#and just use the parts that are relevant

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

Trans Morty fic has now passed 9k words and I’ve only just reached the first coming out scene

[bogkeep]

tbh my thesis on the astronomical clock in prague might just become a redo of a tenth grade thesis i did about the history of clocks. like the question i want to answer is "why does this clock fascinate us so much" and i think the surface level answer is that it looks cool as hell and is in a touristy part of a touristy town - but on the deeper level it's like. well it's one of the oldest mechanical clocks in the world that's still ticking, and it barely looks like the clocks we have now. it's like pshaw of course i can read a clock, you just look at the dial and the hands, right? and then this clock is like. unreadable because the upper dial shows no less than four kinds of time: babylonian time (twelve hours of day + twelve hours of night, but the length of the hours varies depending on the place and time of year), bohemian or italian time (24 hours that start at sunset, good for seeing how many hours of daylight there's left), old germanic time i think it was called (that's just like what we use now except it doesn't account for daylight savings!), and sidereal time (uhhh is this the zodiac circle thing?????? i should know this)

because the thing about how we count time is, WHY do we count time the way we do? why Twelve hours specifically. what matters more, exact measurements of time units, or following the ebb and flow of daylight? has the way the shaped clocks shaped our lives?? MUCH TO THINK ABOUT. or at least i think about it when i see a clock like the orloj.

[bigskydreaming]

Imagine looking at a character whose entire premise is that in every stage of his life, he's made every version of himself into someone that inspires people to such a degree that EVERY SINGLE VERSION OF HIM has people wanting to literally follow in his footsteps in some way or another.....

And coming to the conclusion that like.....the most important things about him are the sum of all his trappings. His entirely homemade developed from scratch could not exist if not for what he already was and brought with him BEFORE crafting this newest version of himself trappings, with his greatest trait throughout all of it being his adaptability; his ability and willingness to roll with the punches and not try to simply weather any opposition or changes to his life but instead reshape himself as needed to better fit INTO whatever new shape his life and the world around him takes. All while managing to carry the most innate, fundamental and necessary aspects of himself from one version to the next. Thus every single version of himself is different but simultaneously every single version of himself is also undeniably the same person.

The strength of this character, to me, will always be that he can be so many versions of himself, he can become so many things, all without ever actually losing or discarding any of the aspects of himself he considers most essential, the things he's not willing to lose or give up just to keep going. Finding that road not taken by most, usually because most never even think to look for it as an option. But one that he's always able to find because the one trick he's mastered in his tumultuous life is threading that needle of not just digging in his heels in an unproductive way but rather being selective about when and where he makes a stand and decides "this is not a thing I'm willing to compromise about" but here are places and ways I can and will change and evolve and adapt in order to make it possible for me to hold onto these parts and keep them as they are.

And that's why its always so mind-boggling to me that so many writers can't seem to think of anything else to do with Dick Grayson other than invent some new reason for him to just....not be that person, or to like just take the character whose most basic fundamental trait he's NOT about to compromise on is willingly giving up his spot in the driver's seat of his own life.....and make him just a passenger in his own life and stories.

Dick Grayson at age nine....at age nineteen...at age twenty nine....the one core thread running through all versions of him is the only way he's standing back and letting you call the shots for him or putting him on the sidelines in some way is over his dead body.

HOW he goes about that, what that looks like, who he becomes and what aspects of himself he plays up at some times and what traits he lets fall by the wayside at other times when they offer less in service to his primary goal here....that changes constantly. He changes constantly.

But those changes are almost always (or at least they used to be/should be IN MY OPINION) made with the intention of keeping certain things about him or his life as consistent as possible.

That's the duality of Dick Grayson that I'm here for. The inherent contradiction of him that COULD allow for endless conflict and breaking new narrative ground in all sorts of ways if mined properly:

His eternal willingness to compromise....but only ever in pursuit of doubling down on the ways he's not willing to compromise.

Forever walking that tightrope in ways that only a kid born and raised in a circus could ever hope to.

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A redraw of the official icons of the ten named slugcats from Rain World, arranged in two rows: Survivor, Monk, Hunter, Nightcat, and Gourmand in the first, Artificer, Rivulet, Spearmaster, Saint and Enot/Inv in the second. Each is drawn in roughly the same pose as in the original art and fitted with speculative interpretations of their biology, and the second image is a “dead” version of this. For example, all ten have slug-like rhinophores in place of ears, cuttlefish-like colorful eyes with strangely-shaped pupils, cephalopod-like beak "teeth", expressive barbels or oral tentacles at the corners of mouths, spiny radulas, and the frilly mantle fringes of sea slugs, though otherwise their faces are squishy, simple and mammalian-shaped.

Cream-colored Survivor and yellow Monk both share triangular, bicolored spots matching their eyes (which are tan and brown, and two shades of blue, respectively), small, bumpy fringes, and relatively neutral looks on their faces. Defensive-looking Hunter is mostly a dull orange-pink, though their blobby fringe is a more violent red and their back is purple and marred with lumps. Nightcat is navy blue and flecked with dots of yellow and teal, their rolled rhinophores are a lighter blue, and their shading fractures into stars in some places. Gourmand is almost uniformly tan, their wide, very ruffly white mantle fringe bordered by a spray of white spots, and their beak sticks out from either corner of their smile. Primarily red Artificer, snarling, has yellow markings of multiple sorts, a prominent yellow dewlap and their characteristic dark scar taking out a chunk of its face. Rivulet is a darker blue than usual, with long barbels, red gills and rings, countershading, and a cheerful expression, sticking out their radula. Spearmaster is purple with orange accents, eyes and spots, a large fringe and spines down their back. Saint’s green caryophyllidia are marked by small, yellow diamonds, and their long, thin radula extends far below them. Enot is decorated with mottled red stripes, blue patches, yellow stars, and an uneven and almost cartoonish imitation of blush, though generally the same deep blue as Nightcat, a passive or almost slightly smug look on their face and their rolled rhinophores out to either side.

