get airborne

Fuel to Fire (3)

Stucky x reader

Notes: fluff, tattooing, some angst, smut (m/m and m/m/f), anxiety, depression, mentions of parental negligence, swearing. 

Summary: Living their dream, Bucky and Steve run their tattoo shop ‘American Ink’ together, happily married for several years and business is going well. When a girl walks into their shop and inevitably into their lives right after they’ve received some exciting news, they have no idea how their lives are about to change with some harmless but straight-forward flirting.

Fuel to Fire (intro) Fuel to fire (2)

A/N: Take caution, guys. It’s pretty sad and graphic story telling. 

“There’s something about her, Buck. She’s smart, gorgeous; but there’s something different” Steve muses as he’s calmly, though focused, moving his pencil across paper. The sketchbook lays on Bucky’s shins that are haphazardly placed in Steve’s lap.

“I know. I’m not sure what it is either, but there’s a darkness there” Bucky muses, watching their giant flatscreen television, though not really watching whatever show is playing.

“Yeah” Steve mumbles, and Bucky notices he’s not drawing anymore.

“Can I see?”

Steve shrugs and hands his sketchpad over. The design is simple, no fuss, exactly like Y/N comes across to them. The front sight of an Orchid, a straight lined triangle drawn over it. Within the lines of the triangle, the Orchid is detailed and clear. Outside of them, the petals of the flower are dark coloured and detailed as well, like looking at the negative of a photograph. It’s a rough draw, but beautiful on its own.

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2

“Go go go go go!” Peter’s voice sounds from behind you as you rush into the ship, climbing the ladder to the controls. He’s right behind you after shutting the hatch door, and the gunshots rock the ship as you try to get airborne.

Finally, you’re up and away, and both you and Peter sit in the same chair, you practically on top of him. “What the he’ll did we steal for all that violence?” You ask. Reaching in his pocket, Peter pulls out a purple gem, no bigger then your thumbnail, and your eyes grow wide. Even with its small size, it’s beautiful.

“This,” he says, twisting the jewel around in his hand, “is worth all the money you can imagine. A certain Lord would pay a lot for this.”

Mouth still wide open, you take the gem and twist it around, watching as it’s colors shift from shades of purple to blue, just by how the light hits it. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is,” Peter responds, and you don’t know he’s looking at you, not the gem.

Giving it back to him, you stand up. “So, where to next, Starlord?”

He grins. “It sounds weird when you say it.”

“Shut up.”

Y/N Rogers [ Peter Parker ]

Anonymous said to peteypxrker:

A Peter Parker imaginer where she is Captain America’s daughter and she’s dating Peter. She gets kidnapped by a villain (you choose) and both of them go rescue her. Once they save her the reader is glad to see them because they arrive just on time before she was about to be tortured. Once she’s safe Steve is mad at Peter for not protecting his daughter basically Steve goes all overprotective dad on him. But Peter and the reader talk with Steve so that he isn’t mad anymore. Sorry this is long ty!

A/N: I changed up the plot a bit to where she isn’t dating Peter just yet!

Warnings: some hoco spoilers I guess, some swearing.

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anonymous asked:

What if scientists created a breed of bumblebees the size of tarantulas that could be kept as pets? (I'd say bigger, but apparently that's about the max size insects can get or they suffocate) It could never get airborne, but it could ride around on your shoulder and eat sugar cubes.

I would have a menagerie full of them. A giant hive. I would train them to clean.

anonymous asked:

lesbian beverly and gay richie with their mlm/wlw solidarity prompt? please? i'll legit sell my soul

hey my favourite anon! this is for you kid, it’s the losers going to prom and it’s bev mostly, and a girl, but it’s reddie too and bev and richie helping each other and maybe mike/stan if you wanna see it that way. any of it. whatever you want. this is also for @ameliasscanwells who asked for lights ty ty ty  ♡ 


Beverly Marsh is in her last year of high school when a new girl joins her class. She’s short, with round calves and long hair, shiny and black as a bird’s eye or an oil slick, and a mouth like a rose petal. Not that Beverly notices. No, she notices her dirty sneakers, her untied shoelaces, her massive cable-knit sweater. The way she licks her lips before she introduces herself. The way she pushes up the sleeves of her sweater, only to have them fall back down again, soft against her wrists. But maybe that’s the same thing as noticing her mouth. Bev chews on the end of her pencil, the taste of wood and graphite like smoke against her tongue.

