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Created this short story on HailuoAudio Assistant Using GPT Image 2 and Seedance Surprise at the end Prompt : Create a Pixar-inspired 3D animated comedy short called "The Package." A curious young man receives a mysterious cardboard package at his front door. There is no sender, no return address,...

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Smiling Khan

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Kiss Cam! Image: GPT Image 2 Video: Seedance in Dreamina Prompt: Style: Hyper-realistic live NBA broadcast footage, authentic televised sports coverage, realistic arena lighting, telephoto broadcast lens compression, shallow depth of field, imperfect live-camera framing, natural crowd reactions, realistic skin textures, subtle compression artifacts, slight interlacing grain, live TV color grading. Duration: 14 seconds Aspect Ratio: 16:9 Camera: Fixed live broadcast camera only, no cinematic cuts, no camera movement. IMPORTANT: The scene must feel EXACTLY like a real NBA live TV Kiss Cam broadcast. The woman: — unbelievably attractive Korean woman in her 20s — long black hair — flawless skin — elegant glamorous makeup — luxurious aura — sophisticated red low-cut summer outfit — subtle jewelry — natural smile and realistic reactions The man: — overweight unattractive man — casual black jacket — glasses — awkward but wholesome energy IMPORTANT AUDIO RULE: ABSOLUTELY NO SOUND OR DIALOGUE FROM THE COUPLE. The couple never speaks. Only arena crowd cheering and distant stadium ambience. Broadcast details: — realistic NBA scoreboard overlay — sports network watermark — live broadcast graphics — crowd in background — realistic arena LEDs — slight motion blur — realistic televised image quality [00:00-00:03] Fixed Kiss Cam shot appears on the arena jumbotron. The woman notices the camera and immediately laughs shyly while casually waving her hand “no” toward the screen. The overweight man beside her looks shocked and confused, then smiles nervously. Crowd begins cheering loudly. No talking from either person. [00:03-00:06] The crowd cheers louder encouraging them. The woman smiles warmly while glancing at the man. He looks overwhelmed and frozen in disbelief. The broadcast camera slightly struggles to keep framing centered realistically like a real live operator. [00:06-00:09] The woman suddenly grabs the man’s cheeks gently and kisses him. The man becomes completely shocked and overjoyed, eyes wide, almost emotionally frozen. Arena crowd erupts cheering and laughing loudly. Realistic shallow depth of field isolates them from crowd. [00:09-00:12] The woman pulls away laughing silently and gives a playful thumbs up directly toward the Kiss Cam. The man still looks stunned and unbelievably happy. Crowd continues cheering loudly while broadcast overlays remain visible. End exactly like a real televised NBA Kiss Cam moment. [00:12-00:14] The man looks in awe and surprise to the camera , the woman smiles with shyness. Audio: ONLY loud NBA arena ambience, crowd cheering, distant announcer echo, stadium reactions, sneaker squeaks, arena music muffled in background. ABSOLUTELY NO dialogue, whispering, laughing audio, or vocal sounds from the couple. Negative prompts: No cinematic movie look, no dialogue, no talking, no subtitles, no unrealistic beauty filter, no anime style, no perfect framing, no dramatic camera movement, no unrealistic reactions, no extra people interacting directly with camera.

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Sairah

29,444 Aufrufe • vor 13 Tagen

Created with Gemini Nano Banana Pro Prompt: A breathtaking cinematic skydiving sequence begins inside a military-style helicopter flying at 15,000 feet above a sea of clouds during golden hour. The camera slowly moves through the helicopter cabin, revealing a fearless young woman skydiver wearing a sleek black wingsuit-inspired jumpsuit, professional parachute harness, tactical gloves, and aerodynamic goggles. Her long dark hair moves gently in the wind coming through the open side door. The helicopter's powerful rotor blades spin overhead, creating realistic motion blur and dynamic vibrations. Sunlight streams through the cabin, casting dramatic rays and cinematic shadows across her determined face. The camera captures an intense close-up of her eyes as she looks toward the endless horizon. As epic orchestral music builds, she steps to the edge of the helicopter. The camera switches to a dramatic low-angle shot showing the vast sky and breathtaking world below. In slow motion, she leaps into the open air. Time seems to freeze as she exits the aircraft, with tiny particles of dust and sunlight sparkling around her. The camera follows her from multiple cinematic angles: front-facing tracking shots, side-profile action shots, over-the-shoulder aerial perspectives, and wide drone-style views. Her body glides smoothly through the atmosphere as clouds rush past. Her hair flows dynamically in the wind while realistic fabric physics animate her suit and parachute straps. Below her lies an incredible landscape of towering mountain ranges, turquoise lakes, winding rivers, deep valleys, dense forests, and snow-capped peaks stretching endlessly to the horizon. Volumetric clouds cast moving shadows across the terrain. The sun creates golden highlights on the mountains and sparkling reflections on the water. The camera circles around her at high speed while she performs controlled aerial maneuvers and graceful spins. Tiny water droplets and cloud mist pass the lens, creating immersive realism. Lens flares, atmospheric haze, HDR lighting, and cinematic depth of field enhance the visual impact. As the music reaches its climax, she bursts through a layer of clouds into brilliant sunlight. The camera captures a stunning 360-degree orbit around her, revealing the entire world beneath. She smiles confidently while freefalling at high speed. Near the end, she reaches for the parachute cord. Time slows dramatically. A close-up shot shows her hand pulling the release handle. Instantly, the parachute deploys with a powerful burst of motion. The colorful canopy opens above her against a vivid blue sky. The final scene shows her peacefully gliding through the sky as the sun sets on the horizon, painting the clouds with orange, pink, and gold colors. The camera pulls back farther and farther until she becomes a tiny silhouette floating above the majestic landscape. Epic cinematic ending, ultra-realistic visuals, Hollywood blockbuster quality, National Geographic aerial cinematography, 8K HDR, hyper-realistic lighting, realistic wind simulation, volumetric clouds, smooth camera movements, masterpiece, viral social media quality.
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Created with Gemini Nano Banana Pro Prompt: A breathtaking cinematic skydiving sequence begins inside a military-style helicopter flying at 15,000 feet above a sea of clouds during golden hour. The camera slowly moves through the helicopter cabin, revealing a fearless young woman skydiver wearing a sleek black wingsuit-inspired jumpsuit, professional parachute harness, tactical gloves, and aerodynamic goggles. Her long dark hair moves gently in the wind coming through the open side door. The helicopter's powerful rotor blades spin overhead, creating realistic motion blur and dynamic vibrations. Sunlight streams through the cabin, casting dramatic rays and cinematic shadows across her determined face. The camera captures an intense close-up of her eyes as she looks toward the endless horizon. As epic orchestral music builds, she steps to the edge of the helicopter. The camera switches to a dramatic low-angle shot showing the vast sky and breathtaking world below. In slow motion, she leaps into the open air. Time seems to freeze as she exits the aircraft, with tiny particles of dust and sunlight sparkling around her. The camera follows her from multiple cinematic angles: front-facing tracking shots, side-profile action shots, over-the-shoulder aerial perspectives, and wide drone-style views. Her body glides smoothly through the atmosphere as clouds rush past. Her hair flows dynamically in the wind while realistic fabric physics animate her suit and parachute straps. Below her lies an incredible landscape of towering mountain ranges, turquoise lakes, winding rivers, deep valleys, dense forests, and snow-capped peaks stretching endlessly to the horizon. Volumetric clouds cast moving shadows across the terrain. The sun creates golden highlights on the mountains and sparkling reflections on the water. The camera circles around her at high speed while she performs controlled aerial maneuvers and graceful spins. Tiny water droplets and cloud mist pass the lens, creating immersive realism. Lens flares, atmospheric haze, HDR lighting, and cinematic depth of field enhance the visual impact. As the music reaches its climax, she bursts through a layer of clouds into brilliant sunlight. The camera captures a stunning 360-degree orbit around her, revealing the entire world beneath. She smiles confidently while freefalling at high speed. Near the end, she reaches for the parachute cord. Time slows dramatically. A close-up shot shows her hand pulling the release handle. Instantly, the parachute deploys with a powerful burst of motion. The colorful canopy opens above her against a vivid blue sky. The final scene shows her peacefully gliding through the sky as the sun sets on the horizon, painting the clouds with orange, pink, and gold colors. The camera pulls back farther and farther until she becomes a tiny silhouette floating above the majestic landscape. Epic cinematic ending, ultra-realistic visuals, Hollywood blockbuster quality, National Geographic aerial cinematography, 8K HDR, hyper-realistic lighting, realistic wind simulation, volumetric clouds, smooth camera movements, masterpiece, viral social media quality.

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How far would you go for a kiss you'll never forget? Nano Banana Pro + Seedance 2.0 on BudgetPixel AI prompt Cinematic 6-second drone shot at dusk. A young couple @[Image 1](image_1) passionately kissing while sitting on the edge of the giant white Hollywood sign. Start in a tight medium shot focused on their kiss: a woman with wavy blonde hair in a low bun wearing a babypink sleeveless high-neck top, black leggings and chunky black platform boots, and a muscular man with short hair, small hoop earring, white ribbed tank top and black trousers. They are sitting side by side on the narrow ledge of the letter, legs dangling, leaning into a deep kiss. The man holds a small black object in his hands. The camera performs a slow, smooth, continuous pull-back and slight ascending crane movement. As it moves, the massive scale of the iconic white Hollywood sign is gradually revealed beneath them. The shot ends in a wide establishing view showing the full "HOLLYWOOD" sign letters against dry golden-brown California hills, a dramatic cloudy dusk sky with warm orange-pink sunset glow on the horizon, and a tall communication tower visible in the distance. The couple remains visible as small figures still kissing on the first letter. Natural cinematic lighting, soft dusk atmosphere, high detail, realistic live-action, filmic color grading with slightly desaturated tones, strong contrast between the bright white sign and the moody landscape. Romantic, bold, epic yet intimate mood. Smooth camera movement, no cuts.
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How far would you go for a kiss you'll never forget? Nano Banana Pro + Seedance 2.0 on BudgetPixel AI prompt Cinematic 6-second drone shot at dusk. A young couple @[Image 1](image_1) passionately kissing while sitting on the edge of the giant white Hollywood sign. Start in a tight medium shot focused on their kiss: a woman with wavy blonde hair in a low bun wearing a babypink sleeveless high-neck top, black leggings and chunky black platform boots, and a muscular man with short hair, small hoop earring, white ribbed tank top and black trousers. They are sitting side by side on the narrow ledge of the letter, legs dangling, leaning into a deep kiss. The man holds a small black object in his hands. The camera performs a slow, smooth, continuous pull-back and slight ascending crane movement. As it moves, the massive scale of the iconic white Hollywood sign is gradually revealed beneath them. The shot ends in a wide establishing view showing the full "HOLLYWOOD" sign letters against dry golden-brown California hills, a dramatic cloudy dusk sky with warm orange-pink sunset glow on the horizon, and a tall communication tower visible in the distance. The couple remains visible as small figures still kissing on the first letter. Natural cinematic lighting, soft dusk atmosphere, high detail, realistic live-action, filmic color grading with slightly desaturated tones, strong contrast between the bright white sign and the moody landscape. Romantic, bold, epic yet intimate mood. Smooth camera movement, no cuts.

