Speed sketches of my model friend Fox Chalker.
Referenced from photos by Redd Walitzki, Sarah Trickler and Robert Davidson
My friend Sly did some speed sketches of some of my modeling shots. Credit to Redd Walitzki, Sarah Trickler, and Robert Davidson.
monster girls o/
seriously though look, super fucking kawaii monster babes.
Just in case any of you out there haven’t seen adorable monster babes.
Plan on converting this from my “pretty things I like” tumblr to my modeling tumblr. will be creating a “pretty things I like” one as well. keep watch for upcoming changes.
“Heirloom” Pop-Up Art Book by Alison Ann Woodward unfolds piece by piece to reveal the anatomy of a white horned creature.
♥_______♥
This reblog is for Dingo and Jinxii.
OH MY GOD WAAAAAAANT
O_O’ this thing is amazing.
(via sumomomochi)
The Mirror of Erised: The Single Saddest Object in the history of literature.
Oh god…Fred and George.
I HAD NEVER SEEN THE DUMBLEDORE ONE. WHY. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT.
This shit. Why.
Wow, no sources for any of these :T
First one is by remustheravenclaw, though.
;__;
this guy pulled out his dick in front of like 5 billion feminist protestors holy shit
Some context for the idiots claiming the women are overreacting:
This occurred at a Slut Walk. For those not familiar with it, the Slut Walk is basically a peaceful protest seeking to eliminate the rape apologism so prevalent in society. The basis is that no woman is “asking for it,” with “it” being rape. It’s not a feminist protest; it’s a human rights protest.
Many of the protesters, as you can probably imagine, have dealt with sexual harassment or rape in their own lives. Many of them have structured their daily activities to avoid being raped. The gathering is supposed to be a place for them to feel empowered and able to recover in the company of those who understand what they’ve been through or who will not blame them.
Nobody at a Slut Walk will tell a survivor that it’s her fault. They will not ask what she was wearing to provoke her attacker. Nobody will say she had too much to drink. Nobody will tell the men in the group that they are inherently rapists themselves, and nobody will tell a male survivor that his experience “wasn’t really rape.”
Then, this fellow comes along. He sees this gathering of survivors and their supporters, and to him, it’s a joke. He sees feminazis. He sees girls who are taking “a bit of fun” too seriously. And what does he do? He exposes himself to this group of survivors and supporters - some of whom are, in fact, underage.
He sexually harasses literally hundreds of women in one act. Aside from public indecency, there was cruel intent in his actions. He wanted to make them uncomfortable. He wanted to “put them in their place.” Other photos from this event show him flipping the protesters off and laughing at their anger.
And there are still people defending his actions. There are those who still feel like these women were asking for itand that they deserved to be harassed for trying to claim they weren’t. There are those who feel that women should be taught a lesson this way, and they applaud this man’s actions.
So no, he didn’t pull out his dick in front of feminist protesters. He harassed dozens - if not hundreds - of rape survivors. The reaction to his actions alone outline the purpose of the Slut Walk.
For those of you still doubting whether what he did was wrong (and I do wonder if there’s something wrong with you, if you have doubts), let me give you an analogous situation. Imagine a gathering of black civil rights activists. Imagine Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X, Rosa Parks, and all their colleagues gathered together to demonstrate that being black did not make them lesser people. That being black and living in the South did not mean they were “asking” to be the target of hate crimes.
And at this gathering, a white man decides he should teach them a lesson by pointedly hanging a noose from the nearest tree and laughing at their anger. And other white men, laughing along with him, commend him for taking these activists down a peg.
That’s what happened here. It’s not an “OMG, I can’t believe he did that!” moment. It’s an “OMG, there are people who think this is okay” moment. And the fact is, it’s not. It never will be. And that’s the take home message of this ridiculous rant I’ve written up.
what a fucking scumbag
Oh I wish I would’ve been in that croud. I would have stabbed this guy without a second thought.
(Source: lcrw)
“Excuse me,” she asked. “Can I buy you a coffee?”
It was a nice surprise. Most people don’t buy me cups of coffee, and I was just sitting at the Starbucks trying to plot my novel. So it was kind of charming, to have a cute girl offer to buy me a free drink. I told her sure.
She brought me a nice iced chai, and sat down next to me, and then asked, “So have you heard about Jesus?”
Now, as it turns out, I’m a Christian, so I’m not opposed to Jesus – but it was a little disappointing to realize this drink wasn’t done out of niceness, but as a sort of recruiting tool. Maybe I’d have been into a religious discussion if she’d said, “Hey, let’s have a philosophical talk,” but as it was, I felt a little betrayed. So I said that I wasn’t interested, as politely as I could (for I was sipping a delicious drink), and returned to my plotting.
The next day, another girl: “Hey, can I buy you a coffee?”
This time, I was trying to work out a difficult programming solution in my mind, and she asked me at exactly the right moment to have all of my thoughts collapse like a house of cards. “Are you just going to ask me about Jesus?”
