#gentlemens club for sale

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Have you ever dreamed of owning your own strip club? Well, this is a bargain- the building, built in 1880, in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, was most recently a "gentleman's club." Live & work in the same building, or rent out the 2 apts. upstairs. Only $200K.

Both apts. are basic, but they're in very good condition. They can be decorated. Now, let's go down and check out the club.

Not bad. The long seat and the glass block are nice.

Very large bar.

Big men's room.

Only 2 stalls in the ladies room, though.

So, here's the stage. I didn't know that a shower was a thing. Or, is this something unique? Fascinating.

Place isn't bad. I've been in worse- my ex was a roadie.

I guess you could put tables here.

Must be the dancer's dressing room.

They have a toilet.

I have no idea what this. Afraid to ask.

Basement definitely has some potential.

There's no yard to speak of, but one apt. has a balcony and it looks like the other has a rooftop deck.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/924-Washington-St-Manitowoc-WI-54220/2052987811_zpid/?

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Oh god, I was just giggling so hard at howdy anons ask and your reply about reader letting König wait (sending a smooch to you both ❤️😘). He really deserves to suffer a little like that lol! Just imagining this guy, who likes to see himself as so strong and dominant, especially towards woman, slowly but surely lose his fucking marbles... And all because of that sweet little lady, who has his horniness in a bloody choke hold - not even realising the power she has over him. He's never had to show this much restraint... And he does hold back because, he even more likes to see himself as a gentlemen towards his sweetie (one who will absolutely ruin and wreck her once she let's him off his leash and takes the muzzle off). Poor little Köni.

I can see him letting out this sexual frustration at training for example. He is working these punching bags like absolutely batshit crazy. Destroying gym equipment, because he goes in so hard and has just soooo much pent up energy after every little cuddling session with sweet reader and doesn't know what to do with hit (violently masturbating after being with her hardly helps...). The other operators at the base gym just side eying him and wondering, if he now reached the final state of madness and silently prepare for the explosion that will wipe out all life on earth...

Also: we are really branching out with the toxic König brand here. First the institute, now the book club. I'm loving the growth here. Maby we can establish some kind of co working space next at toxic König headquarters, so we all have a place where we can thirst efficiently and just pump these numbers up even more for Toxic König Inc. (TKI). I can see an involvement in the stock market by next quarter at this growth rate. Maby some Tupperware-esk door to door sales to get more people hooked on to toxic König? (ok, that sounds to much like a cult now...)

Haha this is so crazy, all I wanted was to make Ghost happy, get him laid, perhaps even get him married… but here I am, 6 months later, having this blog and wondering which content warnings to slap on another König post where we discuss his obsession with virgins and their mythical hymen blood 💕

He destroys the punching bag (RIP) and somehow manages to rip the pull up bar from the concrete wall. His deadlifts can be heard all the way to the mess – envious rookies would say König is doing it wrong, that it's a major error in execution, but the veterans know better... This crazy lunatic is simply having trouble with women (again).

But you know what would make König nearly faint?

When sweet innocent reader finally allows his hands roam a bit!

He's allowed to caress her waist as they cuddle, she even lets him bring his huge palm on her tits – it feels like the most erotic thing ever, just to paw those soft breasts over her shirt. And what happens next is that she rolls her hips – König holds his breath – she's actually pressing her ass against his cock. Of course they're still wearing clothes, but her movements are nothing short of sexual.

It makes his brain shut down completely, but soon he's panting in her ear, grinding his groin against the swell of her ass in rhythm with her movements. She doesn't stop him when his hand slowly, tentatively shifts down, then forces its way under the waistband of her pants – ach du Scheiße, it's finally happening… Can this be real?

His fingers slip under her underwear and arrive on her soft mound. He tries to shove his hand further down and into her folds but then – Scheiße – delicate fingers curl around his wrist and pick his hand up from paradise.

"Please… I'm just not ready yet," she explains gently, and the German curses in his mind are loud and foul as König tries to catch his breath and ignore the fact that his boxers are painfully tight and now stained and wet with precum.

"Let me lick your cunt," he offers with a hoarse voice while she's still holding him by the wrist, denying access to her. "Bitte... I just want to have a taste..."

Sweet reader goes tense and turns, looks at the soldier who has a funny accent and weird mannerisms, the soldier who was supposed to be a gentleman, with parted lips and eyes wide from shock.

