#transformers viewfinder

[transformersandschtuff]

Older drawing but my sort of take on the Reflector trio, Spyglass and Spectro are pretty much just their toy designs but Viewfinder is a combination of his toy and Reflector's cartoon appearance in G1.

[amateur-flamingo]

to be honest i put so much effort into my previous work that i was too tired to post anything here :(

nevertheless! finished a little work with Reflector^^

they are so cute that I could eat them

look at them, you can trust them with a firearm!!!

[short-wooloo]

Transformers One concept Art Reflector(/Refraktor/Viewfinder/Spyglass/Spectro)

Makes sense that he/they were in the concept art, they're the only one of the 1984 Cons missing from the film (I also wonder if the Triple Changers exist in concept art)

Also I can't help but notice how similar Reflector's build is to Soundwave's

It's not exact, but it's pretty close

Enough that maybe we'll eventually get a Studio Series concept art Reflector retooled from Soundwave

[ihatebrainstorm]

Heh, don't feel like you gotta do this, but just in case my last one was redundant because of the similar requests - I'd always love to see some Reflector! Spectro, Spyglass and Viewfinder get little love.

Another quick incredibly late sketchbook doodle req 💀👍

[awesomebutunpractical]

My Decepticon Coup Simulator would be one of the funnest Visual Novels I've ever made if I ever made visual novels.

[deepfriedhopesanddreams]

Rumble asking Shockwave about the Reflectors

[swivelbot]

Late night with up and coming comedian Skywarp

[rook2ii]

Looking through some old stuff from the ppl who used to own our house, we found the original Spyglass and Viewfinder! :D

But we can't find their Spectro, the flash cube's missiles, any of their other weapons, or the telephoto lens, and Viewfinder's arms don't have whatever's supposed to keep them attached.

They're also a bit dusty and scratched, and some of the stickers are on wonky, but still a pretty cool find I think :>

[littlelamy]

title: rafe's personal playboy bunny

warnings: 18+, smut

background: before moving to obx with your best friend, you were featured in a small playboy spread. when rafe found out about your past gig, he decided he needed to take some photos of his own.

the first purchase was a camera. top of the line, mirrorless, sleek in his hands like it belonged there. he spent too long in the store testing lenses, zooming in and out, asking questions he already knew the answers to. but it wasn’t just about the camera—it was about the setup, the lighting, the fucking vision he had in his head of you spread out and glistening under a spotlight, looking like something out of a magazine, but better. raw. real.

then came the tripods, the softboxes, the LED panels. he wanted precision, control over every shadow and highlight. you weren’t just a girl in front of his camera. you were a masterpiece he was going to create, frame by fucking frame. he tested angles in his room before even bringing you into it, adjusting the height, the placement, imagining the way the light would kiss your skin, the way the shadows would carve out every perfect line of you.

by the time he called you in, the room was transformed. not just a bedroom anymore, but a set. the walls lined with blackout curtains, the bed pushed to the center like a stage, soft sheets rumpled just enough to look inviting. and then, there was the table—laid out with more than just camera equipment. a collection of toys, sleek and glistening under the studio lights, each one carefully chosen. he wanted to see you use them, wanted to capture everything.

“strip,” he said, adjusting the focus, not even looking at you yet. the camera clicked as you peeled away your clothes, the sound sending a jolt of heat straight through you. his voice was low, measured, but you could hear the edge to it, the hunger buried beneath control. “slow. take your time.”

he guided you, not with touch, but with words. told you where to sit, how to arch, where to let your hands wander. the camera clicked with every motion, freezing you in time, making you immortal in pixels. and then, his voice dipped lower, dark amusement curling around each word. “pick one.”

your eyes flicked to the table. so many choices. some familiar, some new. you hesitated, and he caught it, a smirk tugging at his lips as he zoomed in, the lens capturing every little flicker of anticipation across your face. “don’t be shy now. you posed for strangers before, didn’t you? this is just for me.”

heat coiled in your stomach as you reached out, fingers grazing over the cool surface of a toy before wrapping around it. the moment you held it up, the camera clicked again, a satisfied hum escaping him. “good girl,” he murmured, stepping closer, adjusting the angle. “now show me how you use it.”

