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byunbaekhyunie · 2 years

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you made baekhyun look grainy and washed out and like he had been left sitting in a puddle of muddy water for a very long time, you made him grey and ugly and i really wondered how you managed to make this pretty a video look so grimey

again, criticism is welcomed but maybe ease up on the vitriol a little, idkw you're talking like we're having a fight

anyways, i don't consider myself that good at making gifs, i personally think i am very lacking compared to other ccs on here so please, i invite you to follow anyone else should you feel so offended by the quality of my content. there's plenty of very talented ppl who gif for bbh/exo, i'll be more than happy to provide you with a list if you want

now to address your grievances. if you don't like grain, well i do. simple as that. when it comes to me ruining the video? i guess?... sure, serving its intended purpose: to be youtube content, the video gets the job done well enough but you obviously have no concept of what constitutes nice source material for gifs — which is fine — but don't get on your high horses with me as if you know better. by all means, if you could do a better job than me: be my guest, i'd be the first to reblog it

the video was shot dimly lit, it's underexposed, they filter the hell out of his skin which kills the resolution, not to mention youtube's horrendous compression. the original video itself is washed out. this is a raw screengrab as it appears in ps after encoding:

to compare with my grimey coloring:

it's not the coloring job i'm most proud of, far from that. actually in the tags of my post i clearly stated that i was unsatisfied with the quality of these myself so. not teaching me anything new here. but ok, too grainy, too dull, too grey, perhaps something like this would be more to your taste:

i am well aware that this kind of coloring is way more attractive than the one i settled on and that, chances are, my post would've gotten more engagement had i chosen this coloring for my post but i've let go of that mentality long ago

everyone approaches giffing differently and with different intentions. i'm personally not someone with a road map, i just go with the flow of whatever i feel like doing that day, my general ethos is to flatter the source material and/or its subject as much as possible, but i also like to experiment and try different things. to me, this coloring hereinabove strays too far from the original palette which makes the colors too unnatural and adds to the already considerable amount of artifact even with minimal sharpening. it's also very generic looking

it's funny to me that you picked that muddy puddle analogy, in an effort to upset me i presume, but I like that image actually. wasn't that the concept of the video to begin with? kyoong radio to cheer you up on a bleak, rainy day? i think that's why they made the artistic choice of filming in soft lighting, and going with the under-saturated, low contrast, "washed out" look. or at least, that's my interpretation of it. so even if it's not to your preference, i think i somewhat hit the mark with what i was originally trying to do

i personally don't think my gifs look too grey. i'm most disappointed that i couldn't recover more of baekhyun's skintone in the gifs that i posted, trust me i am, but i tried smth a little experimental and i'm still happy with how they came out, they remind me of old camcorder footage. i know that it is among my worst performing sets but like i said idc, i like them

also they're literally just gifs &baekhyun loves me

#anonyme #courriel

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totallymyhero · 3 years

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AVENGERS: ENDGAME dir. Anthony Russo and Joe Russo

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jadelynlace · 3 years

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A Dead Woman Tells No Tales⎮Vikings Fiction [Ivar x F!Reader]

series based on Lady Lazarus, a poem by Sylvia Plath.

chapter eight / catch up here

synopsis: He left you for dead and now you’re back.

author’s note: The one small detail the reader has, is that she is a red head. Inspiration works in odd ways, does it not? I never thought I would work on this series again, history is not my favorite or my strong suit but I have great mutuals who have helped me to understand it. Looking directly at you @xbellaxcarolinax I do plan to finish this series slowly, now that more detailing has been set. And yes, I am aware with how out of character everyone is written and that only makes me happier because canon sucked. So shout out to all canon divergent AU’s. Divider is by @firefly-graphics & gifs are by @therealcalicali

specific chapter content warning(s): Mentions of suicide below the cut; for that I’m placing a trigger warning on this chapter. My inbox and messages are always open. Mentions of broken hearts, Ivar’s emotions and secret planning. Anything written in italics indicates a flash back.

pairing: Ivar x F!Reader

word count: 2500+ words

You hear the words play through pearly teeth, opening lines on your skin as if they had been carved with the sharp end of the blade. His eyes refused to meet yours on such terms as Ivar went on about how he is still a cripple—as if you did not know this feat prior, or if it hinders him now versus then life he has lived up to this moment. Passing whispers had infiltrated his mind once more, how you could be in love with a creature like him; the crippled boy turned crippled man and the king to rule the land his brothers had left for him. Ivar had spent so long trying to silence the doubts but they were never truly vanished, they were stuck watching him. His heart gripped slow movements after the speech he gave you on the dock. How he would not blame you for leaving him now because no amount of love could change who he is. You wonder then why you are not enough for him—why after all of this time together and apart from that you have still proven to not be enough.

