#razor blades and lemonade

[spilladabalia]

Television Personalities - Razor Blades And Lemonade

[poetics-tracy]

August

Razor's edge of summer,

dry blades of grass scratching

at my ankles. Sky like peach

lemonade in the morning; orange

marmalade at night. I linger

like the sun in a gasp of blue

between passing storms.

The world is finally turning again,

and I am going with it. Anticipation

wears away my loneliness,

accumulated like rust. Heat

isolates. There are months

in which I cannot be touched,

in which I must languish alone.

August bears down, carving

the final wound of summer:

I am ready to be soft again.

I am ready for the darkness

that is coming.

[agent-troi]

Watched the unnatural today and I think we should bring the phrase “fast sliding down a giant razor blade into a big ol’ glass of lemonade” back into modern parlance

[rainbowxocs]

Name: My name is Aiki Oak. Blue is also fine.

Special Titles: Faller, Gym Leader (Though not right now..)

Username: @fallenaiki

₵ⱧⱤØ₦ØⱠØ₲ł₵₳Ⱡ ₳₲Ɇ: [ⱤɆĐ₳₵₮ɆĐ]

Age: 15.

Pronouns: They/She.

Sexuality: I am Bisexual.

Gender: Gender, is weird. Transfeminine I guess.

Species: Human.

Disorders: Anxiety, Autism, Lavender Town Syndrome, CPTSD.

Religion: I am a follower of Arceus.

Job: I don’t know..

From: Pallet Town, Kanto.

Lives in: I don’t really live anywhere.

Languages: I only really know my mother tongue.

Height: I’m like 5’4”.

Ethnicity: Kantonese.

Accent: Kanto Dialect.

Vehicle: I have my flute that helps me ride different Pokemon. I appreciate them all to be honest.

Weapons: I can bonk you with a pokeball.

Alignment: Neutral.

Text Color: Blue, Sometimes Red.

Main Hobbies: POKEMON! I um- Pokemon.. I like.. them.. Jeez I’m weird..

Favorite Food: Potato Mochi, weirdly. Lemonade, Chocolate Icecream.

Favorite Flower: I love Gracideas they are so pretty.

Scent: I usually smell like Pine because of the soap I use.

Handedness: Left Handed.

Blood Color: Red.

Awareness: Somewhat Aware. (Effect: Negative.)

Birthday: November 22nd.

Theme:

Game Theme:

Battle Theme:

Playlist:

Fun Fact: I have angered the entirety of the Bidoof population near the village.

Special Interest: POKEMON…. I did it again..

Stims: I have made my own fidget toys.. I also do allot of physical stimming.

Stimboard: LINK

Moodboard: LINK

Fashion Board: LINK

Comfort Objects: I know it's a bit weird, but I really do love my clothes.. They make me feel really safe.

Family: I don’t really have parents. But I have my grandfather Professor Oak and my big sister Nanami.

Friends: Thistle.

Romance: Me and Cara are kinda dating.

Rival: Cara.

Patron: Arceus.

Pokemon:

Hisui Team:

✨(♂)Nightshade (Decidueye.) (Hisui Form)(Starter.)

Level: 100.

Nature: Naughty.

Pokeball: Normal.

Ability: Scrappy.

Held Item: Expert Belt.

Ribbons: Hisui Ribbon, Effort Ribbon, Best Friends Ribbon.

Moves: Triple Arrows, Hyper Beam, Brave Bird, Leaf Blade.

(♀) Tazer (Raichu)

Level: 100.

Nature: Naive.

Pokeball: Ultra Ball.

Ability: Static.

Held Item: Quick Claw.

Ribbons: Hisui Ribbon, Effort Ribbon, Best Friends Ribbon.

Moves: Volt Tackle, Hyper Beam, Thunder, Iron Tail.

(♂)🅰️ Yae (Zoroark)(Hisui Forme)(Human Forme)

Level: 100.

Nature: Quiet.

Pokeball: Normal.

Ability: Illusion.

Held Item: Razor Claw.

Ribbons: Hisui Ribbon, Effort Ribbon, Best Friends Ribbon.

Moves: Sludge Bomb, Nasty Plot, Bitter Malice, Extrasensory.

(?)Arceus (??? Type.)

Level: 100.

Nature: Timid.

Pokeball: Origin Ball.

Ability: Multitype.

Held Item: Kings Rock.

Ribbons: Hisui Ribbon, Effort Ribbon, Best Friends Ribbon.

Moves: Outrage, Psychic, Judgment, Dark Pulse.

(?)Shaymin (Land Forme.)

Level: 100.

Nature: Quiet.

Pokeball: Origin Ball.

Ability: Natural Cure.

Held Item: Metronome.

Ribbons: Hisui Ribbon, Effort Ribbon, Best Friends Ribbon.

Moves: Air Slash, Seed Flare, Earth Power, Psychic.

(?) Giratina (Altered Forme.)

Level: 100.

Nature: Hardy.

Pokeball: Origin Ball.

Ability: Pressure.

Held Item: Rocky Helmet.

Ribbons: Hisui Ribbon, Effort Ribbon, Best Friends Ribbon.

Moves: Psychic, Dragon Pulse, Earth Power, Shadow Force.

Kanto Team:

✨(♂)Firecracker (Charizard) (Starter.)

Level: 100.

Nature: Serious.

Pokeball: Normal.

Ability: Blaze.

Held Item: Leftovers.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Extra: Mega Evolution.

Moves: Flamethrower, Body Slam, Fly, Earthquake.

✨(♂)Smore (Eevee) (Starter.)

Level: 100.

Nature: Lax.

Pokeball: Ultra Ball.

Ability: Adaptability.

Held Item: Silk Scarf.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Moves: Take Down, Bite, Body Slam, Skull Bash.

✨(♀) Snowcone (Ninetails)

Level: 100.

Nature: Modest.

Pokeball: Great Ball.

Ability: Flash Fire.

Held Item: Charcoal.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Moves: Fire Blast, Body Slam, Fire Spin, Dig.

(♂) Cheese (Raticate.) (Ghost Forme.)

Level: 100.

Nature: Rash.

Pokeball: Ultra Ball.

Ability: Guts.

Held Item: Silk Scarf.

Ribbons: Effort Ribbon.

Moves: Night Shade, Bite, Hyper Fang, Skull Bash.

(♂) Buddy (Arcanine.)

Level: 100.

Nature: Quiet.

Pokeball: Normal.

Ability: Intimidate.

Held Item: Charcoal.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Moves: Flamethrower, Body Slam, Extreme Speed, Fire Blast.

✨(?)PorygonZ

Level: 100.

Nature: Jolly.

Pokeball: Great Ball.

Ability: Download.

Held Item: Expert Belt.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Moves: Tri Attack, Dark Pulse, Zap Cannon, Psybeam.

Johto Team:

(♀) Lettuce (Meganium) (Starter.)

Level: 100.

Nature: Docile.

Held Item: Miracle Seed.

Pokeball: Friend Ball.

Ability: Overgrow.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Legend Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Moves: Petal Dance, Razor Leaf, Giga Drain, Furry Cutter.

(♀) Popcorn (Furret)

Level: 100.

Nature: Impish.

Held Item: Pink Bow.

Pokeball: Love Ball.

Ability: Keen Eye.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Legend Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Moves: Slam, Headbutt, Shadow Ball, Dizzy Punch.

✨(♂) Big Red (Gyarados)

Level: 100.

Nature: Rash.

Held Item: Scope Lens.

Pokeball: Fast Ball.

Ability: Intimidate.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Legend Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Extras: Mega Evolution.

Moves: Hydro Pump, Thunder, Blizzard, Fire Blast.

(♂) Smiley (Quagsire)

Level: 100.

Nature: Gentle.

Held Item: Leftovers.

Pokeball: Great Ball.

Ability: Water Absorb.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Legend Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Moves: Earthquake, Surf, Sludge Bomb, Iron Tail.

(?) Suicune.

Level: 100.

Nature: Quiet.

Held Item: Quick Claw.

Pokeball: Moon Ball.

Ability: Pressure.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Legend Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Moves: Hydro Pump, Bite, Headbutt, Blizzard.

💠(?) XD001 (Lugia)

Level: 100.

Nature: Hasty.

Held Item: Kings Rock.

Pokeball: Heavy Ball.

Ability: Pressure.

Ribbons: Champion Ribbon, Legend Ribbon, National Ribbon, Earth Ribbon, Effort Ribbon.

Moves: Psycho Boost, Feather Dance, Earthquake, Hydro Pump.

