#fabricated stone countertops

[dangerdust]

Workplace regulators in California are drafting an emergency rule to address an epidemic of silicosis — a deadly, preventable lung disease — among fabricators of artificial-stone countertops.

One of the men featured in the stories, Juan Gonzalez Morin, died last month. He had just turned 37.

Since 2019, the California Department of Public Health has identified 69 cases of silicosis among fabrication workers — “likely an underestimate,”

[carlos-arl]

Kitchen - Pantry Kitchen pantry - huge contemporary l-shaped kitchen pantry idea with an undermount sink and an island

[empiregmqkitchen]

Transform Your Home with Elegant Marble Countertops and Stone Fabrication Services from Empire GMQ"

Marble countertops have been a symbol of elegance and luxury for centuries, adding a touch of sophistication to any home. Empire GMQ is a premier provider of marble countertops and stone fabrication services, helping homeowners in Lancaster, NY, and the surrounding areas enhance the beauty and functionality of their living spaces.

Marble is a natural stone that is renowned for its unique veining patterns and stunning colors. It is a highly durable and heat-resistant material that is perfect for use in kitchens, bathrooms, and other high-traffic areas of the home. Marble countertops are easy to clean and maintain, making them a practical and stylish choice for any modern homeowner.

At Empire GMQ, we specialize in custom marble countertop fabrication, designing and crafting each piece to your unique specifications. Our skilled artisans use the latest tools and techniques to cut, shape, and polish the stone, ensuring a flawless finish that complements your home's decor. Whether you prefer a classic or contemporary style, we have a wide range of marble options to choose from, including Carrara, Calacatta, and Statuario, to name a few.

In addition to marble countertops, we offer a full range of stone fabrication services, including custom backsplashes, vanity tops, and fireplace surrounds. Our team of experts can help you choose the perfect stone for your project, whether you prefer the durability of granite or the beauty of quartz. We also offer adorable quartz, a type of engineered stone that is highly durable and easy to maintain. Adorable quartz is available in a variety of colors and patterns, allowing you to create a truly unique look for your home.

At Empire GMQ, we take pride in our commitment to quality and customer satisfaction. We work closely with each of our clients to understand their unique needs and preferences, ensuring that every project is completed to the highest standards. We use only the best materials and equipment, and our skilled craftsmen take great care to ensure that every detail is perfect. If you're ready to transform your home with elegant marble countertops and stone fabrication services, contact Empire GMQ today. We offer free consultations and estimates, and our team is always happy to answer any questions you may have. Visit our website at https://empiregmq.com/ or call us at +17164045000 to learn more about our services and to schedule an appointment. Let us help you create the home of your dreams with our expert stone fabrication and installation services

[studyelephant]

Dining Room - Kitchen Dining

[cohibacubancigars]

Pantry - Kitchen

[empiregmq]

Adorable Italian Marble Countertops - EmpireGMQ

Marble has drawn a lot of attention since it is a more appealing stone than granite or quartzite. This makes creating an edge profile simple. Many people like the way it looks, even though the elegant material may easily end up on the floor and you would gain more visual appeal from a waterfall marble countertop than you would from a standard countertop.

[b0ng05]

Sam Carpenter x F! Reader - Mornings Like This MDNI 18+

Word Count: 2013

Prompt: Sam Carpenter and her girlfriend being silly and making breakfast.

Warnings: Strap-on, a little bit of degradation, poor jokes I wrote in when I was stoned.

Also, not Proofread. Masterlist

I woke up to a crack of light peering through my curtains. The light blinding my eyes for a few seconds as I rub the sting away. I take a deep breath, stretching out my stiff limbs. As I arch my body in an ‘Excorcist’ type way, I catch a glimpse of Sam sleeping beside me. She laid on her stomach, a pillow tucked between her arms and head. Her dark hair sprawled out wildly along the pillowcase. A bit of drool pooling from her chin to the fabric as she slept. Half of the covers thrown from her body, assumably from her getting too warm at night. Most of her back on display as she usually slept in her sports bras, last night being no acception. I smile as I begin to climb out of bed, deciding to wake up Sam with breakfast, despite my poor cooking skills. As I stand up, the fluffy covers fall from my body, leaving me cold. Being too lazy to search the floor for my shirt, I walked to the kitchen. The cold air didn’t end in my bedroom, the thin fabric of my bra not doing much for my temperature.

I walked over to the cupboard, grabbing out a pan and two plates. I grabbed out the bacon and eggs from the fridge. I decide to start on the bacon first, knowing that I sucked at multitasking. Cutting open the package, I throw some bacon on the pan, hearing the initial sizzle and smiling, thinking about how great a cook I am. What I didn’t think about was what the sizzle meant. Within a few minutes, I’m being shot with bacon grease. Every second was me hissing in pain and cussing out the bacon for being such a rude bitch. With each insult, the bacon fought back, for each cuss, a shot of bacon grease to the tit.

“We have shirts, and aprons. You are aware of that right?” I hear a raspy teasing chuckle from behind me, and the feeling of strong arms wrapping around my bare waist. I smile as I feel her lips pressing against my neck in a tired yet loving way. “I’m aware, but I was gonna bring you this in bed, and then ask for you to kiss my bacon burns better.” I tease back, leaning into her touch as I use the tongs to take out some of the finished pieces. “Oh really? And where are these bacon burns?” Sam playfully pokes my side, her voice filled with sleep. I giggle and turn off the stove top as I finish up cooking. “Got a lot on my boobs,” I tease, not missing the mischevious glint in Sam’s eyes as they drift down to my chest. I playfully slap her shoulder, “My eyes are up here,” I tease, Sam chuckles, kissing my cheek. “ Also, what are you even doing up this early? I wanted to surprise you.” I pout up at her, trying to fight a grin that pricked my lips. “Well, I heard you cussing out the bacon. Did you seriously call the bacon, ‘Fucking whore, bitchwad’? What does that even mean?” Sam grins, her eyebrow quirking up. I sheepishly look up at the ceiling, which was a mistake due to Sam’s taller height. She easily grabs my chin, tilting my face towards her, my cheeks a blushing red. “Listen- the bacon just isn’t cool like that.” I sigh, smiling as I hear her laugh. “God, you’re a dork.” Sam whispers and pauses before kissing me. Her lips pressing against mine in a soft loving way. We pull apart, our foreheads pressing against each others. She lets out a content sigh before whispering softly,

“Please let me finish cooking. That bacon didn’t do anything wrong,” She peeks her eyes open, a mischievous smirk on her lips. “Oh woww, seriously taking the bacon’s side?” I let out a playful scoff, glaring up at her. “There was no witness to testify otherwise,” Sam quipped, a grin on her lips as she slips one of the aprons out of the drawer, tying it around her body. “The red skin on my tits says otherwise!” I huff, taking my seat on the countertop. Sam smirks and holds out her hand for the spatula that sat beside me, I playfully and passive aggressive pass her the spatula with a heavy sigh. “Oh really~? Care to let me see the evidence, preferably in full view, minus the bra.” She hums, glancing at me with a grin. I playfully roll my eyes, playing into her little game. “I actually might need you to do it. Wouldn’t it be corrupting evidence if you let the plaintiff do such a thing?” I giggle, leaning back against the cupboards as I watch Sam cook the eggs.

“Oh, very good point. I think you’re right. Let me just-” Sam smirks, turning off the burner before stepping between my legs. Her hands caressing my thighs, “May I~?” She teases, lifting one hand to snap one strap of my bra. “Go ahead, find the evidence,” I tease, giggling a bit. Sam bites her bottom lip as she slips my bra over my head. She pauses, licking her lips as she eyes my bare chest. “I don’t see any marks yet,” Sam playfully teases. I smirk, running one of my hands through her hair. “What do you mean yet? I already cooked the bac-” My breath hitches as she leans down, her tongue tracing along my breast before she sucks down, her eyes looking up into mine as she leaves a hickey on my chest. Her tongue running along the red mark soothingly before she kisses the spot. “Now we can sue the bacon,” I joke, looking at the mark on my chest. “How? I made it.” Sam chuckled, her hand moving up to grope at my chest. “Haven’t you ever heard of faking evidence, with a blind and senial enough jury, we could totally have a lawsuit on our hands.” I giggle, leaning in to kiss her jaw. Sam laughs, her other hand trailing my spine. “Remind me to never let you be my lawyer.” Sam nods, leaning in to kiss my collarbone. “Hey! I’d be a great lawyer, I’m pro-bono!” I laugh, Sam’s kisses end abruptly as she chuckles. “Oh really? You’d take my case for free?” Sam teases, moving her hands to playfully squeeze my waist. “Of course.” I nod, ”And I’m feeling especially pro-bono at the moment, so if you take me back to our room, I will take your case, and I’ll take it so well.” I tease, my tone both on the verge of laughing and still trying to drift seductive.