“Ivar?” You start. Your words bounce from the ripples of the water, dancing back to the silver light of the moon’s reflection over the liquid plain. “Am I not enough for you?” The question hangs heavily between you two, swirling through the night sky and you think that there is a sound in your head that must be his heartbreaking before you. Ivar does not answer your question and you can’t recall if you want to yell at him, knock him from the dock and into the water to watch him ebb and flow, and try to move useless legs to have him reach safety. “If my love for you is not enough, you can say that. I will leave if you think it is not something I should continue.” It pains you that you have to talk to Ivar in such a manner as if the bargaining for your affections are unnoticed, unappreciated. “Ivar this is where you answer me.”

“You are enough for me,” Ivar says. “I think at times you are too much for me when I can not be the same for you.” His words almost make you laugh as if the two of you are ancient winds barking and battling.

“Must you think so lowly of yourself Ivar? You are Ivar the Boneless.” You tell him as your figure turns towards his.

“I have spent my life being rejected—being told there are things I cannot do because of who I am. Everything leaves, everything leaves me because of what I am. And if you decide that one day you wish to do such....” But his words end as he finally speaks them into existence.

“Ivar I am not leaving unless you kill me yourself.”

“And even then I do not think you will truly be gone,” Ivar speaks and he cracks a grainy smile to match the sand that lingers around you.

“I will haunt you in this life, and in the next, and what comes after that. Even if you never do believe me when I tell you how I love you, there will never be a time when I doubt you. Or when I want to leave you.” Ivar feels your hand tangle with his and he stays still, waiting for the next line to hurt him. “Please stop thinking like an idiot, Ivar, because you are not. You are a smart man and you know this.” The deep pettiness of how he holds himself aches at your hearts shattering what remains and you know how dark he has fallen. The black blood takes up his heart because he has been left with nothing, and it hurts him even when he tries to tell himself it does not. “What became of Bjorn?” You asked, simply to change the topic.

“He rules where the land we have claimed in York. Ubbe is there with him, taking the army farther.”

“And Sigurd?”

“Sigurd is dead,” Ivar states back and it is blunt, there lacks emotion and you recall the squandering the two would embark in. The matches of yelling and screaming and small physical fights. Without having to ask Ivar for the details of his older brother's passing, you know how Sigurd was killed. You wonder if it was an ax or the plunge of a knife that took him out.

“And what do you wish to do, Ivar, with your kingdom?” You feel the cherry stain of the smile on his mouth as you ask him, feeding his deflating ego to puff it back to the height you know.

“There is much I wish to do with my kingdom,” Ivar says back and there is a shy smile as he speaks, and it spreads to widen, to become devious as the possibilities filter through his mind. “I want to conquer—land, not by boat.”

“Seasickness?” You’re quick to remind him.

“I do not suffer from such.” Ivar scoffs and even he can tell his words do not sound anything close to truthful. You turn to him, taking a leg that moves from how it sinks along the sand to toss across Ivar’s hip, chimes from his weaponry clashing through the night, swallowed up by the ocean’s waves. Your hand comes next, sprinklings of sand over Ivar’s covered chest.

“Do you see all the grains of sand here?” You ask the man before you and he nods without moving his eyes. “Ivar the Boneless, I love you for as many grains of sand are in this world, and for as many lights that are in our skies.” He stays silent as you confess, his arm curling around your back, lacing along the amber strands even though he can’t believe the words are for him.

“There is no red in the forest, you would stick out like a dumb woman,” Ivar's voice says as he cocks his head to the side, smiling an insidious grin that makes you want to pull his lips from his face. “Save the fight, Y/N, because you would be caught, and you would be captured, and you would be beaten and raped. You are not meant to raid,” Ivar adds with another laugh, the sound growing when Ubbe snickers alongside him.

You wanted to pull your mouth apart and tell his brothers how Ivar spends his afternoons now, deep between your spread legs versus training, but you know he will not see to your eyes when you do such. You want to tell him how those words hurt and carve you to part, releasing blackbirds from within you to fly through the branches. You want to tell him that you know you are worthless, and you do not need him to remind you.

“And that is different than being a cripple, how?” You find yourself saying back as Ivar’s jaw tightens. “At least I have the ability to walk from spot to spot,” You add with a smile, grabbing your belongings and starting on the journey back. Hvitserk has bitten his tongue to stop the roar of laughter he wants to let loose at how Ivar looks with the sudden backlash. Ubbe has struck his own hand over his mouth to save his jaw from hitting the brown ground, Sigurd almost copying such.

