crystalsharpwing

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You became what? 10

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Here’s my graduation film from CalArts! Thanks to my friends and family who supported me along the way! Watch other films made by my classmates: vimeo.com/channels/calartscharanimfilms2015

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Part 2/2 of my lotr marathon sketchdump! Happy new year everyone

Please don’t repost! Instagram / Twitter : Laquilasse

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Reblog this if you like Lord of the Rings, just do it, ask no questions all will make sense later.

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CAT by  By 九米 / Zhaobangni (1631123)

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if you ever have about an hour and a half to kill, instead of watching a movie, please watch the three part series of the mcelroy brothers playing fallout 4 and destroying it from the inside out

like i can barely sit through a ten minute letsplay anymore and yet i watched all of these absolutely entranced the entire time

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where are those startups that are disrupting the glasses industry

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Here’s my one week film for film workshop class B^)

pls enjoy

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Goodbye for now

well, it’s been a trip, but i don’t think that this site is doing me any favors, so imma gonna step away for a bit. i’ll drop by to see what’s what, but that’s it.

So. Ya’ll hava good one, and, maybe, i’ll see yall around.

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Stupid Overwatch Headcanon

Jesse McCree is, like, AMAZINGLY good at stealth. That’s why he was recruited to Blackwatch. When he wants to, he can move perfectly silently.  This was an asset in the field, but it was becoming a serious problem on the base, because you had all these trained soldiers with hair-trigger reflexes who reacted badly to people appearing suddenly behind them.

They ended up making him wear spurs so they could keep track of him. If he ever takes them off he’s a ghost. 

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A fic where Steve and Bucky are super gross and mushy on the phone because it started as a joke making fun of couples that use pet names, but now it's escalated due to their chronic one-upmanship. Steve refers to Bucky as Jamie/Jamiebaby in these conversations, so Steve's coworkers are expecting a girl with particularly sappy tastes. Instead a brick shithouse shows up to the office party and just fuckin roasts Steve the whole time.

Shout-out to the Stucky discord for helping brainstorm the pet names!

Clint looked around the conference room with satisfaction. The decorating committee had leaned extra hard into the non-denominational theme for this non-denominational holiday party, so the only nod to the season were the paper snowflakes taped onto the windows. There were rainbow streamers twisted above the doors, and Clint had appropriated a trailing strand of royal purple and was now wearing it around his neck like a crinkly paper boa. Most importantly, Clint had managed to snag a table near the back that was strategically positioned between the bar and the buffet table, and he’d claimed one of the leather roller chairs that didn’t squeak. The night was off to a good start.

The Stark Industry bigwigs were having a much more formal gala on the atrium level, but Clint was but a humble security guard, so he was down in the building’s largest conference room with the rest of the peons. The joke was on the important people, though, because the peons got all the same delicious catering without having to sit through speeches from the Board of Directors.

Tony Stark, son of the company founder and terror of the engineering department, dropped into the chair next to Clint. They’d met five months back when Clint had nearly arrested Stark for trespassing when he’d set off the motion sensors during an all-night engineering binge. Once the accusations and apologies had been dealt with, Clint had escorted Tony back to his workshop and kept refilling his coffee pot until he passed out over his drafting table. It wasn’t the most conventional way to start a friendship, but it was about par for Clint; at least neither of them had actually wound up in prison this time.

“So, that was easier than I expected,” Tony said.

“They kicked you out already?”

“I thought I’d have to hit on a few of the board members’ wives, but violating the dress code was enough.” Tony absent-mindedly rubbed a smear of engine grease on his wrist, then wiped it on his Metallica t-shirt. “Howard sent me packing as soon as I walked in. Is Steve coming?”

“He said so. And he’s bringing Jamie-baby.”

Tony lit up. “We finally get to meet Steve’s mystery partner?”