“How big of a case are we talking here~?” Sam teases back, lifting me off the counter as she begins to walk us back to our room. “5 month long trial, 7 month, 10 if I’m feeling a bit ambitious-” I laugh, leaning in to kiss her neck. “If you’re this pro-bono, should I be worried about other clientel?” Sam teases, gently laying me on the bed and pining me down. My hands tangled up with one of hers near the pillows. “I’m more of a private personal lawyer, you know you’re my one and only client.” I whisper, leaning up to kiss her neck. “Good girl,” She smirks, “Stay put,” She demands, before getting out of the bed and walking to our closet. After a minute, she comes out naked, with a 7 inch strap around her hips. She saunters up to the bed, standing at the foot as I look at her helplessly, my thighs clenching as she smirks down at me. “Now,” She moves to loom over me, “I don’t intend to waste the breakfast you so kindly started for me, so I’m gonna go fast, and you’re gonna take it like the good girl you are,” Sam whispers, gently biting my neck as her hands move to tug down my shorts and panties. I shiver as the cold air of the room reaches my core with Sam spreading my legs. She reaches down, running her fingers along my slit before slipping two into my core with ease. Her fingers showing no mercy as she begins speeding her movements, her thumb playing with my clit. She smirks down at me, watching as I use all my willpower to keep my hands above my head where she left them.

“Taking my fingers so well~” She whispers, kissing along my neck. The heat in my core begins to build, but before I can reach a satisfying release, she pulls her fingers from my core. “Let’s see how well you can take my cock,” She teases, her hand, wet with my juices, reaches down and jerks the silicon dildo, spreading my slick along it. She positions the head at my entrance, pushing in with no hesitation. My mouth falls into a silent cry as she stretches me out, each inch writhing my body with pleasure. My hands accidentally leave the pillow, clutching around her shoulders. As she bottoms out inside me, she gives me a second to get used to the intrusion. “What did I say?” She hums, grabbing my hands and pining them back down with one hand. She gives a particularly harsh thrust at the disobedience. I let out a loud moan, the stretch aching a bit, but the pleasure far overrode it. “T-to stay put,” I mumble, to which she leans down and gently bites at my chest. “I can’t hear you, honey,” Sam whispers. I let out a soft moan as she attaches her lips around my nipple, her tongue swirling around it. Her hips slowly and gently swirling as she hums, waiting for an answer. “To stay put,” I say through a breathy moan. She chuckles softly, her free hand groping at my other breast as her mouth moves to kiss my neck. “Are you gonna stay put or am I gonna have to let that breakfast go to waste?” Sam teases, being to thrust at a slightly faster pace, but nothing to push me anywhere close near the edge. “I’ll be a good girl, Sammy,” I whisper, my tone a bit desperate as I bite down on my lower lip. My eyes drifting to where our bodies connect. Watching as she begins to thrust faster, the sight of her sinking her strap deep inside me. Her hand moves from my breast to my chin, making me meet her eyes as she speeds up. “You like seeing me wreck you baby~?” Sam smirks, her tone a bit breathless. Her eyes a dark with lust as she goes harder, making me let lose a whorish moan. “Of course you do,” She lets out a soft groan as angle rub the strap back against her clit. “Such a slut for me, such a good fucking girl,” Sam growls, giving a harsh thrust with each statement. Pulling out till just the head was at my entrance before thrusting fully back in. Leaving me breathless and writhing beneath her as I hold her hand with mine above my head. “Gonna cum, Sammy~!” I moan loudly, my thighs beginning to tremble with the force and pleasure of her thrusts. “Cum for me, baby,” Sam lifts one of my legs onto her shoulder and increases her pace, letting out soft grunts and groans as the strap rubs better against her clit at the new angle. “Be a good girl and cum on my strap.” I let out a loud moan as the heat in my stomach explodes, my cunt pulsing around her strap as she fucked me through my orgasm. I tug my hands from her grasp and wrap them around her shoulders. “How about I order breakfast?” Sam suggests sedutively, still a bit breathless. I let out a small chuckle and smirk up at her mischeviously, “What? Pro-bono?” I joke with a giggle, but that’s ended quickly when Sam presses the strap deeper, making me all the more aware of my current place.

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Five times the Witchers learnt just how cat-like Aiden actually is

Biscuit making - Lambert

Lambert stared down at his friend, eyebrows raised in silent question as Aiden dozed lightly, plastered to Lambert so they were snuggled chest to chest in the small inn bed. He'd gotten used to Aiden purring in his sleep when the Cat witcher felt safe (and Lambert tried not to linger too long on how that made him feel) long ago but this…this was new.

The hands resting on Lambert's chest were rhythmically gripping and releasing the material of his shirt in tandem, the pinprick scratch of long, tougher than average fingernails just enough to feel through the fabric. It wasn't uncomfortable as such, in fact once he got used to it, when paired with the soft, barely audible purr it was actually quite relaxing.

Soon enough, Lambert found himself being pulled into sleep, either not caring or not realising that he himself had started letting out a steady stream of content rumbling of his own in response.

"Question for you, Cat."

Aiden didn't pause in lacing up his boots, "Ask away, Wolf."

"You know you were-" he clenched his fingers in imitation of the gesture, "I don't know - kneading - me last night?"

At that, Aiden did pause and Lambert had the feeling if he could blush he'd be bright red.

"I..shit. Sorry, I didn't even realise. I usually only do that around my siblings. I'll try to control it better."

"Didn't say it was a bad thing. " Lambert bumped his shoulder lightly against Aiden's, "I was just curious is all. I don't give a shit what you do, short of stabbing me."

Lambert tried to ignore the warmth blooming in his chest as Aiden let out a tiny purr.

Jumpscare - Eskel

Eskel hummed to himself as he bought in the last of the vegetables from the greenhouses for pickling. Glad to see that Aiden was already in the kitchen setting everything up and was currently busy with a keg of brine. Things had been a bit tense to start with when his little brother had rolled up with a Cat of all people but Aiden had made it very hard to not like him. If nothing else, he was always more than willing to lend a hand with chores - always a bonus when your home was in a near constant state of disrepair.

"Alright." Eskel said, dumping one of the sacks out onto the stone countertop, "That's the last of this year's crop. If we work quickly we should be done by-"

He was interrupted by a yowl next to him and if Aiden was an actual cat, Eskel would be inclined to think somebody had just stepped on his tail. Whirling around he saw no sign of the other Witcher. Until he looked up just in time to see Aiden hauling himself up to fully perch on one of the rafters, glaring at Eskel's haul.

"Eh...Aiden?"

"Get those things away from me." The Cat hissed pointing accusingly.

Now Eskel was even more confused, all that was there was a perfectly innocent pile of….

"You mean these?" He held up one of the cucumbers, causing Aiden to growl low in his throat in response. Eskel hastily dropped it again, "Ok, ok. I'll put these away for now and we can work on the beetroot instead. Ok?"

Aiden nodded but still refused to leave his perch until the offending items had been shoved back into the sack and into a cupboard.

Soundlessly, he grabbed a knife and began to peel and chop the beetroot.

"Cat thing?"

"Cat thing."

Zoomies - Geralt

Geralt couldn't sleep. Again. He was nowhere near desperate enough to go down the Djinn route again but by the Gods it was starting to get annoying. He just wanted one night where his mind wouldn't keep throwing up scenarios where he failed his responsibilities to Ciri, Yen, Jaskier, his brothers…he was just one man for fucks sake.

He decided to go check on the animals, Eskel had mentioned that the fence on one of the goat pens could do with repairs but it was already getting dark by the time he'd noticed. It was on the list for the following morning but his brother would be heartbroken if any of them had gotten loose and hurt in the meantime.

Turns out Geralt wasn't the only one feeling restless. As he entered the courtyard he caught sight of a figure seemingly in the middle of running laps along the wall. Too lithe to be Eskel or Lambert, too tall to be Ciri, it had to be Aiden. Geralt stopped for a second, unsure why until he realised. Aiden was moving fast.. too fast to be running it safely in the dark and frost. Even for a Witcher, that could be a broken leg or concussion at least if he fell.

