#icey forest

[foliorumviridis]

Stages

[theemeraldforestafterdark]

Winter's Dusk

[theemeraldforesthideout]

[givemewinterpls]

Gunnison National Forest, CO

[someonesaiditwas]

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Pack Kortac - Werewolf! König Headcanons

Tags: monster au, werewolves, gore, body horror, general lore

-He wasn't born a wolf, but bitten. A status held with high regard amongst the lycans. Those bitten rarely have the fortitude to survive their first change. Their bodies too weak and unfamiliar with the shift, minds too easily lost. To change shape is a powerful thing…not all the wolves in the forest were born that way.

-The young boy had always found solace in the woods. No one to look at him. No expectations for him talk. He could simply exist here. In the safe and quiet. At least he had thought. Teenage König had been bitten and abandoned in those very woods. Terrified. He stumbled home, wrapping the raw wound with trembling hands and refusing to tell his grandmother. Who would believe him? That a hulking beast on hind legs had sank its teeth into him?

-Scrawny, nervous König, who drug himself back out into the same woods when the nausea and pain became to much.  Who screamed and cried as his bones began to bend and break. Clawed viciously at human flesh that burned like acid. König who awoke and looked to the sky with new eyes. To shimmering stars and the scents of prey animals trembling in the underbrush. 

-König had hid since childhood. Had trained himself to be small and still when his teachers and grandmother barked at him for his squirming and clumsiness. Nothing he did seemed right. But here? Everything was right.

-He didn't have to hide here. Under the trees he could run and howl, delight in the crunch of bones between his teeth. The wind in his fur. This. This is what he was built for. He grew taller, became bulkier. Signed himself away to the military with a white lie the very next morning.  Never to look back on the life he had before.

-Bitten wolves, despite popular belief, are less instinctually motivated. Unlike born wolves, who's instincts are firmly integrated, Bitten wolves can maintain a degree of seperation. As a human their needs for bonds are less intense. Bitten's are also less temperamental , having been socialized traditionally as human.

-König, behaves with a savage brutality in and out of the shift. Simply because he is just like that. Not because of instinctual forces outside of his control. He only needed the shift to truly find himself.

-König wore the hood at first to cover the scars on his face, the gap in his cheek that revealed a small glimpse of stained teeth. His first change had been rough, fangs and jaw crunching and tearing through soft human flesh. His scars had been self inflicted, harsh lines from where he had frantically torn at burning flesh too prematurely to reveal the wolf underneath. These scars, along with a significant line along his spine, are what remain as evidence of this change.

-While being Bitten is largely seen as a significant sign of strength there are some disadvantages. While shifts became easier, they will never be as smooth as a born wolf.

-While his body has adjusted quite a bit, but he still needs accommodations to dull his senses while human, such as earplugs.

-König revels in the change. Even without the scars his veil had become a necessity on the field. Even as he got older, controlling his shifts were tedious. He trembles with pure energy in the heat of the fray. His teeth ache, pulling and sharpening. Grey-blue eyes shifting into something icey and glowing. Claws tear through leather gloves. The veil helped to avoid questions from his human teammates.

-Overtime this became too tedious. König strikes me as the intro-virtuous type. Having big “I don't want to do it but I'm the only motherfucker here, so I guess I'll handle it” energy. He absolutely maneuvered himself into a position of leadership out of sheer annoyance this way.

-König had long convinced himself that having a pack is not suited for him. He lacks the know how. Feeling lost without the more obvious instincts to guide him into finding pack mates. Deep down it eats at him.

-He buries it though, building Kortac, and recruiting fellow bloodthirsty monsters that resemble a pack. It lacks true bonds. But it gave König the space to let his wolf run. He resolves that's all he needs for now. Addicted to the rush of blood under his nails and flesh in his teeth.

Descriptions of König inspired by floweryanarchy's piece: x

[painted-bees]

[edit: this is a bit outdated, now! You can read the full narrative of these events over here!]

