#2829

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: March 21, 2005

Lyrics:

(Don′t say you love me)

(Strange things that make me die)

(Don't say you love me)

(Strange things that make me die)

I don′t belong I'm still around won't steal you like a radio

I′m still around I won′t be long gonna treat you like an angel

But don't say you love me

Strange things that make me die

Dance ′till we're high you′re shy

Don't say you′ll cry

I told you lies I'm still around won't steal your act my angel

I won′t be long it′s still your round or serialize the radio

But don't say you love me

Strange things that make me die

Dance ′till we're high you′re shy

Don't say (don′t say) you'll cry

(What do you say?)

(What do you say?)

Don't go on I see your eyes I screw you around my angel

You′re still my love it′s in your eyes our song is on the radio

But don't say you love me (what do you say?)

Strange things that make me die

Dance ′till we're high you′re shy

Don't say you′ll cry

Songwriter:

Don't say you love me

Don't say you′ll cry I′m high

Don't say you′ll cry

Vince Clarke / Andy Bell 

SongFacts:

👉📖

Homepage:

Erasure

[tmt-sketch-a-day]

Sketch a Day 2829-Cat Toast- 11/14/23

when a cat gets spooked it makes toast

[mostbelovedaewwrestlertournament]

Most Beloved AEW Wrestler Tournament 2

[albertxylin]

Freeze-Dried Candy

Freeze-dried candy shatters into crystals, Texture transformed into something fragile, Something sharp enough to cut and pucker And leave a sour taste in the mouth.

[harveyphotography]

Aria di natale - Arezzo 2023

[todays-xkcd]

Our experimental aerogel iceberg with helium pockets manages true 100% efficiency, barely touching the water, and it can even lift off of the surface and fly to more efficiently pursue fleeing hubristic liners.

Iceberg Efficiency [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[Black Hat is holding a stick and standing next to an image of an iceberg halfway submerged in water, presenting to an unseen audience.] Black Hat: A standard iceberg is only 10% efficient. Black Hat: 90% of the ice is hidden underwater, totally wasted.

[Black Hat is now standing next to an image of the same iceberg, with another "iceberg" almost entirely above the surface of the water to the right of it.] Black Hat: Our next-generation foam-filled iceberg achieves near-100% efficiency, floating almost entirely above the ocean surface.

[Black Hat is still holding a stick, but is standing next to nothing. There are no other people directly shown, but three distinct 'off-frame' voices are indicated.] Black Hat: "But wait," you might be thinking. "How will such a lightweight iceberg pose a threat to hubristic ocean liners?" Black Hat: That's where the torpedoes come in. Off-panel voice 1: I'm sorry, what project are you part of, again? Off-panel voice 2: I assumed he was with you. Off-panel voice 3: Security?

[dogstomp]

Dogstomp #2829 - October 5th

Patreon / Twitter / Discord Server

[homestuck-quotes-sometimes]

CT: D --> I think CT: D --> I need CT: D --> Something to dry myself off with

[pesterloglog]

Equius Zahhak, Dave Strider

Act 5, page 2825-2829

-- centaursTesticle [CT] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] --

CT: D --> I'm attempting to determine what it is that ranks humans in their class stru%ure

CT: D --> I'd assumed the color of your b100d would serve as the basis for placement in the hierarchy, as would be e%pected and natural, but I was mistaken

CT: D --> I was similarly in error believing the color of what you type corresponds with the color of your b100d

TG: it does bro

TG: my bloods red

CT: D --> Well, obviously

CT: D --> I understand that now, I'm not a f001

TG: on earth class is sorted out by who can drop the most delirious flow

CT: D --> I see

CT: D --> So, in other words, a sort of b100d letting ritual

CT: D --> To assess whose pulse is steadiest and thus whose flow is the most STRONG

TG: no

TG: well yeah

TG: verbal pulse

TG: rap battles

TG: the kings of wordtech ascend to godhood and look down on us patriarchally like urban watermarks in the sky

TG: this is like

TG: our religion man

TG: its fucking serious business its like what our whole culture revolves around

CT: D --> Really

CT: D --> So your social e%elons are dictated by the noble artform of the ancient slam poets

CT: D --> Or the Earth equivalent

TG: yeah well

TG: used to be dictated

TG: til the rapocalypse happened

TG: i still believe though

TG: in my heart so long as it keeps thumping the righteous beat

TG: subwoofing out devotion every which way

TG: that he will come

TG: our savior

TG: was foretold hed come after meteors show up to drop it like its hot

TG: and hed gather up the ashes of our civilization and lift it like its heavy

TG: fuck im tearing up my ishades are gonna fry

CT: D --> I believe

CT: D --> That this is probably nonsense

CT: D --> I've already been hornswoggled repeatedly by your comrades, who I quite reasonably mistook for your superiors in b100dline

CT: D --> Your race makes a habit of deception, and I will not tolerate it

CT: D --> You will stop

CT: D --> I command that all verbal misdire%ion and hoofbeastplay will cease during my communications, is that understood