As if the Gods had been reading his thoughts, Aiden lost his footing and soundlessly tumbled down onto the cobbles of the courtyard, landing in a heap. Only to bounce back up immediately as if nothing had happened and continue running laps at ground level instead.

Geralt felt his brow furrow as he continued watching, what the fuck?

"Couldn't sleep either?"

Aiden had come to a stop in front of him, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and eyes darting around ceaselessly as he almost seemed to be vibrating in his own skin and using all of his self control to stay still and talk.

Geralt hummed in response before gesturing to the wall "You do that often?"

Aiden looked slightly sheepish as if he expected to be reprimanded, "Only a couple of times since I've been here. The mutagens. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to combust there and then if I don't move , for some reason it's worse at night. I think there was something meant to make us nocturnal, at least partially anyway. If I were on the path I'd go hunting or just go run pell mell in the woods for a bit. Doing that on an unfamiliar mountain didn't seem like the smartest thing though. I'm reckless, not suicidal."

Geralt huffed a laugh, "Well, don't let me stop you. Just don't make us find you lying out here with your skull cracked open in the morning."

Aiden gave a mock salute before going to mount the wall again, "Remind me to tell you about Cat Trials. Trust me, a fall from this is nothing. You could always run a couple of laps with me if you want? It's just, you look as if you could use something to tire you out too."

Geralt shrugged. At this point, why the fuck not?

Chirp - Jaskier

"Melitele's tits, it's cold. I mean, it. Is. COLD." Jaskier proclaimed as the two of them closed the door on the snow storm they'd just left, moving to hang his cloak and hood by the fire in the great hall, "I swear, if you and Lambert ever decide you're heading South for the winter I'm coming with you. Geralt can freeze his tits off up here alone, he'll survive. Unlike me. "

Aiden said nothing, although the bard had been around enough Witchers by now to know his companion was probably silently laughing at him as he removed his own cloak. Jaskier tsk'd at the snow clinging to Aiden's hair and moved to brush it out without thinking. The Cat let out a small but clearly audible "mrrrp" and momentarily pushed into the hand before he caught himself. He turned to face Jaskier, who was grinning at him like both Yule and his birthday had come early.

"Oh, well. That is just precious! " He exclaimed, clapping his hands together excitedly like a small child who's just been shown a magic trick, "Oh my dear, if all Cat Witchers make such adorable noises I may have a new favourite school. Do you all do that or is it just some of you? Purring's a given, every Witcher I've met purrs to some degree or other."

Aiden caught Coen's eye, the other Witcher flashing him a smirk which said 'You're on your own'

"That's it, I've decided! I'm making it my mission this winter to find out just how cat-like you are!"

"Do that and I'll hide your lute up in the rafters." Aiden said with no real heat, the Bard trailing after him asking questions about tables and glassware, distracted (for now) from the coldness of the Keep.

If I fits… - Vesemir

Vesemir basked in the quiet. There were perks to being one of the first ones to wake in the mornings. As much as he loved having his boys back safe and sound for the winter, after months alone the constant noise could become a little overwhelming at times, making these moments of quiet solitude all the more precious.

He made his way to the laundry room with an armful of bedding he'd found which probably hadn't been washed since the previous winter if the stale smell was anything to go by. No matter.

He quirked an eyebrow at the closed laundry hamper. He was certain he'd opened the lid earlier unless old age and senility were finally starting to get to him. Dumping the dirty sheets on the ground to free his hands he lifted the lid again.

And was greeted by Aiden blinking sleepily up at him, disturbed by the sudden brightness. Vesemir briefly took a moment to try and figure out what manner of contortion he'd used to cram himself into a space the boys had struggled to fit in even as adolescents before catching Aiden's eye. The two held eye contact as Aiden tilted his head in silent question, still half asleep. Vesemir wordlessly lowered the lid again in response before walking away shaking his head. It was too early for his boy's antics.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

You must see the tacky, over-the-top decor of the "Chateau Jardin Perfume" in Sassafras, Victoria, Australia. It has 4bds, 3ba and the price is listed as $4.2M - $4.5M. (Maybe for $4.5M you get the furnishings?)

The grand entrance hall. I don't really like it. The railings look kind of builder's grade, like those standard newel posts that you see in so many homes.

Black & brass kitchen. Interesting countertop choice. Do you like the black tiles? They look like bricks, with that rough surface. And, of course the chandeliers.

The dining room. A lot going on in here. I never cared for crushed velvet fabric. Looks like the ceiling embellishments are painted purple to match the velvet.

The living room ties in w/the dining room decor. I wonder how they wound up with 2 fireplaces in here. The one on the left looks like a rustic stone one, and the other one is marble.

Here's a lounge. More crushed velvet. Is that tile on the wall? Shiny wallpaper? Have you ever seen this many chandeliers in one house?

Home theater. I like the art deco floor.

The main bd. I don't know, they have all this elegant decor, but the wood looks modern rustic and informal.

This bath has sleek modern elements and a baroque sink vanity, plus classic stained glass windows. Some of their mixes don't work.

Have you ever seen a more fancy garage? Looks like a chapel.

The gated entrance.

There's a mosaic rose on the bottom of the pool. Now, remember the garage? That's not a chapel, there, that's the garage. Isn't that an interesting idea?

An outdoor living room.

What a lovely patio.

The grounds are stunning. Look at that cute little shed.

Set on a hillside, you get a great view of the city.

I wonder if all the statuary conveys.

[bomberqueen17]

followup: countertops

OK pictures under the cut but before you judge me, understand that i went into this remodel saying "i don't want everything white and gray!!!!" and then one at a time we considered our options and realized the best options were... whites... and grays...

but! the white countertop has SPARKLES in it, and as I tell the saga I will tell you the inside scoop the countertop installer gave me, as to WHAT THE SPARKLES ARE MADE OF.

i would put in a little video of the sparkle but i can't figure out how to upload videos anywhere so just imagine it. you can kind of see it in some of the still images.

[image description: a young man in a gray hoodie and orange gloves rests my not-yet-installed stainless-steel sink on the top of the cabinets in front of my windows, which don't yet have countertops.] These guys rolled up at 8:15 and politely introduced themselves, Devin and Isaac. My buddy Max had already rolled in, but Jim had planned on arriving at 8:30 and was running late.

Devin said to me, excitedly, "Did they tell you? We did it seamless!" There had been discussion of whether the corner section would have to be fabricated in two sections or whether they'd be able to do it in one.

They asked Max about some technical details, but Max demurred, "Jim knows about it, I'm just here to help," and they said "ah we'll wait for Jim" but then they were like "well we can just get started" and as it happens they'd just about finished before Jim finally rolled up, LOL.

They installed the sink first, as it's an undermount and so way easier to do before the counter goes in.

But the counters-- they just-- set them down, checked the level, checked the measurements everywhere, and then just put silicone around the edges underneath and on top. That's literally it. I asked if it was ever more complicated and Devin was like ah yeah if we have to level it there's a whole thing, but. I mean. Jim did this so I knew it'd be this easy, that's why you're first for us today.

[image description: an expanse of speckled white countertop, with reflections from the lights. You can kind of see a speck here and there of the sparkles. the color is somethingorother-snow, because it does glitter like snow.]

I admired the glitter, and Devin said, "Guess what the sparkle's made of!"

"Glass," I hazarded.

"Close," he said, "but no." When nobody else had another guess, he said, "CDs! It's made of CDs." This is a quartz-like-composite kinda thing, which means it kinda looks like stone and is shiny like stone (instead of matte like Corian etc) but won't shatter your plates quite like stone and is easier to maintain.

I texted this to the family groupchat, and VegMan said (my sister must have read it aloud to him, he's not on the family groupchat) "Oh, AOL CDs?" and I texted it to Dude separately and he wrote back "That's like 750000 free minutes of AOL!" and when I repeated these jokes to Devin, Isaac, and Max, they all kind of looked politely blank. "Oh no," I said, "you're too young."

"I was born in 2001," Devin volunteered, and Max laughed and said "same". (I do not think Isaac is any older.) "They used to give me video game CDs in my Happy Meals though so I know what you mean."

I've lived in this house since both of you were four years old, I thought, but did not say. "In 2001 I was..." "Adulting," Devin said helpfully. "You... could call it that," I said, thinking back to my senior year of college.