In Game:

Aiki, 11 Years Old:

Aiki, “11 Years Old”:

Aiki, 14 Years Old:

Aiki, “15 Years Old”:

Brief Personality: Aiki is lost. When Aiki was growing up she was a little bit of a piece of shit. Constantly teasing and prodding at people for the attention she severely lacked. But after the mountain, something changed in them. When they fell they had no memories of their past life, and when she got them back, she now didn’t know what to do with that part of her that showed up when she was scattered. She is still stubborn as ever, and after being abandoned in a village she called her home, she is more lost than ever before.

Brief Backstory:

Aiki was orphaned with her older sister shortly after she was born. She was raised by her grandfather, and was always surrounded by Pokemon from a very long age. Aiki however, didn’t know how to bond with them. Aiki did not have a good relationship with her family, and when she was younger she ended up being a bit of an ass. She wanted to be the best that no one ever was, and ended up becoming the champion of the region for a time.

Except, her rival, and childhood enemy, Cara. Ended up defeating her, and becoming the champion. Aiki was devastated at her defeat, going back home ashamed. Her grandfather paid more attention to the new champion than to comfort his granddaughter.

However, Cara disappeared.. at first people thought she was just traveling the world due to her new found fame. However after two years, Aiki got incredibly worried. I mean she didn’t CARE or anything.. Yknow it was just kinda weird… nothing deeper… it’s fine..

Aiki ended up going to the neighboring country Johto in order to find Cara, eventually finding her on the top of a mountain, alone. Aiki ended up battling Cara, and losing, having some major injuries from the fight, she remembers passing out with Cara standing above her. Aiki does not remember what happened after that, as it was all a giant blur of pixels and static.

Aiki was transported all over the world. All time periods. And now that she is free from her curse she now has time to reflect on her life and how much she has changed.

[waywardworldhopper]

Please please please listen to this ^

For context, I worked for Panera for about 5 years, 2014-2019, as a cashier.

Panera for years has been selling itself as, like, a "healthy" restaurant, cashing in on the "clean" food nonsense (but not actually making the food healthy. I've seen the nutrition sheets. The "clean" version of the French onion soup has WAY more salt and fat than the original recipe did). But it's all just marketing - they don't give a shit about the people who eat there. That's probably obvious (this is America after all, capitalism doesn't care about humans), but it's just so blatant reading about these two people - BOTH of whom consciously chose to avoid energy drinks due to health conditions - passing away because Panera wouldn't label their shit correctly.

What is so jarring and telling to me is that I was at Panera during the Razor Blade Incident. For those who don't recall this, in 2015 a woman dining at a Panera in Florida found a razor blade in her soup (thankfully with her spoon, not her mouth):

We used to use a thing called a bag dragon to open the (frozen) bags of soup - it looked like this:

You'd drag the bladed part across the top of the bag to slice it open so you could pour the soup into the thermalizer (the thing that heats it up). Presumably, what had happened was that the razor blade had fallen out of the bag dragon and into the therm and the employee hadn't noticed.

We received a company wide memo the next day instructing us to throw out all our bag dragons and use scissors instead.

Compare that to how they're handling this lemonade. It's literally killed two people and they're still serving it. And as far as I can tell, they haven't even added any warnings. I've literally ordered from Panera between the first and second incidents (sorry, I do just sometimes still crave it, and I was hoping they'd do something), and there's still nothing in the description, at least online, that indicates how strong it is.

Because at the end of the day, all they care about its optics and liability. With the razor blade thing, the lady wasn't hurt, so they just got rid of the bag dragons, because then they could point to those and go "Well this was the problem, and we've got rid of them! Look at our decisive action!" But in this case, I'm guessing if they put up a warning or pull the lemonade entirely, that's probably admitting some kind of liability, which could hurt them in the lawsuit (note: not a lawyer, I just work for a legal education company these days so I'm a little more conscious of that stuff). And they'd rather let more people die than risk this hurting them financially.

I don't want this to really just be a Fuck Panera post, because on the one hand yes, they suck, I have many horror stories - but also every single person I've talked to who's worked food service has similar stories about their restaurants. So fuck capitalism, in general. Let's hold companies accountable. Don't let them get away with this shit.

ok im already starting to see other people point out that joking about panera's neglect killing multiple people with heart problems through that lemonade is probably bad and doing footwork for a corporation being sued for said neglect maybe im not ridiculous

[amplifyme]

“I’m sorry, but you’ve got something I need.”

[kimbertmusings]

I’ve been fighting RSV for three weeks. Just when I think I’m done, a coughing fit takes over and I can’t sleep at night.

It’s worse than both times I’ve had COVID.

But now I am a mother of a certain age, and my sickness shopping list has changed a bit.

Cough drops - for obvious reasons

Dimatapp - I’ve tried them ALL. This is the only OTC cough suppressant that works. And don’t flip me shit about how you shouldn’t suppress a cough. I spent four days sleeping twenty minutes at a time. I will suppress this shit like the memories of my dad

Lemon juice and honey - hot lemonades for the win!

Chloraseptic throat spray - this helps when it feels like you’ve been tea-bagging razor blades

A Costco pack of Kleenex - I actually googled how much snot a human can produce, and the answer is that there is no limit

Always discreet leakage pads - there’s no getting around it. I was so sick and weak, and the coughing attacked out of nowhere, and was so bad I needed to figure out how to breathe, that there was no way I could Kegel up every single time. I no longer have shame, and I was tired of changing after every fifteen minute coughing attack.

Advil - general aches and fever reducing. Surprisingly good at helping a sore throat

Tylenol - mostly because my mom yelled at me because I wasn’t taking it

So anyway. There you go. When you get RSV, this is what you need. Because there’s no fucking treatment for it.

[x-boy--dahlia-x]

So I heard this song New Machine Gun (Fuck the NRA)by Yungblood and it was so over the top my first thought was "fuckin Sasuke". So here we go. This is what happens when I'm hyperactive and sleep deprived.

I made the news today

Because I hurt my friends

They scribbled down my name

Tied both my hands behind my head

They made me meditate

To analyze my mental state

They looked inside my brain

It turns out I'm not okay

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

That I bought for fun

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

My new machine gun

I don't give a fuck about myself

All they do is analyze my mental health

I don't give a fuck about myself

You're making us famous

You're making us famous

I drank some bleach today

Because they forced me to

Hide it with lemonade

Round about ten to two

I ate a razor blade

Just for attentions sake

I'm just wired up that way

If you're not watching me

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

My new machine gun

That I bought for fun

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

My new machine gun

I don't give a fuck about myself

All they do is analyse my mental health

I don't give a fuck about myself

You're making us famous

You're making us famous

I don't give a fuck about myself

All they do is analyse my mental health

I don't give a fuck about myself

You're making us famous

You're making us famous

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

My new machine gun (My machine gun)

That I bought for fun

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun? (My machine-)

You better fuckin' run

Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run

Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run

Run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run, run

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

My new machine gun

That I bought for fun

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

My new machine gun

You better fuckin' run

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

My new machine gun

That I bought for fun

Wanna see my machine gun?

Wanna see my machine gun?

My new machine gun

You better fuckin' run

[bitchidfkgoaway]

my recommendation is to use whatever tf you have purely based off symbolism. You need an energy source(like a candle, blood, deity help, rlly any action that generates energy), and then symbolism. Plushie stuffing for comfort, i use pokemon cards instead of tarot bcuz I’m autistic and loved pokemon as a kid so I can always find an association for a pokemon and my intent, hell piece of a baby blanket also comfort, dirt from outside a strip club for straight lust, meowth for money, balloons for childish joy or letting go of an intent, chocolate milk or strawberry milkshakes and lemonade for love or self love, razor blades to cut a bitch who tries to fuck with you in a protection or in a hex, pepper spray for a protection charm, black hair dye or any part of your clothes or accessories for protection. Layer as much symbolism as you can in as specific to your intent as possible and then focus on energy work. Use birthday candles for quick spells, make oils of your intent so you dont have to redo all the steps every time u need to do a standard spell and burn out. Your tony chachere’s is protective add it on all your food. Draw runes and sigils on your face. Your associations dont need to be unique and they dont need to be universal. I have a plushie i won at the fair ive wanted to use for luck ever since. Its fine just be a little chaotic.

@yummygender

Tips for poor, disabled closeted witches?

I guess that depends on what sort of advice you're looking for?

A person's ability to do magic doesn't have much to do with their socio-economic privilege, so my default advice is the same I give everyone:

Don't get your information about witchcraft from TikTok.

TikTok is a marketing platform disguised as a creator platform. The algorithm shows users videos based on the video's marketability, not its popularity. The content you see is whatever's the most sensational, not whatever's the most favored.