In the second image, nine of the slugcats’ eyes are crossed out, indicating that these are death icons. They look fairly the same, with mostly expression differences. Survivor is caught in the beginning of a threat display, a karma flower sprouts from Monk’s side, Hunter is burdened with overgrowing, purple and blue rot, Nightcat’s rhinophores are pinned back, and Gourmand looks mildly disheartened. For the final row, Artificer bites its radula between small plumes of smoke, Rivulet drops their expression, Spearmaster looks very startled, Saint looks almost entirely the same besides half-open eyes and their markings greater in number, and Enot grins confusedly. End ID]

If you'll excuse the unusually lengthy ID: the arena meme introduced by @pansear-doodles at long last after a nearly year-long wip status (or, rather, finished a month ago today to honor my own first time playing it!)

Design notes and shout-outs under cut! :]

The following people are some of those who’ve inspired my designs most since I started this eight months ago (or just inspired me to get a little weirder with slugcat biology), among many others for sure, and I thank them for it–but this is simply to bring attention to artists I find cool, and in no way an obligation to interact or anything :]

> @saturncoyote , @carpsoup , @charseraph , @gallusgalluss , @bitsbug , @dopscratch , and @0hmanit (and a special mention to dddeerbo and hunterlonglegs, who’ve since deactivated)!

Survivor: Surprisingly the hardest to pin down the colors for, since nothing with its sibling's palette seemed to match up right (I did have to add in a little blue somewhere for Monk, the beginning of making it clear how much I’m simply going based off of vibes for the colors of scug innards). I consider them, Monk and Gourmand to be part of the same gene pool of slugcats, and even possibly the same colony even if the latter isn't really related, so took a bit of Gourmand's coloring and fit them in with their inspiration: Goniobranchus verrieri. They serve as a bit of an introduction to my ideas of scug traits (i find it really fun how many people have thought to add so many silly sluglike fixtures of biology completely independent of me, buuut here I’m mostly talking about species variation), and like in-game they’re pretty average! They, Monk and Hunter have a couple scars sourced from a piece of Joar's concept art that I'm failing to find, those across the bridge of the nose, under the eyes, and across the rhinophores, respectively, and my Survivor interpretation features many on the back of the neck, as a result of survived lizard bites.

Monk: Their coloring is primarily based off the fact that I associate them with blue fruits, honestly, a bit because I was compelled to establish a familiarity with Rivulet, and lastly inspired by the spots of Goniobranchus kuniei (and geminus, less important to me as one of my characters is a kuniei instead, but more fitting). Between the yellow + blue and the circular marking in the center of their face, they’re meant to bear a little resemblance to an iterator that shares similarities with the characterization I’ve given them, and similar coding of her sibling can be seen on Survivor’s markings around the eyes. As both a “default” slugcat and one whose campaign I haven’t played, though, I can’t say I have much more to point out about em.

Hunter: The whole rot thing made for a really fun time drawing them, and while the color change on their back is a result of this, it’s also an excuse to relate them to Babakina festiva, arguably my favorite sea slug (mostly for sentimental purposes). And to Spearmaster, a fellow messenger slugcat, and it serves as a gradient between Hunter’s pink and the “traditional” color of Rot seen in the DLLs. Aside from their affliction, they’d actually be the plainest in terms of design, as they don’t have any patterns or quirks of body type, just the red + purple and strange lumps + possible malnutrition. I can’t remember if NSH had created them in particular or just...caught + released or something, but it probably wouldn’t be strange for a lab-grown slugcat to be simple like that.

Gourmand: Like the two above, they’re rather plain in terms of coloring and adaptation, and like the two above, I find that fun. I decided it would be nice to avert the “all slugcats being of the same body type, and Gourmand’s out of place as the exception” thing by just...adding more fat to all of them, really. I did want to emphasize their sheer bulk even so, both fat and muscular (not like I couldn’t have still gone further with it, of course, but slugcat anatomy can be a little obfuscating sometimes, and they were intended to look rather plush considering personal size headcanons and therefore the lack of proper gravity), and the thick and flounced mantle looked like a good addition, as per their sea slug Glossodoris hikuerensis. Unlike Survivor and Monk, I didn’t attempt to hold their resemblance to any particular other character (which means a little less to balance out the “default gene pool” thing), so those are all the design notes I have for em.

Artificer: The second slugcat I’ve ever played, or finished the campaign of, my favorite for at least a long time, and the first thing I did was give them yellow accents, the shape of which have troubled me slightly (not quite like the spots or stripes of the others). They’re both a little more appealing and more explosive-looking to me, and considering how early on I played Arti, actually present in some of my older art. It does give them a little resemblance to Saint (completely intentional, two slugcats with strange relations to karma), as well as the fact that its radula is green for familiarity with one of its children (at some point it was going to have all-green markings, even!). I’m generous with their scars, partly because it was fun to overemphasize the one on their face and partly because it does seem like a reckless slugcat, on top of the dangers of its explosive abilities–I’ll probably just keep adding more forever. Mostly-red sea slugs aren’t too common, but Hexabranchus sanguineus works for sure. The ridged, yellow dewlap can expand for combustion purposes, or something along those lines. Arti’s where I began experimenting with a lot of the mildly-offkilter features seen in my interpretation of slugcats, as they’ve once again been a favorite from the start.

Rivulet: I've obviously given other slugcats spots, deeply enjoy the bubbly-soda markings of other peoples' slugcats, and thought seal riv would be cute. Despite not too closely resembling it, they've been government-assigned Hypselodoris bennetti, for color reasons and for a couple sentimental ones. Originally, the colors of every scug were meant to match up with the custom colors I gave them at the beginning of their campaigns, (though Arti, Gourm and Spearmy are the only three who actually apply here, since I've only played through half the slugcats: I gave arti the yellow as mentioned above, gourm brown eyes and spearmy light pink spears, furthered by the outskirts pearl accompanying me and that palette all the way to moon. Tolerance training for eternity in hell cause I already knew about the maroon pearl quest). I initially gave them the colors of the bi flag for fun... but with the limited palette of this image, I was left without pink for a while and decided to see how they'd look in red. I then realized how they now wonderfully matched Moon, and besides, red's a sort of camouflage in deep water! As a side-note, the difference between their eyes and those of others always bothered me a little for anatomical purposes, and the cephalopod eyes were probably influenced by this!

