#MARBLE AND CASH

[making-it-right-dsaf]

-clicks cookie- MWHAHAHAHA MORE MORE

Cash and Marble belong to @thygoddessouijathicc Timeloop steven belongs to @dayshift-loop Stevm belongs to @davidthephoneguy

Thanks for helping with this joke-

[charlesreeza]

The Chapel of the Madonna della Providenza at San Giuseppe dei Teatini in Palermo, Sicily sits above a natural spring. The water from the spring is said to be "a gift from the Mother of Providence to her Palermo children," and it is credited with healing "all infirmities."

The spring was discovered during excavations under the chapel on January 7th, 1668, and by January 15th the Theatine fathers had completed sufficient infrastructure to begin welcoming thousands of pilgrims to the church. No one can monetize a leaky basement better than a group of Catholic priests. This was 200 years before a similar flow of miraculous water bubbled up in Lourdes, France.

Photos by Charles Reeza

[drinkinggblood]

heres my red dead online horse. her name is barcode .. shes kinda stupid but thats alr (she loves to trip over on the dumbest shit) (once she tripped while i was scouting a bounty, flung me straight into their camp and to my death. safe 2 say i fucking ALERTED the ENEMIES)

i havent been able to find anyone to play online w at all so its just been me and my insane adventures in online. ive got war stories man....... horrors beyond human comprehension

[transingthoseformers]

Wait a minute how did Dr. KO run into a fish store, he's a robot. If it's holoavatars, adding that to the tfp au unleashes a whole new level of possible hilarity

[glassamphibians]

adult money is so dangerous i can by silly expensive drinks whenever i want and no one can stop me

[theinfinitedivides]

Shi Bros getting to swap their assets in the Magic Lamp Game bc Hoshi stole Yeon Seok's real lamp and replaced it with his fake one,,,,,,,, Yeon Seok really got dogpiled on the carpet and stalked within an inch of his life for nothing

[jaylaxies]

HARD THOUGHT !

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader

cw: smut, unprotected sex, usage of nicknames.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni

Best friend!Sunghoon had easily convinced you to move in with him. His reasoning sat well with you—low cost and splitting of the rent. As a university student, you would do anything to save up some extra cash and this deal was spot on as it saved you half the amount of your usual living expenses.

However, the provided reason wasn’t even close to what Sunghoon had actually wanted. He knew you had a crush on him, yet you never acted upon it due to your experiences regarding sex and love were limited, which made him want to ruin you beyond words. He was more on the possessive side of the spectrum, which was also laced with jealousy as he hated the idea of anyone else touching his little angel, his kitten.

So he took the matter in his own hands, pulling you even closer to him now that you shared an apartment with each other. He stared at you a little longer, walked around shirtless, his touch on your bare skin lingered for a second too long and you loved it. Your body always reacted to him in such a manner which made him lose his patience each fucking day, until he finally decided to cage you between him and the wall when you had freshly came out of the shower, clad in just your tiny towel.

“You like showing your pretty little body, don’t you, kitten?” He’d whisper in a deep tone, eyes dark as he stared right in your eyes. He could see you biting your lip, your thighs pressing close to each other as you tried to formulate a reply. “What are you talking about Hoonie—” you were shushed with his slender finger, which was now pressed against your lips. “I know you want me, baby. You just have to say it, yeah?” He assured you slow but serious.

You couldn’t wait any longer, not when you dreamed the filthiest of your fantasies with him, not when you touched yourself desperately hoping that it was him instead, even more so when he simply sat in the room next door. You nodded fervently, “want you so much, Hoonie,” you almost whimpered, feeling smaller than ever under his intense gaze.

“Oh baby, I’ll ruin your cunt and fuck you in every corner of this goddamn apartment,” he growled.

He was gentle with you for your very first time, he knew exactly how you’d like it, he was your best friend after all. But you didn’t bother thinking that he’d actually fuck you everywhere. It started from your bedroom, where he took care of your all night, trying his best not to go overboard with you. The next time, he took you to his bedroom. The task was simple, you’ll have to suck his dick and he’d make a mess on your pretty face.

It then progressed to you crying out his name in pleasure as he fucks you from behind on your couch which barely fit two people. He didn’t even leave the kitchen out of the deal as he fucked you on the marble counter, his cock hitting just the right spots as you dug your nails into his shoulders for support. Then he proceeded to take you to the bathroom, the reason was simple again—to save the water.

