Centuries of unanswered questions come ( mostly ) to an end. Jack Frost, solitary winter and rebellious hellion, steps into moonlight as the newest Guardian of Childhood, the bringer of joy and fun. The growing count of his believers has garnered Jack more attention than he’s used to, and his potential grows by the day with the magic of The Oath enhancing his wintry abilities. Though acclimating to a ménage of storytold figures after centuries of keeping to himself is a difficult endeavor, especially if one of them insists to inspect his teeth at every meeting. As wonderful as this new phase of his immortal life is, much remains unresolved for the winter spirit. The memories of his past life come in hazy spurts, and his new moniker weighs heavy when he doubts his capability as a protector. Being lonely had always been his bane, but he’s found there is nothing more daunting than being tangible in a world of ephemerals.

A name bequeathed to him through streaming moonlight: Jack Frost. There is little much he’s found after that. Born underneath the moon’s zenith one frigid winter night, Jack discovers two other aspects of himself. One, he’s capable of fantastical feats with winter and winds at his heeding. Two, that they are his only companions in a mortal world that cannot see, hear, and much less touch him. He shouts, he shoulders, he reaches for someone, anyone to tell him that he’s alive. And that was a long, long time ago. Perturbed by his lack of metaphysicality, winter becomes him and responds to his every reaction. Perhaps it is better this way if he only makesa mess wherever he goes. (Note: “Seeing” Jack at this point of his lifetime is possible but rather conditional! We can discuss any logistics but TLDR if your muse: (1) is biologically supernatural/magical/etc in any shape or form, or (2) has the sight for the supernatural, then they can perceive Jack!)

Winters linger in the quaint home of the Thorne family; the north’s boreal climate proving difficult to sustain a comfortable living when they are only a family of three. Luckily, Jarpr Thorne is a bright-eyed big brother who provides for his mother and keeps his little sister on her feet. (Though she’s learned much from his mischief with Marian falling victim to her schemes.) They do not have much, not after Jarpr’s father died on an excursion. But the young boy counts his blessings, nonetheless. So long as a fire burns in their home to shelter them from the cold, he’s content to live in the routineness of chores and labor. Though mundanity isn’t quite his style. Perhaps the snowy terrain can be his element. (Note: This is a human!Jack verse, though this timeline takes place around 900 BCE. Your muse would either have to be in the same timeline, or we can throw him into some timetravel shenanigans!)

On a dark and starlit night, beneath the 1st full moon cycle of Hrím in winter’s most frigid state, little Jackson Thorne is born. His family expects little of him with their long lineage of shepherd boys—until they notice the glacial blue of his eyes, then the growth of striking white hair a year later. Even stranger is his whispering to the winter air, as if sharing secrets with an old friend. Hearing about this pre-destined child, the Lunanoff family whisks little Jack away to their palace. From there, he’ll be nurtured as the revered Moontouched of the century. With the Moon in its purest and most potent form in his veins, Jack is capable of manipulating the headstrong winter of Hrím. Being the vessel of the Moon looks to be a legacy that will last generations even after Jack is gone—but really, all he wants is to have a friend that doesn’t look at him like a god touching tainted land. (Note: Based on @drakyns' HTTYD canon.)

It’s hard to tell if Jack Frost means to present himself as an old man with such a youthful personality. Between the snow white hair and his enthusiasm in history, it’s hard to tell that he’s got an aptitude for pulling off elaborate pranks. He’ll never give you a clear answer about his unpredictable behavior, but his little sister Mary will happily explain that her brother is just a big sap. He read fairy tales to her as a child and understood the impact of a well-told fable over Mary’s developing years, and carried this mindset all the way to college after graduating as a history major. Whether you’re a student of his tasked with a group reenactment for his Renaissance topic, or a friend of his who needs someone reliable, Jack will be there for anyone who needs him and make sure you smile along the way!

It was dark, and it was cold, and he was scared. He called for someone, anyone to see him, but found only a dark and silent night with a full and mocking moon. Then the shadows begin to morph, eclipsing the light—and from it, Pitch Black emerges in the midst of his frozen birthplace. Many know his nefarious reputation as the Nightmare King, a fallen general of the Golden Age who now corrupts the dreamers he once fought so hard to protect. But to Jack, newborn and naive, all he sees is a man as lonely—perhaps lonelier—than him. So when Pitch offers his solace in a solitude that only promises grief, Jack deems that a friend to be cautious around is better than company never to be had. Plucked away from the moonlight's touch, Pitch bestows the name of Jack Frost to the moon’s chosen winter spirit and takes the boy under his wing, as any sensible Guardian should. Based on the fanfiction Zastruga by SoleminiSanction.

Statement of a man no longer there. You must be wary of the long winter nights. The frostbite is the last thing you should fear, nor is the maw of the dark of any concern to you. The cold invites lonely streets and lonelier moonlight, only accompanied by the silent drizzle of snowflakes. Perhaps you will be more fortunate than I to find a man standing beneath the cold, hair paler than white and eyes endless as sky. Often he will greet you with a quirk of his lip, like an attempted courtesy to smile but your mouth can’t form its shape. He will offer his company, his kindness, a shoulder to lean on at your most vulnerable, and what better season welcomes reclusive hearts than winter? Only when the fog starts to creep in, all-embracing and all-consuming, is when he’ll hold your hand. Colder than ice, colder than the realization that you cannot escape the force of winter itself.