;) have fun kids
by jc-pics on Flickr.
Otachi - Dragon*con 2014
"Movement in the breach… Category 4…"
Aquarium night at Dragon*con was unbelievable. Otachi was fun to wear during the day, and the Pacific Rim meetup was amazing, but I swear once it got dark out it hit a whole other level of epic kaiju destruction awesome. I felt like I was freaking becoming Otachi, surrounded by all the nighttime marine biospheres - the lights looked sooo cool in the exhibits!! And of course any chance to shoot with Soulfire (a huge Pacific Rim fan) is going to produce incredible work. I feel like Otachi is emerging from the breach in these photos, and she’s about to destroy Hong Kong (or Atlanta). Do your worst, PPDC…
While I consider myself a pretty experienced sewer, I had absolutely never worked with craft foam outside of simple, teensy props. I’m writing up on a big breakdown of exactly how I made the spinal column and tail, but for now I’ll just say it was a huge endeavor! There are 162 individual foam pieces in the spine/tail, and 32 LEDs. Phew! Now where’s a Gipsy Danger I can drag into the stratosphere??
More photos and breakdowns can be found here!
Absolutely stunning and I love how each part of the outfit corresponds to Otachi’s biology!
talk street magic to me
drawing power from the metro lines
illusionists busking illegally, shimmering lights disintegrating as they run
plant mages tending tiny rooftop and windowbox gardens
elementary school kids learning basic sigils on the playground
wixen taking a while to key into the magic in new cities when they move
alchemists dealing on the side to support their experiments
middle schoolers making friendship talismans and amulets for everyone
numerologists who’ll do your math homework for $5 or divine your fortune for $10
kids mass-texting luck and speed spells when their parties get broken up by the cops
Hell yeah, let’s talk about magic.
Like elementary kids learning silly (or inappropriate) charms from each other on the bus, the same way we learned our first swear words. Clapping games across the bus aisle, but with spells instead of rhymes.
Worrying that your friend is getting into dark magic, but not knowing how to talk to them about it. Intervention programs for kids abusing hexes and runes, because magic has given them control over something for once in their life, and they’re starting to make some dangerous choices.
Psychic teachers knowing when you’re cheating. Knowing when you’re having trouble with homework. Or at home. Knowing when you need tutoring or an AP course because you’re just not being challenged or a different teaching method because you can’t process what you’re learning in class no matter how hard you try, and the teacher tells you it’s okay, they know. They know.
Magic graffiti. Graffiti in wild places, and graffiti that vanishes when certain people roll by like the police. Or graffiti that only appears when the police walk by to insult them. Murals. Swirling, living murals on the sides of buildings. Murals that—if you listen closely—can be heard, not just seen.
In the evenings, kids hiding out in someone’s backyard or an alley passing around a joint and casting minor illusions to watch while high.
Chalk artists making works that are so realistic, they come to life off of the sidewalk.
One man bands in the park, with instruments floating around playing themselves.
Punk concerts in empty lots with amped out music and lights, but noise-cancelling spells and illusion hide them in plain sight from anyone outside of the lot.
Mediums predicting people in need, and making sure to be there at just the right moment to lend them a helping hand. “You seem upset, do you need to talk?” “Oh, you’re a dollar short? No, don’t put the milk back; I’ll cover you.” “You really ought to try taking your resume to this store. Trust me.”
Necromancers in forensics speaking with the dead to solve homicides and cold cases. Living lie detectors as beat cops and detectives and DEA agents.
Strangely cheap five star food diners that bake actual love into their apple pie, and they always know your dietary restrictions without being told.
Service golems in various sizes and shapes, making sure their magic users aren’t crowded, get medical attention, go where they need to, etc. They don’t get distracted, they can be hollow to hold things like medications, and in rare instances, they seem to develop loving attachment to their users despite not being alive.
Little old landladies who dabble in witchcraft brewing homeopathic remedies for people in their apartment complex.
Street magic is an amazing concept.
Cars with paintjobs covered in sigils, protecting them and others from harm.
Churches that are literal sanctuary, backed up with wards to prevent violence being done within their walls.
Practitioners of Sympathetic Magic using company logos to invoke the associated concepts - a nike tattoo makes you faster, something stamped with “Nokia” is more durable.
The old leylines don’t work, but the highways, train lines, water mains and high-tension cables do the trick.
just. Magic Conventions.
All of this please.
Baron Vaughn (x)
;) have fun kids
Aaaaand, there goes my liver. Or what’s left of it. Again.
I want the chess
Why Did You Capitalize The Word ‘Cabbage’ But Not The Word ‘France’ : an adventure in reading fanfiction
coming soon, the thrilling sequel: ‘You’ve Gone Through Three Different Tenses In The Space Of One Paragraph And I Think You Just Invented A Whole New One All Of Your Own’
and the long anticipated conclusion to the trilogy: ‘I Have No Idea Who Is Supposed To Be Speaking Right Now’
technomancers who turn themselves into wi-fi hotspots
A type of Crassula succulent
it’s a living squiggle.
I want twenty.
I think being an aromantic asexual is kind of like growing up in a world where people randomly burst into song, as if they were in a musical, and I’m that one person who doesn’t get involved in the musical numbers, and is wondering what the heck is going on. After a while I got used to it, so it doesn’t surprise me or weird me out anymore. I’ve accepted it as a Thing That Happens. But accepting it doesn’t mean that I understand it, or feel it, or participate in it, so I’ve learned to just wait it out and quietly do my own thing when other people get invested in it.
Most of the time, I’m fine with this. I don’t think I’m better or worse than people who take part in the “songs” (i.e. romantic and sexual feelings). I don’t feel like I am less happy, or that my life is less beautiful, meaningful or valuable. I don’t mind being the odd one out. Most of the time.
But sometimes, it hurts. I grew up always expecting that I would eventually “hear the music” that other people hear, and feel the same passion and enthusiasm they do, and that it would make me happy. I thought it was just a matter of finding the “right person.” Accepting that I was aro-ace meant giving up on that. In some ways it was a relief, but it also made me feel lost, empty and disappointed. Especially the aromanticism—being able to love someone romantically is so heavily tied to our idea of what makes us human, that when I realized I was aromantic, it almost felt like I wasn’t human anymore. A huge part of my future and my self-image had suddenly been overturned, and no one had warned me that this was even possible, nevermind how to cope with it.
But I couldn’t deny it. I couldn’t just keep pretending to myself that I could hear the music everyone else heard. I couldn’t deny that the world made more sense if I assumed other people were feeling something I didn’t. And I started trying to recover, to rebuild an image of what my relationships and future would be like, and to accept and love myself the way I was. To throw out the old romantic/sexual script and and write my own.
And that now means that things that once reassured me, have become strange and hurtful and alienating. “Don’t worry, you’ll find the right person eventually,” just means that the other person doesn’t believe me when I try to tell them about myself. “You’re young, give it time,” now means that my experiences are dismissed because of my age. “I just want you to be happy [by finding romantic love],” means that someone believes I can never be happy by being myself.
Yes, I want to recover, but I don’t want to recover from being aromantic and asexual. I want to recover from a lifetime of being told that people like me do not exist, are inhuman, are evil, have something wrong with us, or must be lonely and miserable. I don’t want a cure that will help me “hear the music”; I want people to believe me when I say that I don’t hear it, and to stop trying to make me be part of it.
And I want other people who don’t hear the music to know that they’re not alone, that they’re fine the way they are, and that they don’t have to keep trying to feel what most people feel.
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