we fell out of touch when i moved back from LA but will is such a genuinely sweet person & i’m so happy for him & i highly encourage yall to check him out
This is a project I had meant to do a long time ago, at the time I didn’t feel that my art style was right for it though. Also, story time! The reason that vaporeon has two variations is because I couldn’t decide which one looked better, so have two! I hope that you all enjoy these as much as I do! ~ ♡
who was the fool who was tasked with naming the galaxy and the only adjective they could think of was ‘mmmmmmmmmmmmilky…’
scientist: (gazing up at space) scientist: ……….. it sure is a milky boy
NO
YOU DONT UNDERSTAND
ASTRONOMERS ARE THE SHITTIEST EVER AT NAMING THINGS I KID YOU NOT.
When it came time to name the two theoretical particle types that might be dark matter THEY INTENTIONALLY CHOSE THE NAMES SO THAT THE ACRONYMS WOULD SPELL “WIMPS” AND “MACHOS” I SHIT YOU NOT
THEY ARE FUCKING TERRIBLE AT NAMING ANYTHING
I just listened to a talk by Neil deGrasse Tyson himself LAST NIGHT and he went on about this more than once.
“I’m walking down the street and I’m like ‘ooh pretty rock…’ and some Geologist is like ‘actually, that’s anorthosite feldspar’ and I’m like ‘Nevermind, I don’t want it anymore.’ Any biologists in the audience? [some clapping] Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. The most important molecule in the human body, what did you name it? It has NINE SYLLABLES and it’s so long that even YOU GUYS abbreviate it as ‘DNA’!
But astrophysicists and astronomers? No, man, we call it like we see it. Star made of neutrons? NEUTRON STAR. Small white star? WHITE DWARF. You know that big red spot on Jupiter? Know what we called it? JUPITER’S RED SPOT.”
okay i’m glad you mentioned the biologist nonsense bc their naming methods are the bane of my existence
I see your astrophysicists-are-shit-at-names and raise you Marine-Biologists-Are-Fucking-Maniacs.
See this beautiful creature?
It’s a carnivorous deep-sea sponge that lives off of Easter Island and never sees the light of day, as it’s about 9000 feet down. Those delicate-looking orbs are covered in millions of tiny hooked spines, which latch onto anything unfortunate enough to bump into it, and hold it in place as it is digested alive by the sponge’s skin. Amazing, beautiful and profoundly creepy. They could have given it so many cool names. Could have drawn on mythology (I think Scylla would have been an appropriate reference), the region it was found in, the textured skin, PHAGOCYTOSIS, anything!
Hi. It’s been a while again and I haven’t drawn much for various reasons, but here’s a few Pokémon “AU” pictures. It’s a style I like to try to out sometimes, even if ten characters in a row got a bit too much in the end.
Anyway, I decided to make all (or at least most) of my black female characters as trainers. Two Teges, too. She’s had a character arch I’m pretty proud of, and would start off as one of those low-level gym leaders in Nanalan city who eventually ends up in the elite four because there’s no chill and she was out of Samado badges. I had another sketch for Saffran as well, but didn’t finish it. Kotoye’s a film director and Tulie is so stronk.
In mid-February, Eric Radford made headlines around the world by becoming the first openly gay man to win Olympic gold at the winter games. Now retired from competition, the adopted québécois is concentrating on “professional” skating, in addition to becoming a coach, choreographer and music composer. Over the next year, he will tour the world with Stars on Ice shows, plan his wedding, expected for summer 2019, with the newly retired skater Luis Fenero, and decide if he will move to Vancouver to work in the future skating school of his friend Patrick Chan or if he will get involved with his recent coach, Bruno Marcotte.
Despite his busy schedule, he took the time to sit down with us for over an hour to tell his story, three days after the end of the Olympics and two days before flying off to Australia where he is teaching a seminar with his partner Meagan Duhamel.
Do you see yourself as a spokesperson for the LGBT community?
My outlook on this subject has changed a lot . I am extremely proud of what I did in Pyeongchang and I feel that have a responsibility now. I received a lot of messages from people thanking me for my courage. Ironically, I don’t feel courageous. I’m just trying to be myself. Except the messages show that I am making a difference. It’s an amazing feeling! It takes me back to my own experience: I think back to the years of intimidation that I felt and the absence of LGBT role models in my youth…
For a while I thought I was the only homosexual in my town and I asked myself “why is this happening to me?!” I didn’t see them on television either. Nothing let me know that gays could be successful and find their place in the world. If I had someone who inspired me, that would have helped me accept myself. Today, I want to be that person for others.
