Title: Heartbeat Pt. III Pairing: Josh Dun/Reader, Tyler Joseph/Reader Rating: Very mature. Warnings: Daddy kink, roughness, name-calling, drama, fluff. All kinds of chaos. A/N: This stupid chapter is 8.3k words, and I’m so worn out because this has been driving me bonkers. I hope you’re ready for some drama, because this is where things start to get real. Let me know what you think, because this one was obviously very difficult to write.
If you were to take a 22-pound rock and fling it 620 miles straight up … you would have superpowers. And an anger management problem. The gravitational force the rock would experience at that altitude is still about three-quarters of what it would be on the surface. That means our planet is constantly begging every single satellite we’ve put into orbit to come back like some kind of crazed ex. An object like the ISS must maintain an astounding steady speed of 17,000 miles per hour just to stay in its 200-plus mile orbit. Any less and it’ll crash down to Earth. Any more, and it escapes our gravitational pull and rockets away into space. The ISS is, in fact, constantly losing altitude – requiring the craft that dock with it to give it regular boosts … just not too much of a boost.
Isaac Newton likened this phenomenon to a cannon perched atop a very high mountain. If the cannon were capable of firing its ball fast enough, the ball could fall toward the ground, but miss it entirely. Similarly, another great mind once said the knack to flying “lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.” That’s what every single craft in orbit must perpetually do: Suck at hitting the ground.
bughead having sex at literally any change they get (several times please)
So much More:
you got it! Mostly smut with a little bit of context at the beginning.
Excuse me while I go blush profusely now… haha x
warning: so much smut [oh lord i am going to hell]
first time was a little awkward, but wonderful none the less. It should’ve been
in his dads trailer the night of the jubilee after confessing their love. That
would’ve made sense. But it wasn’t.
was the night after that; they had spent all day at the hospital, they were
emotionally exhausted, both from being the support Archie needed and seeing the
man whom had been a prominent parental figure to both of them almost their
entire lives, fight for his own. Jughead had climbed the ladder to her
bedroom window after he had bid her goodnight at the front door. Because he
knew she needed him and he needed her too. It was comfort and love and the need
to feel alive. It was hushed moans and muffled whimpers under pastel sheets and
on floral comforters. It was rushed and slow all at once. It was, hunger,
desire, passion and learning.
then it became so much more. It became a need, a want, engrained deep within
their souls to feel close to each other. It was as if the further Riverdale
tried to pry them apart, the more urgent the need to connect in every sense
was raw and passionate and oh so good.
was addictive and sinful and everything.
was leather and wool; rough and dark, while comforting and safe.
now it seemed every chance they got they couldn’t keep their hands off each
was late Monday evening and the young couple were seeking solace in FP’s
trailer. Betty had managed to forgo the wrath of Alice Cooper which she would
usually incur for being out this hour on a school night no less, as a very
pregnant Polly was occupying all of her mother’s concern. And while Jughead’s
foster parents were nice enough they were not capable of enforcing rules he
actually wanted to abide by.
had become a routine of sorts for them. Hiding away from the rampage outside
and enjoying the little slice of domesticity here in the small excuse for a
home. Here they revelled in each other’s company and nothing else, particularly
enjoying the teenage bliss they were able to manufacture in the air.
was sitting on the couch text book on her lap. Her blonde hair was tied back in
a messy low pony tail for a change- Jughead felt privilege well within his
chest at the knowledge she felt so entirely free and herself here with him that
she could shed her defences. Betty felt the same emotion as she took in his
beanie less state.
Sableye hides in caves and eats rocks. It sounds obscure, sure, but it does Sableye a lot of good. In our previous entry on Sableye, for example, we discussed how using the gems in its eyes gives Sableye improved vision, useful for dark caves. But we’ve gotten a bunch of requests recently that want to know the how: How do the rocks Sableye eats become part of its body?
When we eat something, parts of the food naturally becomes part of our bodies: that’s why we eat. The proteins, vitamins, sugars, and more from food are broken down, absorbed, and then added to our bodies. However, as you can imagine, rocks aren’t easily digestible. They can’t be chewed up and broken down, and therefore it’s components can’t be absorbed into our bodies.
However, eating rocks is more common than you might think: but it’s never for nutrition. Birds, crocodiles, sea lions, ostriches, frogs, and axolotls are all known to swallow rocks. There’s also evidence that several dinosaurs did this. Once a rock is swallowed, it becomes known as a gastrolith. Ostriches, sometimes, will swallow rocks up to 10 centimeters in diameter. These animals swallow these rocks to help them in digestion. All of these animals either don’t have teeth, have limited teeth, or have teeth that aren’t good for chewing. These animals can’t chew their food, so they swallow rocks so the food can be ground up and “chewed” by the rocks in their stomach. Just like chewing does for us, the rocks grind up the food to help these animals get the most vitamins, proteins, and nutrition out of the food that it eats.