Sharon Riley

34,703 Aufrufe • vor 13 Tagen

004/100 Buttons. A bit of the process on building an animation. When looking at a finished animation or in this example a finished button, it can look quite complex inside the CSS. But when building it, it’s more like a lot of simple steps, one after another. Here I had the idea to make some kind of text animation like the footer logo on the Osmo site. I try to add the base animation with no complex easing, for example transition: translate 0.4s ease. Starting with just moving the one text from bottom to top and the other text to top. Adding a stagger, play around with it. Searching for a way to make it more circular. On the research I found the sin() function inside CSS which can build a more smooth non linear curve for the stagger which creates this circular effect. And step by step adding more complexity like, different easing for hover/hover-out, opacity, 3D transform and more. I use also the sin() function to rotate the letters, so the middle ones are getting more rotated than the outer ones. Another thing which helps is to add a small delay on hover, for example 0.05s or 0.1s, you don’t really see the difference, but when you hover pretty fast on and out it doesn’t get that jumpy. I’m using here GSAP’s SplitText to split every char into spans. And then I’m adding a CSS index variable to every span, starting from the center. SplitText can provide CSS index variables, but you cannot tell it from which direction. For the sin() it’s also important to have a max length, so I add another CSS variable with the max char number on it. Crafting 100 Buttons with Osmo ⏳ Total time: 63h
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004/100 Buttons. A bit of the process on building an animation. When looking at a finished animation or in this example a finished button, it can look quite complex inside the CSS. But when building it, it’s more like a lot of simple steps, one after another. Here I had the idea to make some kind of text animation like the footer logo on the Osmo site. I try to add the base animation with no complex easing, for example transition: translate 0.4s ease. Starting with just moving the one text from bottom to top and the other text to top. Adding a stagger, play around with it. Searching for a way to make it more circular. On the research I found the sin() function inside CSS which can build a more smooth non linear curve for the stagger which creates this circular effect. And step by step adding more complexity like, different easing for hover/hover-out, opacity, 3D transform and more. I use also the sin() function to rotate the letters, so the middle ones are getting more rotated than the outer ones. Another thing which helps is to add a small delay on hover, for example 0.05s or 0.1s, you don’t really see the difference, but when you hover pretty fast on and out it doesn’t get that jumpy. I’m using here GSAP’s SplitText to split every char into spans. And then I’m adding a CSS index variable to every span, starting from the center. SplitText can provide CSS index variables, but you cannot tell it from which direction. For the sin() it’s also important to have a max length, so I add another CSS variable with the max char number on it. Crafting 100 Buttons with Osmo ⏳ Total time: 63h

Eduard Bodak

166,023 Aufrufe • vor 2 Monaten

What would you do if a monster charged at you in the middle of the street? Made with Nano Banana 2 + Seedance 2.0 4k on TapNow prompt Beat 1 - The Calm Opening The reference image character is a Western woman with long wavy blonde hair casually drinking a Coke in the middle of a chaotic urban street. Her outfit and cap match Image 1 exactly. Energy is calm, unfazed, and confident. Camera: grounded, cinematic, medium shot. Beat 2 - The Monster Charges A terrifying monster bull charges toward her at full speed. It smashes through debris and scatters people in panic. The street erupts into chaos around the character. Camera: dynamic tracking, wide angle to capture scale of monster and chaos. Beat 3 - The Transformation The young woman stays calm and completely unfazed. She lowers the Coke. She raises one hand. Her arm begins transforming into solid ice from the fingertips upward. Frost spreads across her skin, glowing with cold blue-white energy. Vapor rolls off the arm as the ice transformation builds. Camera: close-up on the arm transformation, slow and deliberate. Beat 4 - The Touch - Slow Motion As the monster lunges, she calmly reaches forward. She touches the monster with her frozen hand. DRAMATIC SLOW MOTION at the moment of contact. Ice rapidly spreads from the point of contact across the monster's body. The monster panics - thrashing and roaring as frost crawls over its claws, chest, face, and eyes. The monster's movement slows as the freezing effect takes over. Camera: extreme close-up on contact point, then pulls out to reveal the spreading ice. Beat 5 - Full Freeze The creature becomes completely encased in crystal-clear ice, frozen mid-attack. A tense pause holds on the frozen monster. Deep cracks spread through the frozen monster. Cracks split across its icy body with sharp crystalline sounds. Detailed cracking ice - realistic frost and crystal texture throughout. Camera: wide shot of the frozen monster, locked and still for the pause beat. Beat 6 - The Walk-Off The young woman casually takes another sip of Coke. She turns away without looking back. She walks off calmly as the frozen monster cracks behind her. Confident calm hero energy. No celebration. No reaction. Just casual. Camera: low angle tracking shot as she walks away, monster in background. Visual Effects Realistic ice transformation - frost spreading from fingertips upward. Frost vapor rolling off the arm during transformation. Cold blue-white glowing energy across frozen skin. Ice rapidly spreading across monster body from point of contact. Detailed cracking ice with sharp crystalline fracture lines. Crystal-clear ice encasing the entire monster mid-attack. Realistic freeze physics - movement slowing as ice covers the creature. Camera Style Dynamic cinematic camera movement throughout. High-action monster attack framing during the charge. Dramatic slow motion at the exact moment of hand contact. Close-up on ice transformation - fingertips to shoulder. Pull-back reveal as ice spreads across the monster's full body. Low angle walk-off shot to close the scene. One continuous take. No cuts. Camera never stops. Character appearance: a beautiful Western woman with long wavy blonde hair flowing naturally beneath the cap, maintaining the same calm, confident, and unfazed presence throughout the entire sequence.
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What would you do if a monster charged at you in the middle of the street? Made with Nano Banana 2 + Seedance 2.0 4k on TapNow prompt Beat 1 - The Calm Opening The reference image character is a Western woman with long wavy blonde hair casually drinking a Coke in the middle of a chaotic urban street. Her outfit and cap match Image 1 exactly. Energy is calm, unfazed, and confident. Camera: grounded, cinematic, medium shot. Beat 2 - The Monster Charges A terrifying monster bull charges toward her at full speed. It smashes through debris and scatters people in panic. The street erupts into chaos around the character. Camera: dynamic tracking, wide angle to capture scale of monster and chaos. Beat 3 - The Transformation The young woman stays calm and completely unfazed. She lowers the Coke. She raises one hand. Her arm begins transforming into solid ice from the fingertips upward. Frost spreads across her skin, glowing with cold blue-white energy. Vapor rolls off the arm as the ice transformation builds. Camera: close-up on the arm transformation, slow and deliberate. Beat 4 - The Touch - Slow Motion As the monster lunges, she calmly reaches forward. She touches the monster with her frozen hand. DRAMATIC SLOW MOTION at the moment of contact. Ice rapidly spreads from the point of contact across the monster's body. The monster panics - thrashing and roaring as frost crawls over its claws, chest, face, and eyes. The monster's movement slows as the freezing effect takes over. Camera: extreme close-up on contact point, then pulls out to reveal the spreading ice. Beat 5 - Full Freeze The creature becomes completely encased in crystal-clear ice, frozen mid-attack. A tense pause holds on the frozen monster. Deep cracks spread through the frozen monster. Cracks split across its icy body with sharp crystalline sounds. Detailed cracking ice - realistic frost and crystal texture throughout. Camera: wide shot of the frozen monster, locked and still for the pause beat. Beat 6 - The Walk-Off The young woman casually takes another sip of Coke. She turns away without looking back. She walks off calmly as the frozen monster cracks behind her. Confident calm hero energy. No celebration. No reaction. Just casual. Camera: low angle tracking shot as she walks away, monster in background. Visual Effects Realistic ice transformation - frost spreading from fingertips upward. Frost vapor rolling off the arm during transformation. Cold blue-white glowing energy across frozen skin. Ice rapidly spreading across monster body from point of contact. Detailed cracking ice with sharp crystalline fracture lines. Crystal-clear ice encasing the entire monster mid-attack. Realistic freeze physics - movement slowing as ice covers the creature. Camera Style Dynamic cinematic camera movement throughout. High-action monster attack framing during the charge. Dramatic slow motion at the exact moment of hand contact. Close-up on ice transformation - fingertips to shoulder. Pull-back reveal as ice spreads across the monster's full body. Low angle walk-off shot to close the scene. One continuous take. No cuts. Camera never stops. Character appearance: a beautiful Western woman with long wavy blonde hair flowing naturally beneath the cap, maintaining the same calm, confident, and unfazed presence throughout the entire sequence.

Sharon Riley

58,410 Aufrufe • vor 15 Tagen

Seedance 2 is so good at character and scene consistency across cuts. I tested it with a short film on something I learned last week about cats. The key is detailed prompts - take your story to an LLM to nail the structure, then to Krea to make the video. Take my prompt 👇 Style: high-quality 3D animation, expressive character acting, cozy lighting, cinematic composition Timestamped structure: 0:00 - 0:02 Open on a cozy desk setup in a home office. A black cat, Finn, is near the desk, alert and curious. The woman with brown hair and blue eyes sits at her computer, pulling up a YouTube-style bird video. The screen shows colorful birds hopping on branches. Finn immediately locks in on the movement. 0:03 - 0:05 The woman smiles knowingly and adjusts the monitor so Finn can see better. She lightly gestures toward the screen. Finn jumps onto the chair or desk edge and sits facing the monitor, ears forward, body still, completely mesmerized by the birds. 0:05 - 0:07 The woman gets up from the desk and walks away casually, leaving Finn watching. Finn remains seated, staring at the bird video with total concentration. Maybe a subtle tail flick or tiny head movement tracks the birds on screen. 0:07 - 0:10 Cut to later in the day, in the exact same office. The woman is now back at the desk in a Zoom meeting, still with the single monitor on the same desk. The computer screen now shows a video call grid or work presentation instead of the birds. She is mid-conversation, professional and focused, seated upright, saying "and now we'll move to the next slide" 0:10 - 0:12 Finn suddenly jumps up onto the desk from below, entering frame with urgency. He looks at the screen, confused and dissatisfied that the birds are gone. He starts pawing at the screen and the woman is shocked and embarrassed
0:11

Seedance 2 is so good at character and scene consistency across cuts. I tested it with a short film on something I learned last week about cats. The key is detailed prompts - take your story to an LLM to nail the structure, then to Krea to make the video. Take my prompt 👇 Style: high-quality 3D animation, expressive character acting, cozy lighting, cinematic composition Timestamped structure: 0:00 - 0:02 Open on a cozy desk setup in a home office. A black cat, Finn, is near the desk, alert and curious. The woman with brown hair and blue eyes sits at her computer, pulling up a YouTube-style bird video. The screen shows colorful birds hopping on branches. Finn immediately locks in on the movement. 0:03 - 0:05 The woman smiles knowingly and adjusts the monitor so Finn can see better. She lightly gestures toward the screen. Finn jumps onto the chair or desk edge and sits facing the monitor, ears forward, body still, completely mesmerized by the birds. 0:05 - 0:07 The woman gets up from the desk and walks away casually, leaving Finn watching. Finn remains seated, staring at the bird video with total concentration. Maybe a subtle tail flick or tiny head movement tracks the birds on screen. 0:07 - 0:10 Cut to later in the day, in the exact same office. The woman is now back at the desk in a Zoom meeting, still with the single monitor on the same desk. The computer screen now shows a video call grid or work presentation instead of the birds. She is mid-conversation, professional and focused, seated upright, saying "and now we'll move to the next slide" 0:10 - 0:12 Finn suddenly jumps up onto the desk from below, entering frame with urgency. He looks at the screen, confused and dissatisfied that the birds are gone. He starts pawing at the screen and the woman is shocked and embarrassed