The water between the Discovery Islands, off the coast of British Columbia, is perhaps the sleepiest, most uneventful little corner of the entire Pacific Ocean. It’s a perfect little cradle for the marine life that abundantly lives there. And so, when something peculiar does occur within the tranquil archipelago, it is never to be dismissed.

Which is why, when an enormous bubble that rose up from the depths between Vancouver Island and Quadra Island went wholly unreported, locals were easily persuaded into believing that their memories of the sudden tidal swel--which swallowed their shorelines in the middle of the night and claimed no victims--was a phenomenon of mass delusion.

With little to nothing in the way of consequence following that strange night, it was easy to fall back onto the knowledge that things such as tsunamis simply cannot occur in isolation among the dense cluster of quiet little islands. Magritte and Rafael, however, were not so unchanged by the events that took place.

Magritte remembers how the icey bite of the water numbed her oyster-torn palms. She remembers imagining the finger of a monkey paw curling when she finally got to see the dorsal fins of the orcas that everyone but her had been so fortunate to spot from the Smelt Bay shoreline. They were close enough to touch, but she could not bring up her arms. She remembers singing, in poorly ragged notes, to Orion who remained aloof and uncaring among the rest of the stars in the sky.

Whether Magritte’s memories of being swept out to sea that night are real or hallucinatory in nature, life in their little island cottage was never quite the same afterwards. Magritte had spent the following week in bed, recovering from a fever–and all the while, Rafael would frequently hear her calling his name in a hoarse, tired voice from the yard outside. Her silhouette could, for fleeting moments, be seen breaking up the moonlit boughs of the evergreen forest bordering the property. And, she would sing…a ragged, slightly nonsense song which sounded as though it had been composed as a futile weapon against a fading consciousness.

It should have been unnerving. In fact, it could have been wholly upsetting. Though it sounded perfectly like her, Magritte was not out there beckoning him. She was upstairs resting, safe and cozy. Still, the doppelganger called and crooned. It met Rafael’s consciousness not as an ill omen, but as a wandering curiosity. His name met him as an inquiry, the ragged singing as an attempt at conversation. He responded by leaving an offering of tea and cookies at the foot of the porch steps leading into the side yard, where thought he had occasionally caught a glimpse of her inconsistent contours against the foliage of the forest.

He didn’t wholly believe that the phantom Magritte outside actually existed. In the mornings, the mug of tea would be tipped over, and the cookies taken away by the local wildlife. But, that empty plate was encouragement enough for him to keep up the little ritual, at least until Magritte–the real Magritte–was back on her feet. And indeed, once Magritte had returned to her energetic self, the shadow of her that lurked by the treeline every night prior…fell silent and unseen. 

Until Magritte invited it inside.

It did not speak, but held them with a swallowing gaze. So slender, so gentle mannered. It had approached Magritte with an armful of fish; an apology. Magritte invited it in, and Rafael prepared a late dinner for the three of them.

 It became the new evening ritual; it would arrive at the cottage with a fresh haul from the sea, Magritte would invite it inside, Rafael would make dinner from whatever it had brought them. Each night, its appearance changed little by little into something less vaguely otherworldly. Or, perhaps, they were simply growing more familiar. It taught them the song that Magritte had sung to Orion (she had, herself, forgotten the lyrical genius of her delirium), and they recomposed it into a jovial, drunken shanty together. They introduced their peculiar houseguest to mp3s, fleece-lined sweaters, and strawberry rhubarb ice cream, and in exchange, it brought them uniquely shaped shells and foraged trinkets from the bay.

These nightly visitations continued until, at last, it–she adopted a name she had heard and liked; Cortes.

And, she stayed that night until morning, and until the morning after that, and the morning after that, and…so forth.

