things without names


This is my dog. She usually sits behind me all day as I doodle, curled around my bum, occasionally putting her long chin on the arm rest or wedging her snout between my thigh and the chair. She is an old pup, so she snores heavily, sighs a lot, and sometimes hiccups. I love her a lot and she makes me happy, so here is my sharing happy thing of the day.

raspberrypop135  asked:

Hey! I'm currently 14 and I'm practicing on some animation for a year! I always dream of joining a animation studio! But I feel they might reject me or I'll never achieve my dream! Do I need to go to college? Do I seriously need a degree? Do I need some supplies to pay? Is it easy to join?! Sorry, I've been stressing out about this earlier! Can you give me some advice on how can i work in a animation studio? Thank you!

This is a lot of questions!  First of all, I need to ask you to calm down.

Stress can be a powerful motivator, but too much stressing and you start going backwards!  Remember, hon: you’re fourteen.  You do have time!

The decision to go to college is a big one, and believe it or not, it IS optional.  Think about it this way: if you were an employer for an animation firm, what would you be looking for in an employee?  Would you care about grades and degrees?  Or would you care more about the potential employee’s portfolio and ability to do the work you require of them?

The fact of the matter is, while school is absolutely important and you should do your best to learn as much as possible from it, you also need to bear in mind that not everything is gonna depend on your report cards and framed degrees in the future.  I myself went to university and got my BFA in animation there, but that was more because I personally believed I would significantly benefit from the education I might receive there.  But college isn’t for everybody, and for some, it can be a huge financial burden.  If you have the drive to teach yourself and do your own work without being prompted, and you think you have the stuff it takes to learn what you need to know on your own, then college might not even be necessary for you.

Basically: it helps.  But it’s not a requirement, per se.

As for the animation industry itself, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it: it is EXTREMELY difficult to get your foot in the door.  This industry is massively competitive, so would-be animators need to keep pace.  It’s not just about who you know, or about your skill, or even about luck: it’s a scary combination of all three.  The most important thing to understand is that it usually takes time, and you’re gonna fail many times over before you succeed.

I had the extreme fortune of attending CTNX right when a studio was hiring, which was ALSO right when I was graduating, and the studio ALSO happened to be looking for somebody who could do exactly what I could do.  Of course, I wouldn’t have been at this event had I not put forth the effort to prove to my family (who gifted me the tickets) that I was capable of taking full advantage of an opportunity if it was presented to me, and that I had the stuff to make it if I just had a break.

I actually interviewed for two studios at CTNX, but was offered a job only by the one.  In other words: I was rejected by the other.  The rejection was mitigated by the fact that I was accepted at the same time, of course, however that was more a stroke of good timing and luck than a given.  Had I not gotten this acceptance, I’d have had to go home and resolve myself to try again and not give up just because I failed the first time.

With regards to your supplies, I can’t tell you everything you’re going to need specifically.  You’ll need a method of animation, of course, that you can use freely – mine is Clip Studio Paint EX, to draw in, combined with Adobe Premiere CS6, to assemble my animations.  There are plenty of other programs that’ll do both at once, but which one works for you is going to depend on you alone.  You’ll also need to understand that, in the studio, you’re not guaranteed to be using the same software as you use at home.  For that reason, you need to be flexible, and you need to resolve to be a quick learner.  Some employers will train you right on the job.  Others will throw you to the sharks, and you gotta quickly learn to catch up on your own.  But learning curve on the job is only with regards to the program – if you don’t know the basics and how to make a good product even on your own software, they won’t teach you that.

The biggest thing is that you’ll need to do your own research!  Asking for advice is an excellent start, but like I said, I can’t tell you everything you’re gonna need – some of that, you’ll need to figure out on your own.  And I know that’s scary, but don’t worry – you’ve got plenty of time.