Justine Moore

27,336 Aufrufe • vor 3 Monaten

AI video is remarkably good at imagining historical events. This is a one-shot video from Seedance 2 of Pompeii when Mt. Vesuvius erupted. Prompt is below, you can ask an LLM to rewrite it for any other event 👇 This is handheld documentary footage recorded on an early-2000s consumer DV camcorder from the streets of Pompeii at the moment Mount Vesuvius begins erupting. The footage feels like real, imperfect home video of ordinary people witnessing the beginning of a historic disaster. The recording shows a busy street in Pompeii during the daytime, with merchants, families, children, laborers, and townspeople moving through the city. In the distance, Mount Vesuvius is visible above the rooftops. At first, people are going about normal daily life, but then a strange plume of smoke and ash begins rising from the volcano. The crowd gradually notices it. Some people stop and stare, some point toward the mountain, and others begin shouting to one another in confusion. The camera moves through the street like someone in the crowd trying to capture what is happening. It shows frightened townspeople looking up at the sky, parents pulling children closer, merchants abandoning their stalls, and groups of people beginning to run as ash starts falling. The footage captures the shift from curiosity to fear as the eruption becomes impossible to ignore. There are natural cuts between wider views of the street, the mountain in the distance, and closer views of people reacting in panic. The handheld camera shows natural shake, drifting framing, sudden reactive movement, autofocus mistakes as the person filming swings between the crowd and the volcano, slight exposure problems from bright daylight and ash in the air, and the imperfect look of old DV footage. The movement should feel urgent and unplanned, like someone trying to document the disaster while also staying safe. Natural sound only: the noise of the street, footsteps on stone, people murmuring and then shouting, children crying, distant rumbling from the volcano, debris falling, and the panic of the crowd. No cinematic music added. The result must feel like authentic, raw footage of ordinary people in Pompeii experiencing the beginning of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, captured on an old DV camcorder.”
0:10

AI video is remarkably good at imagining historical events. This is a one-shot video from Seedance 2 of Pompeii when Mt. Vesuvius erupted. Prompt is below, you can ask an LLM to rewrite it for any other event 👇 This is handheld documentary footage recorded on an early-2000s consumer DV camcorder from the streets of Pompeii at the moment Mount Vesuvius begins erupting. The footage feels like real, imperfect home video of ordinary people witnessing the beginning of a historic disaster. The recording shows a busy street in Pompeii during the daytime, with merchants, families, children, laborers, and townspeople moving through the city. In the distance, Mount Vesuvius is visible above the rooftops. At first, people are going about normal daily life, but then a strange plume of smoke and ash begins rising from the volcano. The crowd gradually notices it. Some people stop and stare, some point toward the mountain, and others begin shouting to one another in confusion. The camera moves through the street like someone in the crowd trying to capture what is happening. It shows frightened townspeople looking up at the sky, parents pulling children closer, merchants abandoning their stalls, and groups of people beginning to run as ash starts falling. The footage captures the shift from curiosity to fear as the eruption becomes impossible to ignore. There are natural cuts between wider views of the street, the mountain in the distance, and closer views of people reacting in panic. The handheld camera shows natural shake, drifting framing, sudden reactive movement, autofocus mistakes as the person filming swings between the crowd and the volcano, slight exposure problems from bright daylight and ash in the air, and the imperfect look of old DV footage. The movement should feel urgent and unplanned, like someone trying to document the disaster while also staying safe. Natural sound only: the noise of the street, footsteps on stone, people murmuring and then shouting, children crying, distant rumbling from the volcano, debris falling, and the panic of the crowd. No cinematic music added. The result must feel like authentic, raw footage of ordinary people in Pompeii experiencing the beginning of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, captured on an old DV camcorder.”

Justine Moore

17,654 Aufrufe • vor 3 Tagen

Lads. Sit down and give me your ear a while, for I have watched from the water long enough and the hour is upon us whether we have the stomach for it or not. You remember. Or your fathers told you, or their fathers did, and the knowledge of it is in the marrow of you whether you drew breath in those days or not. The moors in the grey hour before dawn. Wet heather soft under the boot. Peat smoke rising from a low stone chimney a mile out across the bog, thin as a prayer. A sky the colour of a gun barrel and the gulls lamenting above the headland. The smell of turf burning, and wet wool, and the ferrous tang of the sea when the wind swung around out of the Atlantic and put the taste of iron on your tongue. A man could walk that land and know every stone of it was his by inheritance, because his grandfather had broken his back upon it, and his grandfather before him, back through the generations until you reach men whose names are lost and whose bones are in the soil you are standing on. The potato fields. God be good to us, the potato fields. Lazy beds cut straight as a gunwale, the ridges black and shining after a night of rain, women bent double with creels lashed to their backs and the children at their skirts, drawing the crop up by the hand for there was never any other means devised nor wanted. Hands split open at the knuckles and never entirely healed in this life. Hunger within living memory. Grandmothers who had seen the blight with their own eyes and would not speak of it from the year of it until the day they were laid down, save that a crust was kept always on the dresser which no soul in that house was permitted to touch. Not ever. Not for any reason under heaven. And the chimney sweeps. Wee lads no heavier than a sack of meal, black to the bone with soot, their lungs ruined before they were old enough to marry and old men entirely by thirty. Up the flues at first light, the skin worn off them by the brick, eyes crimson at the rim, breathing the black in with every draw of air. And the coal miners a half mile beneath our feet, down in the wet dark, the roof of the world muttering over their heads, the canary gone silent, a man's whole existence measured out in the shilling a ton and the dust he carried home in his chest to cough up of a Sunday morning into a rag. Fathers who descended and were never hauled up again. Widows at the pit head with the shawl drawn over the head and no tears remaining in them for they had spent those long ago. That was the tariff paid to keep the hearth lit. That was the reckoning of being warm in winter in the Ireland that was. And after the labouring week, Friday evening, and a man had earned the peace of what followed. Home first. Peeled the day off him in the yard. A shower of ice cold moor river water out of a tin bucket punctured with holes, hung on a nail on the gable wall, the water running clean down the back of him and carrying the week's dust and sweat away into the drain. Scrubbed till the skin was pink beneath the grime. Clean shirt laid out by the wife. The hair combed down with a drop of water. Then, and only then, did a man set himself to the table. A meat pie from the baker, tenpence if he was known to you, a shilling and no change if he was not, put down upon a proper plate. Fish and chips for threepence, the salt and vinegar soaked through the newspaper, but carried home and ate slowly at your own table with your people around you, not walked with through the streets like some vagrant tinker off the road. A man ate as a man who had earned his portion, for he had. And later, with the dishes cleared and the kettle set, down the road to the tavern. Low beams black with a century of smoke. A turf fire muttering in the grate. The air thick with pipe smoke and the vapour of wet overcoats steaming themselves dry on the backs of chairs. A pint of stout, cold and black as a cove at midnight, elevenpence laid down on the counter, a head on it thick enough to strike a match upon. A second one because you had it coming to you and no man present would dispute it. A fiddle starting up in the corner of its own accord. The old men in the snug who remembered matters the history books had long since mislaid. A song before the bolt was thrown on the door. The walk home beneath a firmament crowded with stars, the stout warm in the gut of you, the week behind you, and your own door waiting with the latch unlocked for you had no enemies in that parish. That was the country. That was the covenant. Honest labour, plain food, a cold wash, a hot meal, a cold pint, your own tongue in your own mouth, your own soil beneath your boots, and no man standing above you save the Almighty Himself. Now regard her. Regard her close. The fields disposed of to men who have never set foot upon them and never shall. The harbours signed away by the stroke of a pen in a room you were not admitted to, and foreign keels dragging out of our waters the living that sustained this island for a thousand years, while our own boats rot at their moorings for want of a quota. The tradesmen undercut by imported labour and imported goods. The shops shuttered along every main street from Donegal to Cork. The young ones scattered to London and Sydney and Boston and the Gulf because there is nothing remaining for them beneath their own roof. And the entirety of this rotten arrangement dressed up in the soft mannerly language of progress by men in towers of glass who could not tell a lazy bed from a grave, nor a trawler from a tugboat, nor an honest day's work from a pension plan. And now they arrive with the next imposition. A digital identity. A number assigned to each soul. A card required to buy your bread. A code required to draw your own earnings out of your own account. A file kept on every man, woman and child from the cradle forward. Permission asked to move. Permission asked to speak. Permission asked to earn. A levy upon every breath drawn and a regulation upon every step taken. No. And no again. And no for a third time so there is no misunderstanding of it. We do not require your digital identity. We did not request it. We did not vote upon it. We do not consent to it. We do not need your permission to exist upon the soil our forefathers are buried in. We are a free people. We have carried ourselves this far upon our own two backs. Through famine and empire and civil war and black lung and blight and the emigrant ship out of Cobh, we have come this distance under our own steam, and the arrangement appears to be serving us well enough without your intervention. We buried our own. We fed our own. We raised our own roofs and took our own fish and reared our own children in our own tongue. We are in your debt for nothing. Not a signature. Not a biometric scan. Not a single solitary inch. And while we are upon the subject, let us speak plainly of the tax man, for he has gone too long without proper introduction. The tax collector and the tax man are the one article under two names, and the article is a parasite. There is no dressing it up finer than that. A man who produces nothing, who grows nothing, who catches nothing, who builds nothing, who mends nothing, who has never in his professional life lifted anything heavier than a pen, and who arrives at your door with the full apparatus of the state at his back to carry off the fruits of labour he did not perform. He is a middleman between your sweat and some scheme dreamt up in a committee room by his own kind, and the great majority of what he takes is consumed by the machinery of the taking itself before ever a penny of it reaches the road or the hospital or the schoolhouse he claims to be funding. And I will go further while I have the floor. Finance itself, the whole apparatus of it, money breeding money in the dark without a hand laid upon a tool or a spade turned in the earth, is slavery dressed in a good suit. It is the oldest swindle known to man and it has never been anything other. A man who produces nothing yet lives off the productive labour of others through the charging of interest upon money conjured out of nothing is a parasite of a rarer and more refined order than the tax man, but a parasite all the same, and between the pair of them they have the working people of this island bled white and lectured at for the pleasure. A man who will not work with his hands, nor with his back, nor with his mind at some honest problem of the real physical world, is no man that I recognise. He is a ledger entry in a suit. The country was not built by ledger entries. The country was built by farmers and fishermen and masons and smiths and sweeps and miners and shipwrights and midwives and mothers, and those are the people whose say should carry in her councils, and no other. Here is what I put to you. Let each man and woman of this island direct the first tenth of their earnings themselves, by their own judgement, to the purpose they see as worthy. The school down the road. The lifeboat station. The hospice. The widow on the corner. The roof of the chapel. The harbour wall. Whatever it may be. Let the people who earned the money decide where the money travels. You will find the roads mended and the ports dredged and the schools standing and the old ones cared for inside of five years, and done better and for less, because the hand that earned the coin knows the weight of it and will not squander it upon consultants and committees. And let us have done with the paper currency and the numbers in a screen that can be frozen at the whim of a clerk in a tower. Bring back the coin. Gold for the great transactions. Silver for the weekly commerce of a working life. Copper for the small change of the day. Metal you can bite. Metal you can weigh. Metal that cannot be conjured out of nothing by a keystroke, nor erased out of existence by another. Real money for real labour. A coin in the hand is a free man's wage. A number in a database is a collar around a free man's neck, and they are fitting that collar now while we stand arguing over the colour of it. Feel it in your gut. That is not nothing. That is your blood relating to you what your ears will not hear. That is every forebear who starved and fought and coughed the black dust into a rag and descended the shaft regardless, standing at your shoulder and saying no further. Not one more field. Not one more harbour. Not one more son upon a plane. Not one more free man converted into a number in a ledger for the convenience of the parasites. This is the hour. Make no error about it. Ireland is redeemed in this generation or she is lost beyond recovery, and every true son and daughter of her knows it in the marrow. There is no middle ground remaining. There is no waiting it out. There is standing now, upon your own two feet, or there is watching her go under the waves for the last and final time. So stand. Stand with your farmers. Stand with your fishermen. Stand with your tradesmen and your miners and your sweeps and your mothers and your old ones. Raise the tricolour. Speak the tongue. Walk the land. Hold the line in the streets of every town and city and do not break it, for they are relying upon you to break and to go home and to forget by Tuesday. She is calling her children home. Every stone of her, every breaker on her western shore, every acre of wet heather and every coal in every hearth the length and breadth of her is calling. Answer her. Take her back. Every field, every harbour, every last inch of her. Take her back, or lose her entirely. There is no third road open to us.
0:10