But, like I mentioned, these rocks aren’t for nutrition. These animals can’t digest the rocks they eat, and no part of the rock is digested, absorbed, or added to their bodies. Worms, on the other hand, do get nutrition out of the dirt they eat. They can do this because the vitamins and nutrients in dirt are already fairly broken down, so the worm doesn’t need to do much chewing or digesting before absorbing them. That’s the problem with digesting rocks: most animals have no way of breaking them down into small enough components to be useful in the body.
But we’re not done yet! One sea creature, the rock-boring urchin, does chew up rocks: It digs tunnels in reefs to make its houses, by literally chewing through the stone, eating their way to the creation of the tunnel. And these urchins eat a lot of rocks: the equivalent of a human eating 500 pounds of rock per day.
As you can imagine, these creatures have very hard teeth. They have to, if they’re literally chewing through stone without damaging their teeth. These teeth are made out of mineral crystals bound together with calcium. Crystals tend to be very strong due to their organized chemical structure: that’s why diamond is one of the hardest substances in the world. So, if you want to chew through rock you need hard, crystalline teeth. Starting to sound like Sableye, eh?
These urchins might be the closest thing to Sableye in our world. They chew through rocks, parts of their bodies are made out of crystal, they live in caves (that they dug with their own teeth). It is important to note that these urchins also eat algae, and that’s where most of their nutrients come from; not from the rocks. Animals need a lot of material to upkeep their body. Rocks may contain certain minerals, but proteins and amino acids and organic substances animals need to survive simply aren’t found in rocks. Even Sableye can’t survive on rocks alone: it eats rocks for the crystalline parts of its body, but it must get other nutrients from other sources.
Sableye has very hard, crystalline teeth. These teeth allow it to chew through rocks, grinding them up into tiny components that can actually be digested and absorbed into Sableye’s body.
Summary: BTS gets drunk and reads fan fiction together.
Pairing: Platonic OT7, Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Ridiculously filthy smut and boys being boys
Word Count: 4914
Warnings: The fan fiction the boys read is quite explicit, but the boys stay (mostly) platonic
A/N: All of the fan fiction the boys read in this is written (badly) by me. Any resemblance to other people’s stories is coincidence. I am not trying to make fun of anyone other than myself as an avid reader and writer of BTS fan fiction.
I hate you Jungkook!” You shout breathlessly, desperately pounding his rock-hard chest with your small hands as he cages you against the wall of your bedroom. You have hated Jungkook since the first day you met him. You hate the way he struts around school. You hate the way all the girls stare at him and giggle when he gives them a confident wave. You hate the way his hair falls perfectly across his forehead in a way that makes you ache inside. “I hate you!” You cry again, pushing him away from you.
“I don’t care!” Jungkook grabs you by your shoulders and pins you roughly against the wall. “I know it has only been a week since you transferred to our school, but you make me feel a way no other girl ever has.” He holds you to the wall as you try to squirm away. “Don’t you know I love you Y/N?” He looks at you with desperation and a bit of madness in his eyes. His lips are just inches away from yours now. You are terrified that he might kiss you and terrified that he might not.
A sudden noise from the hallway makes Jungkook flinch so hard he almost drops his phone directly into the toilet. He listens hard to make sure it’s not one of the other members trying to get into the bathroom. Jungkook really shouldn’t be doing this right now. Jungkook should be working on that new cover song that he wants to post before they go back out on tour in a few days. He checks the time on his watch. Just one more minute…
summary: oliver and felicity hiking the pacific crest trail during their five months away a/n: it’s not exactly a oneshot but i hope it’s okay @imusuallyobsessed
“Did you put rocks in this backpack?”
“It feels like there are a thousand pounds of rocks in my backpack. Did you pull a parent trap?” Felicity wiped some sweat from her brow, trudging forward and attempting to keep up with Oliver.
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, “I know you haven’t seen a lot of movies, Oliver, but The Parent Trap is a classic! Lindsay Lohan playing her own twin-”
Oliver laughed loudly.
“I’ve seen it. Speedy made me watch it a couple of times,” he said, “It’s impossible to say ‘no’ to a six year old that has her mother wrapped around her finger.”
She shook her head, “Now I really do suspect you put something in the backpack,” she took a few more steps and stood beside him.