Spearmaster: Inspired as much as possible by @notyourfunnyman ’s wonderful spearmy: designed in a way that helps it fit in with scavengers, at least between the long sensory tentacles, big ruff, back spines and slightly thin/distended anatomy, a form of defensive mimicry. I always had annulate rhinophores in mind, for a little diversity sure, but mostly because the shape reminds me of radio antennae and communication towers (seems fitting for the comms array and being a messenger slugcat)! I started searching for a real-life slug to give them just by looking up their rhinophore shape...and was met immediately and coincidentally with annulate-topped nudibranchs that fit them more perfectly than I could've imagined: Flabellina and surrounding clades, I think Paraflabellina ischitana works very nicely. The orange was completely unplanned, but there wasn’t a place for light pink among the other slugcats’ palettes, and importantly it likens them to both Hunter and Seven Red Suns a little more.

Saint: I am very much a non-furred slugcat enjoyer, with respect to those who aren’t, so figuring out the only visibly furred slugcat was an interesting challenge. I’ve decided that they likely have other, milder adaptations for help in the cold, mainly just more efficient fat storage, and what looks vaguely like fur is instead a bunch of tubercles (called caryophillia, for the second reminder out of three). Their inspiration doesn’t have these, however, Miamira sinuata’s numerous yellow and blue spots (not to mention...whatever’s going on with that shape) and general effect of being the only really green nudibranch I could find were probably perfect for a strange green echo. Not pictured, but their beak-teeth are tiny and flat to make a surface for grinding soft food against with the lack of a functioning radula, which is tipped with a specialized spiny “grapple-hook” for better traction/grip (not to mention the numerous little teeth running down the whole thing).

(Best part of hiding this under a readmore means edits will be seen by all reblogs, I'm mostly sure, because I completely forgot to mention! The spots on their forehead are simple eyes. Their camera eyes appear closed in-game, I like to believe their complex eyesight is rather poor anyways or otherwise reason that they aren't seeing out of those, and while this was far from her REASON for attunement with the world, it does help compensate for mainly viewing it through a canvas of simple light and dark. This, and the fact that their swapped-out "fur" is not only to commit to a lack of hairs but contributes to sensory input!)

Nightcat/Enot: I guess you could say I found the “these two are technically the same person” compelling. (E.g. similar colors, both very strange and enigmatic, and Enot/Inv/Sofanthiel’s remark during the dating sim about getting removed from Arena Mode.) I doubt they’re the only two slugcats in their body, considering humans with DID tend to have more than a few (and I find it very funny that a slugcat bearing resemblance to Nightcat appears in Gourmand’s ending. They’re allowed in the colony and Enot isn’t </3), and I have to credit @faelingdraws ’s art for being what convinced me on it! Their design inspirations come down to trying to balance a few different ideas: making the patterns and palettes of both look oddly similar (special mention to the stars, since those are fun to draw), basing them off of Felimare sechurana and juliae respectively, using blocks of color with the same placement as in Enot’s official art, and specifically making Enot look...biologically reasonable and imperfect, whilst also clearly trying to imitate human displays of emotion (what with...the eyes and blush on that one piece of official art).

Lastly, here’s just a lineup with notes on body shape and size. Most of the nicknames (existing to give a little more space, that’s all) are obvious, and while I can’t remember why I shortened Nightcat to Nox, it is in honor of my friend by the same nickname :]

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance - Braig / Xigbar

[xxplastic-cubexx]

waiting for marvel to take you up as their comic artist so that we can have amazing art with cherik official storyline

marvel hire me to draw professor x and magneto making out sloppy style for forty issues straight you will get a BAJILLION dollars i promise

[skrunksthatwunk]

actually i'm still thinking about the moral orel finale.

he has a cross on his wall. do you know how much i think about that bc it's a lot.

a lot of stories ((auto)biographical or fictional) centering escape from abusive/fundamentalist christianity result in the lead characters leaving behind christianity entirely. and that makes complete sense! people often grow disillusioned with the associated systems and beliefs, and when it was something used to hurt them or something so inseparable from their abuse that they can't engage with it without hurting, it makes total sense that they would disengage entirely. and sometimes they just figure out that they don't really believe in god/a christian god/etc. a healthy deconstruction process can sometimes look like becoming an atheist or converting to another religion. it's all case by case. (note: i'm sure this happens with other religions as well, i'm just most familiar with christian versions of this phenomenon).

but in orel's case, his faith was one of the few things that actually brought him comfort and joy. he loved god, y'know? genuinely. and he felt loved by god and supported by him when he had no one else. and the abuses he faced were in how the people in his life twisted religion to control others, to run away from themselves, to shield them from others, etc. and often, orel's conflicts with how they acted out christianity come as a direct result of his purer understanding of god/jesus/whatever ("aren't we supposed to be like this/do that?" met with an adult's excuse for their own behavior or the fastest way they could think of to get orel to leave them alone (i.e. orel saying i thought we weren't supposed to lie? and clay saying uhhh it doesn't count if you're lying to yourself)). the little guy played catch with god instead of his dad, like.. his faith was real, and his love was real. and i think it's a good choice to have orel maintain something that was so important to him and such a grounding, comforting force in the midst of. All That Stuff Moralton Was Up To/Put Him Through. being all about jesus was not the problem, in orel's case.