As some parting comments, I recommend you pick up a book titled “The Animator’s Survival Kit,” written by master animator Richard Williams.  I also HEAVILY suggest you take some life-drawing courses, whether they’re with a school or just somewhere in your area.  Trust me: you can NEVER know enough about how to draw what’s around you.  And while learning to draw “realistic” things might seem counter-intuitive for animation, which usually calls for a much more simplified drawing style for efficiency’s sake, you gotta know the basic rules before you can bend them and change them and simplify them.  Study your favorite animated movies, and even the ones you don’t much care for.  Pay attention to HOW things move, and why certain motions work so well in the contexts they’re given.  Pay EXTRA attention to when something doesn’t seem to work, and try to figure out why that may be.  If you can, find somebody to explain these things to – teaching others is the fastest way to teach yourself.  (You could even use a stuffed animal or a pet as your audience – sometimes, it’s all about listening to yourself explain it.)

Lemme be cheesy for a minute…. 

Bellamy Blake is the key to everything. 

Bellamy Blake is the key to Clarke Griffin’s ❤️.

Chasing After Your Name

Pepper wakes up in the body of a teenage boy named Tony Stark.

Tony wakes up in the body of a teenage girl named Pepper Potts.

(Or, an AU where you switch bodies with the person who is your soulmate.)

((Or, more accurately, inspired by the movie Your Name.))

Pepperony Week 2017, Day 6: AU

(read on ao3 or ffn) // (read prev. pepperony week 2017 works here!!!)

Pepper’s woken up by the floor.

She groans in pain as she pushes herself up from the hard wood, rubbing her head. Her fingers freeze in her hair when she realizes it’s not her hair—her hair is long and smooth, this hair is short and sticking straight up.

“What the hell?” she mutters, but gasps at the sound of her voice. It’s—it’s not her voice, it’s someone else’s voice, someone who is male, what the fuck—

Standing up quickly, she looks around the room and finds it to be, well, not her room. Everything is different, from the color scheme, to the posters up on the wall, to the bed, to the knickknacks and other personal belongings scattered around the room.

She presses her lips together. Her hand that isn’t her hand is darker and calloused as she lays it on her chest—her flat chest.

Then her hand slips down the waistband of her pajama pants—the amount of heat rising to her cheeks throughout this entire ordeal is nearly unbearable, mind you—and, yeah, okay, that’s definitely not a vagina.

“Who am I?” she questions out loud, picking up the smart phone she’d knocked onto the floor when she’d woken up. She examines her reflection in the screen, only to find a boy staring back at her.

What. The fuck.

Keep reading

guess whos birthday is coming uppppppppp


I followed all the rules, when I came here the first time. Listened to all of the stories, the tips, believed all of the warnings and the worries. Watched some classmates disappear, sometimes covered with excuses of transfers, sometimes not, watched suspiciously or with awed eyes to those who were suspected to be other.

But I never saw a single thing. I never saw the creatures late in the library, I never heard things scratching on my windows, and I never felt eyes on the back of my neck walking home in all the dark, clutching iron nails in my jacket pockets.
I’m from the South, you see, and down there we don’t have this Fae nonsense. There’s no flimsy fairy circle to be warned about, no rock in the middle of the road; sure, I’d read the fables, but that’s all they were to me. Fables.

I believed in something different. That’s all it came down to; belief. 
So when I brought the shrine with me, and gave it its own shelf, I shouldn’t’ve been surprised that everything left me alone for the first year. I shouldn’t’ve been surprised that, as I was deaf to my gods, so was I blind to the Fae. (You learn to listen in other ways.)

It was only that first summer, when I wore something other than a t-shirt for the first time, and my ankh tattoo finally was blessed by the sun for the first time, and my friend flinched away from me when I turned to talk to someone, it was only then that I started to take note.
I couldn’t see them - of course, this will come as no surprise - I couldn’t see them, I couldn’t hear or touch them, not like some of my friends swore they could, but.
When I was holding that ankh necklace, when I was wearing that tattoo, when I was believing, they could tell. I learned which days to wear the necklace over my shirts, and which days to hide it under the binder.

It wasn’t until two years later, when I painted gold onto my eyelids, that I could see for the first time.
But that’s getting ahead of myself. I had two years of knowing nothing; of seeing friends Taken and gone, of some of them coming back, of wondering what it was that I wasn’t seeing, and wondering when my belief wasn’t going to hold me safe anymore.
I brought my cat up to campus, in one of the apartments nearby (did the campus own these? were they just affiliated with it? I’m still not sure, to this day) and then when I set up my shrine, certain friends stopped coming in without permission. My cat followed me about the small space, over and over again, waited for me by the door every single day, and purred on my lap for hours. (It wasn’t until years later that I would call him a “familiar” for the first time.)

