RESPECT. THE. MODELS !!!Ok so it seems I'll have to do that too.
I'll keep it simple : read the title.
I've been doing a bit of nude photography these last months and even though the vast majority of the people who visited, faved and commented my photos were totally fine, there's always a small fraction of weirdos/perverts/wathever and that really pisses me off.
I'll say that once : nude/erotic photography is not porn and models are not objects (and that also applies for porn models by the way) !
so everyone have to BEHAVE PROPERLY and RESPECT THE MODELS
you can act as a dickhead with me, attack me, critique me, send me weird messages, BUT... one more time... Don't touch the models.
If you want to write some kind of pervert comment, keep in mind that nor the model, nor the photographer, nor even the people who truly appreciate the photo will like your comment.
You want porn ? Fine. There are plenty of website for that on the net, or even photo galleries here on dA that are more about porn than about nude. Use
limited stocki am nothing morelimited stock7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
than this serotonin-starved
my oxytocin is overwhelmed
with winter's frost, its faded
fondness reached recession
seven years ago.
i remember wretched weeping,
dry-eyed as i discovered that
my own brain had betrayed me;
it never taught me how to love.
my heart is something seasonal,
and i'm so sorry, darling.
The KeeperAi-la came to me when she was eight years old, dressed in a faded hospital gown, with her feet and arms bare and littered with coloured Band-Aids from IV drips. Other than being remarkably short and skinny, there was nothing peculiar about her appearance—she was yet another child who had unfortunately fallen ill to a fatal disease.The Keeper4 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
When I first found her outside the House in the dead of night, she was staring blankly at the black sky and shivering. I was immediately able to tell she was a newcomer by the look of her skin, translucent but slowly becoming an opaque white beneath the light of the gold lanterns.
“There are no stars here,” I said as gently as I could in the silence, not wanting to frighten her, as most did not take well to their unwitting transportation to the Other Side. The child remained still. “What is your name?”
She tilted her head and her dark eyes focused upon me, intense and perceptive. She took in my masked face and black suit, her ex
RebootI punched a kid twice in fifth grade for trying to see up Gemini Hetherington’s skirt when her twin brother was home sick. The Hetheringtons could get away with things like that if they ever lifted a fist in the first place, but for a Holthausen it was like a criminal offense, and all of the better-neighborhood parents gasped at the news and wondered what went wrong in my development. I sat in the car while the principal spoke to my dad about it. Through the window I heard him warn that I would no sooner be punching Walt Burtons in elementary than pulling a knife on a man for his wallet in adulthood, and that immediate correction was necessary unless he wanted me to wind up in jail with the rest of the scum of Airedale.Reboot1 year ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
While my dad tried to calm the principal down, Gemini Hetherington tiptoed up to the window when her nanny was distracted. At first she signed ‘thank you’ to me through the window. She breathed on the glass and drew a heart on the foggy circle. T
Ink ShadowDrowning down with the shallow ones,Ink Shadow5 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
They have this... darkness... surrounding them;
It gnaws away at their own mind.
No, it drowns their psyche,
Pulling it beneath the silver lined waves;
Coating it in inken armor...
In a vain effort to protect themselves.
These creatures have no reflection;
Resemblant of demons and their ilk,
Unable to look within and battle their own demons,
The dark ink pools to form a mirror...
The demonic creature can never look into it,
They're too afraid of their own shadow;
And that is what they've become...
A shade; A simple hue...
A shadow that follows others around, seeking the light that is within them...
Because they look at them, and just think,
'Anything is better than the darkness... The cold, cruel eternal night...'
Their jealousy is eating them alive.
It plagues their souls, shadowing, as shadows do,
Always following those they crave...
As an ink shadow, like a leech;
A vampire draining the life out of them,
Sometimes You Don't Have to Change the WorldAres is not what I imagined her to be. The great man of myth, muscular and imposing, shining in his armour, with crested helmet and mighty spear, does not stand before me. Instead I face a young woman, hardly more than a girl. She is soft and delicate, with eyes so large they will soak up the world, and skin like spun glass, that glitters in the darkness. A warm glow radiates from within her, not quite visible, but strong enough for me to feel the heat on my face.Sometimes You Don't Have to Change the World9 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The sound of traffic wafts up to us from the street far below. Heavy clouds block out the night sky, reflecting back the poisonous orange of streetlamps and office blocks. The rooftop is high above it all, and we are invisible. That’s why I chose it, to be alone. The last thing I expected was a visitor, proclaiming to be a god.
