two hundred and six

six hundred and sixty two: missing starfish

Last week, I realized I lost one of my necklaces: a studded starfish hanging on a thin silver chain. My friend Clare gave me this necklace, back in 2009. I was heading over to Denmark, for a summer at camp. She had packed a tiny jewelry box for me, wrapping the entire thing in tape. She told me to open it on the plane. I admit that I couldn’t wait. Instead, I started peeling back the layers of tape at the departure gate. Inside was a bottle of hot pink nail polish, a green bobble hair tie, the movie stub from Up, her starfish necklace, a hilarious clipping from The Onion, and one of her infamous letters to me. I’ve saved all the letters Clare sent me during our summers apart. Many of them are in the memory box underneath my bed. But this letter, the one  she wrote for me to read on my eight hour flight to Copenhagen, that I have tucked in that same jewelry box, her permanent marker writing fading or ruined by my un-taping. This all happened almost eight years ago. In all that time, Clare and I have moved past writing letters across state lines or countries. We have texted and called. There have been long, almost incoherent voicemail messages. We have had bubble tea on the steps of the Flushing Library. And then, slowly, there was less of that. During our senior year of high school, we shared the same locker; no space was too small for our righteous girlhood. We kept in touch during college the way a lot of close high school friends do. Once we graduated and moved back home, we saw each other often and instant messaged during the day at work. It was a mirror of the instant messaging we did back in high school, late at night, about nothing, about everything. I’m so sad that I can’t find this necklace. I’ve turned my apartment upside down. I asked my dog, very seriously, if he did something with it. He’s a dog, so he just stared at me. I don’t know exactly when people go from close friend to casual friend. With Clare, I can’t trace it back to any specific moment. It’s no one’s fault. It’s not even personal. If she’s reading this, Clare, I’m sorry for being so dramatic, I know it’s just a necklace. But it was your necklace, it was your necklace. Even at sixteen, I was so honored that you gave it to me.

The rarest possible instance in pokemon (via EnixLeDerp on reddit)

The rarest thing is probably encountering a horde of 5 shiny Spinda with identical spot patterns with perfect IV’s, same gender, a hidden ability, the same nature, and all with Pokerus, which is a 1 in 1.166516e+120 chance of happening.

To see that as a full number, that’s a 1 in 1,166,516,000,000,000,512,216,872,712,104,384,496,808,632,888,240,896,
040,352,200,480,240,248 chance of happening.

In words, thats a one in one novemtrigintillion, one hundred and sixty-six octotrigintillion, five hundred and sixteen septentrigintillion, five hundred and twelve tretrigintillion, two hundred and sixteen duotrigintillion, eight hundred and seventy-two untrigintillion, seven hundred and twelve trigintillion, one hundred and four novemvigintillion, three hundred and eighty-four octovigintillion, four hundred and ninety-six septenvigintillion, eight hundred and eight sexvigintillion, six hundred and thirty-two quinvigintillion, eight hundred and eighty-eight quattuorvigintillion, two hundred and forty trevigintillion, eight hundred and ninety-six duovigintillion, four hundred and eight unvigintillion, one hundred and seventy-six vigintillion, six hundred and forty-eight novemdecillion, four hundred and fifty-six octodecillion, one hundred and four septendecillion, one hundred and fifty-two sexdecillion, nine hundred and sixty quindecillion, seventy-two quattuordecillion, nine hundred and forty-four tredecillion, six hundred and forty duodecillion, eight hundred and eight undecillion, two hundred and sixty-four decillion, four hundred and fifty-six nonillion, five hundred and forty-four octillion, six hundred septillion, three hundred and ninety-two sextillion, sixty-four quintillion, forty quadrillion, three hundred and fifty-two trillion, two hundred billion, four hundred and eighty million, two hundred and forty thousand, two hundred and forty-eight chance of happening. You’re more likely to win the lottery one milion billion trillion quadrillion quintillion sextillion septillion times.