and i know i'm mostly assuming that orel ended up in a healthier, less rigid version of christianity, but i feel like that's something that was hinted at a lot through the series, that that's the direction he'd go. when he meditates during the prayer bee and accepts stephanie's different way to communicate, incorporating elements of buddhism into his faith; when he has his I AM A CHURCH breakdown (removing himself from the institution and realizing he can be like,, the center of his own faith? taking a more individualistic approach? but Truly Going Through It at the same time), his acceptance (...sometimes) of those who are different from him and condemned by the adults of moralton (stephanie (lesbian icon stephanie my beloved), christina (who's like. just a slightly different form of fundie protestant from him), dr chosenberg (the jewish doctor from otherton in holy visage)). his track record on this isn't perfect, but it gets better as orel starts maturing and picking up on what an absolute shitfest moralton is. it's all ways of questioning the things he's been taught, and it makes sense that it would lead to a bigger questioning as he puts those pieces together more. anyway i think part of his growth is weeding out all the lost commandments of his upbringing and focusing on what faith means to him, and what he thinks it should mean. how he wants to see the world and how he wants to treat people and what he thinks is okay and right, and looking to religion for guidance in that, not as like. a way to justify hurting those he's afraid or resentful of, as his role models did.

he's coming to his own conclusions rather than obediently, unquestioningly taking in what others say. but he's still listening to pick out the parts that make sense to him. (edit/note: and it's his compassion and his faith that are the primary motivations for this questioning and revisal process, both of individual cases and, eventually, the final boss that is christianity.) it makes perfect sense as the conclusion to his character arc and it fits the overall approach of the show far better. it's good is what i'm saying.

and i think it's important to show that kind of ending, because that's a pretty common and equally valid result of deconstruction. and i think it cements the show's treatment of christianity as something that's often (and maybe even easily) exploited, but not something inherently bad. something that can be very positive, even. guys he even has a dog he's not afraid of loving anymore. he's not afraid of loving anyone more than jesus and i don't think it's because he loves this dog less than bartholomew (though he was probably far more desperate for healthy affection and companionship when he was younger). i think it's because he figures god would want him to love that dog. he's choosing to believe that god would want him to love and to be happy and to be kind. he's not afraid of loving in the wrong way do you know how cool that is he's taking back control he's taking back something he loves from his abusers im so normal

[goldensunset]

‘the children yearn for the mines’ is a little too real to me bc when i was a kid and my older siblings were trying to get me into pokémon i really never cared to try playing. BUT. i was obsessed with the underground mining minigame in dppt. i used to beg my sister to let me take a turn playing and set it up for me bc i didn’t know how to so i could go mine for gems nonstop until i cleared that entire cave section of glittering wall spots which always made me so sad bc i was having such a great time. i didn’t even understand the significance of what i was doing but 7 year old me was high off of it

[nothorses]

I think these conversations would go better if we conceptualized terms like "homophobia", "transphobia", and "misogyny" not as the "basic" oppression that you start with until you sprinkle intersectionality on top, but rather as names for where more complex experiences overlap.

"Transphobia" is not the "base" we start with and build on with other experiences; it's the place where more specific experiences overlap. It's the middle of the venn diagram where "transmisogyny", "transandrophobia", and "exorsexism"/"nbphobia" all overlap with each other.

It's the thing we all have in common; not the thing that some people get extra special versions of while others do not.

[cluescorner]

Arlecchino's whole deal is unbelievable

Arlecchino: Huh I wonder what's causing my weird powers? I can't really worry about that right now tho, I've gotta become King and then kill my "Mother".

*Kills Clervie and "Mother"*

Arlecchino: Huh I wonder why I was able to defeat a Fatui Harbinger when I'm like 17 or so? I can't really worry about that right now tho, I've gotta be in jail and become a Harbinger.

*Is in jail for a while and becomes a Harbinger*

Arlecchino: Huh I wonder why I am-

Pierro: Hey what's up hello, anyways you're descended from the Crimson Moon Dynasty of Khaenri'ah. I'm sure that this is a lot for you to take in so-

Arlecchino: Ok.

Pierro: ...You're just cool with that?

Arlecchino: IDK maybe? I can't really worry about that at the moment, I'm a father now. This orphanage full of children I love (who also are child soldiers and are not allowed to leave or else I'll execute them except maybe now I'm just gonna wipe their memories IDK I'm morally complex) isn't gonna run itself.

*Runs the orphanage/spy recruitment initiative*

Me, the fucking player: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE KHAENRI'AN? WHY WASN'T THIS BROUGHT UP IN YOUR FUCKING QUEST?? OR ANYTHING ELSE????

Arlecchino, talking to me through my phone: I honestly don't know why you care, I'm too busy to give a shit. Anyways, I'm gonna go fight fate itself I guess. I'm sure that I don't share any thematic parallels with any other Khaenri'an characters (particularly as it relates to acting and family angst) and that I haven't made the idea of 'curses' on Khaenri'ans and what they entail even more complicated than they already were. See ya.

[sassypantsjaxon]

capri zs au Now

Little bit Sanji never escaped Germa au. Little bit Zoro goes to whole cake au. Little bit fucking around with the plot from Dressrosa through Wano. Little bit move Baratie arc because there's not much point to the straw hats going there if they're not getting Sanji from it. Little bit twist the death pact around into something else.

Okay. Let's go!

Germa's better known in this au and there are a lot of rumors going around about them coming into the grand line and forging an alliance with big mom. Nobody's quite sure whether there are three or four sons

Zoro lets his guard down after Dressrosa and wakes up alone in a cell. No Sunny. No Luffy. No swords. What he does have are the explosive collar and bracelets from Sabaody

No idea where the others are or what's going on, no choice but to wait it out and see what happens

He thinks he meets the whole royal family while he's in the cell. Judge. A daughter. Three sons. All exactly as horrible as the rumors.

