#jack frost scenarios | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jishyucks · 1 year ago

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Happy Holidays! The Universe Hates Me. — hrj

‣ pairing: huang renjun x reader

‣ genre: fluff, academic-rivals-to-(implied)lovers, forced proximity, kinda slice-of-life

‣ wc: 3.7k

‣ summary: You don’t hate many things, but you could proudly say that you hate snow and Huang Renjun. And now that the universe has decided that it was a great idea to have you snowed in with the smartass himself, you’ll gladly add the universe to that list.

‣ warnings: slightly one-sided rivalry (more so Renjun’s developed feelings before reader so he’s acting on it before reader even gets what they’re feeling), the pair eat some cup ramen, set in that weird period where they dk how they feel

‣ an: I rly thought this was going to be easy to write but sike (⊙_⊙) ig its bc its basically e2l and these r difficult to write,, I was excited to write Renjun's but idk if I did my own idea justice,, anyways I hope it's still a fun read!

Series Masterlist

You’ve never been so nervous for a final in your life.

Sure, you didn’t find the content difficult, nor did you feel lost. Hell, if you were asked to explain the content with no aids, you can confidently do it.

The only reason why you were so nervous for a damn final was because you knew that Huang Renjun was going to do better than you. Why? You’re not sure. But you had this gut feeling that his name was going to be listed right above yours on that stupid list and you were not going to let that happen.

“You need to go home soon, okay?” Karina frowns. She’s all bundled up, a scarf tightly wrapped over her face to shield her from Jack Frost. She knows how much of a workaholic you were, especially when it came to Renjun, “It’s getting late. It’s already dark out and there’s no one else here. Text me when you get home.”

You nod, “I will, I promise. I’ll just finish this last lesson and then I’ll leave. I’m hungry, anyway.”

Her stern expression softens underneath her scarf and she teasingly ruffles your hair, “Talk to you later, honeybun.”

You wave and watch her leave before turning back to the scattered papers in front of you, your laptop burning holes in your eyes because you’ve been staring at it for way longer than a physician’s recommendation. The final was on physics, something that wasn’t your strongest suit. It was probably because the way your teachers decided to word the questions on exams screwed you over—but then again, you couldn’t blame your struggles on that.

Maybe you did just suck at physics.

Your eyes scanned the lesson you were currently studying, quietly reading it under your breath so that you could process the information—critical threshold… velocity… laminar to turbulent… fluid and momentum… the dissipation of energy…

“Ughhhh!”

Your heart drops to your stomach, eyes almost slipping out of their sockets at the sound of another person groaning. You clearly remember Karina just saying that there wasn’t anyone else here.

Then who in the actual fuck…

Your mind jumps to conclusions and thinks up the worst-case scenario. It could be a ghost… were you Scrooge and the ghosts here to visit you? No fucking way… you loved Christmas… Or it could be a murderer. But what kind of murderer groans before he reaches his target?

Using this as an excuse to procrastinate, you quietly push your chair away from the table and stand up. You can recall that the groaning echoed from the back of the library, so you begin making your way down to the back of the room. Your attempt to keep your footsteps quiet, barely lifting them off from the ground.

You guess you were making your way in the correct direction because now you can hear the sound of muffled music. You suppose it was coming out of the other person’s headphones.

As you approach the end of one of the aisles of books, you bend over and peek through the cracks between the books. Your eyes betray you, not focusing on the figure sitting at one of the tables because the books are in the way. Leaning closer, you squint to get a better look at the figure studying, head bopping to the music blaring through their headphones.

Who is that?

When your eyes finally adjust, you curse under your breath.

Personally, you would rather it be a murderer on the other side of the shelf.

Because Huang Renjun of all people? Here? With you? Did the universe hate you or something?

You let out a faint groan, squeezing your eyes before you go to turn back to your table.

Of course, Huang Renjun would be here and studying late. There’s a small tiny part of you that wasn’t even surprised that Renjun was the only other person at school at this hour. There was a reason why you felt like he was seriously going to do better than you on this physics final. He worked for it despite being naturally intelligent.

“Fucking Huang Renjun,” you gently let your forehead fall forward, making a gentle thud against the table. Fucking Huang Renjun because, suddenly, you no longer feel hungry and you now desperately wanted to finish a week’s worth of content before leaving. Sure the idea was immature—doing all this for some guy who thought he was smarter than everyone else—but you couldn’t help it. This was how it’s been since junior high.

And old habits die hard, right?

For the next 2 hours, you push yourself to study for the stupid final, eyes straining as you continuously shift them between your laptop screen and your papers. And you say push yourself because now that you had the knowledge that Renjun was sitting metres away from you, you somehow could not focus for the life of you. It was like he had cast some spell on you to do anything but focus on physics.

You groan. You have been reading the same paragraph on boundary layers for the past ten minutes, now hyper-aware of Renjun, and words blurring together. Despite your efforts, your mind wanders, and occasional stolen glances in his direction betray your attempts at concentration.

With an irritated sigh, you shake your head, attempting to bring yourself back to the task at hand. Why the fuck is Renjun occupying so much of your headspace?

Feeling defeated, you reach forward, roughly shutting your laptop closed before you begin bunching your papers up together. Not a single fibre in your body even cared if it was organized or not—that was for you to worry about later—because you just wanted out of here and away from Renjun before he completely plagues your mind.

Finally, you throw your bag over your shoulder and begin making your way out of the library.

Meanwhile, Renjun, who was managing well with his work catches sight of your figure leaving, winter coat zipped up to your nose.

“Wait, Y/N!”

You turn back to find Renjun pushing his seat back, getting up to make his way towards you.

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. You continue making your way out of the room, ignoring Renjun’s calls for you to stop.

The mature response would be to, well, stop and listen, but after Renjun just indirectly wasted 2 hours of your life trying to absorb some information on physics, you didn’t want anything to do with him. You just wanted to go home and eat, before you pull another all-nighter to make up for the lost time.

“Y/N!”

You were jogging now, treating the situation like Renjun was some kind of monster coming after you. It was odd that Renjun was keeping up with you, tailing you like he was one of those salesmen trying to get you to try a sample of their product.

You’re relieved when you see the front doors of the school ahead of you, streetlights illuminating through the small half-windows. You feel your feet pick up its pace, eager to finally get out of the building and get fresh air.

“Y/N!” Renjun’s out of breath, “You can’t leave!” He reaches out and quickly grabs your wrist. The contact causes shivers to run up your arm and you’re quick to pull your limb back.

Brows furrowed, you sent him daggers through your glare, “And why not?”

Renjun fishes his phone out from his hoodie pocket and he holds it up despite you not being close enough to see anything on it, “The news. All the roads are closed. No cars on the roads. We’re stuck in here until they say everything’s clear.”