They brought in the little chunk of counter that's going over next to the fridge, and then the bigger chunk that's the sink counter. Then they brought in the big one they'd managed to do seamless, the L-shaped chunk that goes from the stove around the corner to the expanse in front of the bay window that will be our dining area. Devin and Isaac planned out where they'd go and how they'd get it in the door, because they knew it was heavy. Then they got in the door and Devin said "Max! Max I know I don't know you but I need you to help me!" and Max hustled over and grabbed the heavy end, because it really was too heavy for Devin, and Isaac had the other end so he couldn't help.

It was a strain for both of them, but they carefully got it up onto the cabinets, and slid it painstakingly into place, and Devin took a moment to recover.

[image description: a person in a gray hoodie is sitting on the cardboard-covered floor of a white room with gray cabinets, applying silicone from a tube to the underside of the white countertop]

They checked the levels and measurements and made sure there were no gaps and then they just... glued it. Like not even really glued it they just applied a bead of silicone around all the edges, and that's that.

"Is it really that easy?" I asked, and Devin laughed and said "if it's not perfectly level we have to shim it, and there's a whole lot of complicated stuff we gotta do then, but the reason I put this job first is I know Jim put these cabinets in so I know they're level. And if they're level then yeah this is all that's gotta happen."

They look so good. They sparkle like snow. The room is a sea of neutrals.

[image description: from my living room looking into my kitchen, with the stove pulled out awkwardly into the middle of the floor, one man is standing to work on the counter near the sink and another man is sitting on the floor checking the underside of the counter in front of the window.]

Jim showed up as they were finishing, checked on a few things, signed off on the job, and then he and Max set to tiling the backsplash. Which I will cover in a separate post because this is enough for right now. But.

The counters!!! I wish I could figure out how to make a gif out of a little video on my phone because the SPARKLE. Yeah the white countertops and white walls and white ceilings are a bit much but understand two of the walls and all of the window trim are getting painted some bright color or other, so it won't be like this forever.

[miasmaghoul]

putting thoughts of rain/dew trans dew fingering into your brain

like i dont think about this ENOUGH ALREADY

(also i put Dew in a skirt i hope thats cool)

"Keep your mouth shut," Dew snaps, arms crossed and face flushed.

Rain's trying to hold it together, he really is, but -

"How the fuck -" he breaks into tight giggles while Dew stares daggers at him from across the common room. "Dew, what -"

"I lost a fuckin' bet," he grumbles, staring at the floor. "That's what." Rain bites his lips shut to keep from grinning, but it's a losing battle.

Dew stands before him in the usual black t-shirt and heavy boots, but his standard black jeans have been replaced by a short, flouncy, baby pink skirt. It doesn't even reach mid-thigh, soft fabric resting against softer skin.

"That's a good look for you," Rain teases, dabbing moisture from the corners of his eyes. Dew scowls at him, stalking over to hide behind the kitchen island. Rain tilts his head, watching the rather distracting way the fabric swirls around Dew's skinny thighs.

"Fuck off," he gripes, stretching his arms out and resting his forehead on the stone countertop. "This is humiliating."

"What bet did you lose, anyway?" Rain sets his book aside and unfolds himself from his chair, striding over to the kitchenette. He leans on it with both elbows, chin resting on his fists. Dew huffs out a defeated sigh.

"Does it matter?"

"No," Rain chirps, "tell me anyway."

"Asshole," Dew mutters. After a minute he heaves a very dramatic sigh, raising his head just enough to glare across the island. "I bet Swiss -"

"Ah, say no more," Rain cuts in with a smirk. Dew raises an eyebrow at him. "Dew, you have never won a single bet against Swiss the whole time he's been topside." Dewdrop drops his head back onto the counter with a thud.

"I know," he complains, "I swear that fucker cheats, there's no way he's good at everything I give him."

"Or maybe you just enjoy losing," Rain says with a shrug, "why else would you keep trying?" He stands and rounds the end of the island while Dew gives a discontented grunt. "If it helps, it really does suit you."

"Fuck off," Dew spits again, still face first against the counter while Rain moves to stand behind him.

"No, I mean it," he insists, taking in the way the skirt hangs over Dew's slim hips. The way it hugs the slight curve of his ass and sits high on the creamy thighs he so loves to live between. Rain reaches out to finger the fabric, imagining how easy it would be to flip up and get Dewdrop all exposed for his viewing pleasure. "Actually, I think this is an improvement. I think you were made to be in cute little skirts like this."

It's meant to be a joke, at least mostly, but the very distinct way Dew's shoulders tighten is a dead giveaway as to how he's feeling. Rain feels a cruel little smile curl at the corners of his lips.

"You agree, don't you?" He drops the fabric, callused fingertips drifting featherlight just under the hem of the garment instead. Goosebumps raise in the wake of his touch, and despite the way Dew shakes his head Rain can feel the truth. "Don't lie to me, sweetheart, I can tell you're loving this."

"I promise you I'm not," Dew mutters, tensing further at Rain's words. But he makes no effort to move, to get away, and that's all Rain needs to prod further.

"Sure you are," he murmurs, pressing himself against the little ghoul and resting both hands on his hips. "You like looking all sweet and pretty, don't you?" Rain leans over his back as Dew lets out a small sound of protest. "I can smell it on you." Dew whimpers, soft but obvious, as Rain licks the shell of his ear.

"Shut up, would you?" There's no venom in the words, despite their tight delivery. Rain grinds against him and Dew lets out a quiet groan at the feeling.

"Why? I like it too, can't you tell?" He's only half-hard, but the thin fabric of the skirt offers little in the way of a barrier. "Don't you want me to get underneath it?" Rain skates him fingers beneath the hem again, higher this time. "Get my head between those thighs and make them shake?" Rain's fingers drift higher still. "Flip it up while you're bent over and -"

Rain pauses, listening to the way Dewdrop's breathing has picked up as his fingers trail over the milky skin of his inner thighs. It's damp already, and Rain comes to a realization that has him leaking into his boxers.

"Dew, are you not wearing underwear?" He breathes it into the little ghoul's ear, and Dew makes the most beautifully pained sound as he shakes his head.

"Part of the bet," he sighs, pressing back against Rain's hips. His hands are balled into tight fists, hair hiding his face. Rain growls low in his throat.

"How long do you have to be like this?" Rain drags a finger through slick folds and Dew lets out a low groan, shivering at the teasing touch.

"A fuckin' week," he whispers, gasping when a wet finger circles his rapidly stiffening clit. Rain huffs out a pleased chuckle.

"Good," he nips at the smaller ghoul's ear, relishing the broken moan Dew lets out when he sinks two fingers into his tight heat, "then I can take my time with you."

Rain stands, pushing away just enough to see the way his hand disappears beneath the skirt. The ruffles at the hem sway as he pumps in and out, fabric clinging to Rain's long sleeve. It's entrancing, and when he crooks those fingers the sound Dew makes is positively feminine.

"It you can be a good girl and cum on my fingers, maybe I'll let you ride me later." Dew clenches tighter around him, moaning as he shoves himself back against Rain's hand. "You can even keep the skirt on while you do."

Dew shouts into the countertop as his legs start to shake.

"Maybe I'll invite Swiss too," Rain croons, "let him see what a pretty little princess you can be."

Dew sounds like he could cry.

Rain plans to make him.

[boredzillenial]

Day 7: of @flightlessangelwings fawktober!

Marc had a rough night, you find him in the morning and give him what he needs.

Themes: Slow and Soft, angsty!Marc, f!reader, established relationship, pinv, on the kitchen counter, creampie

“Hey, what happened I didn’t hear you come in last night.” You say groggily as you rub the sleep from your eyes, your oversized t-shirt barely concealing your lack of bottoms. You usually woke up whenever one of them would slip into bed with you but last night they never came home. Walking out into the morning light streaming into your flat you caught the trademark tension on that beautiful face that told you Marc was in control.

“Didn’t wanna wake you.” He say gruffly as he continued to quietly put away dishes. You came up behind him, slipping your arms around his chest and squeezing lightly.

“But I missed you.” You pouted and placed soft kisses across his tanned skin. His muscles tensed under your lips as he let out a sigh. “Hey, look at me.” He tried to shrug off your affection and continue with his task but you took him by the edge of his boxers and turned him around. “Baby please.” You said softly as you caressed his cheek. His eyes looked down at your chest, avoiding your gaze.

“I’m fine, really.” He said through his teeth. You felt his jaw clench beneath your touch as you stroked his cheek with your thumb. But when his gaze met yours there were tears at the edges and he bit his bottom lip to keep it from quivering. His mahogany eyes flickered away again and for a moment you thought he was about to take a backseat and force Steven out.