And then he's finally removed from the cell and presented to the last prince. Told he's there to act as some sort of bodyguard

Not only does the fourth prince really exist, but he's the key to securing Germa's alliance with big mom

Piss off Luffy. Get in good graces with big mom. His abduction is starting to make sense now

Since he's already met the rest of the family, Zoro's fully expecting prince Sanji to be exactly the same as the rest of them and he's not doing much to prove him wrong

Honestly, he's not doing much of anything

Except he does make sure Zoro's been fed after being held in the cell for long

It doesn't take Zoro long to realize Sanji's at the bottom of the pecking order with his brothers. He thinks maybe that's part of the reason he's supposed to be a bodyguard. Except Sanji doesn't want him getting involved with his brothers for his sake

It's fine. Zoro didn't really want to help anyway

And then one day Zoro manages to piss off his assigned prince and is rewarded with a facefull of fiery shoe

Yeah, Sanji's not half as weak as he lets himself seem

And Zoro can't figure that out

Except that, well. He's already the key to Germa's alliance with big mom. Maybe this is part of some ploy to make himself Judge's heir

[gu6chan]

im ngl i love faputa and will continue to love her but genuinely like. It's been on my mind but i kinda sorta hate what they're doing with her now

[uygfiug]

turns out i turned the assignment i was stressing over into something a lot more complicated in my head & its actually really simple

[ukuslip]

yaaaaaaaaaa

[ravetillyoucry]

PUPARIA

Chapter 14 - The Place Where He Inserted The Knife

WARNING ⚠️ this chapter contains in depth discussion of disordered eating , please feel free to skip out if you think it necessary to.

prev - chapter 1

"I mean..." Jeanne winced a little as he spoke, his eyes fixated on the tea in front of him he stirred, "It's... It could be a possibility."

The shifter groaned in both despair and defeat, the absolute need for his theory to be validated being his top priority.

"Come on," He pouted,  "I don't see any other explanation for all of this." Hosah leant in closer across the table for two, his eyebrows angled down as his eyes stared wide in anticipation for a response which he actually wanted to hear.

Jeanne shrugged, "I don't know, give it more time. They've only been outwardly pestering you for what, two, three weeks now?"

"So what, you just want me to sit and wait for it to escalate?" There was a certain kind of distress in Hosah's voice, one partly mixed with disbelief.

"That's what the police force told you, no?" Suddenly, Jeanne's blunt and nonchalant attitude had become extremely aggravating.

This wasn't the place to argue, though. The tea house was somewhere Hosah and his superior frequented, despite the shifters blatant preference towards coffee. Even though he never actually bought anything, the little hole in the wall parlour was a very enjoyable place to be, with the light coloured decor and pretty rococo aesthetics, it was certainly not the kind of place you'd want to be having verbal battles in.

Instead, Hosah slumped back into his intricately carved wooden chair in absolute defeat. The reactions he'd received from the proposal that the whole 'stalker situation' was just a red herring had made him doubt himself far more than he already did. If he didn't feel like a crazy person before, he definitely did now.

Sit and wait until your life is at risk. That was the advice the police force had given Hosah and his team when they brought all of the evidence of extensive stalking to their door. They were working alongside the agency on these strings of missing people and murders, surely they would know far too well how dangerous this individual was.

The shifter had seen it happen hundreds of times before. People just like himself would go to those who were supposed to protect them, only to be turned away because the threat isn't serious enough, and almost every time he'd seen it happen, those in his situation would be dead by the end of it. Hosah thought it'd be different for him. Having working in law, he thought maybe, just maybe, he'd be taken more seriously, but he wasn't. 'Sure, they've been inside of your home, but they've never made a threat against your life' was essentially what the shifter was told.

"I think you should request some time off," Jeanne's eyes finally met Hosah's as he spoke, "Go home, see your family, spend some time away from.." He waved his hands by the side of his head, although it didn't really help convey the message he was trying to send, "..all of this."

"That would be admitting defeat."

Jeanne took a moment before laughing in confusion, "If that's how you look at it." He shrugged.

The two sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the quiet and peaceful atmosphere of the tearoom being a complete contrast to the previous weeks of the detective's lives. Despite this, Jeanne still looked like there was something on his mind. Something itching away at him, something that he clearly wanted to say, but was holding himself back for whatever reason.

"So.." The senior detective began, "You've moved into Edward's apartment now, right?"

Although the question seemed normal and mundane enough, the look on the almost ghostly pale detective's face said otherwise, as if he was bracing for impact from whatever Hosah would respond with.

"Yep." The contrastingly warm toned and tanned detective sitting opposite to Jeanne answered bluntly.

Hosah and Jeanne couldn't have looked less alike from each other. Complete polar opposites, the shifter's senior being particularly boy-ish, with rounded features and a short stature, his hair so black that in direct sunlight, it almost looked as if it were purple, distinctly standing out against his cool toned, icy white, almost porcelain skin. Hosah however, was a completely different story.

He had always been the darkest in his family, a trait his father told him must've been passed down from his late uncle, and everyone always pegged him as just a few years older than he really was with his facial bone structure being so sharp it made him look sort of sunken in. The people surrounding them in the tea house were probably perplexed to see such a sight, two individuals, nothing alike from each other on the surface, but with so many similarities and differences that perfectly balanced them out, a formula for the most ideal friendship.

"Are you happy?" Jeanne spoke, his expression having shifted to a much more relaxed, but still serious look.

The question caught the shifter completely off guard, expecting a 'Oh, what's it like?', or a 'Hows it going for you?'. Whether he was happy or not was not something he'd really thought much about, leaving him stumped for a moment as he considered all the different factors.

Teddy was sweet. He was funny. He had a lot of interesting stories to tell, and the more he let Hosah into his life before they'd met, the more he wanted to know. He was thoughtful and could always tell when something was up, although given the shifter's perpetual inability to hide his emotions, just about anyone could tell when he was riled up by something.

Sure, the apartment was in a constant state of borderline hoarder levels of clutter, it wasn't in the nicest of areas right along the outskirts of the city, the neighbours banged on all night either throwing parties into the early hours of the morning or seemingly rearranging their entire interior layout every single day without fail, but Teddy made up for it in his presence.

Just being in the general vicinity of the read headed man was enough for Hosah, as he carried a sort of glow that couldn't be seen by the human eye, creating a subconscious sense of ease and protection to the people he surrounded himself with. Hosah thought himself to be lucky to end up in such a situation. Forced proximity with a guy that fit his type to a T, it was all too perfect, like a romance novel or an idealistic dream.