his voice guided you, steady, unwavering, the authority in it making your breath hitch. “start slow,” he instructed, eyes never leaving the viewfinder. “press it to your skin first. tease yourself.”

you obeyed, trailing it over your thighs, over the soft dip of your stomach, your lips parting when you felt the first shiver of pleasure. the camera clicked. “yeah, just like that. drag it lower.”

his breath was audible, heavy through the silence, the sound of the camera shutter filling the space between you. “spread your legs wider. let me see everything.”

your pulse pounded as you followed his orders, your fingers trembling slightly as you brought the toy exactly where he wanted it. the moment it pressed against you, a sharp inhale echoed from behind the lens. “fuck, that’s beautiful. turn it on.”

the vibration jolted through you, and the camera caught the exact second your mouth fell open, your eyes fluttering shut. “keep them open,” he reminded you. “look right at me. let me see what it does to you.”

his commands were precise. “circle it. slower. now press it in—yeah, just like that, princess.” the camera clicked with every change in your expression, capturing the way your brows knitted, the way your lips trembled. “use your other hand,” he murmured. “play with your tits. make it pretty for me.”

heat coiled tight in your stomach as you did exactly as he said, teasing and touching as he dictated, the pleasure intensifying with each passing second. the room was nothing but the sounds of the toy, your own soft gasps, and the rhythmic snap of the shutter as he immortalized every filthy moment.

“push it deeper,” he ordered, voice thick. “fuck yourself on it.”

you whimpered at the words, legs shaking as you moved the toy in and out, every motion perfectly timed to his direction. “yeah, just like that,” he praised, the camera still clicking. “God, you’re gorgeous honey.”

he didn’t stop until he had everything he wanted. until you were spent, trembling, and completely undone beneath the heat of his lens, captured forever in a way only he would ever see.

tags: @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl

[folliesandfolderols]

Only five people besides Tim know he has a soulmark. Only one person besides Tim knows whose it is. No one besides Tim knows how much he wishes his soulmate wanted anything to do with him.

Pairing: Tim Drake/Damian Wayne Rating: Teen Words: 6,480

Written for the TimDami week prompt "Soulmates" for December 4 (and posted extremely late)!

Preview beneath the cut.

“Tim, you ready for this?”

Tim, curled up on one of the overstuffed couches in his apartment, looked up from his laptop and snorted at the sight of one of his best cameras in Kon’s hands. “I’m not starting an OnlyFans.”

Kon gave him a grin, unfazed as usual. “Nah, man, I don’t know how you could unless you managed to keep your face completely off-camera the whole time and filmed in a beige room. Sounds boring. I meant we’re gonna throw that tramp stamp of yours onto SoulmarkSearch.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Dude. I’m not doing that when I’ve obviously already met them in person at least a few times.”

“Yeah, like, a decade ago. Your mark hasn’t grown since the time Bruce was ‘dead.’” Kon raised the camera to peer through the viewfinder. “With the pictures this thing can take, you’d be able to track them down in a few days.”

“Assuming they want to be found.” Tim stared at his screen without seeing the spreadsheet he was working on.

“Hey, I know the fundies keep trying to make soulmark child marriages legal again, but no one decent wants to mess with jailbait. They’re probably just a few years older than you. Your mark’s so tiny that the most you two have done is shaken hands a couple times. If they figured out it’s you, I’m guessing they just dropped you like a hot potato once they saw how young you were.”

It was a feasible explanation, but Tim knew better, of course.

He swallowed. It barely even nauseated him, all these years later. “I’ve been legal for a while now. If they know it’s me, they’re staying away on purpose. Which means they really don’t want me to be their soulmate at all.”

“Well, I mean. They also died for a while,” Kon pointed out, lowering the camera again to give him an expectant look. “That probably put a damper on the search.”

Tim had discovered his soulmark while Bruce was lost in time, after being sewn back together by a League of Assassins surgeon, then had done his level best to never look at it again. Its proportions and location made that task a little easier. Barely the dimensions of a thumbprint, it could’ve been from a 90-year-old woman he’d helped across a street, or a baby he’d held for a few minutes while their mother got help in a clinic. He almost didn’t bother to cover it up with Bruce’s liquid bandage (specially formulated for soulmarks). No one was staring at his ass in the locker rooms. In the end, though, caution won out.