Lads. Sit down and give me your ear a while, for I have watched from the water long enough and the hour is upon us whether we have the stomach for it or not. You remember. Or your fathers told you, or their fathers did, and the knowledge of it is in the marrow of you whether you drew breath in those days or not. The moors in the grey hour before dawn. Wet heather soft under the boot. Peat smoke rising from a low stone chimney a mile out across the bog, thin as a prayer. A sky the colour of a gun barrel and the gulls lamenting above the headland. The smell of turf burning, and wet wool, and the ferrous tang of the sea when the wind swung around out of the Atlantic and put the taste of iron on your tongue. A man could walk that land and know every stone of it was his by inheritance, because his grandfather had broken his back upon it, and his grandfather before him, back through the generations until you reach men whose names are lost and whose bones are in the soil you are standing on. The potato fields. God be good to us, the potato fields. Lazy beds cut straight as a gunwale, the ridges black and shining after a night of rain, women bent double with creels lashed to their backs and the children at their skirts, drawing the crop up by the hand for there was never any other means devised nor wanted. Hands split open at the knuckles and never entirely healed in this life. Hunger within living memory. Grandmothers who had seen the blight with their own eyes and would not speak of it from the year of it until the day they were laid down, save that a crust was kept always on the dresser which no soul in that house was permitted to touch. Not ever. Not for any reason under heaven. And the chimney sweeps. Wee lads no heavier than a sack of meal, black to the bone with soot, their lungs ruined before they were old enough to marry and old men entirely by thirty. Up the flues at first light, the skin worn off them by the brick, eyes crimson at the rim, breathing the black in with every draw of air. And the coal miners a half mile beneath our feet, down in the wet dark, the roof of the world muttering over their heads, the canary gone silent, a man's whole existence measured out in the shilling a ton and the dust he carried home in his chest to cough up of a Sunday morning into a rag. Fathers who descended and were never hauled up again. Widows at the pit head with the shawl drawn over the head and no tears remaining in them for they had spent those long ago. That was the tariff paid to keep the hearth lit. That was the reckoning of being warm in winter in the Ireland that was. And after the labouring week, Friday evening, and a man had earned the peace of what followed. Home first. Peeled the day off him in the yard. A shower of ice cold moor river water out of a tin bucket punctured with holes, hung on a nail on the gable wall, the water running clean down the back of him and carrying the week's dust and sweat away into the drain. Scrubbed till the skin was pink beneath the grime. Clean shirt laid out by the wife. The hair combed down with a drop of water. Then, and only then, did a man set himself to the table. A meat pie from the baker, tenpence if he was known to you, a shilling and no change if he was not, put down upon a proper plate. Fish and chips for threepence, the salt and vinegar soaked through the newspaper, but carried home and ate slowly at your own table with your people around you, not walked with through the streets like some vagrant tinker off the road. A man ate as a man who had earned his portion, for he had. And later, with the dishes cleared and the kettle set, down the road to the tavern. Low beams black with a century of smoke. A turf fire muttering in the grate. The air thick with pipe smoke and the vapour of wet overcoats steaming themselves dry on the backs of chairs. A pint of stout, cold and black as a cove at midnight, elevenpence laid down on the counter, a head on it thick enough to strike a match upon. A second one because you had it coming to you and no man present would dispute it. A fiddle starting up in the corner of its own accord. The old men in the snug who remembered matters the history books had long since mislaid. A song before the bolt was thrown on the door. The walk home beneath a firmament crowded with stars, the stout warm in the gut of you, the week behind you, and your own door waiting with the latch unlocked for you had no enemies in that parish. That was the country. That was the covenant. Honest labour, plain food, a cold wash, a hot meal, a cold pint, your own tongue in your own mouth, your own soil beneath your boots, and no man standing above you save the Almighty Himself. Now regard her. Regard her close. The fields disposed of to men who have never set foot upon them and never shall. The harbours signed away by the stroke of a pen in a room you were not admitted to, and foreign keels dragging out of our waters the living that sustained this island for a thousand years, while our own boats rot at their moorings for want of a quota. The tradesmen undercut by imported labour and imported goods. The shops shuttered along every main street from Donegal to Cork. The young ones scattered to London and Sydney and Boston and the Gulf because there is nothing remaining for them beneath their own roof. And the entirety of this rotten arrangement dressed up in the soft mannerly language of progress by men in towers of glass who could not tell a lazy bed from a grave, nor a trawler from a tugboat, nor an honest day's work from a pension plan. And now they arrive with the next imposition. A digital identity. A number assigned to each soul. A card required to buy your bread. A code required to draw your own earnings out of your own account. A file kept on every man, woman and child from the cradle forward. Permission asked to move. Permission asked to speak. Permission asked to earn. A levy upon every breath drawn and a regulation upon every step taken. No. And no again. And no for a third time so there is no misunderstanding of it. We do not require your digital identity. We did not request it. We did not vote upon it. We do not consent to it. We do not need your permission to exist upon the soil our forefathers are buried in. We are a free people. We have carried ourselves this far upon our own two backs. Through famine and empire and civil war and black lung and blight and the emigrant ship out of Cobh, we have come this distance under our own steam, and the arrangement appears to be serving us well enough without your intervention. We buried our own. We fed our own. We raised our own roofs and took our own fish and reared our own children in our own tongue. We are in your debt for nothing. Not a signature. Not a biometric scan. Not a single solitary inch. And while we are upon the subject, let us speak plainly of the tax man, for he has gone too long without proper introduction. The tax collector and the tax man are the one article under two names, and the article is a parasite. There is no dressing it up finer than that. A man who produces nothing, who grows nothing, who catches nothing, who builds nothing, who mends nothing, who has never in his professional life lifted anything heavier than a pen, and who arrives at your door with the full apparatus of the state at his back to carry off the fruits of labour he did not perform. He is a middleman between your sweat and some scheme dreamt up in a committee room by his own kind, and the great majority of what he takes is consumed by the machinery of the taking itself before ever a penny of it reaches the road or the hospital or the schoolhouse he claims to be funding. And I will go further while I have the floor. Finance itself, the whole apparatus of it, money breeding money in the dark without a hand laid upon a tool or a spade turned in the earth, is slavery dressed in a good suit. It is the oldest swindle known to man and it has never been anything other. A man who produces nothing yet lives off the productive labour of others through the charging of interest upon money conjured out of nothing is a parasite of a rarer and more refined order than the tax man, but a parasite all the same, and between the pair of them they have the working people of this island bled white and lectured at for the pleasure. A man who will not work with his hands, nor with his back, nor with his mind at some honest problem of the real physical world, is no man that I recognise. He is a ledger entry in a suit. The country was not built by ledger entries. The country was built by farmers and fishermen and masons and smiths and sweeps and miners and shipwrights and midwives and mothers, and those are the people whose say should carry in her councils, and no other. Here is what I put to you. Let each man and woman of this island direct the first tenth of their earnings themselves, by their own judgement, to the purpose they see as worthy. The school down the road. The lifeboat station. The hospice. The widow on the corner. The roof of the chapel. The harbour wall. Whatever it may be. Let the people who earned the money decide where the money travels. You will find the roads mended and the ports dredged and the schools standing and the old ones cared for inside of five years, and done better and for less, because the hand that earned the coin knows the weight of it and will not squander it upon consultants and committees. And let us have done with the paper currency and the numbers in a screen that can be frozen at the whim of a clerk in a tower. Bring back the coin. Gold for the great transactions. Silver for the weekly commerce of a working life. Copper for the small change of the day. Metal you can bite. Metal you can weigh. Metal that cannot be conjured out of nothing by a keystroke, nor erased out of existence by another. Real money for real labour. A coin in the hand is a free man's wage. A number in a database is a collar around a free man's neck, and they are fitting that collar now while we stand arguing over the colour of it. Feel it in your gut. That is not nothing. That is your blood relating to you what your ears will not hear. That is every forebear who starved and fought and coughed the black dust into a rag and descended the shaft regardless, standing at your shoulder and saying no further. Not one more field. Not one more harbour. Not one more son upon a plane. Not one more free man converted into a number in a ledger for the convenience of the parasites. This is the hour. Make no error about it. Ireland is redeemed in this generation or she is lost beyond recovery, and every true son and daughter of her knows it in the marrow. There is no middle ground remaining. There is no waiting it out. There is standing now, upon your own two feet, or there is watching her go under the waves for the last and final time. So stand. Stand with your farmers. Stand with your fishermen. Stand with your tradesmen and your miners and your sweeps and your mothers and your old ones. Raise the tricolour. Speak the tongue. Walk the land. Hold the line in the streets of every town and city and do not break it, for they are relying upon you to break and to go home and to forget by Tuesday. She is calling her children home. Every stone of her, every breaker on her western shore, every acre of wet heather and every coal in every hearth the length and breadth of her is calling. Answer her. Take her back. Every field, every harbour, every last inch of her. Take her back, or lose her entirely. There is no third road open to us.