[thebellearchives]

Please do fluff prompt 1 with Nanami 🙏🏻

Reader is fembodied with eyes similar to Hinata from Naruto but icey blue.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️🥳🎉 <--- that's for you because I love your writing

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐋

~ nanami kento ; jujutsu kaisen

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : your friendship with nanami has always felt simple and natural, it makes sense that when you end up together it feels exactly the same

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : fem!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, mayyyybe a bit ooc nanami?? 🙇🏼‍♀️

‧₊˚ a / n : omg don’t come after me but i’ve never watched naruto hah, hope nanami’s description of the reader’s eyes is good enough (dw at least i know who hinata is) sorry for the wait aaa 😭🫶🏻 and yes i’m writing that “taking care of the other’s wounds” scenario again i have no regrets

Boredom prompted a slow yawn out of your mouth, sleepy tears formed in the corner of your eyes as you scrolled on your phone in search of entertainment. It was about 10:00 pm when some heavy steps entering the infirmary made you look up. Nanami looked worn out, but also relieved when he saw you there.

“You’re here. I’m glad” the man had some cuts in his face and bruises down his neck, your eyes followed as he walked over to the table next to you.

“You are?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t want to refuse Ieiri’s treatment. Where is she?”

“She went out for a smoke” Nanami’s nimble fingers picked up a bag of cotton balls and went in search of the alcohol bottle. His brows raised, chocolate brown eyes looking for yours from behind his glasses.

“Didn’t she say she’d quit?”

“You know Ieiri” with a sigh, you moved closer and stole the bottle from his hand.

“It’s okay, I can-”

“I know” he sighed in defeat, you decided to offer him a sweet small smile “just let me take care of you, okay? you look really tired”

He licked his lower lip, hesitant, but ended up nodding softly.

“Fine. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Your hands opened the bottle of alcohol and picked up some cotton while waiting for him to sit down in the chair right behind him, but he didn’t. He remained silent and calm, studying your movements. You had known Nanami for a long, long time, ever since you were just a girl. Enough time for him to let you come close, enough to feel comfortable and relaxed in your presence. Enough for you to slowly develop feelings for him.

“I’ll take these” a soft whisper made its way from your lips, your free hand sliding his glasses away from his face.

He didn’t react, didn’t flinch, didn’t reply. His eyes were fixed on yours almost as if he had zoned out. You started cleaning the small cuts and dried blood off his skin, the sound of his even breathing carrying your mind far away. Swiping your fingertips gently near the injuries to soothe the burn of the alcohol, brushing some hair strands of his golden hair pretending they were getting in your way. You remembered how he used to be so wary of you, always keeping a certain distance. And now you were here with him, walls down, letting you take care of him as you wished. Intimate, vulnerable. You finished up cleaning some smudged dirt from his jawline when you felt his hands grasping your hips delicately, the touch bringing you back from your thoughts and your pupils searching for his curiously.

“Is something wrong?”

He shook his head slightly. You blinked in surprise as he lifted up your face just a bit, cradling your cheek.

“It’s just that I had never stopped to really see how misty your eyes are. They make me feel like i’m somewhere else, a hazy blue lake in a foggy forest. Peaceful… at ease.”

Somehow your breath got caught up in your throat, eyes widening and heartbeat picking up a quicker rhythm. The words Nanami spoke felt so natural, so much that you wondered if he had even said them with a romantic intention or if it had been just an observation, a gentle compliment. For a second your mind tried to decipher the meaning behind them, come up with a response to the genuine confession, but the attempt was immediately interrupted by the grazing of his thumb right under your eye. The light brush wiping your head clean in an instant, his ring and pinky under your chin guiding you closer towards his lips.

So you patiently closed your eyes and followed his actions. Nanami’s lips met yours then, soft movements, prompting a sweet warmth to cover your cheeks and travel down towards your chest. There was no hesitation, no doubts, your hands didn’t even tremble when you reached to cup his face. There was a certain tranquility in the simplicity of the movements, the way his arms softly brought you closer to him, the way your hands slid towards the back of his neck, the tenderness and longing of your lips grasping for each other.

And the moment he pulled away to grasp for air your lips almost followed like magnets, but stopped the moment you realized you also needed to take a breath. He rested his forehead on top of yours, a soft sigh escaping his lungs.

You smiled. There in his arms you felt like everything had fallen into place, it was just that simple. There was no need for words, everything had already been said.

[floacy]

I just realised that team colors correlate with the biome they spawned in.