“You’re lying.” Your stubborn ass refuses to believe Renjun.

Renjun huffs, “Just check it for your fucking self if you don’t want to believe me.” His arms crossed and he pushes all his weight onto one leg.

Reluctant to look stupid, you slowly pull your own phone out. You realize that you actually haven’t looked at any notifications lately, all your focus directed toward studying. When you finally look at your phone, you’re met with tens of notifications, both from the news app and a handful from your family members and friends, mainly Karina, who are asking if you’re going home soon or if you’ve gone home because of the news the city sent out about the roads.

“And why didn’t you leave?” you say awkwardly, “When they sent the warnings out?”

Renjun swallows his spit, “I didn’t see any of them either. I was too caught up with studying.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you mutter. The realization of the situation starts to sink in—you're trapped at school, possibly overnight, and your only company is Huang Renjun, the boy who’s decided to make himself the bane of your existence. Then, you find yourself teetering between relief that you're not alone and frustration that you're stuck with Huang Renjun of all people.

Your eyes flicker at Renjun, who’s waiting for you to say something to him. And you do, “This is all your fault!”

Renjun’s mouth falls open slightly, the space in between his eyebrows wrinkling at your accusation, “How the hell is this my fault? I didn’t tell the damn city to close the roads!” Renjun holds himself back from raising his voice, but the emptiness of the halls causes it to bounce off the walls.

“If I hadn’t seen you studying and being the overachiever you are, I would have gone home earlier,” you argue back. The second it slips from your lips, you realize how stupid you actually sound—but you don’t say anything. Without saying another word, you push past Renjun intending to return your spot in the library.

Renjun, however, isn't one to let things slide. He follows you back into the library, his frustration evident in the tight set of his jaw. "So, it's my fault you chose to stay? That you didn’t see the notifications?”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, not slowing your pace. "I chose to stay because of you! Trying too hard being a model student."

Despite it being pretty clear that the argument was childish and that it was going nowhere, you and Renjun were far too stubborn to back down.

Renjun scoffs, catching up to you. "Trying too hard!? I study because I take my education seriously. Maybe if you put in half the effort I do, you wouldn't be lagging behind."

"Oh, spare me, Renjun.” Your blood boils at his condescending tone, whirling around to face him and eyes ablaze with frustration. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

This is where you can see Renjun physically falter. The stress in his brows goes slack and there’s a shift in his expression, “Insufferable? Y/N I—”

"Whatever, Renjun. I really don’t want to speak to you right now.” You roll your eyes and turn your back on him, “Now, If you’ll excuse me, I have a fucking final to study for.”

Ignoring his attempts to keep the conversation alive, you make your way back to your table, your anger simmering in your chest. Renjun watches you go, a mixture of annoyance and something else in his eyes.

The library becomes a battleground of silent tension, each of you (mostly you) seething in your own space.

You set your table back up the way it previously was. Then, you quickly send your friends and family texts explaining what had happened and why you weren’t home by now.

You attempt to start where you left off, the words Boundary Layers practically taunting you at this point. The phrase is pissing you off and you’ve read it enough times for you to be able to recite the sentence from the textbook perfectly.

Wave interference, you read, eyes blinking at the screen—something about paths intersecting and creating new patterns of unity… discord…

You let your eyes do the rest of the scanning, not exactly absorbing any of the material before you move on. At this point, you feel like not studying entirely. Besides, you weren’t exactly in the right state of mind to be absorbing material.

The clock at the front of the library reads 8:28 and you feel like taking a nap is the best idea right now. It’ll help you cool off, pull you back in the right headspace and perhaps help you with the all-nighter you’ll probably pull tonight.

Twisting your body, you pull your jacket off of your chair, folding it to create a makeshift pillow. Sliding your things aside, you place the pillow in front of you and shimmy your butt back against the chair before leaning forward to rest your head against it. In all honesty, it wasn’t the most comfortable place to rest your head, but it will have to do for now.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The shuffling of feet and the clattering of objects woke you from your nap.

You don’t move, nor do you open your eyes, all you do is listen to try and figure out what the hell is going on. Through the fabric of your jacket, you can hear that Renjun is moving things around on your table and you can’t help but feel your anger shoot up.

You keep your cool on the outside, pretending to stir in your sleep before you peek through half-opened eyelids.

You’d honestly find this part funny if you were watching a drama. But the thing was, you weren’t watching a drama. And it was anything but funny.

Slowly, you raise your head to get a better look at what Renjun was up to, fully expecting him to be messing with your belongings. You guess you were doing your job correctly because Renjun seems to not have noticed you looking at him.

The scene (you embarrassingly admit) warms a piece of your heart just by a little bit—and you hate that it does.

Renjun’s trying to keep your papers organized, stacking them horizontally and then vertically to keep them grouped in the stacks you already had them in. He had even moved your laptop to a safer spot, off to the side.

The reason why he was doing all this was sitting just across the table from you and to Renjun’s left.

Two cups of instant ramen.

“What are you doing?'' Your voice comes out more hoarse than you’d like, but it was probably because you’ve been napping for what felt like an hour or two.

Renjun freezes, lips parting slightly and eyes growing two times its size when he realizes that you’re awake. Sure, he would have had to wake you up sooner or later, but you waking up on your own wasn’t part of his plan. He should’ve done all this a bit quieter.

“I…” He starts. Renjun gulps and pulls back, wringing his hands through sweater paws.

You wait for him to give you a coherent reply, looking at him in hopes of forcing one out of him.

Renjun’s at a loss for words, afraid that you wouldn’t quite get him if he explained his reasoning. He leans over and wraps his hand around one of the noodle cups, gently sliding it toward you.

You blink at the steaming cup in front of you, caught between annoyance and a peculiar sense of gratitude. "Are you trying to make this situation bearable or something?"

“Well it wouldn’t be fair competition if only I was able to eat, would it?” Renjun shrugs. From his hoodie pocket, Renjun pulls out a plastic fork wrapped in tissue, one he had probably taken from the cafeteria, and places it next to your cup of noodles, “Eat.”

You blink at the noodles and eye the boy suspiciously, “You didn’t do anything to it, did you?” You mistrustfully pull the fork toward you, unwrapping it before you dip it into the soup.

“Of course not… I’m not evil.” A scoff shoots out through Renjun’s nose.

Renjun pulls out a chair from your table, taking a seat before pulling his own cup of noodles toward him.

Your eyes linger on Renjun for a moment longer, contemplating whether or not you should believe him. Eventually, hunger wins over skepticism, and you take a cautious bite of the noodles. They taste surprisingly good, given the circumstances.

