spin crew

  • Geoff: You were right, Jack. I needed to let my baby birds fly. My bratty little baby birds fly with their crappy little wings. Sometimes you gotta push ‘em out the window.
  • Jack: Yeah.
  • Geoff: You gotta just push 'em right out there and if they fall flat [slaps hands together] then that’s them.
Petition for Dan and Phil to be the friday guest hosts on Good Mythical Morning one week this summer

I mean they’ll be in california for vidcon anyway, can they just casually pop over and film a GMM, is it too much to ask?

En Garde

Another deleted scene style fic, around the time of 6x09. Emma hasn’t told her family about her visions yet, and decides that fencing lessons from Killian might improve her chances of defeating Gideon.  I’ve written Killian teaching Emma to fence before, fluffily, but it seemed a good time to update the headcanon with the added angst of those visions!  

Read on FF!

There was no time for a moving day; not when every day brought a new disaster, a new story no one was sure if they wanted to see the end of. A single chest of Killian’s belongings moved in the first day, set carefully next to a box in her closet, waiting for a quiet moment to be shared. His jackets mingled with hers in the closet, his boots sat neatly underneath the hung leathers and books and papers were gradually filling the empty spaces of their house. Sometimes Killian mentioned something that he would need to get from his ship and within a couple hours it would appear on the kitchen table. He suspected she was testing her magic on his belongings when he was not looking, but it saved him a trip and hopefully calmed her frayed nerves, so he simply thanked her with a kiss on the cheek and filed another hole in a still too empty home.

Two battered sticks joined her boots next to the door, growing more banged up each day as Killian and Henry sparred in the front yard in their spare moments. It warmed her heart to see them spending time together, but from time to time the sight filled her with sudden dread as wooden practice swords were replaced in her mind by sharp steel and unresponsive magic. She fought for her life without a sound, clasping her hand tight to hide her battle from her family no more than a few paces away.

Henry hugged her tight when her eyes were distant and Killian pressed her shaking hand to his lips with questioning eyes. She caught them glancing at each other sometimes, when she told them again that she was fine. They had finally stopped asking with their lips, perhaps hoping she would tell them eventually on her own, but their eyes ever begged her for an explanation that was not forthcoming. She refused to give voice to the whole story, refused to interrupt the happy illusion she had built for herself.

The stick flew from Henry’s hand once more and Killian laughed, leaning his own against the steps. “You’re doing better, lad. But I’ve the reach of my arm and a couple hundred years training head start.”

“Aren’t you supposed to let me win sometimes?” Henry grumbled halfheartedly, diving to retrieve his ‘weapon.’

“Never!” Killian insisted. “One of these days you will disarm me. And you will know for certain that it will not be because I let you do so. Now off with you, lad, your mother will end me if you’re late for school again.” Henry tossed his stick to Killian who caught it as the boy bolted for the bus, grumbling about how between two magical moms, shouldn’t he just appear at school?

Killian laughed and gave Henry’s pole a practice swing or two as he turned back towards the house, to his surprise he was met with the sudden appearance of a pole aiming for his head. He ducked by impulse, his arm moving before he’d the chance to identify the person on the other end of the attack. Emma grinned at him, blocking his swing with the stick he’d put down a moment ago.

“My turn, pirate. Someone ought to bring you down a peg or two!”

Killian smirked, breaking away and moving to circle her. “You think so? You may have the advantage with firearms and fireworks but swordplay… Swordplay is my strength, love.”

“You underestimated me the last time we dueled. Haven’t you learned your lesson?”

“I did. But that is not why you won.”

“Why did I win, then?” Emma retorted. She grew tired of waiting for Killian to make the first move and dove forward, seeking an opening that was gone as soon as she moved. Suddenly she was on the defense, pressed backwards step by step until her boot smacked against the bottom of their steps. She wavered for a moment and then fell backwards, only saved from a bruised backside by Killian’s hook, which had suddenly slipped through her belt loop and tugged her upright again.

“You won because I did not wish to see you die on that lakebed, my dear.”

“Okay… maybe I could use a few pointers,” she admitted.

“Why the sudden interest in fencing, love?”

“It couldn’t hurt to be prepared, right?”

“And you think a few tricks with a blade will make you better prepared?” He reached for her hand, which had begun to tremble.