“Oh, no,” she said, reassuring me. “It’s just that I think you’re cute.” And she was kind of pretty.
“…all right,” I said, guardedly. She bought the coffee. Sat down at my table.
“But if you were wondering about Jesus…” she said earnestly, and I ejected her from my table. I kept the drink, though. It seemed cruel, but she had been stupid enough to buy it for me even though I didn’t want it.
Over the next week, it just got worse. Two or three times a day I’d be deep in thought, trying to focus on this tangled plotting that I needed to resolve, and some woman would tap me on the shoulder to offer me a cup of coffee. I couldn’t concentrate, because sometimes they were very insistent: “You sure you don’t want a coffee, sweetie?” they’d ask, sometimes lurking over me after I’d refused them, just in case I changed my mind. Sometimes they just bought the coffee for me anyway, without even asking me if I wanted it, plopping themselves across the table from me and yammering on about being saved.
It was affecting my concentration. I started to tense up at the Starbucks, waiting for the next Jesus freak’s interruption. If it was a regular thing, like an hourly interruption, then maybe I could have worked around it, but it was erratic. Some days, I’d have four or five at once, other days I’d be blissedly free of interruption. But I had to be continually braced for the next hand on my shoulder, knowing that no matter what I was doing they’d be bursting into my personal space. I wrote less, my programs were buggier.
My friends couldn’t understand my upset. “Dude,” they told me. “You never have to pay for coffee again in your life! You’ve got it made! Do you know how much money you’re saving?”
“But I don’t want to talk to these people,” I said.
“You’ve talked about God with us before,” they replied. “Sometimes, we’ll stay up until two, three in the morning discussing the nature of heaven and hell. You dig philosophy, Ferrett. If you like talking about that shit with us, then why not with them?”
“Because they’re just one-note and don’t really care what I have to say,” I said.
“Just try ‘em, man. Some of them are cute. Maybe some of them actually want to date you!”
“I guess,” I said. “But how do I know which ones are genuine without having to talk to a bunch of phonies?”
Eventually, it got to the point where I started bringing friends with me for cover, so I wouldn’t get interrupted. That didn’t work, either – while it helped, the more aggressive proselytizers would interrupt me in mid-sentence to ask me if I wanted a drink. Suddenly, the Starbucks wasn’t fun any more – it wasn’t a place to hang out, but a place where I’d just constantly be bugged by attention I didn’t want. And the guys who weren’t getting free drinks were calling me stuck-up, jealous that I was getting all these free drinks and not even wanting them.
So I stopped going.
Okay. Clearly, that didn’t happen. But I’m trying to prove a point here.
One of the things that guys don’t get is why women don’t like to be hit on. As a guy, when you get hit on, even if it’s a clumsy attempt, it’s generally a very rare and remarkable event – it puts a spring in your step, even if you’re not particularly attracted to the woman, because as an average-looking guy, scarcity of compliments is the norm. So if a girl catcalls you and goes, “Nice butt!” and appears to be serious, there’s often this sort of strange pride. Hey, that doesn’t happen often, she must really be into me.
So a lot of guys have this unspoken attitude of, “I wish I’d be harassed.” And they don’t get why women are so angry when hey, I was just trying to be nice, why you gotta be so mean?
Thing is, when it’s not scarce, then even the nicest act starts to get annoying. Because you don’t get to control when people are quote-unquote “nice” to you, and it happens all the time, and you know there’s always a hidden cost behind it. You start to question people’s niceness, because they’re not doing it to be kind, they’re doing it because they want something from you. And maybe, yes, that’s something you like to give to certain people, but definitely not to everyone, and almost certainly not to the kind of guy who’s certain you’re going to give it to him if he just bugs you enough.
Harassment isn’t once. Harassment comes from a lifetime of dealing with people constantly doing things to you, whether you wanted them or not, at random intervals. You learn not to trust people. And what might have been pleasant, once, as an isolated incident, starts to feel pretty oppressive when it’s something you deal with on a weekly basis. It changes you, and then guys call you bitchy when you don’t feel like playing along and pretending this is just about the coffee.
But I think most of ‘em would feel the same were the tables turned. So please. Think about what you’re spouting.
Yes. Yes to all of this. Being harassed, obnoxiously hit on, catcalled on the street- these things are not about us, they are about men’s egos and the assumption that we’ll be thrilled to have some guy reduce us to sex objects (no matter how politely) in public.
I mean they would be, so we’re just uptight, right?This is an awesome analogy for anyone who doesn’t understand street harassment.
Bless you, OP
Best post
(via sumomomochi)
Can we all just post this picture forever?
Reblogging This Forever
(Source: coconutdreamin, via sumomomochi)
Found this while looking for some other tutorial.
HOLY CRAP, RELEVANT TO MY ROBOT COSPLAY NEEDS
would b good 4 carapace cosplay, too
HEY KATLYN!
BJD legs/arms idea. fuckyeah
(via sumomomochi)