“Y/N,” Ivar growls turning his head, “Get back here,” But you ignore him.

“When you can spread your legs and walk, do tell me,” You call back, but you halt yourself and turn. “Because I am done spreading mine for you,” and you toss your weapons along the brush and keep walking.

You are not meant to raid. That lone sentence calls you, taunts you with laughter, danced around the room with a creep of blackness as it spends more time on the forefront of your thoughts. Ivar had claimed land; you were there when the white cloth rose, you were there through victory. He learned quickly the fate of the open seas, spending the time on the waves in a hunch through an upchucked meal and stomach bile. He went with his army and they took what they coveted, in the name of his father and in the name of the Gods. In the cover of armor, muddled red hair caked with dirt, you were there, and you had raided. The thought of you haunted Ivar, choking on his own words and spitting them from his teeth like rotten meat. You were meant to raid. He knew it. And you could prove it.

“And what is wrong with the thought to sail to England? You have York, you can have Wessex,” A voice says next to Ivar.

“Sailing would be pointless, we would lose too many on the water to have a decent army—we have to think clearly in regards to where we are to invade,” Ivar said back.

“Seasickness,” You say simply, leaning in the doorway with a muddled container sloshing with mead. “Too many suffer from seasickness—it would make them unable to fight. Right, Ivar?” You smile, eyes catching the brief click his jaw holds again at the mere mention of what plagues him while on the boats.

“She is correct—we invade the land near,” He says, trying to redirect said focus.

“Hedeby,” You suggest and your words have piqued his interest.

“Continue…” Ivar says as his back takes to leaning some in the chair, slouching and you watch him relax for the first time in many days. “Tell me how you think we should invade,” The cup of mead meets his lips alike with the one that meets yours, challenging one another as his men watch the silent battle between the two of you.

“Fire,” You suggest. “You can control such, you can burn how you like with the ways of the Gods. We could poison, sneak mixtures into their supplies and watch them choke,” You hum, watching how Ivar in taking your ideas through his ears, turning them over into petty battle plans as he calculates great things. “Send me to try their men. Drink their blood, and eat their hearts in the marketplace,” You finally add, the mead now speaking mostly for you as you watch how Ivar takes to curl his lips. To snort some in disbelief as you stroll back out through the hall.

“She is insane,” A man next to Ivar speaks.

“Yes, she is,” Ivar starts. “And it is glorious,”

It was a rain of heavy downpour as Ivar limped back into his quarters, ready to be settled for the evening, ready to see you, ready to forget for a moment how his legs had hurt and how his eyes had hazed into cerulean shades once more. Ready to have you heal his mind to restart a sensation he used to hold in the forest when he would hold you. It was the sound of a wounded animal, that was what Hvitserk must have figured, or a slave trying to free herself before she was caught. But a wounded animal would not thrash, and a slave would not have access to ceramics to shatter. Only Ivar did. He is on the floor when Hvitserk finds him, a mess of a man around your torn dress, the hair that has been tossed like waste along the furs he made love with you on that same morning.

“What happened?” Hvitserk is quick to ask.

“She is gone,” Ivar answered. “She has left,” He is sure of it, the way he had begged of your staying was simply not enough. It never was—he never was. Hvitserk’s eye catches something, a drip as if the water is being rung from a rag as he looks to the table side.

“Ivar, she did not leave,” Hvitserk says suddenly around the collection of blood. “She was taken,” Ivar straightens completely from how he has hunched himself over his stents, still with tears in his vision as the realization settles in his stomach of the terror, the mess of whom snuck in and grabbed you. How you spoke of no evil, called for no help, put up a fight which may have cost you the life you were to live alongside him. Hvitserk peeks around the room again, trying to trace his eyes over everything, to see if there was a tale you left in your wake because he could not understand why you went so willingly. The mess Ivar had turned the area into in his emotionally induced anger was no help. There was a grip across Hvitserk’s wrist and he feared Ivar may have snapped it suddenly, in his route to reach for your dress, to prove to Ivar that you did not simply leave him.

“Do not touch it,” Ivar growls.

“It may help us figure this out,” Hvitserk tries.

“It still smells of her, leave it to stay that way,” Ivar whimpers.

There is excitement through his limp, though he is trying to make his body move to such quickness that his limbs know nothing of. He knows where you have slipped away to, and he knows that you have no left him like he had terrorized so many nights thinking of such. The darkness of losing you once more because of himself. His eyes are locked on those at the table, and even Hvitserk seems intrigued and perhaps Ivar now has understood that you have simply left, on to better things, better people, a life so not filled with the darkness. A life that is not revolving around Ivar and how he has faulted you.