[heli0s-writes]

As it Was

Summary:  Sam warned him when he arrived at the compound, returned to the timeline he ran from: It’s different now, she doesn’t do the superhero thing anymore, she’s got another life now, but he wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He must hope that some things are the same, that your love is the same. Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader A/N: ANGST. Re-written Post-endgame kinda thing because I’m bitter. 3.3k word count. Very inspired by Hozier’s “As it Was” :^) 

As it Was Masterpost

There is a roadway.

The tires crunch over rock and gravel as Steve drives down the familiar path. Flanked by overgrown grass and wildflowers in full bloom, insects flutter around the petals, sunlight glistening on waxy blades of green. He can smell it, even inside the car, ignited in his nose and blazing into his chest.

The smell of summer. The crushed earth beneath muddied boots.

He can taste the watermelon sugar, tingling on the sweet tongue encased in an even sweeter mouth.

Your bright pink lips wet with cold bites of fruit. He loved the way you would collect the smooth seeds and pinch them between your teeth. He loved the way you’d spit them into his face—silly with joy under the shade of a tree. Too slow, baby!

He can hear your laughter in the dead air-conditioned chamber of one of many compound cars. If he could bottle it up into a music box and wind it up just to hear now, he would.

He would.

Steve’s heart twists tighter as the road continues its winding way deeper through the thicket of verdant trees. Sunlight pours through in golden rays, slipping past the cracks of parted leaves. A pathway the two of you walked many times over, hand-in-hand.

There’s a separation of the blades to the left, a well-worn spot leading into an open space where you would spread the picnic blanket, stuff him full of cold cut sandwiches and fruit pie. Iced lemonade, tart. Then, under the light of the sun, or moon, or any time or season in-between, you would wrap yourself over him, love him so sweetly he could weep now.

But then is not now.

For the past three years of your time, then had been now.

But now that he’s back... now is something else.

His phone rings, echoing through the car with its shrill tittering. Sam’s number appears, as it has been every five minutes for the past two hours of his journey. Sam calling. Sam leaving messages. Sam texting.

Don’t, Cap. Don’t go there. It’s changed, Cap. Things have changed. Trust me, man. It’s better if you don’t go.

But Steve has to. He has to change your mind. Make you forgive him because he loves you so much. He has to make it all go back to as it was.

Back then, on the platform, he had been sure. In the sepia-colored minutes of his wayward past, he had been sure. That unreachable possibility had become so nearly tangible he could grab it in his hands. He was inches from her—from Peggy, and it took him decades away from you.

So, he leapt. He followed his foolish boyish heart to its dream. He told you the night before under the awning in front of the cabin, windchimes striking in the draft, fireflies all around. He’s never been a part of this world, not truly. He’s got to go back to where he belongs.

With Peggy, you mean?

You cried and cried then, wrapping your arms around your middle, refusing to say anything else, and he had never seen you so shattered. But he had been sure.

And then, only four weeks into the returned years of Steve Rogers, suddenly, like a cold hand tugging him awake, the dream slipped.

He wasn’t sure after all.

Sam calls again, but Steve is obstinate. The cabin peeks over the hill, sunken in the distance of the field just as he remembered—the little cobblestoned well in the field, string lights around the perimeter, mailbox at the edge of the road, rainbow pinwheels you’d planted in the ground because they’re cute, Steve.

From the thick branch of the oak tree you have hung a tire swing-- endearing, and so like you. Next to it is a picnic table where a single copper watering can sits in the middle, bunches of wildflowers sticking out. A tangle of yellow and green. Like your arms wrapped around his waist, linked fingers squeezing him tightly, playfully, pretending you could crush him.

Gonna kill you! Crack ya ribs!

He would grunt dramatically behind a muffled chuckle, Yes, baby. I’ve died! You’re so—ugh! Strong! B-Bucky! Avenge me!

Bucky would roll his eyes with a smirk, You two are nauseating.

You would stick your tongue out, turn it back around to Steve and lick a stripe from his throat to his chin, making him shudder all over as he watched your pretty pink mouth curl into a grin, and growl. Steven Grant Rogers, growled, and Bucky‘d throw his hands up and abscond before his eyes might see Captain America do something indecent.

He didn’t have that with Peggy. He didn’t have the twinkling of your mischievous eyes, the flame of your passion. He only had the bitter chill of your absence and the stark realization that a first love and a true love are two different things.

Sam warned him when he arrived at the compound: It’s different now, she doesn’t do the superhero thing anymore, she’s got another life now, but he wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He must hope that some things are the same, that your love is the same.

How long would you wait for me?

Steve pulls the car into the patch of trodden grass he once parked in, steps out, and closes the door quietly. There’s a clattering inside before the wooden door creaks open— as it always has, even after he loosened and tightened all its hinges— it still creaks, same as ever.

Your shape in the doorway.

One leg at a time, you emerge.

A weightless gauze dress hangs from your frame as you linger in the opening, back turned to him. In one hand is a small twine basket lined with gingham fabric. A pair of garden shears sit nestled inside. He remembers this— the walks to clip flowers and pick berries. You would put the berries in the pies, place the blossoms and leaves in mason jars all over the countertops until it looked wild in the house, too.

Your hair is longer, he smiles as he continues to watch, gazing at the loose braid you’ve fashioned your locks into. You used to complain about how fast it would grow, annoyed at how the buzzed side with the sharp chevron pattern needed to be maintained closely.

He supposes you’ve grown tired of the upkeep. You’ve let it grow out now.

The braid is new. The dress is new. But the way you lean into the house, so relaxed and carefree, that is familiar.

Steve is unsure how to approach. He doesn’t want to startle you, even though his very presence is startling. He knows your capabilities, and with those razor-sharp shears next to your elbow he wouldn’t try it. No, you couldn’t crush his ribs, but you could slice him gullet to belly in a second.

He opens his mouth to call your name, but the door creaks louder as you lean down and push it further back into the house, urging faintly. You turn, duck your torso behind the wall, leaving a deliberate space by your legs.

And then he sees it. The change Sam warned him about. The life.

His heart drops. And trembles. And feels like it could burst entirely.

Two tiny bare feet tap forward, kicking with each step. A happy, shrill, cry leaps into the air as the boy clumsily jumps one foot at a time, and lands past your dress.

The child.

“Wait for me, baby,” you call, still tucked halfway inside, “Wait for mama.”

“Mama!” He sputters and giggles, “Mama!” Mama.

God. The boy is beautiful. He is barefoot and his face is eclipsed by a canvas bucket hat, shielding the plump, pale skin of him from the summer sun. Even if Steve can’t see his face yet, he knows, because of you, any child would be perfect. A cherub. A little cherub that could have been his.

“I’m coming, just… let me get my hat. And sunscreen for you. Ah, mama has been so bad with that sunscreen.” There is more fumbling as you drop the basket on your arm into the dark house and briefly slip inside.

The boy stops at the step leading down, pondering his own confidence to tread forward. He sits, instead, letting his bottom save any potential fall before he scoots his legs over. After braving the first step, he looks up. He blinks slowly, and Steve catches sight of his enormous blue eyes, and long lashes, button nose, rosy red cheeks, slightly open mouth slack with surprise and a little bit of wonder.

“Mama.” He says, before tilting his head, “Mama, Mama. Body! Some here.”

“Someone’s here?”

You quickly emerge, hand fisting a wide-brimmed straw hat, arm reaching forward to scoop your child up and away. He is plopped firmly on your jutting left hip before you tear the hat off your head, stare into the tall and broad figure of a man you have known too well. A surprised breath tears itself from your throat.

“Steve?”

His mouth jerks into a careful smile. Nothing he had practiced during the car ride feels right in this moment; all his words have been tossed into the yard by the hands of a three-year-old boy. The hat drops from your hand, quietly slides on the dusty wooden patio, speckles of it catching light and blowing away in the easy wind. You blink, eyes shifting side to side as if questioning your reality.

“Steve?”

His name slips off your tongue so sweetly and he can’t help but close his eyes to memorize you again. That voice, his name, the years have passed, and he hasn’t forgotten it. He is so goddamn sorry to have left it at all.

From the first time you called it, to the first time you whispered it, promised your allegiance to it, to the first time you sobbed it, following him into the unknown and the darkness for five years. No matter how black the night, he had you.

Your love was unmoved.

“Sweetheart,” He pleas, stepping forward with a shaky outstretched hand.

You stand frozen like a statue, everything stiff and still except for the fluttering of your creamy dress and the boy on your hip, babbling freely. His little fingers and their little fingernails prod and poke at your neck, grabbing onto the strands that frame your face—too short to stay in the braid.