“I’m May,” says the girl, stood at the front of the class. She scuffs her shoe against the lino floor and shrugs. “Hi.”

She sits at an empty desk down the back of the room and Bev, also at the back, stares at her bag when she drops it on the floor. It’s a safe thing to stare at, she thinks, just a lump khaki canvas, a frayed strap, May’s ankles in sports socks. Well. She turns to look out the window instead, focuses on the lines of water left behind by the rain. It’s been awhile since there was a new girl, she thinks. Maybe Greta will get to her first. She turns back.

“Hey,” she whispers, across the space between them. May looks up, brushes her hair from her face, expression blank. Her skin is like burnt gold. “I’m Beverly,” says Beverly.

They don’t become friends, not really, but they’re friendly. Beverly smiles at her in the hallways and sits at the desk next to hers in history and sometimes they talk about books they both like, or music, or their mutual hatred of shuttles in gym glass. Once upon a time she thought she had a crush on Bill, but now she thinks she’d just been in love with his certainty. Once upon a time she thought she had a crush on Ben, but now she thinks she’d just been in love with his words. She definitely has a crush on May.

It’s a distant sort of thing, like having a crush on a star, because May is beautiful and because Bev hasn’t allowed herself to like anyone in a long time. She takes girls by the wrist and kisses them in shadowed corners, clumsy and hidden, and they tell her to stay quiet, and she does. Hate exists in Derry even without evil for an excuse and it’s hard for a whole town to get out of a habit. May wears jeans with rips sometimes and Beverly falls in love with her knees. May wears crop tops sometimes and Beverly falls in love with the soft curve of her belly.

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Vlogger Lucy Headcanons

So I believe it was @aslansblessings who started the Modern Au Vlogger Lucy headcanon, and I just absolutely love it. Here are just some headcanons I have about it:

  • She starts her vlog for herself, by herself
  • Early in her vlogging, she brings all her siblings on for a game or something and even though they all hate having their picture taken and having their face publicly on the internet
  • Her vlog gets really popular afterwards because everyone goes wild how funny (and how attractive) all of the Pevensies are
  • She features her siblings candidly too: Edmund being sarcastic; Peter being super sweet to his sisters but also making fun of Edmund; and Susan is just this badass babe who gets shit done and gets it done with beauty and grace
  • Susan actually loving her vlog (and the sister bonding time that goes along with it), so she goes on to do hair and makeup tips  
  • Edmund and Peter have braiding competitions (Peter wins the speed category, but Edmund’s braids are so much neater)
  • And then Caspian coming in and beating them both; he does hair better than even Susan 
  • Experiments with Eustace (”Let’s see how many balloons it actually takes for Lucy to get airborne since we just have a random helium tank lying around.” “Now, let’s see what happens when we test Peter and Edmund’s room for radioactivity since I have a random particle detector lying around, Oh, look at that…we’ve got a reading.”
  • Lucy’s Spy Cam
  • When Edmund starts dating someone, bringing the couple on for OTP questions (”Who hogs the blankets?” *all three of them point at Edmund*)  

anonymous asked:

I think Sokka's quest for identity is one of the most interesting things about him. What it means to be a man, to be useful and to be acknowledged is an interesting central conflict for a supporting character. What do you think S3 Sokka believes it takes to be a man. I think he's learnt to intercede and mediate issues in his family and to make tough choices. What else can you think of?

Sokka: Now men, it’s important that you show no fear when you face a firebender. In the Water Tribe, we fight to the last man standing. For without courage, how can we call ourselves men?

Another excellent question! Sokka’s quest for identity is intrinsically linked to his quest for manliness, because if you’ll recall, Sokka was not able to become a man by Water Tribe custom before he was nominally put in charge of the tribe:

Bato: How about you, Sokka? You must have some good stories from your first time ice-dodging?
Katara: He never got to go. Dad left before he was old enough.
Bato: Oh, I forgot, you were too young.
Aang: What’s ice-dodging?
Bato: It’s a rite of passage for young water tribe members.