Red- Savannah

Green- Jungle/ Bamboo forest

Blue- Icey/Snowy taiga

[chunkypossum]

WIP Game

Thank you @yanny-77 for the tag

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

"tag as many people as you have WIPs." respectfully no ... you'll see why lol 1. The One Where Elain Chooses Herself (just elain)

2. No Thoughts. Head Empty. SATOSUGU (jjk)

3. What We Deserve (Azris)

4. So I start to Say Goodbye. Full Fic (Azris)

5. Our Blue (Azris)

6. Half in the Shadow (Azris) (Multiple)

7. When even Moonlight Burns (Azris)

8. Wildfire (Azris)

9. Hel or High Lord (Azris) (Multiple)

10. Sing for Me (Azris)

11. These Sacred Rituals (Azris)

12. Kerosene: The one with the forest baby (Azris)

13. Just For Tonight (Azris)

14. The French Library (Azris)

15. Mother Save us From your Twisted Fate parts 2 and 3 (Azris)

16. Star Crossed (Azris)

17. Daddy Beron (Azris)

18. Strange Water (Azris) ok I saw a few of y'all tagged already so let's see who else wants to play... NO PRESSURE @born-to-riot @amarillis39 @futurehunt @icey--stars @moonlightazriel @nocasdatsgay @queercontrarian @thelovelymadone @unanswered-stars @yourlazykitkat well I got close

[runner5anna]

Christmas Cactus

Heyo @kodessa ! I am your ZR secret Santa. Here is a festive fic for you.

Thank you @notforconsumption and @delucadarling for organising this !

It's Christmas day in Able township. It's icey, it's cold, it's not very festive. But, Sam is quite determined to at least make something warm out of the bad day.

There is no spoilers, its SFW but there is discussions of grief and cussing. Also cringe pick up lines.

"Shit!" Bellowed Sam, along with a cacophony of clattering coming from downstairs. Five sucked a lungful of cold air in, kicking the many layers of blankets off of her, grabbed the knife from under the bedside table and ran downstairs. She shoved open the door, shouting “who the hell is there?” and slashing at the air. Her chest heaved with adrenaline and fatigue. The cold air pressed on her bare feet, and her pyjama trousers were halfway up her legs. 

‘Uh - just me?” Answered Sam. He was hunched over the side, which was covered in cocoa powder and parts of a mug. The forest green hoodie he wore to bed was covered in water. “Wait - is that another knife, 5? I thought we talked about this. You don’t need to keep knives under the bed side table.” 

5 grinned and placed it down on the side. “I don’t know what you mean.” She slid it into the drawer, intending to pick it up later. “Need a hand?”

“No - I think I’m ok.” he sighed. He picked up his foot, inspecting it closely. “I stubbed my toe and dropped the pink mug. I found the cocoa powder at the bottom of the drawer in the comms shack. Happy Christmas, I guess?” he sighed, dusted the reminisce of the brown powder off the base of his foot, and placed it down - deciding that it wasn’t broken, just sore. “I wanted to surprise you.” 

“Oh shit - that day already?” 5 ran her hands up her face, pressing her palms into her eyes. She really needed a shower. Her face felt slick with sweat and grime from the night. Maybe she’d treat herself later to a lukewarm one. 

“Yeah. Snuck up on me too. I looked at the clock on the computer last night and it was the 24th! I wanted to surprise you with some hot cocoa but I pigged that one up pretty badly.” He sniffled, and the tears welled like little gems in the corner of his large brown eyes.  

“Oh - bless your heart, Sammy. You’re too kind for this world.” 5 opened her arms, inviting him in for a hug. He placed his bristled chin on her head and sighed, relaxing into her touch. “You didn’t have to do that for me.” 

“I know. I’m the best.” He grinned. “But - I wanted to. So I did.” He pulled away from 5 and picked up the brush from the side. “I need to clean up. Snow isn’t brown. Unless it's mixed with mud. Or zombie parts. But I suppose I’d quite like chocolate snow.” 

“How’s about I make us hot chocolate with what we have left over? And we can do…” Five pressed her tongue against her teeth in thought. “...festive things.” 

“What can we do? Really?” 