You’re more likely to guess what atom someone has chosen throughout all of the entire universe than this happening.

how odd to be alive in the age of the internet. what did we fill our sundays with when we didn’t have that. i remember ps1, i remember gameboys and the gameboy advanced. i remember the dial-up sounds of a computer straining to reach contact with others. 

i think we are nostalgic for a time less watched. our imperfections weren’t as public. the videotapes of my bike rides don’t exist, only carry on loop around my head like wheels. it’s nicer that way because you can’t notice imperfections when it’s just a memory. a while ago i watched my seventh grade play. it wasn’t as wonderful as i recalled it. today facebook told me my year in review consisted of six pictures and two-hundred-and-one likes. this year i got a tattoo, chased waterfalls, left home, survived. in all the pictures i’m smiling. 

how odd to be alive now. he lives six hours from me. in another life, we are writing letters to each other. something about that is still pretty, but i know it wouldn’t last me. it’s very strange to both miss the gentleness of the world before and also love the world after. to be aware of both sides of the coin.

there are people out there who were born after smartphones. they were raised on ipads. i am always curious what they will be nostalgic for - their childhood and mine are so different i cannot comprehend it, and we are not so apart in our years as all that. my mother sends us a forwarded chain email of funny jokes. i fall asleep scrolling pictures i don’t really see.

i just wonder. when i look back with nostalgia on this time too: where will we be?

Blood Brothers - or the one where Hux and Techie are twins.

I wrote angsty/fluffy family drama with Clan Techie and Hux. Because that’s a thing I do now. 

Thirty years after losing him during the siege of Arkanis, General Hux finds his twin brother in a shipment of prisoners. 

Two and a half standard days.

Three-thousand and six hundred and seventeen minutes. Two-hundred seventeen-thousand and twenty seconds. Twenty one. Twenty two. Twenty three. Twenty four…

Numbers tick by in his head, familiar, comforting, like a heartbeat, while his hands twist themselves into idle empty knots. It isn’t much of a distraction, but he knows how to make do. There are nine of them left in a room that is exactly fifteen meters squared. Measurements slot into place with a glance, the sound of his irises clicking reverberating through the hollow parts of his skull. Five meters by three meters with a drab grey ceiling four meters overhead. Everything is grey. The bare walls, the floor, the ceiling. He feels too garish against it. Obvious. He isn’t exactly sure what environment he’s meant to blend in with, all of the too-bright colors of him, yellow and copper and fish-belly white, but it isn’t this. He sticks out like a bruised thumb, however much he tries to disappear into the walls out of sheer force of will.

His hands move invisible wires. He needs something to do with them or he’ll start to panic again, and he’s already picked the sleeves of his shirt to fraying. Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine…

They’ll come for him next, probably. It had been the loud ones first, the ones who shouted and pounded at the walls while he curled into a corner, eyes shut tight, and tried not to exist, but they were all gone now. The twenty men from Peach Trees who had first been herded into this room culled down a few at a time; eighteen to fourteen and now just nine. Everyone huddles along the walls in little clusters, vacant-eyed and numb. It’s just the dregs left, cowards and addicts. Like him, they’ve all reached that zen state of exhaustion where they’re just too tired to be scared anymore.

A little part of him suspects that he was always meant to end up here. It feels like something has come full-circle. Like a code locking into place. He knew it somewhere in his gut when he saw the red and black emblem on their ships. The sounds of blaster fire, the march of armies in white boots and faceless helmets. Of course this was how it would end. That jagged edge inside, where if feels like something was torn away a long time ago and the resulting wound scabbed over but never healed, twinges. It’s a phantom pain, like the ache in his eye sockets no matter how much he rubs.  

Close your eyes baby, don’t look. It’ll be okay. It was his mother’s voice, maybe, although he probably doesn’t remember it right anymore. Sometimes when he is waiting for sleep, curled up in the little nest he had made for himself behind the server banks, he tries to remember her face. She died when he was five.

Time has worn the oldest of his nightmares down to almost nothing, just fear and panic and the all-consuming terror that something was missing, the distant rumble of an explosion, and his mother’s voice soft beside his ear.

There are no beds in the grey room, nothing but a low bench spanning one side, so they sleep on the floor or slumped against the walls. There’s a tap on one wall that will dispense cold, faintly metallic tasting water into cupped hands, but no one has been using it to bathe. The room stinks of fear and other things, but he’s smelled worse.