“Ares?” I scoff, looking her over with something I imagine to be petulance. If not for the fact that she was so decidedly un-human, and that she had materialised on the rooftop with n
CatharsisI didn't know I had depression until I turned around one day and found someone else in the same boat. It had never occurred to me that you could have depression and not know it and after sitting down with myself and having a good long think I came to the awful realization that it's been ten years. Ten. Years.Catharsis6 months ago in Emotional More Like This
Ten years of being incapable of feeling the entire breadth of human emotion; only degrees of anger I couldn't control or understand, knowing that I was behaving completely irrationally and being unable to stop, driving away family and the precious few friends that had managed to find me and could no longer hang on to the maelstrom I had become.
It has been a never-ending rollercoaster traveling through a dream world where everything runs at quarter speed. Brief bursts of enthusiasm and passion over anything and nothing that send me shooting up to the clouds, only to creep slowly over the hill at the top, a creep that can take days or mere hours, before the car goes plunging
catching sand He had a habit of catching things.catching sand 6 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Usually, good things. A basketball, or a cat falling from a tree, or his baby sister, one memorable time, as she fell out of her crib.
It was instinct to him, second nature. He didn't need to think about it—his hands acted independently from the rest of him, completely on their own accord, risk and volition. His hands, to him, were unbearably selfish. They thought very little of consequence. Didn’t they care about the potential pain? Did it matter to them that what they caught might. . . hurt?
He was still rather young the first time he caught a knife that had fallen off the kitchen counter. He caught it, unfortunately, by the blade. It sliced cleanly into the chubby flesh of his little boy palms. His mother saw the blood spilling from his hands and screamed, uncurling his fingers from around the knife. She shrieked at him, her voice shrilly with fear. Why had he held onto it like that? Why did he catch it in the first place
i, eclecticTHE SHEETS ARE CRUMPLED AND REEKEDi, eclectic3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
OF SWEAT AND
PILLOWS ARE THROWN OFF THE BED EXCEPT
FOR ONE UNDER THE
SMALL OF HER BACK FOR WHEN
SHE SAID THE BEDSPRINGS HURT HER
BUT I KNOW I HURT HER.
ANYWAY, ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT ARE
AS I RUB MY PALM AGAINST
THE SKIN WHEN SHE
SAID SHE WAS COLD BUT
I KNOW THAT I WAS COLD;
AND IT'S THE DEAD OF
JESUS CHRIST, SHE
Donnie's Decision“Hey Floater!”Donnie's Decision7 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
The shout tore across Zeeko's awareness. His lanky frame sloshed about in the gelatinous pool that had once been his home.
So many straight lines. So many edges.
Donnie stood over him.
"Floaters aren't allowed down here, so why don'tcha go back where you came from?"
Zeeko shivered in the cold morning air. The blue glow under the skin of his chest darkened slightly. He rolled his head towards Donnie, winced at the bright orange sun. He wanted to block it out with his hand, but could barely raise either arm in the gravity of this world.
"Can you hear me, freak?"
Soft pulses of air pressed against Zeeko's skin. He could see the lower part of the mammal's face distort, muscles pulling at the fleshy edges of its ingestion orifice.
Ah. Pressure wave communication.
Accessing what libraries he had left, Zeeko quickly absorbed the archaic dialect. In only a few seconds he learned the mechanism of taking in the surrounding gases and exuding them to create
Butterfliesi do not look out my window.Butterflies10 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
there are butterflies all around the car.
soft, inviting colors seep into my vision through the corner of my eye, the flutter of paper thin wings seemingly defying the constant noise of the idling car engine and reaching my ears.
i do not look out my window.
they must be beautiful, i think.
they must be enchanting.
they're probably very small. really cute, i bet.
i do not want to see the butterflies.
i do not look out my window.
instead, i stare straight ahead at the rear of the passenger seat, waiting for my mother to return to the car with my refilled prescription, the one that will make the butterflies go away and return the feeling of security to me.
Alzheimersi hear my grandfather breaking shore on D-Day,Alzheimers2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the muffled black and white German blaring
on the History Channel. the memories etched
in his face fading as the rabid fear, break-neck
hug, anything, to hold on.
and his fear seeps into my clothes, my spine,
lingers there for days.
For Science, You monster“Doctor, they are approaching. You need to evacuate. The population in the city is down to 10%. My statistics show that at least 40% have been infected and the rest have either died or fled.”For Science, You monster1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The high pitched, automated voice echoed among the alarms and sirens that went off through the compound. The screens that lined the wall conveyed an emergency broadcast and lights flickered in ominous hues of red. However, the woman in the lab coat remained in the same focused pose as she worked on some numbers and formulas.