The next year was rough. I still never saw a thing; I made friends, I joined clubs, I branched out to new places and new people and new classes, I drew fantastical things in my sketchbook, I wondered and wondered whether the softest tone of a bell I heard in one class was something Other, I wondered and wondered whether the thunderclap that we all heard one day with clear sky was something Other, and yet I never knew anything for sure.

I stopped carrying iron, stopped wasting my ramen packets (that stuff is so, so bland without it, so I savored every possibly last bite I got) stuffing them in pockets, stopped wondering. I stopped looking at certain students with awe and wonder, stopped darting glances over my shoulder late at night, stopped pretending to have seen something my classmates had. I had followed all the rules; done everything right; and never seen a thing. I had friends who would swear up and down and around the mountain that they were real, that the Gentry (their word, never mine), had done this or that, that they had seen something or other, but never me. It was a quaint university, that was for sure, but was it really magical?

And then I saw her. She was the first person to ever seem More, to me, the first person to shine in my eyes like she had some kind of luck brimming in her smile, the first person to freeze me solid with her laugh (oh, there were others, who sent shivers all up and down my spine in the best ways, but this one, this one was different somehow) and the first person to touch the fox tail I’d worn for years with wonder, and not disgust or barely-hidden half-curiosity half-abhorrence. 

I bribed her with gummy sharks, all the while thinking about the fables - for, to me, they were truly only fables - of eating food in the Fae world, of being stuck there forever. All the while wondering breathlessly about the idea that maybe, for the first time, I was Seeing.

I met her again on the lawn, looking for someone else, and I sat and found that she, too, drew fantastical things and creatures without name. I found that she wore no shoes, and when she laughed I wanted to listen to the sound forever. And when her eyes glittered just so, then I wanted to drown in their blue.

I bribed her with gummy sharks, and dances, and honesty; the greatest gift that one could give on this campus, I had learned, and I’d honed mine to a brutal point.
And, eventually, when I tangled my fingers finally in that curly ocean of teal, dyed colors and colors that I did not know could come in a tube or a on a brush, I felt like magic for a moment.

It wasn’t until she flinched at the first mirror that I started to suspect anything, for real. It wasn’t until then that my heart knew, and my mouth started speaking with that brutal honesty it was so good at. It wasn’t until then that something in my gut changed, something in my heart stirred, and something in my hearing clicked.
I heard padding footsteps on the path behind me, that night, felt something curling in the mist around me, that night, as I walked away from her dorm.

I still didn’t believe it. Not really, not truly; but I did clutch to my necklace when I walked away, a little too fast, and I did relax in my car, sheathed in metal, a little too much. 

She changed me.

And when I told her my stories, her eyes lit up, and when she told me her worlds, I listened with rapter attention than I had paid anyone here, shivers dancing on my spine and gooseflesh on my arms (no feathers; I was embarrassed to admit even to myself that I had checked, later, in the bathroom, alone with my cat.) and something shivering new in my heart.
And when she looked at me, I felt like I had become the center of every vision on earth; and when she laughed for me, the feelings that swelled in my heart swelled without name; and when I kissed her, I thought that it was nothing more than what it was; smiles and flattery and - daresay - love.

But then the meat in the dining hall tasted a little bit different that night. But then the salt burned my tongue a little more than it should - how should salt burn your tongue, anyways? How do you describe what should and shouldn’t taste, how things changed just enough to notice them but only once, because pineapple and oranges taste so good, how had I never tried those before?

I’m getting away from myself again. It’s easy; easy to get lost. Maybe that’s what they mean by Taken, sometimes. Maybe that’s why english majors and storytellers and musicians are the most oft to come back.

Anyways. It entered my life in bursts, leaps and bounds, fits and starts: the half feral cats purred at my touch, the crows regarded me with careful eyes, the rain kissed my lips and dusted my eyelashes like gems. The music spoke back to me, random patterns finding less random and more sass; the tarot deck she would push into my hands would speak louder, eventually.