“What do they want with us?” The clan member who spoke is bruised and skinny, and scratches his arm like a junkie.

Nobody answers.

As the transport they had been forced onto left atmo, he had seen the compound burning through the viewport, oily smoke reaching up into the sky. It should have been pleasing- gods know he’s dreamt about it enough times, furtive and secret like somebody might pry open his head and find out- but it had just made him want to throw up.

After a long moment someone says. “When they take over planets they take children sometimes. To train for their armies, or-“ and he’s surprised to find that it’s him.

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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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Red | Park Jimin

Genre: Fluff | Soulmate AU
Word count: 3,709
Requested by: @ceruleanbubble
Member: Park Jimin
Summary: In a world where everyone is born with a soulmate, around your wrist is tied a light blue bracelet that changes colors as soon as you come into contact with whoever is your other half— but you have to find them within the time you’re given, and your time is running out.

So I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you

Park Jimin reads the numbers aloud again, feeling the weight of each one as the sound leaves his lips, almost as if condemning him to a death sentence. 

Three hundred and sixty four days, twelve hours, forty-two minutes and six seconds left, the first set of zeros engraved into his skin in a haunting pitch black tone, warning him, reminding him as he ran his fingers over them, his pulse beating rapidly against the skin and he couldn’t look away, the numbers changing rapidly every second; he could almost hear the clock ringing inside his ears.

Tick. Tack. Time waits for no one, and it certainly wasn’t waiting for him.

Carefully, he wraps the light blue bracelet over his wrist again, convering the counter but not masking its presence— it was still there, it was always there and he desperatly wishes it wasn’t.

He has less than year, he has to find her.

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Catalyst - Chapter One

The Return

Cowritten and Proofread by @aoimikans

Five hundred meters.

The fall morning was bright, crisp, and quiet. Wind whipped through Izuku Midoriya’s hair, cool but not cold enough to sting his lungs as he picked up speed. His feet pounded against the track and arms pumped at his sides. His muscles burned but nowhere near their limit. Izuku grinned.

Four hundred meters.

The spark in his chest flared, and he activated One for All: Full Cowl. Power darted across his skin and warmed him from the inside out. He felt lighter, the ground softer, the distance shorter, his mind at ease. He ran.  

Two hundred meters.

Izuku pushed himself. Seven percent. Eight percent. Nine -

He hissed at the pull at his tendons. One for All fizzled out as he slowed to a jog, then a walk. His legs throbbed, just on the edge of strain. Nothing he couldn’t shake off.

Not quite sturdy enough for nine percent yet, Izuku thought with a thoughtful frown. He shook his head, One hundred meters cool down. Then stretch. Maybe tomorrow…

Izuku walked the rest of the loop. The pounding of his heart and breathing slowed as he turned along the last curve toward his belongings. He glanced up and halted midstep.

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okay so i saw this ask nora answered about jean & his time with the ravens, so i decided to make a version about jean’s first semester with the trojans: 

six- the number of times jean went out with the trojans - swimming, amusement parks, movies, anything jeremy dragged him along to

three- the number of times he let himself enjoy those outings

zero- the number of times the trojans pushed him for answers about the ravens, pushed him for answers about his past at all.

four hugs he wasn’t expecting- all right after games they won

two times jean thought it might not be that bad in LA

two hundred and sixty-six smiles from the trojans (most of them courtesy of jeremy)

ten- the number of times they blasted top 40- hits on bus rides to games

sixteen- the number of times jean tried to hide his own smile

five times laila and alvarez sandwiched jean between them and asked how to curse in french

four times jean denied them

one time he didn’t  (“merde!”) 

a one hundred percent chance of living to see tomorrow

A few about six years ago on my birthday, one of my friends gave me one of my favorite coffee-table books: the Super Metroid Guide.

The Super Metroid guide (and other Nintendo guides at the time) weren’t just simple walkthroughs. No, in the Time Before the Internet these guides also served as the primary (and in some cases only) channel for their respective game’s backstory and lore, and there’s one particular piece of Metroid canon shown here that holds a special place in my heart. 