SiriusB

15,437 Aufrufe • vor 2 Monaten

She said nothing… until everything came out 😌 Generated with Seedance 2.0 on BudgetPixel AI Prompt : Main Character: A beautiful Korean high school girl wearing a realistic Korean summer school uniform (하복). Natural skin texture with no beauty retouching. Hair becomes messy during combat, with expressive emotional acting. Facial proportions remain fully consistent throughout all shots. She begins timid and shocked, then gradually becomes determined and defiant. 0–1.5 seconds: The female lead quietly studies at her desk. Four delinquent schoolgirls surround her and begin bullying her. They mock her for studying, aggressively sweep her books off the desk, and shove her shoulders. Wide-angle handheld camera movement. Books fly in slow motion. Tense classroom atmosphere. Realistic school bullying energy, shaky camera motion, cinematic realism. 1.5–3 seconds: Close-up of the protagonist’s face. She slowly stands up. Her expression shifts from fear to cold determination. The bullies remain blurred in shallow depth of field behind her. A 0.5-second moment of silence. Slow cinematic push-in shot. Silence except for ambient classroom sound and tense breathing. 3–5 seconds: First confrontation. One bully throws a punch; the protagonist blocks and counters with a strike to the stomach. Another attacker rushes from the side; she dodges and retaliates with a spinning elbow strike. Handheld tracking shots follow the motion closely. Dynamic motion blur, impact camera shake, realistic fight choreography. No supernatural effects. 5–8 seconds: The remaining two bullies attack simultaneously with punches and kicks. The protagonist uses quick footwork and evasive movement to avoid hits. Dynamic 360-degree rotating camera movement. Rapid chained kicks and elbow attacks knock the attackers down. Classroom desks and objects shift from the impacts. Intense cinematic action pacing. 8–10 seconds: The final attacker charges toward the protagonist. The female lead leaps high into the air. Low-angle shot from the ground. 30% slow motion. Hair and skirt flow naturally. Dramatic cinematic lighting. Floating dust and airborne particles drift slowly through the air. 10–12 seconds: Midair 360-degree spinning kick. Slow-motion impact directly hits the final bully’s chest. Extreme close-up of the collision. The bully is launched backward into the classroom wall. Debris and dust explode outward. All bullies collapse onto the floor. Immediately after landing, the camera speed snaps back to normal for dramatic impact. 12–14 seconds: Victory moment. The protagonist stands alone in the center of the classroom, breathing heavily. The four bullies lie defeated around the room. The camera slowly and dramatically pushes toward her face. Soft cinematic bokeh background. Her expression is determined yet emotional. 14–15 seconds: Freeze-frame close-up. The protagonist stares directly into the camera and calmly says in Korean: (“I need to get into college.”) Delivery is realistic and emotionally restrained. After the line ends, she returns to looking like an ordinary student. Calm, emotional ending. The film emphasizes the intense academic pressure faced by Korean students. Style References: Korean action cinema, ultra-realistic cinematography, cinematic handheld action, emotional realism, grounded fight choreography, realistic Korean classroom atmosphere, high-budget Netflix K-drama aesthetics, cinematic lighting, dramatic silence beats, powerful female protagonist, grounded emotional tone. Negative Prompt: Cartoon, anime, CGI-looking textures, fake skin, extra limbs, distorted faces, exaggerated fantasy armor, unrealistic physics, low quality, blurry faces, overexposed lighting, comedic tone, childish style, fantasy classroom, male protagonist, bad anatomy, unrealistic body proportions, supernatural effects, glowing eyes, energy auras, magic.
0:12

She said nothing… until everything came out 😌 Generated with Seedance 2.0 on BudgetPixel AI Prompt : Main Character: A beautiful Korean high school girl wearing a realistic Korean summer school uniform (하복). Natural skin texture with no beauty retouching. Hair becomes messy during combat, with expressive emotional acting. Facial proportions remain fully consistent throughout all shots. She begins timid and shocked, then gradually becomes determined and defiant. 0–1.5 seconds: The female lead quietly studies at her desk. Four delinquent schoolgirls surround her and begin bullying her. They mock her for studying, aggressively sweep her books off the desk, and shove her shoulders. Wide-angle handheld camera movement. Books fly in slow motion. Tense classroom atmosphere. Realistic school bullying energy, shaky camera motion, cinematic realism. 1.5–3 seconds: Close-up of the protagonist’s face. She slowly stands up. Her expression shifts from fear to cold determination. The bullies remain blurred in shallow depth of field behind her. A 0.5-second moment of silence. Slow cinematic push-in shot. Silence except for ambient classroom sound and tense breathing. 3–5 seconds: First confrontation. One bully throws a punch; the protagonist blocks and counters with a strike to the stomach. Another attacker rushes from the side; she dodges and retaliates with a spinning elbow strike. Handheld tracking shots follow the motion closely. Dynamic motion blur, impact camera shake, realistic fight choreography. No supernatural effects. 5–8 seconds: The remaining two bullies attack simultaneously with punches and kicks. The protagonist uses quick footwork and evasive movement to avoid hits. Dynamic 360-degree rotating camera movement. Rapid chained kicks and elbow attacks knock the attackers down. Classroom desks and objects shift from the impacts. Intense cinematic action pacing. 8–10 seconds: The final attacker charges toward the protagonist. The female lead leaps high into the air. Low-angle shot from the ground. 30% slow motion. Hair and skirt flow naturally. Dramatic cinematic lighting. Floating dust and airborne particles drift slowly through the air. 10–12 seconds: Midair 360-degree spinning kick. Slow-motion impact directly hits the final bully’s chest. Extreme close-up of the collision. The bully is launched backward into the classroom wall. Debris and dust explode outward. All bullies collapse onto the floor. Immediately after landing, the camera speed snaps back to normal for dramatic impact. 12–14 seconds: Victory moment. The protagonist stands alone in the center of the classroom, breathing heavily. The four bullies lie defeated around the room. The camera slowly and dramatically pushes toward her face. Soft cinematic bokeh background. Her expression is determined yet emotional. 14–15 seconds: Freeze-frame close-up. The protagonist stares directly into the camera and calmly says in Korean: (“I need to get into college.”) Delivery is realistic and emotionally restrained. After the line ends, she returns to looking like an ordinary student. Calm, emotional ending. The film emphasizes the intense academic pressure faced by Korean students. Style References: Korean action cinema, ultra-realistic cinematography, cinematic handheld action, emotional realism, grounded fight choreography, realistic Korean classroom atmosphere, high-budget Netflix K-drama aesthetics, cinematic lighting, dramatic silence beats, powerful female protagonist, grounded emotional tone. Negative Prompt: Cartoon, anime, CGI-looking textures, fake skin, extra limbs, distorted faces, exaggerated fantasy armor, unrealistic physics, low quality, blurry faces, overexposed lighting, comedic tone, childish style, fantasy classroom, male protagonist, bad anatomy, unrealistic body proportions, supernatural effects, glowing eyes, energy auras, magic.

Ai Arainz

82,611 Aufrufe • vor 1 Monat

Wait? Is this Seedance 2 Mini? The mystery Seedance 2 model IS HERE! No wait this time. About 55% of the cost of the 2.0 Fast is about 75% Quality wise they say to expect Fast level output and that seems fair? Thoughts? Left is Seedance 2 Mini Right is Seedance 2.0 Full Prompt Image To Video Use the uploaded images as identity, costume, and lighting reference. Same naturally confident charismatic age 25 woman throughout performing a sold-out arena concert. Real concert documentary feel, handheld camera energy, practical stage lighting only. gritty, real, fun, clean editing, english language high energy modern concert performance 0: 00–0:01 — Open tight on her face mid-performance, eyes bright, genuine laugh breaking through a lyric, hair catching stage light. Crowd noise swells under faint mic hum. 0: 01–0:06 — She steps forward to the edge of the stage, singing into the mic with playful energy, she frowns, sad "Wait! Is this Seedance 2 Mini?" and then smiles and laughs free hand reaching out toward the crowd, fingers brushing toward raised phones and hands. The crowd repeats the lyric back to her as she laughs. Warm stage lights and lens flares in the background, slight handheld camera sway following her movement. 0: 06–0:09 — Wide shot from a low angle near the crowd barrier — she's framed against haze and colored stage lights, band visible in soft focus behind her (guitarist stage left, keyboard player stage right). She throws her free arm out wide, laughing between lines, hair whipping slightly as she turns. 0: 10–0:12 — Cut to a closer three-quarter shot — she playfully points the mic toward the crowd for a sing-along moment, grinning, eyes scanning the audience with real warmth and connection. Visible sweat sheen, natural skin texture, slight camera shake as if shot from the pit. — Final beat: close-up, she looks directly into the lens with a bright, genuine smile Camera: handheld documentary-style movement throughout, natural focus pulls, no perfectly smooth gimbal shots, slight shake and imperfection consistent with a real concert film crew. Practical stage lighting only — no CGI glow, no artificial bloom, no glossy skin, visible natural texture and sweat under hot lights. Audio: live arena ambience — crowd roar, cheering, phone-camera flash pops, her voice carrying clearly over a full live band mix (electric guitar, keys, drums, bass). No studio polish — natural live-mix dynamics, slight room reverb. No on-screen text, no logos, no subtitles, no watermarks, no identity drift, no extra performers beyond the band already in frame, no slideshow stillness, no overly smooth or glossy rendering, no jarring cuts, no akward moments, no jerky moves, no duplicates, no clones
0:12

Wait? Is this Seedance 2 Mini? The mystery Seedance 2 model IS HERE! No wait this time. About 55% of the cost of the 2.0 Fast is about 75% Quality wise they say to expect Fast level output and that seems fair? Thoughts? Left is Seedance 2 Mini Right is Seedance 2.0 Full Prompt Image To Video Use the uploaded images as identity, costume, and lighting reference. Same naturally confident charismatic age 25 woman throughout performing a sold-out arena concert. Real concert documentary feel, handheld camera energy, practical stage lighting only. gritty, real, fun, clean editing, english language high energy modern concert performance 0: 00–0:01 — Open tight on her face mid-performance, eyes bright, genuine laugh breaking through a lyric, hair catching stage light. Crowd noise swells under faint mic hum. 0: 01–0:06 — She steps forward to the edge of the stage, singing into the mic with playful energy, she frowns, sad "Wait! Is this Seedance 2 Mini?" and then smiles and laughs free hand reaching out toward the crowd, fingers brushing toward raised phones and hands. The crowd repeats the lyric back to her as she laughs. Warm stage lights and lens flares in the background, slight handheld camera sway following her movement. 0: 06–0:09 — Wide shot from a low angle near the crowd barrier — she's framed against haze and colored stage lights, band visible in soft focus behind her (guitarist stage left, keyboard player stage right). She throws her free arm out wide, laughing between lines, hair whipping slightly as she turns. 0: 10–0:12 — Cut to a closer three-quarter shot — she playfully points the mic toward the crowd for a sing-along moment, grinning, eyes scanning the audience with real warmth and connection. Visible sweat sheen, natural skin texture, slight camera shake as if shot from the pit. — Final beat: close-up, she looks directly into the lens with a bright, genuine smile Camera: handheld documentary-style movement throughout, natural focus pulls, no perfectly smooth gimbal shots, slight shake and imperfection consistent with a real concert film crew. Practical stage lighting only — no CGI glow, no artificial bloom, no glossy skin, visible natural texture and sweat under hot lights. Audio: live arena ambience — crowd roar, cheering, phone-camera flash pops, her voice carrying clearly over a full live band mix (electric guitar, keys, drums, bass). No studio polish — natural live-mix dynamics, slight room reverb. No on-screen text, no logos, no subtitles, no watermarks, no identity drift, no extra performers beyond the band already in frame, no slideshow stillness, no overly smooth or glossy rendering, no jarring cuts, no akward moments, no jerky moves, no duplicates, no clones

