[Inupait]

╔══════════════════════════════════╗

Username: Inupait
Name: Fenrir
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight

╚══════════════════════════════════╝

The first break of sunlight hit the top of the hardened crust of mid winter snow, the trees hung uneasily under their frosty winter coat. Although the forest seemed empty and lifeless under the chilly grip of the cold season, it was never truly silent.
The soft thud of snow as it abandoned its roost on the trees, the chatter of distant birds and the soft crunch of snow under Fenrir’s pads. Frost clung to his whiskers where his breath had stagnated in the cold but he barely felt the chill through his thick ruff. His amber eyes slid over the still shadowy frozen wonderland. He was sure to find something today, today felt like a good one.

Fenrir was a third generation woodsman, his father and father’s father had lived off these woods just as he did now. He took what he could find and made his livelihood with it. But this season was his favourite. Every year around this time the cloven hoofed residence of the forests would shed their unneeded antlers as they prepared to endure the harshness of winter. This is what he was looking for. The white bone horns would make great items that would both be practical for his needs and decorative objects that he could trade for the things he could not find in the woods.

A bitter chill shifted like a heavy breath from the slumbering earth herself wisped across the snow and brushed his woolly coat. He shifted his gathering bag and pulled the warm woollen cloak tighter around him. He felt as though today was brimming with possibilities. So he set forth into the land that few knew much about. All around him he found life. A mouse scuttled into its snow sculpted tunnels as he walked by, a squirrel chattered and flapped its tail in frustration at his disturbing of her food gathering, and when he crossed a thinly frozen stream he caught sight of a pale coated deer and her last years fawn as they fled his presence into the security of the underbrush. It was all a good sign, if they could live in this harsh land so could he. With the true heart of a mountain man he trudged on into the nipping air.

Not far from where he had seen the deer the frozen world gave up its first treasure. Sharpened tines protruded the crust of the snow, reaching to the sky like a king’s abandoned crown. He scooped it up and examined it carefully. It was fresh, the sun had not yet bleached the brown colour, he could make a beautiful knife with the dark colouration and surely it would fetch a pretty penny in any trading post. Or he could craft from the coarse, strong material multiple buttons to repair a friend’s coat as a favour. He tucked his prize away safely into his gathering bag and brushed snow from his cloak. What other glorious things would he find out there.

As he carried on now a gentle flurry of snow began to fall. It filled his tracks quickly, but he wasn’t worried about loosing his way, he knew these woods like the back of his hand. He paused to glance breathlessly around him. The forest was so beautiful dressed in her winter wear. The fresh snow sparkled like a million diamonds had been scattered across the earth in the growing light. The sun had not yet grown strong enough to take the edge off the chill that still hung from the night but he found himself closing his eyes as though to bask in it. A lonely chickadee call brought his eyes back open and he spotted the black and grey bird salvaging some frost shrivelled rosehip berries. The dark scarlet berried where so vibrant against the grey scale world around them it was as though they were from another planet. He silently thanked the little bird for bringing them to his attention and nipped a few from the bristly stem to make a warm herbal tea for when he returned. Although the sweat skin of the berries had been dehydrated by winters freezing touch he knew their sweetness could be recovered with some boiling water. He tucked them into the bag. “I always found them sweeter after they had been kissed by frost” he told the little bird who still bobbed next to him.

He took his leave from the bird, making sure there were still a few berries left for the little creature. The snow had begun to brow deeper and he had to watch his step not to stumble on hidden branches and brambles under the blanket. As the sun grew higher in the sky he felt the presence of the elements brewing. The winds began to rage and thrash and the snow became crisp and struck his face. Before the snow became too disorientating he was able to find a few more antler sheds and packed them away. He was forced to retire, but he was not disappointed that Mother Nature had beaten him at his own game. So he returned, chased back to his isolated little cabin tucked away within the safety of the trees. He lit a fire and watched the storm outside rage with a smile on his face. Winter was both beautiful and brutal, it baffled and amazed him, it made him struggle and succeed, and there was nothing else like it.