But while Katara was helping with the chores, keeping her family together and helping to deliver babies, Sokka was left adrift, without a paternal example to emulate for two of his teenage years. War never came to his doorstep, so he resorts to “training” the kindergarten crowed. And notice that Katara (and likely the other members of his tribe) don’t take this seriously:

Katara: Ugh, I’m embarrassed to be related to you! Ever since Mom died I’ve been doing all the work around camp while you’ve been off playing soldier!

Playing soldier. Katara’s right: that’s exactly what Sokka has been doing, because the rigid gender expectations of being a man don’t allow him to do anything else. One Aang arrives and upends Sokka’s world, his identity as a would-be man collides with the reality of the war and the people around him.

The Four Parts of Being a Man (by Sokka)

1. Leader

Sokka : I know you all want to fly, but my instincts tell me we should play it safe this time and walk.
Katara: Who made you the boss?
Sokka: I’m not the boss—I’m the leader.
Katara : You’re the leader? But your voice still cracks!
Sokka: I’m the oldest and I’m a warrior. So…I’m the leader!

Katara: You’re hurt. Badly. You can’t fight anymore. 
Hakoda: Everyone’s counting on me to lead this mission, Katara. I won’t let them down. 
Sokka: Can’t you heal him any faster? 
Katara: I’m doing everything I can. 
Sokka: I’ll do it.
Katara: No offense Sokka but you’re not exactly Mr. Healing Hands.
Sokka: No.  I’ll lead the invasion force. 
Katara: Don’t be crazy, Sokka.
Sokka: Maybe I am a little crazy but the eclipse is about to start and we need to be up that volcano by the time it does.
Hakoda:  You can do this. I’m proud of you, son. 
Katara: I still think you’re crazy but I’m proud of you too. 

Sokka’s father is the chief, so it makes sense that being a man implies being a leader. But before his adventure, Sokka has only a nebulous idea of what that really means. Worse, he seems to think that being a man makes him a leader, instead of being a leader making him a man. When he first tries to assert his authority in “Jet”, he is met with ridicule:

Aang: Walking stinks! How do people go anywhere without a flying bison?
Katara: I don’t know Aang. Why don’t you ask Sokka’s instincts—they seem to know everything.
Sokka: Ha ha. Very funny.
Aang: I’m tired of carrying this pack.
Katara: You know who you should ask to carry it for a while? Sokka’s Instincts!
Aang: That’s a great idea! Hey, Sokka’s Instincts, would you mind—
Sokka: Okay, okay—I get it.

As so often happens, Sokka has to adapt to the situation. “Jet” is about a boy who, although a good leader in most senses, leads his team astray into murder and mayhem. Sokka, even though he is a novice, realizes innocent lives are on the line and warns the townspeople before the dam explodes. He didn’t expect to be a leader at the moment, but he didn’t fail when it really mattered. Throughout the series, his tactical and strategic successes accumulate until the entire GAang relies on him to plan their missions. And on “The Day of Black Sun”, despite his fumbling speech beforehand, Sokka takes the reins of the mission and performs admirably.

Aang: It’s over. The Fire Lord is probably long gone. Far away on some remote island where he’ll be safe during the eclipse.
Sokka: No. My instincts tell me he wouldn’t go too far. He would have a secret bunker. Somewhere he could go so it’ll be safe during a siege but still be close enough to lead his nation.
Toph: If it’s an underground secret bunker we’re looking for, I’m just the girl to find it. 

No one’s laughing at Sokka’s instincts now.

2. Protector

Katara : Sokka, you’re making a mistake. 
Sokka: No! I’m keeping my promise to Dad. I’m protecting you from threats like him! 

Illusion Yue: You didn’t protect me.

Sokka’s mother was murdered when he was very young, and there was nothing he could do about it. He knows from how devastated his father was and how driven he became to help the war effort that being a man must mean protecting people—especially the women in your life. Sokka protects Katara on multiple occasions from threats real (Jet, Mai) and imagined (Aang, Appa). Protecting Katara is his way of protecting the mother he couldn’t save as a boy. And his inability to protect Yue from sacrificing herself cuts him deeply. He overcompensates by trying to shield Suki from everything:

Suki:  Look, I know you’re just trying to help, but I can take care of myself. 
Sokka: I know you can. 
Suki: Then why are you acting so over protective?
Sokka: It’s so hard to lose someone you care about.  Something happened at the North Pole, and I couldn’t protect someone. I don’t want anything like that to ever happen again.