You see, Super Metroid was the first game in the series to really treat Samus as an actual character and gave us the first full depiction of Samus without her suit. Now, did they go the obvious route and make Samus a two-dimensional curvaceous waif, using her gender as an excuse to cram in sex appeal coated with a vapid personality?

Take a closer look: 

Without her suit, Samus is Six-foot-three and two hundred fucking pounds of badass. Not to be outdone, her bio also does sweet-and-savory justice to her character, all within the character limit of a tweet.

“…Even though she weeds out dangerous and evil characters from the galaxy for a living, she truly cares about the safety of all law-abiding life forms.”
“She’d rather forgo collecting bounty than to see harm come to an innocent life form. While she has her kind side, she is ruthless in battle!”

Nobody giving her orders, no guilt or other bullshit giving her *cough* “motivation.” Samus does what she does because she fucking chooses to. It may be short, but it still paints a vivid and relatable portrait of who Samus Aran really is. She kicks ass and takes names for her paycheck, sure, but first-and-foremost she’s a protector of the small.

This is the ball that Other M dropped.


2999 = 5 357 543 035 931 336 604 742 125 245 300 009 052 807 024 058 527 668 037 218 751 941 851 755 255 624 680 612 465 991 894 078 479 290 637 973 364 587 765 734 125 935 726 428 461 570 217 992 288 787 349 287 401 967 283 887 412 115 492 710 537 302 531 185 570 938 977 091 076 523 237 491 790 970 633 699 383 779 582 771 973 038 531 457 285 598 238 843 271 083 830 214 915 826 312 193 418 602 834 034 688 — five novemnonagintillion, three hundred fifty-seven octononagintillion, five hundred forty-three septennonagintillion, thirty-five sexnonagintillion, nine hundred thirty-one quinnonagintillion, three hundred thirty-six quattuornonagintillion, six hundred four trenonagintillion, seven hundred forty-two duononagintillion, one hundred twenty-five unnonagintillion, two hundred forty-five nonagintillion, three hundred novemoctogintillion, nine octooctogintillion, fifty-two septenoctogintillion, eight hundred seven sexoctogintillion, twenty-four quinoctogintillion, fifty-eight quattuoroctogintillion, five hundred twenty-seven treoctogintillion, six hundred sixty-eight duooctogintillion, thirty-seven unoctogintillion, two hundred eighteen octogintillion, seven hundred fifty-one novemseptuagintillion, nine hundred forty-one octoseptuagintillion, eight hundred fifty-one septenseptuagintillion, seven hundred fifty-five sexseptuagintillion, two hundred fifty-five quinseptuagintillion, six hundred twenty-four quattuorseptuagintillion, six hundred eighty treseptuagintillion, six hundred twelve duoseptuagintillion, four hundred sixty-five unseptuagintillion, nine hundred ninety-one septuagintillion, eight hundred ninety-four novemsexagintillion, seventy-eight octosexagintillion, four hundred seventy-nine septensexagintillion, two hundred ninety sexsexagintillion, six hundred thirty-seven quinsexagintillion, nine hundred seventy-three quattuorsexagintillion, three hundred sixty-four tresexagintillion, five hundred eighty-seven duosexagintillion, seven hundred sixty-five unsexagintillion, seven hundred thirty-four sexagintillion, one hundred twenty-five novemquinquagintillion, nine hundred thirty-five octoquinquagintillion, seven hundred twenty-six septenquinquagintillion, four hundred twenty-eight sexquinquagintillion, four hundred sixty-one quinquinquagintillion, five hundred seventy quattuorquinquagintillion, two hundred seventeen trequinquagintillion, nine hundred ninety-two duoquinquagintillion, two hundred eighty-eight unquinquagintillion, seven hundred eighty-seven quinquagintillion, three hundred forty-nine novemquadragintillion, two hundred eighty-seven octoquadragintillion, four hundred one septenquadragintillion, nine hundred sixty-seven sexquadragintillion, two hundred eighty-three quinquadragintillion, eight hundred eighty-seven quattuorquadragintillion, four hundred twelve trequadragintillion, one hundred fifteen duoquadragintillion, four hundred ninety-two unquadragintillion, seven hundred ten quadragintillion, five hundred thirty-seven novemtrigintillion, three hundred two octotrigintillion, five hundred thirty-one septentrigintillion, one hundred eighty-five sextrigintillion, five hundred seventy quintrigintillion, nine hundred thirty-eight quattuortrigintillion, nine hundred seventy-seven tretrigintillion, ninety-one duotrigintillion, seventy-six untrigintillion, five hundred twenty-three trigintillion, two hundred thirty-seven novemvigintillion, four hundred ninety-one octovigintillion, seven hundred ninety septenvigintillion, nine hundred seventy sexvigintillion, six hundred thirty-three quinvigintillion, six hundred ninety-nine quattuorvigintillion, three hundred eighty-three trevigintillion, seven hundred seventy-nine duovigintillion, five hundred eighty-two unvigintillion, seven hundred seventy-one vigintillion, nine hundred seventy-three novemdecillion, thirty-eight octodecillion, five hundred thirty-one septendecillion, four hundred fifty-seven sexdecillion, two hundred eighty-five quindecillion, five hundred ninety-eight quattuordecillion, two hundred thirty-eight tredecillion, eight hundred forty-three duodecillion, two hundred seventy-one undecillion, eighty-three decillion, eight hundred thirty nonillion, two hundred fourteen octillion, nine hundred fifteen septillion, eight hundred twenty-six sextillion, three hundred twelve quintillion, one hundred ninety-three quadrillion, four hundred eighteen trillion, six hundred two billion, eight hundred thirty-four million, thirty-four thousand, six hundred eighty-eight (301 digits, 4100 characters)

