it blooms; it grins

javier peña // narcos s03e01: the kingpin strategy

- When you were a kid, a little guy – all you wanted to do was get out of here, into the world. But you didn’t like what you found. 

TUTORIAL #3: Posters

@lincolnscampbell​ asked > “can you do a tutorial on how you did this photoset?”

WARNING: I’m not fluent in english, I’m sorry if some things doesn’t really make sense, just ask if there’s something you didn’t understand.

network i | preview - code (raw), alternate

a minimalistic network/family page that features

custom colours for background, border, scrollbar and more

fixed header with a circle icon, title, four custom links

name and square icon - directions to change size are in the code

url and description on hover

changeable number of columns - directions are in the code

icons by @aelinqueen​ - used with permission

everything needs to be edited in the code, therefore basic coding knowledge is required. if there are any issues or glitches, don’t be afraid to send me an ask here. 

Did Beck just insult me? 

TASK 001: HOME

where are we going? so far away.. and somebody told me that this is the place where everything’s better and everything’s safe. walk on the ocean, step on the stones. flesh becomes water, wood becomes bone

That’s the cliché: the suffocation of a small town. Lina never got that. Maybe because East Cliff wasn’t meant to feel like home – seasonal. She never got a seat on the bus during the summertime, with the window half-cracked open. But that was okay– Lina learned she wasn’t meant for big cities. Boston and New York. Sometimes it’s a lot easier to suffocate when there’s too much room to breathe, and that’s how Lina felt without her family. 

Home is where the heart is, right? 

It’s always been in Greenwood. A small house; one bathroom. A swing on the front porch. Pots and plants everywhere. The type of place where the cold wasn’t even cold, y’know? Once her Abuelo died, she kept his ashtray in the garden. She could never pick if the smell of cigarette smoke was real or nostalgia– memories like photographs they had framed above the sofa in the living room. Her brother’s middle school smile a reminder every time she ran to the kitchen for coffee in the mornings. And the wallpaper was starting to peel in her bedroom. Lina, almost thirty now, and her room had barely changed. Faded. Years and years between college and Biff and New York and it remained, like her parents knew– like they were waiting for her to come back home. 

[Performing] is how I’m able to function. The only way that I’m really able to process stuff is through reflecting it.

Who I actually am: