My brother gave me the illustrated edition of the first Harry Potter book and it is giving me all the inspiration for journaling today. Merry Christmas everyone!! Day 25 of the December challenge by @journaling-junkie
Pen: Pilot Falcon, Soft Extra Fine and Tombow Dual Brush Pens
Ink: Diamine Oxblood
Writing Music: listening to my brother play Madden
I wrote this short thing for the needle wizard,
pencil sorceress and all around magnificent friend, the lovely @outlanderedandoverhere. Master
Seamstress shares with me the love for Ed Sheeran and I couldn’t resist the
urge to have her doing a happy dance over this. Enjoy! X
I entered the small coffee shop, unfolding my
scarf as soon as I felt the merciful warmth of the heating system, aiming
towards a quiet table at the corner, as I shook off snowflakes from my curls.
As I waited for the small waitress to bring me
my cranberry scone and a large cup of steaming tea, I opened my notebook and
started reading the notes I had taken. It was a very hard case, a young patient
with a rare tumor compressing his bile duct – presenting with jaundice, looking
like the most recent character of The
Simpsons. The previous surgeon in charge of the case had announced it to be
unresectable, which gave him about three months of life expectancy. At the age
of thirty, you are seldom ready for your life to end – least of all without throwing
a good fight.
And that was what I was planning to offer him –
a risky procedure, only done in the past by a handful of surgeons in the
country. If it worked, he would be cancer free – and it was my job to guarantee
it worked. I had barely slept the last couple of nights, immersed in planning
the surgery to the finest detail.
I loved my job, fiercely – even in the moments
I hated it. I never lost the tingling on my palms when I held the scalpel or
the sudden feel of a jump inside my belly, like I had missed a step, whenever I
finished a hazardous procedure. Besides, it was a very welcome distraction from
the wreckage of my personal life.
I sipped my tea, delighted with the smoky taste
of the Highland blend, strong and homely on the back of my tongue. It reminded
me of the taste of his skin against
my lips and I swallowed hard, slightly shaking my head to disperse unwelcome
The bell above the door rang, a small tornado
of snow allowed in as new customers entered the cosy place. I bit the back of
my pencil, tilting my head to better discern an approach, as I mobilized the
invisible pancreas before me. I smiled, seeing the vessels and ducts so well
exposed in the eye of my mind, ready to be conquered, and raised my eyes to ask
for a second congratulatory scone.
I saw his back but recognized him immediately –
I had kissed that spot just behind his
ear, where his hair curled at the nape, countless times.
He was wearing his pilot uniform underneath his
overcoat, the flight captain’s hat placed next to his elbow on the table. I had
a sudden flash of his hands placing that hat on my head, a playful smile on his
full lips, his slightly callused hands roaming my otherwise naked body. No.
Without thinking, I was already making myself
small on my table, shrinking to the point where I could almost hide under the
tasteful tablecloth – wishing I had gone to another place, in another time, in
Only then I noticed he had company - a cute
blonde girl wearing stewardess clothes, her lips painted red to match the satin
scarf prettily tied around her neck in a bow. She sat in front of him on the
table, a complicit smile plastered on her face, as he talked – probably sharing
something about a recent trip.
He was always coming and going, flying around
the world – I remembered all too well setting my alarm to the middle of the
night, just so I could listen to his voice in Tokyo. Kissing him goodbye – there had been so many goodbyes, not enough
hellos – before he left to New York. Texting him, unsure where in the world
he was exactly – but painfully aware it wasn’t by my side.
The nights became so long, always craving,
always wondering. I felt split in two, half of myself scattered in the wind,
travelling on the air - while the other half was forced to anchor it, bearing
down, struggling with heaviness. There weren’t enough kisses to ease the
constant ache, as much as he tried – and
he had tried.
“Do ye not want me
anymore?” He had
asked me on the final night, broken – Oh,
I hadn’t answered him and in my silence he took
his leave, shoulders hunched in pain. In truth, I couldn’t fathom a time when I
wouldn’t want him – and that was the problem, wasn’t it? I kept wanting and wanting and wanting, wanting so much
everything hurt, wanting so much I feared I would physically break.
The flight attendant touched his hand – to my
horror he didn’t shy away from it. It lingered there, natural and possessive,
and I felt the scone doing cartwheels inside my stomach like a flour acrobat.
She leaned over and told him something,
slightly sticking her tongue out in mischief and he laughed. Throat and lungs
and vocal chords, clapping and singing, an orchestra on a perfect rendition of
amusement. Standing ovation from the crowd. Claire Beauchamp dead in the
He used to laugh like that with me. Jamie
always laughed with his entire body. He was that kind of man – whole in
everything he did. I recalled the sensation of his laugh as I laid my cheek on
his chest, a scientist studying the mechanisms of happiness. For a moment I
closed my eyes and covered them with my hand, foolishly disturbed by the
realization I didn’t hold his laughter in exclusiveness.
Jamie looked happy. I could see the outline of
his smile, the corners of his mouth turned up in contentment. Had he been that
happy with me, once? Before I filled our lives with insecurities, demands and frailties?
She squeezed his hand – fingers touching, skin
meeting, hearts melting? - and got up, putting on her elegant coat. With a
swish of blonde hair, she kissed his cheek – clearly no amiable kiss demanded
such duration, in my opinion – and with a light caress on his forehead, left
him finally alone.
He looked around, searching for the waitress to
ask for a refill and – of course – spotted me. It was like standing on stage,
two spotlights beaming on us, everything else left in darkness. Jamie glanced
at me and I proudly endured his gaze, asserting that I saw his happiness and
wasn’t shaken at all by it. Liar.
made my way to his table, a slug crawling on a lettuce leaf, ugly but brave. I
seemed to be ken on eating every crumb of my cake of sorrow and then smile,
pretending it was sweet.
“Hello, Jamie.” I greeted him, bracing myself
on the notebook I carried. His hair was somewhat shorter than the last time I
had seen him, a couple of months ago, his uniform impeccable, the tie on his
neck just a bit loose. I used to make his knots and suddenly panicked, fearing
that the blonde girl was a master of turns and twists, able of fixing his heart
as well as his tie.
“Hello, Claire.” Jamie replied, his voice
cautious. “How are ye?”
“Good.” I smiled nervously. “Are you back from
“Aye.” He fidgeted with the mug in front of
him, a soft hesitant smile on his lips. “Just got back from Brazil. It was a
wee furnace there.”
“Ah.” I swallowed hard, struggling to come up
with other pleasantries I could share with him. Do you smile in your sleep when she touches you? “You look good.
“What are ye asking me, Claire?” He avoided my
gaze, his face abruptly serious.
“Nothing.” I replied in a hoarse voice, well
aware that he could spot the tears forming on the corners of my eyes, in the
fountains of my soul. “Just that. You looked happy with her.”
“She’s a good lass.” He glared at me, his eyes
outrageously blue and intent. “She understands what life is for me. I feel that
I can talk to her.”
“As you couldn’t talk to me?” I tried to smile
again and failed miserably, the glass of my face polished and glistening,
reflecting the thousands of small sorrows hidden in the corners of my eyes.
“I told ye all my soul and heart.” Jamie
lowered his eyes, grabbing his hat. “In the end it wasna enough. That is my utmost
regret, Claire - that it wasna enough.”
I stood there, speechless, as he gathered his
things and left. I thought of the bleeders that elude the most capable surgeon,
the cardiac arrest that lasts forever, the hands inside where we are most
private, touching the core of what we are, unable to reach what had been lost.
I slammed my heart at him as he closed the door behind him – “Jamie!” – knowing all too well I had no
one to blame but myself. I had traded all for nothing, convinced it was a
worthy bargain – blind, blind, fool.
I crawled home, shaken to the very marrow of my
bones, oozing love and loss – sticky and queasy with it. In medical school they
had told me how the brain works to protect itself – the clever barrier
surrounding it, the plasticity, the temperature regulation – and yet my brain
seemed decided to finish me, incessantly playing memories of Jamie, smacking me
with my own recklessness. I had no self-preservation left, for I loved him to
the atoms of me.
I had seen him happy without me – there was joy
there to be sure, in knowing him well. But the pain was almost unbearable, no
last redoubt of magical thinking left, where I could hide and pretend we would
find our way back to each other. He was
gone. Pushed away by my own two hands.
I collapsed on the couch, curling into fetal
position, making myself small and smaller. My ears were filled with the sounds
of my own heart and I willed him to stop, to let go of beating, to be still and
let me be.
He kissed my cheek on
our first date. I kissed his lips on the second. Loved all of himself by the
tenth. My heart leapt when I saw him, tall and gallant in his uniform, almost
running to hold me in his arms at the hospital. When he told me flying was his
second favourite thing. When he told me I was first. Red Jamie, my Jamie.
A knock on the door, fast and rhythmed. A
secret code for the lover coming.
I padded to the door, afraid and wanting. Hopeful.
I opened the door and he was standing there,
snowflakes turning into rivers on the brim of his hat. He reached out with his
hand and I took it, already knowing I’d never let go again.
“I was happier with ye.” He whispered in a
husky voice. And I remembered it all, the happiness and love I’d known, waiting
in him as kisses on his lips.
Alright, HERE we go! Awhile ago I had an idea for a MP100/Voltron crossover, and after mentioning it to @x-i-l-verify and loooots of brainstorming later, we have…*gestures vaguely* this. These are more or less screenshot redraws just to kind of get across who is who. :) More info, reasonings and musings under the cut, because well…it got long…
Josh Dun (tøp) is that kid from elementary school, that has a good heart and you can really see that he tried to focus in class but he can’t, and instead he is always drumming with his finger, and in general he can’t keep still.
And the teacher tried to hate him but she can’t because is so nice and lovely…
The globe-spanning conflict between otherworldly
monsters of mass destruction and the human-piloted super-machines built
to vanquish them was only a prelude to the all-out assault on humanity
in Pacific Rim Uprising.
John Boyega (Star
Wars: The Force Awakens) stars as the rebellious Jake Pentecost, a
once-promising Jaeger pilot whose legendary father gave his life to
secure humanity’s victory against the monstrous “Kaiju.” Jake has since
abandoned his training only to become caught up in a criminal
underworld. But when an even more unstoppable threat is unleashed to
tear through our cities and bring the world to its knees, he is given
one last chance to live up to his father’s legacy by his estranged
sister, Mako Mori (Rinko Kikuchi)—who is leading a brave new generation
of pilots that have grown up in the shadow of war. As they seek justice
for the fallen, their only hope is to unite together in a global
uprising against the forces of extinction.
Jake is joined by gifted rival pilot Lambert (The
Fate of the Furious’ Scott Eastwood) and 15-year-old Jaeger hacker Amara
(newcomer Cailee Spaeny), as the heroes of the PPDC become the only
family he has left. Rising up to become the most powerful defense force
to ever walk the earth, they will set course for a spectacular all-new
adventure on a towering scale.
Star Wars: Forces of Destiny - Rey of Jakku and Kylo Ren Figure (Amazon UK)
REY OF JAKKU
Rey is brave, true to her friends, and stands up for what she believes in!
Toughened by life growing up on the harsh planet of Jakku, but hopeful that one day whoever had left her there would return, she learned how to survive as a scavenger. She’s also a gifted mechanic, pilot, and fighter. Self-defense is a must for a Jakku scavenger, and Rey is known for her combat skills with her staff.
Rey’s life changes when she encounters BB-8, a Resistance droid, and escapes Jakku alongside renegade Stormtrooper Finn. Despite dismissing herself as “no one,” she soon discovers that her destiny is guided by the Force, and she possesses the mysterious power of the legendary Jedi.
Kylo Ren betrays his family, his friends, and all that he once held dear in his pursuit of power!
A dark warrior strong with the Force, Kylo Ren is a leader of the First Order and a student of Supreme Leader Snoke. He seeks to destroy the New Republic and the Resistance no matter who stands in his way. His pursuit of power is fueled by the Dark Side.
With his unusual lightsaber in hand, he faces off against the heroes of the Resistance, seeking to defeat them no matter the cost! —Hasbro
30 Day OTP Challenge Day 23: Arguing/ Day 24: Making Up.
I had this drawn days ago but I have been slowly working on this G/PG drabble to go with it:
Keith was hoping to get some rest before he returned with Kolivan to the BOM base and was looking forward to a night in his old bed in the Castle of Lions. However, one thing stood between him and some much needed sleep.
I would just personally like to thank the creators of The Last Jedi for not buying into the weird headcanon that Kylo Ren isn’t a good pilot and showing us point blank in the trailer that he absolutely is an excellent pilot and a gearhead who flies a modified tie to his own specifications because he’s picky af about his ships.
Just like his nerd dad
And even his mother
and grandmother to a lesser degree.