Were you intimidated because you were figure skating or because people thought you were gay?
A bit of both. I had mannerisms that could be considered more feminine and I talked with a lisp, which could be associated with a gay stereotype. During my last year of elementary school, I was made fun of every day, without end, throwing insults at me associated with homosexuality. A girl even asked me if my parents thought I was a girl since they had enrolled me in figure skating and gymnastics, two “girl’s sports”.
I remember thinking that it wasn’t my parents choice. I wanted to do these sports. So I wondered what was wrong with me that made we want to do that. I hated myself for a long time because of my sexuality. Between 13 and 16, I was fighting my feelings and desires.
When did you come out to your family and friends?
Around 18 years old. My friends had created a safe environment full of love that made me realize that they would love me no matter what I did or who I was. I felt comfortable talking to them. As for my parents, they only showed me love and support when I told them. I was very lucky. A couple days ago my friends told me that friends of theirs had troubles with their parents since coming out. On the other hand seeing me on the news and seeing my parents encouraging me, it opened their eyes that homosexuality is not abnormal…
What convinced you to come out publicly years later, in 2014?
Before I never felt the need since those close to me and most of the people in the skating world knew. I was in my bubble and I was focused on achieving my Olympic dream by qualifying for Sochi. Then after the Olympic in Russia, a lot of things changed. My partner Meagan and I changed our perspective on skating and the role that skating played in our lives. We became more stronger, more anchored. In the year following the Olympics, we were riding the momentum. We were undefeated in competition. We knew who we were. And the opportunity to tell my story in my own way at the right time presented itself. I felt instinctively that I was ready.
I thought that the more athletes and public figures spoke openly about their homosexuality, the less it would become a big story over time. I wanted to participate in this movement.
Recently, the skier Gus Kenworthy posted status showing the number of very violent homophobic comments he’s received since this publication of a photo showing him kissing his boyfriend at the Olympic Games. Have you received insults like this since coming out?
In the past four years, no media has asked me about my homosexuality. I was out quietly. But last June when I shared a photo of my marriage proposal on social media, I received a lot of negative feedback. Strangers told me I was going to get AIDS… I find it really bizarre that they follow me on Instagram and that they take the time to write me that. There are really people that hate us and want to tell us so that we feel bad. That said, during and after the Pyeongchang Olympics, I didn’t see anything negative. My situation is very different to Gus’. He is American. He speaks about it much more that I do. And he has at least 10 times more people following him.
What would you like to do with the LGBT community in the future?
In June, I will participate in the Pride Oslo at the invitation of the Canadian ambassador in Norway. I would like to write a book on the connection between my experiences in sport and the process of accepting my sexuality. I am a person who is introspective, analytical and very close to my emotions. My friends tell me that I express myself well and that I need to share everything that I’ve experienced. I want to give examples to younger people so that they can identify with someone and see how I managed to accept myself despite all the fears and anxiety I felt inside.
the most implausible thing about superhero movies is that these guys make their own suits, like seriously those toxic chemicals did NOT give you the ability to sew stretch knits, do you even own a serger
I feel like there’s this little secret place in the middle of some seedy New York business neighborhood, back room, doesn’t even have a sign on the door, but within three days of using their powers in public or starting a pattern of vigilanteism, every budding superhero or supervillain gets discreetly handed a scrap of paper with that address written on it.
Inside there’s this little tea table with three chairs, woodstove, minifridge, work table, sewing machines, bolts and bolts of stretch fabrics and maybe some kevlar, and two middle-aged women with matching wedding rings and sketchbooks.
And they invite you to sit down, and give you tea and cookies, and start making sketches of what you want your costume to look like, and you get measured, and told to come back in a week, and there’s your costume, waiting for you.
The first one is free. They tell you the price of subsequent ones, and it’s based on what you can afford. You have no idea how they found out about your financial situation. You try it on, and it fits perfectly, and you have no idea how they managed that without measuring you a whole lot more thoroughly than they did.
They ask you to pose for a picture with them. For their album, they say. The camera is old, big, the sort film camera artists hunt down at antique stores and pay thousands for, and they come pose on either side of you and one of them clicks the camera remotely by way of one of those squeeze-things on a cable that you’ve seen depicted from olden times. That one (the tall one, you think, though she isn’t really, thin and reminiscent of a Greek marble statue) pulls the glass plate from the camera and scurries off to the basement, while the other one (shorter, round, all smiles, her shiny black hair pulled up into a bun) brings out a photo album to show you their work.
