#gmxss

when choi jinri sees a man stumbling about the halls of the main lodge, she feels obligated to help.  why?  because she's capable, perfectly capable--being sober, awake and with time to kill--and in her world of seemingly simplistic ideals, that's good enough of a reason to.

wide eyes and tentatively curled lips mark the face of the aerokinetic as she approaches the man, tapping lightly at his arm before catching a handful of a staggering shoulder--ethanol emanated off him in waves, stench strong and a bit sad in the middle of the day--a small, breathy, "woah there, sir," parting from her mouth.  "let's get you steady."  before you hurt yourself.  

idle conversation is what she maintains with the man, mind stretched between finding a place to seat him before pressing onwards on her mission to see him off somewhere safe.  the 

"look," the mutant mumbles, pulling them to a pause and giving a seemingly moist squeeze to the brunette's shoulder.  when he jerks his head upwards, jinri follows the direction with her gaze, confusion marking her fair features--mistletoe?  so what?--those which are quick to twist into surprised panic as he turns her around, gripping her shoulders with a surprising insistence.

it stings, it really stings and so she struggles, motions of the dull, feeble strain that accompanies shock.  rough hands slip up the girl's neck, licking cool flame across her skin; hot, foul breath brushes against her face, carrying words equally as vile,

"haksaeng-ah... shouldn't we kiss?"  

it's as if his words are thunder, and she's the fool who could only freeze in the face of lightning; it's the menacing rumble of his murmurs and laughter that prompt her to get to her feet and plow through his chest, zipping down the halls and out the door.

he did something, he did something--she knows, because her skin burns and her head spins and the air won't take her, she won't take to the air; her flight is sloppy, her breath is ragged and she continues to dip, dip and rise before she finally wipes out, hitting the ground with a thud and rolling.  

gmxjeongguk

there's a note left on the dresser in the afternoon after namjoon's given his first present-- he's out running errands, at the moment, but he's left something nice for guk, a final gift for the holidays.

if you're even awake right now, you should go take a look at the box i have stuffed under the bed. i wasn't sure if you were going to be able to come at all, or not, so if you couldn't, i was willing to leave the lodge and spend christmas with you at your apartment if it meant i got to see you. i know we've only been dating for a little while, but-- fuck. i'm bad at this when it's not in person. i care about you a lot, okay? and i'm glad we're here where we are.

p.s: your third present is waiting in the studio when we get back from the trip.

inside the box is lying a brand new box containing this, with another note attached to it.

(. there is the whisper of wind through trees that are covered with snow blankets, certainly cold to the touch but enough to warm his heart.  the purity of something untouched and whole instills a sense of peace somewhere in the pockets of his ribs, it is quiet and he is quiet with it just to take in the scene.  the flapping of a winter bird’s wings shakes a pine’s branches, snow falls slowly from its perch and his lips turn up in the slightest.  the chill of winter’s touch has surely settled in his bones, but he still wears nothing more than his sweater.  winter was always his favourite season.

and it’s because of moments like this, where the snow drifts slowly down from someplace up above — catching on his nose and making him close his eyes; he stops, he waits for it to touch him and freeze the parts of him that cause unrest.  it takes him half a moment to realize though, that this scene is strange — only just around him are the snowflakes falling from up above and gifting him with the beauty only winter can.  his brow furrows a bit in his confusion, but he looks upward — to see a familiar face; a face not seen in the longest of years.  

time stops. *)

(. his hands are chilled to the bone, brittle with the winter's cold but he's always been one to let the season sink into his limbs.  his sweater doesn't do much to guard him from the chill, but he much prefers it that way -- he is a man who is in love with the winter, the purity of snow in untouched fields and ice that drips from rooftops that glint rainbows in the sun.  it's been awhile since he's taken out his camera and it only seems fitting that he'd use it to capture the white of snow in the cold season -- he holds the familiar weight of the camera in his hands, eyes scouring the landscape for something in particular to capture.  and that's when he sees a girl in the distance, her hair tugged haphazardly by the winter wind just looking up at the sky.

gmxariana

gmxdo

it wasn't as if the metamorph detested people--or the holidays--but it was always with certain circumstances that the shifter wished everyone in the world would drop dead.

now, for instance, is a perfect example.

through perhaps a cruel twist of fate or the catching up of past karma to her being—she is of the unfortunate kind at the lodge to have encountered an inebriated male under the mistletoe; entirely too pushy, entirely unattractive. now, by normal means this is a problem easily solved by a swift kick to the temple, but seulgi knows better with the way the dermis of her forearm from the initial touch.

the sticky residue on her skin stings, it tingles, it cools and heats at the same time and seulgi knows—knows by the laughter that nips at her heels and the heavy steps from behind—that she’s screwed unless she gets the hell out of here. it is with that thought in mind that she makes way for the exit ahead, focusing past the distorting of her vision as her spine breaks, knees bending and jaw cracking into two—only to reform wider, fangs growing in as she makes way past the exit, dainty feet replaced by paws as what was a female instead turns into a fully grown husky; head drooping and teeth bared as pants escape the canine, taking slow steps to fold into a corner—willing herself to stay conscious till the male passed.

and then—her head shakes, growling lowly at the way her hind legs tremble as she lowers herself to press her snout to the snow, dry heaving against frost—god knows what then.