Living and working in L.A. Have a degree in making TV that is currently being underutilized. I like lots of TV and books, especially scifi and fantasy with cool lady characters.

foreverpruned:

evolutia:

toneverforever:

Post racial Amerikkka

I’m so disgusted.

But its not about race you guys.

foreverpruned:

evolutia:

toneverforever:

Post racial Amerikkka

I’m so disgusted.

But its not about race you guys.

Posted 35 minutes ago by timemachineyeah
Reblogged from amonshinpi  Source toneverforever

evilhasnever:

tarnality:

looking for fics of my rarepairs like

image

I’ve never seen a gif that perfectly exemplifies ff.net until now

girlsbydaylight:

Princess Serenity by Siann on pixiv

lollidepop:

You keep doing this, guys

Posted 4 hours ago by timemachineyeah
Reblogged from crunchbuttsteak  Source petercapaldy

crunchbuttsteak:

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure –
But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.
Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.
Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.
Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured – by their classmates –for having been born.
Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle – but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)
Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.
Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again – the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone – the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?
Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.
Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.
Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes – in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.
Imagine the ghosts.
Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield – it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)
Imagine the students unable to trust each other – everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.
Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.
Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.
Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.
Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.
Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.
Imagine the students who leave the wixen world – hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.
Imagine the students who never use magic again.
(Image source.)
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)


ow….

crunchbuttsteak:

thelethifoldwitch:

Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure

But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.

Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.

Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.

Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured by their classmates for having been born.

Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)

Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.

Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?

Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.

Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.

Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.

Imagine the ghosts.

Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)

Imagine the students unable to trust each other everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.

Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault s/he’s dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your boy/girlfriend is dead.

Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.

Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.

Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.

Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.

Imagine the students who leave the wixen world hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.

Imagine the students who never use magic again.

(Image source.)

(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)

ow….

timemachineyeah:

This is a bag full of major characters

image

Actually it is a bag full of assorted candies. But pretend the candies are interesting and well rounded fictional characters with significant roles in their stories. 

We’ve decided to mix things up a bit with the nibbles at this party for Western Storytelling. While we used chocolate covered raisins before - this time we have lots of candy.

We get out two bowls to share the candy. 

image

We start filling the two bowls. At first we only start filling the one on the left. 

image

This doesn’t last forever though. Eventually we do start putting candy in the bowl on the right.

image

But for every single character we put in the bowl on the right, we just keep adding more to the bowl on the left. 

image

The people from Group B become understandably angry because they have so much less candy. Someone points this out and so the people from Group A add more candy Group B’s bowl.

image

But the people from Group B look at the two bowls and notice the clear difference.  

“Why,” someone from group B asks, “does our bowl only have LemonHeads?”

“What? No it doesn’t.” Someone from Group A says.

“If you want different candy maybe you should add your own,” an A says. The people from Group B balk. The people from Group A often go up to the candy bag and the bowls to distribute more candy themselves, switching it between bowls and pulling more from the bag, but whenever the people from Group B try to do the same the people from Group A stop them. 

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about; LemonHeads are my favourite characters in our bowl. I’d love to have a bowl just with LemonHeads,” one more A adds. 

“Yeah, what do you have against LemonHeads? LemonHeads are a great and valid candy! You should appreciate that you’re getting candy at all, and stop LemonHead bashing!”

This party goes on for a long time. People grow up and have children. When the children from Group B grow up, they all eat LemonHeads. “See?” The people from Group A say, “LemonHeads are their favourite! Why are so many people from Group B complaining about something they like?”

“It’s not that LemonHeads are bad,” someone from Group B tries to say, “It’s just that we wish we could have some variety or choice.”

While the people from Group A aren’t looking, someone from Group B gets to the candy. They grab a Starburst from the bag and put it in the Group B bowl. A sympathetic A also moves a Starburst over from the A bowl.

image

The people in Group B get excited! “Finally, we have Starburst! About time!”

“That’s not real Starburst,” someone from Group A says, “Just because it has the wrapper doesn’t make it a Starburst.”

“Yeah, it looks gross, not like our Starburst,” someone from Group A says. “It’s not the same at all. Ours is better.”

“It’s literally exactly the same!” Someone from Group B says. “It’s got all the same ingredients and everything!”

“No. We don’t like your different Starburst.” 

“The only difference with this Starburst is that it’s in our bowl!”

“Well, yeah” someone from Group A says, “but like, can your bowl even have real Starburst?” 

Someone else from Group A says, “Honestly, this is why people from Group B shouldn’t distribute candy. People just don’t like it as much.” The other people from Group A all agree. 

A while later it’s someone else’s turn to distribute characters. They go, “Man, I always loved these Starburst. I think we should revisit them!” and they move the Starburst to Group A’s bowl. Every in Group A now loves the Starburst. 

image

At this point the people from Group B get really upset. Some of them are hurt, some of them are mad. They start clamoring for a change in the way candy is distributed. 

“Why is it,” someone from Group A asks, “that when we move candy from the Group A bowl to the Group B bowl, they think that’s fine, but when we do it the other way everyone gets all mad?”

“It’s a double standard,” someone from Group A says. 

“It totally is.”

This is why there’s not only a difference between making, for instance, white characters black vs. making black characters white, but why when increasing representation it’s important to note what kind of representation you are adding. 

There’s nothing inherently wrong with LemonHeads, the problem stems from a lack of choice. The same way that there’s nothing inherently wrong with a Gay Best Friend™, it’s just that, you know, we already have a lot of those. Loving sex is almost certainly a completely wonderful trait of many black women; that doesn’t mean they appreciate Jezebel being the only flavor available when they go to the candy bowl. 