His eyes were questioning her again and she forced a smile. “I mean why not? Things are crazy, and it doesn’t look like they’re gonna let up anytime soon And it’s an excuse to spend some time together, just the two of us. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Of course, Emma. Perhaps once all this madness with the untold stories is ov- ”

“Not after. Now.”

“Now?” Her eyes were blazing with determination and he tilted his head to one side, studying her intently,

“Right now!” She held out her hand to him and he took it without question. Their house vanished and the smell of salt brought a smile to his lips. When his vision cleared they were on the deck of the Jolly Roger.

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prompt from @captainhoyw:

“trimberly dance class prompt. just. the idea of like trini being into hip hop and smoother spanish music (check santana) is like so embedded in my mind at this point and i need a fic where trini either decides to, or has been, going to dance classes and then the rangers tag along at some point and its gay”

this inspired me to do research and i found this video of a hip-hop and jazz dance group’s routine to smooth by santana and i was impressed to say the least. this was so much fun to write–thanks for the prompt!!! (honestly i had so much fun with this i’ll probably make it multiple chapters ok hope y’all don’t mind)

cross-posted on AO3


“You’re in a dance class?” Zack asked, laughing out the question. The Rangers had headed to Krispy Kreme after training, and he had nearly choked on his doughnut when Trini revealed why she needed to leave soon.

Trini scowled at him. “My mom figured that if I was in an extracurricular I’d be less likely to start fights with, say, an annoying fellow superhero.”

“I’m sorry,” Zack guffawed. “I gotta ask. Do you wear a tutu?” He doubled over and slapped his hand on the table. To Zack’s right, Billy winced and scooted nearer to the edge of the booth.

“I used to do ballet,” Jason mused from his spot at the head of the table. He had pulled up a chair, and Kim and Trini shared the other bench at the booth.

Zack stared incredulously at their leader, no doubt imagining him in a leotard.

Trini flashed a small smile at Jason, thanking him for taking the attention off of her. “I gotta go,” she said, gesturing for Kim to move from her spot on the outside of the bench so that Trini could leave.

Kim didn’t get up right away. “Hang on,” she started. “I’ll drive you. Meet me out front?”

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Don’t think of Jigsaw as a bad sequel to original franchise. Think of it as a spin-off because this way it makes so much more sense.

Anonymous (Pt. IV)

Tyler Joseph Series

Part I  Part II  Part III

Summary: Tyler Joseph, an insanely talented lead singer and multi-instrumentalist of the world famous band ‘Twenty One Pilots‘. Little do they know, that the young gentleman is also the secret admirer of an angelic voice, without knowing whom it belongs to.

(A/N): Hey party people, I‘ve finally managed to write the sequel. I truthfully was surprised that anyone remembers this fic. Enjoy x PS the nickname ‘Birdy‘ has no relations with the artist 

Words: 1,324

(Y/N) has been on tour with Twenty One Pilots as their opening act for the past two months. After hearing her musical talent in real life for the first time, Tyler insisted that such a gift should not be wasted any further and brought her on tour. Asking the manager for his permission to let her on tour was fairly easy, since he totally adores her as well. But to convince (Y/N) was quite a challenge. The girl struggles with stage fright and high level anxiety. She can hardly deal with social situations. To put herself out there and perform her own composed songs in front of thousands of people is one of those. She was not particularly open about her music in the first place. In fact, (Y/N) would‘t even label the lines she scribbled down, that spell out the thoughts in her darkest hours, as songs. On the other hand, Tyler instantly recognises the situation, she was trapped in, as his own from a long time ago and somehow managed to talk her into joining his band on tour anyway. 

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I see you in the morning, and I wonder
whether all that light comes from the sun
or from you.
—  Wherever did my breath get to? – s.s.
SO UM THIS GOT LONG and this is easier lmao

SO IM MEANT TO BE WRITING AN ESSAY BUT BRILLIANT (AWFUL) IDEA: It’s an ordinary day when Spock gets a headache, and even though Jim pressures him to see Bones ‘because I want to make sure you’re not getting sick or something’ ‘captain, i’m fine’ 'i’ll sic nyota on you’, Spock sits in the middle of his quarters, the outline of something - no, someone - fuzzy and colourless in front of him. This figure is blurry for a week, a shadow behind him, and then it whispers 'hello’.

