pilot digs it

thirtythreebetadelta  asked:

I'm like 90% sure the clothes Luke is wearing at the end of ANH are borrowed from Han? They fit him oddly well if that's the case though.

Haha I mentioned that possibility to my mom and I was like “…Y'know they probably had to hem those pants for Luke”.

I saw someone’s what-if post once where the yellow jacket belonged to Biggs but that is ALL KINDS OF NOPE. THAT’S TOO MANY FEELS.

But see, now I’m imagining the pilots doing what my sophomore dorm hall did one year when a girl didn’t have an outfit for formal. We propelled her up and down the hall yelling “Clothes shopping! Where are our fairy godmothers!” And like six girls threw together stuff from their closets to make an outfit for her.

So now I’m picturing the pilots digging through their stuff like “does this fit Luke?”
“No, dude, your stuff is too big on me! No way it’s gonna fit the new kid!”
“Hey guys, these boots will work!”

He thinks he could love this man, with his wide eyes and the crinkles that surround them. And maybe Bodhi could love him back, despite the harshness and cold he emits on the outside. Despite what he’s done in the name of peace and justice for everyone. Despite his crimes and his mistakes, which still leave a bitter taste in his mouth, he knows it would be an honour for Bodhi Rook to love him back. Bodhi, with his smile honest and genuine and his hands, calloused and scarred from years of servicing the Empire. He thinks Bodhi could love him back.

Keep reading

This is for the sunrise, wiping the sleep out of her eyes. For the whispering waves and the sand as yet undisturbed. For the chattering birds and captains setting their ships to the horizon.

This is for the spring season. For summer bike rides by the ocean. For the autumn leaves unfurling like the flags of a thousand nations. For the hot cookies and hot cocoa you shared with friends while the snow piled up outside your windows. This is for finding the best in every season.

This is for the first girl you kissed under the monkeybars. For the first bully you stood up to. For the Friday nights when you danced and didn’t care that you had no grace or rhythm.

This is for the songs that ignite your bones and for the songs that hit the right chords in you. For when your fingers are hardwired into the strings of that old guitar you bought from the store downtown. For when your voice is married to the wind. For the first time you heard poetry. For the first time you wrote poetry and the words tumbled out clumsy but strong and true.

This is for the barista that knows just how you like your coffee every morning. For the baby that smiled open-mouthed toothless at you in the grocery store. For your grandmother’s red lipstick kisses on your cheek. For the all-night diner that always feels like home after the war. For the street corner musician that thanked you as you tossed your change into his case.

This is for the nights that are spent in the company of friends. For the moments when you feel free and eternal as the universe spinning overhead. For the chances you take and the memories you keep folded in your breast pocket. For the smiles that come out when you thought you’d never feel those curves again. For when confessions and stories are shared by firelight and it sounds something like redemption. For your tongue tangoing with another. For the mornings that find hickeys on your neck instead of cuts on your arms.

These are the reasons to stay alive. When your spine is a collapsing tower, when your knees are kamikaze pilots, when the beast digs his teeth into your lungs. Know that if you are perched on the Tyngsboro Bridge staring into the dark waters of the Merrimack, there will always be someone who will sit with you and listen, feet dangling over the edge like an unmade decision. It’s a choice that doesn’t have to end in defeat.

So on those occasions when the wolves are howling on your doorstep, remember these snapshots and recognize that hope is a skipping stone on the water. It takes time to get it just right. Dig your feet like anchors into the floor and refuse to be moved.

The sunrise is a timid candle on your birthday cake. She is a wish waiting to be taken. The world holds its breath in the dawn. The silence is a naked journal lying spread-eagle. Take this gift and use your footsteps as ink in a typewriter of your body.

This is for the sunrise, and knowing that she is the best proof you need to carry on.

—  Michael Linehan, “Reasons to Live”

anonymous asked:

Everyone loves the fake dating trope. Barry's coworkers at the lab won't leave him alone about dating people, so he asks Hal to pretend to be his boyfriend. The thing is, Hal's so good at it even Barry starts to think it's true

“You should come out with us tonight. We can find you someone pretty to-”

Barry slammed his hand on the desk and covered his face with a groan. “I don’t need to find a date!”

“And why, pray tell, is that?” Iris asked with a twinkle in her eye. 


Keep reading

monsterscavenger  asked:

Can we get jealous Kylo Ren, because Rey is spending time with Poe (they both being excellent pilots and he's charming)?

*digs this out after almost a month* ah yes good this has nothing to do with bees
I love them big, scary, and jealous

And she was still talking to him. Hours later, she was still leaning against Dameron’s X-wing, a big dumb smile on her face, giggling along when appropriate. She’d been around him more and more in the past few weeks, casual words turning to careful hands on arms.

Not-Quite-Ben, Kylo hovered in the hanger door several hundred feet away, skulking as per usual. There was nothing he could do about that. He had no place to pursue her, much to his growing heart’s chagrin. He felt like a storybook character, becoming nicer and lighter, but not enough yet. Not enough to court the girl.

He left in disgust, trying in vain to cover his upset. He tended to wander the base when his head was caught up in heartstrings. His walks were growing more frequent, his distress multiplying each day she spent more time with Dameron. Well, he deserved her more. He wasn’t ex-evil, or formerly nuts with power. He was a good guy. Kylo was…not.

With a sigh, he stopped in the doorway to the courtyard, exhausted in mind more than body. The approaching footsteps startled him.

“You look glum.”

He gawked at her, but hid his melancholia with surprise. “I’m fine.”

“You can talk to me, you know,” she said as she knocked her hip into his. “I’m here if you need me.”

“It’s not something you can help with.”

“Try me.”

He hip-checked her back, his movement lighter than hers. He should say something. Tell her so she could say no and he could get over it instead of getting hung up on the what ifs. “I…I think you’re incredible. And I’m happy for you and Poe.” That was painful to voice.

She squinted, then she laughed. “We’re just friends. He makes really bad puns. I’m not seeing Poe.”


“No.” She edged closer, her side pressed so gently to his. “I’m rather single at the moment.”

“Oh. So am I.”

“I know.” Her smile was wicked. “What should we do about it?”