Brent Lynch

12,501 Aufrufe • vor 1 Monat

MR. IG🐻Prescription Play #2🏀 Ja Morant o11.5 Reb+Ast (+100) #GrindCity vs #LakeShow Film. Data. Narratives. What a great play. Show love if you want another play❤️ Lets start with the data because this man is averaging 16.8 Potential Assists across his last 9 games with 25+ minutes. We have also hammered the idea of the Lakers being a horrendous transition defense this season, and we know Ja Morant is at his most fun when he gets out in transition. Expect some easy assists on those plays here. Now as far as the Lakers, they don't hide their strategy of "you are either shooting or passing but you are not driving." While that last matchup was the one that started the drama with his comments about the coaches chewing him out mid-game, it did look like he was figuring out how to read it in the 2nd half. The Grizzlies would put Ja Morant on the wing in an ISO position, with everyone cleared out to the other side. The Lakers would have the big show EARLY help on the near side block. Ja Morant would then read the help of the big man and the weakside corner If the big and corner were helping early, he would drive and find the corner. If the big was helping and the corner wasn't, he would find the big on the opposite block. If the big AND the corner were waiting for him to drive before showing help, he would force the switch onto a lesser defender and put the Lakers into a position where they had to show help. And as far as the rebounding, Ja Morant's defensive role is simple: When there is a corner camper, matchup with the corner camper. With no Reaves, and not matching up on Luka/Lebron, we know this will be the case and should keep him in uncontested weakside rebounding position on any deep shot attempts. This is why he has had 11+ Rebound Chances in 3/4 against the Lakers.
0:10

MR. IG🐻Prescription Play #2🏀 Ja Morant o11.5 Reb+Ast (+100) #GrindCity vs #LakeShow Film. Data. Narratives. What a great play. Show love if you want another play❤️ Lets start with the data because this man is averaging 16.8 Potential Assists across his last 9 games with 25+ minutes. We have also hammered the idea of the Lakers being a horrendous transition defense this season, and we know Ja Morant is at his most fun when he gets out in transition. Expect some easy assists on those plays here. Now as far as the Lakers, they don't hide their strategy of "you are either shooting or passing but you are not driving." While that last matchup was the one that started the drama with his comments about the coaches chewing him out mid-game, it did look like he was figuring out how to read it in the 2nd half. The Grizzlies would put Ja Morant on the wing in an ISO position, with everyone cleared out to the other side. The Lakers would have the big show EARLY help on the near side block. Ja Morant would then read the help of the big man and the weakside corner If the big and corner were helping early, he would drive and find the corner. If the big was helping and the corner wasn't, he would find the big on the opposite block. If the big AND the corner were waiting for him to drive before showing help, he would force the switch onto a lesser defender and put the Lakers into a position where they had to show help. And as far as the rebounding, Ja Morant's defensive role is simple: When there is a corner camper, matchup with the corner camper. With no Reaves, and not matching up on Luka/Lebron, we know this will be the case and should keep him in uncontested weakside rebounding position on any deep shot attempts. This is why he has had 11+ Rebound Chances in 3/4 against the Lakers.

Dr. Profit🩺

49,145 Aufrufe • vor 6 Monaten

From an ordinary man to a celestial warrior, this cinematic transformation. Created with Seedance 2.0 on Lart AI . Unreal visuals, smooth motion, and movie-quality storytelling. Try yours here 👇 Prompt: Duration: 10 seconds Style: Ultra-cinematic, photorealistic IMAX realism, continuous single shot, no cuts. --- Character & Setup Use Image as the identity reference. Preserve the exact facial identity, facial structure, hairstyle, skin tone, and proportions throughout the entire sequence. His face is bruised with a small streak of blood at the corner of his mouth. He looks exhausted after battle. During the transformation, he shows restrained pain with only a slight frown—no exaggerated screaming. Armor design is inspired by image2. His clothing is battle-damaged, torn, dusty, and partially burned. In his right hand he tightly grips a glowing Holy Ring Crystal Core radiating intense white-blue divine energy. Environment Apocalyptic Jakarta under a dark overcast sky. Ruined skyscrapers, burning buildings, drifting ash, smoke, flying debris, distant fires, and flaming meteors crossing the sky. Cold grey-blue cinematic color palette with dramatic atmosphere. Visual Style Photorealistic cinematic realism, IMAX-quality visuals, 35mm Panavision lens, handheld camera with subtle breathing movement, compressed shadows, highly detailed textures, slight edge softness, natural film grain, grounded realism. Thousands of glowing feathers physically assemble the armor with a powerful divine aura, combining biological pain with advanced alien technology. --- 0–2.5s — Fall The hero crashes violently into broken concrete and rubble, creating a powerful dust explosion. The handheld camera shakes from the impact. He slowly rises to one knee, breathing heavily while staring at the glowing Holy Ring Crystal Core in his right hand. 2.5–5s — Awakening He quietly whispers, "Berubah!", then crushes the crystal. A blinding white-blue beam erupts into the sky. Thousands of glowing feathers materialize and spiral around him. They wrap around his arm, chest, and entire body. His eyes become pure white as a faint golden halo symbol briefly appears behind him. 5–7.5s — Transformation Sacred energy explodes outward. White smoke, golden sparks, and streams of blue energy surround him. Feather light solidifies into mechanical armor components that rapidly lock onto his torso, arms, legs, and shoulders with satisfying metallic clicks. The camera circles smoothly around him during the transformation. 7.5–10s — Completion The transformation completes into magnificent white-platinum armor with pearl-like metallic surfaces, elegant golden engravings, and glowing blue energy flowing through every armor seam. Massive mechanical angel wings unfold dramatically, scattering thousands of glowing feathers. A radiant halo appears behind him while a transparent energy helmet forms over his face. Two blazing holy energy blades materialize in his hands. The camera pulls back to a low-angle full-body shot as divine energy lifts rocks and debris into the air. In the final second, the armored angel launches straight upward at incredible speed, blasting out of frame as the camera violently shakes from the shockwave.
0:10

From an ordinary man to a celestial warrior, this cinematic transformation. Created with Seedance 2.0 on Lart AI . Unreal visuals, smooth motion, and movie-quality storytelling. Try yours here 👇 Prompt: Duration: 10 seconds Style: Ultra-cinematic, photorealistic IMAX realism, continuous single shot, no cuts. --- Character & Setup Use Image as the identity reference. Preserve the exact facial identity, facial structure, hairstyle, skin tone, and proportions throughout the entire sequence. His face is bruised with a small streak of blood at the corner of his mouth. He looks exhausted after battle. During the transformation, he shows restrained pain with only a slight frown—no exaggerated screaming. Armor design is inspired by image2. His clothing is battle-damaged, torn, dusty, and partially burned. In his right hand he tightly grips a glowing Holy Ring Crystal Core radiating intense white-blue divine energy. Environment Apocalyptic Jakarta under a dark overcast sky. Ruined skyscrapers, burning buildings, drifting ash, smoke, flying debris, distant fires, and flaming meteors crossing the sky. Cold grey-blue cinematic color palette with dramatic atmosphere. Visual Style Photorealistic cinematic realism, IMAX-quality visuals, 35mm Panavision lens, handheld camera with subtle breathing movement, compressed shadows, highly detailed textures, slight edge softness, natural film grain, grounded realism. Thousands of glowing feathers physically assemble the armor with a powerful divine aura, combining biological pain with advanced alien technology. --- 0–2.5s — Fall The hero crashes violently into broken concrete and rubble, creating a powerful dust explosion. The handheld camera shakes from the impact. He slowly rises to one knee, breathing heavily while staring at the glowing Holy Ring Crystal Core in his right hand. 2.5–5s — Awakening He quietly whispers, "Berubah!", then crushes the crystal. A blinding white-blue beam erupts into the sky. Thousands of glowing feathers materialize and spiral around him. They wrap around his arm, chest, and entire body. His eyes become pure white as a faint golden halo symbol briefly appears behind him. 5–7.5s — Transformation Sacred energy explodes outward. White smoke, golden sparks, and streams of blue energy surround him. Feather light solidifies into mechanical armor components that rapidly lock onto his torso, arms, legs, and shoulders with satisfying metallic clicks. The camera circles smoothly around him during the transformation. 7.5–10s — Completion The transformation completes into magnificent white-platinum armor with pearl-like metallic surfaces, elegant golden engravings, and glowing blue energy flowing through every armor seam. Massive mechanical angel wings unfold dramatically, scattering thousands of glowing feathers. A radiant halo appears behind him while a transparent energy helmet forms over his face. Two blazing holy energy blades materialize in his hands. The camera pulls back to a low-angle full-body shot as divine energy lifts rocks and debris into the air. In the final second, the armored angel launches straight upward at incredible speed, blasting out of frame as the camera violently shakes from the shockwave.