TG: hahahahaha

TG: douche

CT: D --> Did I say something entertaining

TG: if youre gonna spit that kind of bravado at me im just saying put it in rhyme

TG: lets hear what you got tooly mcsnoothole

CT: D --> I try to stay engaged with many aristocratic practices

CT: D --> But I'm not much of a poet

TG: come on

CT: D --> My poems are private

TG: whatever dude

TG: deprivatize them

CT: D --> If you're prepared to be particularly forceful about it

CT: D --> I may be suitably disgusted to comply

TG: just

TG: take whatevers in there

TG: that brorage lust youre feelin

TG: turn that bitch inside out like a broke ass millionaires pockets

CT: D --> Yes

CT: D --> Those are the sorts of assertive statements which could get me

CT: D --> Flowing

TG: alright

TG: weird but alright

TG: you sound wound up

TG: but my gears are airtight

TG: steer clear a the seer and the knight if youre scared of unfair fights

TG: youll drop like the staircase impaired, seein em spareds a fair fuckin rare sight

TG: for poor eyes like that millionaire whos pockets i mocked earlier

TG: hes paradoxically me but richer and surlier

TG: broke as his sword before his stock picks skyrocketed

TG: worth more than all the chests lockpicked and gold croc bricks and boonbucks i pickpocketed

TG: fillin folios with millions im milkin to pad out my pockets

TG: more chock full than sad trollian villains cloggin my blocklist

TG: so thoughtful to popul-

TG: -ate my slate with propositions to copulate to a spate of hemoerotic hotpix

TG: which i posit you got shit of that nature in spades

TG: as my shades got you locked in

TG: spyin a guy whos eyed more cocks and dicks than i got clocks and they got ticks

CT: D --> Just a thought. Let's mock a topic with less awfulness

CT: D --> If you'd use the e%cuse to be less culturally myopic, what are your views on abuse to the walking apocrypha

CT: D --> Would you choose if duly cued to put your bruising clop to a flock of naughty roboti%

TG: ahaha wow YES

TG: dont really understand that but yes

TG: ok hold that thought im gonna pull this fuckin sword out of the thing

CT: D --> Perhaps it's that it's martial tacti% that matter for status. Unless you redact this

CT: D --> I'd hazard in practice that it's a glass of what's lactic that would impact this

CT: D --> Pragmatic to presume? A human metric for grandness stands on fondness in honest

CT: D --> For wanton aplomb with strapping song smithing, ripping sonnets of STRONGNESS

TG: yes

TG: still no clue what this shit means but keep going

CT: D --> But perhaps

CT: D --> To divine class divides in unclassified swine is butchering time

CT: D --> Your fauna I find requires too little strength to savage in rhyme

CT: D --> I fear inferiors have monopolized my highest priorities

CT: D --> Let's eschew crude inferiors, pursue nude superiorities

CT: D --> Review z001ogical peculiarities, great stalking enormities

CT: D --> Fle%ing in unison, baying at moons within fraternal sororities

TG: holy shit

TG: what

CT: D --> Great musclebeasts tussle, bu%om in heft

CT: D --> With thunderous muscle, buttock to spec

TG: what the fuck

CT: D --> Connect blows to discover, how invincible pecs are

CT: D --> Venture low to uncover, his inimitable nectar

TG: oh god

TG: ok stop

CT: D --> Should song serve to placate one

CT: D --> And fortune holds he lactate some

CT: D --> STRONG hands tugging teat make great ambrosia collectors

TG: hahaha

TG: jesus

TG: ok maybe youre actually the worst troll

TG: im thinking none of that was actually ironic that was all pretty straightup wasnt it

CT: D --> What do you mean

CT: D --> Are you ordering me to conceal my poems again

TG: nevermind

TG: god dammit

TG: fuckin piece of shit sword

TG: wont goddamn budge probably useless anyway

CT: D --> It 100ks to be a legendary weapon

TG: its a legendary piece of shit

CT: D --> Giving up on the treasure so easily

CT: D --> It strikes me as an artifact rooted in universal lore of nobility

CT: D --> As valuable an asset as strength is

CT: D --> And as much as anyone with his wits is fond of being STRONG

CT: D --> Such weapons require finesse to operate

CT: D --> And surely in this case, to retrieve without damaging

CT: D --> Hence your no doubt frustrating restraint

TG: ok im kinda starting to wonder why youre bugging me now

TG: youre a fuckin creepy dude

CT: D --> E%cessive force will shatter such weapons

CT: D --> We both know this from e%perience

TG: what

CT: D --> The adult human who trained you

CT: D --> And taught you the ways of being STRONG

CT: D --> Remember

TG: you mean the guy who spent years beating my ass down with a puppet

TG: yeah i remember

CT: D --> Yes, and now, being learned in the ways of STRONGNESS

CT: D --> You like myself are unfortunately limited in the weaponry you may wield

