#key.

puss in boots / pib. taken from dimension 20: neverafter. he's literally a cat, but he talks, and walks on his hind legs, can often be found wearing boots and a cape. he's a bit of a scoundrel, he likes to steal things and run scams, but he's good deep, deep ( deep ) down. he sees most things as a game, and does a lot of what he does simply because he wants to have fun. very mischievous, but will always help a friend in need. my personal spin on this is that pib is a familiar who lost his owner, and got stuck in his cat form. once he connects with another owner, he can turn back into a man, but that hasn't been possible yet. fc: aldis hodge in human form, but he's a scruffy, black cat most of the time. pronouns: he / him.

mira / the quiet pirate. taken from dimension 20: neverafter. based off of the little mermaid folklore. formerly a mermaid who sold her voice in exchange for human legs, the prince that she was in love with did not love her back. she's now alone, voiceless, with immense pain in her legs every time she takes a step. she's hiding from her father, who wants to take her home. if she were to touch the ocean, her father would know exactly where she is, and so she stays away from it at all costs. important things to know are that mira has chronic pain in her legs that makes it hard to walk, and she's mute, only able to communicate through writing or telepathy. fc: alba flores. pronouns: she / her.

[Trans] 181210 SHINee IG update : SHINee ♥️

# Shining SHINee #SHINee 샤이니 be healthy everyone🙏

(T_T)(*´﹃｀*)(*´﹃｀*)(´；ω；｀)

“I think this is the most comfortable I’ve been in months. Maybe years.” 

Key’s low voice breaks through the quiet background noise of the television, flickering in the half-light of his living room as it is, unnoticed or ignored. This night has lasted forever, and has passed so quickly Ki-jung feels like his breath was taken away with it. The closer it gets to the morning, the more he wonders when it is that Kiran is finally going to have enough and go home to their warm bed. Surely that would be better than being here with him like this, down and having wanted to sink into the ground since he woke up.

It’s difficult to address the feelings that are roiling around inside of him, making him feel like he might vomit them up at any moment in so many tangled words, so he has spent most of their time together avoiding talking about it. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, or at least Key doesn’t think that it ever will to anybody else, so what’s the point in saying it out loud? Keeping it in is what he’s done his entire life, and it’s more than likely what he’s going to continue to do. Habits are hard to break --- particularly the bad ones, and Ki-jung has started smoking. Again. Go figure.

Letting out a soft breath, he rolls over onto his back, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from where Kiran sits. He still sees them, though, on the ceiling, like the image of them sitting in his arm chair on the other side of the coffee table is permanently in his head like a polaroid. They are all kinds of beautiful, even after their third gin and tonic, and Key wishes for nothing more than to get that coffee table out from in between them. To eliminate all of the space between them, in fact. There’s an ache somewhere in him, deep enough that it’s hard to discern exactly where, but he feels it resonate through his entire body. Maybe he just needs to hold them. Maybe he just needs them to hold him. Is that weird? He doesn’t know.

An empty glass is clasped in his hands, his whiskey long since drained from it, and he taps his index finger against it, making a soft clink sound. “You know, I think that maybe it’s impossible to fully understand your own feelings, which is why I’m not going to question it when I ask you this.” Drawing in a deep breath, he seems to steel himself somewhat, and he sits up to lean forward and place his glass down. Hands rake through Key’s already slightly disheveled hair, and he clears his throat before he continues. “Should I ask you to stay the night? Would that be... just... a really fucked up, terrible idea?” The vulnerability in his voice begs for honesty. He is sincere in the way that he looks at them, feeling small. A bit exposed, maybe.

        Certain scents had an uncanny way of being unshakable, almost as if fuelled by a wellspring of spite which agilely dodged every precaution one could take to escape the tendrils which reeked from miles away. Wet dog, for instance, in high concentrations emitted an aroma so fetid that it almost didn’t matter if there wasn’t an active threat coming from the body it sheathed; the airborne scent’s very existence was enough of an attack on the senses to activate Briar’s defences. In the early stages of the storm’s front, despite the danger rogue presences gathered in numbers represented, she had relished an excuse to violently cross the boundary ordinarily branded taboo. Alas, the rogue pack’s activity had been more perplexing to trace than anticipated, their advances and organisation consistent only in obeying a maddeningly un-patterned nature. At times too difficult to engage with, Briar had been occupying herself in tracking rogues that branched off from downtown. Without fail, with only minutes to spare in-between each round, eventually a breeze utterly permeated with that indelible stench would rise to the occasion. She could practically feel it imbedding into the fabric of her clothes, staining her skin, contaminating her peace of mind — always able to be felt a cruelly long while before she locked eyes on its owner. Only when traces of bloodshed dominated what wafted through the cold could Briar believe the city’s control was in the process of being reclaimed.

Any accurate gauge of time had long ago been set askew by the incessant amount of travel she had done, mostly divided between sharing information of active rogue locations to any supernatural being available to listen and tending to any deep inflictions of collateral damage. Dully aware she had not seen every familiar face that night, in the victorious aftermath of an umpteenth collision between a group of city dwellers and the unleashed, Briar deviated from her surveillance rounds. Extending her reach beyond the Tetris stacks of residential and office buildings, she felt most inclined to venture into the lesser populated industrial district. Several homeless human bodies huddled around the foundation of most structures, yet she knew their frail energy signatures could not explain for the potency radiating from one warehouse in particular. Creatures had, or perhaps still were, been there. As Briar ducked into the cover of the seemingly abandoned building, several conflicting scents instantly rushed to meet her. What a shit show. Grimacing at the onslaught of palpable information she had to sift through, Briar readily went about scanning the place and tallying any evidence of the damaging squabble she could only guess the narrative of. Her rapid pace only ceased when she reached the highest floor, finding one of her own saturated in blood. She would have had no trouble assuming the spillage was another’s, if not for the shape jutting out from behind him. Whilst the entire place had reeked of blood upon entry, the room he occupied boasted the freshest. Bristling at the abnormal state of him, Briar ensured the shadows surrounding them were devoid of movement before daring to test the waters of his reactivity.