#model needed

[roykasmir-photography]

Time for a Change: Why I Upgraded My Tripod Head

After two decades behind the camera, I decided it was time for a change. The tripod head I had been using served me well—quick to adjust and perfect for those on-the-go moments. I could just pull the trigger, set my camera, and go. But as I’ve evolved as a photographer, I’ve realized it’s time for a shift. I wanted something that would slow me down, something that would encourage a deeper focus…

[stealingpotatoes]

watch this [3Ds your lady normalgirl and her eunuch]

[elisabethdeep-blog]

Reread Equal Rites recently. I used to think it was about feminism and little girls getting the same opportunities as little boys. Which, it isn't not about that. But ALSO.

It's about an intersex kid.

It's about a little girl born with a staff.

And that's Not Right.

The adults in the room- her father, the 'medical professional'- attempt to remove the staff, by blade and by fire. The fresh little baby SCREAMS. So they agree to pretend it doesn't exist. She'll probably grow up just a regular little girl.

right?

But just around the onset of puberty..... it becomes apparent, not to her, but to the adults, that she's not going to be Regular.

The medical professional tries again to rectify matters. She tries to destroy the staff while the girl is unconscious. The girl screams. The adults give in. They aren't monsters.... but life will be so much harder, so much less foreseen, for this strange little girl....

They try to raise her 'right'.

If she won't be a conventional woman... maybe an unconventional woman. A Powerful woman- in the way that women can be powerful. Are permitted to be powerful.

But she's not a woman- she's a child. What will she be, when she's grown? A Witch. A Wizard. She can't be either. She can't be neither.

(The term 'warlock' is repeatedly invoked and scoffed. The etymology of 'warlock' is 'breaker of oaths'. Counter to the covenant. Rulebreaker.)

Right.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

couldnt draw my thang for mid-autumn so treated myself to a calne redesign instead

[mochasucculent]

Was looking at refs and since Viktor has two different leg braces I was wondering, do we think he wears them simultaneously?? The refs don't perfectly line up perspective-wise so it's hard to tell but parts of the one he wears during the Hexcore scenes look like they could maybe line up with the brace that he wears over his clothes, but also some parts really don't and look like they'd be super uncomfy. Also HOW does he take these on and off. Experts weigh in

[cordspaghetti]

au where i break into the gway heaven by marc jacobs shoot and start amateurishly mucking about

[humming-fly]

He was feeling left out

and the higher rez stills, since gifs always export as if you're sending messages through a metal can~

[relaxwithaaron]

I play guitar, you dancing like this, videos go viral. Collaborate?

[citrusbugz]

On my knees patiently waiting for a new Nino episode.

[iydiamartinx]

AFTER THE NIGHT

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.1k synopsis: After a long night on patrol, Bruce returns home to find his wife in the shower. a/n: This is pure fluff, no smut.

The water was already warm, steam curling lazily against the marble walls as you stood under the shower, letting the heat soak into your muscles. A long sigh left your lips. Finally, quiet. Finally, peace.

Then the bathroom door creaked open.

You didn’t flinch—just smirked. “You better be naked if you’re coming in here.”

There was a soft grunt and the familiar shuffle of armour being stripped away. A utility belt thunked against the counter, followed by the muted rustle of fabric hitting tile.

You heard the shower door open a moment later. Then—

“Oh my god.” You twisted slightly to glance over your shoulder. “You smell like alleyway and sweat.”

Bruce stepped under the spray with a low groan. Water hit his chest, sluicing down over dirt-smudged skin and faint bruises blooming just beneath the surface.

“Active night,” he said gruffly. “You smell like flowers. I hate you a little.”

You laughed, turning fully to face him now, palms braced against his chest. “You’re filthy. I’m filing for divorce.”

He snorted, “Joke’s on you—I already put the mansion in your name. If anyone’s getting left out in the cold, it’s me.”

You grinned, fingers absently tracing the edge of a bruise blooming just under his collarbone. “Good. I’ll sell it and use the money to fund my villain era.”

His brows lifted, amused despite the exhaustion hanging under his eyes. “You? A villain?”

“I’d be great at it,” you said breezily. “Menacing, seductive, morally ambiguous. I’ve got the layers.”

“Please, if anything you’re more like a little thief. You steal my T-shirts,” he deadpanned.

You leaned in, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “And don’t forget I also stole your heart. Look how far gone you are, Wayne.”

Bruce leaned in, crowding your space with the lazy weight of his body, head dipping low until his nose brushed yours. “Completely gone,” he murmured, voice roughened by the night, but eyes soft and unguarded in a way he reserved only for you. “Hopeless, really.”

Your smirk faltered into something gentler, fingers trailing up to tangle in the damp ends of his hair. “That makes the two of us,” you murmured. “Because it seems I’m hopelessly gone for you too.” You gave him a teasing look. “What other wife accepts that their husband dresses up like a bat and jumps across rooftops all night fighting killer clowns? They’d have to be insane.”

Bruce’s lips curved into a rare, amused smile. “Completely insane,” he agreed, eyes flicking over your face with fond exasperation. “We can share a cell in Arkham together.”

You huff out a soft laugh, resting your forehead against his. “You joke, but at this point I’m convinced we’ve already earned our own padded room.”