It didn’t matter if it was your study table or the wall next to the front door, it never mattered if you were on the carpet or his gaming chair, he had to fuck you. As for you, you loved every second of it, he made sure to get your wildest fantasies out of you, only to make them come true.

When you finally crawled up to him, giving him your sweetest smile as you asked him to fuck you, he knew he had won in life.

He had ruined you.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[mostlysignssomeportents]

"Efficiency" left the Big Three vulnerable to smart UAW tactics

Tomorrow (September 22), I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. Tomorrow night, I'll be in person at LA's Book Soup for the launch of Justin C Key's "The World Wasn’t Ready for You." On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

It's been 143 days since the WGA went on strike against the Hollywood studios. While early tactical leaks from the studios had studio execs chortling and twirling their mustaches about writers caving once they started losing their homes, the strikers aren't wavering – they're still out there, pounding the picket lines, every weekday:

https://www.cnbc.com/2023/08/09/how-hollywood-writers-make-ends-meet-100-days-into-the-writers-guild-strike.html

The studios obviously need writers. That gleeful, anonymous studio exec who got such an obvious erotic charge at the thought of workers being rendered homeless as punishment for challenging his corporate power completely misread the room, and his comments didn't demoralize the writers. Instead, they inspired the actors to go on strike, too.

But how have the writers stayed out since May Day? How have the actors stayed out for 69 days since their strike started on Bastille Day? We can thank the studios for that! As it turns out, the studios have devoted so much energy to rendering creative workers as precarious as possible, hiring as little as they can getting away with and using punishing overtime as a substitute for adequate staffing that they've eliminated all the workers who can't survive on side-hustles and savings for six or seven months at a time.

But even for those layoff-hardened workers, long strikes are brutal, and of course, all the affiliated trades, from costumers to grips, are feeling the pain. The strike fund only goes so far, and non-striking, affected workers don't even get that. That's why I've been donating regularly to the Entertainment Community Fund, which helps all affected workers out with cash transfers (I just gave them another $500):

https://secure2.convio.net/afa/site/Donation2?df_id=8117&8117.donation=form1&mfc_pref=T

As hot labor summer is revealed as a turning point – not just a season – long strikes will become the norm. Bosses still don't believe in worker power, and until they get their minds right, they're going to keep on trying to starve their workforces back inside. To get a sense of how long workers will have to hold out, just consider the Warrior Met strike, where Alabama coal-miners stayed out for 23 months:

https://www.thenation.com/article/activism/warrior-met-strike-union/

As Kim Kelly explained to Adam Conover in the latest Factually podcast, the Alabama coal strikers didn't get anywhere near the attention that the Hollywood strikers have enjoyed:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvyMHf7Yg0Q

(To learn more about the untold story of worker organizing, from prison unions to the key role that people of color and women played in labor history, check out Kelly's book, "Fight Like Hell," now in paperback:)

https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Fight-Like-Hell/Kim-Kelly/9781982171063

Which brings me to the UAW strike. This is an historic strike, the first time that the UAW has struck all of the Big Three automakers at once. Past autoworkers' strikes have marked turning points for all American workers. The 1945/46 GM strike established employers' duty to cover worker pensions, health care, and cost of living allowances. The GM strike created the American middle-class:

https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-18-uaw-strikes-built-american-middle-class/

The Big Three are fighting for all the marbles here. They are refusing to allow unions to organize EV factories. Given that no more internal combustion cars will be in production in just a few short years, that's tantamount to eliminating auto unions altogether. The automakers are flush with cash, including billions in public subsidies from multiple bailouts, along with billions more from greedflation price-gouging. A long siege is inevitable, as the decimillionaires running these companies earn their pay by starving out their workers:

https://www.businessinsider.com/general-motors-ceo-mary-barra-salary-auto-workers-strike-uaw-2023-9

The UAW knows this, of course, and their new leadership – helmed by the union's radical president Shawn Fain – has a plan. UAW workers are engaged in tactical striking, shutting down key parts of the supply chain on a rolling basis, making the 90-day strike fund stretch much farther:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2023-09-18-labors-militant-creativity/

In this project, they are greatly aided by Big Car's own relentless pursuit of profit. The automakers – like every monopolized, financialized sector – have stripped all the buffers and slack out of their operations. Inventory on hand is kept to a bare minimum. Inputs are sourced from the cheapest bidder, and they're brought to the factory by the lowest-cost option. Resiliency – spare parts, backup machinery – is forever at war with profits, and profits have won and won and won, leaving auto production in a brittle, and easily shattered state.