In the end, Sokka learns how to be protect the people he cares about without stifling them. His shielding of Toph in the finale is very similar to his protecting Katara in the pilot:

But there’s one key difference: in the pilot, Sokka thought of Katara as someone who is more in need of protection as a girl. In the finale, Sokka recognizes that Toph can’t see the falling shards of metal, but respects her fighting ability over and over:

Sokka: Did I mention how sweet it was that you invented metalbending?

Sokka: I am so glad we added you to the group!

3. Warrior

Even more than being a leader, being a warrior defines being a man in the Water Tribe. And no wonder; with decades of being raided by the ruthless Fire Nation, and waterbenders being increasingly scarce, the South would have had to rely more and more on brute strength to drive off the invaders. A warrior is also the one thing Sokka is most insecure about because it implies a certain skillset that he was too young to receive full training in. Not to mention, his sister is a waterbender and he is not. Witness this exchange from “The Warriors of Kyoshi”:

Sokka:  Who are you? Where are the men who ambushed us? 
Suki:  There were no men. We ambushed you. Now tell us, who are you and what are you doing here? 
Sokka:  Wait a second, there’s no way that a bunch of girls took us down. 

Although gender roles are fairly rigid in the Southern Water Tribe, the Sokka from the very beginning of the series feels the constant need to reinforce being a warrior as a “manly” pursuit and puts Katara down for being a girl. I am reminded of Iroh’s speech to Zuko:

Iroh: Prince Zuko, pride is not the opposite of shame, but its source.

Iroh: True humility is the only antidote to shame.

Sokka’s status as a nonbender is often a source of shame for him. He is treated differently by bending masters:

Master Pakku: Sokka.  Take care, son. 

And even his own teammates:

Toph: We can take ‘em. Three on three.
Sokka: Actually, Toph, there’s four of us.
Toph: Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t count you. You know, no bending and all.
Sokka:  I can still fight!
Toph: Okay. Three on three plus Sokka.

This leads him to act proud of his manliness, an attribute that he needs no training or bending to have. He even tries to get Aang to act “manlier” and not answer to “Twinkletoes”. In the end, though, he confesses the truth about how he feels:

Sokka: Look, I appreciate the effort, but the fact is each of you is so amazing and so special, and I’m not. I’m just the guy in the group who’s regular. 

But Sokka is special, and as the series goes on, he proves his mettle with a balance of outlandish inventiveness and logical practicality:

Sokka: See, the problem with the old war balloon was you could get it airborne, but once you did, it just kept going.  You could put a hole in the top, but then all the hot air would escape. So the question became, how do you keep a lid on hot air? 
Katara: Ugh, if only we knew. 
Sokka: A lid is actually the answer. If you control the hot air, you control the war balloon. 
Katara: Hmm. That’s actually pretty smart. 


Sokka: I need a plan of this machine. Some schematics that show what the inside looks like. Then we can find it’s weak points. 
Aang: Where are we gonna get something like that What are you doing! Someone’s gonna hear us! 
Sokka:  That’s the point. I figure a machine this big needs engineers to run it, and when something breaks…
Katara: They come to fix it. 

He overcomes his insecurities as a warrior by being true to himself.

Piandao: Sokka, when you first arrived, you were so unsure. You even seemed down on yourself. But I saw something in you right away. I saw a heart as strong as a lion turtle, and twice as big. And as we trained, it wasn’t your skills that impressed me.  No, it certainly wasn’t your skills.  You showed something beyond that.  Creativity, versatility, intelligence… these are the traits that define a great swordsman. And these are the traits that define you.  You told me you didn’t know if you were worthy, but I believe that you are more worthy than any man I have ever trained. 

4. Father

Sokka can show how brave he is, how creative he is, and how much of a leader he’s become. But in the end, he measures his identity as a man by his father’s example:

Aang: Sokka, that speech wasn’t your moment of truth. That was just public speaking and nobody’s really good at that.
Sokka: My Dad is. He explained the plan perfectly and inspired everyone. Like a real leader should. 
Aang: Look, your moment of truth isn’t going to be in front of some map. It’s going to be out there, on the battlefield. 