“Marc stay, I want to spend time with you.” You pleaded. His brows furrowed as if he couldn’t understand why, but your tender kiss helped anchor him to the moment. Soft at first your lips pressed against his. The warmth juxtaposed the tension you still felt in his jaw as you worked to melt it. “Please.” You whispered against his lips. His tongue dragged along the seam of your lips and you happily obliged opening up for him.

He groaned as he deepened the kiss further. Entwining his fingers in your hair he moved until your rear was pressed against the island countertop. In an instant his hands left your hair and lifted you onto it, the cool stone set your skin to goose flesh as it pressed against your damp core.

Marc slotted himself between your legs and began rutting against you, a damp spot forming on the front of his boxers with your wetness. You smiled a bit as you moved the thin bit of fabric separating you and your moans met his as his length slid against your folds. He churned his hips slowly, savoring the sensation of your slickness against him. The heat and pressure of his fat tip rubbing against your clit quickly sent your breathing into a ragged pace.

You managed to snake your hand between you and slotted his tip against your entrance. In short strokes he began to work his way into you, stretching you slowly and swallowing your whimpers and groans as your kisses deepened. He continued his languid pace, both his tongue and cock taking their time to explore your body they were already deeply familiar with.

For the next hour he continued that pace, holding you flush against him and taking you tenderly. In his own way it was his apology for not joining you the night before. In your own way enjoying that pace and not begging for something rougher was showing him you loved every facet of him. Especially this tender side he so rarely showed.

The climaxes you both reached weren’t as spirited or fast as the many you’ve had in your relationship with them. Like a slow roll of thunder your orgasm rumbled through your nerves as he finally seated himself as deep as he could and filled you. You both remained entwined in the kitchen, holding one another as your breathing steadied and any outside worries remained at bay.

—————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @lunar-ghoulie @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[emeraldxphoenix]

plotted starter for @acertainfemininemystique

Time loses all meaning out in the deep emerald dark. All around him thrums with the greenness of life, while he sits, and sits, and sits, timelines clenched in stiff fists, not-time slipping by slower than the dripping of thick honey. Lifetimes pass before he finds the courage to even think about moving, ages crawl by while he hones his powers to enable him to do so. Each and every eternity-second is bright, and alive, and sharp. The burden he chose, and would choose again in spite of everything.

When Loki finally learns to escape the solitude of his gilded cage, he doesn’t tell his friends ( – friends, a strange word after so long; the syllables taste like longing, like loneliness – ) how long it’s been, and after a while they stop asking. All of them learn to be grateful for what they have, and tread carefully in case it doesn’t last.

The god doesn’t work for the TVA anymore, doesn’t work for anyone really – unless you count the entirety of the multiverse. He never guides, never interferes, never nudges people or things to the places he wants them to be: they are truly free to make their own choices. And yet, he looks frequently, teasing the thread of individual stories out to follow them from start to finish – as the God of Stories rightfully should.

He’s doing just that – following a variant of himself and the treasure he carries concealed within layers of fabric – when the thread frays off into nothingness. Loki blinks once, twice. It’s not a death, not like the ones he’s used to seeing, but nor is it anything else identifiable. For want of better words, there is simply… absence. Inexplicable, yawning emptiness where a person should have been. Lips purse together. 

Seior floods outwards, cautious, to brush over the writhing mass of timelines, then beyond into the darkness. He doesn’t expect to find anything. He almost doesn’t believe it when he does find something. Brow furrows. With a simple thought, the god shuts his eyes and reopens them to find himself in an unfamiliar kitchen. Sleek countertops run along the length of the walls and cover an island in the middle of the room, clean but scattered with the detritus of a house well lived in; mugs, plates, spice racks, fruit bowls. He licks his lips. Apparently this place is more than just a flicker on his radar, it’s a home.

Slipper-clad feet tread silently across the threshold and into the adjoining room, horned circlet diminishing with a flick of his wrist until it disappears altogether. The carpet in here is plush, luxurious and soft under his feet, and incredibly inviting to someone who lives most of his life in a dilapidated stone citadel. Shelves line the walls in this room, filled to bursting with well-worn books that, on closer inspection, appear to be a collection of the god’s favourite works. Odd. Gaze moves onward to the deep green sofa, skimming over the bowl of dried fruits resting on one arm and coming to rest on the (rather showy) display case beside it. There, carefully and lovingly displayed beside Sakaarian jewels and Torfian sculptures, sits the golden locket that once belonged to Frigga of Asgard. The very treasure Loki had been tracking earlier. What the Hel?

Somewhere, in the timeless depths of the god’s mind, the beginnings of a realisation stir.

[victoria-daydreams]

The Dressmaker

AN: So, I did it, I wrote a Luca Changretta fanfiction. This was supposed to be 1k words at max, but of course I went overboard. If this story seems all over the place, I’m sorry but I promise it made much better sense in my head.

Trigger warnings: racial slur, my attempt to write sexual tension, knowing nothing about sewing

Word Count: 3.3k

The crackle of static and then the slow melody of a bow drawing across the strings of a violin floated into the ears of the young woman seated behind a polished mahogany counter. Selina let her pencil glide across the paper, a few faint lines here, a dark outline over there. All was quiet in Miss Clarke’s Dress Shop, the store located right on the corner of the street. Everyone on the street knew who she was, for she was constantly mending or designing pieces for customers that frequented her shop. Not to mention, that Selina’s dress shop was infamous for its wide variety; fabric of every conceivable color and style exploded from the racks.

However, there was another clientele that Selina extended her services to in a much different capacity. The Peaky Blinders, also known as The Shelby’s, often used the space in her basement as storage for their shipments. They appreciated her discretion and Selina was more than to happy to help, because that’s what family is for, right? Selina wasn’t a Shelby by blood, but she was a Shelby through and through and no one dared to dispute that.

Orphaned at young age due to her parents dying from disease, Selina had no where to go, but in swooped Polly who happily adopted her. According to the older woman, Selina’s mother and her were good friends; faintly she could remember Polly’s face as a young child before her parent’s death. Still, Polly raised her like she was her own and was fiercely protective of her.

Out of nowhere, a saucer and teacup was placed down onto the counter with gentle clink. Selina lifted her head and looked over to see Naveen’s friendly, brown eyes staring back at hers.

“Still cracking away at it Lina?” he asked, holding a teacup of his own.

“Unfortunately,” she sighed, letting the pencil fall from her fingers. She grabbed the handle of the porcelain cup and raised it to her lips. A contented hum left her. “Bless you Naveen, you made it just how I like it,” Selina said, a smile on her face.

“You started teatime without me?” Julia questioned, looking up from the hem of a dress she was inspecting. “Some friends you lot are,” she commented, letting out a scoff.

“The teapot is still hot, plenty of time to pour yourself a cuppa and join us,” Naveen joked, moving further down the counter.

“It’s not the same though,” Julia complained, shoving her hands into the pockets of the same white coat they were all wearing. “There’s something about the way you make my tea that makes it fantastic,” she said, leaning against the counter.

“Better luck next time,” he wished, with a smirk as he put his cup down.

Naveen picked up a pair of shears lying on the countertop and held them up to the light. The blades glinted dully. Reaching underneath the counter, he grabbed an emery stone and positioned the edge of the blade against it before running the shears across it repeatedly.

“What do you say, Lina?” Julia asked, causing her to whip her head from watching Naveen to her. “Be a friend, and make me a cup of tea,” she suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Selina answered dryly, picking up her pencil again. “The lord has blessed with you two hands and two feet,” she continued. “Use them,” Selina suggested, flashing her friend a smile before focusing on her sketch again.

“The next time you two need a favor, don’t bother coming to ask me,” she warned playfully, as she walked to the back room.

“Oh, I’m shaking in my boots Julia,” Naveen retorted.

Selina laughed quietly as her pencil scratched against the paper as she fidgeted with the details. Just then, the bell to the door rang signaling a customer had just entered the shop.

“Welcome to Miss Clarke’s Dress Shop, how may I help you,” Selina greeted cheerily, without having to think about it as her eyes remained glued on the paper.

She received no response, just eerie silence. Selina felt herself stiffen, now noticing that Naveen’s scrapping had also came to an abrupt halt as well. Her head snapped up and towards the direction of the door, Selina’s blood ran cold but she kept a stoic expression. Standing at six feet tall, a hawkish and smartly dressed man with half a smirk was flanked by more men similarly dressed as him.

“Fuck me,” she thought.