5 lent down to scoop up some more powder back into the pot. If she grabbed a collider, she could at least filter out some of the dust. It was salvageable at least - and there wasn’t much of this stuff left in the world so they should at least treasure it. Somewhat disgusting, yes, but it was the apocalypse. If you could be disgusting, it was now. It would be good for her immune system development, her mother would say. “I’m not actually sure. It’s not like we have a big dinner we can make or gifts.”

“Janine has given us the day off - for those that want it.” 

“I might head out eventually, then.” 

Sam slowly turned around, and pleaded. “Please don’t. It’s -6. It’s freezing. The ground is solid. You’ll slip. Plus it’s Christmas. Let’s just have a day together - It’s been too long.” 

5 pulled a hair from the powder. It was short, brown and blunt - one of Janine’s. Her hair managed to get everywhere. It was a nice reminder that she was there somewhere - a dependable figure even in the hardest of times. “I don’t know what we can do, really.” she tutted. “We don’t even have a tree.” 

Sam gave a little gasp, and quickly shuffled over to the window where he held up Cedrick the Cactus. He was a medium sized fluffy plant - whose fuzz were actually tiny spines which Sam found out rather painfully. 5 wasn’t quite sure why she grabbed it off of the shelf, but she didn’t regret it. He kept 5 and Sam entertained, and it gave them something to talk about outside of the insanity of work, how tired they were and whoever had died recently. 

“Let’s decorate Cedrick!” 

“Won’t I be pulling spines out of your hand for the next week again?” 

“No.” He pouted. “Get your crochet, I’ll get a pen and paper. Let’s make some Christmas clothes for him. It will be fun!” 

5 felt her belly rise with giggles that Sam could only bring from her. He was a ray of sunshine - everything good in the world. When 5 was with Sam, she felt like the best version of herself, like the world was lighter and the breeze was fresher. Her heart fluttered and her cheeks began to flush with how much she realised she was smiling. 

“Let me go get dressed and I’ll be with you.” 

“Ah ah ah!” Sam grabbed her hand, gently pulling her back and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Absolutely not. No one gets dressed before midday on Christmas.” 

“If you say so. But I need a shower later. I’ll get dressed then.” 

“I’ll give you one of my shower tokens. My treat.” 

“Don’t you need them?” 

“Nah. I’m clean enough. And I don’t go running multiple times a week. They’re upstairs, I think in my jeans pocket.”

“My crochet is upstairs as well - I’ll grab them on the way. And who knows. If I’m feeling generous later I’ll let you share the shower later.” 5 purred as she slunk out of the room, leaving Sam blushing a deep shade of beetroot red. 

*

5 plodded down the stairs, still in their faded plaid pyjamas as promised, crochet hooks and wool in hand. She turned into the kitchen to see Sam was doodling, colouring and shading. He held the paper happily up - on it was a bundle of red berries and green leaves. “Mistletoe!” he announced proudly. “You know what that means?” 

“No.” Five teased, leaning across the table. She softly held his gaze. Usually, Sam’s eyes darted everywhere, like he was avoiding eye contact with everyone while gaining as much information around him as possible. In moments like this, his eyes - beautiful pools of watercolour brown - held steady and calm. 

“It means you-” he poked 5 on the nose with the paper. “-have to give me a kiss.” 

“Ugh. If you insist.” 5 joked. She placed her hand on the base of Sam’s neck, pulling him across the table and into a kiss. It was deep and long, as the two relaxed into each other. 5 inhaled a smell she’d grown to love so much of marmite, washing powder and ink. Before he pulled away, Sam nuzzled their noses together, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Thank you.” He whispered.

“You’re welcome.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Five sat down, pulling up a chair and setting her crochet on the table. “What do you think I should make?” 

“A little scarf, or a hat maybe. I think a tiny scarf will be easier. If your hand starts to hurt you can help me with the decorations.” 

“All right.” Five started with a quick slip not, starting to make the first chain. “I always feel a little startled when I need to relax. I’m always so on edge that when I set time aside to be quiet and have time to myself I’m always waiting for the proverbial hat to drop.” 