CT: D --> Ironically the training which has ennobled you beyond others has made instruments of high b100d brittle in your hands

CT: D --> Hence the state of your favored weapon, hobbling your specibus

CT: D --> I know what this is like

TG: man

TG: im not that strong ok

TG: just cause i broke a cheap ass sword doesnt make me the fucking hulk

CT: D --> Oh

TG: what did you go around breaking a bunch of swords too

CT: D --> No

CT: D --> Bows

TG: how the fuck do you even wield a broken bow

TG: did you go around clubbing shit with the two halves

CT: D --> Yes

CT: D --> Sometimes

CT: D --> What are you doing

TG: whats it look like

CT: D --> Careful

CT: D --> About succumbing to these sorts of destructive

CT: D --> Urges

CT: D --> Addi%ion is a powerful thing

TG: so am i

TG: bow down before your new king bitch

CT: D --> I think

CT: D --> I need

CT: D --> Something to dry myself off with

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

For some reason, coffee makes me simultaneously very sleepy and very anxious. It makes my eyes heavy, but makes my chest tight? I still like coffee though.

[orianashea]

Long Beach Real Estate – Find Your Dream Home with Oriana Shea

Searching for homes for sale in Long Beach? The Oriana Shea Group provides expert guidance and a diverse selection of properties. From charming bungalows to modern condos, start your Long Beach adventure here!

[amiableness]

Kiss and Makeup

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Summary: James ruins reader’s date and attempts to make it better.

Word Count: 2829

Warnings: Jealous!James; kissing; and reader wearing heels, jewelry and makeup.

A/N 💌: A quick James oneshot that’s been on my mind, but I’m heavily consider making a second part to this.

As usual, thank you to @moonpascal for reading!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Go on, kiss and make up!” Sirius’ voice trails after you as you hurry down the corridor, James close on your heels. On any other day, you might have tossed a playful jab back at Sirius, well-accustomed to his relentless teasing about you and James. But today, the weight of everything made your throat tighten, leaving you silent, your focus fixed on reaching the safety of your dorm.

The sharp click of your heels echoed off the stone walls, and James’ muttering about your surprising speed in heels barely registers. Your anger simmers, blocking out his words as you storm ahead and shove the door open. James is right behind you, catching it just before it could slam shut in his face, determined not to let you shut him out.

“Get out, Jamie.” Though your voice was laced with anger, the way you used his nickname gave him a glimmer of hope. It wasn’t hopeless—there was still a chance to make everything better.

“I’m not leaving until we figure this out.” James says, stepping forward and leaning against the post of Lily’s bed as he watches you roll your eyes and turn into the room. He doesn’t say anything as you begin furiously grabbing clothes and scattered heels off the floor—remnants of you getting ready for a date, now tainted by the tension hanging between you two.

“There’s nothing to figure out! You ruined my date, plain and simple.” You spin around, clutching a black heel in your hand, and for a fleeting moment, James braces himself, half-expecting you to launch it at him in a fit of frustration. But it’s you, his sweet best friend—the one who cares so deeply for others that you always put them before yourself. It’s a trait that drives James a little crazy sometimes, knowing you’d sacrifice your own happiness without a second thought.

The realization only sharpens the sting of your anger, an unfamiliar weight he’s not used to carrying. He can recall times you’ve been disappointed—maybe after one of his careless pranks or his thoughtless disregard for someone’s feelings—but never this. Never this level of anger.

“I said I was sorry.” He tries, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you scoff and turn away, angrily kicking off your heels. You bend down to pick them up, and despite himself, his eyes drift to the curve of your body. He knows he shouldn’t be looking, but he can’t help it—he’s never been able to take his eyes off you. And now, a bitter feeling twists in his gut, knowing you’re dressed all pretty for someone else.

“You’re not, though. Why the fuck did you feel the need to scare him off?” You toss the heels into your trunk and turn to face him, arms crossed. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words die before they form—because he doesn’t know how to tell you the truth. He knows exactly why, but admitting it out loud would change everything between you. And he’s not sure he’s ready for that.

The silence between you stretches, heavy and unspoken, as you wait for an answer he isn’t ready to give. You both know exactly what you’re waiting for—a proper explanation.

One you’ve been holding out hope for, quietly, for years.

“It’s not fair, you know.” You let out a deep sigh, turning to face your desk, your gaze falling on the mirror. James watches as you begin to remove your jewelry, your back turned to him, but his reflection still catches glimpses of you.The anger in your voice has softened, but he knows that if he says the wrong thing, it could all flare up again, as sharp and sudden as before.

“What isn’t?” He hesitates, watching you carefully as he takes a cautious step forward. His eyes follow the way your lips part in the mirror, the soft exhale of frustration escaping you as you fumble with your necklace.

He wants to step forward, to gently brush your hair aside and unfasten the clasp, to press a soft kiss against the back of your neck once the necklace slips away. But he can’t—so he remains still, trapped in silence, as he watches you instead.