This is especially true for staffing. Automakers are violently allergic to hiring workers, because new workers get benefits and workplace protection. Instead, the car companies routinely offer "voluntary" overtime to their existing workforce. By refusing this overtime, workers can kneecap production, without striking.

Enter "Eight and Skate," a campaign among UAW workers to clock out after their eight hour shift. As Keith Brower Brown writes for Labor Notes, the UAW organizers are telling workers that "It’s crossing an unofficial picket line to work overtime. It’s helping out the company":

https://labornotes.org/2023/09/work-extra-during-strike-auto-workers-say-eight-and-skate

Eight and Skate has already started to work; the Buffalo Ford plant can no longer run its normal weekend shifts because workers are refusing to put in voluntary overtime. Of course, bosses will strike back: the next step will be forced overtime, which will lead to the unsafe conditions that unionized workers are contractually obliged to call paid work-stoppages over, shutting down operations without touching the strike fund.

What's more, car bosses can't just halt safety stoppages or change the rules on overtime; per the UAW's last contract, bosses are required to bargain on changes to overtime rules:

https://uaw.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Working-Without-Contract-FAQ-FINAL-2.pdf

Car bosses have become lazily dependent on overtime. At GM's "highly profitable" SUV factory in Arlington, TX, normal production runs a six-days, 24 hours per day. Workers typically work five eight-hour days and nine hours on Saturdays. That's been the status quo for 11 years, but when bosses circulated the usual overtime signup sheet last week, every worker wrote "a big fat NO" next to their names.

Writing for The American Prospect, David Dayen points out that this overtime addiction puts a new complexion on the much-hyped workerpocalypse that EVs will supposedly bring about. EVs are much simpler to build than conventional cars, the argument goes, so a US transition to EVs will throw many autoworkers out of work:

https://prospect.org/labor/2023-09-20-big-threes-labor-shortages-uaw/

But the reality is that most autoworkers are doing one and a half jobs already. Reducing the "workforce" by a third could leave all these workers with their existing jobs, and the 40-hour workweek that their forebears fought for at GM inn 1945/46. Add to that the additional workers needed to make batteries, build and maintain charging infrastructure, and so on, and there's no reason to think that EVs will weaken autoworker power.

And as Dayen points out, this overtime addiction isn't limited to cars. It's also endemic to the entertainment industry, where writers' "mini rooms" and other forms of chronic understaffing are used to keep workforces at a skeleton crew, even when the overtime costs more than hiring new workers.

Bosses call themselves job creators, but they have a relentless drive to destroy jobs. If there's one thing bosses hate, it's paying workers – hence all the hype about AI and automation. The stories about looming AI-driven mass unemployment are fairy tales, but they're tailor made for financiers who get alarming, life-threatening priapism at the though of firing us all and replacing us with shell-scripts:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

This is why Republican "workerism" rings so hollow. Trump's GOP talks a big game about protecting "workers" (by which they mean anglo men) from immigrants and "woke captialism," but they have nothing to say about protecting workers from bosses and bankers who see every dime a worker gets as misappropriated from their dividend.

Unsurprisingly, conservative message-discipline sucks. As Luke Savage writes in Jacobin, for every mealymouthed Josh Hawley mouthing talking points that "support workers" by blaming China and Joe Biden for the Big Three's greed, there's a Tim Scott, saying the quiet part aloud:

https://jacobin.com/2023/09/republicans-uaw-strike-hawley-trump-scott/

Quoth Senator Scott: "I think Ronald Reagan gave us a great example when federal employees decided they were going to strike. He said, you strike, you’re fired. Simple concept to me. To the extent that we can use that once again, absolutely":

https://twitter.com/American_Bridge/status/1704136706574741988

The GOP's workerism is a tissue-thin fake. They can never and will never support real worker power. That creates an opportunity for Biden and Democrats to seize:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/18/co-determination/#now-make-me-do-it

Reversing two generations of anti-worker politics is a marathon, not a sprint. The strikes are going to run for months, even years. Every worker will be called upon to support their striking siblings, every day. We can do it. Solidarity now. Solidarity forever.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/21/eight-and-skate/#strike-to-rule

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon, poverty & debt, gun violence, organized crime, death threats, arranged marriage

fem reader

Thinking about owing the mob…

Not you specifically, but your family – debt you weren’t aware of before you’re being cashed in to settle it.

You imagined several terrible things before the arrangement was explained to you. 

One of the sons needs a wife with a clean reputation. 

It’s a simple equation. You’re eligible, and he isn’t picky.