God. You’re beautiful. You glow, softened by the years without fighting and training, tanned by the sunlight, kissed by the breeze and rain and butterfly wings, and everything else but him.

“Mama, mama. Want down, down!”

The boy squeezes and releases his soft fists, reaching out and kicking your back with his foot. He begins to grunt and whine, head thrown behind and lolling over at Steve. “Down!”

“Hey,” Steve smiles, taking a finger to caress the boy’s palm, calming his motions, “What’s your name?”

You slowly turn to look at your child, eyes beginning to focus on him, as if suddenly remembering his weight perched on your side. A quick breath is sucked into your lungs as he blinks and grins, laughing. “Jams! This is mama an’ this is Jams.”

“J-James.” You correct with a broken, wet, laugh, “H-he’s.. his name—it’s James.”

Steve watches him continue to thrash against your side out of joy, now, as if being held by you is a game in itself. He brings your hair to his mouth, blubbering into it, giggling when it tickles his face. He taps on your collar with a finger, gnaws impishly on your shoulder until a line of drool trickles down. Then, he laughs again, and pushes his cheeks into it, hugging your bicep tightly.

The boy—the angel—James. Steve feels himself clench up with the new knowledge. His name is James.

“James?” There is betrayal in the way he questions it. As much as he tries to steel it, a tiny rupture creeps through the single syllable.

You pull the boy close to your body, maneuvering until you’re holding him with both arms, one slanted over his back, the other under his bottom. He sighs and leans his head onto your shoulder, makes soft noises of contentment. “Mama… walk? Go for a walk, mama.”

Between your overcast eyes and Steve’s inspecting blue ones, James is tucked like a pebble in a cobblestone wall, desperately holding back the torrent from both sides. You grip him unwaveringly, shush him now for the time being.

“Is he—Bucky? He’s Bucky’s?”

Steve inspects the front yard, the blindingly hopeful curtain finally lifting from his eyes—there are three seats on the porch, three flowers painted on the mailbox, three little stumps further away surrounding an extinguished fire.

A home—his home, his place, now filled in with the bulk of someone else. And not just anyone else, he thinks bitterly, but Bucky. His best friend, now his old lover’s new lover. It spins him out of control.

Your face scrunches up with disdain, mouth twisting into a scowl he’s known rarely, but still—he knows it.

“Yes, Steve.” You spit, nostrils flaring with anger, “He’s named after his father. He’s named after his real father.”

Steve frowns, broken-hearted, apologetic, confused. Your eyes have welled up with unshed tears, your lips pinched tightly together, as if holding back your words will keep the tears at bay, too. He doesn’t know what you mean as he stares vacantly at your protective stance.

But then he sees it.

He sees it when James grunts, bored now of a conversation that is years beyond his interest and comprehension. He beats his fists on your chest and leans back in agony.

His hat tumbles from his crown. Down, down, it falls noiselessly and when Steve looks back up to where his perfect little head is—returned to your collar, he sees brilliant flaxen curls, catching sunbeams.

Blindingly gold—almost white.

James twists his little body around and stares at Steve with some mysterious indulgence now that they are both wholly revealed to each other.

“He was there for me, you know.” You whisper, heavy teardrops running down to your chin, pooling until they barely hang on. “He was there the entire time. Nine whole agonizing months, knowing that I was growing something that was yours. I had nobody but Bucky.”

You press your lips to James’ head, inhaling the sweet scent of his skin, “I was out of my mind with grief. Th-thought, I couldn’t—I couldn’t have it. Couldn’t have a baby that was yours—you’d left me. You left what we had for something that was barely a dream, Steve.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—I didn’t.”

“Bucky was there.” You continue, ignoring Steve’s confession. He bites his tongue, hopes it draws blood, hopes in secret you might take his very life from him. He can’t stand to be alive anymore, staring now at two people he left behind.

“Bucky was there, and he loved me through it. And when this little… when this sweet boy—” you press your eyes to his forehead, “When this boy came, we held each other and wept.”

A little laugh is muffled in James’ hair.

“So, yeah. He’s named after his real father, not his biological one.”

James leans his face towards yours, places his palms onto your cheek and pats the wetness away, “Mama. No more rain, mama. Mama, sunny outside.”

You burst apart, crumbling into tears against his little palm, pressing kisses to his fingertips, and Steve crumbles too. The boy, the precious boy, who is both his and not his, turns and looks at him earnestly. You whisper to him, kiss him on the cheek, Mama’s okay, baby. Mama’s got you with her now. Sunshine boy.

And then you turn your eyes to him. Those once doting eyes he always found gazing longingly, even after he was yours. Now they cut him, sharp and cold, holding him in their deep, dark light.

“You need to leave, before he comes home.” You whisper over the sound of insect wings and birds in the distance. The trees rustle and sway, as if egging your words on.

Home. Your home is with Bucky. Not Steve, not anymore.

“He’ll want to see you, but not like this.”

He wouldn’t even know what to say to Bucky. He wouldn’t know what to expect to hear, either. You and Bucky, and his son—your son, Steve’s son, Bucky’s son. All strung up together in a terrible web, waiting for the spider.

Somehow, he feels like the spider.

“Steve,” you call, and for a second, he hears it lovingly. Like how you might have called his name in front of the fireplace, nestled in his arms, snow settling in sheets outside. Steve, I love you.

“Steve.” It’s firm again, hard and cutting, ice chips crunched through your teeth, “When you left, you left Bucky, too. In your absence, we found each other. You didn’t just break me, Steve; you broke him. And you need to go, because I won’t let you do that to him again.”

You don’t have to say it, but he can parse it from your clenched jaw and the way you aim your words at him. You love Bucky.

The trajectory of the truth burns straight through his guts. It churns and twists and drugs his entire being until it leaves every last cell numb.

Once upon a time, you loved him, too.

But that was before he knew the darkness, before he knew the possibility and lost himself in the what if, the then, burning away the now and the love he already had.

You set James down softly in the dirt after landing soft kisses to his cheeks, watch his toes flex and grip the grass. He places the hat back over his head, lopsided, but on, regardless. He bounces on his feet, bending his knees and getting a feel for the ground beneath him. The silly ritual completes when he pads away, chasing a hovering dragonfly. Every few seconds, he looks back and laughs.

Steve’s heart cracks open with every inch of the boy’s smile.

The two of you stand for what seems like an eternity, trying to find something to end it on. He can’t do anything more than laugh resentfully, because if he doesn’t, he’ll cry, and he’ll never stop. It comes out as two clipped scoffs before he splinters anyway.

So, he nods, accepts the defeat he’s given himself and lets the tears trickle down his face to match you. Blinking the sea from your eyes, you sniffle loudly and turn, splitting the grass with your feet to follow the trail James has made into the field.

Pulling out of the driveway, Steve watches you next to your son, his son, Bucky’s son— that beautiful boy, blue-eyed like both of them. You bend and lift him, toss him gently, nuzzle him and smile before you take him down into the grass and continue the walk away from the house. He plucks flowers and raises them up and you let him tuck them inelegantly into your braid, still lovely.

Steve closes his eyes one last time to sear the image into his mind. He interjects himself into the scene, walking hand-in-hand down that habitual path. He imagines James on his hip, stares into the phantom face of that boy of his, your laughter ringing next to him like the wind. He laughs and laughs, and cries and cries. And then, he drives until the house is gone from the rearview mirror.

No, it will never be as it was again.

The dream, honeyed, sweet, as beautiful as it may be, it would only be half as beautiful as the truth could have been. Half as beautiful as the boy. Half as beautiful as you.

Next

[starstruck-thirst]

Razor: Your First Time

Commission (Posted with commissioner’s permission)

Warnings/ tags: NSFW, Sex, Virgin!reader, AFAB, Fem pronouns, wholesome

Word count: 5.6K

______________________

“Wait for someone special.”

“You don’t want to give it to just anyone.”

“Give it to your husband.”

Everyone seemed to have an opinion about your Virgin Card. How the only person you should give up your virginity to was someone that you’d marry or meant the world to you. But really, you just wanted to give it up to anyone that would actually please you. Too often you had heard your friends talk about how their first times were messy, sloppy, and unsatisfying. And you were determined to not have a first time like that.

But you never thought that a former criminal would be the person you would trust with such a task.

Razor was different from anyone else you had ever met. He was so calm, sure of himself, and in charge. Even your virgin mind couldn’t miss how terribly sexy that was. A guy who had nothing to prove and lived in the moment. Lived the way he wanted to every day.

He had drawn you like a moth to a flame. And when you had told him about being a virgin- over drinks and pretending not to be blushing like mad- he merely laughed and acted like it was no big deal.