Lots of people, when writing margianalized groups, will create one of these familiar and frankly old flavors. Then, when the group they represented understandably complains, will say, “This is why I don’t write women/POC/trans/disabled/etc people! You all are never happy!” 

It isn’t enough just to include margianalized groups; you need to include them as the varied and distinct people they are. 

(Now what the hell am I going to do with this 6 lb bag of candy???)

Posted 5 hours ago by timemachineyeah
Reblogged from timemachineyeah  

vickytheplatypus:

Dipper is not gay or bi-curious

Of course not. 

Dipper is trans. 

Mabel is the one who’s super bisexual. 

Posted 6 hours ago by timemachineyeah
Reblogged from vickytheplatypus  

markdoesstuff:

cosplayingwhileblack:

intergalacticafro:

"Are you sure that’s a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard—I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough—I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

having grown up with the HP series, i have said on multiple occasions that i am hermione granger. it’s no coincidence that we’ve never been in the same room, and i too am a magical bossy know-it-all with big hair who’s smart in school.

but now…now it’s OFFICIAL. and here are the pics to prove it~

photos taken/edited by ArtsyRaccoon, it was my first time working with her and she did an AMAZING job and was so sweet, please go check her out ;-;

more photos from this shoot HERE

SUBMISSION

P E R F E C T I O N

princeowl:

reminder that the matrix trilogy was written and directed by a trans woman (lana wachowski) along with her brother

one of the most influential and iconic sci fi movies was created by a trans woman and MORE PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THIS!! lana wachowski is a babe and an inspiration, one of the few female directors in hollywood as well as one of the few transgender people in hollywood. 

I sometimes wonder if response to the movie wouldn’t have been different if she were out at the time.

But Lana is amazing.

Posted 7 hours ago by timemachineyeah
Reblogged from crunchbuttsteak  Source princeowl

laylainalaska:

fuckyeahsources:

Nope. But the real story is better. Bolding mine:

The late Ruth Thompson, a cell painter on “Snow White” who later became a multiplane scene planner, recalled: “We tried everything - airbrush, drybrush, even lipstick and rouge, which is perhaps the basis for the legend because we did, in fact, try it. But nothing worked.

The airbrush was difficult to control on such a small area; drybrush was too harsh; lipstick and rouge unwieldy and messy. Everything proved to be impractical and all hope seemed lost to give Snow White her little bit of color when the idea of using a dye was proposed.

Again Ms. Thompson: “Someone suggested a red dye because the blue day we added to give Donald Duck his distinctive sailor-blue never really could be washed off the cell without leaving a bluish stain where the paint had been applied.”

Ever since the mid 30’s when color became the norm for all the cartoons, not just the “Silly Symphonies,” all paints and inks were made at the studio. During this period as well cells were routinely reused for economic reasons, thus the need to wash them off. Apparently Donald’s special blue color was made with a dye added to the usual powdered pigments. “So we tried that.” As the women gathered around in what must have seemed just another dead-end effort, all eyes became fixed on the red dot which soon became a small glow with no perceptible edge. The hushed silence soon gave way to sighs of relief. The method had finally been found. Now the application.

Among the studio’s many inkers (an extremely demanding profession), was one young lady whose training and skill was unique: Helen Ogger. Just being an inker placed one within the elite confines of this most “holy of holies” area of the Nunnery, as the Ink and Paint Department was so called (Walt had strict and quite Victorian views that the sexes not mingle at the workplace, allowing no male personnel save the “gofer” boy and the paymaster “Mr.” Keener to enter this domain of mostly unmarried women ). But Helen was in addition a very fine cartoonist and one of the few women at Disney’s or anywhere else, who could animate.

Such a seemingly insignificant detail (as the cheek colors) might be thought not worthy of special mention (she, as well as the other inkers and painters, was given no screen credit). But when one adds up the number of footage required to be tinted freehand on each individual cell, the hours suddenly turn into weeks and months. In fact, such a treatment was never attempted again on such a scale and even today, the publicity stills from “Snow White,” most of which do not have the added blush, bear witness to how that little touch of extra care adds to the vitality we see on the screen.

The work was done on all close-ups, most medium shots, and even on some long shots. The Queen was also similarly tinted. Hundreds of hours were needed to complete this task, arduous, repetitive and, of course, hard on the eyes. Ultimately a handful of other girls were needed to assist Helen as the clocked ticked toward the deadline.

Helen had to place several cells together on an animation board, one atop the other, just like in the process of animation, in order to get the ‘registration’ right (the spot of red just right in relation to the preceding and following ones) - all of this without any guide. She would work out her own extremes and then ‘animate’ the blush in inbetweens. Her work deserves admiration and gratitude and it is unfortunate that her contribution has remained unknown and her anonymity unaltered during her lifetime. She was paid, as were the rest of the Inkers, $18 a week, which included a half-day on Saturday and the many, many hours of unpaid overtime “Snow White” would require - all given unstintingly, (by everyone involved, it should be added), to a project whose joy in participating was its own reward.

She eventually became head of Inking and Special Effects and even taught classes in animation at the studio. She left in 1941 (apparently part of the terrible strike that would leave the Disney Studio changed forever), taking her skills with her. She died in Glendale in February of 1980. Perhaps it is safe to say that her departure was critical to the abrupt demise of this now unique effect (it was also used, though on a much smaller scale in both “Pinocchio” and “Fantasia”). None of the other inkers or painters were animators and it is this fact, not just the factor of economy nor the changing tastes, which surely must be considered a reason why such details were never attempted again. The golden age was over.

Also, here’s an interesting article about female cel painters at Disney. I am now fascinated by the idea of writing something with a Depression-era cel painter as a protagonist.

Posted 7 hours ago by timemachineyeah
Reblogged from ivyeyed  Source timblanks



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