And though it leaves you in mourning for a life yet lived, it still comes with a sense of relief. It’s one of the better deals you could’ve gotten. At least you wouldn’t need to witness or partake in any crimes, nor act as a scapegoat for the likes either.

Besides… though you’ve yet to meet your fiancé, you’ve been explained that he only plans on treating you like a wife on and for the camera – that his tastes otherwise lie in the gentlemen’s lounge. 

All you ever have to do is smile. He isn’t interested in anything else.

That’s what you were told, and yet…

“It’s funny.” Your husband says after the wedding ceremony. 

You’re back at the mansion you’re meant to call home. The grounds are about twice the size of the block you come from. Marble, gold, and diamonds – it’s so outrageously excessive it’s shameless. 

“I was told your brothers run routes for us to make ends meet.” He continues, looking at you and the expression on your face as you stare up at the chandelier – it’s clear you’ve never seen anything like it. “Fuck, I mean, I can’t imagine risking my life and still end up needing to pick between food or rent at the end of the day.”

Your gaze falls down to him at that. 

Clad in lush wedding expense – white gown and silver tiara – you still stick out like a sore thumb. Something in the way it wears you and not the other way around. It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable with it all. It’s probably worth more than your family's ever owned.

He steps closer with a chuckle.

“Then, the poor suckers go and fuck up so bad they end up needing to sell their own sister.”

He spots your fists ball at your sides. But you keep your cool. Only a slight grimace curling your lips along a tiny furrow between your brows. It all smoothens into something else when he reaches out to grab your chin.

“What’s even more funny…” He tilts your face in his hand – jaded eyes assessing you like he’s found a coin on the ground. “You don’t look like street trash like I expected.”

Your frown returns, and you try pulling back – but he grabs your arm before you can.

Tsking, “Ah-ah – Remember,” His smile sharpens. “You’re property now. When I touch you, you let it happen.”

You weren’t that easily convinced. He bet you’ve had to fight off a lot of unwanted attention back where you come from. But he isn’t some back-alley thug. When he wants something, he expects it not only to be served on a silver platter but to be hand-fed to him with a silver spoon.

He pulls the gun out from behind him. Slotted in the band of his dress trousers, it had stayed hidden beneath the coverage of his suit jacket during the ceremony.

Your throat dries up, and any protests you had died of thirst along with it – eyes wide as you stare at the piece.

You can’t believe he’d carry that thing into a church with vows upon his lips – now pointing it at the very same wife he’d made those vows to. 

“Make me spend a single bullet, and your family will share the rest.” He taps the barrel’s mouth against the quiver of your lips. “I’d rather not it come to that. It’ll ruin the carpet…”  

You quiver, feeling weak with a shudder – your eyes slip closed with a shivering tear.

“Not to mention this…” He strokes the pitiful droplet off your cheek with the weapon while eyeing the way you quake with grinning eyes. “Pretty little body I’ve only just acquired.” 

BNHA – Dabi

JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji

BLLK – Reo

HxH – Illumi

[martyrbat]

the heartbreak of knowing i would be considered a muscle mommy if i was a girl but instead im just vaguely androgynous enough to make people squint at me angrily in a store

[love4myg]

Melted Kisses

Yoongi's kisses are always sickly sweet. But the taste of melted sugar on his lips makes you crave him more than the plate of sugar coated fruits.

────

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: fluff, established relationship au

word count: 1.9k

summary: yoongi and reader makes tanghulu together / yoongi very midly burns himself / makeout session ensues after their cooking / reader is elementary school teacher

warnings: making out, allusions to sex

notes: yay im finally finished with exams!!! this was supposed to be posted next week but it's bts' 11th anniversary so 😋 also im very sorry that the drabbes are jumping around in the timeline, i will eventually put them in chronological order

────

"I'm an amazing cook, I don't know what you're on about," Yoongi grumbled as he pulled your back closer against his bare chest. You whined as the cool metal of the silver necklace he wore pressed against your back which caused goosebumps to erupt across your skin.

“I’m just saying. I’m not the one who blended chicken and other shit into a smoothie so I didn’t have to cook for the rest of the day.”

“That was one time! I’m a changed person now, love.”

"Whatever you say, babe."

You giggled softly and Yoongi huffed into your shoulder before he placed a soft kiss against your naked skin.

"You just can't admit that I'm a better cook than you."

You rolled your eyes at his words and turned your head slightly in an attempt to look at him. You could just about see his tired eyes that were closed shut.

"Fine. Next time we're both free, we're making tanghulu."