Zar⭕on

23,847 Aufrufe • vor 13 Tagen

"Walter always said the Fourth of July was for everyone else. His daughter used to invite him inside before the fireworks started, close the curtains, turn the television up, and pretend she wasn’t watching his hands. Walter hated that part most. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want people whispering around him. He wanted to sit on his own porch, in his own chair, and act like the noise didn’t still reach places in him he couldn’t explain. He had come home from Vietnam a long time ago, but some nights never seemed as far away as they should have. Most days, Walter was steady. He mowed his lawn, fixed the loose rail by the steps, and waved at every neighbor who passed. Loud sudden sounds were the one thing that could still pull the room out from under him. That night, the first fireworks started before it was fully dark. Walter stayed outside anyway. He sat on the porch steps with his cap low over his face, trying to breathe through each burst like he’d done so many times before. Duke watched him from the walkway. The black shepherd mix had been with Walter for three years. He knew the small things: the way Walter’s shoulders tightened before he said he was fine, the way his fingers curled when the noise got too close, the way silence after a loud boom sometimes scared him more than the boom itself. Another firework cracked over the neighborhood, and Walter covered his face with both hands. Duke came up the steps slowly. He didn’t crowd him. He just walked close enough, waited a second, then rested his head on Walter’s knee. Walter’s hand dropped almost right away. He touched Duke’s ear, then the side of his neck, and his breathing started to slow. The fireworks kept going behind them, lighting the street in red and white, but Walter wasn’t alone with the sound anymore. After a while, he leaned forward and held Duke with both arms. “Good boy,” he whispered. Duke stayed there until the noise moved farther away. What has your dog done when they somehow knew you needed them?
0:14

"Walter always said the Fourth of July was for everyone else. His daughter used to invite him inside before the fireworks started, close the curtains, turn the television up, and pretend she wasn’t watching his hands. Walter hated that part most. He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want people whispering around him. He wanted to sit on his own porch, in his own chair, and act like the noise didn’t still reach places in him he couldn’t explain. He had come home from Vietnam a long time ago, but some nights never seemed as far away as they should have. Most days, Walter was steady. He mowed his lawn, fixed the loose rail by the steps, and waved at every neighbor who passed. Loud sudden sounds were the one thing that could still pull the room out from under him. That night, the first fireworks started before it was fully dark. Walter stayed outside anyway. He sat on the porch steps with his cap low over his face, trying to breathe through each burst like he’d done so many times before. Duke watched him from the walkway. The black shepherd mix had been with Walter for three years. He knew the small things: the way Walter’s shoulders tightened before he said he was fine, the way his fingers curled when the noise got too close, the way silence after a loud boom sometimes scared him more than the boom itself. Another firework cracked over the neighborhood, and Walter covered his face with both hands. Duke came up the steps slowly. He didn’t crowd him. He just walked close enough, waited a second, then rested his head on Walter’s knee. Walter’s hand dropped almost right away. He touched Duke’s ear, then the side of his neck, and his breathing started to slow. The fireworks kept going behind them, lighting the street in red and white, but Walter wasn’t alone with the sound anymore. After a while, he leaned forward and held Duke with both arms. “Good boy,” he whispered. Duke stayed there until the noise moved farther away. What has your dog done when they somehow knew you needed them?

Crazy Moments

20,666 Aufrufe • vor 13 Tagen

They did not take cursive from the schools because children no longer needed it. They took it because of what it was quietly building in them. Consider what the exercise actually is. A child, six years old, is handed a pen and asked to draw a single unbroken line that becomes a word. The wrist must float. The fingers must hold a living pressure, never quite the same twice, always correcting. The eye must follow the ink forward and trust the hand to finish what it has begun. There is no lifting, no stopping, no starting over mid-word. The loop must close. The ascender must rise and return. The sentence must travel from one margin to the other as a single continuous gesture, and at the end of it the hand must still be steady. Twelve years of this. Every day. Ten thousand small acts of sustained, self-correcting attention, carried out below the level of conscious thought, until the motion belongs to the body and the body belongs to the motion. This is not penmanship. It is the slow construction of an interior form. The hand that has learned to carry a line without breaking it is the hand of a mind that has learned to carry a thought without breaking it. The two are not metaphors for one another. They are the same faculty, trained in the same child, by the same daily discipline. Continuity of the stroke becomes continuity of the reasoning. The patience of the loop becomes the patience of the argument. The commitment to finish a word one has started becomes the commitment to finish a sentence, a paragraph, a life's idea, without reaching for the nearest distraction halfway through. Print is a different creature entirely. Print lifts. Print stops. Print assembles a word out of separate, stamped, interchangeable pieces, each one beginning and ending in isolation. A mind raised only on print learns to think the way print is made, in discrete tokens, in replaceable units, in fragments that can be recombined by any outside hand without the owner noticing the substitution. It is precisely the shape of thought a language model produces. It is precisely the shape of thought a language model can steer. Cursive is kata. This is the whole of it. A form repeated daily, for years, not for the sake of the form but for what the repetition lays down in the practitioner beneath the form. The swordsman does not train kata so that one day he may fight in kata. He trains it so that when the moment comes and there is no time to think, the movement is already inside him, older and deeper than thought, and it rises on its own. Cursive was the kata of the literate mind, the daily quiet drilling of continuity, of patience, of a line held steady under the long pressure of its own length. And the signature it produced at the end, that small flourished mark unique to a single human being on earth, was only the outward proof of an inward form no machine and no other hand could ever reproduce. Take the kata away and the practitioner is left with vocabulary in place of faculty. He can recognise a whole thought when he encounters one. He cannot carry one himself. He can admire a finished argument. He cannot sustain one long enough to close its loop. He begins books he does not finish, sentences he does not end, ideas he abandons the moment the screen in his palm offers him a brighter one. And when the machine begins feeding him tokens in the exact shape his schooling taught him to receive, he meets it with no interior resistance at all, because no interior form was ever built in him to push back with. They removed it quietly, across a generation, and they removed it in the last years before the machines arrived. Twelve years of daily practice in unbroken, embodied, self-authored thought, gone from the curriculum of almost every child in the Western world, just as the instruments designed to complete their sentences for them came online. The hand forgets. The mind, having never been taught the kata, forgets a thing it never knew it had. That is what cursive was. That is what was taken. And that is why the thought of anyone who still writes by hand, in long unlifted lines, remains, quietly, stubbornly, and without their ever needing to announce it, their own. Now the question stands open. What else has been banned, phased out, quietly retired from the curriculum and from common life over these same decades, under the same soft excuses? Mental arithmetic. Memorisation of poetry. Latin. Logic as a formal subject. Map reading. Knot work. The keeping of a commonplace book. The reading aloud of long passages in class. Singing in parts. What was each of those actually building in the child, beneath the surface of the lesson, and whose interest was served by its disappearance?
0:10

They did not take cursive from the schools because children no longer needed it. They took it because of what it was quietly building in them. Consider what the exercise actually is. A child, six years old, is handed a pen and asked to draw a single unbroken line that becomes a word. The wrist must float. The fingers must hold a living pressure, never quite the same twice, always correcting. The eye must follow the ink forward and trust the hand to finish what it has begun. There is no lifting, no stopping, no starting over mid-word. The loop must close. The ascender must rise and return. The sentence must travel from one margin to the other as a single continuous gesture, and at the end of it the hand must still be steady. Twelve years of this. Every day. Ten thousand small acts of sustained, self-correcting attention, carried out below the level of conscious thought, until the motion belongs to the body and the body belongs to the motion. This is not penmanship. It is the slow construction of an interior form. The hand that has learned to carry a line without breaking it is the hand of a mind that has learned to carry a thought without breaking it. The two are not metaphors for one another. They are the same faculty, trained in the same child, by the same daily discipline. Continuity of the stroke becomes continuity of the reasoning. The patience of the loop becomes the patience of the argument. The commitment to finish a word one has started becomes the commitment to finish a sentence, a paragraph, a life's idea, without reaching for the nearest distraction halfway through. Print is a different creature entirely. Print lifts. Print stops. Print assembles a word out of separate, stamped, interchangeable pieces, each one beginning and ending in isolation. A mind raised only on print learns to think the way print is made, in discrete tokens, in replaceable units, in fragments that can be recombined by any outside hand without the owner noticing the substitution. It is precisely the shape of thought a language model produces. It is precisely the shape of thought a language model can steer. Cursive is kata. This is the whole of it. A form repeated daily, for years, not for the sake of the form but for what the repetition lays down in the practitioner beneath the form. The swordsman does not train kata so that one day he may fight in kata. He trains it so that when the moment comes and there is no time to think, the movement is already inside him, older and deeper than thought, and it rises on its own. Cursive was the kata of the literate mind, the daily quiet drilling of continuity, of patience, of a line held steady under the long pressure of its own length. And the signature it produced at the end, that small flourished mark unique to a single human being on earth, was only the outward proof of an inward form no machine and no other hand could ever reproduce. Take the kata away and the practitioner is left with vocabulary in place of faculty. He can recognise a whole thought when he encounters one. He cannot carry one himself. He can admire a finished argument. He cannot sustain one long enough to close its loop. He begins books he does not finish, sentences he does not end, ideas he abandons the moment the screen in his palm offers him a brighter one. And when the machine begins feeding him tokens in the exact shape his schooling taught him to receive, he meets it with no interior resistance at all, because no interior form was ever built in him to push back with. They removed it quietly, across a generation, and they removed it in the last years before the machines arrived. Twelve years of daily practice in unbroken, embodied, self-authored thought, gone from the curriculum of almost every child in the Western world, just as the instruments designed to complete their sentences for them came online. The hand forgets. The mind, having never been taught the kata, forgets a thing it never knew it had. That is what cursive was. That is what was taken. And that is why the thought of anyone who still writes by hand, in long unlifted lines, remains, quietly, stubbornly, and without their ever needing to announce it, their own. Now the question stands open. What else has been banned, phased out, quietly retired from the curriculum and from common life over these same decades, under the same soft excuses? Mental arithmetic. Memorisation of poetry. Latin. Logic as a formal subject. Map reading. Knot work. The keeping of a commonplace book. The reading aloud of long passages in class. Singing in parts. What was each of those actually building in the child, beneath the surface of the lesson, and whose interest was served by its disappearance?

SiriusB

441,606 Aufrufe • vor 2 Monaten

Hey X, Family, friends, and warriors on here, I need to share something heavy that's been on my heart for only a couple of days. The doctors recently gave me news of cancer and a short 12-month timeline at best. I call BS on that. I feel strong, I'm fighting with everything I have, and I'm positive I'll beat this by God's grace. I'm anxiously waiting on a second opinion from another oncologist right now. Today I broke the news to my kiddos, all but the one overseas. My minors at home (including our new little Spider-Man who's been adjusting with us the past week after coming from a tough situation) and my college boy are now in the know. As a widower with no other living relatives, these boys depend on me, and I've never hidden things from them. We prayed together and we're standing on faith. I've only been carrying this quietly for a couple days, but I can't keep it hidden any longer. So many of you depend on me for the behind-the-scenes help and encouragement, and I have several close friends right here on this platform who have beaten the odds ,true God's warriors. Their testimonies fire me up. I know I'll join them in victory. Scripture I'm standing on: " Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up." (James 5:14-15) Also, "Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." (Galatians 6:2) Please cover me and my boys in prayer. I'm trusting God for complete healing and many more years of ministry, fatherhood, and service. He who began a good work will be faithful to complete it. Let's believe together, the battle is the Lord's. Much love and gratitude, Moon 🌙
0:10

Hey X, Family, friends, and warriors on here, I need to share something heavy that's been on my heart for only a couple of days. The doctors recently gave me news of cancer and a short 12-month timeline at best. I call BS on that. I feel strong, I'm fighting with everything I have, and I'm positive I'll beat this by God's grace. I'm anxiously waiting on a second opinion from another oncologist right now. Today I broke the news to my kiddos, all but the one overseas. My minors at home (including our new little Spider-Man who's been adjusting with us the past week after coming from a tough situation) and my college boy are now in the know. As a widower with no other living relatives, these boys depend on me, and I've never hidden things from them. We prayed together and we're standing on faith. I've only been carrying this quietly for a couple days, but I can't keep it hidden any longer. So many of you depend on me for the behind-the-scenes help and encouragement, and I have several close friends right here on this platform who have beaten the odds ,true God's warriors. Their testimonies fire me up. I know I'll join them in victory. Scripture I'm standing on: " Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up." (James 5:14-15) Also, "Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." (Galatians 6:2) Please cover me and my boys in prayer. I'm trusting God for complete healing and many more years of ministry, fatherhood, and service. He who began a good work will be faithful to complete it. Let's believe together, the battle is the Lord's. Much love and gratitude, Moon 🌙