“Doctor McKay, they are on the second floor. Please head to the nearest exit. This situation has a 0% chance of survival.”
“For the love of god, just shut up.”
“God is an entity whose presence is questionable doctor. I can’t have a feeling about it without interacting first.”
“Shut up Glyph,” Dr. McKay groaned between clenched teeth as she scrapped the line she wrote moments prior. “Stop the alarms. I can&
ma merei think my mother thinks i'm blind,ma mere3 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
that i see only my own faults
and forget the fractures in her composure,
the fissures in her failing heart
that keep her awake at night.
i fear she thinks i do not see the strength in her scars.
i think my mother thinks i'm deaf,
that i cannot hear her silent sadness;
it has always echoed
in the halls of this family home.
maybe she thinks i do not hear the wisdom in her words.
i think my mother thinks i'm numb,
that i do not feel
the eternal love in every touch;
i know with absolute certainty
that no one
will ever love me
like my mother does.
every hug is a blessing that brings me home.
but maybe, my mother has it twisted.
i'd do anything for her to see the beauty in being faulted,
to know she hears me when i say 'i love you',
and be assured she feels my heart when i hug her back.
Dear Universe,Can you tell 16 year old me that I'm 20 now and I made it out alive. She won't know what you're talking about, but at least she'll know it's possible.Dear Universe,7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
DerealizationI was calling youDerealization8 months ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
As my cold
Fingers hit the
Metal keypad I
Prayed to God that
You weren't going to
And it was
Because before I
Met you I never
Prayers could even
As the clarion
Phone rang on and
On I could feel the
Doubt trickling back into
My mind like an icy
River rushing to meet a
Waterfall, and I
Knew I was going
To fly over the
Edge if I didn't get
Myself out of the
And it was
Because before I
Met you I always
Flying was a
As the vibrations of
Your voice traveled
Through the line I heard
It crackle and fizz until
Every syllable was
Every hint of warmth was
Engulfed by a static void
And all I was able to
Detect was a mere
Vestige of whom I
Knew you to be;
You had become a
Stranger, and I
And it was
Because before I
Met you I never
Distance could actually
As we started to
Run out of canned
Witticisms to share I
Forced myself to
Ask you if we would
Ever be me
5 Guidelines for Adding Romance to Your Novel5 Guidelines for Adding Romance to Your Novel – A Valentine's Day Special5 Guidelines for Adding Romance to Your Novel5 months ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Most people love to see romance in a novel of any genre. It's a universal human experience that can happen in the context of any story. However, most attempts at such have become cliched, sexist, or too unrealistic to be believable. So here are my 5 guidelines to adding romance in your novel.
Tip 1: Lose the damsel in distress trope.
It's the “romantic” trope of most movies and books, but it has become one of the worst cliches around. On top of being overdone (making your story less interesting should you employ it), the damsel trope makes the reader subconsciously respect the damsel much less, and therefore care little about the love story. Instead, make both partners, in your romance, at a similar level of competence for a truly interesting romantic dynamic.
Tip 2: Don't over-romanticize.
Do you know what happens when people run around, sword-fighting or dodging bullets? Sweaty pits and nasty
Photoshopped LifeYou can't saturate the wheelPhotoshopped Life4 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
In the colors of real life;
You can't always up the contrast
In your mother's loving eyes.
You can't play with the exposure
Of a blinding summer day;
You can't include the clover
Or the smell of drying hay.
You can't take the sound of falling snow
And post for all to see,
Or capture every icy rainbow
Shining from the trees.
You can't enhance the laughter
Of the two friends by your side;
You cannot crop the flying hairs
So that they lay just right.
So let the hues be slightly dull
Who cares if skin is clear?
Just take the days, appreciate
The lovely and sincere.
EvanescenceYou’re supposed to make love the night of your wedding day, but John and I did not. Frankly, I don’t know how anyone can. We were exhausted. Our day started at the crack of dawn to get ready and was filled with constant adrenaline, standing, travelling, photos, socializing, speeches, dancing; before we knew it, it was 3 am and we had no energy left for anything else.Evanescence6 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
So, the night of our wedding day, John and I just sprawled our clothes across the chairs in our fancy hotel suite and crawled into bed. Both laying on our backs, looking up at the beautifully painted ceiling, we sleepily recalled our favourite moments of the day. Like when his father was the first to get on the dance floor and make a total fool of himself, and when my maid of honour made half the room tear up with her beautiful speech about how happy we’ve been from the very start.