^i really wanted to do my own art but i just didn't have a chance to get started, this amazing piece as made by Pennecs, thank you so much for all your last minute art

[Wafflez2]

Username: Wafflez2
Name: Kirko
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Straight
Favourite Season:
Spring.
She enjoys spring the most because its always blossoming life and seedlings. She likes seeing new baby animals in her backyard and takes pictures of them. She is a photographer and spends most of her time editing and takes photo's, when spring comes she usually gets those perfect "aww" pictures of animals. she enjoys also watching birds come back from warmer climates (she lives in Canada).

[kayynine]

res so hard omg

[Xhat]

mmmm possible res 'cause I've had lots of inspiration lately?? I still don't know. qvq

[opti-mism]

Reserved with the name Cassidy O'Keefe holy crap I'm in love qoq

[sillies]

Mark with res of name Yukon Freeze!

[feverrr]

( art by migraine, please click for full size! )

Crispus, means 'curly-haired' ♦ biologically male ♦ pansexual ♦ prefers he / him / himself ♦ is nine-teen years old ♦ taurus zodiac symbol

xxxxxxxxI massaged the heel of my hand over an indentation in the armrest of my white wicker chair, my hands wandering over to a white bowl, holding my homemade salted pecan-caramel ice cream. I stirred the tricolour sweet with a silvery spoon, scanning my reddish eyes over the bowl, relaxedly. Mostly none of the stores anywhere near me carried the flavour, so I had to make it myself. I melted vanilla ice cream, mixed warm caramel and salted pecans into it, and then froze it all again. I had to make it long beforehand, sure, but it gives me something to do when I'm bored. My porch had been freshly painted white, and it practically glowed amongst the dingy colours of the houses surrounding mine. The paneling exterior of my house was a ruddy brown, which I'd also painted myself. I liked the way it stood out among the old pale yellows of the other homes in my neighborhood. Everything about my house was my own, which some of my neighbors took as showboating, but I didn't care. Not one bit. I just sat on my bright white porch, eating my salted pecan-caramel ice cream, and smiling real wide at them. The most important people to smile at are the ones you don't like much.

xxxxxxxx♦ autumn days

xxxxxxxxUnable to keep my barely straight face from breaking, I let out a contented grin. The flea-bitten grey mare standing in front of me nudged my chest softly again, her chocolate coloured eyes warm and eager. I tried my very best to force my lips back into a uniformed stance, but I couldn't. I reached into the back pocket of my dark jeans, and tugged out the nub of a carrot, which immediately stole the spotted horse's attention. Her velvety nose tickled my fingertips as she delicately took the vegetable, and crunched it loudly with her molars. The setting was gorgeous. The dusky, leaden tone of an Autumn sunset was laid out above me, and all around the deciduous trees were shedding their copper hued leaves. I was behind my house, in the hidden sanctuary that I'd built a year before. An extraordinarily small stable, one stall and a teeny tack room. All it could hold was a saddle, a bridle, and some halters, and then all the food a horse could ever wish to have. A small, outdoor arena was about fifteen metres to the front of the barn, and provided just enough room for some short jumps inside the ring. I wasn't rich. In fact, I had just enough money to stay on my feet, and keep Asia, my mare.

xxxxxxxxThe money to create this comforting wonderland had been given to me by my grandmother; she'd always supported my love of anything equestrian, more than anyone else in my life. She'd ridden throughout her life, but had never had the money to possess her own horse, as much as she longed to. So when she knew her passing was near, she gave me a gift I could never repay her for. Enough of the money she made on the books she loved to write, for me to afford my own horse. I was snapped back to the present as Asia nibbled the tips of my fingers, which were now hanging limp at my side. I reached up and gently rubbed her forehead, before placing one of her many colourful halters around her head and ears. The pale orange fabric slid comfortably over her face, and she didn't protest. I clipped a dusty white lead rope onto the silvery clasps of the Arabian mare's halter, the click noise it made oddly satisfying in my ears. I slid open the slightly dusted door to Asia's stall, and her ears pricked forward with interest at the grinding noise. Her hooves made a rhythmic beat as she paced slowly towards the stable's entrance, and the short mare exhaled heavily, in an almost sigh-like breath.