"König, you can't say things like that…!"

[transhawks]

No but like he was unhinged and weird since the beginning but no one apparently notice, or bothered by it?

He became the fastest top 10 hero at the age of 18 without high school connection to gain his fandom (while in universe that's the reason why internship is so important in UA)? No one cares how?

And apparently NO ONE know his name? Or bothered to know?

His modus operandi is by running toward enemies by himself and only using sidekicks for clean up (Not even All Might did that toward Sir Nighteye or Endeavor toward Burnin')? People thought that's normal?

He suddenly humiliated the new Number One hero and his fellow heroes only like, "welp that's just like him"?

He came to Jeanist's home, brandishing his swords, and who know what method he used to convey "hey man I am on secret spy mission right know, may I allowed to operate your lungless body so you appeared dead and can fit on this tiny body bag? And Jeanist was only like "I am in"?

He suddenly became cultist book sales to not only Endeavor but also Kamui Woods/others and no one intrigued more than "another one of his antics? wait there's doomsday message-"

HE ARRANGED SPEECH FOR HEROES PRESS CONFERENCE JUST LESS THAN 24 HOUR AFTER BEING BURNT ALIVE?

THAT MAN IS JUST TINY 23 YEARS OLD BIRD, WHAT DO YOU MEAN "We cannot disregard earnest plea from Endeavor, Hawks, and most notably All Might" WORLD LEADER GENTLEMEN? GROUPING THE BARELY ADULT WITH FLASHY VETERAN GEEZERS?

The feeling when you're so dependable so people ignored your many red flags..

(jokes aside, that's frustrated me so much as someone who has lil bro on Hawks' age. This boy should be in a club this boy should be in a club-)

I really need to update this but you might like this throwback from me:

[thesharkspajamas]

ANSWERS: How much does Tumblr know about the British upper class and aristocracy? ORIGINAL POST HERE

Do you know why people pay for private members' clubs in London?

A: It's like having your own staffed living room in the centre of town. It's familiar in terms of dress code, behaviour, discretion, and even interior decor. The behaviour part is most important; it takes away most of the uncertainties of dining in public, and you won't be photographed. Examples include The Carlton Club and The Caledonian Club. With the big daddies being White's (mentioned in Bridgerton) and the Aspinall club. This gif from Netflix's 'The Gentlemen' strike me as a club environment.

What is Ascot?

A: "The races" refers to horse racing. Ascot is possibly the biggest event of that particular calendar. It has a dress code which varies between enclosures (this is where the people are sorted into areas depending on how much they paid for their tickets/if they're a member of the club) but generally dictates suits and hats.

What is a duke/duchess?

A: the highest ranking member of the peerage (the titled aristocracy). Prince William became the Duke of Cambridge when he married his wife Catherine Middleton.

What is millinery?

A: Hat making for events such as Ascot. I reccomend Phillip Treacy's website for examples. He has designed for the Royals on numerous occasions.

Does a marchioness rank above a duke?

A: A marchioness is the wife or widow of a marquess. The five ranks of British nobility, in descending order, are duke, marquess, earl, viscount, and baron. Here for more info

What is the House of Lords?

A: The second chamber of the British Parliament. Quite literally full of Lords unelected by the public. Most are appointed seats for their lifespan for achievements in their careers, some are hereditary seats. (Yes, really)

What is primogeniture?

A: The rule that a title can only be inherited by the eldest male offspring. Passing over any females even if the nearest male heir is a cousin of the main family. This doesn't apply to the Royal family anymore, but it does apply to other members of the peerage.

Which career do graduates from Norland college pursue?

A: Nannies to the super rich. (They're kind of awesome)

What is Harrods?

A: The most upscale department store in the world. They used to cater all ALL the whims of the super-wealthy - able to procure pretty much anything, including a lion. There's an old joke that someone asked Harrods to procure a camel for them and the sales associate replied, "With one hump or two?"

What is a Royal Warrant?

A: A Royal Warrant of Appointment is granted as a mark of recognition to people or companies who have regularly supplied goods or services to the Royal Household.

What type of clothing is associated with Savile Row?

A: Bespoke and tailored suits for men.

What is Henley Royal Regatta?

A series of rowing races held at Henley, also known as the Mecca of Rowing. Similar to Ascot in some regards.

When can a tiara be worn, and by whom?