After it had faded into the same silvery-white as his stretch marks, betraying the death of his soulmate, he’d stopped looking because it hurt too much. He’d done all he could to eliminate it from his awareness. The measures of denial worked so well that he had forgotten the colors must have come back until years later, when Bernard mentioned it the first time he fucked Tim.

That hadn’t been awkward. At all.

It had definitely been a good reason not to shower and change in front of the Bats anymore, though. Besides his soulmate, only Bernard, Kon, Cassie, and Bart knew it existed.

“They’ve obviously made no effort to find me since then.” Tim shut his laptop. He wasn’t getting work done with Kon here. Why had he even tried?

“People in our circles come back to life all the time, which means you might know each other pretty well and they just don’t want to pressure you. C’mon, Rob, let’s get you set up with your person,” Kon wheedled. “You’ve been alone since you broke up with Bernard. That’s a long time.”

Tim rolled his eyes and stood. “I really don’t want to. I know you’re super happy with your soulmates and that’s why you want me to be settled too.” Hell, the fact that Kon had been able to form soulmates at all had been a happy surprise, since Clark couldn’t. “But there are plenty of nightmare scenarios out there and, let’s be honest, given how our lives go, that’s way more likely to happen to me than anything good.”

Kon folded his lips in on themselves. He couldn’t argue with that, and Tim knew it, so he didn’t let him stew in the knowledge for long. He added, “Plus, I have you. If there was really some big cosmic plan behind these things, we’d have been matched for years. Who needs soulmates when I’ve already got someone better?” Clapping one hand on his best friend’s shoulder, he asked, “How about we order Indian? I know you loved the butter chicken from that one place downtown last time.”

He could see Kon struggled to drop the matter, but in the end Tim got his way. “Yeah,” Kon said, setting the camera down on a corner table. “Can we get the garlic naan too?”

But later that night, as he sat in the Cave waiting for Stephanie to come back from patrol so they could write some case notes together, Tim found himself calling up SoulmarkSearch on his phone. Sometimes it was fun just to look at the infinite variety in shade and design. Couldn’t hurt, right?

read the rest on ao3

[pix4japan]

Fujimi-Yagura: One of Tokyo’s Last Edo Castle Guard Towers・皇居に残る江戸城富士見櫓

The Fujimi-Yagura guard tower, originally built in 1606, was destroyed in a 1657 fire and reconstructed in 1659. Over the centuries, it endured further challenges, including damage from the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923, after which it was repaired into its present form.

Beneath the tower, its stone wall foundation is among the oldest surviving within the former Edo Castle grounds. Built in the uchikomi-hagi (打込矧ぎ) joinery style, the stones were carefully shaped and fitted without mortar, allowing the wall to withstand centuries of earthquakes.

As I framed Fujimi-Yagura through my camera’s viewfinder, I reflected on how this watchtower has silently witnessed Tokyo’s transformation. The contrast between its centuries-old stonework and the glass-and-steel skyscrapers behind it stayed with me. I felt grateful to capture both past and present in a single frame—an enduring piece of Edo’s history standing amid the ever-changing city skyline.

Location: Imperial Palace, Chiyoda Ward, Tokyo Timestamp: 11:10・2025/01/02 Fujifilm X100V with 5% diffusion filter ISO 320 for 1/500 sec. at ƒ/8.0 Provia/Standard film simulation

Full write-up with links to sources for a deeper dive (1-minute read): https://www.pix4japan.com/blog/20250102-fujimi

[stayycalm]

i have a Request! could you write a little short about Hyunjin and Fem Reader? maybe something where Reader is in paris and taking picture of the beautiful scenery and ends up taking a picture of Hyunjin? but like they dont notice till they are back at their hotel? and then they are admiring the beautiful stranger and they cant sleep so they go out on their balcony to look at the beautiful lights but little do they know a wandering Hyunjin is outside looking for inspiration for drawing/paintng and when he sees a mysterious figure on a balcony hes enthralled by their silhouette? he hurries back to his room and begins to sketch right away and he wonders who the beauty was, and then they end up meeting? sorry this is long but i really want to know how you'd write this!!

ok, first of all, I want to deeply apologize, anon, because I'm just now finding this ask??? it's been in my inbox for a year?? so please accept my deepest apology and enjoy this! 😭

Drawn to You by stayycalm

The streets of Paris hum with life as I sling my trusty Canon Rebel T7 over my shoulder, ready to conquer my ambitious agenda. Two weeks here, and yet, the city’s allure hasn’t dulled a bit. Every street corner, every café, every wrought-iron balcony layered with Gothic spires or curving Art Nouveau façades feels like a treasure to an aspiring architect like me.

On this second-to-last day, I’m determined to make the most of it. The itinerary, planned by a finance teacher who wouldn’t know a flying buttress from a baguette, has been criminally devoid of exploration. I mutter under my breath, “How can anyone come here and not explore?”

I pause at Pont Alexandre III, lifting my camera to capture the graceful curve of a bridge flanked by its gilded statues, glowing in the soft morning light. Click. I take another, angling for the perfect shot of a bride crossing with her billowing white train, the Eiffel Tower rising in the distance.

As the day unfolds, I let my instincts guide me. From the serene paths of the Tuileries Gardens to ornate windows with their curved frames, I capture it all. Then, just as the sun begins to dip low, its golden light casting long shadows across the city, I find myself facing the Eiffel Tower. Its iron lattice glows with a warmth that takes my breath away. I can’t help but do a little happy dance as I check the shot in my viewfinder, triumphant.

A text buzzes from my phone, snapping me out of my euphoria. It’s my roommate, letting me know she’s heading back to the hotel. Sighing, I tuck my phone away and begin the trek back.

Later, I sit at the desk in our room, my hair wrapped in a towel from a much-needed shower. My laptop hums softly as I transfer the day’s photos. One by one, they fill the screen, and my excitement grows with every frame. I start editing, erasing stray tourists and clutter from the pristine geometry of my shots, until I reach the final picture.

My fingers hover over the trackpad as I zoom in on a figure in the background. He’s leaning casually against the bridge railing near the Eiffel Tower, his silhouette partially lit by the fading sunlight. His dark hair falls just past his shoulders, and his profile—what little I can see—is striking.

“Wow…” The word escapes me, barely a whisper.

“What are you oooh-ing over?” My roommate’s voice startles me. She emerges from the steamy bathroom, her towel-turbaned head tilting as she raises an eyebrow at me.

I jolt, fumbling to close the photo. “Oh, you know… buildings.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Only you could get off to a building.”

I snort, but the heat rises to my cheeks. Turning back to the laptop, I save my edits and close it, needing an escape. “I’m stepping out for a sec,” I announce, grabbing a cardigan and slipping out to the balcony.

The air is cool, and the city stretches before me, a sea of glittering lights. With the sun gone, Paris seems transformed into a constellation fallen to earth, each light twinkling like a star. I lean against the stone railing, letting the sight fill me.

It’s moments like these that make Paris feel like a dream—a city so alive, yet timeless. A city of romance, indeed.

Hyunjin's POV

The sharp click of my shoes against the marble echoed through the Versace store as I stepped out, the heavy glass doors swinging open. A wave of flashing lights greeted me, relentless and blinding, a cacophony of voices calling out my name—professional photographers and STAY alike. It was always surreal, this paradoxical familiarity. I didn’t know a single face in that sea of people, yet they all knew me, or at least the version of me they thought they knew.

My lips curled into a smile, practiced but genuine in its intent. The sunglasses resting on the bridge of my nose shielded my eyes, but they couldn’t hide my gratitude. I raised a hand, waving to the crowd before blowing a kiss into the air. The gesture elicited a cheer, a ripple of excitement that followed me until I ducked into the sleek black car waiting at the curb.

Inside the car, the energy of the crowd faded, replaced by the hum of the engine and the muted bustle of Paris beyond the tinted windows. When we pulled up to the hotel, I took a moment to shed the Versace image. Gone were the statement pieces; in their place, a plain hoodie, jeans, and sneakers.