“I know where she is,” Ivar says plainly and Hvitserk rolls his eyes at the sudden tone. The sudden misunderstanding and he is not going to march with his brother to find you.

“Ivar,” Hvitserk tries to start but Ivar’s hand quiets him in petty refusal. And then he slams the small trinket on the table. The same one you had gifted him, even after his cruel words of how you were unfit for the life of raiding.

“Ivar,” You say softly, and your hand grazes his knee. You can feel the flinch, the harsh words that you have spoken in the separation but right now your anger for him does not outweigh how you love him. “Take this with you, please,” You say to him. There is no movement from him and you proceed yourself, taking the palm of his hand and setting the lone figure inside of it. “Whether or not you come back, Ivar the Boneless, I will always remember you,” You whisper against his ear. “May the Gods keep you safe, I am sorry my love was not enough,” Sculpted cheekbones finally turn to you, eyes still cast towards the ground and he nods once. “Show them no mercy,” And you turn, stepping away.

“Hedeby,” Ivar spits to his men. “Because she is meant to raid.”

A Dead Woman Tells No Tales Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @queen-sarang @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @istorkyou @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @ivarhoegh @a5hl3y5ibley @revolution-starter @fuchsiagrasshopper @hashimily @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @prepare4trouble

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

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three-headed-monster · 2 years

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have you tried ezgif.com? i reccommend it for gif making on phones!

and also with photopea.com, it's similar to photoshop and you can add psds to gifs on your phone. i've never used it on desktop so idk if you can actually make gifs on it or not

osohey anon! so i actually used ezgif in the past to make my gifs, but i switched over to what i am currently using because i didn't really like the quality of the gifs and i found it hard to adjust lighting and colouring and all that stuff.

thank you for the tips but yeah i'm like already aware lmao.

for example, here's gif i did with ezgif:

and here's something similar, but with the new stuff:

even though the second one is with zoom quality and the first one is with actual camera quality, because of the changes to the lighting i made and the colorization, the first one comes out looking way worse. the second one took longer but it came out a lot better and clearer. obviously, i didn't add text to the bottom one, but here's a gif where i did and it comes out about the same:

but yeah lmao that was a long way to say: i don't use ezgif because it comes out grainy. and i never do phone gifs, i think they always just come out not great on my end, and i'd rather do one that's better on desktop

i've never tried photopea.com though but i will check it out!

#ask #blog stuff #q speaks

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deepbluexsea · 3 years

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Task 12: Two Can Keep a Secret...

Rating: PG-13 (language, reference to murder). Relationships: Johnny & Joan, Johnny/Gabriel (implied). Recurring Characters: Johnny. Gabriel, Joan (implied). Warning/Notes: ...if one of them is dead.

2017.

I’m getting so close to the truth that it’s damn near palpable. Don’t ask me how I know because I couldn’t tell you. I just do. Somewhere deep in my bones, I wonder if it’s Joan calling out to me somehow: Here I am. Just another step. Keep going, Johnny.

Maybe that’s weird. Hell, I don’t even believe in that kind of thing. I never have. But when two people are as intertwined as we were, it’s difficult to imagine that the substance which makes me human doesn’t somehow contain her essence, too. And if that’s so, then perhaps it’s within the realm of possibility that her soul still beckons to me.

I don’t really think it’s possible, but it sure is a nice concept. Gabriel would love to hear me even considering it – the prospect of something other than pure realism – though I may never get the opportunity to tell him. I haven’t been home for more than ten hours total this week. And if the signs in front of me don’t result in the big break I’m expecting, I will never be able to admit to him that this was the reason for my increased absence at home lately. This is the reason he’s been begging me to make a change, to make more of an effort. This is the reason he’s been sleeping with a ghost.

More than my pride, if I failed, my heart would never let me confess.

But I can’t think about that part now. I can’t afford to tear my focus away from the evidence in front of me. I barely allow myself to blink (let alone sleep), and I’m running on so much coffee I’ve lost count of the cups. How many days has it been? I’m not sure. All I know is that I haven’t been this close since before the case first went cold.

The buildup is nearly suffocating. The anticipation is unbearable. After years of absolutely zero breakthroughs, the culmination of all that work is now rapidly sharpening into its apex. As it does so, it’s hard for me to remain steady on two feet. And how could I? The world around me breaks and splinters ever-upward into its zenith. But here I am, terrified – still clinging to the flat, even ground of the unknown.