A lazy smile tugged at the corners of Yoongi's lips as his eyes scrunched into crescent moons.

"You were just waiting for an excuse to make tanghulu, weren't you?"

You hummed in response. You had mentioned the sweet snacks to him frequently, sending him numerous videos with recipes on how to make them.

"Yep. And you fell right into my trap," you giggled. You felt as Yoongi's body shook with airy laughter behind you.

"Ah, you're so annoying."

"You love me anyway," you said with a grin.

"I know," he whispered. He brushed aside your hair to press a kiss onto your temple and drifted off into a peaceful slumber within a few minutes.

────

In all honesty, Yoongi had completely forgotten about your agreement. He had thought you would too, as you were both too giddy and drunk on sex.

But when you arrived home after work the next day with a bag full of ingredients, the only words that stumbled from Yoongi’s mouth were to ask you why you hadn’t used his card to buy everything.

“It’s fine, I had cash on me,” you say, swatting away his words as you place the bag onto the marble countertops.

“Still.” Yoongi’s eyes watch your movements as you begin arranging all of the ingredients into different plates and bowls. 

“Babe, it’s not like I’m poor or something. Plus, I’m the one forcing you to do this.”

A sly smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you look back at him, and he playfully rolls his eyes before making his way over to you.

"Are you sure you don't want to rest or something? You just came back from work," he says as you start cutting the leaves of the strawberries off.

"Mhm, I’m sure. Can you get the small pot for me? The one we used for ramen yesterday."

Yoongi obliges and places the pot on the stove. You take the bowl of strawberries and bring it under the sink to rinse them. 

It wasn’t often that you would eat strawberries, always complaining about the millions of bugs within them. So when you did decide to have them, you made sure that they were squeaky clean even though it took more time. Yoongi thought they tasted the same either way, but never complained about your antics. 

During the early stages of your relationship, you both rarely got to spend time with each other, whether it was due to his work life or your college classes. Your preferences and quirks meant that a few extra minutes could be spent in your presence, so it didn't bother him in the least.

He moves to the rest of the ingredients and spots three tangerines lying together in a glass bowl.

"You got tangerines?" he asks, taking one into his hands. He throws it into the air like a tennis ball and catches it with ease.

You nod eagerly, a smile plastered onto your face as you look up at him.

"You love them so I wanted to try them out along with the strawberries and grapes. If we end up not liking it, you can have the rest."

Yoongi simply smiles as you bring the freshly cleaned strawberries back to the counter, a familiar, warm feeling tugging at his heartstrings.

He listens to the recipe you read off from your phone and places half a cup of sugar into the pot of water to melt before making his way behind you. He wraps his arms around you and lightly squeezes your body.

He had missed the warmth of your skin against his, and the light smell of your signature perfume. He had even missed the way your voice melodically bounced off the walls of his usually silent home.

Was he being dramatic about you being gone for nine hours? Yes. Was he going to stop? No.

"How was work?"

He places a kiss against your neck before moving his head down to rest on your shoulder, his narrow eyes watching you work carefully. 

"Good. A kid called me mom today and it was literally the cutest thing!"

He laughs softly as you place the knife down and bring your hands to your heart to emphasise your point.

"Mhm, that is cute."

A beat of silence passes before he whispers into your ear.

"I missed you."

It's embarrassing how fast the heat rises to your cheeks at his words, even after this many years of being together.

"I missed you too."

By the time you finish peeling the tangerines, cutting the strawberries and plucking the grapes off their stems, the sugar has fully melted. It would've taken half the time if you had an extra pair of helping hands, but you didn't want Yoongi's arms to move from where they rested around your waist.

Unfortunately, he's forced to peel away from your body as you lower the heat of the thick syrup and begin pushing the pieces of fruit onto skewers.

You playfully scold Yoongi whenever you catch him plopping one into his mouth before asking him to feed you one too.

"We need to stop, or there's gonna be none left by the end," Yoongi says, and you sigh in agreement.

Still, you sneak a slice of tangerine into your mouth, simply placing a peck on Yoongi's lips when he catches you.

In a few minutes, you have two plates filled with multicoloured fruits on skewers ready to be dipped.

You work carefully with the sugar syrup, and you’re surprised at how well the first few pieces turn out. 

"See, I told you! I'm just such an amazing cook," you say, waving the freshly coated skewer in front of him.

"This isn’t even that hard. Here, let me try."

Yoongi moves you to the side and takes a skewer. He tilts the pot to the side and rolls the fruits into the syrup, thickly coating it. He then puts it into a bowl of ice water for it to cool and begins working on the next one.