Inside it is … everyone. Superheroes. Supervillains. Household names and people you don’t recognize. She flips through pages at random, telling you little bits about the guy in the purple spangly costume, the lady in red and black, the mysterious cloaked figure whose mask reveals one eye. As she pages back, the costumes start looking really convincingly retro, and her descriptions start having references to the Space Race, the Depression, the Great War.
The other lady comes up, holding your picture. You’re sort of surprised to find it’s in color, and then you realize all the others were, too, even the earliest ones. There you are, and you look like a superhero. You look down at yourself, and feel like a superhero. You stand up straighter, and the costume suddenly fits a tiny bit better, and they both smile proudly.
*
The next time you come in, it’s because the person who’s probably going to be your nemesis has shredded your costume. You bring the agreed-upon price, and you bake cupcakes to share with them. There’s a third woman there, and you don’t recognize her, but the way she moves is familiar somehow, and the air seems to sparkle around her, on the edge of frost or the edge of flame. She’s carrying a wrapped brown paper package in her arms, and she smiles at you and moves to depart. You offer her a cupcake for the road.
The two seamstresses go into transports of delight over the cupcakes. You drink tea, and eat cookies and a piece of a pie someone brought around yesterday. They examine your costume and suggest a layer of kevlar around the shoulders and torso, since you’re facing off with someone who uses claws.
They ask you how the costume has worked, contemplate small design changes, make sketches. They tell you a story about their second wedding that has you falling off the chair in tears, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. They were married in 1906, they say, twice. They took turns being the man. They joke about how two one-ring ceremonies make one two-ring ceremony, and figure that they each had one wedding because it only counted when they were the bride.
They point you at three pictures on the wall. A short round man with an impressive beard grins next to a taller, white-gowned goddess; a thin man in top hat and tails looks adoringly down at a round and beaming bride; two women, in their wedding dresses, clasp each other close and smile dazzlingly at the camera. The other two pictures show the sanctuaries of different churches; this one was clearly taken in this room.
There’s a card next to what’s left of the pie. Elaborate silver curlicues on white, and it originally said “Happy 10th Anniversary,” only someone has taken a Sharpie and shoehorned in an extra 1, so it says “Happy 110th.” The tall one follows your gaze, tells you, morning wedding and evening wedding, same day. She picks up the card and sets it upright; you can see the name signed inside: Magneto.
You notice that scattered on their paperwork desk are many more envelopes and cards, and are glad you decided to bring the cupcakes.
*
When you pick up your costume the next time, it’s wrapped up in paper and string. You don’t need to try it on; there’s no way it won’t be perfect. You drink tea, eat candies like your grandmother used to make when you were small, talk about your nights out superheroing and your nemesis and your calculus homework and how today’s economy compares with the later years of the Depression.
When you leave, you meet a man in the alleyway. He’s big, and he radiates danger, but his eyes shift from you to the package in your arms, and he nods slightly and moves past you. You’re not the slightest bit surprised when he goes into the same door you came out of.
*
The next time you visit, there’s nothing wrong with your costume but you think it might be wise to have a spare. And also, you want to thank them for the kevlar. You bring artisan sodas, the kind you buy in glass bottles, and they give you stir fry, cooked on the wood-burning stove in a wok that looks a century old.
There’s no way they could possibly know that your day job cut your hours, but they give you a discount that suits you perfectly. Halfway through dinner, a cinderblock of a man comes in the door, and the shorter lady brings up an antique-looking bottle of liquor to pour into his tea. You catch a whiff and it makes your eyes water. The tall one sees your face, and grins, and says, Prohibition.
You’re not sure whether the liquor is that old, or whether they’ve got a still down in the basement with their photography darkroom. Either seems completely plausible. The four of you have a rousing conversation about the merits of various beverages over dinner, and then you leave him to do business with the seamstresses.
*
It’s almost a year later, and you’re on your fifth costume, when you see the gangly teenager chase off a trio of would-be purse-snatchers with a grace of movement that can only be called superhuman.
You take pen and paper from one of your multitude of convenient hidden pockets, and scribble down an address. With your own power and the advantage of practice, it’s easy to catch up with her, and the work of an instant to slip the paper into her hand.
*
A week or so later, you’re drinking tea and comparing Supreme Court Justices past and present when she comes into the shop, and her brow furrows a bit, like she remembers you but can’t figure out from where. The ladies welcome her, and you push the tray of cookies towards her and head out the door.
In the alleyway you meet that same giant menacing man you’ve seen once before. He’s got a bouquet of flowers in one hand, the banner saying Happy Anniversary, and a brown paper bag in the other.
Plume de Lynx 