The figure doesn’t say much after that, seemingly focused on appearing much clearer to Spock, as only a few days after, features solidify into an attractive - by Terran standards - amalgamation of every crewmember in the form of a young woman in silver Starfleet uniform. She goes to open her mouth while Spock triple-checks results sent from the labs, but a beep from Nyota’s console drowns it out. Or, maybe, the beep was her speaking. Either way, the woman frowns.

She instead spends the rest of shift sitting at Jim’s feet, looking up at him with a smile Spock remembers from somewhere. [It comes to him later, as he finishes reports. Ensign Chekov smiles like that.] This woman follows him around, bouncing between the crewmembers and spinning around in the labs, non-physical form useful when she almost collides with an experiment, and instead passes through. Spock ignores her, and she yelps when his hand passes through where her lungs would be.

This woman has existed for a month, a month of silence and inactivity and then Spock finds her sitting cross-legged on his bed, a frown on her face. “Do I bore you, Commander?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do. I. Bore. You.”

“I need some information on who 'you’ are before I can provide a proper response.”

“I’m your ship, Spock.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m the Enterprise.”

“That is impossible.”

“You drunk dialled your alternate self to bitch about Jim four times in a week, don’t call me impossible.”

After that, the Enterprise still stays with him, but often wanders off to the rest of the bridge crew, and to the new recruits. She sits with Chekov after a transporter incident leaves him bright pink, and waters Sulu’s plants on the nights he crashes. She makes sure that McCoy doesn’t drink too much, and checks on Scotty on the nights when he does. But she always finds her way back to Spock, who sometimes wakes up to her stretching in his quarters.

“You’re the only one who sees me.” She says when he asks about her choice of company. “The only telepath on board, the only one who sees me.”

“Do you wish they could see you?” He questions.

“My bones have been hollowed out so I can carry you across a star-lit void, Spock. Why wouldn’t I want them to see my heart?”

Somehow, they work together. A half Vulcan half Human who’s the only friend of the ship who keeps him, and his crew, alive. She reads his paper-and-ink books, and sings often, in the languages of the crew she carries. When she sings the song his mother favoured, he stiffens, and she stops.

“You may continue.” He says, a moment too late, and she walks over.

“But it hurts you.“ 

"It will always hurt me. I am a part of an endangered species. Loss will be a constant within my life.”

She rests her intangible hand over his. “Then I’ll be there alongside you.”

One day, Enterprise (“Call me Ennie, Spock. I call you by your name.”) sits him down and tells him that Ensign Varma is showing signs of emotional distress, and she needs him to intervene. When he brings it up with Chapel, she purses her lips, double checks the medical records, and spots the first signs of thyroid failure.

“There’s someone in distress five minutes at warp eight away. Turn about 118°.” They rescue a shuttle of refugees.

“It’s Jim’s birthday today.” Spock invites him to chess.

“Spock, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were omnipotent.” Jim jokes over chess, forgetting it’s his birthday. Ennie sits behind him, eyes wet. She curls up against him, and smiles.

“My Jim.” She says.

Spock says nothing, but agrees.

Her sentience is older now, solid in it’s existence, woven deep into the code which kept her metal hull alive, and nobody had ye-

“Captain, there’s a line of code in this transmission that I don’t recognise.”

“Let me see.”

Jim and Nyota pour over the code, jotting down notes on PADDs and next to him Ennie is shaking. “I’m not ready yet, what am I supposed to do? WHat if something goes wrong? What if something happens and I turn evil? What if I kill the crew by accident? What i-”

“You have inherited Doctor McCoy’s ability to over exaggerate.” Spock says, out loud, and the bridge crew spin to face him.

“What?” Jim asks, and Spock gestures to his feet.

“Simply discussing the end of the known universe with the ship, Captain.”

“End of t- Spock, don’t screw with me right now. There’s something wrong with my girl, and if I don’t figure out what’s wrong then who knows what could happen.”

Spock sighs, and stands. “Captain, Vulcans do not joke. I have been in conversation with the Enterprise for over four months, which has lead to my 'omnipotence’, as you so called it. I am the only individual on the ship capable of seeing her, due to my telepathic abilities.”

“Have you been flirting with my ship?”

Ennie cackles.