“Why is it that you go out with girl after girl, but when I show interest in a guy, you scare him off?” You already knew the answer—weren’t blind to it. It had been clear to everyone that you and James had been circling each other for years, dancing around unspoken words.

But he refused to admit that he cared for you as more than friends. It felt pointless to tell him how you felt when it was clear James was intent on keeping you in the friend zone.

From the moment crushes became a part of your life, James had been yours. But you were never certain about his feelings—until that one night when he got blackout drunk and confessed he was in love with you. He has no memory of that drunken night, but you overheard him later, telling the boys he’d never drink that much again because he wanted to actually remember the parties he went to. You’d felt a pang of disappointment, but you were gathering the courage to confront him about it. Then, the next day, he hooked up with a girl from Ravenclaw, and just like that, all your resolve crumbled, leaving you feeling more invisible than ever.

He didn’t remember what he’d said, and if he was out with other girls, it was clear he didn’t care enough to mention it while sober.

That was a year ago, and you still hadn’t brought it up. 

So, to cope with the mess of it all, you went on a date—a rare one, the first in nearly a year. And now, here was James, wrecking it all over again.

“I—” He stops himself, clearing his throat, the tension in his voice betraying the lie before he even finishes. “I don’t think that’s true. You go out on dates.”

He knew he spent a lot of time flirting with girls—whether it was during class, when he should have been paying attention, or at parties where conversation flowed too easily. But when someone showed interest in you? That was a different story altogether. He’d like to blame it on the fact that you were his best friend, but deep down, he knew better.He was protective of you because he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone looking at you the way he did. Was it selfish? Definitely. But the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything.

“You know that’s a lie. You saw how excited I was! Why did you take that from me?” You were fully aware of how weak and accusatory your voice sounded, but you didn’t care. You were hurt, and it was clear in the way you shook your head, disappointment heavy in every movement. James watched your reflection, noticing the way you swallowed hard as if trying to shove down the swell of emotions threatening to break free. And with that, a wave of guilt slammed into his stomach, settling there like a stone.

“I just didn’t want him to hurt you!” 

“So you decided to take that off his hands and hurt me instead?” You scoffed, making James flinched as if you had slapped him. It probably would have hurt less if you had.

“Merlin, no! Sweetheart, that wasn’t what I was trying to do—”

“Then what were you trying to do, James? Because I’m getting tired of this little game, we have going on.” 

He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes following your hand as you gently remove one of your earrings. For a moment, your gazes meet through the mirror, and the weight of it all presses down on him. He wishes, desperately, that you would justturn around and face him.

He was racking his brain, searching for the right words, trying to find a way to fix this. He considered stepping back, giving you space like he did when you got agitated with him. But this felt different. It wasn’t just about a moment of frustration—it was something deeper, something that could damage your friendship permanently if he didn’t speak up. He knew he had to fix this.

“You guys make up yet?” Sirius hollered, and James could practically picture him standing at the  bottom of the stairs with his hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted at the both of you.

Sirius’ words from earlier echoed in his head as if they were taunting him, swirling around like a cruel mantra. 

Go on, kiss and make up.

It felt like an accusation, a reminder of how much he’d messed up. He could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, twisting in his gut. Every nerve in his body screamed that his next move would either make everything worse—digging the hole even deeper—or finally give him a chance to tell you why he’d ruined your date. But the fear of losing you pushed him forward.

“Tell me to stop, sweetheart.”

“Stop what—?” You ask, tossing your last piece of jewelry into the ceramic dish with a sharp clang before turning to face James. Your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer, and without thinking, you instinctively take a step back, bumping into your desk. The sudden movement rattles the items on top, sending a soft, anxious clatter through the room.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as James reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. You stare up at him, wide-eyed, and James can’t help but think how pretty you look—more than he’s ever allowed himself to admit. 

He’s never been able to admire you like this before, not without the constant fear of you catching him.

His hands are shaky, and his proximity to you is making him nervous in a way that he couldn’t quite shake. But he didn’t know how else to explain himself. So, tentatively, he let his fingers graze your skin, admiring how you melted into him. He watches, heart pounding, as your lashes flutter and your lips part in surprise at the softness of his touch. The anger in your eyes had faded, leaving behind disbelief and something that looked dangerously close to hope.

He startles both himself and you when the words slip out, low and raw: “You make me so fucking nervous.” You blink up at him, silent, processing the confession. His gaze drifts over the mascara you’d carefully applied, the gloss glistening on your lips—details he hadn’t noticed before, but now felt like a punch to his gut. The jealousy flares, burning hot and fast in the pit of his stomach. It was devastating to realize you were all dressed up, and it wasn’t for him. Those heels, thoseglossed lips—they were for a guy who hardly knew you. 

Not like James knew you.