This time, however, he happens to reach too far into the pot and manages to dip the tip of his finger straight into the melted sugar. 

The hot substance takes a few seconds to do damage, giving Yoongi enough time to place the skewer into the water before swiftly pulling back his hand.

"Shit."

He wipes off the hardening liquid onto a small towel, but it leaves his skin red and angry.

"Babe, I told you to be careful! Are you OK?"

You step towards him and take his hand into yours. It wasn't serious, but there was now a tiny bump forming on the pad of his index finger.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It isn't even that big, see?"

"And? You still burned yourself," you huff.

Without another word, you look through the cabinets to find the burn ointment you had bought months ago as Yoongi protests.

"Seriously, love, it's fine. It doesn't hurt or anything."

"Still."

You successfully locate the ointment within your medicine box. You never really knew why Yoongi kept it in the kitchen, but his actions had proved useful.

You unscrew the cap and apply the tiniest amount onto his finger. He winces as you rub it into his skin, and you whisper an apology.

"There. Now, you've been fired as my co-chef and this also clarifies that I am clearly the better cook."

"That's not fair!"

"Sucks," you say with a shrug of your shoulders as you place the burn ointment back where you had found it.

Yoongi rolls his eyes with a playful scowl and moves to sit on the counter as you work on finishing the rest of the fruits.

Soon enough, the two plates are filled with fruits on skewers with a glassy finish to them. You watch a video to make sure you clean the pot of melted sugar properly and Yoongi offers to clean the rest of the kitchen up as you do so.

You reluctantly agree after seeing that his burn was starting to look less angry. After cleaning the pot and leaving it in the sink with a few other dishes from earlier in the day, you prop yourself onto the counter.

Yoongi finds himself standing between your legs not even a minute later, and you watch eagerly as you give him the first taste test.

His eyebrows scrunch together as he evaluates the taste, clearly taking his job very seriously.

"So?"

"Damn. That's really good. Have a bite."

You smile widely, proud of your work. He points the rest of the skewer at you, but you bring your lips to his and use your tongue to swipe the sugar from his lips. 

"You're right, it is good!"

You smile at the blush that creeps across his pale skin as he takes another bite, failing to hide his timid smile.

You both manage to eat around four skewers worth of fruit, sharing each one between you. Yoongi sneaks kisses against your cheeks and jaw after every few bites, enjoying how he left you a little flustered after each one.

"You're gonna get my face sticky with the sugar," you complain, though you both know you don't want him to stop.

"I'll just lick the stickiness off," he says with a shrug.

"Ew, you're disgusting."

He laughs at the whine in your voice, placing another kiss on the corner of your lips.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, moving his mouth down onto your neck.

You tilt your neck to give him better access, stealing another skewer as you do so.

"Don't leave any marks, I have school tomorrow."

"The kids won't even know what they are," he mumbles, moving his tongue to gently graze your skin.

"Yeah they will! Kids are very modern nowadays, and there's only so many times I can say I burned myself with my curling iron."

Yoongi smiles against your neck and you leave the skewer in your hand to be forgotten on the counter. Your hands find their way into his grown-out locks, and you gently tug at the roots.

You bring his head back to meet your lips again, and the taste of melted sugar on his tongue drives you insane. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in even closer.

You find yourself smiling against him as his hands move up to cup your cheeks.

Yoongi wouldn't mind being called a bad cook as much if this was how every cooking session ended between you.

[making-it-right-dsaf]

I spy a steven duplication glitch. clicks the steven again.

Thanks to @thygoddessouijathicc and @dayshift-loop for letting me borrow your Stevens for this- Cash and Marble belong to @thygoddessouijathicc And the smol boi belongs to @dayshift-loop

[charlesreeza]

Saint Rosalia, Alabaster marble, 18th century, unknown sculptor - from the Monastery of St. Mary of the Greek in Vizzini, and now at the Museo di Palazzo Bellomo, Syracuse, Sicily

Interesting story: The legend of St. Rosalia claims she was born in 1130 in Palermo, Sicily, to a noble family descended from Charlemagne. Devoutly religious, she chose to live as a hermit in a cave on Mount Pellegrino. Tradition says that she was led to the cave by two angels. On the cave wall she wrote "I, Rosalia, daughter of Sinibald, Lord of Monte delle Rose and Quisquina, have taken the resolution to live in this cave for the love of my Lord, Jesus Christ." She supposedly died alone in the cave in 1166.  Apparently, no one missed her for 458 years.