Ennie stands by Spock as the Heads of Department walk in to the emergency meeting, but immediately dances between everyone when they sit down. She doesn’t still until Spock raises one eyebrow at her, and she stills behind Nyota’s shoulder.

Scotty is half asleep, but the mention of his girl has him wide awake, and Ennie laughing.

“Are ye tryin’ to tell me that the ship’s been alive this whole time!? Our ship!? Sentient!?" 

"Yes, Scotty. It looks like Mr Spock’s been hiding important information from us.”

“I have not been hiding information.” He states, and Ennie smiles at him. 

“Mr Spock, I get that ye didn’t want to be seen like an idiot, but this is the ship we’re talkin’ about. Do you know how many times I’ve had to repair the ship after a skirmish? How many times we’ve come close to losing her? If she’s sentient, I better damn well know about it!” Scotty is red in the face, angry and horrified at the gamble. 

“Mr Scott-”

“She’s keepin’ us all alive in this empty hellhole and you repay her by hiding her existence!?”

“Mr Scott-”

“God, this ship has died for us, and you’re sittin there like you’ve got nothin’ to do with this whole bloody-”

“Scotty!” Ennie’s yell is loud, and the room is eerily silent.

“Enterprise?” Pavel whispers, eyes darting around the room, before settling behind Nyota. “Enterprise.”

“Hi, Pasha.” She is only a blur to them, but months of practice allows her to finally, finally, show herself, and the looks on the faces of her crew makes her laugh. “Hi, everyone! Oh my god, you can see me! You can hear me!” She squeals, and squeezes Nyota from behind, who laughs at the tight, surprise hug. She continues around the table, until she reaches Jim. She stops, and rests her head against his chest, and clutches his shirt. “Don’t you scare me like that ever again.”

It has been three months since Ennie “reached her Final Form!” 'I’m not a cartoon character.“, and, like clockwork, the crew for Alpha shift walked onto the bridge. Jim greets everyone with a smile and a nod, and turns to Ennie.

"How are you feeling?”

She smiles. “Pretty good. I’m pumped for some space exploration.”

The crew laughs, and turn to their consoles. Ennie looks at her crew, the odd stuttering of her non-existent heart speeding up as she breathes in the smell of home. “Punch it, Mr Sulu.”

@ravenschmaven this is a brilliant idea and I am in AWE of this writing. It was sweet, and mystical and oh my God I loved it. 

Thank you so much for submitting this!

anonymous asked:

This was kinda inspired by your most recent post, but for the blurb night could you please write one for Pirate King/Lord Luke charming and pursuing the princess (since young for many years) even though everyone knows that's a bad idea?

“Captain, are you sure you want to stop at this port?”

Luke sighs, spinning to face the crew member with a cold glare.

“Who am I?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow. Confusion takes over the features of the other man.

“Who are you sir? You’re Captain Hemmings, Lord of the Pirates.” He replies, his uncertainty evident in his voice.

“Correct.” Luke smirks. “So why are you doubting my decisions?”

The crew member looks stunned, and Luke ignores the sighs of the men behind him. Turning back around, Luke takes a seat behind his desk, waving vaguely in the direction of the man.

“Go away.” He sighs, eyes flitting back to the three other men in his cabin. Calum looks bored, Michael’s rolling his eyes, and Ashton’s too busy staring at a map to even notice anything. “What?”

“You’ll get us killed, pursuing this ridiculous fantasy of yours.” Michael replies, his eyes falling to the map Ashton was studying, before pointing at a small island. “There.”

“Thank you.” Ashton nods, eyes instead moving to Luke. “What did I miss?”

“Luke’s set on coming into port today.” Michael answers, causing Ashton to clap his hands together, smile on his face.

“Excellent, we’re low on rum.” He grins, Luke nodding in agreement.

“His Majesty’s ship is already at port.” Calum scoffs, Ashton’’s smile faltering. “His priority is definitely not rum.”

“Really? You’re still chasing the Princess?” Ashton asks Luke with a sigh.

“We belong together.” Luke informs them, Calum scoffing again as Michael rolls his eyes. “She will be mine.”

“And we will be killed.” Michael smiles, leaning back in his chair. “So you better really love this girl.”


A smile tugs on Luke’s lips as he steps off of his ship, eyes instantly scanning the crowds for the face he wanted to see.