I nuzzled my face into his collarbone and murmured, “This has been the best day of my lif
The Problem With Mary Sue I think with any characterization there’s a point where you empathize, no matter how much of a deviance his or her actions may be from your understanding of humanity.The Problem With Mary Sue4 months ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
Today, sports fans, I’d like to talk about a subject that is long overdue: the Mary Sue (or the male equivalent, Gary Stu). But before I can talk about her, I think I should define what I think she is. This is important because the webs are teeming with varying definitions, and my idea of what she is may not jive with other people’s; the definition I see most often calls to mind Mary Poppins – practically perfect in every way – but I’ve also seen the opposite, where she is described as being impossibly weird. She’s got a bizarre (and an impossibly long) name, eye color, hair color, or other distinguishing feature that somehow signals she’s “special.”
The Elevator ManEight hours a day, five days a week, for forty-one years he had pushed those buttons upon command. His place of employment - The Jansson Grande Hotel in New York City. It was one of those hotels that had five stars for everything; suites, service, food, entertainment. Quite simply, it was the "best of the best."The Elevator Man1 year ago in Short Stories More Like This
Nevertheless, no one ever seemed to pay much attention to the little man who operated the elevator, the main one located just off the lobby. Occasionally he was even mocked or laughed at. Few ever spoke to him with respect, or treated him with dignity. From the time he was a child he was viewed as someone undesirable, someone that you would and should avoid. He was smallish in size, nervous around people and quiet as a mouse. He never looked anyone in the eye, always kept his cast to the ground, even when spoken to.
His daily routine never changed. At exactly six o'clock in the morning he would rise, fix the usua
2015-033 AlchemyPinhole cameras are more alchemy than science.2015-033 Alchemy5 months ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I went prowling on-line today for pinhole exposure calculators, having had a series of badly under and overexposed shots. By rights one ought to be able to compute the f-stop by dividing the effective focal length--the distance from the pinhole to the film--by the diameter of the pinhole and work from there. Unfortunately, the relationships are not linear as exposure times get past a second or two and one has to throw in a "reciprocity-failure" multiplier for longer exposures. Fudge factors rule!
I printed the charts and tucked them into my little book, which will now have to do double duty as journal and exposure record. It will henceforth be the alchemist's journal.
I found a reciprocity fudge factor chart at http://www.instructables.com/id/Design-and-Build-your-own-Pinhole-Camera/step9/Loading-and-Shooting/
I found an exposure calculator at http://www.mrpinhole.com/exposure.php
Today's prompt from http://writealm.com/february-prompts/
Sexism - a story untoldI. A mother scorns her infant boy forSexism - a story untold5 months ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
wearing a dress; the fresh print of a
hand mark glows on his cheek.
Meanwhile, his sister plays in shorts
II. Lunchtime and a child, no more than
twelve, hurries home early. Tears
smudge the sleeves of his favourite
shirt as he tries to muffle his sobs.
A girl hit him in the face, but boys must
III. Accused of sexual harassment, a
young man apologizes for complimenting
a lady at the bar. Somewhere in the
crowd, a girl pinches a stranger's bum
whilst her friends screech like hyenas.
She was only mildly flirting with him,
IV. In a restaurant, a woman insists her
date pays the bill. The following day,
he's accused of earning too much and
spending too little.
V. A man is pinned against the wall and
forced into sex. Even though he turns
away, he must enjoy it because he's
just a bloke. Women can't rape men - it
doesn't work like that.
VI. Somewhere in this world, a boy
holds the door open for his crush, a
On Objectification: A Poem Against FeminismNote: This poem may seem harsh, but since feminists are allowed to shame men for enjoying harmless entertainment that makes them happy, I don’t see why I should mince words.On Objectification: A Poem Against Feminism1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
If a man complained,
Of romance novel heroes,
He’d be ignored and disdained,
For reading women’s prose.
So if feminists make a scene,
If they yell and fume,
About a comic heroine,
Or her sexy costume,
Or demand they make her fatter,
Who cares what they presume?
Why should it even matter?
But here’s the real paradox:
The weakest female leads,
The feminist never mocks,
For they’re in the books SHE reads.
Does Bella Swan,
To corporate power rise,
Or fight crime with brawn?
Or is she wooed by guys,
Merely acted upon?
Every romance novel cover,
A woman semi nude,
In the arms of her lover,
Submissive to a dude.
I’m not calling her a liar,
But when her own self-insert,
Gets all the male desire,
It doesn’t seem to hurt.
But when she’s outcompeted for attention,