In 1624, a plague beset Palermo. During this hardship, Rosalia reportedly appeared to a hunter (or a soap seller) and indicated where her remains could be found. She ordered him to bring her bones to Palermo and have them carried in procession through the city. He climbed the mountain and found her bones in the cave as described. He did what she had asked, and after her remains were carried around the city three times, the plague ceased. From then on Rosalia was venerated as the patron saint of Palermo, and a sanctuary was built in the cave.

The Flemish painter Anthony van Dyck was trapped in the city during the 1624–1625 quarantine. He used the time to paint five paintings of Rosalia. In 1629 he also produced Saint Rosalia Interceding for the City of Palermo and Coronation of Saint Rosalia to assist Jesuit efforts to spread devotion to her beyond Sicily.

This turned out to be quite lucrative for Palermo (accidentally, I’m sure) because the shrine built on the mountain has been drawing pilgrims and tourists for centuries. The Festino di Santa Rosalia or ‘the Great Festival” is held on July 14th and 15th in Palermo. It is the biggest celebration of the year, drawing thousands of tourists (and their money, but that’s irrelevant).

In 1825, geologist William Buckland was in Palermo during his honeymoon and asked to see the bones of Rosalia. After an examination of the relics the geologist declared the relics were actually the bones of a goat. Buckland later said the priests claimed Rosalia would not let him see her actual remains because he was not a Catholic Christian. Then they locked the relics away.

Hmmm.

Photos by Charles Reeza

[san8ny]

Clerks ‘n Cunts

an: what if the guns n roses band name was uhh freaky and involved vaginas and gas station workers, how scary would that be.. / a draft i scrapped

Ellie Williams.

This was a bad idea.

Lewdly agreeing to hook up with the gas station clerk because you couldn’t pay for gas— genuine hoe shit.

You scruff out a few profanities as you climb over the counter, the lanky woman eyeing your short-shorts as you do so, smiling like this was the highlight of her shitty job

“Don’t give me that look, i’m not the one with an empty tank.” She snickers, calloused hand already finding itself sliding into your tresses as you kneel, “Now, be a good girl and open wide, yeah? I’ve had a rough da—aay..” Her words trail off, head tilted back in a breathy gasp when your wet tongue meets contact with her plushy lips, swollen clit hidden underneath like it’s asking you to come find it.

That’s one way to shut her up

You could tell with the mouth on her, she got no play. Just all bark, and no bite in return

“O-oh, ah! ah! ah..shiiiit..” Ellie whines as she rocks her groin onto your lips, her body at one point slumping forward, planting her hands flat on the counter as you suck, no—eat her soul out. How did this feel so good?

You didn’t let up on your assult either, wanting to make every second of this moment good for you.

To further the humiliation she’d unknowingly inflicted herself upon, the front door swings open, a customer.

A scruffy old man with a beer belly walks in, grease stains on his wifebeater as he throws a wad of cash onto the counter, “Pump 7, toots.”

Ellie’s eyes scrunch together as she tries to verbalize a quick-witted insult, instead, a meek moan quivering out when you begin tongue-fucking her, nose prodding up at her clit as you take more of her pussy into your inviting mouth,

The man looks confused, not understanding just what was happening due to the front counter’s concealment of where you kneeled

“A-allergies.” She mutters, taking the cash and pathetically counting it. Her legs were threatening to give out at this point from how much cum and spit were running down her inner-thighs. She wonders if he could hear your slurps?

Viscerally fed-up with her snail-like speed, he makes his way to the door and just leaves without the change.

Maybe she’d employ that method from now on?

“F-fuck, baby, i’m gonna cum..” She noises, looking down at you, beautiful face all wet and your cheeks hollowed out each time you apply suction to Ellie’s pearl, “Ahh..all in your mouth too? Hm? Give you a run f-oor your money?”

You nod, pulling your lips from her cunt and rubbing your pretty painted nails over the sopping mess, “Give it to me? Just really want my car to run..” You say, eyes tearing up from the pull she had on your hair, “Might let you finish on me too..”

Ellie doesn’t spare another moment, shoving you away and pulling down your top, “If i finish, I ‘wanna finish on your rack.” She heaves, slithering a hand down and beginning to draw figure 8’s on her cunt, all while you sit there with a smile on your slutty face, “U-uhnnn, so closeee.. ‘cmere doll..”

You press your soft breasts together, tilting your head up to watch the nasty scene as Ellie uses your tits to get off, perky nipples rubbing up on her slicked pussy giving just enough of a sensation she spurts cream all over them, fluids splashing on the cold marble floor and some on your face.