“She’s on the ship.” Calum mutters from beside him, Luke’s eyes falling on him. “We’ll distract them so you can get on.”

“I thought you didn’t approve?”

“I don’t. But you’re the Pirate King, and you’re our friend, so you better make this count, because it may cost you your life, never mind ours.” He tells him, clapping him on the shoulder before moving away with Ashton and Michael. 

Seconds later, a loud bang echoes through the port, and Luke watches the men on the deck scramble down to see what the commotion is. Taking the opportunity, he sneaks onto the ship, making his way to her quarters. Slipping through the door, he grins at the sight of her sitting looking at the waves.

“You could have knocked.” She calls, eyes still on the water. “What if I wasn’t decent?”

“That’s what I was hoping for.” He replies, with a smirk, seeing the way her own lips curve upwards. She turns to face him, crossing the room slowly.

“Always the charmer, Captain Hemmings.” She smirks back at him, Luke grinning down at her.

“Only for you Princess.” He smiles. “Now, are you going to kiss me before your father bursts in and I lose my head?”

royal!5sos blurb night with @dancinghashton

The most powerful magic. 

(Operation drown out the angst with fluff is a go! @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable

Read on FF

His true love.  

He allows himself the smallest of smiles at that, the words warming him from the inside.  His true love is safe.  His true love is going home.

Eternity is far too long to spend with the memory of her tears.  He tries instead, to hold her smile in his mind as he runs his fingers along the pedestal with its ancient text.

Only a heart filled with true love can pass.  

She had smiled when he read to her from its markings.  A look of pride in her eyes that made a smile spring to his lips instantly. The savior.  The product of true love,  the one who brings back all the happy endings.  And she smiled at him like he made her proud.  

Only a heart filled with true love…

And her’s had been weighed and measured.  She loved him,  truly.  As he loved her.  

And that’s why he had to let her go.

If he’d gone with her she’d have stayed here,  he’d no doubt of it now. She would have turned from her own future, and taken his hand and told him that they would leave this place together;  that they would find another way.  And he couldn’t let that happen.  He couldn’t let her stay here,  trapped between life and death with a man whose time was past.  

She deserves more.  

She deserves to see her boy grow up.  To fret over him when he took his lass out on their date.  She deserves to be held by her father,  comforted by her mother. She deserves to live.

The rumbling of the earth stopped and despite the tightness in his throat and the hot tears on his cheeks, he smiled.  Something drew him further into the cavern,  to the room that had crushed his hopes, to the dead tree as good as a grave marker with his own name.  The room he knew Emma wouldn’t have left if-

His train of thought halted abruptly and he knelt at the stump of the long dead tree.  A tiny sprig of green had pushed its way through the dead wood and on the branch was a single red berry, as vibrant as Emma’s heart had been on the scale.  


Emma’s test had been choosing to save him.  His test had been choosing to let her go. To know that she was his true love, and to let her go anyway, for the chance of a future with her family… 

He passed

His fingers trembled as he reached toward the berry,  plucking it and holding it gently between two fingers. The berry tasted bitter,  hardly what one would expect of the food of the gods but in a moment he felt… tired.  Hungry.  Thirsty.  And his heart pounded in his chest again.  

At the first beat of his heart a door appeared on the other side of the cavern.  He didn’t hesitate for a single moment before striding through it, thinking only of Emma,  of their house by the water and the future that perhaps … was not gone yet.  

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Good to know that Asagao Academy’s the game where you can win @thatonevideojirard ‘s heart twice.


     These crumpled, rusty metal components once formed the mighty Northrop YB-49 flying wing. This majestic silver bird soared above the Mojave desert in test flights, as many flying wings had before and many would thereafter. Two major tragedies would befall the YB-49: first, a crash that produced this wreckage, from which the YB-49 program would eventually recover; second, corrupt politics which led to the cancellation and destruction of all YB-49 airframes. To understand this story, we will follow these pieces of wreckage on their journey from inception to destruction.