For a while, there's a strange quiet as both of you focus on your meal. The only sounds are the occasional slurps and the storm outside rattling the windows. It's a bizarre scene, you and Renjun sharing instant ramen in the middle of the night, trapped at school. Who would have thought?

As you dig into your food, you start feeling a shift in your mood. The annoyance from being woken up slowly turns into a grudging acknowledgement that Renjun tried to make things a bit less crappy. It's kind of funny when you think about it. You two had a small argument earlier, and now here you are, quietly sharing a meal. It's like an unspoken agreement, maybe a truce, even if neither of you is ready to admit it out loud.

Meanwhile, Renjun seems engrossed in his noodles, occasionally glancing in your direction as if gauging your reaction to the impromptu meal. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s not choosing to do so despite the tension that is usually present in your interactions being strangely minimal.

Finally, you break the silence. "Where did you get the noodles?"

He looks at you, brows raising at your willingness to start a conversation. "It’s not my first time staying past dinner. I have a stash in my locker."

“Not surprised,” you mumble. You pick the cup up and bring the rim up to your lips. Tipping your head back, you take sips of the soup, feeling the warmth of the fluids fall into your stomach like a hug.

“Oh, shut up,” Renjun groans, “Or else I’ll take the noodles back.”

“Lucky for me,” you look at him and laugh, “I’m finished.” When you plop the fork back into the cup, it makes that noise you hear when you scratch the cardboard.

Renjun hums. "Well then, I guess you owe me one. After all, you're enjoying the hospitality of my secret noodle stash."

You roll your eyes, trying to maintain a facade of annoyance, but there's a glint of amusement in your eyes. Of course, Renjun would take this opportunity to gain something for himself. It was such a Renjun move. It’s always been like this. "I could've survived just fine without your instant noodles."

He chuckles, taking the last slurp of his own noodles before he deems himself finished, too. "And yet, you still ate it all up like a starved puppy.”

There’s a beat of silence before you lean forward, resting your head on your propped arm, “I guess I should say thank you, huh?”

Renjun grins and you only notice it because it’s more evident in his eyes than it was on his lips. He was seemingly pleased with your acknowledgment, but he quickly covered it up with a nonchalant shrug, "Don't mention it.” His voice comes out soft, mirroring the setting, “If you passed out from hunger under my watch, wouldn’t want that tainting my ‘model student’ image.”

You give him a side-eye, feeling the sudden need to tease him, “Don’t lie, Huang Renjun, you secretly care about me.” The statement was mostly a joke, so you think nothing of it. You stack your empty cup onto Renjun’s and stand up to throw it out. You don’t notice the way Renjun freezes in his seat for half a second.

“And what if I did?” Renjun shrugs. He gulps and feels the sudden need to flee the situation—Why did he say that?

You turn to face him, surprised by his response. Renjun's casual demeanour, though slightly defensive, holds a hint of genuineness. It's a side of him you're not used to seeing, and it catches you off guard.

"What if you did what?" you ask, feigning ignorance to see if Renjun would elaborate. A part of you is afraid of what he’s going to say.

“What if I did care about you?” Renjun’s playing with the corner of one of your papers, creating a sound that fills the silence between the two of you, “I don’t hate you as a person, you know… I get that we always compete in grades and extracurriculars but… I don’t hate you as a person.”

The confession makes your heart skip a beat and you catch yourself beginning to chew on your bottom lip, something you do when you’re nervous. The unexpected sincerity in his words causes you to halt your own, a momentary pause in your banter. You've grown used to the constant back-and-forth, the verbal sparring that characterizes your interactions with Renjun. This, however, feels different.

"You're messing with me, right?" you reply, half expecting him to smirk and dismiss the entire conversation as a joke.

“What do you think?” Renjun retorts.

You take a moment to think everything through. You have a good feeling Renjun’s not joking, that he really doesn’t hate you as a person, and you can’t help but think about the other possibilities of what this meant. Then you think about how you feel towards Renjun because you guess you at least owed him that.

“You don’t need to say anything now,” Renjun assures, “It’s… confusing. Even I'm still figuring things out… I just know that I don’t hate you.”

"You're not as insufferable as I claim you are,” you begin cautiously, “But it pisses me off that you both distract and motivate me when it comes to school.” And this was true. Today was a good example of that, though you weren’t entirely sure where these stem from.

Renjun raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile. "I'll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes. "Don't get too ahead of yourself, Renjun. I’m just saying—” “—Saying that you like me more than you think you do?” Renjun interrupts, “I know, I know.”

Your eyes narrow at Renjun, “You wish.”

A moment of understanding passes between you, and for the first time, the competitiveness in your dynamic softens. It's not yet a friendship, but it's a recognition that there's more to each other than the constant rivalry.

Renjun laughs, which transitions into a yawn. He acknowledges your comment with a hum, “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up in a bit so I can study?”

You playfully roll your eyes, a small smile lingering on your lips.

“Well it wouldn’t be fair competition if I didn’t, would it?”

tags: @tytrackfebreze @lovesuhng @hoonieji @niinjo @dinonuguaegi

an: the next few parts of the series might be posted a day late (until Felix,, but we'll see!). Next up is Jisung which I feel like will be ADORABLE. ty for taking the time to read! I would love to hear your thoughts even if its something short! hope you enjoyed it!

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fallenangelicss · 5 months ago

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Voices In The Air

PAIRING | Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood)

WORD COUNT | 1158

SUMMARY | After being picked up off the streets, thrown in a sack and tossed through a portal, Jack is a little worse for wear as he emerges in Santa's workshop. The soothing voice of an unknown spirit seems to catch his attention and make the situation a little bit better. Well, until his guard dragon attacks.

RATING | General Audiences

WARNING/TAG(S) | No Archive Warnings Apply

A/N | Soooo this is my first HTTYD and Rise of the Guardians fic so I hope you all like it. I'm planning on doing maybe two different series with this pairing, maybe a third one if I'm really feeling into it so lots to come from me I hope. I'll also probs write more one-shots like this in the future as I used to love this ship so much. Also, if you'd like to support me then you should consider downloading the Kinder World app with this link. My referral code is WV9K4X but if you need a new referral code then feel free to reach out!

