#[Headcanons: Morozko]

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When the firsts winds of winter blew, the lake deity left her home, basket in hand. She wandered until frozen mountains loomed in the distance, until the signs of snowfall appeared in the sky. At the edge of a forest, the fallen leaves underfoot already laced with a thin layer of frost, stood a smooth slab of stone; as she would have it, a perfect shrine.

The flat surface was swept off and cleaned; the dragon knelt before the slab and pulled out two candles, then a small platter of orange slices. Three sticks of incense, lit with one of the candles, were placed into a small holder at the far end of the slab. Finally, the deity pulled out a small, intricately woven bracelet of red string, with crystals carefully tied so they dangled from the body of the ornament, and laid it before the orange slices.

After a moment of silence, she spoke: "Is it strange to you, I wonder, to receive an offering from another god?" The question was followed by a soft chuckle, and the goddess raised her arms slightly, palms turned towards the sky. "I welcome your season, my friend. I welcome your presence to these lands. I welcome the rest you bring to the earth.

"I welcome you."

If my Muse was a Deity, what Offerings Would you Leave at Their Shrine?

You are heard, o' lady of the water.

Claws of crimson pad over the forest floor, frost curling over leaves and trees alike like lace of glass. He is not in the form reflective of man, but of those that roam his lands, not one nor the other but a third thing.

The red tip of his tail seems to fade with the evening fog, perhaps creating it. It is time once again, for our paths to cross. Even in this form he towers, emerging from the endless sea of red and brown, his coat pure among them.

From just at the horizon, he dips his head in acknowledgement, nostrils inhaling the incense drifting on the wind. The chime of glass clattering on ice, of icicles colliding, resounds from the crystals hanging from his antlers.

You are heard.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

33, 23 and 24 for Vasya/Morozko- Thanks!

Hey, I bet you thought I forgot about this ask meme!  I did not!

23) How do they hug? Kiss? Tease? Flirt? Comfort?

I actually wrote, like, a whole plotless 4K ramble about this if you want the extended version, but the TL;DR of it all goes like this.

Morozko always loves to pick Vasya up–he loves the way it makes her laugh and cling to him.  When he does, Vasya likes to lean up and kiss his jaw, so that he looks down at her and she can steal a kiss from his lips.  Morozko never really masters flirting as a concept–he’s too direct, too serious–so his thing is gifts.  He brings Vasya jewelry and blankets, fine tack for Solovey and cloaks worth their weight in gold, and Vasya lets him because his satisfaction at seeing her in his gifts is so obvious.  Also, she can admit that the house at the bend of the lake was a little bare before Morozko began bringing things for her to add, so she’s willing to kill two birds with one stone.

24) Any doubts about the relationship?

Tons, but they generally don’t line up between them.  Morozko worries all summer, about Vasya’s safety as she expands her domain as witch of the woods, about her ties to Medved, about anything that occurs to him.  It’s blunted, when he’s away from her, but it’s still there.  Once she begins serving as an advisor to Dmitrii, Morozko worries about that too–whether she might be betrayed by the Grand prince, or if Dmitrii might try to push Vasya into a marriage suited to the sister of a prince’s brother.  He tries not to wonder if Vasya will be charmed by the riches of Moscow, the nearness of her sister and the presence of her people.  If she asked him to come to the city, Morozko would do it–he already does sometimes–but he doesn’t remotely know what he would do if she stayed for good.

Vasya worries that Morozko might grow bored with her, and she tries not to–winter is not known for loyalty, but death is honest and reliable, and Vasya thinks that if she were likely to cross a line so dire that Karachun would fall out of love with her, stealing a soul right out of his hands would have done it.  She worries about Medved, whether her deal with the Bear might someday grate so badly on Morozko that he can no longer tolerate it.  (Morozko worries about Medved too, that the jealousy that has always crawled in Medved’s heart might drive him again to take his brother’s most cherished treasure, deal or no.)

Fortunately, their worries about each other are generally received with blank bemusement, or, occasionally, outright laughter.  Morozko is older than Rus’, and Vasya is the most fascinating creature he has ever met–grow bored?  He can’t imagine it.  Vasya, leave her freedom for the heavy smoke and beautiful walls of Moscow?  She would kill someone.

It doesn’t make the doubts melt away, but it does make them lighter to carry.

34) What kind of presents do they get each other? Do they only do it on special occasions?