".. Yeah." Hosah finally responded, although his answer was clear the second he began to really consider the question as a smile unknowingly spread wide across his face.

-~-

The shifter had gotten so carried away during his break, he'd almost completely forgotten the date and his allotted appointment time. September nineteenth at two in the afternoon. Fuck.

With barely a minute to spare, Hosah headed straight to the clinic, practically running from the tea house to the station as to not turn up late and make a bad first impression.

As he stood, sweating palms from growing nerves clinging to the strap hanger, Hosah came to the realisation that this was his first time in weeks being away from Teddy for so long.

Just as he'd been told barely a week into their friendship, Teddy had a fear of being alone in the city, an irrational fear of getting himself lost, a situation that would not be helped or avoided by company but still provided comfort either way, and this phobia had began to rub off on the shifter.

Standing in solitude, Hosah could no longer think about whatever mundane tasks the people around him were getting up to after their shared journey, only the fact that any of them could be out to get him in some way. As much as he'd liked to tell himself that his situation wasn't all that scary, he had to admit he'd been becoming uncharacteristically paranoid lately.

It started with hearing his name in crowds, or thinking something in his head and hearing his exact thought, verbatim, repeated by someone in his surroundings, then it grew to convincing himself people were staring from all angles, that they were tailing him on his walk home, that they were setting up trackers on his things as he'd get up to use the bathroom of a cafe.

Hosah knew there was room for chance and coincidence, that he wasn't thinking straight and was seeing the worst in people, but who could blame him for thinking in such a way after reading almost a hundred hand written letters detailing his daily routine?

In that moment, all the shifter wanted to do was get off at the next stop and run until his legs gave out, but instead he just froze up, standing as still as he possibly could, just as he did all of those years ago. That was probably his biggest flaw. There was no fight or flight instinct within him, only freeze. And freeze was exactly what he did, time and time again. As much as he hated himself for it, it was all he knew.

From that moment onward, the shifters brain was entirely in autopilot. His mind so crowded by all of the different possibilities and outcomes from every step he took blocking out the sound of the real world, making him dangerously unaware of his surroundings.

By a miracle, Hosah had managed to find his way to the clinic without being harmed. The waiting room was a pristine white from floor to ceiling, unlike his usual doctors office. The only thing that stood out against the minimalist decor was a sort of memorial display at the very front where a TV or a children's bead maze would usually be.

The lady in the portrait shone, clearly a part of some kind of orchestra as she held an instrument Hosah couldn't quite identify. Without even noticing, he'd gotten up to read the plaque, getting a closer look at the picture that hung proudly in the centre of the reception.

Kathleen 'Kat' Fatola-Aronov , beloved wife and mother, taken from us too soon. June 1st 1965 -  December 24th 2005.

The lady in the portrait and Hosah shared the same birthday, he noted.

The display saddened the shifter as the console table beneath the portrait had its entire surface covered with fresh flowers and cards. He didn't dare to read them, already feeling as though he were peering into someone else's life, being almost as invasive as the stalker that followed him so closely.

Grief was not something Hosah was well acquainted with, but standing here and seeing the memory of this woman he didn't even know existed until walking into the clinic, he still felt a sense of sadness, but also one of relief and gratefulness. Kat's smile in the portrait was a very bright one, a look of pure love and joy captured to beautifully. She was a very pretty lady, her hair styled in the classically timeless 1930's finger waves and her makeup done in a similar aesthetic. Hosah had always had an appreciation for this era of fashion, so seeing it done so perfectly and in such a beautiful way aided in his sympathy for the truly unknown woman.

"That's my late wife." A loud, baritone voice appeared seemingly out of nowhere, a man no younger than fourty five stood almost directly behind the shifter.

Hosah wasn't really sure what to say, too taken aback by the sudden voice, only able to mutter a quiet 'I'm sorry'.

The man behind him was tall, but not quite as tall as Teddy. His figure was remarkably rectangular, his shoulders as broad as his feet were big, although his legs were long and slim in contrast. The badge on his coat read 'Doctor Aronov'. This was the man Hosah had come to see.

Rather than dragging on the topic, Doctor Aronov held out a wide, coarse hand, "You must be Detective Seung-Levi. I'm so pleased to be able to speak with you."

The way he phrased it, it sounded much more like a casual chat over coffee than a therapy session.

"It's just Levi, Seung is a middle name." Hosah corrected the doctor. Weird. Nobody had ever made that mistake before. In fact, nobody, including himself, really took notice of his middle name. Aside from his mother who picked it, of course.

"Ah, apologies, Detective Levi," The doctor began to walk away, encouraging Hosah to do the same, as he clarified, "Follow me this way,"

The clinic was weird, if anything. There was a front desk at the reception, but nobody sat at it. The overhead lights didn't buzz or have the yellow eyesore hue that was such a common factor amongst these kinds of settings. The furniture was all pristine, not a single sign of wear and tear on any aspect of the waiting area at all. It was almost as if it were a blank canvas, the only kinds of colour sticking out being Kat's memorial and all the flowers left out for her.

Doctor Aronov's office was no different, a glass table without a single smudge sat in the middle, with two large, leather beige arm chairs at either side. Hosah took a seat as the doctor's expectant eyes silently offered him one.

The shifter knew what to expect as he sat. An hour or so of his brain being put under a microscope as someone pushed and probed for more detail on all of his least favourite memories just so they could piece together an answer for why Hosah was the way he was. He'd always particularly hated these kinds of things. Physically being poked and prodded at was one thing, but his mind was an entirely different story. Living inside of his head was his only escape, and by any means necessary would it be a place where he and only he could go.

"Just to make sure we're on the same page," The doctor traced his finger along the bookshelf behind him before seemingly finding the correct file, "Why do you think you're here?"

The question was stupid. He knew why Hosah had come, it wasn't from his own fruition, he knew Hosah's personal doctor had called and arranged for the two to have an appointment together, which is probably why it took the shifter so long to come up with a response.