She called me beautiful; and I had no words to reply. She called me divine, and my heart sung out in response so loud and so unerringly that I could not say no, and within a month I had inked it into my skin.

The artist gave me rose quartz to hold, told me that there is no divinity without pain, and the sigils on my arms burned like fire the first time I stepped foot back on campus.
But that was alright.
Because I could hear them now, because I met the fox eyes and lightly glowing gazes with my own raised high, with a proudness that had infected me, somewhere, when someone a little less human and a little too magic had told me I’ll have enough confidence for the both of us, and at the end of that winter everything had changed.

I mean that mundanely, of course. I couldn’t See anything yet, but new scars stretched across my chest and suddenly, shirtlessness was possible, and suddenly, my tattoos meant something more, and suddenly, I was myself and there was no other way to be.
I convinced her she was Fae at some point, over that break, too. With whispered words beneath blue fairy lights, and the snow trapping us alone, with my heart beating so much closer to the outside world than it had been, wrapped in a form that wasn’t quite mine, we spun tales at one another until she was half joking to worship me, and I was half joking to change my piercings out for less iron ones.

The joke stopped the day I painted gold onto my eyelids. With her supervision, and my nervousness - just a little bit of makeup - just a little bit of makeup - we surrounded my eyes in gold and she smiled, by my gods did she smile, and my heart felt so radiant I could not want for anything else in that moment.

And then I left her dorm to trek my way home, to my cat, and my lights, and my bed - sorrowfully empty - and when I raised my head to meet the eyes of another student, I had to look twice as high as I ever had before.

As it turns out, the Fae have an agreement - this Court with others, that Court with some, ancient beings with ancient beings, and - for me at least, far be it for me to speak for others - occasionally, the child of the divine.
All it takes is belief - belief in the Fae, belief in the rumors, belief in the iron around your fingers and the salt in your pockets - belief in what will and will not work, belief in the world around you and the one that you cannot see - and belief in your own kind of magic.

I believed hard enough in the divine touching me - and, maybe, roped a child of the Fae into speaking it into truth - that maybe they did.
And now I never leave the house with my eyes unburdened by gold, without my fingers wrapped in a carefully picked pattern of gold and iron rings, without the glitter of divinity speckling my skin, without the pride in myself decorating my features, inspired by someone who won’t use her roommates’ iron cutlery anymore.


This is Hanyu. The man. The doer. The beast.

The idea’s steeped in even more now. And the more it does, the more I like it. He’s doing it. He’s really doing it. And he’s doing it by bringing something different in epic proportions to the table at the frigging Olympics amidst a sea of warhorses. And not just different, but culturally different in an essentially Japanese way. In South Korea. That takes guts. And a lot of confidence. And a whole lot of love for where he came from. All with due respect to the host country. 

The whole world’s finally, *finally*, gonna get to see SEIMEI, the man, the exorcist, and the warrior, and they’re gonna be seeing it as a completely different level of monster than what figure-skating fans saw two seasons ago. Those who lamented and dreamed and thought during NHK and GPF 2015, “Man, why couldn’t one of these have been the Olympics?”, I guess we now know that the answer is, “Because it wasn’t enough then and there’s a bigger and better version of it saved just for it brewing.“ 

And it’s gonna be the finest and most dominant damn brew anyone’s ever gonna see, smell and taste. And any perfect performance of it should make the judges feel both privileged and unworthy to quantify it into a single set of scores. I’d be happy to be one of them, to have lived to see this fierce, beautiful and mystifying magic unfold before my very eyes and be made to *believe*, and, in the end, to be asked for *my* approval of it.

…I want it *so* bad. Wouldn’t even have dared hope for this were it any other program but now– *gets down on knees and starts praying for a succession of perfect performances, both Chopin and SEIMEI,  in the second half of this season*

To me, he’s not recycling programs. To me, these have always been his Olympic programs, or at least, SEIMEI is (think Chopin just sorta happened)–for the very Olympics that would cement his status as GOAT. And he’s dedicated an entire *season* of competitions, two seasons back, just to test-run them and *another* season after, to fine-tune them, in the form of different programs.

This is a true master at work, guys.

There’s no room for what-ifs. There can only be do.