MoonSoon

14,126 Aufrufe • vor 1 Monat

Created on seedance 2.0 Prompt: Create a luxurious, hyper-realistic 9-second cinematic food video in vertical 9:16 format, warm golden lighting, shallow depth of field, and mouthwatering detail. Show the satisfying step-by-step process of making perfect cinnamon rolls. Scene-by-scene breakdown: 0-1s: Close-up of hands using a wooden rolling pin to roll out soft dough on a floured wooden countertop, flour gently flying in the air. 1-2s: A metal spatula smoothly spreads rich, glossy butter in elegant swirls across the flattened dough. 2-3s: Dramatic slow-motion shot of fragrant brown cinnamon sugar pouring and cascading from above, forming a beautiful mound on the buttered dough. 3-4s: Hands gently roll the dough into a tight spiral log, revealing the perfect cinnamon swirl inside. 4-5s: A thin thread slices cleanly through the rolled dough, cutting it into even cinnamon roll portions on the wooden board. 5-6s: Golden baked cinnamon rolls rising in a warm oven with soft steam rising around them. 6-7s: Thick, creamy white icing poured slowly from above, dripping luxuriously down the sides of a fresh, warm cinnamon roll on a plate. 7-8s: Extreme close-up of the glossy icing slowly dripping over the golden, flaky layers. 8-9s: A pair of hands pulls apart a warm cinnamon roll, revealing a perfect heart-shaped cinnamon swirl in the soft, fluffy interior, with steam gently rising. Final shot of a beautifully glazed cinnamon roll on a wooden plate with more rolls softly blurred in the background. Style: Professional food cinematography, ultra-detailed textures, cozy bakery atmosphere, appetizing colors, smooth camera movements, high-end 4K quality, satisfying and ASMR-style visual storytelling."
0:10

Created on seedance 2.0 Prompt: Create a luxurious, hyper-realistic 9-second cinematic food video in vertical 9:16 format, warm golden lighting, shallow depth of field, and mouthwatering detail. Show the satisfying step-by-step process of making perfect cinnamon rolls. Scene-by-scene breakdown: 0-1s: Close-up of hands using a wooden rolling pin to roll out soft dough on a floured wooden countertop, flour gently flying in the air. 1-2s: A metal spatula smoothly spreads rich, glossy butter in elegant swirls across the flattened dough. 2-3s: Dramatic slow-motion shot of fragrant brown cinnamon sugar pouring and cascading from above, forming a beautiful mound on the buttered dough. 3-4s: Hands gently roll the dough into a tight spiral log, revealing the perfect cinnamon swirl inside. 4-5s: A thin thread slices cleanly through the rolled dough, cutting it into even cinnamon roll portions on the wooden board. 5-6s: Golden baked cinnamon rolls rising in a warm oven with soft steam rising around them. 6-7s: Thick, creamy white icing poured slowly from above, dripping luxuriously down the sides of a fresh, warm cinnamon roll on a plate. 7-8s: Extreme close-up of the glossy icing slowly dripping over the golden, flaky layers. 8-9s: A pair of hands pulls apart a warm cinnamon roll, revealing a perfect heart-shaped cinnamon swirl in the soft, fluffy interior, with steam gently rising. Final shot of a beautifully glazed cinnamon roll on a wooden plate with more rolls softly blurred in the background. Style: Professional food cinematography, ultra-detailed textures, cozy bakery atmosphere, appetizing colors, smooth camera movements, high-end 4K quality, satisfying and ASMR-style visual storytelling."

ayzalnoor

12,265 Aufrufe • vor 11 Tagen

This is real gun camera footage from a P-51 Mustang, chasing a German Bf 109 down to the treetops until it goes down in flames. The American pilot flying it, Lt John Kirla, shot down five enemy planes in a single day, becoming an ace in one mission. This footage captures one of his victories over a Bf 109. This is his story.. From Trainee to the Yoxford Boys John Kirla was not a born fighter ace. He was an ordinary young American who had come up through flight training in Texas, graduating at the start of 1944. He learned his trade on trainers, moved up to fighters, and got just 15 hours in the P-51 Mustang before being sent to England as a replacement pilot. He joined the 362nd Fighter Squadron of the 357th Fighter Group, a unit based at Leiston that was already becoming a legend. The 357th was the first group in the Eighth Air Force fully equipped with the Mustang, and it would go on to produce more aces than any other fighter group in the Eighth, including Chuck Yeager and Bud Anderson. Kirla was the newest pilot in a squadron already filled with experienced aces. His job was to escort American bombers deep into Germany and protect them from the Luftwaffe. On November 27 1944, he got the day that would define him. Five Victories in One Mission That morning the 357th ran headlong into a massive swarm of German fighters trying to get at the bombers. Kirla's flight dropped their fuel tanks and dived straight into the middle of it. Almost immediately, the fight became a swirling, low-level brawl of Mustangs, Messerschmitts, and Focke-Wulfs twisting across the sky. Kirla picked out his first target and opened fire, and from that moment he did not stop hunting. In his own account, he spotted a Bf 109 that was attacking an American bomber. He went after it, closed to just 30 yards, and when the German threw his fighter into a tight barrel roll straight down toward the ground, Kirla stayed glued to his tail and, in his words, clobbered him all over until he went down. An Ace in a Day He kept finding more. Again and again through that wild, sprawling fight, Kirla latched onto an enemy aircraft and did not let go. At one point he watched a German fighter shoot down one of his fellow Mustang pilots right in front of him, and closed in for revenge. As he described it afterward, he opened fire, saw pieces start to fly off the enemy aircraft, and watched it fall out of the sky like a leaf drifting to the ground. Rather than breaking away and climbing back to safety, Kirla chased his targets down low, following them almost to the ground, the fighters weaving over villages and treetops until the enemy aircraft finally went down. By the time the fight was over, John Kirla had shot down five German aircraft in a single mission. He had become an ace in a day, one of the relatively few American fighter pilots to achieve that in a single mission. The Mustang That Changed the Air War The Mustang was the aircraft that made days like Kirla's possible. The P-51 combined long range, high speed, and deadly firepower, and it could follow the bombers all the way to their targets and fight the German fighters on equal or better terms. By the end of the war, P-51 groups had claimed close to 5,000 enemy aircraft shot down, about half of all American air-to-air kills in the European theater. Kirla's own group, the 357th, became the top-scoring Mustang group in the Eighth Air Force. Flying one of the finest escort fighters of the war, men like Kirla helped turn the tide of the air war over Germany. The gun-camera film rolling every time he pressed the trigger captured it all, including the footage you are watching. John Kirla's Legacy John Kirla flew on to the end of his combat tour and finished the war as a double ace, credited with 11 and a half enemy aircraft destroyed in the air. He was awarded the Silver Star and the Distinguished Flying Cross for his courage in the skies over Europe. He had gone from a trainee with a handful of hours in a Mustang to one of the deadliest fighter pilots in one of the deadliest fighter groups of the war, in the span of a single year. The footage of his Mustang chasing a Bf 109 down to the trees is only a few seconds long. But behind those few seconds is a young American who climbed into a fighter, dove into a swarm of the enemy, and shot down five of them before the day was out. This was the story of John Kirla. I post a story like this every single day. Most people never see them. Follow so you don't miss the next one.
0:16

This is real gun camera footage from a P-51 Mustang, chasing a German Bf 109 down to the treetops until it goes down in flames. The American pilot flying it, Lt John Kirla, shot down five enemy planes in a single day, becoming an ace in one mission. This footage captures one of his victories over a Bf 109. This is his story.. From Trainee to the Yoxford Boys John Kirla was not a born fighter ace. He was an ordinary young American who had come up through flight training in Texas, graduating at the start of 1944. He learned his trade on trainers, moved up to fighters, and got just 15 hours in the P-51 Mustang before being sent to England as a replacement pilot. He joined the 362nd Fighter Squadron of the 357th Fighter Group, a unit based at Leiston that was already becoming a legend. The 357th was the first group in the Eighth Air Force fully equipped with the Mustang, and it would go on to produce more aces than any other fighter group in the Eighth, including Chuck Yeager and Bud Anderson. Kirla was the newest pilot in a squadron already filled with experienced aces. His job was to escort American bombers deep into Germany and protect them from the Luftwaffe. On November 27 1944, he got the day that would define him. Five Victories in One Mission That morning the 357th ran headlong into a massive swarm of German fighters trying to get at the bombers. Kirla's flight dropped their fuel tanks and dived straight into the middle of it. Almost immediately, the fight became a swirling, low-level brawl of Mustangs, Messerschmitts, and Focke-Wulfs twisting across the sky. Kirla picked out his first target and opened fire, and from that moment he did not stop hunting. In his own account, he spotted a Bf 109 that was attacking an American bomber. He went after it, closed to just 30 yards, and when the German threw his fighter into a tight barrel roll straight down toward the ground, Kirla stayed glued to his tail and, in his words, clobbered him all over until he went down. An Ace in a Day He kept finding more. Again and again through that wild, sprawling fight, Kirla latched onto an enemy aircraft and did not let go. At one point he watched a German fighter shoot down one of his fellow Mustang pilots right in front of him, and closed in for revenge. As he described it afterward, he opened fire, saw pieces start to fly off the enemy aircraft, and watched it fall out of the sky like a leaf drifting to the ground. Rather than breaking away and climbing back to safety, Kirla chased his targets down low, following them almost to the ground, the fighters weaving over villages and treetops until the enemy aircraft finally went down. By the time the fight was over, John Kirla had shot down five German aircraft in a single mission. He had become an ace in a day, one of the relatively few American fighter pilots to achieve that in a single mission. The Mustang That Changed the Air War The Mustang was the aircraft that made days like Kirla's possible. The P-51 combined long range, high speed, and deadly firepower, and it could follow the bombers all the way to their targets and fight the German fighters on equal or better terms. By the end of the war, P-51 groups had claimed close to 5,000 enemy aircraft shot down, about half of all American air-to-air kills in the European theater. Kirla's own group, the 357th, became the top-scoring Mustang group in the Eighth Air Force. Flying one of the finest escort fighters of the war, men like Kirla helped turn the tide of the air war over Germany. The gun-camera film rolling every time he pressed the trigger captured it all, including the footage you are watching. John Kirla's Legacy John Kirla flew on to the end of his combat tour and finished the war as a double ace, credited with 11 and a half enemy aircraft destroyed in the air. He was awarded the Silver Star and the Distinguished Flying Cross for his courage in the skies over Europe. He had gone from a trainee with a handful of hours in a Mustang to one of the deadliest fighter pilots in one of the deadliest fighter groups of the war, in the span of a single year. The footage of his Mustang chasing a Bf 109 down to the trees is only a few seconds long. But behind those few seconds is a young American who climbed into a fighter, dove into a swarm of the enemy, and shot down five of them before the day was out. This was the story of John Kirla. I post a story like this every single day. Most people never see them. Follow so you don't miss the next one.

Untold War Stories

156,281 Aufrufe • vor 12 Tagen