#Actually where this pisses me off most is when they are drawn as Team Rocket and Shiver is drawn in Jessie's uniform

[shiverhohojiro]

One of my faaaaaaavorite things (said with heavy sarcasm) is a general trend of, when drawing Deep Cut in clothing besides their idol fits, Shiver will often be put in more feminine clothing while Frye gets way more neutral/masculine fits, and it's always. hmmmmmm.

Because like . I don't know. I feel like Frye is decently fem herself? Not that Shiver isn't presented femininely in canon either, but it feels telling of... something, that people will look at them both and go okay... what fashion should I put them in? Well the stereotypically pretty Japanese character shall go in very feminine clothes and can have a skirt or dress. And the darker skinned Indian character can have pants.

[kalicofox]

Dream 2, 3/23/2017

No, you aren’t missing Dream 1. I forgot it, and it’s pissing me off, because it was cool as hell. Anyway, the dream was actually a lot shorter than this, but I thought it’d make a good story, so here it is.

Mike was being an asshole again. Not that that was a surprise. Mike was almost always an asshole. It was sort of his thing. Most of us were pretty sure that he didn't exactly mean it, but that he just had no idea how to communicate without being acerbic and cutting. Still, this brand of assholery was different. Almost like how he'd been when he'd broken his finger against the pool wall and hadn't told anyone until the meet was over. He hadn't wanted to interrupt it, he'd said. He'd wanted to stay until it was over. But what the hell could he have hurt himself on? The jackass hadn't even gotten in the pool yet today; too focused on delivering blistering diatribes for perceived failures to his teammates. He hadn't fallen, either, and coach would have had his head on a pike if he (or anyone) showed up drunk or hungover, so it couldn't be that either... So what the hell was going on? I finished my lap, then hauled myself out of the pool and stalked over to him seizing him up and searching for a visible sign of whatever it was that was making him act like a bear with a beehive up its butt. There. A wince of discomfort that was accompanied by his eyes flickering, just for a moment, to a flat black. Oh. Well that made much more sense. He was Turning. Grinning widely, I stuck two fingers in my mouth and blew hard, letting loose a shrieking whistle that cut through all of the noise in the echoing room the pool was located in, and getting everyone's attention. Hmmm. There were a couple of Harpies watching. Probably not a good idea for them to stick around. The Dragons, too. He'd be on edge enough with just water-based people around. Keeping air and fire around'd be probably a bad idea. "Can we get some privacy, please?" I called, letting the acoustics of the room carry my voice around, "We've got a new Change happening, and it looks like a water type, so..." Surprised, pleased murmurs sprung up here and there, and in ones and twos, all the non-compatible elements packed up and headed out, shooting thumbs up and broad smiles toward Mike, who just stared after them, confused. The few humans who usually showed up to watch practices were the last to leave, and they actually had to be chivvied out by Frank, who's disappointed frown I'm pretty sure could cow even the Dean. "So who's Turning?" Mike asked, a belligerent edge to the curious tone in his voice. I raised my eyebrow at him. "Really?" "What?" Mike asked, and I sighed, then reached out to poke him in the upper arm. "You are, dumbass." Mike nodded, half turning away from me to look at the pool, then did a double take, whipping around to stare at me. I couldn't help it; I started snickering, the dumbfounded look on his face pure hilarity to someone who'd already gone through her change years ago. "Wait, what? That's not possible!" "Why not?" I wanted to know, and Mike, it seemed, was happy to tell me. "Because I'm human! I've been human for my whole life!" "Uh huh." I nodded, "That's how it works, you're human for your whole life, up until you're not. Then you're something else, depending on your genetics." I paused for a moment, then, "How'd you make it to college without learning this in Bio?" Mike flushed, narrowing his eyes at me, "That's not what I meant, (last name), and you know it. My family's been human for the last ten generations. I know. I did the genealogy as my senior project in high school, and had it independently verified." I shrugged, "Then someone further than ten generations out must have been one of us, and now so are you." The flush vanished. "That can happen? Even so far back? Everyone always makes it sound like you've either got whole lines of Changers going back generations, or you're straight human, or you're half." I shrugged again. "Don't look at me, dude, I'm just the one who noticed you were changing. I don't know the really complicated shit. Now get in the pool." Mike blinked. "What?" Wow, sounds like the Change is really bringing down his IQ. "The pool." I said, as patiently as I could, "Get in." "Oh. Right." He was already in the speedo most of the guys on the swim team wore,  but the baggy green hoodie he'd been wearing over it was shucked faster than I'd've thought possible, and tossed aside as Mike headed toward the deeper of the two pools. "Jesus christ," someone muttered, and of course the others were watching. Mike was ours. I felt like an idiot for forgetting that, but I was mostly too busy controlling the urge to go hunt down and maim whatever had left the myriad of red welts on Mike shoulders, chest, and back. "What the hell happened to you?" I demanded, catching up with him in a couple of easy strides. Mike ducked his head, the tips of his ears turning pink. "It itched." He muttered, "Really bad, all right?" Oh. Oh, of course. That makes sense. There's no telling if he'll be mer or siren, but for both species the first change makes you itch horribly. It's the only way your body has to tell you to get in the damn water. And of course Mike would have avoided getting in. Not only would all of us have seen the scratches, but the salt water would have stung like a bitch. Or at least, if he was human it would have. Either mer or siren, once he's in the water, those scratches'll be, if not completely gone, then at least greatly reduced. For a second, he paused at the edge of the pool, and, without even checking my stride, I reached out, pushed him in, and dove in after him.