The Pacific Crest Trail was beautiful, lush green mountains, but she was not the backpacking kind of woman. Her chest was on fire, her legs and back aching, and she was so covered in sweat she was having flashbacks to junior high gym class. This had totally seemed like a good idea when they started. Standing in front of the mountains, getting one of those cheesy pictures taken, but now… now she was questioning her sanity. Especially the part of her that offered to carry the backpack.
“I didn’t,” he chuckled again.
“Then why, I ask, why am I dying and you have not even broken a sweat,” she gestured at him, “You should at least be a little sweaty so I have something to look at.”
His smile slowly formed into a smirk.
“But no, I’m dragging my ass up a mountain and I’m disgusting. You’re going to leave me here because I’m so gross,” she grossed her arms and pouted.
He rolled his eyes at her, “And I thought I was the dramatic one,” he teased.
She continued to pout.
“I think you’re sexy,” he stepped closer to her.
There was literal sweat dripping down her nose. She didn’t believe him for a second. He leaned in and kissed her sweaty forehead and then her nose. Slowly moving down to her lips.
“Sexy,” he reached behind her and squeezed her butt.
She couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth.
“How about,” he started to say, “I carry you for a bit?” he asked.
“Well, I’m not going to say no to that,” she watched him pull back and turn around.
He bent down low, so she could get on. She wrapped her arm around his neck, nuzzling her nose into him gently. Her legs went around his waist tightly. He gripped onto his walking stick and kept going. It only took another mile or so for him to finally break a sweat.
“You’re sweaty,” she smiled against his skin.
“Yep,” he huffed out a breath.
“Finally,” she kissed his neck, tasting the salty sweat.
“I’m starting to get the feeling you would like me to stop for lunch.”
“Nah,” she giggled, “Why am I distracting you?”
“Nope, hold on,” he said as he jumped between a couple rocks.
She squeezed him tight. “Now you’re just showing off.”
So you’ve been crying at the sky, fists pounding against rock until it became sand pooling at your feet, voice howling across the ocean, and no one has answered your calls.
Here’s what you do. You build a ship, a boat, a raft, anything you can; you build it with your own hands piece by tiny piece if you have to, whenever you can spare your strength, and one day, you’ll be ready to set sail and wave these rocks goodbye. And you will set out, hope building in your heart with the gentle breeze in your sails, and given some time and given some space, the wind will carry voices your way. The world isn’t empty, though it may seem so more often than not. Search the seas for long enough and you will find what you have called for, and you will remember a time when you cried towards the sky and howled out your pain on a distant shore listening for a reply that never came, and know that you became the person you needed then for all those voices in the wind, and that when you called out to them this final time, there came an answer, loud and clear.
This is a Manorian fic because I have absolutely zero self-restraint and refuse to do my essay.
Title: Sandy Sickness
Characters: Mainly Manon and Dorian
Summary: Manon falls ill while moving up north through the desert in search of the Crochan witches. To make matters worse, she is separated from her 13 due to a sudden sandstorm and left to brave it with a certain princeling.
Manon had dealt with a lot of irritating
things her life. The Yellowlegs. Duke Perrington. Her Grandmother. Her
Grandmother now trying to kill her. The desert she was currently stuck in. And
Dorian, who she was caught between wanting to throttle or choke- though it’s likely
he’d enjoy both of those acts.
A/N: i needed to write something that literally would just let me run loose. and since the nyxnoct ship seemed a lil’bit chill rn, i thought why not make some content for it. so i went digging for inspiration and found this art by @bierausgalahd, so i decided to write a lil’drabble based on the second image in their post and it somehow became softcore porn. forgive me, it’s been a while since i wrote any kind of smut. and i listened to this while writing it, hence the title. so ya, enjoy!
Fingertips brushed across porcelain skin, tracing lean muscles downward to a trim waistline. Sad sapphire eyes held Nyx’s gaze as Noctis’ hands pressed into the pillow beneath his head, holding himself above the glaive.
They watched each other with a tenderness that came with trying to memorize their partner’s features—Nyx trying to count the freckles and moles that adorned the prince’s face, Noctis tracing the scars and tattoos on the glaive’s body with his eyes.
Calloused hands slid up from waist to the front of Noctis’ chest, a gentle caress as the prince leaned down for a chaste kiss. The kiss was the younger man’s goodbye, filled with a longing that would only grow after his departure to Altissia.