After a beat of silence and her slow breathing, you run a finger down your supple cheek and bring it inbetween your lips, “Pump 3, toots.”

Safe to say you left with some snacks, a filled tank and a phone number.

[dante-mightdie]

long thought for you on perv simon and but this guy would go crazy if his girl was a baker. to elaborate, it’s the softness of the profession that makes him insaneeeee. the way her cheeks are always warm from the ovens, the sweetness of her because she’s always surrounded by cupcakes. the sheer rage when she smiles as a customer that isn’t him, god forbid! and maybe he breaks in one night. spooks her a little with that off putting aura but only demands a drink and a cupcake. not his fault if she catches him rutting his hips into absent air while he’s got his nose in her used apron

this is so disgusting i’m sorry

c/w: public masturbation, dub-con, stalker!simon, simon has a big cock :)

stalker!ghost is made for the hospitality girlies <33

coming into your bakery, bar, coffee shop etc. on a quiet night when it’s just you after lights up. sits at a small table, spreading his thick legs as he asks for something to drink

tucks some cash into the waistband of your apron, giving your hip a pinch as he stares you down with those indifferent, hooded eyes

doesn’t even touch the drink as he just watches you slowly close up, eyes flicking over to him but not daring to say a word about the hand that’s now stuffed down his jeans, hastily jerking his cock

he doesn’t break eye contact even when he cums all over his tummy. doesn’t look away from your shocked stare when he walks up to the counter, his big cock twitching angrily in plain view for you to see

it’s you who breaks eye-contact when he lets his softening cock rest against the marble counter that you had just wiped down, the final remnants of his orgasm pooling on the cool surface. still connected to his slick tip with a small string of fluid

“got a napkin, love?”

[bledmouth]

boothill brain rot !

he's got a knack for alcohol, typical of him to be spotted in a bar.

you make the usual drink, saying that he's drinking too much again- all he does is flutter his long lashes and asks for another strong one.

he says something like "you call this a drink? c'mon now, surprise me." his voice is roughly spoken- you're guessing it's the voice module in his throat.

'soul glad, make it strong' he'd order, head slumped on the countertop. he doesn't really get drunk since he's basically not human? but also because his systemic drive doesn't have the proper function setting for it.

he really needs an upgrade. maybe you could work as a technician instead of a bartender? ‘what'd ya say huh?’ he remarks with a fist on his cheek while lazily watching you do your job.

for once you carelessly agree to his rambles, as for him, he's already busy eyeing the payphone a few meters away from the bar counter.

"hold on darlin’" he begins to stand, his long legs in view before setting the cup on the marble, "gon' phone someone. this one's urgent you see."

you could see the expression on his face, irritated but it disappears after he sends you a quick wink, tipping his hat a little before walking away from where you stay wiping the glass.

"weird." you mutter as you get ready to clock out for the night. it's stormy out- the sun long gone and the only thing you see is lightening and rain.

you could hear boothill threaten someone over the phone- it was obvious that he was trying to keep his voice hush but that didn't stop you from hearing a few lines though, "my bullets will find you.. until then, you best find a casket store on penacony."

decidedly, you ignore it. probably nothing.

you see him slam the phone down in it's handle and a few occupants look at him, immediately turning their heads away unbothered. boothill makes his way over to the bar counter once more, settling down on one of the stools.

"right, give me one more felblood energy before i hit the hay," boothill eyes you up under his hat, seeing you pack your things.

"ya leavin'? look outside, the weather s'all muddy and dangerous. can't leave just yet sugar."

boothill snickers, downing the bitter liquid of felblood.

you narrow your eyes, "talk to me would ya? i'm the only patron left." he jabs a carefree thumb behind him, and you look at all the almost empty tables, a few men here and there but that's it.

"you should.. probably head back. it's late," you say, sighing because he wouldn't go away.

"sure," he sips the remaining liquid, "join me?" his teeth are now on display, sharp whites grinning as he looks at you with a calculating stare.

you huff a scoff- ears turning warm at his suggestion. boothill took note of this, and chuckled.

"just pullin' your leg." with one last snort, he rises from his seat and pays his tab.

"keep the change." boothill salutes as he bids farewell.

you watch him walk away, probably to one of the guest rooms- and you look at the cash on the table, 50 credits and an extra 100 as tip.

under all that money, something caught your eye- a small note in between that says 'stay for the night' with the room number written in messy handwriting.

you might wanna take him up on that offer.