Whoever this man was, he definitely had a presence, a certain air about him that commanded your attention and respect. The type of man that when he talked, people listened. It reminded her of Tommy. The worst part of all though, was that the stranger was undeniably handsome.

"Yes, can I help you?" Selina repeated calmly.

“Where’s the funeral?” the man asked, walking further in the shop.

“Quite the accent. He’s certainly not from here,” she thought to herself. “Italian, but he sounds American as well,”

The stranger’s voice was smooth, reminding her of honey. Instinctively, Selina went on alert. This man, whoever he was, radiated a persuasive aura and a potentially manipulative one as well. His tone said it all. She just knew underneath this man's gentlemanly exterior hid a hibernating beast.

“Why all the solemn faces?” he questioned, looking around the room, before his eyes connected with hers.

Those coal black, mournful eyes burned into her dark brown ones intensely, and she returned the stare in equal measure. It was not the time to show even the slightest amount of fear.

“Solemnity isn’t the right word,” Selina answered, as Julia slowly emerged from the back room with boxes in hand. “Maybe it’s confusion my colleagues and I share,” she corrected, putting the pencil eraser to her chin.

“And what’s so confusing about us?”

“It could be the fact that there are…….” Selina trailed off, starting to count the men standing behind him with her pencil. "One, two, three, four, five, six,” she counted, before finally pointing her pencil at the man with inky black hair who was clearly the leader. “Seven,” she finished, staring pointedly at him.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Naveen’s hand had discretely moved to underneath the counter again. This time, he wasn’t reaching for a sharpening stone, his hand was resting on a revolver.

“There are seven men standing in my dress shop, and I don’t know why that is,” Selina stated, glancing around the room.

He grinned, “Ah, so you’re the owner of this fine establishment, you’re its namesake,” he said, walking up to the counter and standing directly across from her. “Well, Miss Clarke, have you considered that the seven men standing here might want dresses made for their girls?” he suggested.

“And yet, none of you brought any of your ‘girls’,” Selina observed, wagging her pencil. “Hard to do measurements on your girlfriends if they’re all figments of your imagination,” she remarked, which the man smirked at.

He leaned against the counter, his eyes boring into hers once more.

“Signorina, I’ve been told you deal in a great many services,” the man hinted, as she placed the pencil down.

“As do many other dressmakers,” Selina retorted, interlocking her fingers. “Signore,” she added.

A smirk tugged at the Italian’s lips, his eyes merely twinkling with mirth at Selina’s use of his language.

“How many deal with the criminal underworld?”

That one sentence caused an uneasy silence to envelope the room. Tension hung in the air, tight and overbearing. The atmosphere was suffocating.

“Shit,” she thought.

“Mr. Varma and Miss Russell, we have deliveries that need to be taken out today,” Selina informed, gazing between the two of them. “Why don’t you two do it now, before it gets too late,” she said, as the man pushed away from the counter, a smug grin on his face.

“Miss Clarke—”

“Now, Miss Russell,” Selina ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,”

Julia nodded in defeat and slid off her white coat and hung it up. Reluctantly, Naveen mimicked her movements, carefully pulling off his coat as well. Grabbing two of the three white parcel boxes, each neatly tied with a bow, Julia walked between the Italian man and Selina, shooting her one last wary glance before leaving with the chime of the bell. Naveen’s eyes swept over the room as he took the last parcel off the counter, slowly moving away from her.

“Wait,” Selina called, grabbing his arm. She rose from from the stool and pushed herself onto her tip toes. She leaned towards him as if she was going to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Be careful. Make sure that you aren’t followed,” she whispered, her lips close to his ear.

“Christ, you’re not sending the boy to war,” the man jested, causing his henchmen to chuckle.

Selina’s eyes narrowed, but she remained silent as she pulled away from him.

“I’ll be careful with the dress, Miss Clarke. Don’t you worry,” Naveen assured, sending her a smile as he backed away.

“Make sure you take the scenic route, Mr. Varma,” the man ordered. “There are some things Miss Clarke and I need to discuss,” he explained, glancing over towards her.

Naveen shifted his eyes to Selina and she nodded her head, mouthing “Go,” to him. The little bell rang again, signaling to Selina that she was now utterly alone in her own shop which was currently being occupied by a group of strange Italian men.

“You run a tight ship, for a dress shop. I’m impressed,” he said, nodding his head. “Most times I tell people to do something, they do it, stranger or not. But not your workers,” he noted. “They look to you for your blessing,” he noted.

“It’s like you said, this is my namesake. What I say goes,” she countered coolly.

He chuckled, “You’ve got spirit, I like that,” he commented, pointing a finger at her.

Abruptly, the man started speaking in Italian and his henchmen immediately filed out of the shop.

“So, do you want a dress made or not, sir?” Selina asked, crossing her arms. “Though, I still don’t know how would you do it. Your girl isn’t present for measurements,” she said, an expectant look on her face.

“I’m staring at the perfect model,” the Italian stated, almost purring.

There was a hunger in the man’s eyes as they traveled down her body, and oddly enough, it sent delicious chills up her spine and flooded her body with warmth.

Selina’s eyebrows rose, “Women come in all different shapes and sizes,” she pointed out. “It’s simply impossible for she and I to have the exact same measurements,” Selina explained, shaking her head.

“Let me worry about that,”

“How am I going to take the measurements? I sent Mr. Varma and Miss Russell out,”

“I’ll do them,”

Selina couldn't help it. Her poker face broke as she let out an incredulous laugh.

“You?” she questioned, her brow arched. “You’re not a tailor,” she stated, looking him up and down.

“My uncle is one,”

“Oh, quite the qualification,” she quipped.

“Humor me,” he said, another smirk on his face. “I want to talk business with you,”

“Other than dresses?” Selina asked knowingly, unbuttoning her coat.

“Other than dresses, Miss Clarke,” he repeated, as she laid the coat onto the counter.

“Hmm,” Selina hummed, moving from behind the counter. “For your girl’s sake, I hope you know what you’re doing,” she commented, brushing past him.

She walked towards a section secluded from the rest of the shop. Immediately her eyes fell upon the two cushioned chairs near the open entrance, the three panel mirror directly positioned in the center of the room, and a single door to the changing room. Entering the space, Selina stood in front of the mirror and briefly shut her eyes while rubbing her temples.

“This is such a terrible idea, why did I ever agree to this? I don’t even know who I’m speaking with,”

“You still haven’t told me your name,” Selina reminded loudly, still massaging her temples. “How am I to do business—”

“Luca Changretta,” he murmured hotly against her ear, his breath leaving goose bumps on her flesh. “Of the Changretta Family,” he added, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Can’t say that I’ve heard of you, Mr. Changretta,” Selina responded, trying to control her breathing.

She needed to remain calm, and keep herself composed and grounded. She refused to show him how much he was affecting her. That would just be embarrassing and mortifying.

“I’m truly hoping that there’s another Changretta family out there, and not the one I’m thinking about,” she thought.

“But,” Luca began, his cold nose butting against her ear. “I’ve heard of you, Miss Selina Clarke,” he informed, finally pulling away from her. “The dressmaker who has a penchant of keeping her ear to the ground,” he went on, now standing in front of her.

“It’s not a crime to be a well-informed citizen, is it?” Selina asked curiously, looking up at him.

“No, I suppose not,” he agreed, shrugging his shoulders.

“Then why—”

She was cut short, inhaling sharply as slender fingers slid around her waist and cinched a ribbon of measuring tape tightly against her. The motion had her nearly made bump chest to chest with Luca. He gazed down at her, studying Selina with shrewd eyes; reading her like an open book. She felt like she was being pried apart by the dark pupils roaming her face. She felt completely naked. Selina drew a shuddering breath, each and every one raising her chest up and down

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, she was surprised that Luca couldn’t feel thumping in her chest, but she was eternally grateful.

“However,” he continued, briefly glancing at her lips. “Not many citizens make it their business to know the ins and outs of the criminal underbelly of their city,” Luca remarked, his eyes focusing back to the measuring tape.

“And why is an American interested in learning such knowledge?” Selina wondered, finding it much easier to breathe. “Don’t you have your own criminal underworld to worry about?” she asked again. He ignored the question and instead removed the tape from around her. “Unless, you’re a criminal yourself,” she figured, feeling the tape drop to her hips.

“I’m not just any old criminal, Miss Clarke. I’m head of a mafia family,”

“Fucking hell, the Sicilian mafia!”

Gingerly, he brought his arms around Selina, circling her bust and pinching the tape at the side. Luca stared at the number before smirking to himself, not even bothering to hide his gaze on the hint of cleavage from her top.