xxxxxxxxClipping Asia into the small, outdoor grooming station, I pivoted back towards the barn. The horse let out a quiet, chuckle-like noise, and I gave her a silent promise that I'd be back within a matter of minutes. That was one of my most bizarre habits; attempting to communicating, telepathically, with my short Arabian mare. I hefted her saddle into my grasp, cradling it to my chest. Looping her bridle around my shoulder, I struggled slightly to add two saddle pads to my load. Managing to lug all the tack back to the small, roofed tacking station, I arranged all the items onto their specific holders. I spent about an hour brushing down the pale mare, careful to comb every inch of her. Finally, I'd succeeded in leaving Asia spotless. I delicately hefted her white and cream saddle pads onto her spine, and made sure not to leave the pads folded as I put the deep brown leather saddle on the soft cushions. She took the bit easily as I placed the bridle around her slim face, doing up every buckle with precision. I had been doing this for too long not to remember every step by heart. The Arabian mare was young, almost six, and I was her second owner. She was as clean a slate as they came.

xxxxxxxxNo girth-sourness clouded the horse's thoughts, and she was sound of mind. I lead the aroused, fully tacked mare into the arena, my heart rising in my throat. No matter how many times I did it, excitement always took over me before a ride. Whether it would be a quick trot before work, or hours of jump training in the evening. The crisp air awoke me even further, sharpening my senses to brand new heights. Autumn was, undoubtedly, the best season for riding. The perfect temperature for riding gear not to leave you sweaty and exasperated, and the scenery was gorgeous, in my town. It brought a new life to the landscape. Nothing could ever replace my perfect Autumn memories, with Asia.

( 1000 words / 1000 words. 5456 characters. )

[wandzie.]

Ding! Ding!
"Goodbye now!" The crisp yet sweet Irish voice waved to the customer, as they left with their order. Dezzy sighed softly, it was a new day, new orders, new people. He loved working in his little bakery, his flat was just above, and of course, he got to meet new people! Dezzy wandered over to the big oven, and looked in. The dough he had placed in neat shapes was taking form into delicious, mouth watering bread. What more could a man like him ask for? Business was good, it was a fun job and he didn't have any worries... But Dezzy missed dancing. He leaned against the counter, one hand under his jaw to hold his head up, elbow on the desk. He closed his eyes, and soon was taken back over the sea, to his home town, Ireland.
The lights clicked into action, and a huge crash sound ringed out as they were focused down onto the stage, where Dezzy stood. The crowd was silent. Not a person spoke. Dezzy was still, standing tall, but with his head faced down. Then music boomed around the theatre, jaunty fiddle sounds. His long legs flipped up and down, moving about mesmerisingly. The crowd clapped after each trick, marvelling at his skill. His hair flopped up and down, and he grinned. He was born a dancer, and always would be...
"Ugh... Ugh.. Excuse me?"
Dezzy froze, and opened his eyes. He was clutching his sweeping broom, which he used to clean floors, and was in a full dancing stage position. He swallowed and brushed the back of his neck, with a embarrassed laugh. He obviously hadn't notice this customer walk in when he was in the middle of dancing... With a brush.
"H-How can I help you?" Dezzy coughed and trotted over to the counter, where he went back to his daily, normal life.


See when Desmond Hartnett was born, he was born an Irish dancer. He lived in his home town, and was picked for lots of competitions, until one day he was picked to dance for his country at 16 years old. He had become successful, well off, and a fab dancer, but an injury struck and he moved to England at 20 years old, to forget. Now he runs the bakery, with his apartment just above it so he can go out and in when he pleases, but it's not the same. How could it ever be?