Steve had been placing calls from the security desk to the mysterious “Jamie-baby” as long as he and Clint had worked there. Clint could never make out the other side of the conversation, but Steve always gave the caller endearments like “honey-pie” and “angel face” while Clint (and Tony, if it was a day when he was hiding from his dad in the security office) mimed vomiting all over the security monitors. Steve usually ended the calls with “See you at home, Jamie-baby,” which was as much information as Steve would disclose. “I don’t want to skew your first impression,” he always said, with that face that meant he was up to something, and good luck figuring it out. Clint had a healthy respect for that face.

“He said they’d both be here.” Clint scanned the crowd, looking for a boy scout’s face on a lumberjack’s body. “I don’t think he’s shown up yet.”

They only had to wait ten minutes, during which Tony cut paper snowflakes into increasingly complex geometrical shapes and Clint scaled the windows to stick Tony’s snowflakes above the ones already in place. Clint was dangling ten feet above ground from a complicated network of window blind cords when Steve walked in. He waved energetically to attract Steve’s attention, then directed Steve towards their table and climbed (climbed, fell, same difference) back down to ground level.

Steve was followed by a beefy dude in a blue button-down with the left sleeve neatly pinned up below the shoulder. He had the kind of broad, angular face that managed to produce dramatic cheekbone shadows even under the conference room’s soft fluorescent lighting. Their intern Peter, who was taking pictures of the party for the office newsletter, was going to love this guy.

“Hey!” Steve leaned in for a hug, and Clint enjoyed the sensation of being briefly engulfed by a friendly blond grizzly bear. “Buck, this is Clint and Tony.”

“Nice to meet you,” the one-armed cover model said. “I’m Bucky.”

Clint hid his flash of disappointment. He’d been hoping to meet Steve’s mystery partner Jamie-baby, but obviously something had come up. Bucky looked like Clint’s kind of guy, at least. He was already leaning around Steve to scope out the buffet.

“Glad you could make it.” Tony held up two flutes of slightly different amber liquid. “Who’s the designated driver?”

“Me,” Steve said, and accepted the sparkling cider Tony passed him.

Bucky took the other flute. “There more where this came from, or is this a one-and-done kind of deal?”

“It’s an open bar,” Clint said.

“Fuck, yeah,” Bucky said, and drained half his glass in one gulp. “Steve, I take it back, your holiday parties are the best.”

“Told you. I’m hitting the appetizer table before the brie wheel runs out, you want anything, sweetpea?”

“Yeah, get me five of everything wrapped in bacon.”

“On it, lambykins.”

“Thanks, fucknugget.”

Tony choked on his champagne. Bucky raised his eyebrows at Tony and set his glass on the table. “That your special holiday party outfit, or does this office have a really loose interpretation of business casual?”

“Huh? Oh,” Tony said, looking down at his grease-smeared band t-shirt and ragged jeans. “Nah, I’m trying to get fired. It’s a long story full of power struggles and non-compete clauses. Lesson learned, never work for your overbearing family patriarch, no matter how much your mom guilt-trips you.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Bucky said. “There a bathroom around here?”

“Down the hallway, second door on the right,” Clint said, and barely waited until Bucky was out of earshot before turning to face Tony so fast the swivel chair kept rotating and he was forced to swing around again. “Did Steve just call him lambykins? This is the smoking gun!”

Tony nodded rapidly. “Bucky is Jamie-baby. We’re blowing this conspiracy wide open.”

“What did Bucky call him back? Duck crumpet?”

“Fucknugget.”

“For real? That’s what I heard, but I thought my hearing aids were acting up.”

“So are they roommates, or,” Tony made an obscene hand gesture, “roommates? I say roommates.”

“I say roommates,” Clint said, doing an insinuating eyebrow waggle. “No way sweetpea and lambykins are platonic friend terms.”

“I call Rhodey ‘honeybear’ all the time.”

“Yeah, well, you’re you.”

“Fair point. Shh, they’re coming back.”