A: By married women, at white tie events and coronations, and only after six o'clock in the evening. The exception is for a bride on her wedding day. You don't actually have to be titled to wear one.

What is finishing school?

A course one might attend after school to learn the necessary skills for their place in society as a socialite, a leader or a public figure. Posture, table manners, hosting, smalltalk, even getting out of low cars in short skirts can feature on the curriculum. This is generally regarded as very posh.

If you actually read down here I hope you found it interesting - it took me ages to type this all out lmao :)

[usafphantom2]

Here’s why SR-71 crews used the most dangerous material (except fissionable nuclear material) to start the Blackbird engines

Mach 3+ strategic reconnaissance aircraft

The SR-71, unofficially known as the “Blackbird,” was a long-range, Mach 3+, strategic reconnaissance aircraft developed from the Lockheed A-12 and YF-12A aircraft.

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

The first flight of an SR-71 took place on Dec. 22, 1964, and the first SR-71 to enter service was delivered to the 4200th (later 9th) Strategic Reconnaissance Wing at Beale Air Force Base, Calif., in January 1966.

The Blackbird was in a different category from anything that had come before. “Everything had to be invented. Everything,” Skunk Works legendary aircraft designer Kelly Johnson recalled in an interesting article appeared on Lockheed Martin website.

No need for a traditional starter

To save on weight, the Skunk Works eliminated a traditional starter for the Blackbird. So, they figured out another way to start the SR-71.

Here’s why SR-71 crews used the most dangerous material (except fissionable nuclear material) to start the Blackbird engines

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. SR-71A Blackbird 61-7972 “Skunkworks”

Former Blackbird pilot Richard H. Graham explains in his book SR-71 Revealed The Inside Story;

‘The high flashpoint brings up another problem. Most jet engines use igniter plugs, nothing more than a very hot spark plug, if you will. Using these igniter plugs they used with the JP-7 and just drowns it out, it won’t ignite. Kelly [Johnson] put his engineers to work, and he said, ‘OK, gentlemen, how are we going to start this?’ They came up with a very unique way. Triethylborane – TEB for short. Each engine has a one-and-a-quarter pint. If I had it in a squirt gun and I squirted it into the atmosphere, it would go Kaboom! – it explodes with contact with the atmosphere. And that’s how we started the engines. As the engines rotate, at the right time, it sprays this amount of TEB into the turbine section, which goes kaboom, which in turn lights the engine. When you take the throttles up into the afterburner, it puts this metered amount of TEB in that lights up the JP-7. You get 16 shots for each engine.’

The most dangerous material to start the SR-71 Blackbird engines

Mounted on each engine was a sealed tank, inerted with nitrogen gas and filled by maintenance with 600cc of TEB prior to each flight.

Former SR-71 Blackbird pilot David Peters explains: ‘An interesting note to this is the transport of it. If we landed away, servicing had to be hauled to our location. The NTSB lists TEB as the following most dangerous material, one step below fissionable nuclear material. The folks that handled this stuff were highly trained and good.’

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Twitter X Page Habubrats SR-71, Instagram Page SR71Habubrats and Facebook Page Born into the Wilde Blue Yonder Habubrats for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

Photo credit: John Freedman and User:Jaydec via Wikipedia

Linda Sheffield Miller

Grew up at Beale Air Force Base, California. I am a Habubrat. Graduated from North Dakota State University. Former Public School Substitute Teacher, (all subjects all grades). Member of the DAR (Daughters of the Revolutionary War). I am interested in History, especially the history of SR-71. Married, Mother of three wonderful daughters and four extremely handsome grandsons. I live near Washington, DC.

@Habubrats71 via X

[helenofsimblr]

Kane grabbed his pack of smokes and lit one quickly as he eyed the three men. 

Kane: Kira, I swear me and you gotta have us a chat about this shit. 

Kira: I can hardly wait(!)

Azura:  You ruined my fun… and you stink of guns. Don’t think of hurting my sweet Daddy Kane. Can we play later then? 

Kane: Yes my sweetness, they are trying to make us scared.

Azura looks them over, her face suddenly gets very serious: “They’re not scary. I can show them what scary is, if you want me to, my darling Kane.”

****

Johnson: Dunno what the fuck is with that broad of yours there kid, but she’s got a fuckin’ screw loose as well as a sandwich short of the picnic.

Kane: So in addition to being a henchman you’re also a psychiatrist huh?