I read, some days past, that the man who ordered the erection of the almost infinite wall of China was that first emperor, Shih Huang-Ti, who also decreed that all books prior to him be burned. That these two vast operations—the five to six hundred leagues of stone opposing the barbarians, the rigorous abolition of history, that is, of the past—should originate in one person and be in some way his attributes inexplicably satisfied and, at the same time, disturbed me.
—  Borges, “The Wall and the Books”

21000 = 10 715 086 071 862 673 209 484 250 490 600 018 105 614 048 117 055 336 074 437 503 883 703 510 511 249 361 224 931 983 788 156 958 581 275 946 729 175 531 468 251 871 452 856 923 140 435 984 577 574 698 574 803 934 567 774 824 230 985 421 074 605 062 371 141 877 954 182 153 046 474 983 581 941 267 398 767 559 165 543 946 077 062 914 571 196 477 686 542 167 660 429 831 652 624 386 837 205 668 069 376 — ten novemnonagintillion, seven hundred fifteen octononagintillion, eighty-six septennonagintillion, seventy-one sexnonagintillion, eight hundred sixty-two quinnonagintillion, six hundred seventy-three quattuornonagintillion, two hundred nine trenonagintillion, four hundred eighty-four duononagintillion, two hundred fifty unnonagintillion, four hundred ninety nonagintillion, six hundred novemoctogintillion, eighteen octooctogintillion, one hundred five septenoctogintillion, six hundred fourteen sexoctogintillion, forty-eight quinoctogintillion, one hundred seventeen quattuoroctogintillion, fifty-five treoctogintillion, three hundred thirty-six duooctogintillion, seventy-four unoctogintillion, four hundred thirty-seven octogintillion, five hundred three novemseptuagintillion, eight hundred eighty-three octoseptuagintillion, seven hundred three septenseptuagintillion, five hundred ten sexseptuagintillion, five hundred eleven quinseptuagintillion, two hundred forty-nine quattuorseptuagintillion, three hundred sixty-one treseptuagintillion, two hundred twenty-four duoseptuagintillion, nine hundred thirty-one unseptuagintillion, nine hundred eighty-three septuagintillion, seven hundred eighty-eight novemsexagintillion, one hundred fifty-six octosexagintillion, nine hundred fifty-eight septensexagintillion, five hundred eighty-one sexsexagintillion, two hundred seventy-five quinsexagintillion, nine hundred forty-six quattuorsexagintillion, seven hundred twenty-nine tresexagintillion, one hundred seventy-five duosexagintillion, five hundred thirty-one unsexagintillion, four hundred sixty-eight sexagintillion, two hundred fifty-one novemquinquagintillion, eight hundred seventy-one octoquinquagintillion, four hundred fifty-two septenquinquagintillion, eight hundred fifty-six sexquinquagintillion, nine hundred twenty-three quinquinquagintillion, one hundred forty quattuorquinquagintillion, four hundred thirty-five trequinquagintillion, nine hundred eighty-four duoquinquagintillion, five hundred seventy-seven unquinquagintillion, five hundred seventy-four quinquagintillion, six hundred ninety-eight novemquadragintillion, five hundred seventy-four octoquadragintillion, eight hundred three septenquadragintillion, nine hundred thirty-four sexquadragintillion, five hundred sixty-seven quinquadragintillion, seven hundred seventy-four quattuorquadragintillion, eight hundred twenty-four trequadragintillion, two hundred thirty duoquadragintillion, nine hundred eighty-five unquadragintillion, four hundred twenty-one quadragintillion, seventy-four novemtrigintillion, six hundred five octotrigintillion, sixty-two