loop endlessly


Editorial Fashion Photographs Are Transformed Into Hauntingly Beautiful GIFSs by Legally Blind Artist

George Redhawk has found an outlook that reflects his inner frustrations perfectly - the endlessly looping series of GIFS integrates computer technology with an aesthetic approach, letting the legally blind artist produce deeply emotional content. Science and technology have advanced so far as to make the most improbable circumstances be realized. This visually impaired artist can now create artwork based on high-quality graphics and transform them into stunning GIFS - which many years ago people would have thought impossible.

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anonymous asked:

Oh, my god, Sam's fingertips juuuust grazing Dean's cuff in that middle gif.... I hadn't quite noticed that until just now and now I need to lie down and ponder quietly for a while. Hmmm. Yes. Good.

oh hello anon you seem to be referring to:

The way he races over, crashes down to one knee–eyes locked on Dean’s face to make sure he’s all right, that hand reaching out–like he would’ve seized his arm, wrapped those long fingers around his wrist–but he just traces the shape of it, grazes the sleeve and then puts his hand down to balance (bare centimeters from Dean’s fingers, their skin almost touching–)

I wholeheartedly agree.

Endlessly Part II

Hello my lovely readers! I promised another Endlessly and here it is! 

Massive shout out to @gotham-ruaidh and her Endless Time Loop Theory (plus awesome beta skills) for the inspiration and help on this story. 

You can find Endlessly here and all of my other fanfictions on this list.

Claire. My Claire, I need my Claire…

“Hush. Jamie, I’m here,” Claire said stroking my sweat-soaked hair back from my face.

“Cl-air-rre,” I reached out, feeble hands fumbling at her wrist, trying to hold on to her.

Sobs came from Claire as she held my hand. “Shh, my love, shh. I’m right here. I love you, you’re fine. You’ll be fine.”

A faint smile crossed my lips, my love, my home.

“I,”  my voice began to fail me. Claire turned my face so I was gazing up into her beautiful whiskey colored eyes.

“I love you,” whether I was speaking English, Gaelic, French or another language I’ll never know, but I knew she would understand.

“Oh Jamie, I love you too. Please don’t leave me my love, please!” She begged me leaning down to kiss my lips. Her tears mingled with my own across my sweaty cheek.

“Mo ni-ighe-ea-an donn…” My eyelids felt heavy and my body no longer ached. All I could see was the imprint of my Sorcha across my eyelids and peace was all I could feel as she held me to her breast.

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Stuck in a boiling loop of frustration,
Displeased endlessly with life’s presentation,
Seconds become tears as control begins to wane,
Stability withers as my flame falls to rain.


Its been a weird year! Lots of ups + downs but still feeling grateful and blessed for the relationships built and oppurtunities that came my way. Here’s a playlist of my 2015 favorites. I loved each song to death and endlessly looped them on my iphone. I hope you like them too! Happy holidays and ill see you guys next year! ILY

Made with SoundCloud

Your hands should move like doves

I studied Flamenco Alegrias costumes as part of my course, and I remember finding this film and watching it on loop endlessly. I was fascinated with the long trains and layers upon layers of ruffles that fluttered as they danced.


[Chance had won an award.

He’s a skipping record, he’s stuck in time, looping back endlessly on that moment when he’d had to walk up onto a stage in front of the people he’d mostly hoped to walk invisibly among, and accept an award. Knowing that all eyes were on him. 

He kind of thought he’d been going to puke.

He’s wearing it now, the thin metal disc he’d been presented with. His fingers are wrapped around it, holding it slightly off of his chest like he doesn’t want it to get too comfortable there, like he’s uncomfortable with it. But, at the same, he’s holding on tightly, like now that he has it he’s afraid someone’s going to take it from him. Tell him it was a mistake.

He knows he’s a good hunter. He knows that he’s a good shot, he knows that he sets excellent traps. He’d just — never been given an award before.

He’s never been to a party like this, either.

Parties at Wyatt’s had meant something very specific. It had meant that Wyatt was out of town and Ian was in charge, which were always horrible times. Wyatt liked rules more than he liked hurting them, he only hurt them if they broke the rules. Ian didn’t care about rules. And Ian’s parties had been cups placed in front of him until he lost count, obeying every demand that he drink because if he said no they’d just sit on him, pinch his nose shut until he opened his mouth. 

This isn’t like that. His hands are empty, save for the medal, and no one’s making him do anything at all. And he feels — comfortable, almost. With the strap around his neck and in the presence of so many people, something that would have sent him panicking and running to fresh air and open sky only a few months before. He’s — almost happy. 

But the place is still crowded, and when he steps back to let someone cross his path, he steps into someone else, face coloring as he spins around to delivery his apology.] Sorry — I’m, yeah, sorry.