The passionate response that the ebony-haired man received was Nyx’s promise to commit every second they had left together to memory, the galahdian rolling over to pin Noctis’ pliant body beneath him. The elder man peppered kisses down the prince’s face, neck and chest, thin fingers tangling in long hair and pulling on braids.
Noctis choked back his moans, biting his lips as his lover’s warm mouth became the center of his world.
Ice blue eyes watched as the raven-haired man trembled and writhed under his careful administrations, Nyx’s worn hands skimming the smooth flesh of Noctis’ hips before carefully guiding a muscular thigh up over the older man’s shoulder. The prince whined as lips and tongue travelled from his hip bone to his thigh, little marks littering pale flesh when teeth nipped and pulled at his skin.
Slick fingers carefully slid into the younger man, a gasp escaping Noctis as his hands twisted in the bedsheets and pillow beneath him. Nyx’s mouth worked to distract him from his initial discomfort before it bloomed into pleasure, Noctis’ body becoming pliant to his lover’s touch. Thin fingers untangled themselves from fabric, reaching down to pull at thick hair and shoulders, guiding Nyx up to meet his lover’s lips.
The kiss was filled with their desperation and longing for one another, their bodies aligning with the guidance of the galahdian’s steady hands. When he pressed into his lover, Noctis’ panted against his mouth, their kiss nothing more than the two of them breathing against each other’s lips as they adjusted to the ecstasy of being so intertwined.
Nyx gently rocked forward into the prince, Noctis tangling fingers in braids as teeth grazed his lover’s skin. One large hand firmly held his hip while the other was resting next to his head, the elder man groaning into his ear as they moved together. Hearts pounding, they rocked slowly, not wanting the bliss they were experiencing together to end.
Noctis was the first to topple over the edge, his slender body arching upwards as he cried out in passion. Nyx began to thrust at a faster pace, chasing Noctis’ high in order to reach his own. It was sudden, the elder man’s body hunching over as his body became tense while the pleasure washed over him.
With trembling hands, Nyx brushed back sweaty bangs from the prince’s forehead, pressing a soft kiss against his brow. The younger man panted heavily as he watched the glaive topple to the side, sapphire eyes fixed on his figure again. Noctis stretched over to press a kiss to his stubbled jaw, and tucked his head between muscular shoulder and neck, fingers tracing black tattoos and scars on Nyx’s chest.
Nyx’s fingers carded through ebony coloured hair and stroked clammy porcelain skin as they laid there, committing the feeling of each other’s skin to memory.
what i talk about when i talk about running by murakami
That is the longest title i’ve seen in a while and it fits very well.
This book’s a part journal, part running diary of the famous author Haruki Murakami, which I’ve yet to read another novel of. I still found this book interesting, even if I’m not a runner - not at all.
I was looking for motivation and insight, which I got, in a way. There’s a lot of reasons to read this book. The writing’s fantastic and so is the self-reflections and general thoughts it included. I like Murakami’s view of the world, which is a weird thing to say, but his thoughts on why he’s running and his stories are interesting in themselves. Like when he sold his jazz club to become a full-time author because it was what he wanted. He went against common sense, but he gives his reasons to why that didn’t stop him. And there seems like nothing will stop him from running for a while either, which still baffles me that one could genuinely enjoy.
What surprised me the most was the meditation aspect of long-distance running and why someone deliberately cause themselves pain, like Murakami running a marathon in the scolding heat of greece’s summer, on his own. I’m no stranger to pain, but that’s something else. And Murakami doesn’t seem to understand it completely either, only that he wasn’t about to do it again.
When Murakami wrote this book, in 2005, he’d run somewhere around 24 marathons, which I have to be amazed at. He’s been running longer than I’ve been alive. It was really interesting to search for the reason to why he’s be able to keep putting effort into something so demanding for so long. Definitely something to strive for, but it doesn’t mean I’m about to go running anytime soon. I now believe some enjoy it, but they can keep it. I find my meditational exercise elsewhere, even if I didn’t realize it before this book.
Murakami on writing;
“Writers who are blessed with inborn talent can freely write novels no matter what they do - or don’t do. Like water from a natural spring, the sentences just well up, and with little or no effort these writers can complete at work. Occassionally you’ll find someone like that, but, unfortunately, the category wouldn’t include me. I haven’t spotted and springs nearby. I have to pound the rock with a chisel and dig out a deep hole before I can locate the source of creativity. To write a novel I have to drive myself hard physically and use a lot of time and effort. Every time I begin a new novel, I have to dredge out another new, deep hole. But as I’ve sustained this kind of life over many years, I’ve become quite efficient, both technically and physically, at opening a hole in the hard rock and locating a new water vein.”