"I.. can't gain any weight, only loose it. And my doctor thinks it's more a mental problem than a physical one." That was the least of it.

In the time between his last check up and his appointment today, Hosah had spent a lot of time thinking it over. Doctor White was completely right in thinking such a thing, the shifter's attitude and behaviours were concerning at best, and completely self destructive at worst. It was true, there was probably something mentally wrong with Hosah that made him act this way around food and general eating patterns.

"Do you agree? Do you think it's a mental problem?" The Doctor's continued prolonged eye contact had become increasingly uncomfortable by this point.

Hosah wasn't sure if he was supposed to say his answer out loud.

"I mean..." The shifter debated whether he should tell the truth or not for a few more seconds, "At first I was really defensive, I'm an almost thirty year old man, not really the type of person you'd expect to have an.." He really didn't want to finish the sentence. Saying it out loud would make it all real.

"An eating disorder?" Doctor Aronov completed the sentence for him, with a sort of sickly sweet smile on his face as he said it, as if he found pleasure in handing out these kinds of diagnoses.

Hosah shrugged, "I guess so."

"You see," The doctor started in a sigh,

"We have this idea of eating disorders, that it's about wanting to look a certain way, or that it's an inherently female problem, but it's rarely about intentional weight loss at all, most people find themselves in these kinds of states because it gives them a sense of control. They can't control the events happening to them in their daily lives, but what they eat, that's what they have full control over. Most don't even realise they're doing it. It's not always the case, but it's, more often than not, how it manifests."

Hosah was looked at expectantly, but he had nothing to say. What Doctor Aronov had just described felt like an invasive look at the inside of the shifters brain, putting the parts he didn't even understand himself perfectly into words.

As if his privacy didn't feel violated enough with all that had been going on, this just had to be the icing on the cake.

He was right, through and through, every word described Hosah's experience almost exactly. No control. No realisation that he'd even been doing it. Over the past week or so, he hadn't really been counting the days as they'd all been blending together, since his last appointment, Hosah had taken to psychoanalysing his interactions with food. When Teddy made him dinner and he just couldn't eat it no matter how badly he wanted to. When he'd find himself swirling the same loaded fork around and moving everything across his plate to make it look touched, only to have not had a single mouthful. It was all too much.

By this point, the shifter had gone eerily silent, not even a breath could be heard as he'd been holding it in, his shoulders tense as he gripped each arm of the chair as if he were going to fall right off of it. Hosah's clammy hands were sure to imprint on the leather as he had his soundless breakdown.

"I know self-disclosure isn't always preferred to share so sparingly by people in my field, but, you can't always tell just by looking at someone what they could be going through." Hosah tried his best to listen, but honestly, his ears rang with a sharp buzz, making it hard to hear anything at all.

Still, although the shifter remained with his eyes fixed on the doctor's pointed dress shoes rather on at least his face, he continued,

"Kat, the lady with the memorial you were looking at, she's my wife. Was my wife, at least. She seemed to be healthy and happy on the outside, but even though her weight was normal, it still got the best of her. She tried to get help on her own but these kinds of recovery facilities, going impatient and what-not, that was reserved for what they consider emergencies,"

Doctor Aronov's slim square glasses began to fog up, his voice much more glum and serious,

"She suffered a heart failure, since she hadn't been eating right, or, really eating at all. She didn't look like she had an eating disorder, on the outside she seemed so... Nobody knew. I didn't even notice until I had no time left to help her. That's why I went back to school and chose to specialise in this particular range of disorders. People are suffering even when they're not physically showing it. And I wanted to help them. Will you let me help you, Hosah?"

Hosah could barely think through what he'd just been told before he found himself nodding.

"Do.. Do you think one particular event, just- just one, can change the outcome of someone's life, dictating how they think and all the choices they make, forever?" The words poured out of the shifters mouth like a broken faucet, unable to stop himself even as his eyes stayed locked on the floor under him.

Doctor Aronov laughed, although it wasn't as comforting as he'd probably hoped it'd be, "That's usually what happens, yes. You think one event in particular is influencing you now, to get to this point?" he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

The doctor was middle aged, maybe a little older, clean shaven with a noticeable, some sort of slavic, accent. His hair had begun to go grey, although his head seemed to still be full of it, as it was gelled back similar to how it'd be commonly styled in the 1930's, almost in matching fashion with how his late wife used to present herself. A particularly vintage looking couple, despite it being the 2000's now.

Speaking to another man about this kind of thing was definitely uncomfortable. Hosah wasn't sure whether he even wanted to continue on, as he didn't want to feel emasculated any more than just the event itself had made him feel ever since the day it happened. He'd already started now, and if he didn't elaborate in the moment, he'd just have to do it later.

".. Something happened to me when I was, what, maybe sixteen, but probably more like fifteen, I... It's always playing back in my head. When I close my eyes. When I hear a certain sound, smell something in particular, when the lights are that specific yellow shade, seeing a similar interior layout, I feel like I'm always back in that room." Hosah began, his hands now in tight, almost shaking fists as his eyes became blurry as they glossed over with a tear.

-~-

When the shifter stepped outside of the clinic, the particularly windy autumn day being as chilly as ever as he'd forgotten his big coat at the apartment, his eyes were instantly met with the familiar yellow vehicle, a man he could recognise in even the most crowded of rooms stood outside of it, waving him over to come get in alongside him.

Doing as he was told, Hosah half ran to the car, fighting the urge to just dive straight into Teddy's arms, shrinking down in an instant to just the size of about his thumb and a half, but instead, he settled for an extended pat on the shoulder from the significantly taller figure.

"How'd it go?" Teddy asked, opening the door for his roommate like the gentleman he was.

Hosah wished the vehicle was already moving at this point so he could show his disdain for the question through a simple yet effective tuck and roll,

"As good as anything like that can get, I guess," He didn't really want to talk about it.