     During WWII, the Army Air Corps called for a replacement for the B-29; a new bomber that could deliver a 10,000 lb payload on a round-trip of 10,000 miles. Northrop developed many experimental testbed aircraft that would aid in developing this new bomber, one of which continues to fly today, the N9MB, which I covered in a previous article (click here to view). These aircraft gave Northrop the necessary information to move forward with the large XB-35 proof of concept vehicle. This flying wing was approved by the Army Air Corps on November 22, 1941, and first flew from Northrop’s home in Hawthorne, California, to Muroc Army Airfield (now Edwards Air Force Base) on June 25, 1946.

     Testing the XB-35 would prove challenging. Vibration problems plagued the aircraft’s power plant, made from four piston engines, each with dual counter rotating propellers, later being replaced by conventional propellers. These engine issues delayed the program well past the end of WWII, but Northrop continued on with a preproduction prototype YB-35 aircraft. Eight YB-35 airframes were built but only the first would actually fly. Ship number two, serial number 42-102368 (the aircraft pictured above), would never fly as a YB-35, but it would later soar as another aircraft.

     During the development of the Northrop flying wing, it became increasingly evident that piston-powered propellor bombers were quickly becoming obsolete; that new jet engine and turbo-prop technology were the way of the future. Northrop began developing a turboprop engine replacement for the YB-35, but this never came to fruition. Eventually, jet engines were adapted for use with this flying wing airframe. This configuration would be called the YB-49. The first and second YB-49 aircraft were converted from former piston powered YB-35 airframes that never flew, including serial number 42-102368 (pictured above).

     These YB-35 airframes were designed for slow speed propellor powered flight. With the adaptation of jet engines, the YB-49 now flew at much faster speeds. This caused some problems. The aircraft flew so much faster that it lost its bomb bay or landing gear doors in early flights. These problems were easily solved, but others were more complicated. Every aircraft has a natural tendency to oscillate slowly up and down in pitch. This motion is known as a phugoid. Because the YB-49 had no fuselage, it had a tendency to oscillate more quickly than conventional aircraft. Also, it had a tendency to oscillate in a Dutch roll. These oscillations were nulled out by a stability augmentation system that was tested later in the program.

     Another eccentricity of this flying wing was discovered by approach-to-stall tests. When stalled, the aircraft would tend to pitch up with a force that could not be corrected by full forward stick input. After this initial pitch-up, the aircraft would somersault backward while falling to the earth. To recover from this bizarre condition, the pilot would have to provide asymmetric thrust by cutting the throttle on one side and applying full throttle to the other. This would put the aircraft into a spin, which is easier to recover from. During a normal spin recovery, the aircraft would exit the spin in a nose-down attitude. Because the flying wing had such low drag, once in this nose-down attitude, the aircraft would accelerate and lose altitude very rapidly. Pilot General Robert (Bob) L. Cardenas experienced all of this during an approach-to-stall test, first losing control at 20,000 feet, recovering only 800 feet above the ground.

     It is suspected that similar circumstances led to the loss of YB-49 42-102368, creating the wreckage shown above. On June 5, 1948, Pilot Major Daniel H. Forbes, Jr. and Captain Glen W. Edwards were performing flight tests in YB-49 42-102368 with three engineers aboard; Lt. Edward L. Swindell, Clare C. Lesser, and Charles H. LaFountain. Evidence suggests that the accident happened during approach-to-stall tests. The aircraft experienced an over-g, breaking apart in the air, with pieces scattering for miles across the Mojave Desert. This over-g probably happened in an attempt to pull out of a dive that would have followed a stall/spin recovery. Both crew and vehicle were lost on this sad day. The crash site is now home to a small memorial for the crew, situated just a few miles north of Edwards Air Force Base, which is named in honor of Captain Glen W. Edwards, who passed away in this accident.

     The YB-49 would ultimately not go into production. In 1980 Jack Northrop, the designer of the aircraft, was given a special clearance to view a scale model of the Northrop B-2 Spirit, widely known today as the “Stealth Bomber”. At that point, the existence of the B-2 was completely unknown to the public and Jack. Upon seeing the design which had the same 172 foot wingspan as his YB-49, Jack said, “I know why God has kept me alive for the past 25 years.” Jack Northrop passed away on February 18, 1981. Not long after Jack’s passing, Ray Vonier, who would work as an electrician on the B-2 program, visited the YB-49 crash site with Tom Rosquin. They recovered these pieces of wreckage. I must thank Ray Vonier, who gifted these treasures to Project Habu, allowing them to be preserved and and cherished by future generations.