I sort of already covered this, but: Morozko can and will give Vasya anything he even idly thinks that she might enjoy at any time, for any reason, including “he saw it.”  She had to put her foot down about fine clothing and jewelry, or else he would have her dressed as a prince at all times, and a queen whenever he could manage it.  Vasya’s favorite gifts from him are the ones he had a hand in making, whether by hand or magically–a delicately engraved wooden comb cared with his own hands, the green stone necklace, a tiny statue of a horse made of unmelting ice, half covered in feathers and about to leap into the air.

Vasya’s gifts are different–there’s no point in riches and finery with Morozko, and even if there was, she doesn’t have a fraction of his wealth.  Vasya brings fresh flowers through Midnight for the house in the pines, she makes him crowns of snowdrops and weaves crocuses into his hair.  She travels with Morozko during the cold months, to see distant cities and other kingdoms and the sea.  She talks Dmitrii into a Midwinter feast the likes of which hasn’t been thrown in years, and she dances with Morozko in the light of Moscow’s bonfires, laughing as his wild king-self spins her through the snow and kisses her before all the city.

[overx]

💭 😊 😍 (Mor and Raz!)

Send 💭 for my muse’s first impression of yours.

[[The thing about fae, is that they are to be respected, but not trusted. At least, not if you don't know them (although sometimes even the ones you DO know are trouble). Mor is without question one of-- if not the most- frightful things in the woods.

Raziel just happens to be too curious for his own good-- and he's so used to the strange auras of magical creatures it... didn't occur to him he might want to run right away. Plus he wanted to finish his sketches.

Send 😊 for a friendly headcanon between our muses.

While it's tradition to trade with fae or give them gifts for safe passage, Raz... tended to bring Morozko more than what's required when they first met (and even before he knew Mor was actually a god). Forming friendships with fae is a complicated affair at the best of times, and a lot of what humans consider friendly gestures can be lost on nonhumans, or even considered rude. Gifts are really the surest way to make sure there's no upset on either side, just so long as you accept everything GIVEN to you as well.

Send 😍 for a shippy headcanon between our muses.

Considering the above, Raz is... often pretty surprised at just how much his partner actually understands human concepts of romance. Mor is VERY good at flustering Raziel, yes, but also has a decent concept of human traditions. This can be somewhat hard to dance with given fae culture is less well known among mortals, but Raz certainly doesn't mind learning.]]

[zevswarden]

Do you think Morozko ever cries?

I headcanon that he did after the battle in Moscow, as he was leaving for the summer and fall and Vasya told him that she loved him. 🥺 Just a tear or two, enough for him to realize how real his mortal emotions are for her.

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For Mor's shrine: Petals saved from last spring, sprinkled into the fresh snow. Winter takes so new life may bloom, and eventually be returned to it. A small bird carved from clear crystal, a stranger to frozen lands. And last, the inky black pelt of a creature with no name, a thing that steals its shape-- a mockery from deep within the forest.

If my Muse was a Deity, what Offerings Would you Leave at Their Shrine?

The shrine is old, it has been used for generations, left to wither and crack under its age. Whoever found it had been looking for the Winter himself to give offerings to. It has the distant breath of the Goddess of Stars, not her but...

He drifts around the Mortal, observes each gift bestowed. The first two are little things, of their brief time together, of the mortal's impression of him. The second makes his lips curl in amusement, fondness.

Only you would know how to skin such beasts. It is your duty, it is what was placed upon the shoulders of you and your kin.

His presence is hard to sense; it is not completely the time for his realm to envelop this plane yet; the snow is freshly fallen. Still...

Flakes of white softly drift into the Descendant's hair, onto his cheeks and cloak, solidifies his breath. It is a silent thanks.

May your hunts ever be fruitful.

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◀️◀️ Mor pls!

send “▶▶️” to get a glimpse at a scene from my muse’s future. send “◀️◀️” to get a glimpse at a memory from my muse’s past.

There were never any more brazen than those who believe they have the ace up their sleeve. The cowards and weavers of lies that built their towers on the backs of those that assisted them to their lofty positions, footprints snapping fingers holding them high as if it were a gift and not a curse.

Boots crunched on snow, unfamiliar to his lands, the customs of his proxies. The Frost's messengers certainly did not allow this individual to come here. He can sense his own power in their grasp, the energy overpowering their presence. This person very clearly underestimated what they had so obviously stolen.