Although Hosah's gaze had long shifted to the mundane view out of the window, Teddy's eyes stayed fixed at the smaller figure, unable to look away as he feared the shifter would disappear upon doing so. It was hard to not reach out and run his hands through the freshly cut and bleached hair as he did once before.

The clouds were a particularly dull grey, preparing for a melancholic down pour, quite fitting for the shifter's current situation. He couldn't stick to one thought, as his mind bounced from question to question, overthinking every little aspect of, what he assumed to be, his unremarkably normal behaviour.

Particularly, he thought of all the things he could've done differently. Maybe if he did one, tiny, meaningless thing differently, he wouldn't be this way. Things would be better. Or, on the other hand, there was the bleak idea that no matter what he did or what choices he made, he'd always have ended up this way, in this taxi, with Teddy.

It didn't take long before the two arrived back at Teddy's apartment. Or, their apartment now. The thought made him sick. It truly was theirs. All Hosah's stuff was here now, he was going to officially move out as soon as Jules got her shit together with the contract, and it was terrifying. Hosah had never been in a real relationship, not that this was anything more than two people making the best out of what they had in their current situation, and the commitment of actually, really sharing a space was truly nauseating.

Quite frankly, after the day Hosah had just had, he couldn't take it anymore. The sudden urge to retch sent him straight to the bathroom, no time to shut the door behind him, as, the lack of, his stomach contents came up and out into the toilet bowl.

Teddy followed closely behind, panic in his speedy steps and stuttering voice, "Woah- woah, what's wrong?"

"Just.." Hosah could barely get his words out as his insides kept bubbling back up his throat, "Just coming down with something."

If coming to terms with the everlasting effects of his trauma counted as a disease, Hosah was bedridden with it.

Instead of leaving him to it as a part of him wished Teddy did, the taller of the two stayed by his side, sitting on the cold tiled floor beside him, brushing the ash blond hair out of his face as he went back and fourth between retching and endlessly salivating. Gross. Teddy didn't deserve to see him like this, it was far too humiliating. At least his hoarse and hushed 'It's okay'-s were quite comforting.

"I... I need a bath." Was all Hosah could muster with the mix of saliva and stomach bile still lingering in the back of his throat.

Teddy didn't even pause for breath as he instantly turned toward the tub he was leaning against half a second earlier, preparing it for the shifter as soon as the words had left his mouth.

If he weren't in such a vulnerable state, both physically and emotionally, Hosah wouldn't have even dreamed of asking such a thing from his roommate, but alas, he was in that kind of situation where all he could do was reach his arms out and practically cry for someone's, anyone's, attention and affection.

"Can you help me wash my hair again?" The shifter asked, his words clear, without hesitation. It was this kind of direct request from his roommate that Teddy could not deny.

Hosah had come to learn to not be embarrassed when naked in front of others. He'd had countless support workers insist he needed help with washing himself all throughout his teenage years, and saying he was sexually inexperienced would've just been an outward lie. The shifter really wasn't insecure because he was out in the open, because he was physically in a very vulnerable situation that could easily turn sour if Teddy so wished it to, but more self conscious about the state his body was in, his ribs poking out around his chest all the way until his stomach con-caved, his hips sticking out as if they were out of place.

At his best, he looked like he'd never had a full meal in his life, and at his worst, he looked like he'd been addicted to meth since birth. Although both were fairly accurate, exaggerated but not entirely false, they weren't exactly desirable things to be compared to. Hosah wondered if his roommate were disgusted with him, if he felt just as nauseous as he did seeing the shifter throw his guts up when seeing him without a protective layer of clothing hiding his true form.

Deciding he'd add it to the long list of things to dwell on, Hosah got into the water without a second thought, enjoying the hot steam as it seeped into his pores, filling every gaping hole in his body with the warm, comforting feeling of the slow boiling of his own body. It was piping hot, just as he liked it. He wondered if Teddy had noticed that fact when bathing in the wooden bowl before.

The fact Teddy did all of this without question, without any hesitation, without judgement, was a comforting one. That's just the person he is, though. A caretaker. He'd see something he could nurse back to health and he'd jump at the opportunity to. A little dehumanising at times, but over all a good trait to have, especially when it applies to the shifter.

"Tell me a story," Hosah requested, his head leaning into the gentle massaging of the soap in his hair, Teddy's fingers moving in perfectly synchronised circular motions.

Teddy hadn't spoken much since they'd gotten back, which was a shame, since he had such an enjoyable voice and general way of speaking, "What kind of story?" he asked.

"About Italy. Tell me about Italy," The delicate kneading of Hosah's scalp was almost sending him straight to sleep.

"Well," Teddy started, "During the summer, when I wasn't at school, I'd stay on my grandparents farm. It was like three or four miles out from the nearest little town, so there would just be great long stretches of pastures to bike down, I'd take a book or two and me and my sister would go down to the river, once we'd finished all of our work, of course."

Hosah sighed dreamily, the steam fogging up every mirror and every window in the room, the only lighting being the little lamp that sat on top of the toilet and the overhead hallway light creeping in under the door frame,

"Sounds nice." The shifter added.

"It was nice," Teddy had paused moving his hand to recollect the memory, "I could probably find that river again with my eyes closed. We'd swim when the current was gentle, but usually we'd just sit and read by it in silence. A good sort of silence though. Just.. quietly enjoying each others company."

"Reminds me of my cabin. The one I told you about." Hosah turned his head to face his roommate as he began, "I'd be willing to compromise if Colorado isn't really your thing. Anywhere out of this city is good, as long as there's somewhere I can paint and fish."

"We'll see when it comes down to it," Teddy mumbled, his hand gently guiding the shifters head to tilt back as he rinsed the soap out of his hair, combing through the short length with his fingers as he did so.

They could both probably get used to this life. As long as everything going on outside of the apartment were to disappear, at least.

[coquelicoq]

kim dokja is fantastic bisexual rep. some of us are nonpracticing yet uninterested in vows of celibacy because we like to leave our options open. some of us are aro. some of us are idiots. some of us are all three. WE EXIST