, though he often ignored the generous offer in favor of sneaking into the Warren. He still wasn’t quite sure why Bunny hadn’t kicked him out or updated his wards, but he wasn’t complaining. Although he had several hideouts scattered throughout the world in addition to his main shelter about a mile from his lake, there was something permanent feeling about the other Guardian’s homes. His place, in comparison, felt more utilitarian than comfortable; a base camp rather than a residence.

Though he liked all of the Guardian’s various domiciles, Bunny’s Warren was his favorite. North’s Workshop was fun, but always chaotic and occasionally overwhelming after three hundred years of limited social interaction. The Tooth Palace was beautiful but constantly muggy, and he never could go very long without his personal space (and mouth) being invaded by feathery hands. And while Sandy’s floating dream sand home was super cool and innovative, the quiet rocking motion made him sleepy.

The Warren was just plain amazing and Jack had loved it since he first set foot in it. He loved the beauty of the fields and the untamed wildness of the gardens. He loved the constant background noise of the babbling brooks and rustling tree branches. And to top it all off, Bunny was there.

Despite his grouchy reputation, Aster was surprisingly fantastic company, especially when you were a snarky, tragically unsocialized immortal teenager. He knew when to talk, when to ignore, and when to listen…plus, he made the best faces when you pulled a prank on him. Jack loved being kept on his toes and never knew what side of Bunny he was going to find when he swept into the Warren, but he could always rely on Aster to be there and that was more than he could’ve said a few years ago. There was something reenergizing about visiting the Warren, which probably explained why he felt so out of sorts.

He couldn’t bring himself to visit the Warren, knowing that when he did he wouldn’t be able to hide his current dilemma from Bunny. How was he supposed to convey all his gratitude and emotions to Aster while still giving him the “best gift ever” and yes, thank you, the quotations were absolutely necessary. He had never been the best at communicating when it came to emotions, possibly because he was stuck as a teenager, but most likely because he hadn’t had any practice in over three hundred and twenty years.

Well, whatever. He still had a few days before Christmas Day, and for now he was at Santoff Clausen and something smelled amazing.

❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄❄

“Welcome, Jack!” North boomed, arms spread wide in welcome. Jack had approximately two point eight seconds to brace himself before he was being manhandled into a bone crushing hug and all the air left his body in a very manly squeak.

“Now North, let Jack breathe.” Tooth chided, hovering at the broad red shoulders with a fond expression. She beamed as North released the youngest Guardian, who coughed and wheezed dramatically.

“Show pony.” At the muttered comment, Jack dropped all the theatrics and whirled around quickly.

“B-Bunny! I didn’t know you were gonna be here tonight!” Aster quirked an eyebrow at the slightly flustered teen.

“Wasn’t really planning on it meself, snowflake. North sent word that he was outta some herbs, and though he’s biased about the holidays, there’s no arguin’ when it comes to who has the best gardens in this solar system.”

“What do you mean, biased? I am not biased, I am very impartial. Christmas is the best holiday ever invented, ever. Is simple truth.”

“Riiight.” Aster rolled his eyes, muttering quietly under his breath. “Very impartial me fuzzy arse.”

Jack nearly blew out his eyeballs trying to suppress his snort of hysterical laughter. Aster grinned at him, tickled that Jack seemed to be on his side. Tooth rolled her eyes at their antics.

“Since we’re only missing one, let’s go ahead and get the whole family together.” She turned to one of her ever-present helpers. “Could you be a dear and fetch Sandy for us? He might be somewhere over Ethiopia at this time of day.”

The little fairy flitted away and the other Guardians continued their arguing, not noticing that Jack had been struck dumb by the innocent remark.

Family. For so long he had wished for a family, for people who belonged to him and to whom he belonged. Once he had his memories back, he had tried to content himself with, if not a present family, then at least the memory of one. Tooth’s off-hand comment had struck him because he had never thought to make himself a new family.

Minutes later, they were all gathered around a large hand carved dining table. Jack looked from face to face, mentally adding a new title to each of the now familiar visages.

North, whose paternal advice and jovial nature reminded him of his father.

Tooth, whose fierce loyalty and constant fussing was so similar to his mother’s.

Sandy, who had floated in and immediately egged on the dispute between North and Bunny, reminded him of his Grandfather who despite his many years and wisdom, never lost his impudent attitude.

And next to him was Aster; who despite his importance in his life, Jack had no title for. All familial roles seemed inadequate and ill-fitting to apply to his relationship with the Guardian of Hope.

But as Bunny passed the mashed potatoes and his paw brushed Jack’s hand, all thoughts of titles were forgotten. For now, it was enough to know that these were the people who belonged to him and to whom he belonged.

[bunnimew]

Coffee and Fruit Snacks 3

For Jack Frost Day, I bring you:

The Why Do I Love You Chronicles

Rise of the Guardians

Blackice Jack Frost/Pitch Black

On AO3 here.