You part your lips, and James unknowingly silences you with a gentle brush of his thumb just beneath your lower lip. A soft, satisfied smile tugs at his mouth as he hears the gasp escape you. His hand rests on your left hip, pulling you closer, grounding you against him. The tension in the room thickens, and just like that, your anger has melted.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his voice low and thick with intention as he edged closer. His fingers caressing your jaw, tilting your face upwards, bringing you within a breath of him. The air between you crackles, heavy and charged, and you feel the pull—the tempting, intoxicating proximity. He was so close now, you could feel the warmth of his breath, and all it would take was the slightest movement for his lips to claim yours.

You thought about saying it—the words were right there, just on the tip of your tongue. But then his lips brushed against yours just barely, and everything else faded away. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no—not when this was something you’d wanted for years. Even with the anger simmering inside you, the frustration over James ruining your date, you couldn’t pull away.

Not now. Not when he was so close.

If anything, a strange sense of relief was starting to wash over you—relief that he had ruined it. Because if he hadn’t, it might have been another guy standing where he was now, and the thought of that made something tighten painfully in your chest.

“Last chance.” He mumbled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, searching for any sign that you might stop him. The only sound between you was the uneven rhythm of your breaths, erratic and heavy, pulsing with the desire that surged between you both. When you didn’t say a thing, no rejection, no hesitation—only the warmth of your breath mingling with his—he offered a barely-there smile before leaning in, his lips finally capturing yours with a slow, gentle kiss.

He started slow, cautious, as if afraid he might push you away. But the wrecked hum that escaped your throat—the sound of pure desire—told him everything he needed to know. You wanted this as much as he did.

It was overwhelming how quickly the kiss shifted—what started as sweet and searching, quickly turned frantic and hungry. The slow, deliberate pace gave way to a fiery urgency. The gentle brush of lips became a desperate meeting of mouths as the two of you gave into years of pining.

Your hands, which had been gripping the edge of the desk hard, moved slowly toward him. You let your fingers trail up his stomach, feeling the dips and ridges before reaching his chest. Your other hand found its way into his curls, youtugged softly, the motion pulling a low, pleasure-filled groan from deep within him. That sound, the sound of him unraveling, seemed to shatter something inside James. In an instant, he stepped closer—if that was even possible—until your bodies were pressed together, the heat between you two undeniable, consuming.

He pulled away just an inch, and the desperate whine that escaped your lips was enough to pull him back in, his arms circling your waist before effortlessly lifting you onto the desk. You gasped his name, the sound caught in your throat, as his lips claimed yours again, urgent and hungry. One hand slid around your thigh, pulling you closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours as he stood between your parted legs. His grip on your hip was firm, grounding, while his other hand found its place at the side of your throat, fingers warm and possessive.

You had never been kissed like this before. It was overwhelming—an all-consuming heat that ignited deep in your belly as James kissed you with a hunger, as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life.

And it was ruining you, because if this was how it felt to kiss James Potter, you never wanted to be kissed by anyone else ever again.

He rocked his hips against yours, the pressure making you gasp, and that breathless sound was all he needed. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting you as if he couldn’t get enough. You were so completely immersed in him—the feel of his lips, the taste of him—that the low, teasing whistle from your doorway barely registered in your mind.

“Bloody hell, I didn’t expect you to actually go and kiss her.” Sirius’ voice rang out, loud and unfiltered. The words struck a panic through you, your body warming with embarrassment as you instinctively tucked your head into James’ chest, hoping to hide from the intrusion. You would recognize Sirius’ voice anywhere, and you knew you would be teased about this for ages.

James, with you still propped on the desk, remained a shield, his body pressed protectively against yours. He glanced over at Sirius and Remus, who stood by the doorway. Sirius, leaning against the doorframe, raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, while Remus stood next to him, his usually calm demeanor showing signs of awkwardness.

“Fuck off and shut the door, mate.” James groans, his arms pulling you tighter as he fights the urge to hurl a book at Sirius and Remus. Instead, he sends them a warning glare and brings a hand up to the back of your head, the heat of the moment still burning between you, and silently dares them to say anything more.

The boys hesitate, but not before Sirius calls out with a teasing smirk, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Potter. You finally got your girl.” And just like that, the door slams shut, leaving the air thick with tension and you cringing in embarrassment.

Maybe telling him you loved him wasn’t that pointless after all.

please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write and spread my work! 🤍

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

Writing Prompt #2829

"Are you willing to die for the cause?"

"No. But I am willing to die for you. Is that not enough?"

[drhoz]

#2829 - Psephophorus terryprachetti - Pterry's Giant Pturtle

A very large, extinct, leatherback turtle from the Eocene, named after beloved author Terry Pratchett. He was pleased about this, saying that anybody that wasn't delighted about getting a species named after them was clearly a Pod being from the Planet Zog.

The first fossils from the genus were discovered by German Paleontologist Christian Erich Hermann von Meyer in 1846, but all he had were the dermal plates (not that different from the fossil above, really). That's probably why even by 1879, they still weren't clear on what it actually was - British paleotologist Harry Govier Seeley thought they resembled the armour of an armadillo.

