whitebear-ofthe-watertribe:

angryfishtrap:

branch-and-root:

askfordoodles:

professorpineapple:

professorpineapple:

“you’re an art model does that mean you’re NAKED?”
“yeah”
“whoa….those lucky artists ;)”

…buddy.

idk who started the idea that life drawing classes have anything sexy going on like. there’s at least ten people in the room and we’re all tired and covered in charcoal.

the dude in front who’s staring at my boobs has been trying to get the shading right for 10 minutes. he’s almost out of paint. he is crying.

#this ain’t some avant-garde titanic poly romance it’s a bunch of individual sinking ships and one uncaring human-shaped ice burg

The ice burg being frozen solid because there are NEVER ENOUGH SPACE HEATERS.

I was an artist’s model in uni since it paid better than any other student work position. Did a life drawing class one semester, despite it being an unheated old building in the winter evenings, because the instructor was a decent fellow who always had extra space heaters. So there I am one evening, exhausted from my team’s afternoon practice, but I’m in a comfortable position on a padded stool, ready to hold the position for like fifteen minutes. Space heaters all around me, spotlights on me to get shadows in interesting places.

Beyond the red glow of the heaters and the hot-white of the spotlights, the massive drafty room is dark and quiet, broken only by the instructor’s whispers and the scratch of charcoal on paper. Me, I’m just dozing, ‘cause my ancient dorm was heated with creaky old steampipes that never really got warm, and with the new extra-powered space heater alongside the others, that night was the warmest I’d been in a month. I dozed, basking in the glorious warmth.

And then I fell asleep.

And then I fell off the stool.

I woke up rather abruptly on the cold wooden platform, and looked up to see an entire ring of terrified and worried faces around me. Everyone had their hands up, ready to help me up, except no one had touched me. Naked chick laid out face-down on the floor, and all the men and women were suddenly acutely aware they couldn’t just grab a half-asleep dazed naked chick.

Fortunately someone had the bright idea to tear the sheet down from the backdrop, lay it over me as a wrap, and then everyone was quick to help me up.

After that, the instructor and students got used to taking turns talking to me, just to make sure I wasn’t dozing off. Which was weird, at first, because I’d done two semesters just being a silent prop, and now I was interacting. It gave the class a vibe completely unlike any other I’d modeled for, and it ended up one of my favorite modeling experiences. 

postscript: months later, walking on campus with someone who’d eventually become my spouse, we passed some guys on the main path. One of them stopped, peered at me, and then said hello, excitedly, saying, “sorry, I didn’t recognize you, I’ve never seen you with your clothes on!”

This is honestly so delightful and accurate 

autumnastella:

satans-little-harlot:

panomial:

satans-little-harlot:

Every vagina is PERFECT and beautiful in their own way

Anyone who disagrees can fight me

I’m not disagreeing but I do kinda wanna fight if you’re down

A fight for the sake of fighting is the purest form of fight lets go

reblog if you’re body positive but also ready to throw down

whyiseverythingtakens:

Reblog this post if you think the A in LGBT+ stands for asexual/aromantic

Reblog this post if you think there is no A/it stands for ally

thepridelandss:

im-sooo-changable:

torchy-worchy:

twoandtwentyonebee:

I don’t think most cis guys understand what a period is. It isn’t a steady trickle of blood, like if you get a cut on accident. It’s chunks and strings of bloody paste that’s so thick sometimes that it’s black, and the smell is really strong like carnage, and God forbid you have pubic hair cause you have to take ten showers to get it all out.

And so the whole male population is traumatised

Good