Sam hummed in agreement. “It is hard to relax now isn’t it? With the grey wandering outside the walls and regularly staring death in the ugly maw.” He finished colouring in a little robbin and began to cut around it with the scissors. 

“I thought you were banned from using scissors by Maxine after the great finger slice event.” 

“For your information, that ban was temporary. How was I supposed to know that Maxine had just sharpened her scissors? Who has scissors that sharp anyway?” he subconsciously ran his thumb over the scar on his finger. 

“Who uses massive scissors on such a tiny thing?” 

“Oh, be quiet!” He threw the roll of string at 5’s head. “Can I have that back please.” 

5 leaned down to grab it, and spoke while she slid it across the table. “Events always feel so odd now. And I never quite know how to feel. I’m happy I survived another year I suppose.” She finished off a row and started another. “It’s such a tiny scarf, I’ll be done soon.” 

Sam stood up and boiled the kettle. “I’m just letting the glue set - I won’t spill the hot chocolate powder. Close your mouth runner 5 I can tell exactly what you’ll tease me about.” 

“What do you mean?” She scoffed mockingly. 

“You were going to make fun of me for sticking my hand to my head with aeroplane glue.” 

“I was not.” 

“Yes you were.” 

The two went back and forth, squabbling in good spirits while Sam made the hot chocolate.  

“Oh - Sam look! Cedrick has a little flower. He's bloomed.” 

“He reminds me of you in a way. You thrive in the harshest times, and you are very pretty.” He passed a mug over to 5, giving her a gentle kiss on the head. “You’re my little pretty flower.”

“Thank you, darling.” 5 pulled the final thread through, finishing off the tiny scarf. It wasn’t great, considering she’d not spent long on the thing, and the colours didn’t quite match the decor that Sam made. “It looks so bad.” 

“What? I think it looks good. Christmas trees are not supposed to look good.” 

“Cedrick is a Christmas cactus, and we made this in about 45 minutes. It's more ironic than anything - I don’t think they’re supposed to look good. But, y’know, I like him more because we raised him together, and we decorated him as well.” Sam wrapped an arm around 5’s shoulders, squeezing them comfortingly. “I want to make another one next year. I think it would be a good tradition.”

“I think…I’d like that. Christmas is so traditional - and now for the first time in ages we can’t do all of them. I’m so used to being with everyone at Christmas that it feels almost positive to create new traditions.” 

“I don’t think Christmas will ever not be hard.” Sam mused between sips of hot chocolate and blowing on too hot marshmallows. “I cried one year because I put out 6 sets of cutlery for dinner even though It had been 2 years since my grandad died. No - three.” 

“It will be hard - but with you I feel I can handle it. Thank you, for being there for me Sam. I appreciate you.” 

“I appreciate you too, 5.” He placed his head on top of 

“I think it’s just all been a lot. Even if we are a few years into the apocalypse, Christmas will always feel different. But I am happy I can spend it with you.” 

“You know what I really want to do?” 

“What? Remember it’s not midday yet, so there's no getting dressed. It’s the Christmas law.” 

“No - I follow Christmas law. I want to cuddle and watch the Doctor Who Christmas specials in bed. Do you have them on your laptop?” 

“Do I ever! I thought you’d never ask. That is a new and old Christmas tradition I can get behind.”

[bonefall]

Sorry if you've posted about her before, but have you any plans for Icewing? What with her being Beetlewhiskers mother, both of them trained ij the dark forest and the Erins didn't have her react to his death, plus the scene where she protects fellow trainees frok showing fear so they don't get hurt? This woman has SO much potential!

A fellow Moonkitti Enjoyer I see

Yes, though! Ice is getting an expanded role in my rewrite. She is the child of Skyheart and Reedtail with her sister Pinefur, and the cousin of Reedwhisker!

She was an apprentice on the Great Journey, during which she ended up falling for a Tribe paw. Mint was chased out of RiverClan along with Storm and Brook during the Thistle Law surge that followed WindClan's Rebellion, but came back after the sudden death of Leopardstar.