The Pturtle was discovered in New Zealand in the 1990s. It would have been 2.5m long, in life.

Sadly, there's only one Dermochelyid turtle left in the world - the Leatherback Dermochelys coriacea, which is critically endangered in some areas. Leatherbacks are unique compared to other modern sea turtles because they lack a bony shell; instead, its carapace is covered by oily flesh and flexible, leathery skin. They're also the deepest-diving and fastest reptiles in the world, swimming down to over 1200m depth, at speeds of up to 35kph. Their constant activity and internal adaptations lets them run at a surprisingly high internal temperature - 18C above the surrounding water.

The biggest threat to leatherback survival is, unfortunately, humanity - hatchlings can be confused by artificial light and head inland instead of towards the water, older turtles are easily caught in fishing nets, and they can confuse plastic bags floating in the water for the jellyfish that form the bulk of their diet.

Otago Museum, Dunedin, Aotearoa New Zealand.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Blue Blood and Rain [9]

King John x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: You're the personal attendant to The Dowager Countess of Bowhale, who was visiting the court with her son.

The morning after.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Some angst, due to Hugo in the previous chapter, kisses, pet names, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v sex, multiple orgasms, overuse of italics, power dynamics because he's the king, I have totally made up servant/noble dynamics because I wanted to, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2829

The faint, seemingly far off sounds of the fire in the King’s rooms being lit stir you from sleep.

Your limbs are heavy, filled with a pleasant ache and you open your eyes slowly. 

Darkness greets you, from the weak light you can see the curtains that surround the bed. They are closed, the intricately embroidered material depicting myths and legends. You’re not sure when they were drawn, but you are sure that it’s early morning, close to when you would normally rise, dress for the day, and start your duties. 

The mattress is warm, but empty beside you. You start to sit up, sleep finally withdrawing from its hold on you. 

Faintly, you can hear the rumble of the King’s voice, he’s speaking to someone. But you can’t make out the words. 

Hurriedly you rub your eyes, you’d spent far too long here. You glance about for your clothing from the night before, worrying your lip between your teeth, trying to see if you can spot them without opening the curtains and exposing yourself to whichever servant was lighting the fires. 

Suddenly the curtain opens and you jump back, covering yourself with the blankets.

The King chuckles, smiling warmly and closes the curtains. He is dressed in a beautifully decorated robe that he slips from his shoulders and lets pool on the floor as he climbs on the bed, revealing his nakedness. 

“What are you doing awake?” He kisses your cheek as he slips under the blankets next to you, wrapping you in his arms and shifting closer. His legs are a little cold from being out of the bed’s comfort. 

“Warm me up?” He kisses your shoulder as he coaxes you down to lay on your side with him snuggling into your back. 

You smile. “I have to-”

“You have to lay here and go back to sleep with me. I order it.” His eyes are already closed when you turn your head to look at him, but he’s grinning as if he can picture the expression you’re giving him. 

“Your Highness-”

“Yes, that's quite right, I am Your Highness, and I demand your loyalty.” He teases.

“You have that.” 

“And obedience.” 

“Well…” You yelp as he tickles your side and then squeezes you closer. 

“Do not make the King sentence you to his cold feet.” 

You giggle. 

“I have arranged for your morning duties to be covered, do not fret my love.” He says sweetly and kisses your cheek. “Stay with me a while longer?” 

You nod and let his embrace pull you back into slumber. 

.

The next time you wake is much later, sunshine just peaking through the gap in the curtains. Your dreams had been filled of him, of his touch and caress, sweet words and soft sighs. The King’s arms are still around you, his breathing steady as he sleeps. 

You sit up, turning to look at him. He’s so peaceful, his curls fanning over the pillow. There’s some stubble growing in the usually closely shaved gaps of his beard. It looks quite good, perhaps a full beard would suit him.

Part of you wants to reach out, to stroke his face. But you do not want to disturb his rest.

As carefully as you can, you start to slip out of the covers, just poking your foot off the bed.

“And where does my beloved think she’s going?” The King’s voice is thick, full of sleep as he sits up and nuzzles into your neck. 

“I was just going to-”

“Try and escape me.” He chuckles. “Am I such a terrible host? Or do you see me as some wicked tormenter? Here holding you against your will?” He wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you close, pressing his chest to your back as he kisses your pulse point.  

“Maybe I’m the one ensnaring you?” You tease and he groans softly. 

“Yes, yes, very good. I hope so, very much.” 

“You hope so?” You laugh.

“Hmm,” He kisses your cheek, then lips as you turn your head towards him. 

You snort, moving fully to face him and run your fingers over his cheeks. “Your beard is growing.”

He pouts.

“I like it.” You tap his nose softly.

That makes him smile, the expression is a little surprised. “You do?” 

“I think you would look very distinguished.” 

“Oh?” 

“Very regal.” 