Unlike with Zuko, Sokka’s confidence in his father is fully justified. As he grows and matures, he becomes, not a copy of his father, but his own person. He learns that he can be a warrior without putting others down, and he can assert authority without being pigheaded. He can trust in his own abilities, regardless of how skilled everyone else is around him. And Hakoda validates Sokka’s identity in every respect.

As a protector:

Hakoda: Sokka…
Sokka: I’m coming with you.
Hakoda: You’re not old enough to go to war, Sokka, you know that.
Sokka: I’m strong! I’m brave! I can fight! Please, Dad!
Hakoda: Being a man is knowing where you’re needed the most, and for you right now that’s here protecting your sister.
Sokka: I don’t understand.
Hakoda: Someday you will. I’m going to miss you so much.

As a warrior:

Hakoda: Ready to go knock some Fire Nation heads?
Sokka:  You don’t know how much this means to me dad. I’ll make you proud, and I’ll finally prove to you what a great warrior I am.
Hakoda:  Sokka, you don’t have to prove anything to me.  I’m already proud of you, and I’ve always known you were a great warrior.
Sokka
: Really?
Hakoda: Why do you think I trusted you to look after our tribe when I left?

As a leader:

Sokka: No. I’ll lead the invasion force. 
Katara: Don’t be crazy, Sokka.
Sokka: Maybe I am a little crazy but the eclipse is about to start and we need to be up that volcano by the time it does.
HakodaYou can do this. I’m proud of you, son. 

And as a man.

Hakoda: Bato, get these mines loaded up. The rest of you men, prepare for battle! 
Sokka: Uh, what should I do, Dad?
Hakoda: Aren’t you listening? I said the rest of you men get ready for battle.

Sokka will be a fantastic father to his own children someday, no matter what LOK might imply.

yavemiel  asked:

Hey! I would love to see ♞: Caring for each other while ill for Jyn/Cassian (dealers choice as to who's ill and who's caring), because I definitely came away from the movie feeling like both of them needed someone to take care of them! xx

Han gets it first.

Jyn is off planet when the Pathfinders return from their mission on Camino and all promptly start hacking up their lungs. It’s nothing near deadly, just a freakish strain of Corellian flu that lasts for a week and leaves the patient with sore bones and a cough for a few days longer. Still, it’s virulent. As soon as Han gets it, it seems like, the rest of the Pathfinders do; as soon as the Pathfinders get it it; Red Squadron gets it; as soon as Red gets it, Green and Blue do, and on and and on and on. By the time Jyn touches down on Hoth again, Jyn and Bodhi and Chirrut and Baze, half of Echo Base is down with it, and Draven seems like he’s on the verge of terror that someone will attack when all their pilots are too sick to fly. 

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2

So, here’s the truth: If you care about comics, art, what-have-you, you’re gonna start to feel less than trendy emotions because, hey, you’re a human being.

Resentment, envy, and chips-on-your-shoulder are par for the course. It doesn’t have to be that way, I guess, but I too often see popular artists extolling the virtues of positivity, zen, and joy while not thinking back to when they were struggling in anonymity. And, dear ones, therein is the shit. 

The shit that sounds like “maybe my best isn’t good enough” or “nobody gives a damn about me or this thing” or “what I am isn’t it and who the hell is in charge of it anyway!?!” 

I will say! Doing something regularly is gonna help you stay busy when those thoughts come. That way, you won’t lose ground when it comes to running after that thing you value, your dream, your passion, your random curiosity, whatever. BUT… it’s gonna feel lonely if you don’t share your progress with people you value and trust and who can give you the kind of perspective you need. Because we’re all big enough fish in this crazy ocean. You can’t control what’s popular, but you can stay on top of what you value, what you enjoy, and what you’re rubric for success is.

Here’s a metaphor:

Doing something popular and easy (a meme, a tweet, a single doodle, fan art) is  a kite. It’ll fly pretty effortlessly and well and you have some control over it, but not a whole hell of a lot once the wind picks up. It’s light enough and high enough that it can be seen by a whole mess of people. 

But you may want to see that whole mess of people – you wanna learn something. You want to see what the world looks like from the stratosphere. So you build a plane – a little glider maybe. And that takes more time. You can’t just get that in the air effortlessly. That’s when you work on that thing in your workshop, maybe alone (not necessarily.) But it’s a project with heft and weight even though it will appear weightless. And that will be something people can see and remark on from the ground but you’ll be able to feel uplifted by the experience too. 