Morozko's eyes are narrowed into slits, his frown dangerous and sharp. Even with the spell he knows they will use, can see the weavings of the world twisting for the intent, the God of Winter has a curse of his own on his tongue of ice, his storm twisting towards the glowing gem in the stranger's clutched hands. There is already frost on their gloved fingers, threatening the loss of touch.

"This will not end the way you believe it will, осужденный."

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hibiscus :   how does your muse view the gentler ,   daintier things in life ?as things worth preserving   &   caring for ,   or things only bound to wither   &   disappear ? [[Mor or Death perhaps?]]

𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

If the God of Winter is only to be perceived as harsh as Death himself, then there is no knowledge of their true natures.

Raziel would not have ever chanced as Winter's partner if Morozko didn't value his fragility in spite of the incredible magic he bore. To say he was colder before the human-turned-machine's introduction isn't incorrect, but equally overstated. In the process of cycles, there are the strong and the weak. Without the strong to hold them, the weak will wither and die. Without the weak, the strong would never have the gentle touch needed to further their own survival.

If anything, the God gave the everlasting trial to ensure both sides' cooperation. Like Death, he has the appreciation of spring, but it is the combined effort of his and Summer's hands that the season exists. Flowers and tiny creatures are usually too fragile for him to hold on his own.

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🌌 Mor or Kane bc i always want you to talk about them ❤️

𝐎𝐂 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒!

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

((HM. Okay so this is really funny, but Kara once said it was kinda, insane that I hadn’t made MZ a Winter Deity alt of any kind, and then I put waaay too much time into thinking about it, as all of my AUs go lol. 

It’s always MZ lmao except when it’s Ziel but normally it’s MZ--

In all honesty I really love elk and deer being seen along with fae creatures, so I kinda... had to do something like that, and... his eyes. They were definitely the one thing I really wanted to focus on when I was making them. He’s supposed to be kinda spooky and ethereal, after all. Those were... probably the first two things I wanted haha...))

((HM. ANOTHER MZ ALT YOU SAY? YEP NEVER GETS OLD.

Kane is... yeah the thought process behind him was a long and convoluted one, but I know that A God That Kills Other Gods and A God That All Things Fear were really far up there in the building of his backstory. Also thorns, since I wanted him to stand out from other MZ alts [who normally get ice affinities]. 

Working with a limited color palette for the world kinda helped shape him really quickly. He was meant to look inhuman instantly. 

Funny enough a later thing that ended up happening is this... wolf/spider theme he’s got going on. He’s a lone wolf type, but then he sets up his borders the way a spider sets up its web. Interesting combo.))

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👁️ EYE for Mor? Or Kane?

𝐎𝐂 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒!

👁️ EYE - what colour are their eyes? do people notice their eyes? is there anything special about them (shows emotion easily, literally magical...)?

((Morozko has... striking eyes. I will not hesitate to say that I specifically paid attention to his eyes more than any other part of his design (next to his antlers, perhaps?). 

The first thing you’d notice are probably the crimson facial markings around them. They’re abstract in shape, and said markings glow on his face no matter the lighting, but they don’t glow exactly. There’s a kind of reflective sheen in the same way a cat’s eye does. 

Then there are his iris and pupils. Mor’s iris shape is... unusual. It’s a red diamond, though because of his height, it’s hard to notice that the actual shape (he’s always looking down). They also... are bright, unusually bright, but just like his markings, they don’t give off a proper glow.

Morozko’s eyes are, despite the vibrant color, cold. It is difficult to see empathy, joy, excitement in them, even when he is experiencing those emotions.

They may be the first and last things you will see in the dark, frozen forest.))

((Ah, my other red and white boi-- 

Kane is a God, much like Morozko. And just like Mor, his eyes are a bright red, and hair a pale white. There are differences between the two of them-- Kane is a younger God for one. 

His eyes still have that sheen, reflective almost, but his pupils are white, irises a red brimming with the power he possesses. If he moves too quickly, a glow is left behind in the air, like they mark the space they left behind. When looking at him, it is clear that he can wield magic like the Gods of Old. 

Despite their ethereal appearance, the emotions they seldom express are familiar. Though they are usually bored, amusement and excitement are still recognizable despite his inhumanness as a deity...))