septentrigintillion, three hundred seventy-one sextrigintillion, one hundred forty-one quintrigintillion, eight hundred seventy-seven quattuortrigintillion, nine hundred fifty-four tretrigintillion, one hundred eighty-two duotrigintillion, one hundred fifty-three untrigintillion, forty-six trigintillion, four hundred seventy-four novemvigintillion, nine hundred eighty-three octovigintillion, five hundred eighty-one septenvigintillion, nine hundred forty-one sexvigintillion, two hundred sixty-seven quinvigintillion, three hundred ninety-eight quattuorvigintillion, seven hundred sixty-seven trevigintillion, five hundred fifty-nine duovigintillion, one hundred sixty-five unvigintillion, five hundred forty-three vigintillion, nine hundred forty-six novemdecillion, seventy-seven octodecillion, sixty-two septendecillion, nine hundred fourteen sexdecillion, five hundred seventy-one quindecillion, one hundred ninety-six quattuordecillion, four hundred seventy-seven tredecillion, six hundred eighty-six duodecillion, five hundred forty-two undecillion, one hundred sixty-seven decillion, six hundred sixty nonillion, four hundred twenty-nine octillion, eight hundred thirty-one septillion, six hundred fifty-two sextillion, six hundred twenty-four quintillion, three hundred eighty-six quadrillion, eight hundred thirty-seven trillion, two hundred five billion, six hundred sixty-eight million, sixty-nine thousand, three hundred seventy-six (302 digits, 4085 characters)

Antique Chilcat mask with Chinese coins set in as eyes.

Handbook of Aboriginal American Antiquities

William Henry Holmes
Washington: Government Printing Office, 1919.

‘A good example of an art transfer which lies somewhere near the border between the historic and the pre-European invasion of the Pacific and is thus under the ban of modernity is exemplified by an old Chilcat mask having bronze Chinese coins set in the eye sockets (fig. 18). This specimen, which is described by Lieut. Bolles, was obtained from the grave of an old “medicine man who had flourished more than two hundred years ago, six successors having filled this office; each one living to a good old age.” The Indians were entirely ignorant of the origin and significance of the coins forming the eyes of the specimen. This and many other occurrences are regarded as suggestive of indefinitely early intercourse between the New World and the Old World across the Pacific, but are not decisive.’

It only took two hundred and forty days
seven hours
twenty-six minutes
and eighteen seconds
But I can finally say it:
I’m over you.

I no longer think about
the way your hips move when you walk
the way your lips move when you read
the way you always took your glove off
before you held my hand so you could feel me.

I’ve completely forgotten about
texts in the middle of the night, saying you love me, miss me
inside jokes no one else thinks are funny
songs that made you want to pull your car over and kiss me immediately.

I can’t remember
how your voice sounds
how your mouth tastes
how your bedroom looks when the sun first comes up.

I can’t recall
exactly what you said that day
what I was wearing
how long it took me to start crying.

It only took two hundred and forty days
seven hours
twenty-six minutes
and eighteen seconds
to wipe you from my memory.

But if you said you wanted me again
or tomorrow
or two hundred and forty days
seven hours
twenty-six minutes
and eighteen seconds from now,

I’m sure it would all come back to me.

—  Every Last Word by Tamara Ireland Stone