EVENTS | @aug-kissed | Hand Kiss

“Can we hurry this up please?” Jack heard a voice murmur from the other side of the sack he had just been shoved in and thrown through who knows what. He did however know that whatever he crossed through had made him feel sick to the stomach. A note to self, if Bunny’s ever around, check your surroundings. Finding the opening of the bag once the nauseating feeling in his stomach settled down a bit, Jack began to claw his way out, hearing the same voice as before said as he did so, “Toothless and I need to get back to the Hidden World before-”

“You and your dragon will be able to leave soon. But for now, quiet,” A much deeper voice spoke up, cutting off the other midsentence which Jack thought was a real shame since he found the voice rather soothing. He wouldn’t mind if the deeper voice with a Russian accent was the one to quiet down and the voice from before started speaking, making this whole scenario a bit more bearable. Maybe he had a face to match the voice, Jack thought, some haste being pumped into getting out of the bad. “Hey, there he is. Jack Frost!”

“Wow… you’ve got to be kidding me,” Crawling out from the bag, Jack came face to face with Santa Claus, Sandy and some hummingbird creature. This is not what he had been hoping to come across after being kidnapped off the streets by the Easter Bunny. Come to think of it, where was that little rodent? Jack didn’t have much time to ponder as he was yanked from the ground by two Yeti’s and flung into the air. With a strangled breath, Jack quickly called, “Hey, hey, put me down.”

“I hope the Yeti’s treated you well,” Santa said with a large grin, partly covered by his white mustchase and beard. By simply placing his hands on his hips, Santa looked like a force to be reconned with and if Jack was anyone else, he might’ve just started shaking in his non-existent boots. But he was Jack Frost. The embodiment of snow, fun, and everything good in the world. Some ancient and overgrown Guardian wouldn’t change the fact that he had a reputation to uphold.

“Oh, yeah,” Jack began, picking up his stick and swinging it over his shoulder. Stepping forward, he physically relaxed his body as he began to look around Santa’s workshop, taking in every single detail from the inside, many of which he had missed when spying from out outside. The forced smile that had stretched across Jack’s face quickly dropped when his eyes landed back on Santa, “I love being shoved in a sack and tossed through a magic portal.”

“Oh, good. That was my idea,” Morphing his face into even more of a deadpan at Santa’s words, Jack couldn’t believe what was leaving the man's mouth. Was he dumb or did he intentionally ignore the sarcasm that was radiating off of him? Turning to the people next to him, Santa began to introduce them one by one, something Jack didn’t need nor ask for. “You know Bunny, obviously. And the Toothfairy. And Sandman. Sandy? Sandy…? Wake up! And of course, you know-”

“I doubt he knows me, Santa,” There it was again, that voice. Jack’s head whipped around to where it had come from to find a boy just like himself perched on one of the many ledges that Santa’s workshop had to offer. His gear all seemed to be made out of leather or old metals that didn’t seem like anything from this century. That wasn’t the only thing Jack noticed about him either. Wrapped around his being was a large beast with black scales and piercing green eyes. “He might know what I represent though.”

“I definitely know something,” Jack said before his mind could catch up with what he was saying. A gust of wind burst into the room, smacking the windows open as it lifted Jack, allowing him to guide up to where the man sat. There was a small voice in the back of Jack’s mind telling him to be careful with that dragon present but like with most things, it went ignored in favour of something better. “Hey, I’m Jack. Jack Frost. And you must be?”

“What is he doing?” Bunny questioned, not even trying to keep his voice a whisper as he almost laughed at Jack’s attempts to talk to the unnamed man. He didn’t understand what was so funny, not when it was clearly a dig at him as he tried to talk to the unknown man.

Looking past Jack, the man called out to Santa before getting up and getting ready to walk past, “See? No idea who I am.”

“Like I said,” Jack quickly got in front of the man, stopping him in his tracks. The dragon that Jack had been ignoring up until now let out a low growl, a warning that more was to come if Jack didn’t watch himself. One of the man’s brows raised at Jack’s hindrance, waving a hand back at the dragon to calm him down. “I know some things. Like how you’re one of the handsomest spirits I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Do you even know who you’re talking to mate?” Bunny called out, making Jack groan a little as he turned back to face the overgrown kangaroo. Shrugging a shoulder at him, Bunny took that as the go-ahead to keep talking. “That’s Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, former Chief of Berk and the Spirit of Dragons.”

“He’s hot,” Jack says not too sure of himself now that everyone was staring at him as if he had made a mistake. When he turned to look back at Hiccup, he saw a light blush spread across the man's cheeks, his eyes adverted so as to not look Jack directly in the face. Just the sight of the flustered man put a bit more confidence in Jack as he reached a hand forward, taking ahold of Hiccup’s and lifting it. He continued to ignore the growing growl from the dragon behind Hiccup as he brought his hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss there. “Like I said, I’m Jack. It’s nice to meet you Chief of Berk, Spirt of Dragons.”

Jack didn’t even get to see Hiccup react as he was being pounced on, a mass of black obstructing his vision as he was shoved to the floor with a massive weight on top of him. The air was immediately knocked out of him as he lay there for a second, staring up to meet some blasting green eyes staring down at him with fury. Almost as if he was charging up, Jack could see something purple glowing from his throat. “Toothless, no!”

“Definitely not Toothless,” Jack screeched as he was picked up by some wind and swept away.

“Now you’ve done it, mate.”

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theyanderespecialist · 2 years ago

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Happy Easter (Updated Base Headcanons) Bunnymund X Reader

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! Welcome Back to another chapter, this one is an easter celebration, and that is what we will do! This chapter is Bunnymund for Eastaer, Enjoy!]

-Base Yandere Headcanons With Bunnymund from The Rise Of The Guardians-

.Bunnymund is a bit of a snarky dry warrior.

.Australian and one of the last of his kind.

.He is typically cool, calm, and dry.

.He loves a good rough and tumble and is a protector of nature.

.Being the Guardian of Hope and such he takes his job very seriously.

.He meets you through Jack Frost, who you could also see still.

.And Shite, did he fall for you right away. You were so full of life and excitement.

.See you in his realm made something in him feel way too right.

.He needed you.

.He would be a bit awkward around you, but also at the same time confident.

.It is an odd mix.

.He also has his basic instincts and would show how good of a partner and mate he could be for you.

.So he would Defeintly court you.

.Giving your little trinkets and jewelry, always in his eggs for you.

.Also trying to keep you away from other guardians and such.

.He is sweet on you and always spends his free time with you.

.He is also EXTREMELY the protective type. In which he will do what ever he can to protect you from others.

.You are his and his alone, and he hates how close you are to Jack Frost.

.Will be the type of yandere to fight for your honor.

.Also have a HUGE rivalry with Jack Frost for you.

.He would also kidnap you and try and keep you in his realm so no one can ever take you from him again.

.He would deal with rivals mainly by trying to outsmart them, if that does not work he will take you from them.

.Even if you do not want to be taken.

.He would confess to you after a long courtship, with gifts, "Dates", and more.

.If you say yes he is over the moon and will be making you a little cottage in his realm for you and him to spend the rest of your days in.