“I think my lady is thinking only of what it would feel like between her legs.” He grins when you laugh, resting his hands on your hips and kneading your flesh slowly. 

“I think that is what, My King, is thinking of.” 

“I like that.” 

“What?” You put your arms around his neck, more than content to gaze at the happiness on his face. 

“Your King.” He puffs out his chest. “Just for you. No one else.” 

You swallow. The smallest crack in your chest, threatening to let thoughts of Hugo and the future filter into this perfect moment. You shift, breathing in to speak, and accidentally brush your thigh against the King’s heavy cock. 

His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a gentle hum of satisfaction that he cuts short. “I apologise, my love, being close to you does things to me. Especially when you are naked in my bed.” 

“Why are you apologising?” You ask sweetly. 

“Well, I am sure you are sore and not thinking about such-”

You cut him off with a firm kiss, licking into his mouth when he happily parts his lips for you and moaning. His fingers tighten on your hips as he fights the urge to pull you into his lap.

Instead, you push him back against the mattress and quickly climb on top of him, resting your legs either side of his. 

He kisses you hungrily, groaning as you move but pulling back at the last moment. “My love, do not worry about me, let me put my mouth on you and soothe your ache.” 

You shake your head. “I want to feel you inside.” You raise yourself up and take hold of his thick length, lightly stroking him a few times to savour the velvet heat of his skin under your palm. 

He groans, his hips jolting as he fights back the urge to buck. 

“I’ve been dreaming of you,” you mutter against his lip as you press his swollen head against your entrance. 

He sighs desperately, his lidded eyes widening when he feels the arousal between your legs. 

“You are so wet, my love.” He mutters, his voice soft and reverent, hypotonic almost. “Pray tell, how have you been dreaming of me?” He sits up, chest to chest.

“Of all the ways I could have you,” you whisper and kiss him roughly. He moans, grabbing hold of your sides as you slide your hand into his hair. 

At first, there is a slight resistance as you press down against him, a slight burn of stretched muscle. But the tip of his cock quickly breaches you, stretching you wide as you sink down onto him. 

You bite your lip, gasping. 

“My love,” he swallows, trying to keep the desperate whine out of his voice, to keep the moans at bay. “Please do not if it hurts, if you are sore or in pain.” 

You shake your head. “I’m alright, it’s not unpleasant.” You breathe in, and rock your hips slightly, easing further and further. 

He moans louder, pressing his face into your neck but keeping his lower body still. The tension of his muscles radiates into you, how hard he is trying not to move and let you take what you want. 

You swallow when you finally settle against him, his entire length sheathed fully inside. He presses deep, splitting you in two and piercing your very heart. 

“Are you alright?” He whispers, pulling back to gaze upon your face with his large, soft eyes. 

You nod and shift your hips a little to adjust and he gulps audibly. 

“Sorry,” You smile bashfully. 

“Do not be,” He groans softly and squeezes you a fraction tighter. “I am the one  that is the deviant here.” He teases. 

You giggle and lick into his mouth eagerly when he leans forward and kisses you hungrily. Slowly he drags his right hand down to lightly stroke your clit with his thumb. 

Your breathing hitches as he rubs soft circles and your hips buck instinctively. 

He hums against your lips, “Ah, that’s it, my love,” his voice is thick and syrupy, “please take your pleasure from me.”

You squeeze his shoulders, arching your back ever so slightly so that you can roll your hips experimentally. He watches you move, his eyes lidded and thumb never faltering. Spikes of pleasure jolt up your spine, piercing into your nerves as he strokes you. Your movements start to grow, your body demanding that you chase your pleasure as you adjust completely to his size. 

He presses his forehead to yours, breathing in your oxygen as you bounce on him. Slowly he starts to shallowly thrust upwards, the smallest movement of his hips and revels when you gasp, your eyes widening.

“There?” He mutters, so caught up in the feel of you, how you squeeze and soak his cock, how you cling to him so tightly. 

You nod, hardly able to form words as he brushes the head of his cock against the same spot again. 

The King moans softly, the wanton sound trickling into your ears and electrifying your bones. His thumb presses harder against your swollen clit and you can’t stop yourself, can’t hold back. Not when he’s looking at you like that and holding you so close. 

You come with a sob, the sensation paralysing you for one long moment as pleasure spreads across your body. It’s gentle and slow, like a drawn out shiver running over your skin. 

He keeps stroking as you shake in his arms, stilling only when you relax. 

It's safe as he holds you, contentment bubbling in your chest as he kisses your sweaty temple. You’re quite sure it would truly be heaven just to stay like this with him forever. 

Lightly you scratch your nails across his beard and he chuckles, moving back and kissing your cheek. 

“I think…” he pauses, biting back a cheeky smile. “You have one more in you, yes?” 

You can’t help but giggle at his expression, it’s playful but soft. Inviting your rejection if that is what you wish to give him. 

“Yes, your Highness.” You stroke his neck, playing with the curls that brush against his nape. 