Maybe that was when you decided: it had to be Razor.

“I want you to fuck me,” you said blatantly, watching the man’s reaction as he lowered his water bottle to look at you directly.

You hadn’t warmed him up on the topic, perhaps because you were so nervous- and it wasn’t like you were versed in such a conversation. But standing on the side of the road, watching Razor finish his daily run had turned some desire on in your head. It was now or never, you decided. If you didn’t just blurt it out, then you’d never have the guts.

“Okay,” he said with a smile. “Come to my room tonight at 8.”

Then he left.

Left you standing in the street as he jogged off to shower like he always did after his run. And nothing more was said about it.

Was that normal? Had you messed up?

As the day wore on, you decided the only thing you had messed up was not tacking on “right now” because all day you were a wreck. What should you wear? How should you behave? Should you shave? How much? Should you have bought cute underwear for this? Or should you have gotten a sexy lingerie set in anticipation?

You hadn’t expected him to say yes like that! There hadn’t been time to prepare in advance when you didn’t even think it was going to happen!

The day was a wash. You saw Razor off and on as he trained, interacted with the other pirates, and waited for a player to come and try him for his cards. But you didn’t try to talk to him directly again, and he didn’t call any attention to it. He just continued to live his life normally. Which drove you more insane.

A shower at minimum was achieved before 8. A simple outfit chosen with some of your nicer underwear. But it felt lacking. Razor knew you were a virgin, but what if he was expecting more effort on your part? After all you had asked him, so wouldn’t it be normal for him to assume more preparation on your part?

These thoughts raced in your head as you stood outside his bedroom door, knuckles turning white from gripping the hem of your skirt as tight as you were. A dress had seemed appropriate. Flirty and cute. Even if it wasn’t your usual, especially since you had gotten to Greed Island.

With a deep breath you released your dress and knocked on the door, the resounding thuds coming much more quietly than you had anticipated. ‘Great, now he’ll know I’m nervous,’ you thought.

The door opened to a smiling Razor. He was wearing a fresh white shirt, black sleep shorts, and had a book in one hand- thumb marking his spot as he leaned on the arm that held it. “Good evening.”

“Good evening,” you responded. Was your face hot? Nothing had even happened yet! “H-how are you?”

Razor chuckled, standing straight again as he took a step back from the door so he could open it fully, dropping the book to the desk by the door casually. “I’m great. Come on in.”

You nodded, and did as he instructed. Inwardly you were trying to build up your own confidence and pretend you had as much calm and self-confidence as he did. The door shut and a lock slid into place with a click. It shouldn’t have made you nervous, obviously he was thinking of your privacy, but it also made your mind race with the knowledge you were locked inside.

Large hands clasped your shoulders, their warmth both alarming and comforting as his thumbs rubbed your shoulder blades. “I only locked it to keep anyone from barging in,” he said in a soft voice, as if he could read your mind. “Come on.”

With a gentle, guiding push through the palms of his hands, he directed you to his bed. You sat automatically, hands in your lap, unsure what to do with them. He sat next to you, his weight on the bed causing it to bow more than your own had. “I-I don’t know what I should do,” you admitted, eyes flicking to his face then back to your hands. The tiny bit of confidence you had tried to muster up on the way in through the door was already gone. You were touching his bed, the place he’d fuck you, and you were completely lost at what you were doing.

“Just tell me when you don’t like what I’m doing,” he said with a quiet voice. You nodded, still unable to look at him. “You’re so cute. Don’t be scared.”

Razor cupped your cheek, turning your gaze to his face. Looking into his calm and confident face made you less nervous. It was so easy to fall into his grip as he brought your lips to his, kissing you with the same force he would have used on someone that he had kissed a million times. Not gentle, like someone who was afraid- like you were- but firm and sure.

Your eyes closed instinctively, letting his warmth wash over you as both of his hands encased your face. Naturally, you opened your mouth so that Razor could flick his tongue over yours. Awkwardly you tried to mimic his movements, momentarily worried you were doing it wrong, but he didn’t stop you or laugh so you kept mimicking him.

Already, you mind was starting to get fuzzy from the feelings. Razor’s presence against your skin, the way the kiss made your insides buzz and flutter, and the way your core was starting to twist up in excitement. All of this was so much more dizzying than you had expected. You had kissed people before, but this was different. This was a kiss with a special anticipation behind it.

He broke away, shifting on the bed and pulling you with him so you were both sitting in the middle of the mattress that was really only made for one. “I’m going to undress you,” he said, waiting for your nod of understanding before he put both of his hands onto your thighs and slid them up.

Razor trailed your sides, the calluses on his hands causing you to shiver as each rough bump of skin felt completely distinct. Instinctively you lifted your arms up, and he guided your dress up and over your head with ease. If you hadn’t been hot before, you were now. Every part of your face and neck felt awkwardly warm. You wondered, what did Razor see? Did he see all the bumps you saw when you looked in the mirror? Was the shape of your body strange and unsatisfying?

But he was smiling still. It had never faltered even a fraction as he looked you over, drinking you in like lemonade on a hot day. “You’re gorgeous,” he praised, putting a hand into your hair to push it back from your face. “Absolutely gorgeous. Lay back for me, pretty thing.”

You listened to the instruction, some of the knots of worry were finally undoing themselves as you got swept up in Razor’s energy. He was so calm that it was hard to not just fall into his pace. “I feel like I’m not doing anything,” you confessed, trying not to cover your chest with your arms. Even if you were still wearing a bra, you felt exposed.

“You’re doing everything,” he replied with a small chuckle. “Trusting me to take care of you is what you have to do tonight. Got it?” You nodded. “Good girl.”

Just the praise was enough to make you squirm, a familiar yet new sensation of lust striking you at his words. Sure, you had felt turned on before, but this was different. This was so directly intentional. Something new wrapping up old feelings in a nice little bundle of excitement. Only, you didn’t know what to do with this new gift that had been thrust at you.

Continuing his slow pace, Razor put his hands back on your sides. He rubbed up and down, feeling your skin move under his rough fingers. It felt nice, comforting. With practiced precision he reached under you and unhooked your bra with a single hand. “I’m going to open you up nice and slow. Like a present.”

He had to lean over you on the bed to do his magic, and in that moment you never felt so small compared to him before. He was a large man, you knew, but now he felt abnormally big. If he noticed your look as you realized this, he didn’t let on.

Instead he kept his focus on his enjoyment of your body, putting his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them gently before sliding his thumbs under each bra strap and dragging them down your arms. You lifted your arms out of the loops without having to be told, but he didn’t take the bra from your chest.

Razor leaned further over you, kissing you once more but this time it was chaste. A single peck on the lips, and then he was traveling down your cheek to your jaw. Down your jaw line to your neck. Down your neck to your chest. Your hands felt so useless, laying next to you with nowhere to go.

His breath teased the tops of your breasts as he kissed the line where your bra met skin. A tiny rolling, tingle ran down your spine at the sensation. “You’re doing so good,” he praised, kissing the line again before using his cheek to slide the bra down just a touch. With each kiss he moved the bra, exposing your one breast to the world. You gripped the bedding in anticipation, knees knocking together between his legs to attempt and contain your growing need.

“Razor,” you breathed which made him stop immediately. “Please go faster.” It was nice, but the anticipation was starting to kill you. You just wanted it to be over so you could stop feeling so awkward. But at the same time, you were enjoying him dragging it out. Warming you up and making you feel so comfortable. Making you feel good.

“Patience, y/n. I told you, I’m going to open you up slowly.”

Your nipple was exposed from the kisses, and Razor finally moved the bra completely off your body, depositing it to the floor with the dress. “I want to enjoy you,” he whispered before licking your nipple with one smooth, slow, motion. The unfamiliarity of it made you shiver and gasp. He chuckled.

“W-What?” you asked, opening your eyes to look at him as he hovered over your chest.

“I’m just enjoying the moment. Aren’t you?” he asked before licking your nipple again, but this time it was quick. Just a flick of the tongue that lifted your breast ever so slightly, making it jiggle as it settled back into place.

You huffed, a bit embarrassed at the lighthearted mood of the room. “Can’t you be serious, please?”

“Why?” he asked, shifting his weight over you. Razor’s face was over yours, one arm supporting him as a hand went to the breast he had already teased. As he spoke, a thumb rolled over the protruding flesh, “There is nothing wrong with having fun with sex.”

Husky sighs came with each roll of his thumb. What he said made sense, but you felt like you were supposed to be serious in this moment. That was what sex /was/. Wasn’t it? “I wouldn’t know,” you responded, sounding the most confident and controlled you had since you knocked on his door.