.(Obviously, he would get the man on the moon to make you a spirit as well)

.If you said no he was say he understands but not really. Only really kidnapping you to keep you safe and to court you more.

.He cannot let you get hurt and you will understand with time.

.On the slight NSFW...

.He would have the sex drive of a rabbit and so he will want to mate you constantly.

.Also would want breed you and such.

.So you can count on a lot of mating.

.Biting and Marking being a thing

.Scent marking.

.Connection kink where he can look into your eyes as he makes love to you.

. Aftercare and snuggling for sure.

.He so will call you his LITTLE Bunny!

.So be a good little bunny for your daddy bunny~ ;3

Now onto the Scenario which you can find on my youtube Channel!

#yandere #yandere bunnymund #yandere rotg #yandere rise of the guardians #yandere headcanons #headcanons #rise of the guardians #bunnymund rise of the guardians #rotg #rotg bunnymund #bunnymund #bunnymund x reader #reader

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lmelodie · 1 month ago

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Jack: Okay, how many of you have played an instrument before? Killian: Do instruments of torture count? Jack: No.. Lucy: Is mayonnaise an instrument? Jack: No Lucy, mayonnaise is not an instrument Lucy: *Raises hand again* Jack: Horseradish is not an instrument either

#nonart #text post #incorrect quote #the santa clause #the santa clause 3 #jack frost #lucy miller #oc #blackice #cc #no thoughts head empty #just this trio spinning around in Scenarios

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vintagerpg · 1 year ago

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I love a Christmas-themed scenario. Especially a horror one.

Jack Frost (2021) is a Delta Green scenario oddity, in that players don’t take the role of Delta Green agents. Instead, they’re operatives of Delta Green’s rivals, the ultra-secret US Government program MAJESTIC. They are sent to investigate an unnatural incursion in Alabama in December of 1998, where an entire town has frozen to death. Anyone with even passing Cthulhu Mythos experience is liable to recognize that this is the work of Ithaqua, the Wind-Walker, and a whole lot of frozen people with glowing eyes and an appetite for human flesh are about to become a big problem.

Solving that problem is tricky! For starters, there are some cross-purposes at play in the bureaucracy of MAJESTIC that complicate matters. Second, despite the secrecy, MAJESTIC can bring alien technology or just oodles of conventional weapons into the mix, should the players desire. I find that given the option, players always want ordinance, even if ordinance almost never helps. Its a particularly dodgy prospect here. Finally, the central supernatural location resides in an interestingly out of the way place, so even if they want to solve the case through subtle occult means, getting to the venue is going to be tricky. And even if they can, the solution is neither holly nor jolly.

#roleplaying game #tabletop rpg #dungeons & dragons #rpg #d&d #ttrpg #Delta Green #Arc Dream #Cthulhu #Lovecraft #Jack Frost

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a-sin-to-be-rin · 2 months ago

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Murdoc + Bazooka

Mac wakes up with a runny nose, a dry mouth, and someone’s boot in his side.

“Oh. So you are alive. I thought I’d killed you for sure.”

Despite everything, this is possibly the worst case scenario. The middle of nowhere. Injured. Alone- well, actually, he’s not alone. God, Mac wishes he was. After all, it’s much easier to survive when Murdoc isn’t pointing a gun in your face.

---

“Damn. You’d think it'd be easier to find a pharmacy around here. Where are we? Do they have pharmacies?”

Mac lifts his head from the cool glass of the car window. “We're in Vermont,” he mutters, kneading his forehead with his knuckles. “Of course they have pharmacies.”

“Yeah, tell that to Google Maps,” Jack gripes, tossing his phone Mac’s way.

“You don't have reception. Google Maps thinks we've fallen off the face of the Earth.”

Jack groans. “We’ve been driving through the woods for ages. This is like, the perfect place for a serial killer to hide out.”

“We’re still pretty far out from the nearest city,” Mac says regretfully. “Just keep going.”

“Only you would get a cold after the mission is done. Why can't you be a normal person and get it before the mission? Then you can't go on the mission, which means I can't go on the mission. I would kill for a break, Mac.”

But Mac doesn't have the energy to argue. He waves Jack off, slumping against the window again.

“You better be grateful.” True to form, Jack continues the argument alone. “Nobody else on this team would drive your sick ass through serial killer woods to get you cough drops. I want you to remember this when you're picking out my birthday present-”

BAM!

There's fire. The Jeep rolls. Glass shatters everywhere, metal bending and screeching.

And then, there's nothing at all.

---

The world is hazy when Mac opens his eyes. Frost coats the frozen earth and tinges the underbrush. Cold, dry air fills his lungs and a wheeze escapes them.

“Oh. So you are alive.”

“What-?”

Dirt, too dry to be mud, but only barely, presses into the side of his face and brushes his ear. He tries to lift his head, but the effort it takes only makes his face plant that much harder when his head drops again.

“It’s okay,” the voice says. “It’s just me.”

Mac can’t place the voice. It’s familiar. Chillingly familiar. It makes Mac’s stomach clench. But he can’t recall why.

“I’ll be honest,” the voice continues. “At first, I really thought I killed you. I mean, you weren’t moving, and head wounds just bleed so damn much. You know how it is.” Footsteps circle around Mac, light and even.

Even surface distribution, Mac notes. Large surface area. Men’s size 10, maybe 11. Wide foot. And the dissonance from the toe means it’s a stiff shoe. Either new or rarely used.

And then a pair of black dress shoes, far too shiny for a dirt trail in the middle of the woods, steps into view. Mac rolls onto his back, shoulders and leg and head aching from the movement, and finds himself staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle.

“Stay right there, MacGyver,” the voice coos, and Mac doesn’t need to look past the gun to know who’s holding it.

“Murdoc.”

“Oh, good. I didn’t shake your brain up too bad then. That bazooka can be a real doozy on the noggin.”

Bazooka?

“What did you-? Why are you-?”

“Ah, ah.” Murdoc tuts reproachfully. He squats down, slinging the rifle onto his pack and aiming a pistol at Mac’s forehead. “I know your mind is inquisitive to its own detriment, but you’ll need to have a bit of patience today.”

Mac groans, wincing against a killer headache. He can’t be sure if it’s from the car crash or his cold. Or maybe it’s both.

“You're a tough man to track down, MacGyver,” Murdoc says, standing again and planting his boot on Mac’s chest, gun still at the ready. “Fortunately for me, I have this nifty little program. Lets me know any time the Phoenix assigns a case to one Angus MacGyver. And since you were in the remote edges of Vermont and I was in the remote edges of Vermont, I figured I’d stop by. Say hello.”