He groans, squeezing your thigh as he kisses you messily. “You could get me to do anything you wanted by calling me that.” 

“Could I?” You grin. 

He nods. “I mean it, absolutely anything.” He kisses you again, softer and slower. But there’s pent up heat simmering underneath, threatening to break through at any given moment. 

“I would give you anything.” You whisper as he sucks a love bite against your pulse point.

“You already have, my love.” He trails his lips lower, littering your chest with kisses before he laps at your nipples and moans in satisfaction as they pebble under his tongue. 

His cock pulses in you, practically in time with the beating of his heart. He can’t help but rock slightly, just to take the edge off as he lavishes your chest with attention. 

You moan as you cling onto him, moving your hips in a slow figure eight, deepening the shallow movements he’s making. 

He gasps loudly, breaking the seal his lips have on your skin to let out the most sinful noises. 

You can’t help yourself, you lean back a fraction so that you can watch him. Sliding one hand up his chest, you tilt his chin towards you, making him bare his neck. 

He whines beautifully, gasping and bucking weakly, trying to hold himself back. You graze your teeth up his neck and he rewards you with a whimper, his air catching in his throat. His fingers squeeze your skin.

“You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that, my love,” he swallows his voice practically pleading. And you repeat the movement.

He groans loudly, the sound going straight to your core as you start to move more fiercely, more frantically. 

A ball of tension is tightening in your belly, demanding control over your actions as pleasure spikes along your veins. 

The King gasps, his balls drawing up. He presses his hand between your bodies and rubs your clit until you’re lightheaded and on the very edge. 

He kisses you messily, warm and wet as he moves with you, pushing you closer and closer until you tense. 

You swear, moaning in his embrace as your second orgasm washes over you. It keeps you in place as he thrusts up into you eagerly, his cries of pleasure harmonising with your own. 

“God- my love,” He whines, swallowing down air as he quickly grabs your hips. “I’m sorry, I can’t-” He just manages to get enough space between your bodies to pull his cock out of you before he comes, spurting hot and thick over both of your stomachs. He groans loudly, pulling you closer so that he can smear his spend against yours and his skin. 

Part of you laments it, in that moment. Selfishly wanting him to come in you. At least then you could pretend when Hugo… you could pretend your first child was the King’s instead. 

The King hugs you fiercely, kissing your neck and soothing your tired and aching muscles. He coaxes you into laying down on your back while he wipes you both clean and then buries his face between your legs, making you shiver and shake and come one more time against his tongue. 

He laments having to leave for the after ball breakfast, pouting a little until you giggle and playfully push his face away. 

You help him to dress, kissing his cheeks when he tries to pull you into a more passionate embrace.

“You’ll be late, your Highness.”

“A King can’t be late.” He grins and you snort. 

“Still.” 

He hugs you closer, “Will you check on Guinevere for me?” He asks softly. The request surprises you a little, surely the King’s servants were taking good care of one of his treasured horses. But you nod, touched by the ask.

“Of course.”

“You are too good to me.” He kisses you again, and helps you to dress in the clothes you were wearing the night before. He keeps your hand in his as you leave his rooms until you have to part, he heads to the right, while you to the left. 

You push all other thoughts out of your mind. Let them stay at the edge, knowing that they will haunt you later. 

You’re barely at the stables, when the King’s head servant, Wymare, approaches you. It is strange to see him far from the King’s side. He bows formally, which only further confuses you, “Your help is needed in the dining hall.” 

“Oh, I… Yes, of course.” 

You follow him quickly as he escorts you, not giving you a second to think or explain where you were headed. You would check on Guinevere the moment you were finished. 

He doesn’t lead you to the kitchen, as you expect, or even to the servants' entrance. Instead down a corridor you haven’t been before, and stops before a side door. 

At first, it reminds you of the King’s personal entrance, but you must be mistaken. 

“Here,” He opens an ornate side cupboard, in the weak light you can’t fully see what he is getting out. He places it around your shoulders, guiding your arms through. It’s a long, sleeveless waistcoat. He moves so quickly you don’t even get a chance to inspect it and assume it is some sort of formal hall attire all the servants are expected to wear. 

He gives you a quick smile and another bow. “My lady.” 

You pause, shocked. But don’t even have time to question him before he opens the door and lightly pushes you out. 

The entire hall is watching you as you come out of the King’s private entrance. They are seated along the long table, the King at the head and closest to you. 

For a second you catch Hugo’s gaze, he is sitting with his mother about halfway down the table. He gives you a quizzical expression and you quickly look away. Though, their position halfway down the table must sting a little. Before he and his mother had been seated much, much closer to the King, closer to his favour. 

“Ah,” the King grins at you, the expression blinding as he stands, forcing all the nobles to quickly abandon their food and scrabble to their feet. “There you are, my beloved.” He holds out his hand to you and quirks an eyebrow. An undeniably cheeky expression plastered all over his face. 

Thank you for reading!

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