Anyway, at the same time, Dezzy is quite the charmer and goofball. He may still have a slight limp, but that smile could make you melt in an instant. He also has quite the kind heart, one chilly Autumn morning while Dezzy was in his little bakery, he spotted a scrawny little ginger cat outside his door. No customers were in, so he obviously had to go talk to the kitty! Dezzy bounded out from the counter and bent down next to the cat. "Hello!" He stroked it's head, and tickled it's tummy with his soft hands. "I'm Dezzy... What's your name?" He had expertly picked up the cat, and cradled it in his arms. "Oh you're a skinny pussy cat, aren't you?" He giggled to himself, and realised that this cat couldn't be anyone's. There was only 200 people in the village, and the known cats were about 6 of them. The other cities were miles away. "Hey, ya lil homeless boy, what's to say you come up to the apartment with me? It's cosy and has a fire! And if someone looks for you, I'll hand you straight over." Dezzy rubbed his nose in the cats face with a big lopsided grin.
Of course, days and even weeks passed, and no one wanted the poor cat. Dezzy hadn't really thought that he'd end up keeping the him, but was delighted anyway. He decided to call him "Goofball" after his what his mum used to call him as a child. But the cat tends to go by "Goofy."


So the two live together in harmony, and Goofy is quite the chubby little cat because of how much bread Dezzy sneaks him under the counter. All the customers love Goofy though, and Dezzy. Because of Goofy, Autumn has to be one of Dezzy's favourite seasons. That Autumn day changed his life, he's no longer lonely! But there's also many other reasons.
First off, owning a cosy bakery in Autumn, is great. More customers come, expecting fresh and warm bread to start their day, and Dezzy gets some of his own yummy bread anyway.
It's also the lead up to the best time ever... Christmas! And cosy nights in around the fireplace.
And who could forget pumpkin spice lattes? The delicious tang of spice in a warm, smooth coffee is great.
Dezzy also just looks so Autumn, he dresses in scarves and long jackets, with cute little shoes and jeans.
Autumn is also just so beautiful. The crazy, reds and oranges of the leaves falling and landing about the forests and streets are breathtaking. Plus, who doesn't love running through leaves with your pet?!




(Word count - 878/1000)
--
Thank you so much for reading my form, I wish I could have done more, but sadly a family death and school problems messed this up, so I hope this was enjoyable enough to read! Good luck guys.

[casiopea]

♣
Name: Autumnus
Gender: Agender (they/him pronouns)
Sexuality: Demisexual

Autumnus can be a very serious plumie, but has a soft
spot for animals. He is a very talented author, but even
so he is very shy when talking to others and often stutters.
♣


story;; Despite his name, Autumnus absolutely hates autumn. The
leaves falling and the animals leaving reminds him of how lonely the world can get. The only
season Autumnus does enjoy is spring. As the leaves return and the flowers bloom, it reminds
Autumnus that an end signifies a new beginning.
Autumnus enjoys picking flowers and decorating his home, maybe even making themselves a flower crown.
Cloud gazing is another activity they enjoy. They lay down on the large field near their home and watching the clouds,
sometimes laughing at the cloud figures they see.
Last spring, Autumnus found a small bird that had fallen out of its nest. Since he couldn't find the nest, he decided
to raise the little bird until it was old enough to fly off and live on its own. That didn't happen 'till next spring. The bird's name
was Arthur, and he was a small little sparrow bird. Even though Autumnus was attached to Arthur, he knew Arthur had to leave
as soon as he was old enough.
Spring nights were usually cool and there were clear night skies, so Autumnus often took this opportunity to go stargazing. Although he doesn't recognize most constellations, he can spot the most obvious ones, like Orion the hunter or the Big Dipper. The sight of twinkling stars seemed to make Autumnus feel very comforted, as if there was something watching him from above.
Sometimes spring does not go the way Autumnus wants it to, with late blooms and heavy rainfalls. This often puts them in a bad mood and Autumnus stays inside, listening to music and reading with those big reading glasses of his. He writes poems on stormy days, telling stories about the blooming buds and the chirping birds, to make him feel a bit better about spring.
Autumnus can get very grumbly when someone interrupts his bird watching or flower picking, but he usually forgets about it and lets others tag along, only if they leave him alone and not 'pester him with useless questions'.
Spring makes Autumnus feel relaxed and realize that every year has a new beginning, after heavy blizzards come blooming flowers and chattering animals. It makes him feel as if he's not alone in the world.


373/1000 words

[crashkeys]

Name;;
Gender;; Female
favorite season;; winter ;w; WIP