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😵😍 gimme that Mor n Raz CONTENT

Send 😵 for a random headcanon between our muses.

Raz... may be the only individual alive (or whatever he counts as) who does not experience the ominous feeling of dread that all things experience when they are within the same space as Mor. Some are capable of overcoming such anxiety, but many are not and are forced to flee.

But the Vega... no. Raz doesn’t feel that same fear. It’s because he... was always meant to be by the Winter’s side. His Soul-Bound partner.

Send 😍 for a shippy headcanon between our muses.

Mor... actually wishes that he was capable of letting Raz properly see spring. Sure, the android is more than capable of leaving the realm of ice to go find other seasons, but Raziel frequently chooses to stay with his partner. As that is the case...

He actually does his best to recreate flowers from his own memories for Raz. They’re always made of ice, cold, and never age, but he lives for the delight on his soul mate’s face whenever he manages to recreate one that’s never been seen before.

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⏳ Mor bc I love

For every ���⏳” I receive, my muse will openly talk about a bit of their backstory.

Sounds of crystals and chimes clinking against each other reverberate through the silent forest as he turns to face his Bounded, a gentle eyebrow raising for the question. “Hm... You are mistaken, душа моя. Contrary to the tales the Mortals tell of me, these gems do not house the souls of others.”

He leans towards the Vega, red clawed hands brushing the snow out of his raven colored bangs. Much like many times before, there are tiny weavings of intricate braids as he pulls away, a small past-time he enjoyed to do with his lover. There is a soft, pleasant hum in his voice.

“They are only of my memories. Favorite moments in time that I lock away. If you wish to see them, you are welcome to touch one.” Not that the deity wouldn’t simply tell his soul mate either. 

A slender finger points to one such crystal on the far tip on his left antler. “What is true of those folklore was that I... used to have a court of Mortals. They made communicating with the rest of their kind much easier, and...”

“...You could say they have greatly assisted me on more than one occasion. This particular memory is of that Prince and his Companion.”

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222

Send me a number 1-500 and my muse will anonymously talk about yours

“I wonder if you realize how much he agonizes over you.” How that energy seems to freeze over when the subject is brought up. “...His original attraction for you wasn’t unfounded, but you are apparently as blunt as I when it comes to clearing the air.”

“You had reasoning for losing something so vital to yourself for him, but while I can only assume you pushed it off as not much, it ultimately still means he meant something to you.”

“...However as much as I believe it would serve you both well to resolve your issues, it may... prove fatal to his contract if it was done now. That alone makes this very difficult.”

[words-writ-in-starlight]

26, 27 and 37 for Vasya/Morozko or Caleb/Molly

For this ask meme!  And I’m doing Vasya/Morozko because I love them and never get to talk about them.  There are spoilers here, y’all.

26. How do their friends feel about their relationship? Their families?

Medved…is Medved.  He hates Vasya for outsmarting him, and he adores her for freeing him, and he annoys her and dotes on her and tries to charm her because it bothers Morozko to see him do it.  Vasya learns to ignore him, even though Morozko never really does.

Vasya’s family is a little more of a going concern (I’m writing this fic).  Kolya takes it…poorly.  He’s been muscled around on the subject of chyerti, and the people of Lesnaya Zemlya put out porridge and milk for the domovoi and barley for the vazila again, but he is not on board with the winter-king, either as an extant being or as his sister’s lover.  He’s mortified when Vasya tells him, flat out, that she’ll never marry Morozko, and he’s outraged when Morozko admits under questioning that he would never think to ask it of her, and it pretty well goes downhill from there.  Eventually he comes to terms with it, but he and Morozko never…like each other, merely tolerate each other for Vasya’s sake.  Olga is never fully at ease with Morozko, but she comes around slowly, especially when Marya comes back to Moscow from visiting her aunt with a fine fur-lined hood and whispers to her mother, “You know, Lord Morozko is not so scary.  He gave me these.”  And she shows her mother a trio of birds, carved from pale birch wood and sanded beautifully smooth, all small enough to perch on Marya’s little fingers.  Marya saw the winter-king carve them himself, with knife and slow care, and that–that somehow does more to soothe Olga than anything else.

