but look what we did

6

“I was looking for someone to work with, trying to think of something imaginative to do and one day my manager said ‘do you fancy writing with Elvis Costello? It might be a great thing’. I said ‘yeah’. He (Elvis) came down to my studio and we sat opposite each other with our guitars because I had said to him early on that this is how I’d written with John, with me being left handed and him being right handed, it was almost like looking in a mirror. We did virtually what John and I did which was just make up a song a day.”

[Paul]

Photos recently released by Paul to coincide with the re-release of his 1980 album, Flowers In The Dirt (recorded 1987 - 1989). The photos show Paul working on the album with Elvis Costello (with whom Paul wrote four songs for the album - My Brave Face, You Want Her Too, Don’t Be Careless Love and That Day Is Done) and with George Martin who did the string arrangement for Put It There. 

Pics: All Linda McCartney, except the top photo, Herman Leonard.

Kwami Week Day Two: Chosen(s)

A new problematic fave because of friend and fandom influence how dare you all make me care.

She’s transparent because I’m trying new aesthetics ya feel.

Check out Kwami Week here!

Artwork ©: alazic02

Do not repost.

4

Andrew Minyard | Instagram
Neil Josten | Instagram

Characters, All for the Game © Nora Sakavic

Home

Week 1, day 7

Finally home.


And finally finished! The first week was definitely a challenge to myself, and while it was hard I’m happy with how it worked out. I’ll be posting a full version with all of them at the end of the month, and I’ll do the same (in separate posts) with the other weeks. I won’t be doing one a day for the other weeks, but I’ll definitely put out more than one per week. Hope you guys enjoyed them!

Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6

You know what.
I’m not going hope 2017 is going to be better than 2016. I’m gonna make it happen. I’m gonna be positive, I’m gonna do good, I’m gonna really try to make my existence be a bright fucking light for those around me. All that hoping we did for this year, last year? Useless. Look what happened! We can’t just hope things will be better. We have to make it better.
Look out 2017, your ass will be wonderful for me because I’m gonna make that shit happen.
Consider this your 2 months notice.

[11]

Now THIS is where it gets interesting. 

Because Syaoran threw away his chance to win Sakura’s feather. He did it for a good cause (I mean he saved someone’s life. It’s the best possible cause) but there’s still that guilt there. He would make the same choice again, for sure, but even despite that he feels that sharp pang of failure for not helping Sakura get her feather back. 

Which is an interesting avenue on its own and I would LOVE to explore more situations where Syaoran’s goals are compromised by his own actions, but for now we have THIS. 

And THIS is Fai, seeing that Syaoran made the Good™ choice and feels bad about the consequences. 

And that is Fai’s specialty. 

But his wording fascinates me here, because he assigns the choice to “staying true to yourself” rather than any other factor in the situation - and there were a lot. Instead of, say, “believing in Kurogane and Sakura”, or “choosing someone’s life”, or any of the other possibilities, Fai narrows it right down to the core of Syaoran’s personality and his inherent sense of self. When it comes down to it, Syaoran could not willingly let someone die for his cause and still remain “Syaoran”.

This is not a surprising conclusion for us. This is absolutely in line with everything we know of Syaoran so far. But the interesting part is that this is coming from Fai.  

Because Fai has ALSO made hard choices and had to live with them. 

Fai has put his goals ahead of the lives of others and knows that guilt more than Syaoran himself does - probably more than anyone else here by a log shot.

So, in Syaoran’s place, would he have done the same? Would he have sacrificed his goal to save the life of someone else - someone he technically didn’t even know - or would he have let them die and continued on?

How many times has he made that choice already? 

Did he sacrifice his ability to “stay true to himself” in the process? Has he stained himself with choices he regrets and can never escape, or does a small part of him envy that Syaoran could so easily make the right choice when Fai could not?

And, through it all, he’s trying to make Syaoran feel better. 

Regardless of what he’s done, or what he feels about Syaoran’s decision, Fai closes his eyes and paints a smile and tries to help Syaoran through his own personal crisis. 

Because Syaoran is a good person, and Fai doesn’t want him to live with the same shadows that he himself does. 

every time I see ppl yell “it’s not romantic!! why did we all forget what normal friends look like!” it’s always aimed at f/f and m/m ships/interactions and never about hets and something about that rubs me off the wrong way

OK BUT

why noone is talking about what the Christmas special said about Mama Agreste?

“Adrien prepares to spend the first Christmas without his mother “

the first Christmas without his mother “

the first 

This gives us exactly what we were looking for a long time: when did Adrien’s mom dissapeared

a year

she has only dissapear about a year ago

That’s the reason they are still mourning her

her dissapearence is very recent

Keep reading

3

Yes I scribbled all of the Spriggan 12 chibi style, because I wanted to and also was bored
While I evaded the skull face with Bradman, Serena was the hardest to draw because my pc and tablet united i trying to kill me(and even I have limited patience)
Also Wahl turned out to be easier to draw tha expected because he is wearing a god damn jumpsuit or something

Pilot

In 2001, after September 11th, I was trying to build a decorative wooden box/cabinet thing, using just hand tools. I’d started it several days before the events, and I was determined to finish, regardless. Predictably, it was a disaster; the box had no structural integrity, and the slip of a chisel left me with a deep wound (now a scar) at the base of my left palm. Weeks later, a good friend and I were commiserating about our general incompetence, right in that aftermath, and he said, “That’s the public art, the memorial we need: just a huge pile of things people were trying to do.” In that spirit, here’s a piece I started a week or so prior to last Tuesday. It was intended to be short and ultimately sweet (similar in feel to Hotel). But like that futile box, it has no structural integrity; you’ll no doubt get an idea of how it’s meant to work, but it just doesn’t. It lurches around, overwritten, underwritten… I decided to finish it (or “finish” it) anyway, because: here is what I was trying to do. I haven’t forgotten about other stories, but it seemed better to take it out on this instead. Three parts: this today, second tomorrow, third on Wednesday. P.S. This story, despite its being about a pilot, has nothing to do with Sept. 11. I’m just marking a similarity in my own emotional state.

Pilot

“Double whiskey and soda.”

The words are clipped and low. Helena Wells is not surprised by that drink order, for the person issuing it is a pilot. That the whiskey-and-soda pilot is in this case a woman is slightly unusual, but most people, Helena has noted in her relatively short career thus far as a bartender, do drink according to position, not gender. She places an ice cube in a tumbler, fills the tumbler with the bar’s well bourbon, adds a brief spray of soda, and places it in front of the pilot, whose eyes have followed Helena as she assembled the drink. Her gaze now meets Helena’s in cool appraisal.

Helena has not seen this pilot before. She’s seen this look, however; all pilots seem to know it and use it. Flight attendants do not. Flight attendants deploy smiles that do not reach their eyes.

Helena is becoming familiar with the looks proffered by flight attendants and pilots because the establishment whose bar she began to tend not long ago is located near both an airport and a hotel where flight crews are customarily housed. The hotel does not have a bar of its own, a fact for which Helena is grateful: she is also becoming familiar with the fact that people who travel for a living tend to tip well.

This pilot bears out that tendency: she finishes her drink, drops a ten and two fives on the bar. The ice cube remains, largely unmelted, in the glass. She says, “Thanks.” Then she stands and walks away, away and out, nodding to a flight attendant as she leaves.

She’s tall, this pilot.

Keep reading