“Men can be such pigs,” she thought.

“The Changretta Family,” she began, getting his attention away from her breasts. “Still doesn’t ring a bell,” she lied.

“I wouldn’t expect it to,” Luca answered simply. “But I do know, that you’ve heard of another prominent family in this city,” he said, with a knowing stare. “One full of fucking gypsies,” he added.

“You’re talking about The Shelby Gang,” Selina replied, her face neutral.

“Shit, what did Tommy step into now?”

“Indeed I am,” Luca confirmed, as holding her arm up with his large hand and stretching the tape along it, starting to measure her left arm.

“Of course I’ve heard of them, who hasn’t?”

Luca read the tape before pulling it away, “What have you heard then?” he questioned.

“The same as everyone else I suppose,” Selina answered absentmindedly, as Luca finished measuring her other arm. “Cuts people a smile and blind ones that can see. Fiercely loyal to each other and little bit volatile,” she described, shrugging her shoulders. “Of course, that depends on which way the wind blows each day,” she noted.

In a way, Selina was being truthful, she mostly kept herself out of Peaky business, focusing mainly on her craft. Of course, that is not to say Selina did not know the ins and outs of the organization, she was very much aware of their dealings. Today was different, as it had shown Selina that her approach staying out of it didn't always go to plan. The Peaky Blinders affairs had landed right on her doorstep.

He paused, “You must heard more than that,” Luca said, eying her skeptically.

“Must I?” she asked back, cocking her slightly. “I hear just enough that my ears don’t get cut off,” she retorted.

The room fell silent and the tension between them was palpable again. It was thick and bulky, impossible to ignore. Luca and Selina stared each other down, neither backing off from the other. It was there, a new type tension began to unfold, one of the carnal nature. Selina felt something stir deep inside, something that she hadn’t experienced a while. Longing. Desire.

“I’m quite sorry that you traveled all this way and I couldn’t be of assistance,” Selina stated, finally breaking strained silence.

“Oh, just the opposite sweetheart,” Luca replied, the heat in his gaze burning through her like a wildfire.

“If I may ask,” Selina began, looking up from her lashes. “What’s an American mafia leader interest in a British one?” she asked, her voice cautious.

Luca let out a series of tsks and shook his head. Already standing close to each other, he reached his hand out and gently ran a finger down her cheek.

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head about that,” he answered, tapping the tip of her nose.

“You think I’m pretty, Mr. Changretta?”

“I think you’re a helluva lot more than pretty, Miss Clarke,” Luca stated, staring at her lips once more.

Another shiver coursed through her from the combination of his accent and his close proximity. Selina was inches away from him, their lips barely touching, breath mingling together in the tiny space between them.

“I do have one more thing to share with you,” Selina admitted breathily.

“What’s that?” Luca asked, his breathing just as ragged.

She stood up on her tiptoes, leaning forward to press her lips to his. But, at the very last second she dipped her head and ghosted her lips over his jawline.

“You’re a terrible tailor,” she whispered into his ear, before drawing back as he chased after her mouth.

Luca let out a frustrated puff of air, chuckling lightly against her cheek.

“You’re a fuckin tease,” he said, a slight growl in his voice.

Selina smiled as she used her hand to cover his own, guiding the slender fingers to slip up underneath her skirt.

“You didn’t take measurements of my thighs,” she reminded, her tone dropping an octave.

Her skirt rose all the way to the apex of her right hip, revealing thick thighs encased in sheer material of her stockings. Luca swallowed audibly, his fingers tracing over the fabric.

“Silly me, how could I forget,” he murmured, slowly dragging his eyes over her exposed leg.

Luca knelt in front of her, letting his cool fingers caress the bare skin where the stockings ended. Slowly, his hand curved over her hip, squeezing roughly at her backside. Unconsciously, Selina’s head fell backwards, her lips parting with a breathy sigh as her eyes fluttered shut. Her heart was beating wild in her chest, like it was about to explode. The only thing keeping her steady was her hand on Luca’s shoulder and the grip on the back of his neck.

He tugged at her leg slightly, pulling her closer to his face and slid his nose over her rich skin. Luca inhaled deeply, breathing in the flowery perfume she put on in the morning before planting his lips on her flesh. Slow, languid, and hot open mouthed kisses that trailed up her leg as Luca started to undo the clips holding her stocking up.

Loud gasps and pants escaped past Selina’s lips, her eyes screwing shut instinctively. Luca’s hair was no longer neatly slicked back, not with her manicured nails mussing it up. Suddenly, the cool sensation of the measuring tape around her thigh, shocked her. The ribbon almost felt like it was burning her already hot flesh. Pulling away from her thigh with a soft smack, Selina could feel Luca’s damp, warm breath fanning across skin.

“Since I’m no tailor, I may need assistance on where to measure from,” Luca stated, his breath coming out in short puffs.

A genuine smile finds its way to Selina’s face and she lets out an airy giggle, opening her eyes. Luca was already staring up at her, the intensity of his stare made her heart skip a few beats. Selina ran her fingers through his hair, playing with the strands at the nape of his neck.

“Mr. Changretta, you’ll be glad to know that there are three ways to do that,” Selina informed, a pleased smile on growing on her face. “And I would be more than happy to teach you,” she offered cheekily.

Part II

[girderednerve]

i have once more Read a Book !

the book was jim morris' cancer factory: industrial chemicals, corporate deception, & the hidden deaths of american workers. this book! is very good! it is primarily about the bladder cancer outbreak associated with the goodyear plant in niagara falls, new york, & which was caused by a chemical called orthotoluedine. goodyear itself is shielded by new york's workers' comp law from any real liability for these exposures & occupational illnesses; instead, a lot of the information that morris relies on comes from suits against dupont, which manufactured the orthotoluedine that goodyear used, & despite clear internal awareness of its carcinogenicity, did not inform its clients, who then failed to protect their workers. fuck dupont! morris also points out that goodyear manufactured polyvinyl chloride (PVC) at that plant, and, along with other PVC manufacturers, colluded to hide the cancer-causing effects of vinyl chloride, a primary ingredient in PVC & the chemical spilled in east palestine, ohio in 2023. the book also discusses other chemical threats to american workers, including, and this was exciting for me personally, silica; it mentions the hawks nest tunnel disaster (widely forgotten now despite being influential in the 30s, and, by some measures, the deadliest industrial disaster in US history) & spends some time on the outbreak of severe silicosis among southern california countertop fabricators, associated with high-silica 'engineered stone' or 'quartz' countertops. i shrieked about that, the coverage is really good although the treatment of hawks nest was very brief & neglected the racial dynamic at play (the workers exposed to silica at hawks nest were primarily migrant black workers from the deep south).

cancer factory spends a lot of time on the regulatory apparatus in place to respond to chemical threats in the workplace, & thoroughly lays out how inadequate they are. OSHA is responsible for setting exposure standards for workplace chemicals, but they have standards for only a tiny fraction—less than one percent!—of chemicals used in american industry, and issue standards extremely slowly. the two major issues it faces, outside of its pathetically tiny budget, are 1) the standard for demonstrating harm for workers is higher than it is for the general public, a problem substantially worsened during the reagan administration but not created by it, and 2) OSHA is obliged to regulate each individual chemical separately, rather than by functional groups, which, if you know anything at all about organic chemistry, is nonsensical on its face. morris spends a good amount of time on the tenure of eula bingham as the head of OSHA during the carter administration; she was the first woman to head the organization & made a lot of reasonable reforms (a cotton dust standard for textile workers!), but could not get a general chemical standard, allowing OSHA to regulate chemicals in blocks instead of individually, through, & then of course much of her good work was undone by reagan appointees.

the part of the book that made me most uncomfortable was morris' attempt to include birth defects in his analysis. i don't especially love the term 'birth defect'—it feels cruel & seems to me to openly devalue disabled people's lives, no?—but i did appreciate attention to women's experiences in the workplace, and i think workplace chemical exposure is an underdiscussed part of reproductive justice. cancer factory mentions women lead workers who were forced to undergo tubal ligations to retain their employment, supposedly because lead is a teratogen. morris points at workers in silicon valley's electronics industry; workers, most of them women, who made those early transistors were exposed to horrifying amounts of lead, benzene, and dangerous solvents, often with disabling effects for their children.

morris points out again & again that we only know that there was an outbreak of bladder cancer & that it should be associated with o-toluedine because the goodyear plant workers were organized with the oil, chemical, & atomic workers (OCAW; now part of united steelworkers), and the union pursued NIOSH investigation and advocated for improved safety and monitoring for employees, present & former. even so, 78 workers got bladder cancer, 3 died of angiosarcoma, and goodyear workers' families experienced bladder cancer and miscarriage as a result of secondary exposure. i kept thinking about unorganized workers in the deep south, cancer alley in louisiana, miners & refinery workers; we don't have meaningful safety enforcement or monitoring for many of these workers. we simply do not know how many of them have been sickened & killed by their employers. there is no political will among people with power to count & prevent these deaths. labor protections for workers are better under the biden administration than the trump administration, but biden's last proposed budget leaves OSHA with a functional budget cut after inflation, and there is no federal heat safety standard for indoor workers. the best we get is marginal improvement, & workers die. i know you know! but it's too big to hold all the same.

anyway it's a good book, it's wide-ranging & interested in a lot of experiences of work in america, & morris presents an intimate (sometimes painfully so!) portrait of workers who were harmed by goodyear & dupont. would recommend

[easemysoul]

Steamy Confessions - C.P

Christian Pulisic x Reader

Thank you @greykitkepa for being an amazing beta reader!

Warnings: 18+, swearing, light choking if you squint, sprinkle of fluff

Word count: 1.6k

Summary:

Confessions after a very steamy moment

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Shhhh, baby. Gotta be quiet or someone will hear us.” Christian whispers, leaning in so you can hear every word. Your reply gets stuck in your throat as he gently drags you to the edge of the counter by the back of your thighs, the action causing him to push himself further inside of you and your short, black dress to further bunch up around your hips.

To think that only minutes ago, both of you were sitting at the dinner table with your mutual friends, enjoying dinner and taking in the view. Now you’re here in a random bathroom countertop with Christian’s cock buried inside of you, his sweaty curls sticking to his forehead and a cocky smirk on his swollen and pink lips.

Throwing your head back, you let out a soft moan. Your eyes flutter close when his hand wraps around your throat. He pauses his thrusts to lift your head by the grip on your throat so you’re looking at him again. “Be good for me, baby. Keep your eyes on me.” He mumbles, keeping eye contact as he starts moving again.

He makes sure to thrust into you slow but deep, ensuring you feel every inch of him inside of you. You try your best to support yourself on your shaky and sweaty hands, failing when he suddenly thrusts into you again.

Christian chuckles at you, “Look at you. Messy little slut, for me. Crying and moaning for me. Only for me, right?”

He lets out a throaty groan when you don’t answer. He moves his hands so they’re resting on either side of you with your legs over his forearms as he thrusts a little deeper inside of you.

You only let out a satisfied sigh, too focused on the feeling of him inside you and making you feel good to even listen to what he’s saying.

“Don’t be a bad girl now, baby. Answer my question. You’re only moaning for me, yeah?” He leans in and asks again, the action causing his chest to press against yours and your legs to spread even further in his hold.

Your back arches as another moan falls from your mouth and your eyes flutter closed at the pleasure that spreads throughout your body.

You’re suddenly ripped away from the euphoric feeling by Christian quickly pulling out of you and wrapping his hand around your throat again. You let out a whimper, incredibly turned on by the dark look in his eye.

“Baby…thought you were going to be good for me.” He whispers, leaning in so he’s eye level with you. “Now I’m gonna have to punish you. Aren’t I?” He mumbles. Not waiting for your answer, he quickly but gently lifts you off the counter and bends you over the marble surface. You sigh and rest against the cool stone.

You hear him move around behind you before you feel him wrapping something around your wrists. It takes you a few seconds to recognise the familiar lace. You feel your face get warm as he ties your hands behind your back with your own underwear. The exact ones he made you take off and slip into his pocket after teasing you on the drive over.

You feel him tighten the fabric around your wrists, letting out a hum when he’s sure you won’t be able to untie yourself easily.

Your body lurches forward when he brings a hand down onto one of your ass cheeks, gently slapping it. He chuckles at the same time you let out a quiet moan. He smooths his hand over the red mark, smiling at the sigh you let out.

You don’t notice he’s moved until you feel his tongue running along your dripping pussy, teasing your hole with the tip of his tongue.

You feel his beard rub against the inside of your thighs as he gently licks you. He hums at the taste, the vibrations instantly going to your sensitive clit. Soft moans fall from your mouth as if you were singing a song. The song only he gets to hear, egging him on.

As if he’s trying to tease you, the moment you feel your whole body relax and give into him, he stops. He chuckles against the back of your thighs, knowing that you’re not happy by the whine you let out.

He gently kisses the back of your thighs, sucking a few small and light purple marks in a few areas. Making sure everyone knows you’re his despite not being anything more than friends.

When he’s satisfied with the number of marks he’s left behind, he stands up again. He grabs your hips with a groan and presses himself against you. He feels his still hard cock slide against your slightly swollen and dripping pussy, the tip barely touching your clit. He continues to tease both of you until he can’t take it anymore. Biting his lip, he slowly slides back into you. His head tips back and a low groan rumbles in his chest before slipping out of his parted lips, feeling you gently pull him in.

He grabs you by your tied hands and makes you stand up against him. He presses his sweaty chest against your back. He groans as he looks at your reflection in the mirror. He can see that your dress has bunched up more with every movement, the fabric now resting more around the top of your hips.

He takes in everything. How your hard nipples press against the fabric around your chest. How your neck and face are a light pink from being pressed against the counter and the temperature in the room. He takes in the little marks decorating your neck and the top of your chest, created by his skilled mouth. How you fit perfectly in front of him. Although the moment is intimate and with him buried inside of you, he can’t help but to think about seeing this exact view every day. The same view but instead of his hands holding your tied hands behind your back, his arms wrapped around you as he hugs you from behind. Instead of his hard cock inside of you, his fingers intertwined with yours and resting on your stomach. Instead of you wearing one of your shortest dresses, you’re wearing one of his shirts that only reaches mid thigh.

The sound of you whining brings him out of his thoughts about both of you.

“What is it, baby?” He mumbles close to your ear.

“Please.” You almost sob.

“What do you want me to do, pretty girl?” He asks, reaching up to move a piece of hair out of your face, his eyes watching you through the mirror.

“Please, make me cum. Please. Please fuck me.” As if your words flipped a switch inside of him, he’s moving inside of you before you even finish your sentence.

“Be quiet for me, baby. Be my good girl and I’ll let you cum, yeah?” He whispers, gently placing one of his large hands over your mouth to stop you from moaning so loud.

With his other hand, he holds you close to him as he pounds into you. His fingers dance across the skin from your hip to your thigh as he quickly creates a new rhythm. The sounds of your skin slapping against his only makes him want to bring you to an orgasm even more.

You moan and sigh against his large hand, eyes rolling into the back of your head as the coil in your stomach tightens. His fingers gently rub circles on your clit as he speeds up. You feel a few tears escape your damp eyes. They roll down your cheeks until they hit Christian’s hand. The sight just makes him thrust even harder and faster. The sound of skin against skin gets louder. He struggles to keep you quiet as the coil finally snaps and both of you cum with loud moans.

He gently thrusts into you a few more times, helping both of you ride out your highs before slipping out of you with a groan. The hand over your mouth loosens and slides down your body to rest on your hip. His other hand moves from rubbing your sensitive clit to untie your hands. He feels a pang in his chest, seeing the light red marks around your small wrists.

You move your hands to the front of your body, rubbing at the marks a little. “I promise it doesn’t hurt.” You mumble, seeing the concern in his eyes.

He sighs and buries his head into the crook of your neck at the same time he wraps his arms around you. He peppers kisses on the skin of your neck, whispering how good you are for him and how amazing you did. You melt against him, placing your arms over his.

Your heart beats faster as you think about what you’re about to do, knowing that there’s a chance it will go wrong and the moment will quickly turn awkward. You get a sudden wave of confidence, mentally hyping yourself up for a few seconds. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way, you know you’ll feel better finally telling him instead of keeping it in and constantly biting your tongue. Especially during intimate moments like this.

Looking at Christian through the mirror, you quickly speak when you see him open his mouth, finally telling him how you feel.

“I love you, Christian.”

He tenses up behind you, not expecting you to feel the same way. You watch his eyes move across your reflection in the mirror. He takes in all of you, he focuses on your face. Almost like he’s trying to read your emotions through your eyes. Your mind automatically thinks he’s taking one last look at you before he lets you down, leaves and never comes back.

His hold on you tightens and his body relaxes. “I love you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “More than you’ll ever know.”