Tonight, I wasn’t Hyunjin, the idol, the "Versace prince." Tonight, I was just Hyunjin—an artist looking for inspiration in the heart of Paris.

The city’s streets welcomed me with their usual charm: cobblestone paths, golden streetlights, and the murmur of life flowing seamlessly between its residents and visitors. It should’ve been easy—a city as alive as Paris practically begged to be captured in art. Yet, as I wandered through alleyways, past street performers and cafés spilling over with laughter, nothing reached out to me. The fire I sought remained elusive, a spark I couldn’t ignite.

The Eiffel Tower loomed in the distance, its iron frame bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun. I found myself on a bridge, leaning against the railing as I stared out over the Seine. The water reflected the dying light in shimmering streaks, and the Tower cast a long shadow over the city.

“Where are you?” I muttered under my breath, the question aimed at no one in particular. A sigh escaped me as I pushed off the railing, shaking my head. Inspiration had never been this difficult to find before.

By the time the sun had dipped completely below the horizon, Paris transformed into a city of light. Neon signs buzzed, music drifted from open windows, and the streets teemed with energy. But even in the midst of all this vibrancy, I felt disconnected. My steps slowed as I glanced around one last time, taking in the tourist shops and the occasional artist sketching caricatures on the sidewalk. Still, nothing.

Frustration prickled at my skin. I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. When I opened my eyes again, I froze mid-step.

She stood on a balcony a few stories above me, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the room behind her. Her head was tilted upward, as if catching the glimmer of the city’s lights on her skin. Her hair moved with the breeze, framing a face so serene it made my chest tighten. The faint flush on her cheeks, the way her lips curved ever so slightly—it was as if she belonged to this moment, this city, more than anyone I’d ever seen.

For a moment, I couldn’t move. I drank in the sight of her, committing every detail to memory. Then, a voice called her from inside, and she turned, disappearing into the room. I waited, hoping she’d reappear, but the balcony remained empty.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to move. My steps were quicker now, my heart racing with something I couldn’t quite name. By the time I returned to my hotel room, the feeling had morphed into a need—a compulsion. I rolled up my sleeves, grabbed my charcoal pencils, and approached the easel I’d set up by the window.

The lines came easily, flowing from memory to paper as if she’d etched herself into my mind. The curve of her lips, the slope of her nose, the way her hair had danced in the wind—each stroke brought her closer to life. I worked with a fervor I hadn’t felt in weeks, adjusting, refining, until the figure on the page mirrored the one that had captivated me.

I stepped back, studying the sketch. She was there, but she wasn’t. I’d captured her image but not the essence—not yet. The fire was back, though, and I felt alive for the first time. In what felt like forever.

rubbed my eye, trying to wipe away the sleepiness threatening to overtake me as I leaned against the wall with the rest of my group. Whoever decided that 4 a.m. was a good time to fly needs to be smacked. Hard. My eyelids started to get heavy, and I began to nod off when a voice called over the loudspeaker announcing that first class for our flight could begin boarding.

I groaned and smacked my head against the wall, wincing at the dull throb that now pulsed in my temple.

"What's wrong with you?" my roommate asked, poking my side from the chair she sat in.

"I didn’t get much sleep last night," I grumbled, swatting her hand away and rubbing the sore spot on my forehead. In reality, I didn’t sleep at all. My mind kept thinking about the beautiful stranger in that photo. Was he a tourist? What was his name? Was he that beautiful up close? These were the questions that kept me awake until we had to head to the airport, where I now stood miserably as the wealthy boarded the plane first.

"Screw the rich..." I muttered under my breath, running both hands down my face. Once it was our turn to board, my group got in line. I handed the stewardess my boarding pass. She scanned it, frowned slightly, then scanned it again, her brows furrowing. A pit grew in my stomach.

"Oh no," I thought as her eyes darted over the words on her screen. She turned her gaze to me and spoke. "I’m sorry, miss, but it seems we double-booked your seat..."

I felt like I was going to throw up. My face must have turned even paler as she continued typing on her keyboard.

"But it looks like I can bump you up to business class, if that’s alright with you," she said.