“No,” he smiled. “But you will.”

Razor kissed you again. This one was crushing, his lips smashed into yours as his tongue worked yours with vigor. On your chest your nipple was no longer merely being rubbed but pinched over and over. Gently overall, but with enough force that you gasped several times into Razor’s open mouth. Below you, your pussy was practically throbbing with need. It was uncomfortable. You pressed your thighs together as much as you could to try and squash the discomfort, but it didn’t help at all.

Sensing your unrest, Razor slid the hand away from your breast and ran it down your body to your underwear. In your mind you were screaming for him to just do away with the panties. For him to stop teasing you and fuck you already.

But true to his word, he slid his fingers over the cloth so he could take his time. A firm finger pressed into the front of your panties and he began rubbing while he continued his kisses. Your body reacted before your mind did. Hands were in Razor’s hair and on the side of his face, while your thighs opened up for him to have as much room as he could need to work your labia through your pesky underwear.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, how long you couldn’t be sure, but you slowly grew accustomed to the way he bit your lip just as he pressed his finger especially hard down onto your clit. Every time you would gasp or groan, legs fighting to stay open so he could keep working though all you wanted to do was clasp your thighs around his hand.

“You ready?” he asked, pulling away from your grip enough to speak.

You nodded, staring into his face like a desperate beggar. You knew without a mirror that your eyes must have looked /pitiful/ because you felt that way. Every part of your sexual being was screaming for this man to have his way with you.

He sat back and put his fingers into the waistband of your panties before you placed your hands over his. “You… you’re not… you still have all of your clothes on,” you mutter out, eyes focusing on his shorts before going back to his face. “It just doesn’t seem fair is all.”

Razor smiled. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed like that,” he commented, making you turn your face away in shame. “Now don’t do that. Don’t you want to see the show you’re asking for?”

The sensation of his hands left your hips, and reluctantly you dragged your eyes back to his body to watch. Part of you wanted it to be your hands that gripped the hem of his shirt, bringing it up and exposing his defined chest. At rest, he had just a bit of fat on his stomach, hanging in a natural and pleasing way. But even though he wasn’t mid workout- the time you knew his muscles looked most defined- his chest still looked strong and toned.

Suddenly you hoped that you could withstand whatever he dished out into you.

Not aware of that thought, Razor dropped his shirt to the side of the bed, never taking his gaze off of you. Without a word he hitched his thumbs into the band of his shorts, and you opened your mouth to tell him to stop. But no words came out. Were you going to tell him to wait, you weren’t ready? Or that you wanted to take his shorts off?

He waited a moment, seeing a look of hesitation cross your face. When you didn’t say anything he decided to continue. Your eyes were fixated on his motion, not thinking at all about how obvious you were being as you stared. But Razor didn’t mind at all, perhaps it excited him to be observed so carefully because you saw a slight twitch under the black fabric before his large hands dragged his shorts off.

You didn’t have any personal experience with which to compare Razor to, though you had seen images of dicks. But seeing him in person was nothing like seeing a picture. He was firm, but not yet fully erect. His length seemed average, but his girth was already bigger than any anatomy image you had ever seen. And for a moment you worried he wouldn’t be able to fit inside of you.

“You alright, y/n?” he asked with complete sincerity. Silently you were thankful he wasn’t making fun of your reaction. Due to your lack of response he put a hand on your thigh to get your attention, making you break eye contact with his cock as he leaned forward so your eyes looked back to his face. “We can stop if you want.”

“No!” It came out louder and more shrill than you had meant for it to. All you could think of was how hard it had been to get this far, to say the words to Razor to start with. But he didn’t seem comforted by your response, if anything it bothered him. His lips turned down ever so slightly into a look of concern and you scrambled to sit up. “No. I /want/ to do this. And… and if I don’t go through with it now,” you looked at his chest as your hands rested on your knees, “then I will just think I failed. And I’ll feel too stupid to ever ask you again.”

A soft sigh came from Razor. “Hey,” the familiarity of his firm voice called you to look up at him with a natural, obedient reflex. “You aren’t stupid. Stopping here doesn’t mean you failed. It just means you need more time. We could always do this another day. Okay?”

You nodded and he reached out to run his knuckles along the side of your face. Closing your eyes you leaned into the touch, enjoying this momentary reprieve. But you couldn’t enjoy it too long. Something about him touching you, no matter how tame, after how turned on you had gotten meant that any touch from him reminded your body of how wet it was.

“I want you to keep going,” you responded, opening your eyes of your own will this time. “Please?”

He nodded and you lowered yourself to the bed again, lifting your hips just a little to signify you were ready for him to take your underwear off. Razor happily helped, gripping the soft fabric around your hips and sliding it down. He had to shift to get them fully off of your legs, but when he repositioned himself he made sure he was between your legs and coaxed your knees to his sides. Being able to touch him while you were exposed did help you feel better. As if in this moment you two were connected and doing this together. Before, you had felt like you weren’t really a part of things, but something as simple as this contact brought you back to it.

Maybe that is why he did it, you thought.

“I’m going to warm you up,” Razor said as he ran two fingers down your labia.

You shivered, hands going to the bedding again to keep you feeling grounded. “Did… did you not already do that?” Somehow completely exposed you felt like your questions were less embarrassing. Or perhaps it was just because you had already laid out in the open your most frightened thought. The thought that Razor could view you as a stupid failure.

He nodded, moving his fingers up and down your labia with growing pressure. “You’re definitely wet enough,” he said in a warm way that didn’t make you feel ashamed. “But I have to prepare you for penetration. Even with lubrication you’re too tight. I don’t want to hurt you.”

It made sense, and even though Razor wasn’t waiting for a reaction you nodded that you understood anyway. “Okay,” you muttered, trying to prompt yourself to be more verbal. It was the least you could do, he had been doing so well at being verbal with you.

Razor’s eyes on your pussy didn’t make your nervousness come back. It just made you excited. The expression on his face as he watched his fingers work your sex was incredibly attractive. He was more relaxed than you were used to him being on average, but still pleased. Much like he looked when he had a few beers with you at the bar. But this was so much more personal than that. You had every ounce of his attention. In this moment there was only you for him to look at.

You loved that.

As his finger entered into your body you gasped. All thoughts you had been having were wiped from your mind as that haze from before blinded you again. Your knees squeezed his sides tightly as he dragged the digit in and out of you, thumb just whispering over your clit so as not to over stimulate you too much. You cried his name out as he curled the finger up and down inside of you, and he chuckled.

“I underestimated you,” he said, entering a second finger, spreading them apart as he moved in and out. He was testing how tight your muscles were, but it felt amazing when his fingers spread in and out as he moved.

“Wh-what do you-ah- mean?”

“I thought it would be easy to take my time with you. But it’s getting really difficult,” he admitted. As if to punctuate how he felt, he swirled his fingers inside as his thumb pressed down on your clit just for a second.

A lewd cry burst from your lips and you finally knew what it meant to ‘see stars’. It felt as if the haze in your mind was sparkling.

Below you, Razor had gone still. Waiting out your reaction so that he didn’t push you too hard too fast. But his stillness is what made you stop looking at the ceiling and down your body to his. Where his cock had only been half erect before it was now fully engorged. It hung down from his body, hard and ready. You thought maybe you saw a tiny glistening of precum on the tip, but you couldn’t be sure.

“Razor,” you panted, “am-am I ready yet? I don’t know if I can last too much longer.” You knew what it felt like to orgasm from your own efforts, and that same building feeling in your body was starting to get dangerously high. Actually, it was already higher than you were used to feeling from when you masturbated.

“I want to warm you up more,” he said. But his voice didn’t really match his words. He sounded like he was holding something back, and his tone had gotten noticeably deeper.

You released the comforter to put your hand over the one he was using to keep himself steady on the bed. “It’s okay,” you said, “I’m tough. Let me at least try.”

The look on his face said he wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but his cock twitched just enough for you to notice. “Are you sure?” As he asked, he moved his hand from your pussy to his cock, stroking it once. The action made you really look at his size, notice how thick he was.

But you were still sure. “Yeah. Just… go slow?”

He nodded as he put both hands onto your hips and dragged you down the bed towards him. The rush that you felt from that single action made you giggle a little. It struck you as potentially odd until you remembered his words ‘There is nothing wrong with having fun with sex’, and you decided that maybe he wasn’t lying after all as he positioned himself.

Razor slipped his cock along your wet folds, lubricating himself up in preparation as well as providing you a fresh wave of endorphins. It took effort, but you watched as he moved, the tip of his dick peaking over your body as he moved back and forth. You hummed in pleasure, already loving the feeling of skin against you like this.