To stay in the dark is agonizing ignorance, yet there’s no way for me to know if the light will burn just as badly. All at once, I understand what I hadn’t before: however desperately I wanted an answer, there was a sort of comfort in thinking this case was simply out of my hands... a puzzle I wasn’t fit to solve.

There’s a tape that’s frozen on my computer screen, footage of a dim Brooklyn alleyway about 10 minutes before my best friend is estimated to have been killed. The silhouette of a woman is outlined against a brick building in the distant background of the grainy cell phone video. It’s Joan. It has to be Joan.

I could press play. But then I might find out.

An exhale catches deep in my throat and I stop breathing. My stomach turns and I feel like my limbs are concrete, unable to move. My heartbeat is in my ears now, right hand hovering over the mouse on my desk.

Here I am. Just another step.

My fingers start to lower. I can’t feel time as it keeps moving despite me.

The computer goes black.

The flash drive with the video is removed.

Before I’m even aware, my feet carry me quickly through the dark, deserted District Attorney’s office and out the back exit. With only the moonlight for guidance, I can barely see anything. Good.

My knees are in the grass. My white dress shirt is stained. There’s dirt under my fingernails.

When I’m back in better possession of my faculties, I logically know what I’ve done, but my mind still tries to protect me with a blur. I won’t look at the flower bed. Somehow, an hour has passed.

I don’t recall locking up or retrieving my briefcase, yet it’s in my grasp as I walk down the sidewalks of Manhattan at 11:00 PM on a Tuesday.

I can’t remember my journey home, but here I am on the front steps. My skin is sweaty. My palms are empty.

So is my chest.

#es tasks #task #tasks #my writing

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otherpeoplescreativity · 3 years

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I think @cbairdash did a great job decorating our tree.

The short GIF above, which has pretty terribly grainy quality because it was made on my CrapCam smartphone camera, shows our Christmas tree from below. Colored lights are bright and steady. Great white images of stylized snowflakes twirl on the ceiling above the tree, a light show projected from something that is just out of sight on this image.

I am having a little difficulty as I try to stick a "Keep reading” cut in here. Y'all might want to hit "J" now. I have the sad. I need to write about it for myself, but you all can go “Ooo nifty, this is exactly the kind of gif Dave Barry would have created in his newspaper column days!” and move on. Have a safe rest of the Year of the Dumpster Fire!

A post is running around our dashes the past couple of weeks that asks what month each person is still stuck in from 2020.

I am stuck in the last week of June.

In my head I am perpetually between the two surgeries that I was required to have, in order to deal with a single problem. Without going into gross details, it is a problem not exclusive to older folks but more common as our bodies age.

It was also pretty exactly a phobia that I have had increasingly strongly for several decades.

And the anesthesiologist failed me during part 1. I was awake and aware and crying and having complex abstract discussions with the surgeon through the entire thing.

In the real timeline: of course I had part 2. It went much better. The second anesthesiologist actually listened to me and did something about it. Despite the surgeon's blasé pronouncements, I do not see well without glasses for half of any given day, and I am furious about it, but I do see better than I would have by August without these.

In the real timeline, I had an unrelated operation at the beginning of this month. That anesthesiologist did their job correctly too.

Mostly. They gave me something related to the drug to which I told them I am allergic. But at least I don't remember it.

And I am learning to move around the hole in my back.

In the real timeline, now it is after Christmas, after the solstice, almost done with the year completely.

But I still feel like it is the end of June. Like I am supposed to figure out how to walk forward into a part two of everything being exactly as horrible as I imagined, and any promises that things will be better in the future are false.

I can't get to the future. I don't think there is one. There's just more of right now. I am not healing up right. I am not succeeding at accomplishing anything that matters.

I don't get to go to Disney as a reward if I just grit my teeth and control my words and keep plodding. Because the places between here and there are wildly unsafe.

Because if we try, there's a statistical 93% chance my beloved will die of it.

(He thinks that me mourning the loss of my reason to keep plodding is more important to me than his safety. He doesn't believe that I can love him more but still grieve for withered hope. He doesn't understand that I value him even as I hurt.)

I gotta fix that. I have no idea how. I can't even do having skin right, I can't even write friendly notes to a nice elderly aunt, how do I fix nitwits who think Covid = kissing disease? or protect against the new thing with the fungus? or smooth out the USPS shipping problems? or prevent my partner translating my despair into a critique of him?

I want to wake up in April. Maybe later.

#personal #current events #depression #gif #animated gif cw #2020 #surgery #medication #medical allergy

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