My sleep-deprived brain barely processed her words. I just stared at her for a moment as she added, "Free of charge, of course, for the trouble."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, unable to form words. She printed a new boarding pass, handed it to me, and waved me through. I found our professor and gave him the update. He gave me a thumbs-up before pulling on his headphones and lowering his eye mask.

I made my way to the business class section, searching for my seat. It was in the middle row, meaning I had another seat next to mine. But when I saw the amount of space I had, I didn’t care—as long as my neighbor didn’t mind if I snored a little. I plopped down into my seat after putting away my carry-on. Letting out a sigh, I pulled the provided blanket over myself, turned to one side, and drifted off to sleep before we even took off.

I woke up to the hostess asking if I needed anything to eat or drink. Blinking my eyes, I regained consciousness and asked for water and a snack. Once I had both, I sat up a little and took in the seat I was in. It was almost like a mini cubicle with a small folding table and a TV screen. To my left was the divider between me and my neighbor, who was busy drawing something on a sketchpad. I couldn’t see his face clearly because of the mask, hat, and headphones he wore.

My attention shifted back to my snacks as I pulled out my laptop to get started on more editing. At some point, I fell asleep again but woke up before they came around to deliver more food.

"Thank you," I whispered to the steward, who smiled and nodded before moving on.

"That’s a beautiful picture," an accented voice said behind me. I whipped around to see my neighbor looking at my laptop.

"Oh, thank you," I said shyly, setting my food down. I tried to ignore the flutter in my chest from his compliment as I continued to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him shuffle and take off his headphones and hat, but I averted my eyes before he caught me peeking. To distract myself, I clicked on the picture of the stranger and zoomed in slightly.

My neighbor made a choked sound. When I looked back at him, his wide eyes were glued to my screen.

"Are you okay?" I asked. He looked at me, then back at the screen.

"That’s me," he said, pointing to the photo.

My gaze darted to the picture and then back to him, my eyes narrowing. "What are you—" But before I finished, he took off his mask, and the words died in my throat.

Here, next to me on this very plane, was the reason I couldn’t sleep last night. I sat there, mouth open in shock, as he looked at me with an odd expression.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

He nodded. "Why do you have my picture?"

"I wasn’t taking YOUR picture." I clicked to expand the photo. "I was taking a picture of the Eiffel Tower."

His eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed red. "Oh..." His voice was soft as he apologized.

I nodded, and we sat in awkward silence for a moment.

"What are you drawing?" I asked, trying to ease the tension, pointing at his sketchpad.

He blushed more, tilting the pad toward me. "It’s just a sketch of a woman I saw last night," he muttered, avoiding my gaze. The whole time we’d talked, he hadn’t fully looked at me. I wondered if there was something wrong with my face. But when my eyes roamed over the drawing, I tilted my head in confusion.

"She looks an awful lot like me," I chuckled, knowing that wasn’t possible. But his eyes snapped to me, then back to his drawing. His mouth opened in wonder.

"Were you staying at Hotel de la Tour Eiffel?" he asked.

My laughter died. "Yeah... How did you—" My eyes widened as we both looked at his drawing. It was me.

"Holy crap," I muttered as he shook his head in disbelief. We looked at each other again.

"I can’t believe I found you," we said in unison.

We spent the rest of the flight chatting quietly about everything and anything. Soon, we were landing, and a wave of sadness hit me. I’d never see him again. Once it was our row’s turn to exit, I grabbed my things and turned to him.

"It was nice to meet you, Hyunjin," I said with a soft smile before slowly making my way down the ramp and into the terminal. As I stood off to the side waiting for my group, I heard my name being called. I looked around to see Hyunjin waving at me.

When he reached me, he blushed, clearly embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I just..." He took a deep breath. "Can I have your number?"

I gave him a shy smile and nodded. The smile he gave me made butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I thought to myself, I might have brought home something better than pictures.

[amateur-flamingo]

there is too little content with Reflector so I DECIDED TO MAKE IT MYSELF

I like to headcanon that they have they/he pronouns

[nothinggathers]

The first chapter of my first story for the 2024 @dbh-bb in collaboration with @remyderatz

Title: Viewfinder

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Hank Anderson/Connor

Summary: Hank and Connor are called to the scene of a violent and strange murder, and work together to try to figure out what happened. In the meantime, Connor catches the eye of an unwanted admirer.