The ideal, let’s say, is something you work so much on and really dedicate a lot of time and effort toward. You care about it. It matters a lot to you and others. Maybe you have a team. Then, that’s a dirigible, a zeppelin, or a commercial airliner. It’s thoroughly built and it lifts you up to see more but it also inspires many others to join you on that flight. This is how those things that make us want to make work. TV shows, books, large master works of static visual art, a ballet, whatever! And that can be something you work toward a little day by day.

But then again… kites are fine? And you can have both? 

I guess what I’m saying is this: when you get discouraged by the kites, find a means of getting airborne. Why the hell not? 

well, I’ve never done that before.

I know it’s about the shittiest pop-up in the world, but it’s the first one I’ve ever done in my whole life, and I am so glad I had the foresight to set up the camera. I only intended to record the practice - which, so far, has amounted to getting a little airborne but never even getting my feet underneath me - for the sake of seeing what I looked like as I spent the next few weeks trying to achieve the pop-up. 

Late nite kung fu. Following some key advice I had received from The Dragon about kicking straight up into the air, I had managed to get my feet underneath me about fifteen minutes into practicing the motion. After a dozen similar attempts, I excitedly called Monkey over to my side of the school to show him. He stood there, hands on his hips, quietly analyzing my efforts - quintessentially so. I made my attempt, my feet meeting the floor just before my back crashed back down. Expectedly, he forwent praise in favor of a suggestion. Do a sit-up. Blankly, I obeyed. Now do a sit-up in the air. 

I smiled. I smiled because Monkey’s suggestive critique is nearly always foolproof. Whether or not my body can keep up physically is another matter. But a sit-up? I can do sit-ups all day. 

I laid back down, breathed in and out, and went for it. 
And hey, I know it’s about the shittiest pop-up in the world, but it’s the first one I’ve ever done. And that was pretty damn awesome. 

Day One -- Firsts

The first time Angela and Hana tried to fly using the other’s toolkit. 500 words, safe for work.




The Valkyrie suit was designed to give her total mobility within a crisis. She had to be small, lightweight, able to squeeze in wherever a person might be caught and haul them out to safety. It wasn’t designed for someone used to throwing one ton of steel around.

It wasn’t designed for a soldier.

“Fffffffffffffffffffuck!”

It wasn’t designed for Hana Song.

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kyberfox  asked:

Re: the wing AU. Consider Chirrut always insisting on meditating on flat rooftops on sunny days, giving some bs excuse about the connection to the Force being clearer up there. His real reason is that Baze will always follow him up there - half worried about Imperials, half about Chirrut falling off the roof - and up there Baze will always stretch out his wings wile he watches over Chirrut. So Chirrut makes sure to meditate up there for a long time when the weather is right

Yes. YES YES! YES YES!!!


“Chirrut, where are you going?”

“You’ll see.”

Baze let out a huff as he followed after his husband. “Has anyone every told you that you are insufferable?”

“Once or twice,” is Chirrut’s easy answer. Chirrut suddenly stopped in the middle of the busy street, the crowds sliding around them easily even with their glares and muttered curses. “You do not need to follow me,” Chirrut said as he turned to face Baze, “You could go back to the room and rest.” Baze watched at the little signs, Chirrut’s hands sliding on the staff, the way his wings lifted and unfolded just a touch, just enough to catch the light.

Baze considered giving him a flippant remark, the kind that Chirrut would have a response for. Baze took in the little signs though and decided against it. “And leave you to be shot by a Storm Trooper? Not likely.” Alright, so maybe he could afford to be a little flippant.

Chirrut’s smile lit the street and he turned again to keep walking. “Well then I guess you’ll just have to put up with me.” Baze shook his head as he kept walking.

Eventually they got off the busy street and passed into smaller and smaller streets, until they were just barely comfortable to walk through, when Chirrut stopped. Baze looked around for the reason Chirrut had stopped, but could see nothing. There was no one there except them, no signs of life in the building they stood next to either.

“It’s abandoned,” Chirrut said to Baze over his shoulder as if he were reading Baze’s mind, and he turned to the building on their left. “It suits my purposes though.”