For a moment, Mac drowns out Murdoc, trying to assess his situation.

In the middle of the woods. Trees. Maple, birch, spruce, pine. Northeast US, maybe still Vermont, though all bets are off with Murdoc.

On his back. Hands bound. Rope and duct tape. Feet are free.

Injuries. Head wound, concussion probable. Arms are okay. Pain and swelling in his left leg. Suspected femur fracture. Right leg is normal. And something about the abdomen. Something’s wrong…

Wait. Where’s-

Mac coughs, trying and failing to push Murdoc’s foot off. “Where's Jack?”

“Hm… Jack? I don't know if we've met.”

“You-” Mac coughs again, this time succeeding to push Murdoc away. He sits up slowly, head pounding. “You blew him up.”

“Ugh, Mac, you know you need to be more specific. I’ve blown up so many people that they've started to blend together.”

“He was in the car with me,” Mac growls. “Where is he?”

“I imagine he's still in the car.” Murdoc studies his nails, gun still trained on Mac.

Mac swallows hard. Jack must have survived. There's no alternative.

“Oh, don’t look so sad, MacGyver! Come on! I’ve got some fun things planned today, so why don’t you-” He jerks his head to the side. “Up, on your feet! There’s a good soldier.”

But Mac doesn’t stay on his feet for long, falling with his first step.

“I will admit,” Murdoc sighs, squatting down beside Mac again. “I wasn’t sure the bazooka was the best idea. Too many variables. But I also couldn’t not take the risk. I mean, I’ve been trying to kill you for years. When would I get a better opportunity?”

Mac groans. Pushes himself up on his hands.

“It does increase the risk of leg injuries, which makes moving you around a real pain in the ass. But there are ways.”

Well, if Mac’s heart wasn’t racing before, it definitely is now.

“This will be easier if you don’t fight me. Trust me; this is a mercy.”

And then the pistol cracks against Mac’s head, and everything goes dark.

---

“Så flådde han kråka og lema ho sund, hei fara og lema ho sund- oh.”

Mac frowns against a stabbing headache and a leg burning in agony. He’s not as cold as before, and the ground is drier. Wood.

“Forgive me,” Murdoc says airily. “I was workshopping lullabies. Still new to this parenting thing.” He sighs. “My mother used to sing me to sleep with that one: kråkevisa. It’s about a man who thinks a crow is out to kill him, so he kills the crow first. Then he makes shoes out of its skin and hangs the crow’s neck in the church. I suppose it’s her own fault that I tried to emulate the man. And there were no crows near my home, so I made do. Mother did make a lovely pair of shoes.”

This is far too much information. Mac can’t even process it. All he can do is look around, searching for threats.

“Where are we?” he murmurs.

“This is where I come to get away from it all,” Murdoc explains. “Cozy place, isn’t it?”

Mac sits up slowly, hands (still tied together, regretfully) immediately going to the dark red drenching his shirt. “Wh-?” He lifts the hem, finding a metal shard sticking out of his side. The wound was clotted, but sitting up tears it open again, bright red flowing over deep maroon.

Murdoc hums. “Car accident, I suspect. Not important, really. Just don't pull it out.” He shrugs. “Really, MacGyver, we have bigger fish to fry here.”

“Like what?” Mac grits out, holding pressure against the wound.

“You really have no sense of drama. But that’s okay. I like that about you.” He paces to a table. Mac can’t see what he’s doing. “So I’ll throw you a bone, just this once.

“You, my friend, have been an insufferable presence in my life since the day I was hired to kill you. I planned everything perfectly. I was stronger than you, more prepared than you, faster than you.” He picks up a tray and returns to Mac’s side, kneeling to look at Mac properly. “But you still managed to-” He sets the tray down with a sharp clatter. “-slip through my fingers.” His voice remains even, rhythm never faltering. “You were the one who got away. And ever since, I’ve been chasing you like a dog, trying to rectify that.”

Murdoc hums. Puts on a pair of white rubber gloves. “I think enough is enough, don’t you?”

Mac can’t stand up. Not with his leg swollen and (most likely) broken to hell. There’s no getting out of here. He sees two options:

He stalls long enough for someone to find him. But this requires someone to realize he’s missing. Even if Jack survived (and he must have survived, because Mac can’t live in a world without him), he’s probably just as lost as Mac is. Their best bet is that Riley or Bozer notice they’re missing. That will take a minimum of three hours, maybe four.

Or,

2. He incapacitates Murdoc and uses the items at his disposal to contact help.

It’s not a difficult choice.

“Remember, back in LA? When we had that little chat over nightshade and handcuffs?” He smiles, and it’s scarier than when he’s angry. “That was a good day.” And then his voice hardens to steel. “But you cut it short. I never got to pry Cassian’s location out of you.” He sighs. “I don't need his location anymore - obviously - but wouldn't it be a treat to have you give it up anyway? A nice dose of humiliation before I kill you.”

Mac glares up. He's not sure how effective it is when he's on the ground and bleeding. “So what? If I don't talk, I get to live?”

“Of course not,” Murdoc scoffs, screwing a needle to a syringe and stabbing a vial with it. “Living was never on the table. You either talk and die or get tortured for nothing and die. Your call.”

Mac shifts backwards. He can't help it. With Murdoc leering over him, needle glinting and malice-driven eyes gleaming, Mac’s every cell is screaming at him to get away. But in his state, moving just jars his leg, pain choking the breath from his lungs.

Murdoc is less than enthused. “You should leave the torturing to the expert.” And then he stabs Mac in the arm with the needle and depresses the plunger.

At first, Mac feels nothing at all. Just that absent but nagging concern about the mystery drug in his body. And then, things start to sink. The pain doesn’t go away - if anything, it’s worse - but his awareness is fluttery. Sounds are muffled at first and then ring for eons in his ears. The world is filtered with a blurry blue haze. Murdoc’s face comes in and out of focus.

“The belladonna clearly wasn’t enough last time. So I made my own… adjustments. But I’m sure you figured that out by now.”

Yeah. Mac definitely does not remember the sewers being like this.

“So I’ll ask nicely. Once. Where were you hiding my son?”

Mac coughs. Maybe it’s his cold. Maybe he’s about to vomit. He can’t decide. “I didn’t… I never knew… I didn’t even know he-”

Murdoc’s ring cuts Mac’s face as he backhands him. “Liar! You knew, and you kept it from me! You took a son away from his father, all under the guise of ‘protecting’ him.”

“No one… ever told me,” Mac swears.

And Murdoc nods once, expression stony. “You made me do this.”

Shiny. Cool steel. Brand new. Long and sharp and strong. Clamping. Pulling. Pressure. And then-

Mac can’t help it. He screams.