Ice has always felt like something was suspicious about that death. On one paw, the death of Leopardstar returned her Mintflower, on the other hand... how can it possibly be okay that she had her skull bashed in and Mistystar just becomes leader? With so little investigation?

Skyheart is still around, too, to whisper things in Ice's ear. That Mistystar punished all of Leopardstar's old allies by shuffling apprentices, calling her a tyrant, not to trust her.

She turns to the Dark Forest because Leopardstar is there, and she wants to learn more about her. And she brings Beetlewhisker too.

From there the story is similar; I just built a lot in the blank space. Her son dies and she can't forgive herself for it. She protects other trainees as much as possible.

Though there is a change for two reasons:

Brokenstar is not in the DF for this Rewrite and thus did not kill Beetle. See: Firestar's Quietus

The Dark Forest is not as objectively evil and a lot of the demons are less enthusiastic about attacking the living than canon, so Icewing was speaking for some of them too. Not just younger trainees.

After the Great Battle, Icewing is actually unable to have kits again. She is taking it as a curse, a punishment for endangering Beetlewhisker. Nightkit and Breezekit were stillborn.

Her role opposing the impostor is unchanged, though, her collaborator Harelight is becoming a light in the mist! His name is probably going to be an Honor Title for it; I'm thinking he was called Harefur for AVoS and TBC before that.

(Mistystar likes to name families using matching suffixes. Softpelt, Dappletuft, Harefur. Gorseclaw is cut.)

I don't rewrite arcs until they're complete, so Bonefall ASC is still undecided, but you can see I'm giving Icey-Wi LOTS of setup in preparation.

[theemeraldforestafterdark]

[givemewinterpls]

Gunnison National Forest, CO

[sky-neverending]

i wrote a little thing

Kaz Brekker saw the world in black and white.

Not literally, of course. He could still see color perfectly fine. It just… didn’t mean anything to him.

He never understood why people marveled at the sight of extravagant purples or burning reds or greens the color of a forest. Not when simple blacks and grays worked just fine.

He liked the foggy dullness of Ketterdam, of the Crow Club, the muted colors and chipped paint. He liked the way everything blended together in a monotone haze.

Why stand out when you could watch from the shadows?

He didn’t need color. And color didn’t need to get in the way. It was as simple as that.

But it wasn’t. Not really. Not when he lay in his bed in the creaking attic of the Slat. Not when he stares at the ceiling in the darkness and a deep purple, the color of lavenders at twilight, seeps into his mind, splashing around the blackness.

It’s an all too familiar shade. One he sees on the daily, in the flash of a cloak from rooftops or the sudden pounce from behind him. One accompanied by a sweet laugh and a soft smile on the good days, and the furrow of a brow laced with concern on the bad.

It’s a color that screams all the things he wants to deny. A color that brings out his vulnerability. A color that is the definition of beauty, and by that, drives him to the brink of insanity.

Slowly, the colors grow. A deep green, the burn of a red, the softness of a light orange, and an icey blue. All swirling in his head, dancing across his vision. All sending him further and further into his own darkness, wondering how he could escape.

Because the colors meant something. And things weren’t supposed to mean anything to Kaz. Life was a business opportunity, not a place to get attached. Don’t attach yourself to things, and you won’t get hurt. As simple as that.

But he found himself getting drawn into these colors, despite how much he pulled away from them. They invaded his dreary mind, bursting holes in the black and white he had learned to live by.

They blinded him. Sent his sensibilities down the drain, stripping away his layers of protection. They seeped into the crack, splashing like rain fall and landing in puddles under his feet.

And as much as he hated to admit it, they made him smile. Because the colors meant his Crows. And his Crows were his family.

So he let the color drip, drip, drip into his mind, when the darkness of a cold rainy night sent him clutching at the sheets. When the pain in his leg hummed through his whole body and caused him to grip a little bit tighter on his cane.

Purple.

Green.

Red.

Orange.

Blue.

And a little bit of black.

[pinkslenderman]

PAST ICEY IS IN HIS FOREST JUST WANDERING LOL-

I think I will be spending the day in the library....reading sounds like a good idea for today, rather then going outside.