Finally, he aligned the head to your body. You could feel the warm tip against your opening and your heart clutched in anticipation. He looked at you, one eyebrow raised. You gripped his hand again, wanting to feel that connection as he entered into you for the first time, and nodded.

It became clear immediately that Razor’s worries of you not being warmed up enough were unfounded. His cock glided in so easily that he accidentally entered into you more than he intended. But even though he fit inside of you, your body still had to stretch to accommodate him. Being filled from his girth so completely made you gasp and moan at the same time, which almost alarmed your partner for a moment before the noise truly settled into his ears.

“Fuck,” you whispered as Razor pulled out completely. Somehow you had managed to watch the entire motion from the first time he entered, to pulling out, and entering into you again. But this time he started to move in and out with more momentum and your head fell back onto the pillow below you. It was too much effort to hold your head up when pleasure constantly thrummed through your body, but you could see his face with your head relaxed.

His attention had to be divided, making sure to watch how you came together and that you didn’t seem to be struggling or in pain. But any time he looked at your face you could see the absolute joy he was having.

With a solid push he slid entirely into you and your thighs clamped down on his sides with their full strength as you gave out a strangled half cry. Sheathed into you fully, Razor could put both hands on your hips and help his pace by bringing you down towards him as he thrust up. Your nails bit down into the tops of his hands unknowingly as you tossed your head back gasping.

He groaned, bringing your hips together with a particularly harsh snap. “Damn,” he mumbled, “you feel amazing around me.”

Outside of this moment you always thought dirty talk was lame and kind of silly. But hearing the words fall from Razor’s mouth so sincerely made your blood warm.

Now you understood the appeal.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, already an unhelpful mess. It occurred to you that you were just letting him use you like a giant sex toy. Your hips lifted into his when the timing was right with the thanks of pure instinct, but otherwise Razor was doing all of the work while you felt overwhelmed with pleasure and feelings you had no words for.

“I didn’t plan on it,” he responded in a half joke, picking up his pace for a few thrusts before slowing again as if to emphasize his point.

“No,” you groaned, “don’t stop talking.”

“Do you like it when I tell you how good you feel, y/n?” Razor’s sex voice was deeper, and throughout you could hear his own noises of enjoyment. Small groans and huffs of his breath. “I’ve never had someone hug my cock like you.”

Your thighs couldn’t clamp down any harder, but you wished they could as you groaned out his name. “I’ll keep talking, if you keep being loud,” he promised from above you.

You had been so lost in your feelings that you missed Razor shift so that he was now fully on top of you, your hands gripped in his as they were pinned to each side of your head. He snapped his hips into you as you refocused on him and not the wall behind his bed.

Razor did as he promised, muttering when he could manage it about how good you felt, how gorgeous you looked below him. And you kept your end of the deal without trying. Each cry and moan was completely unrestricted and natural as the large man worked your pussy to his liking.

So lost in the activity you lost track of active thought, and when Razor slid into you completely and held there for a moment your legs locked around him and you rocked your hips back and forth, urging your own orgasm free with a cry of his name.

Dutifully he remained still, watching you orgasm below him. When you were finally over that peak you rested your hip muscles, feeling used up and exhausted. “I’m close,” he muttered into your hair before pressing kisses to your cheek. “Can I use you a bit more?”

Everything felt so raw and tired out, but you agreed anyway. You knew you could tell him you couldn’t hold out if it became too much.

Expertly, Razor released one of your hands so he could place it on your tailbone and held your pelvis up enough that he could hit a spot that seemed to please him. He couldn’t talk anymore as he chased his own release. Grunts, groans, and breathy calls of your name was all he could manage. The feeling of overstimulation was building, but for the time you still felt pleasure as he moved in and out of you quickly.

The hand against your tailbone pressed painfully hard and you could feel the warmth of his cum inside of you as he released, only a low growling noise coming from his lips. The hand he still clutched was being held so tightly that you almost told him it hurt, but knowing he wouldn’t actually cause you harm you chose to endure it.

Your free hand went to his hair, running your fingers through the sweat damped strands as his muscles trembled through his orgasm. You were glad you had told him to keep going. The feeling of his body going through those sensations had been exciting.

Spent, he pulled out of you and you couldn’t help the tiny groan that came from you at the loss of feeling so filled. Razor smiled at the noise, you could feel it against your cheek where the corner of his lips still pressed to you.

With the ease of moving a pillow, Razor laid onto his side and dragged you into his arms. He put an arm under your head, and you were somewhat surprised at how someone that was so strong and muscly was still so comfortable and soft. You rested your arms between the two of you as he rested his head on top of yours. Never before had you felt so safe and serene.

“Sorry I got a little rough at the end there,” he said, his voice resonating through your head as he spoke.

“It’s okay. It didn’t hurt in a bad way,” you confessed. Now you were glad he couldn’t see your face nor you his. It made it easier to say things like that so simply.

“Not in a bad way huh? I’ll make sure to remember that,” he replied. Idly his hand that was slung over your side slid to your back and started to rub.

“Remember that?” Your question was in half tease, feeling much more like your sparky self now that the initial awkwardness was so completely dead. “You saying you want to do this again?”

The hand on your back pressed you closer to him before resuming its previous action. “I can’t leave you half educated, now can I? What kind of trainer would I be then? Unless you have complaints. Then I guess I could-“

“No,” you cut him off, daring to lift your lips up to collar bone to place a small nip. “I chose you. So you better do this right.”

He laughed now and you smiled.

“Well if I’m going to do this right,” he said before kissing the top of your head, “then I better do it right.” With that he pushed you away, making you frown at the loss of his warmth. “Go pee so you don’t get a UTI.”

“You didn’t have to be so rough about it,” you pouted, sitting up since you could tell he was going to be insistent.

“I thought you said you liked that?” he teased, and you stood up in a huff.

“Keep talking like that and I’m going to change my mind after all.” You got to the bathroom door and turned around to shoot another teasing comment his way but stopped seeing him. The bed was a mess under him, but his body at rest looked so tempting and comfortable. You had to fight the urge to bite your lip when you saw his flaccid cock resting on his thigh. He raised an eyebrow and you turned away from him. “Maybe after next time.”

[ashpatch]

Ashley Rutberg, Lemonade & Razor Blades

[spinningintheshadows]

Some days, they taste like lemonade

Some days, can feel like razor blades

I wish I could float away, some days

[jroses5]

I don't give a fuck about myself All they do is analyze my mental health I don't give a fuck about myself You're making us famous You're making us famous I drank some bleach today Because they forced me to Hide it with lemonade Round about ten to two I ate a razor blade Just for attentions sake I'm just wired up that way If you're not watching me

Machine Gun (F**ck The NRA) by yungblud

[puttingfingerstokeys]

faraday cage

so the title should tell you the ship (if you’re familiar with my terminology), but if not, it’s Faraday Cage (Johnny/Raiden). Spacing’s all fucky and, as usual, tumblr eats italics. I’m a lazy POS tho so here ya go! One day I STG I’mma post these on Ao3, with like maybe more words/deets. I skimmed this one before I posted it, so like, hopefully it’s not a TOTAL mess. Hilarious ‘cause the story actually titled “How Come Cassie Gets Two Dads” is only like... POTENTIAL faraday cage and also isn’t in the prevented timeline at all (I mislabeled it initially, WOOPS). 

Prevented timeline

“Hey, Raidude, I’ve got a question for ya.

“Yes, Johnny Cage?”

Raiden shifted on the lawn chair to face the mortal who addressed him, fully aware that whatever came out of the man’s mouth next would almost certainly be foolish. He was eager to hear it.

“What color’s your hair?”

“Oh my GOD, dad; you can’t just ask a guy what color his hair is—that’s so weird!” Cassie, just emerging from the house with a plate of lemonade for the three of them, was appalled at her father’s lack of courtesy toward their divine guest. That, or she was simply messing with him. “It’s like asking a girl if her hair is dyed—that shit stings.”

“It does not insult me, Cassandra Cage,” Raiden reassured the woman, taking the offered glass and giving a serene smile in return. She rolled her eyes. He would never stop calling her Cassandra Cage. She suspected he could not help it. “Fujin and I are twins, thus...” He trailed off, gesturing at his own pause. “But I understand—”

“Wait, you guys are twins?” This was Cassie, settling down next to her father, two glasses in hand. Johnny tipped his shades down his nose to better judge if the god of thunder was toying with them. He was, as usual, not.