Bruce’s fingers traced idle circles at the small of your back. “I call top bunk.”

You snorted. “You would. But I’m warning you now, I’m stealing all the blankets.”

“You already do,” he murmured dryly. “Little thief.”

“So if we’re going by that technicality, that means you fell for a criminal.”

“Explains why I keep coming back,” he said, his voice dropping to a soft murmur as his fingers slipped beneath the curve of your waist. “You’re my favourite kind of danger.”

Your smile faded into something softer, more vulnerable, eyes meeting his in the hazy glow of steam and silence. “And you’re my safest place.”

Bruce didn’t say anything—not with words. He just kissed you. Slow. Deep. Steady. 

The spray of the shower beat gently against your back, the scent of soap and heat curling between your bodies as his arms wound around you tighter.

Finally, you pull away, flicking you gaze back up to see his were still closed. “Turn around,” you whispered, nudging him gently.

He blinked open an eye, suspicious. “Why?”

“So I can scrub the grime off you, obviously.”

Bruce arched a brow, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You just want to feel up my muscles.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m your wife, that’s my right.” You didn’t even try to deny it. “However, you’re still covered in dirt and god knows what else—and you stink.”

He let out a short snort but obeyed, turning so his back was to you, water trailing down the powerful lines of muscle and scars. You reached for the body wash and squeezed a generous amount into your palm.

Then you began—working in slow, gentle circles, your fingers gliding across his back with practiced care. You didn’t rush. You traced each scar like it was a story only you knew, every old wound and fading bruise a chapter you’d read too many times to count.

Because you had. You knew them all.

Every place Gotham had marked him. Every place he’d broken and healed. Every inch of pain he bore like armor beneath the cowl.

“You’re tense,” you murmured, thumbs pressing lightly into the tight line of his shoulders.

He hummed low in his throat. “You try fighting six guys in a rain-soaked alley.”

“Maybe next time,” you laughed quietly, fingers still digging expertly into the knots along his spine. Each pass of your hands drew out another groan, low and guttural, like the tension was finally bleeding out of him. You felt the weight leave his shoulders piece by piece.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges. “I’m firing Alfred. You’re in charge of post-patrol recovery now.”

“You couldn’t afford me,” you teased.

“Try me.”

When you finished with his back, your hands slid downward, soft now, reverent, tracing the path you’d just soothed. For a beat, you just stood there—your palms resting flat against his skin, the thrum of his pulse steady beneath your fingertips.

Then, you reached for the shampoo.

You stretched up onto your tiptoes, trying to reach the top of his head, grumbling to yourself as your fingers barely skimmed his damp hair. “Why are you built like a damn skyscraper?”

Bruce let out an amused breath. “You need a stool?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, finally managing to get your hands into his inky locks.

Any teasing vanished the moment your fingers began working gently across his scalp. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes damp, unable to help the low, content exhale that slipped from his throat. He melted under your touch—shoulders loose, body quiet, breath slow.

You finished rinsing the suds from his hair with quiet care, the water rushing gently between you as your fingers combed through the last of the soap. When you were done, you let your arms wrap loosely around his waist, cheek pressing between his shoulder blades.

Then he turned, his hands finding your hips as he gently caged you between his body and the slick tile wall. He leaned down to kiss you again, lips finding yours with the kind of aching familiarity that had your heart skipping a beat.

“I missed this,” he murmured against your mouth.

“I missed you,” you whispered back.

[theryanray]

new single out Dec 22nd. #explorepage #youtube #music #musician #newmusic #instamusic #musicvideo #spotify #songwriter #musicislife #singersongwriter #newsong #theryanray #newmusicfriday #fyp #ballad #breakup #followme

[hoaxghost]

The designer for Waluigi released some unused concept art for a 'warupeach' on ig and she looks like such a lil rascal I had to draw her..

[transformers-spike]

Do you have any headcanons for what the TFA autobots and decepticon's sparklings look like?

rn I have stuff for Decepticon sparklings

They give big uncanny valley vibes by Cybertronian standards. Instead of looking like tiny protoforms, they're tiny versions of their sires with underdeveloped armor, faded colors and a disturbingly fleshy texture

They're blind for the first week or so, utterly defenseless and very confused. They make tiny squeaks at this age, and they're still experimenting with their EM fields, which means bothering every bot around them at 3AM for no reason other than demanding attention

It's hard for me to fully make them ugly-cute (except maybe Lugnut's because what the fuck is that thing (affectionate)) - but they look... so much worse fresh out of the oven

Even if humans find them adorable (it's the oxytocin we feel whenever we see something with baby proportions/features) - bots find the sparklings pretty ugly (imagine your partner giving birth to a bunch of mole-rat-looking-things)

[canarydraws]

Andromeda 💙💜🩷

[fattracklad]

some of you said I don't look bigger, I am here to prove you wrong

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (page 105-109)

* To note: She seems overly eager about this.

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

HEYYYY you clicked the read more! Now you get to see this So, as you may know, @sunny-knight has been helping me with the pages (This time they helped with the first, third, and fourth page!) But just with lineart, they don't know what the characters are saying

This turned into them making up dialogues during the revisions, and they're too funny not to share, so here you go