What is up with the headcanon that Ben Solo could never fly so that’s why Han didn’t like him?
It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. First of all its a gross over simplification of the complicated relationship that occurs between many fathers and sons. And secondly, when you have both a genetic predisposition to piloting talent and also grow up in and around ships constantly, it’s pretty impossible not to have a natural aptitude for it.
And lastly, is it even possible to be a bad pilot if you are gifted with The Force? I mean I know they have varying degrees of talent but there aren’t any Jedi I can think of who are legitimately BAD at flying. Even the ones that hate it are still good.
one of the more interesting things to me about the force awakens (and something i found underappreciated because i see a lot of negativity of how his character was handled) is how, despite luke skywalker only appearing for about a minute of screentime, everything is like a big shadow or echo of his past. the entire plot revolves around finding out where this luke skywalker has been the past few years. everyone is looking for him, both bad and good, both sides of his family. his lightsaber literally calls to rey and wants her to claim it. but it also goes beyond that.. rey, much like luke, is from a desert planet and is tempted at first by the force but refuses for her “family.” finn is the person who we can see this universe through or the narrrator - much like luke in anh - and is brave and eager to protect his friends and willing to put himself at risk if need be. poe is a gifted pilot with a unique friendship with a droid, another trait shared by luke. even his nephew, kylo ren, is a dark-sided inversion of the journey luke took throughout the original trilogy. it all comes back to him - whether literally or in the meta. it also begins with him (luke skywalker has vanished) and it ends with him.
idk, just wanted to share that, it’s something i really like about tfa on a thematic level.
A confidential video from Takashi Shirogane’s file. For Keith Kogane’s eyes only.
“Hey, Keith” the image of Shiro blurred before focusing up to show him dressed in his gray formals. “It’s me, but, uh, I guess you already know that. Anyway, I… I, uh, sorry I’m no good at this.” When he stands and reaches for the screen, Keith finds himself doing the same.
His fingers are still pressed to the glass when a new picture appears. Shiro’s holding the camera this time rather than sitting across from it. He looks sad. Keith wishes he could be there to make him feel better.
“Alright, let’s try this again,” Shiro manages to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Keith knows that look and it’s never led to good news. “So, I’m supposed to make this video and I don’t really know what they want to me to say to you… God, what are you supposed to say when—” Keith hears an intake of breath as the screen blackens from the press of Shiro’s fingers over the lens.
“You can do this, Shiro. Come on,” the words filter through before another image appears. This time Shiro is on the couch in his apartment, there’s barely enough light to see him, but he’s there and not looking at the camera this time. He’d holding a paper, clearly reading from it as he begins. “Hey, Keith, if you’re watching this it means that the Kerberos mission failed and I… well, I died. But I don’t want you to focus on that, okay?”
Shiro looks up from the paper and Keith can practically feel him as if he were in the same room. “You have so much ahead of you and I know this —what happened to me— hurts. It’s going to hurt for a while, but you’re so smart and strong and braver than I could ever be. And after everything you’ve been through you’re still so good. You’re so good, Keith, I can’t get over it. I’m so honored to call you my friend and I just… I know you hate when people try to compliment you, but you deserve compliments. You deserve to know how amazing and special and loved you are, Keith.”
The sentence is punctuated by a half-hearted laugh. “You don’t believe me, I know. But you are, Keith. You are amazing. You are special. And you are loved.” Another sad laugh, splits Shiro’s serious tone before he continues his speech. “I love you so much and this doesn’t change that. It can’t. Energy can’t be destroyed and so you need to know that I’m still around. I’m still rooting for you. And I still love you. I alway will—” A sob wracks through the air just before Keith shuts off the screen, his hands shaking as he shoves away from the monitor.
“How could you?” Keith’s voice wavers as he backs away. “How could you do this to me?”
Keith’s out the door before he knows it, running out of the dormitory building and across campus. He scales the fence, nicking his hands on the barbed wire before he drops off the other side into the hanger where Shiro’s bike still sits.
He’s ten miles into the desert before anyone even knows he’s gone.
“You used to be my hero, you know. It took a long time to let go of that image.”
Lance says it with a little laugh, head tilted towards the stars. Shiro turns his gaze away. He’d ask why they didn’t send Keith, but he figures he knows. This is his punishment. Turning a weapon on a guest isn’t very paladin-like — isn’t very heroic.