Bucky sat back down a minute before Steve returned carrying half the buffet table, most of which he transferred onto Bucky’s empty plate. He spent a few moments arranging the dates wrapped in prosciutto into the shape of a heart.

“Wow,” Bucky drawled. “Such romance.”

“Anything for you, Jamie-baby.”

“Thanks, sugartits.”

Clint and Tony exchanged a frozen look. What was the appropriate way to respond to someone calling their roommate…boyfriend…person sugartits in the middle of a work party?

“So, uh, do you go by Jamie or Bucky?” Clint hazarded.

Bucky snorted. “The only one who calls me Jamie is this asshole.”

“Becca does it.”

“Becca does it when she’s trying to wind me up. You do it because you were put on earth to test me.”

“Aww, buttercup, don’t be like that,” Steve said, making cow eyes at him. “You know you’re my precious honeybunny Jamie-darling.”

“Yeah, sure, and you’re my teenie-weenie termagant.”

Steve looked down at himself pointedly. “I’m six-two, Buck.”

“You’ll always be a shortass to me, sunshine.”

“Hah.” Steve slapped the table, a huge grin spreading across his face. “‘Sunshine.’ I win.”

Bucky groaned and let his head fall forward. “God dammit.”

“Pay up,” Steve said, holding out a hand. Bucky dug around around in his jeans pocket, then dropped a wadded-up dollar bill into Steve’s palm.

“I just got that back,” Bucky said mournfully.

“You’re too sweet for your own good, Buck.” Steve layed a smacking kiss to the side of his head. Bucky huffed, then turned and pulled Steve in for a real kiss.

“Aha!” Clint pointed at them triumphantly. “Roommate roommates! Boyfriend roommates! Do I get a dollar? Bucky got a dollar, I feel like I should get a dollar.”

“Technically, he’s not my boyfriend,” Steve said.

Tony paused, a dollar bill half out of his wallet, and held it above his head when Clint tried to snatch it. “He’s not?”

“Nah.” Bucky leaned back in his chair and pressed his left side against Steve. “I’m married to this butterball, if you can believe it.”

“Close enough,” Clint said, and climbed up the back of Tony’s chair to yank the dollar out of his hand. “Wait, does ‘butterball’ count as an insult or not?”

“I don’t even know anymore,” Tony said.

Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky and sipped his sparkling cider, the crumpled dollar a lump in his breast pocket. “He’s calling me a turkey. It counts.”

“I’ll get that fucking dollar, Rogers,” Bucky said. “Just you wait.”

“You’re a sappy drunk, Barnes. I like my odds.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Is that why you volunteered to drive tonight?”

Steve pulled Bucky in to settle more comfortably against his chest. “You can’t prove nothin’.”

“I should’ve known. Doesn’t matter how big you get, you’re still a little shit.”

“Love you too, pumpkin.”

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Warning: Seriousness may occure turned 5 today!

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If space travel doesn’t involve sea shanties then I think we’ll have missed an opportunity.

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I wish that ao3 had an option to filter warnings (and tbh certain authors) out like I will never ever want to read it and just seeing it puts me off so much that often I end up closing my browser because that content upsets me so much lmao

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AU where Dumbledore’s Army uses the Chamber of Secrets instead of the Room of Requirement

Ultimate security as Harry is the only one capable of opening it. 

Myrtle proudly spending her time acting as a guard/lookout. 

Later, Harry diligently teaching Ron, Hermione, and a few choice others, like Neville, how to mimic parseltongue so that they can open it too. 

Muggleborns experiencing vicious satisfaction that they’re using this chamber as a place of education and defense, reclaiming the very space Slytherin built to rid the school of their presence. 

Hermione methodically dismantling the basilisk’s corpse, covertly selling the priceless ingredients to potion masters, using the funds to continue their work - buying books and battle robes and new wands for those who can’t afford it. 

(Hermione saving a portion of those ingredients for her own research, straightening in triumph when she learns what basilisk venom does to horcruxes, knowing she has vials of it hidden up in her room). 

Harry reverently adding the Chamber of Secrets to the Marauder’s Map, proudly continuing his family’s work and reveling in the difference they’re making. 

These students - these kids - choosing to train in a dark, horrifying place that was never meant for them. Learning spells amongst shadows, growing stronger in inches of murky water, the smell of a decomposing corpse in their noses, memories of all that had happened here haunting them. They know this is what war is really like and it helps to push them forward.  

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Let Down Your Hair

he is a young man, with a young, pregnant wife. they are poor, and can’t afford much, so he sneaks into the witch’s garden at night to steal away the rapunzel lettuce his wife so desperately craves.

when the witch gothel catches, him she demands the child that her garden is feeding as payment.

he agrees, because there’s nothing else he can do.

he and his wife can have more children, but not if they’re dead. they can have more children later, when they have the means to provide for them, when they’re older and more sure of themselves, when the prospect of being responsible for another mouth to feed isn’t quite so terrifying.

his wife is still slick with blood when he wraps their daughter in an old pillowcase and brings her to the stone wall separating their land from the witch’s. “are you going to hurt her?” he asks, clutching his crying daughter to his chest.

gothel raises an eyebrow and says, “what a foolish question.” she pulls away from him and is gone in the next instant.

his arms feel empty, but lighter too. he’ll never say this aloud, but it’s almost a relief to give the child away.

they couldn’t even afford to feed themselves, never mind anyone else.

he wants to be a father. he doesn’t want to be the father of a hungry child.

~

this is not the first time gothel has bargained a child away from its parents. and so she tucks the squalling little girl in bend of her elbow, and goes where she always goes.

“caroline!” she calls out, “oh mother caroline!”

she stands in front of large house, one that has the general appearance of being many houses stacked up on top of each other, all different colors and sizes and styles. also, from the side, it does not look unlike a rather large shoe.

the door bangs open, and a small wave of children run for her, small sticky hands grasping at her dress and cloak, and gap toothed grins everywhere she turns. “have you brought us another brother?” a girl asks, wrinkling her nose. “i have too many brothers.”

the boys turn to her, glaring, but the girl is unrepentant. she’s the only girl in among the younger kids, and is quite cross about it.

then the older kids surround gothel, the ones that had had the patience not to go chasing after her at a sprint. the teenagers like to pretend like they don’t care, but she has many eager and impatient eyes on her, lots of twitching fingers eager to take the baby away from her. that’s fine by gothel – she’s eager to be rid of the blasted thing.

“that’s enough!” a powerful, creaky voice shouts. “that’s quite enough of that! make room, make room, let me through!”

the crowd of children part for mother caroline. like gothel, caroline has dark skin and black hair, a strong, wide nose and plump lips. but while gothel appears to be a woman in the prime of her youth, caroline is an old woman. her back is straight and strong, and there is strength in the width of her waist. but her dark hair is streaked with silver, and her skin has started to bend to the will of time and gravity, causing delicate wrinkles to frame her face. “little sister,” gothel greets, “you’ve gotten older.”

caroline shoots her an irritated glance, “while you haven’t changed at all.”

“you could have became a witch like me,” gothel says, not for the first time, “you were always quite good with physical magic. then neither of us would age at all!”

“change is inevitable,” caroline says with the type of finality that makes gothel’s skin crawl. “let me see the child.”

the children crowd impossibly closer as gothel hands the baby over, red faced and new. caroline cradles the babe against her chest, then stills, her lips pulling down at the corners. “what’s wrong?” gothel demands, peering down at the baby anxiously.

she looks like any other baby gothel has seen. her face is squished oddly and her eyes are a watery blue. she has ten fingers and ten toes – gothel checked! – and she was crying when her father handed her over, but she’s quiet now.

“i can’t take this child,” caroline says.

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