Because simply winning is not enough. It has never been. Not for this beast of a human being.

*kudos to Chan for his non-uniform choice, as well. Buckley and his version of Hallelujah hold a special place in my heart. And it seems to fit his style to a T. Anticipating very much to see his program.

We have names for everything. What if we forgot about those names? And we stopped seeing things as something? What if we just observed things, watched things, without giving them a name, without coming to a conclusion? What do you think would happen? You would transcend everything.
—  Robert Adams

I usually don’t like to post my opinions because I know that if I do I might be attacked with 100 anon messages that say I am a horrible person. But, I don’t care anymore. I am done seeing people get attacked for what they say or art they make or things they enjoy. 

Fandom use to be a place of happiness. This site use to make me feel happy. But now I cannot say my opinions or rant about things without being called names like, Sexist, Racist, Homophobic and the list goes on and on. People are too quick to make an assumption about a person for what they post. It is frustrating me and many others. People are pushing away artists, writers, ect… because they are  constinently told it is problematic. And what is worse is that it is usually over fictional shows and charachters that are meant to bring us joy and should not be taken too seriously. They are supposed to be an escape. Nothing is problemtic. People just like to make things problematic. Try to laugh at things instead of making it a problem. Try to see the other persons perspective. Enjoy what you like without hating on what other people like. If everyone was exactly the same and enjoyed the same things life would be so boring. 


all your world’s a stage

dance with me ‘til all the stars begin to fall,
dance with me ‘til there’s nothing left of you at all, 
all the stars come down tonight.

a mix for the red room girls | listen

// It’s literally terrifying to read news about how those hurricanes makes such a destruction on the other side of the world atm. And here I was smoking on my balcony last night and waiting if I could see any auroras already at the same time lol… I can’t even imagine that feeling when you have to run away from your home because of some nature disaster, cause we couldn’t have anything like that in here. Never.

I send all my prays for these hurricane victims, especially for the ones who may follow me. Take care of yourself, your families and pets, remember that you can always rebuild, but life itself cannot be replaced ❤

I’ve plan to start some charity drawing thingie later today, I actually thought about it already yesterday when I started to follow better those hurricane updates just for the sake of my curiosity. I can’t give any donations anywhere myself cause of my own shitty life situation, but maybe a lil thing like that would encourage the ones who can .u.

Stay safe~

                           we’re back to the years of the church
                                                 -let me explain-

[Yves in a church with stained windows, searching for 
something without a name] with hymns in the background;
the heart of holy in your mouth, waiting to be swallowed-
the fading marble turning soft in your hands / your hands
lining the alter, waiting for god. waiting for something better
than this.

the halcyon years remind me of the paint on our torsos, and 
how we looked doused in gold / i remember your golden mouth
and the way it sang, without saying goodbye- yes, i know we’re 
back to the years of the church, and how we prayed

                                               - but hear me out-

[Yves in a church with fruit in their hand, waiting to be devoured /
waiting to be communion]; always hungry. you with all the pits,
and how they crash into each other in your stomach. i, with my
emptiness, and fullness all at once- that summer i let out the doves

from under my armpits, and gave them a reason to fly / you found
a place to hide, and we both lied from between our teeth. we both laid
in different beds. with different arms around us, and it didn’t feel like 
death- here i am awakened, in the church years, with Yves- waiting

for you under the orange tree- with your golden mouth. with
the thing without a name. with the halcyon years. with the
church in my chest. with the doves painted blue. with
my hands folded. with my knees on the floor-
                                                where are you?

PILGRIMAGE // FOR @yvesolade

That Empty, Shallow Thing

warped and vacant, vapid serpent,
there it went, of want of servant
into reaches of ageless growth,
where the river mouth floweth,
the source, where brothers sat
at the feet of wolves, suckled,
fault line where fabric of world
cracks and lies broken, buckled,
it shudders forth from his den.

antediluvian beast, devoid of feature,
indescribable, unyielding hunger,
feast of blood, rapture in it’s nature,
reaping the strong, eating the least,
Lugus’ pain, Gwydion’s shame,
that empty, shallow thing without name,
it shall awake when the sun fails,
as in the prophecies and old tales,
and darkness rises from the East.