“Why is this surprising?” Raiden seemed genuinely taken aback, in point of fact, that the mortals had not known this from the start. He had never made mention of it, because it had never mattered. Every day, he was surprised, again and again, by the things the Cage family said or did, or asked, in this case; it revealed still more layers to the complexity of mortality.

“You just don’t—I mean he looks like he could be, I dunno, mid thirties?” Johnny looked to Cassie for confirmation. She pursed her lips and nodded. “And you’re like—”

“A dad,” Cassie filled in. “Like, sorry in advance and all that, but lowkey dilf status.”

Johnny went red. Cassie was also colored to the ears. Raiden looked between them and understood context with enough acuity to know that whatever she had just said was not, in general, something one discussed in polite or mixed company.

“CASS!” Johnny finally managed to hiss this and give his daughter a hard sidelong glance.

“Well not ME, but like, y’know…” She gestured in Raiden’s general direction, while the god himself was having a mental field day observing their antics. It must truly have been glorious to be mortal, to experience many things only once, seeing phenomena which, to a god, occurred millions of times in the eons of their lifespan, but to a mortal were wholly unique, singular, and precious.

“Well whaddabout me?” Now Johnny was on the warpath. Raiden leaned back in his seat and observed the exchange further, still wondering what “dilf” signified.

“No, dad, I’m not asking anyone that. Gross.” Cassie made a face. “I mean you’re a movie star, so like, someone prolly thinks you’re hot.”

Johnny laughed aloud at that and drank deep of his lemonade, shielding his eyes from the California sun. “That’s good ‘nuff for me. I just need someone to think I’m hot and it’s all good. My ego is very fragile.”

The three sat in silence a while, the only sound accompanying them a light clinking of ice cubes on glass when someone took a drink. It was peaceful and they finally—all three—felt as if they could breathe once more.

“So Fujin’s really your twin, huh?” Johnny was, evidently, not ready to let that point go. Raiden nodded.

“He is the wind and I the lightning,” he said simply, as if this explained it all. “His appearance is that of a much younger man, but keep in mind, we are neither mortal, nor human.”

“Your appearance probably reflects your job, or something, right?” Cassie was taking a stab in the dark, but she was neither stupid nor unobservant. “I mean you’re like the cosmic dad, so, it kinda makes sense you look like one.”

Raiden pursed his lips, considered this, and nodded. “I am flattered, Cassandra Cage, that you consider me a father figure.”

“What am I,” Johnny grunted, crossing his arms and imitating a pouting child, “chopped liver?”

“I can have two dads, dad,” Cassie returned almost without thinking. Her cheeks colored, but she pressed on. “It’s the twenty-first century.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Johnny, drowning the words in more lemonade and waving his daughter off. “I dunno if Electric Slide here wants the job, though, do ya, big guy? Cassie’s a handful.”

“Cassandra Cage is a competent kombatant; she takes after both her mother and father; I would be honored to fight by her side.”

Raiden’s answers to these things always came across in one of two ways: pedantic and pontificating, or sweeping, all-encompassing, realm-crossing philosophies. This was the latter. Cassie froze a moment, her brain scrambling for words. It was an immense compliment she had just been paid and she, the motormouth of the century, had nothing to say in return.

“Th…thanks,” she stammered, mimicking her father and drowning more words in lemonade. She had her mother’s eyes, in shape if not color, Raiden had noticed, and they widened the same way when he complimented her. He did not hand these out without thought, and so he was pleased she understood the gravity of his meaning. “I’m… prolly not callin’ you dad, though; that’d be kinda weird.”

“Y’think the neighbors would buy the ‘uncle’ bit?” Johnny ventured, speaking to his daughter.

“No way. That just makes you guys sound like a couple on the DL; no one’s on the DL anymore, especially not in Beverly Hills.” The Cages laughed aloud and Raiden smiled once more. Their mirth was infectious. He felt lighter in their presence. It was refreshing. The thunder god felt safe alongside them, a strange phenomenon he did not realize he had lacked until it was placed in his lap, so to speak. He removed his hat and set it gently aside, desirous of the sun’s warmth upon his brow. 

Johnny noticed immediately when Raiden reached up to then loosen and remove the cap which he wore underneath his hat. That thing was a piece of headwear almost as famous as Kung Lao’s razor-edged lid; Johnny could not remember the last time he saw Raiden not wearing it, if ever. Cassie turned as the cap came free and, spilling out, absent of its confining presence, was a thick, light-catching, glossy mane of the whitest hair they had ever seen—save on  Fujin, of course. Raiden felt about in his hair and made the face of someone who has lost something.

“Your uh… scrunchy broke?” Cassie was the first to find her words. She didn’t know what she was witnessing, precisely, but she knew it was rare. Raiden was far too tightly wound to simply take his hat AND cap off in front of just anyone. She wondered if they were the first people to see his hair in millennia. Her heart thudded a little faster as she considered it; this was special and she didn’t even have her phone on her (yet another rare occurrence).

Cassie Cage played the part of a flippant valley girl, but her guts were her mother’s and cleverness and bravery came before all else. She could drink all the iced coffee she wanted, wear the most expensive shades, and shop only at places called boutiques, but she was still a Blade. Blade women looked upon gods with the appropriate awe and she was doing just that at this moment. 

But that was nothing compared to her father.

Johnny was, in a word, thunderstruck by Raiden’s voluminous hair and was assaulted all at once by the urge to see it spread out on a pillow. He stowed that, quick and hard, trying to replace his expression with something resembling nonchalant serenity and contentment, as if it was totally normal for the god of thunder to be disrobing in his presence.

“I seem to have misplaced it, yes,” admitted Raiden, almost sadly. “But it was ancient and… on occasion, ancient things … tire out.”

Johnny leaned forward and took a chance, laying a hand upon Raiden’s knee, lightly, knowing the clothing he wore protected from much of his electrical potential, but not all. There was a low buzz just beneath his fingers. “You’re tired, but not tired out, man,” he reminded Raiden. Cassie was standing quietly, sneaking away from her seat. She knew what she was seeing and it would be best to get a move on while their attention was focused on each other. “You’re a god—like, an eternal battery; you guys never run out.”

“Your confidence in us is flattering, Johnny Cage,” said Raiden sadly, “but ultimately misplaced.”

“I don’t think it is,” responded Johnny with resolve. “No, see, I’m not built to have faith in something I haven’t seen—someone who I don’t know can deliver on his promises, or fight damn hard to do it.” What other god would go to the lengths Raiden had to protect his people? Johnny couldn’t think of a single mythological example, at least. “I have faith in you because you’ve more than earned it.”

It was now Raiden’s turn to be struck dumb. His lips were parted, just a little, as if he had intended to protest, but the protest died thereupon and was caught, suddenly and without warning, by Johnny’s.

[spacesunflcwer]

summer:

watching a forgotten teaspoon slowly sink into a jar of golden honey / standing under the early july high midday sun and wondering which is more stifling, the summer heat or your endless boredom, or perhaps your loneliness / the shock of cold water against your warmed-up skin / dark clouds gathering in a corner of the bluest of blue skies / homemade lemonade that always tastes too sour / razor-sharp streaks of lightning splitting the sky into two uneven halves / a stick of butter accidentally left out by the window, now no more than a shapeless puddle / late nights of lilac coloured skies slowly turning to inky blue / sitting around a bonfire, laughter ringing in your ears / wind rustling the willow trees / the first few droplets of rain spattering on cobblestones, signalling a storm is coming / the lingering scent from tufts of lavender almost as tall as you / warm toast with olive oil, tomatoes from the garden, and feta cheese / fingertips sticky from the sour cherry marmalade your mother made three years ago / looking up at the midnight moon, stray dogs barking in the distance / lying awake wishing you could stop time and live in this moment forever / lemon scented candles reminding you of a friend who might be slipping out of your life / soft pink roses blooming in contrast to their bright green leaves / waking up to the coffee machine's purring from the kitchen / scratching the red mosquito bites on your skin until they bleed, then picking at the scabs / the nectarine tree fearlessly stretching its branches across the front yard, the fruit slowly ripening / opening the window at night and letting the fresh air overwhelm you / hundreds of ants crowding around a few bread crumbs lost in the garden / brilliant red strawberries peeking out from under wide dark leaves / the cat lounging in the sun, her pupils thinner than a blade of grass / a rainstorm pouring down on the windows, saturating every colour and making the landscape look like an impressionist painting / the orange full moon rising above the darkened hills / ice cold watermelon juice streaming down your fingers / a late august morning, golden sunlight filtering through the vines / sifting through the drawers full of childhood memories you have framed in your mind, melancholy creeping in as you realise that maybe you grew up too fast.