“Oh, come now, MacGyver,” Murdoc chides. “What’s one fingernail between friends? A ring fingernail, no less. Hardly important. Though the index nail is looking awfully tempting.”

“I…” His voice shakes so badly, he can barely speak. “I told you all I… all I know.”

“I doubt that.”

And then the middle and index nails are gone.

“Okay, so fingernails aren’t your kryptonite,” Murdoc says, barely sparing the writhing figure on the floor a second glance. “That’s fine. We can move on.” He hums, scanning his tray of tools, and then sighs. “I’m not feeling it. Nothing’s speaking to me. I’m going to have to get creative.”

Mac thinks, for only a moment, that perhaps this will be his reprieve. Maybe he’ll have a few seconds to breathe. But then there’s a sharp, twisting, cutting agony, ripping his insides to shreds.

“Funny thing about the human body: it will do anything to stop the bleeding. Even if there’s a foreign object in the wound, the body will still try its damnedest to heal around the sucker. So before you know it, that thing is basically melded into the skin. And even the slightest movement-” and here he twists the metal shrapnel viciously “-will tear the skin open all over again. Hurts so good, huh?”

Mac is leaning more towards “hurts” than “good,” but Murdoc doesn’t really want Mac’s opinion. He just wants to hear himself talk.

“So what do you say? Want to tell me now? I already have him, so it’s not like you’re hurting anyone. Barring yourself, of course.”

Mac doesn’t have the air to defend himself. But Murdoc interprets this as defiance. And in his own act of defiance, he rips the shrapnel from Mac’s side.

“Ooo, that must’ve hurt.”

But Mac can’t hear him over his own screams.

Murdoc drops the metal, returning to his tray. “How’s that leg feeling?”

Oh god. Not his leg. The leg that’s still throbbing, even under the agony of his side. Mac has a plan - thinks he has a plan - but if he wants it to work, he needs to act now.

Murdoc grabs a hammer and turns it in his hands. Then he shakes his head and grabs a meat mallet instead.

Mac has his hands on the shrapnel now, cutting away at the ropes. Murdoc doesn’t notice, though it’s only a matter of time before he does.

“So, tongue feeling looser yet?” Murdoc hasn’t looked up yet. He hasn’t looked up yet. He hasn’t-

“What are you doing?” Murdoc hisses, reaching out to snatch the metal away. But Mac is in pain and drugged and still has his stupid head cold, and his survival instincts are far past active. With a sudden burst of adrenaline-powered strength, Mac rips the last of the ropes and tape away and swipes out with the shrapnel. He catches Murdoc in the hand, but this only seems to make him angry.

Murdoc holds his injured hand to his chest and pulls out his pistol.

Mac doesn’t waste another moment, kicking out with his good leg and hitting Murdoc’s head. As he jerks to the side, Murdoc hits his head against the corner of the table and falls still. Later, Mac will look back with horror at how ridiculously lucky he was, but in the moment, Mac is just desperate to escape.

As gently as he can manage, Mac drags himself across the floor, grabbing Murdoc’s gun and pocketing the cartridge. Best to keep Murdoc away from loaded weapons.

Then, Mac grabs the rope hanging from the table (excess from the rope used to tie him up, no doubt), and secures Murdoc’s wrists and ankles. It’s not foolproof, but it’s a temporary fix until Mac can find something stronger.

After a moment to brace himself, Mac slowly, painfully slides himself around the room, trying to get a lay of the land. There are a multitude of torture weapons on the tray, of course, though few look like promising supplies. (Mac does grab the meat tenderizer though. Just in case Murdoc gets loose.) There’s an alarm clock on the table, which Mac manages to knock to the floor. There’s probably more up there, but Mac can’t see much past the table’s edge. Mac himself has a few paperclips and a stick of chewing gum. (Something about that feels cliche, though he has no idea why.)

The best find, however, is a drawer in the kitchenette. The moment Mac opens it, despite it being above his line of view, he instantly knows what it is: a junk drawer. Lord bless the person who invented junk drawers. They’ve saved Mac’s life on more than one occasion.

Feeling around, Mac procures a few tubes of used lip balm, more bullets, a pair of scissors, and a small coil of wire.

And Mac has all the makings of a quick and dirty spark-gap transmitter.

With shaky hands (and three fewer fingernails than usual), Mac removes the battery from the alarm clock. Then he connects it with the wire, leaving the rest of the coil to act as an electromagnet. Then he adds a paperclip across from a nail in the floorboards, forming a spark gap. Now Mac just needs a second battery.

Mac searches the junk drawer and the lower cabinets, coming across a forgotten smoke detector. It’s perfect. Just one problem though:

Mac can’t get the smoke detector open. He tugs and pries at the battery door, injured fingers curled into his palm. He uses the wires and the tenderizer and everything he can find, but nothing will open it. He hangs his head before trying to pry it open with his fingers again. He’s so close. He can’t lose now. One more battery - just one thing to complete the circuit - and he’ll have his transmitter. He’ll be able to signal for help. He’ll get out of here alive.

There’s a crash. Mac jumps, sending shockwaves of pain up his leg and through his abdomen. There’s clattering around the room. Cursing and rustling. Yelling and breaking glass and gun safeties. And then, footsteps approach Mac. Someone is trying to talk to him.

“Get… get away…” he pants, refusing to look up. “Back off.”

“Whoa, hey,” the voice says, and it’s that awful Texan drawl that makes Mac’s spirit soar. “It’s just me, hoss. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“Jack,” Mac breathes, allowing Jack to help him sit up. “I thought you were…”

“Yeah. Well. I’m not.” He jerks his head to the side. “No thanks to Jerkwad von Bazookaface over there.”

Murdoc is still bleary-eyed, surrounded by at least four SWAT officers.

“How did you…?” Mac looks at the nail on the floor, then back at Jack. “I didn’t finish the radio.”

“I don’t need a radio to find you.” It’s almost sweet, in a weirdly them type of way. “You left blood all over the place. Followed it like breadcrumbs to the witch’s candy house.”

Mac blinks. “You and I remember that fairytale very differently.”

“No, you just lack imagination.”

Mac sighs, sagging against Jack’s steady hand. “I am too high for this.”

Jack pats him reassuringly. “Definitely, buddy. Now, let’s get you outta here. There’s a bag of cough drops with your name on it on the plane.”

Mac doesn’t reply right away. He’s overwhelmed by a strange sense of… safety. “Hey, uh, Jack?”

“Hey, uh, what?”

“Thanks.”

Jack just smiles. “S’what brothers are for.”