[sophieinwonderland]

https://tfwiki.net/wiki/Reflector_(G1) nice reverse plurality (hive mind)

One mind, many bodies!

Wait, is it one mind?

I'm actually a bit confused on this. The wiki seems to imply they're all the same being, but also suggests Spectro, Spyro and Viewfinder have slightly different personalities. So are they a full hivemind or only partial?

Either way, they would make such a fascinating contrast to the animated Blitzwing! 😁

[ivomagus]

Smena 8M – The True ‘Lomo’ Experience 🎞️📷

The Smena 8M holds a special place in the history of lomography—and in my own journey with film photography. It was my first true Lomo camera, manufactured by the iconic LOMO factory (Leningrad Optical Mechanical Association, Russian: Ленинградское Оптико-Механическое Объединение), the namesake of the lomography movement.

Design and Build 🌟

Produced between 1970 and 1990, the Smena 8M embodies late Soviet-era aesthetics with a utilitarian design that in the late 00s was cherished as ‘hipster.’ The camera’s body is mostly plastic—apart from the metal plate on the front and the lens—giving it a charming toy-camera vibe. But don’t let this toyish exterior fool you; this camera is capable of producing surprisingly high-quality photos, thanks to its glass lens.

Specs and Features 📋

The Smena 8M is a 35mm fully manual camera, boasting:

40mm f/4–f/16 glass lens

1/250 to 1/15 shutter speed, and a bulb mode

A dial on the front of the lens allows you to manually adjust the aperture settings based on the film's ISO. Meanwhile, the weather pictograms at the base of lens mount are used to set the shutter speed according to the current lighting conditions.

The Smena 8M works best with 100 or 200 ISO film, though higher ISOs can handle cloudier conditions (with a risk of overexposure in bright sunlight). For advanced users, the fully manual nature of the camera allows precise control over your settings, making it a fantastic tool for learning the relationship between aperture, shutter speed, and ISO.

Shooting Experience 🎥

Using the Smena 8M requires some intuition and practice. To shoot, you:

Set the focal length using the pictograms or numbers on the lens.

Use the simple viewfinder to frame your shot (keep in mind it’s not entirely accurate).

Rely on your skill and creative instincts to adjust settings and compose your shot.

The Smena 8M thrives in sunny conditions at f/11, making it ideal for outdoor shooting. The unpredictability of the camera can lead to happy accidents—one of the reasons lomographers love it.

Creative Potential 🎨

The bulb mode opens up exciting possibilities for light painting and double exposures, two techniques I experimented with the most. While results can be hit-or-miss, the joy of experimenting with film is part of the experience. 

My Experience 📸

While I enjoyed my time with the Smena 8M, I ultimately passed it on to someone else. As a neurodivergent person, I found the fully manual controls and lack of a conventional viewfinder a bit unnerving. That said, it remains one of my most cherished film cameras for its creative potential and unique aesthetic. I’ll be sharing my photos under the #smena 8m tag on my blog.

If you’re curious about experimenting with lomography or want to explore analog photography, the Smena 8M is a wonderful starting point. It’s a camera that truly embodies the spirit of lomography: embracing imperfection, creativity, and the joy of the unexpected.

Modern Glam-Up 🎀

Here’s a modern reinterpretation of the classic Lomo Smena 8M, decked out in Barbie pink with a 'Hello Kitty' inscription and pastel lilac colours!

I couldn’t find any information confirming if this was a factory-produced model, so it’s likely a custom creation. Either way, these vibrant colors transform the camera into not just a tool for photography, but a bold eye-catching accessory.

Have you used a Smena 8M? Share your thoughts and experiences in the comments!

📢 This post was created for the Lomography Community on Tumblr. If you love experimental photography, we’d love to have you join in! 🌟

📸 Photo Credits: Images of the Smena 8M featured in this article are courtesy of Photo Thinking. Custom camera design images sourced from a private seller listing on Avito.