forty hundred


Nearby is Valhalla, vast and gold-bright. And every day, Odin chooses slain men to join him. They arm themselves and fight in the courtyard. They kill one another; but every night they rise again, and ride back to the hall, and feast. The roof is made out of shields. The rafters are spears. Coats of mail litter the benches. A wolf stands at the Western door and an eagle hovers above it. It has five hundred and forty doors, and when Ragnarok comes, eight hundred warriors will march out of each door, shoulder to shoulder.


There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren’t really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.


“Forty-nine thousand, two hundred and seventy-five days since I last kissed you,” he said. “And I thought of you every single one of them. You do not have to remind me of the Tessa I loved. You were my first love and you will be my last one. I have never forgotten you. I have never not thought of you.” He was close enough now to see the pulse pounding in her throat. To reach out and lift up a curl of her hair. “Never.” (x)


“I’ve been thinking about what Chris would have wanted me to say today. The advice he’d give me, which’d be something like, ‘Know what, babe? Fuck it. These guys know all about me. Tell them about someone else.’ So I thought I’d tell you about a hero of Chris’s, a man called Captain Joe Kittinger. In 1960, climbing into a foil balloon, Captain Joe ascended 32 kilometers into the stratosphere. And then, armed with only a parachute, he jumped out. He fell for four minutes and thirty-six seconds, reaching seven hundred and forty miles per hour before opening his parachute five kilometers above the Earth. It had never been done before, and it’s never been done since. He did it just because he could. And that’s why Chris loved him - because the thing about Chris was, he said yes. He said yes to everything. He loved everyone. And he was the bravest boy - man - I knew. And that was - he flung himself out of a foil balloon every day. Because he could. Because he was. And that’s why - and that’s why we, we loved him.”

Day Four Hundred Forty Two.

I want the kind of love where we
Hold hands
Giggle late into the night
Share secrets
Slow dance, even when there’s no music
And stand by each other’s side
I want the kind of love
That makes us feel young again
Even when we’re old and grey
I want a love
That lasts a lifetime

the light that sits at the bottom of your chest

i love dying and being dead :)

(fair warning, it’s kind heavy/ angsty before we get into the good stuff)


There’s a total of twenty seven metal slabs that make up his room.

Twenty seven slabs, three hundred and forty two rivets holding them in place, a part of the ceiling that looks like a horse where the paint has flaked off.

Bellamy has memorised it all, night after night when he lies awake in his bed. Sleep is hard, has always been hard for him. On the Ark he didn’t know how to shut down for longer than an hour, every creak and groan of the old spacecraft sent him jerking awake, thinking of surprise inspections, thinking of his mother and Octavia, limbs askew in their too small bed.

Sleep was even harder when they came down on the ground, always one eye open for the next threat, the next enemy who waited around the corner, teeth bared and ready to kill.

And now… well, now sleep isn’t even option. Even with the pseudo peace they’ve achieved.

It’s why he counts the slabs and makes notes of the rivets. It’s easier to stay awake, easier to lie there in darkness and stay up into nothingness than fall asleep.

He’s good at faking it, is almost a pro at running on maybe a combined hour of rest. The only one who reacts to the purple bags under his eyes is Clarke, always with a pinched look and furrowed, ready to say something before he distracts her with something or the other.

Because when he does sleep, he’s plagued with nightmares, images of those he’s killed, watching the light go out in their eyes as blood stains his hands, his sister’s anguished, heart wrenching scream, his friends, dead and beaten and broken, cast aside in pieces while he stands amongst the rubble, a single bullet left in the chamber of his gun. It’s different all the time, but the centre of it is the same: death and despair and destruction, where he’s at fault for it all.

(Sometimes he thinks that he deserves it, his own personal punishment picked out by Hades himself, doomed for all eternity.)

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Saving Sunshine

So this is the post I said I was going to make the other day that was supposed to be a headcanon post but it turned into a short oneshot. Oops. 

Anyway, have some angsty Promptis from Ignis’s POV.


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Day Four Hundred Forty Seven.

i challenge you to 
take a moment to listen
it’s deceivingly simple

take a deep breath
suspend your thoughts
hold back your judgements 
listen to the words flowing from the soul before you
instead of inserting yourself into the silence
do your best to understand

just like every other day
that someone 
needs you here

so darling
it’s time to be

sirius black is 145 days older than james potter and don’t think for a moment that he didn’t hold that over his head

sirius, inspecting his facial hair: don’t worry, prongs. you’re bound to hit puberty soon, i’m sure of it. 

respect your elders, prongs: dumbledore, mcgonagall, your mother, me.

what’s that? i’ve got a watch from your parents before you? 144 more days, prongs. hang in there. 

age before beauty, prongs. no wait, i’ve got that, too. 

as the fairest, tallest, and oldest marauder present, you ought to listen to me.

to lily, when she turns 20: i can’t believe you’re married to a teenager.

how am i one-hundred and forty five days older than you, and i look so young? one of life’s mysteries, i suppose.

to a hungover james: when you’re older, you’ll be able to hold your liquor properly, young buck.



although not as impressive as LucasArts would have me think

Oh, what on earth would make a man decide to do that kind of thing?
Oh, windin’ up twenty-one thousand, one hundred forty pounds of string
What was he trying to prove, who was he trying to impress
Why did he build it, how did he do, it was anybody’s guess
Where did he get the twine, what was goin’ through his mind
Did it just seem like a good idea at the time

Answers from Atlas Obscura:

Question: do non-Americans think this is weird? More than Americans do?

27 Pieces of Advice for Writers From Famous Authors

Neil Gaiman -  Award-winning author of American Gods, Coraline, Stardust and many more.

Nnedi Okorafor -  Award-winning author of Zahrah the Windseeker and The Shadow Speaker.

Garth Nix -  Award-winning author of the “Old Kingdom,” “Seventh Tower” and “Keys to the Kingdom” series.

Karen Lord -  Author of Redemption in Indigo and The Best of All Possible Worlds.

Patrick Rothfuss -  Author of The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man’s Fear.

Gene Wolfe -  Award-winning author of The Book of the New Sun and many other short stories and novels. He is considered to be one of the best living science fiction authors.

Jeremy Zerfoss -  Noted science fiction and fantasy illustrator. Co-author of the upcoming Wonderbook: The Illustrated Guide to Creating Imaginative Fiction.

Jody Lynn Nye -  Award-winning author of more than forty novels and one hundred short stories.

C.S.E. Cooney -  Noted author of science fiction short stories and poetry.

David Drake - Award-winning military science fiction author.

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So you’re saying I moved here from New York, and left behind a job that would have paid me five hundred and forty five thousand dollars a year, for a guy who still skateboards? I did not do that. Here’s what happened: I was in New York, I ran into Josh, and he made me feel warm inside, like glitter was exploding inside me, then I moved here. I did not move here because of Josh because that would be crazy, and I am not crazy. — Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (Season One)