#whumptober2024 #no.19 #blood trail #abandoned cabin #macgyver 2016 #fic #blood #non con drugging #needles #broken bones #car accident #angus macgyver #murdoc #jack dalton #cross posted on ao3

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9haharharley1 · 1 month ago

Note

Will you accept a question and a prompt?

What are some things that help get your creative juices flowing? (Because the stuff you write is just phenomenal.)

And mayhaps a bit of Pitch being creepy with a sleepy Jack?

Of course! And thank you, that's so sweet!!

Things that get my creative juices flowing 🤔

It really depends, I think? Getting the ideas can be pretty easy sometimes. Its writing them that can be the problem. I get inspirations from movies - oh this character reminds me of Blorbo A, he would be fun to put in this situation, how would he react? Or sometimes just the basic premise or trope - ie Mermaid au, coffee shop au. I want to write these things but they're so vague that getting the details down in writing, or even just trying to hash out a plot can be a chore.

Sometimes it's music- this song screams Blorbo B, or maybe it fits the ship dynamic really well, ooh here's a situation! Let's throw it all in a blender and see what happens!

Other times it's art - obviously with me, I know, but I have that type of memory where I actually can't picture details in my head. It's why I don't focus on improving my own art, but seeing a situation actually already set up, for me, can act as a reference like an artist would a figure when sketching a pose or something. I see the image or situation, and suddenly it's much easier to figure out how they got into that situation. Who instigated it? What are they feeling? What happens after?

And sometimes it's as easy and simple as finding the right prompt! I see the prompt (ie. Character A is wearing this and B reacts to it) and it's just the right combination of words to instantly trigger a scenario in my brain! Especially if it's one that's been incubating in my head for a long time already.

---

(A Stay entry mayhap? A prologue of some kind?!)

Jack had long made a habit of sleeping in trees. And Pitch had long made the habit of watching him.

He had taken notice roughly fifty years after Jack Frost's resurrection that the weather patterns during winter had started to change, becoming more erratic and volatile as the years went on, as Jack became more and more isolated from the humans and the spirits around him. Pitch languished in his fear, amplifying the effects Jack's blizzards had on human settlements and driving them further indoors, away from the boy who tried so desperately to get them to notice him. It was cruel, but Pitch didn't exactly care, more concerned with building up his stores of power in preparation for his next big fight with the Guardians.

He followed after Jack most days during the cold seasons to chase after this easy fear.

As winter waned and Bunnymund began ushering in spring and life, Jack would begin to settle. And he generally, he settled in some remote and freezing location, taking some time to rest and recuperate his natural cold before moving on to the next hemisphere. This usually meant he'd stake out a tree, settling in on a branch with his arms curled around his staff and little regard for anything else. He'd drift off into a dreamless sleep, and Pitch would watch.

He never spoke to the boy. He never tried to even approach him, weary of drawing the young thing in and growing attached. Because he would. He knew himself well enough after countless eons with nothing but shadows to keep him company that he would latch onto Jack's bright smile and easy conversation. The boy would cling to him in return, desperate for companionship as he was, and when he realized what kind of monster Pitch was, he would attempt to leave.

And Pitch would not let him go.

He would keep Jack for himself, cage him and break him, tarnish that wonderful brightness Jack radiated like fresh snowfall. Winter had been Pitch's domain for millenia before Jack. And if he let Jack close, he would make it his all over again.

It was best to leave him alone for now. Some day, maybe.

But Pitch couldn't stay away, attracted to the gleam of light on fresh snow like a moth to a flame, his shadow growing larger the closer he got. The temptation was ever present in his mind; to reach out, to touch, to take. He wanted this lonely little spirit for himself.

Pitch shook his head, settling down to sit on the branch Jack rested on. The sprite was fast asleep, shoulders and neck propped against the trunk of the tree, his brown cape pillowing his head. His staff was clutched close in his arms, little flakes of frost sparking from the curved tip with every soft snore.

Even in sleep, Jack's power was almost too much to contain. What the Nightmare King could do to use that power for himself...

Legs swinging idly from the branch, he looked away from the sleeping spirit, out to the winter wonderland beyond. Thick pine tree grew tall and vast all around, a veritable sea of green and brown, blanket in snow. The ground was completely covered in fresh powder, unblemished save for the few brave animals venturing out into the cold. Icicles hung from branches and ferns, sparkling in the starlight without the moon's overwhelming presence drowning them out.

It was beautiful.

The world felt far away and empty here, muffled and silent save for Jack's quiet snores and Pitch's own steady breathing. It was peaceful, and he felt himself relax as he simply watched the world turn, enjoying the cold and recalling a time when cold was his every day. His lips pulled up in a soft smile. He glanced at Jack.

The boy hadn't moved, laying surprisingly still for someone with so much restless energy during the day. He looked so young in his sleep, so content, and Pitch wondered if he would ever be able to have such a peace for himself.

He shook his head. Best not to think about it.

Jack shifted, drawing Pitch's attention back to him. His toes twitched, one foot kicking a little, just enough to brush Pitch's thigh for how close he sat. A noise slipped from Jack's mouth with the contact, and he shifted again, edging down the tree in his unconscious state as though seeking out the source, desperate for contact. Pitch watched, unblinking.

When Jack's toes found his leg, he sighed, the smallest of smiles tugging his lips. A hand came up to push the offending appendage away, but as Pitch gazed at that happy little grin, pale cheeks flushed the lightest shade of purple, and he hesitated. He should push him away. He knew he should; he couldn't risk getting attached to even the idea of friendship, let the boy desperate for it.

But he was weak, as the shadows often liked to remind him, and instead of shoving Jack's foot away and starting the sprite awake to get a quick dose of fright, he placed his hand gently on freezing toes. He swallowed, shifting closer and lifting both feet into his lap, where he covered them with both hands. Another sigh of contentment left Jack's parted lips, the younger spirit settling quickly despite Pitch's heat sinking into his skin. He rubbed gently at calloused skin, massaging the bare feet in his lap, watching Jack's peaceful face the whole time, looking for any sign of discomfort or alertness.

None could be found.

He didn't move for a long time, simply touching and watching, thinking of all the could haves and what ifs, the snow muffling the whispers of shadows.

When the sun finally peeked its first rays of light over the horizon and Jack stirred from his rest, Pitch was gone, melted into the shadow of a nearby tree. He was treated to the sight of Jack sitting up, blinking groggy eyes and wiggling his toes, staring at his feet for a long time with the kind of look on his face Pitch could only describe as wonder. He may need to go terrorize North a little for the thought, but he settled for watching the content little smile that lit up Jack's face.

#does this count?#is this creepy?#he is very stalkery here #thank you for the ask!!#harley answers #asks #harley writes #my writing #blackice #rotg #pitch black #jack frost

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