Alyosha is far easier to bring around–Alyosha killed an upyr with Vasya, he saw her driven out as a witch, and so when stories began to trickle through the trade routes of a girl with eyes like a hundred years in the forest and dark hair who turned Moscow on its ear and escaped her own pyre and helped win the day for Prince Dmitrii, he wasn’t surprised.  Seeing his sister show up with a stranger on the finest horse he’s ever seen, both of them dressed like royalty in velvet and furs, is…a shock.  Then she gets him alone and says “This is the winter-king, Morozko, who Dunya used to tell us tales of when we were small.  I love him.”  And that’s beyond a shock, but it’s also wholly typical.  If anyone was going to woo the winter, it would be his wild witch of a sister.  If she loves him, and she’s happy, that’s good enough for Alyosha, after everything.  It’s awkward at first–it’s awkward for a while, really–but Morozko and Alyosha are sort of like friends, eventually.

Irina adores Vasya as much as ever.  That, in combination with watching Morozko twist ice into an unmelting tiara that he sets on her hair, decides her in under half an hour.  She isn’t as comfortably fearless as Vasya, but she’s probably the next closest mortal in the world.

27. Do they have kids? Grow old together? Split up?

Vasya ages slowly after going to the lake–very slowly.  When she is a woman of a hundred, she looks like a young and vigorous thirty.  Varvara is still strong and hale when Marya’s children die of old age, and Vasya has been steeped in more magic than anyone in her family save her great great grandfather.  She does not worry overmuch about her eventual death, from old age or from violence, and instead she dances in the first snowfall of each year and is adviser to princes and tsars, and Morozko stays with her, unchanging as the bite of ice.

They never have children themselves–Vasya likes children perfectly well, but she never felt the need to bear one herself.  If she never has a child, the world will not end, and she has never yet allowed herself to be pressed into doing something she didn’t want with her whole heart.  Vasya asks Morozko, nervous, if he’s upset that she doesn’t plan to give him children, and he blinks at her blankly for a long moment.  The demon Frost as a father?  He never really considered it, and now that it’s been brought up, he still finds the thought too strange to be comfortable.  He disregards it almost immediately, and kisses her hand, and tells her that he wants for nothing.

Because, of course, there are children.  They are not Morozko’s, but they are Vasya’s.  She brings witch-children to the edge of the lake, to her cottage–Marya and one of Kolya’s girls and then others, girls that Varvara and Midnight and the chyerti show to her, who need help and guidance and care so that they might never be Anna Ivanovna.  They never stay long, although some come often, and they learn not to fear the chyerti, they learn to walk fearlessly beside the lake of the rusalka and give honor to the leshy in the trees, they learn to be bridges who feed domovoi and go to church on Sundays and fear neither god nor spirit nor mortal man.  And they come to know the winter-king, when they see him kiss their teacher and drape her in diamonds and furs, and they love him, fierce and fearful and forever, as maidens love monsters.

37. How much would they be willing to sacrifice for each other? Any lines they refuse to cross?

Vasya would not sacrifice Rus’ for Morozko, but that’s about it.  As for Morozko–his life, his power, his freedom, he’s spent it all for her before, and he’d do it again without batting an eye.

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1 for Mor <:

Not-So-Spicy-It’s-More-Like-Mild Sin-Day Asks

What is your muse’s sexuality?

((Uhhhh. First and foremost, Mor is... a God. 

Sexuality is not really something he cares about, or can be defined by. His taste in lovers has no limited range as long as their personalities mesh well with him.

Seeing as Raziel is his Bound Partner, though, there isn’t anything better.))

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😊😒 ((From Yingyue to Mor!))

Send 😊 for a friendly headcanon between our muses.

He doesn’t mind her visits to his realm, and in turn visiting hers. There... does seem to be an issue when he visits her, however, as his presence alone freezes water. 

Neither of them seem to mind it all that much, as with her affinity with water results in a gentle snowfall instead of anything more intense. That, and he enjoys watching her paint and write with the frost spirals that occur over freezing lakes and bodies of water.

Send 😒 for a headcanon about something your muse does that annoys mine.

As an Old God, Morozko does not find things that truly annoy him anymore. However, he finds similarities with how Lady Yingyue interacts with humans to his Summer opposite, Quetzal. Both tend to don disguises and mingle with the mortals they watch over, and he... has long grown concerned with the consequences of those actions. 

He would know.

The Mid-Year Solstice has learned more or less not to stay for long, but Yingyue... the Winter god thinks she is being... careless sometimes to interact so frequently.