theres so little

also another tip for character creation is if you’re stuck on how to build the personality of your character, try giving them a trait of yours or a member of your family’s. it’s like a little easter egg, and it also makes it easier for you to write that part of them. it definitely helps if all you have about them is a vague idea of what kind of person they are. 

( drafts folder right now:

  • mohn yelling at her
  • sadie yelling at her
  • florie about to yell at her
  • k being simultaneously an emotional wreck and emotionally constipated as usual

i’m fucking dying squirtle )

an anxious boyo

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Hey @happycloude-91!! I made a silly little thing based off of that Spy AU you created. I drew it as a way of saying thanks for your support and lovely messages, so I hope you like it!! ^^

If you’re Autistic/ADHD reblog this + tag some of your favorite stims!

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*drops off doodles of the kiddos*

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make me choose @jakesamys​ asked:
isabelle lightwood or clary fray

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Favorite shots from The Get Down

so something I saw on twitter yesterday really bugged me. there’s people saying that the Power Rangers movie is getting way more credit than is due because of the way they handle Trini’s sexuality

ok LISTEN. It was never going to be the case of Trini yelling, “IM A LESBIAN!” or “IM BISEXUAL!” there’s no way they’d be so upfront about it. I thought the scene where she came out was nice, subtle, emotional, and I thought it was in-character how she’s still sarcastic at such a time. After all Trini is what, 15/16/17 in the movie? She’s discovering herself and doesn’t have to be 100% sure. there’s time for that

cuz get this. it’s the first movie. they’ve said there’s going to be 5-7 of them? People are acting like this is the end and we’ll never see her come to terms with this and that she’ll never label herself (though sticking to no labels is fine too of course)

The Power Rangers movie DOES deserve a round of applause for including an LGBT character, just because they didn’t go about it as directly as you would’ve liked doesn’t make it any less amazing. This is a small stepping stone you guys we’re going to see her character grow more confident throughout the franchise and it’s going to be beautiful

Walking in the Wind is a bonus song on Made in the A.M. It doesn’t fit easily into the One Direction canon; it’s not swaggering or fit for a stadium. There are no rivals, no romantic interests, no ships. This is One Direction doing Paul Simon. This is One Direction sitting back, taking a breath, settling into a story.

From the opening, stepping guitar, Walking in the Wind is unhurried. A week ago you said to me, do you believe I’ll never be too far. The song is an exchange between one who’s lost someone, and the one who’s been lost. The fact that we can sit right here and say goodbye, means we’ve already won. The latter remembers their time together, and the former insists: it isn’t over, you’ll find me, there’s still more to come. We had some good times, didn’t we? We had some good tricks up our sleeve. The one who lost sings. And the other responds: But it’s not the end. I’ll see your face again.

Walking in the Wind isn’t a sharp song. It’s imprecise. But it points at a singer trying to interrogate the loss, trying to understand the promise and the inevitable breaking of that promise. The song examines, rather than argue. It doesn’t defend against the present or future absence. There is no armor, no mechanism. Simply truth. The song looks back on what once existed, and recognizes it as a faded medium: a Polaroid.

But that’s okay! The song insists. It’s catchy and chill. The melody picks up and sweeps forward. They sing, insistently: You will find me, in places that we’ve never been. For all that the song is about, the music is upbeat and optimistic. It’s okay, it will be okay. We’re sure of it.

Harry Styles, a co-writer on Walking in the Wind, said of another song he wrote, Olivia, that “it doesn’t have to be so literal.” Olivia doesn’t have to be a person, he insisted. It could be a place. “Sometimes I think it’s cool to take an emotion and personify it.”

I think the same thought applies to Walking in the Wind.

The song is about loss, yes, but not necessarily one loss, one absence. As adults, we become inured to small deaths. The numbers we lose, the friendships that fall away, the moments we forget. All small, nearly imperceptible endings in our daily lives. So many, that soon we stop counting. We’re taught that every door closing will open another, and we whisper this to ourselves, enough so that we forget to notice if another door does open, or if the first door simply stays closed.

We come to understand these endings by containing them within a story. We accept a break up because a best friend says, “Sometimes, relationships take so many parts of you, that by the end, you’re left with nothing,” and you decide to think about the break up as you would a survival story, rather than the more pedestrian “we stopped liking each other.” A move becomes a step forward, rather than a step away; a fight becomes a miscommunication.

Walking in the Wind is trying to decide which story to tell. The one of the absence, or the one of the future reconciliation. This song is about loss. But it’s also about the stories we tell about those losses, and the ways we claim them.

Yesterday I went out to celebrate the birthday of a friend. But as we raised our glasses up to make a toast, I realized you were missing.

Stories rename themselves as we go. Their edges shift. Their definitions change. The way we experience them in the moment is different from the way we experience them in retrospect, and this is what Walking in the Wind hinges on. It’s optimistic, still, in that moment of reckoning. The song insists: you will find me. What has happened, has happened. But more is to come.

This isn’t a song about mourning. It’s about the story that comes from the mess. It’s not an ending, or even a punctuation mark. It’s a semi-colon. Unresolved.  

We may not know if it’s okay. We may not know for awhile.

We had some good times, didn’t we? We wore our hearts out on our sleeve.

We don’t have to understand.

Goodbyes are bittersweet. But it’s not the end.

Not yet.

I’ll see your face again.

-Kelsey Ford is a writer living in Los Angeles.