As soon as I hit the water, I let the part of my brain that held my physical form to one particular shape relax. For a moment I blurred at the edges, turning grey and wispy and insubstantial, then I exerted my will again and solidified as something very different than what I'd gone in as. More muffled splooshes told me that the rest of the swim team was joining us, and in a very short time indeed the pool was full of brightly colored scales and grinning faces. Mike, meanwhile, had kicked his way back up to the surface and was holding on to the edge of the pool. Someone else, Taylor, judging from the broad grey flukes that bumped gently against the pool wall, had joined him, and for a moment I was tempted to just let Taylor handle it all. Out of everyone on the team, she was the one who had the easiest time dealing with Mike's abrasiveness. She claimed that it came from knowing him so long. That she could tell what he really meant, and what was just him being socially inept, and for the most part, it looked like she could. But no. I'm the one who'd dumped the news on him. I should at least check and make sure he's fine.

I surfaced a couple feet away, finned my way forward a bit, and caught Taylor's eye. "Oh good." The relief on her face was near instant, and my eyebrows jumped nearly to my hairline. "His feet are cramping." She explained, and I winced. The first change is never fun. Your body has to get used to the idea that it isn't always going to be one shape, and oftentimes the second shape is wildly different from the first one. Still, I thought, letting myself slip back underneath the surface, this confirmed it. He's a siren. Mers, a lot of people say, are lucky. They don't have the same bone structure that Sirens do, so they don't have to deal with foot and toe and leg cramps as the bones rearrange and stretch. Sirens, however, say that they're luckier than Mers, because at least they stay warm blooded. It's an ongoing argument, and sometimes it's hard to tell if they're arguing over who's better, or who should feel worse for who. It was easy enough to catch Mike by one ankle, and for a second he flailed, kicking wildly until I could pin his legs both to the wall, my forehead throbbing where he'd nailed me with his knee. When he stopped struggling, I let him go, grabbed the ankle again, and, careful of my claws, started to massage his foot. It wouldn't actually feel good. Nothing would, until the change actually finished, but it would help keep his muscles from knotting up so badly that they got damaged by his bones stretching. Already I could feel his skin thickening, and his feet were longer, and, glancing up to check how much of his legs had grafted themselves, I swore, then let go of the leg I'd been working on and rocketed upwards with one pump of my own tail. "Take off the speedo!" I demanded as soon as my mouth cleared the surface of the water. Mike spluttered, but Taylor looked alarmed. "What?!" "Take it off!" I snapped, "If you don't, your legs won't graft properly, the blood vessels won't align properly, the bones will try to shape around it, and everything will grow wrong. You'll be essentially crippled in your siren form for the rest of your life! Take it off!" Mike's face went dead white, and I have, to this day, never seen someone shimmy out of a bathing suit as quickly as he did, keening softly as he bumped his aching, growing feet against the pool walls. Finally, a sodden lump of fabric thwapped to the rough concrete a few feet away from the edge of the pool, and Mike clung once again to the wall, his face still chalk white and drawn with pain. "Good job." I said, trying to smile reassuringly, and sank beneath the water again. There was the faintest hint of blood in the water, and I tried to ignore the taste as I filtered water through my gills. It was fine now. He'd gotten it off in time. Barely. But still. It was fine, and I still needed to help. Reaching out, I grabbed his ankle again and restarted the massage.