“Pitch, I need you to fund the installation of paintball guns on the front of my car.”

__________

Jack knew and accepted that Pitch was eccentric. It came with the whole artist/writer/spoiled rich kid/refusing to grow up thing. He didn’t mind. Jack wasn’t perfect, either. But Pitch did trip him up sometimes, like now, when he stepped into the livingroom to discover that Pitch’s already odd collection of antique and unique birdcages, minus the birds because Pitch was terrible at keeping anything alive and he didn’t want to risk it with a real pet nor did he care to clean up after anything and the noise would drive him crazy in a flash, looked to have quadrupled over-fucking-night.

His lover was in the process of installing yet another hook in the ceiling to hang a shiny copper cage with accents the colors of sunsets (It may be a weird collection, but Pitch had excellent taste,) when he looked over his shoulder and explained, “They had a sale.”

__________

Jack carefully compared the pictures on his phone of the shattered… vase-thing that was no longer in the living room to the photos in the listing online, then scrolled over to the price tag and…

Groaned helplessly, burying his face in his arms. So much for replacing it before Pitch noticed it was gone.

__________

It was in no way unusual for Jack to find the sink stacked artfully with dishes on Friday night. Which made it a Saturday chore to deal with it. Jack had the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up, the dishwasher nearly full, and the sink completely empty when he turned back to rinse off his hands and Pitch appeared at his shoulder with one more plate, “Sorry.”

That was alright. The dishwasher wasn’t full yet and his hands were still covered in whatever it was Pitch had last night, so he bent down, slid the plate into place, stood back up and found one more bowl in the bottom of the sink.

“Oh, come on!”

__________

Pitch groaned, gesturing almost wide enough to smack Jack in the face from the passenger seat as he pulled into, then through, yet another parking spot, “Oh my God, Jack, just fucking park.”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Jack shrugged, unable to explain and not caring to try, as he drove past a spot he didn’t like.

Pitch buried his face in his hands as if that would block it all out, but the desperate need to get out of the car wouldn’t leave him and he had to pick it back up and say something, “Jack, we’re going to be late. What was wrong with the last five spots?”

Jack was unapologetic, “It didn’t feel right.”

“This is why I like to stay home.”

__________

Pitch eyed the sopping book in his hand impassively. Jack had warned him about the whole book shelf-fish tank proximity thing but it would just be his luck that the first piece of literature to die would belong to Jack. That took it from an, ‘I told you so,’ situation to a, ‘Damn it, Pitch, why don’t you ever listen to me?’ and one of those was always so much worse than the other.

The book wasn’t even that important. Jack never read it. He just had his name on the inside cover.

So Pitch merely shook the water off, patted it dry, slid it back into place on the shelf, and promptly, purposefully, forgot all about it. Jack never needed to know.

__________

The problem with liking tea but also being absent minded was that Pitch had a terrible tendency to over-steep his tea. He would heat the water with the microwave because anything slower was intolerable (and resulted in all of the water boiling away,) then put a tea bag in the cup and immediately forget to take it with him from the kitchen once his mind had determined the tea needed time alone to steep that was not regulated by a digital clock with an alarm attached.

But he didn’t have the patience to try again, so sometimes he just over-sweetened the tea to cover it up, like today. Today, Pitch picked up the sugar shaker and held it over his cup for a handful of seconds before stirring it in and taking a sip.

...He knows he picked up the sugar because it’s a very distinct container but all he tasted was...

Salt.

“Fuck,” He cursed aloud, yelling into the other room at his damned lover who always did this and Pitch had no idea why because, “That isn’t funny, Jack!”

But all he heard back was delighted cackling and a cheerful, unapologetic, “Yes, it is!”

__________

“Jack, we need a new ceiling fan.”

“Why, what’s wrong with it?”

“It’s missing.”

…”What?”

__________

Jack was long gone to work before Pitch woke up. He slid out of bed, took one step into the hall, and… heard a tweet?

Followed by another. It seemed every step Pitch took was trailed by a high-pitched chirp until the whole apartment was filled with the sounds of bird song, except it was always the same, every chirp the same tone, same length, same pitch, same everything, obviously mechanized and totally fake and oh God, so annoying.

By the time he made it to the living room, he was thoroughly done with the noise and he hadn’t even figured out where it was….

Oh God.

Seriously?

Pitch’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of every single one of his precious bird cages housing the horrid, demonic, furby-like creation that was the Perfect Polly.

When Jack arrived home later, it was to the distressed sounds of a tormented man, who looked upon him with wide, terrified eyes and cried desperately, “How do you turn them off?”

Jack couldn’t answer. He was laughing too hard.

__________

“What happened to my book?!”

Pitch didn’t run, per se, he was just out of the door in seconds.