“And what purpose is that?”

Without answering, Chirrut’s wings suddenly flew open, a spring that had been held closed by a hook. Baze had to back up to avoid getting hit, pressing his own tattered wings into the wall behind him. Baze goggled for a moment at Chirrut. There was no way the fool was going to try to fly there, they did not have room to. Even in ideal conditions they always needed to make a running start before they could get successfully airborne, and this alley in no way provided that.

And then Chirrut jumped straight up.

Baze grumbled, watching as the fool gave a single beat of his wings that sent the sand and the dust below flying everywhere, and landing on the edge of the building. It had not been enough to fly, no, but it was enough to give Chirrut the boost he needed to make it. “Are you coming, Baze?” Chirrut called down, turning and sliding his staff over the edge of the roof.

Baze did not stop grumbling even when he was out of ear shot of Chirrut and walking inside to find the stairs to the roof.


Once Baze made it onto the roof, Chirrut was already sitting on the edge, legs crossed, wings tucked, and staff settled across his lap. “Mediating?” Baze asked as he moved over to stand behind Chirrut. “We crossed half the city and climbed two stories so that you could meditate?”

“Mm-hm,” came Chirrut’s slow answer, and he tilted his head to show Baze he was listening. “The Force is strong here, I wanted to listen to it.”

Baze huffed and then sat down. “If you sit on the edge like that an Imperial is going to spot you and arrest you.”

“The Force will protect me,” Chirrut answered easily.

“You mean I will protect you.” Baze’s jaw set, and looked around the roof. Chirrut did not continue the banter, falling back into an easy meditation. Baze shook his head and he leaned forward slowly onto his knees. It was not all that bad, this spot that Chirrut had chosen. It was not the tallest building in the Holy City, not even the tallest in the alley, but because of its position it got direct sunlight that sank in through the biting cold of Jedha. Spots with this much direct sunlight were rare in the city, most buildings fighting for the light and blocking it off for other smaller buildings. They were like the plants in the gardens, competing for those few extra rays of sun.

Baze shifted to get comfortable. Chirrut’s meditations could last hours and there was no reason to stay uncomfortable. He pulled the blaster from his hip, and the blade from his boot, setting them close by in case they needed to be grabbed in a hurry. He leaned forward again, giving his wings more space before he slowly spread them, feeling every ache as tired joints moved.

He looked at his wings, how the underside of them glowed with diffused light. When they were younger, and Chirrut could still see, Chirrut used to marvel at that. He would run his fingers over each feather carefully and tell him how beautiful they were, how the wings were perfect for Baze. Large, warm, and full of light. Baze’s response was to inform Chirrut that the wings were cumbersome, dull, and boring like he was. Chirrut had smacked him for that. Despite himself Baze smiled at the memory.

They looked nothing like that now. The feathers were still the color of sand, some of them with bands of red near the tips of them, but now many were missing, or bent. The left wing has a jagged scar along the top of it where feathers have refused to regrow. If he asked Chirrut, Chirrut would still say that the wings were beautiful. That is why Baze never asks Chirrut.

The wings started to feel warm in the heat, and with that Baze started to feel sleepy. Baze decided that perhaps it was safe enough to lay down. As he drifted off, he missed the warm smile on Chirrut’s lips as he meditated.

Test day

Michael spent his entire life in the facility under the ever-watching eye of the whitecoats. His only comfort was that he wasn’t alone. He had always had Gavin. But today was Test day; Gavin was on his own. And Michael was terrified.

Just a little cute thing. Happy birthday @luckybonez

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the other 364

@marcoweek for day 2, Secrets.

“What’s going on?” Marco asks, sitting down next to Thatch.

“What’s–what?” Thatch says, then tucks both hands underneath the table. “Hi! Marco! Hello. How are you today?”

“Suspicious, yoi,” Marco says, eyeing him. “You’re up to something.”

“Haha. Ah hah. Why would you think that?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re breathing, yoi.”

“Oi,” Thatch says, hands flying up. “Hey, that’s not fair! I’m not always plotting!” Marco stares at him, and he slowly deflates. “I’m really not up to anything, Marco.”

Marco frowns. That’s remarkably sincere for Thatch, but not quite enough to be believed. “Do you promise?”

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