Johnson: It's a side gig, what can I say? I’m multi-skilled. But if we could attend to business. Misters’ Moriarty are most displeased that you got this setup here and it seems you aren’t paying your uh… fees and costs. You also, so I hear, got a nice little drug racket going on in here which is reducing sales of our product. 

Kane: Drugs in my club? I’d never allow that! There’s obviously been some awful misunderstanding. 

Johnson: I see… so that white residue I see on the desk huh, that a misunderstanding too?

Kane: That? That’s just where I put sweetener in my coffee. 

****

Johnson: Right… “sweetener” of course. So if we can circle back to the business at hand, the fees that you owe to the Moriarty’s. There are of course arrears as well.

Azura: This is sooooo boring… I hate being bored. They talk too much. Let me play? I can pluck out their eyes and make you a pretty sculpture… I’ll make sure they leave smiling. 

Kane smiles sweetly at her: I’d love that doll, really, I would but for now we gotta play nice with the mean men, ok? 

Azura pouts: “Pooh… it’s no fun.” 

Johnson: Kid, there is something seriously wrong with her, but you want to keep her mouth shut. 

Kane: There is nothing wrong with her, she’s perfect in every way. And I will thank you to not insult my best pole dancer. Now, can I offer you gentlemen, a drink? A cigarette? Cigar? I bought some fat Sulanian cigars a day or two ago.

Johnson: No thanks, we will take an offer of 55 plus an extra 5 in late fees.

Kane: 60? Oh well that’s alright, we have 60 bucks in the petty cash right now.

Johnson: Don’t be a faggot. It's 60k. 

Azura: Why should we give them money? You worked hard for it, Kaneykins. I don’t see them dancing, though… Maybe that would be fun. Do you dance?

[bluebirdsongs16]

Given we know Aziraphale was acquainted with the members of 19th century London's queer society (via the "discreet gentlemen's club in Portland Place"), my headcanon is he has a section in the bookshop dedicated to LGBTQ+ works from that time (and onward, given the 20th century was even more oppressive than the 19th).

Certainly he would have a prized and unmatched collection of first editions by the well-known authors at the time (Shakespeare, Hans Christian Anderson, Byron, Tchaikovsky, Balzac, Proust, Gide, Wilde, Dickinson, Whitman, etc., etc.), but beyond the famous works, there were so many private letters, diaries, works of poetry, novels, smut books, etc. existed at that time but weren't spoken of. Many were shamefully hidden away, only distributed clandestinely within trusted circles, or destroyed completely. Others were publicly denied and denounced (sometimes by the authors themselves who would rather sue for libel than be outed), or used as "evidence" at indecency trials, or locked away time capsule-style, only to be published posthumously...

I could see Aziraphale having a soft spot for these people living double lives and and their deep wells of feelings they kept locked away inside—their loves that from an angel's perspective carried no difference from any other kind of human love—but at the time only dared speak its name through references to Ganymede and Achilles and Sappho.

I could see him fastidiously collecting and preserving the diaries and letters written by ordinary people just trying to live their lives and express their truths via the means available to them. However he could come by those precious primary sources, whether passed into his hands in confidence or rescued from estate sales, Aziraphale would show them the love, attention, and respect that human society wasn't able to at the time they were written.

[This headcanon brought to you by the book I'm currently reading, which is Strangers: Homosexual Love in the Nineteenth Century by historian Graham Robb.]

[blooming-violets]

This is the first time in my YEARS of being on this hellsite that i have ever requested a oneshot/fic/something from a writer. Idek if you’re taking requests, but I wanted to ask at least, is there anyway we could get more of mob!Peter and dancer!Reader?

That tiny snippet you gave is giving me life, and I need more (obviously only if you want to write more or see a story for them – just know that you have an audience here for that!) 

🥰

I'm not actively writing right now BUT I do have some added headcanons. I also encourage anyone who reads this to write their own spin on it or add onto it if they want!

I'm thinking a Moulin Rouge style of story. A well loved burlesque dancer and courtesan of the wealthy club owner who mob!boss Peter takes a liking to.

He starts attending her performances every night. Whenever she's on stage, no matter what else is going on, she's all he can see. His entire world fades away until it's just him and her. He starts believing that she's singing and dancing only for him. When she's on stage, it makes him feel like they are the only two in the room. Think of that scene from Tick Tick Boom when he's watching Susan perform and the camera slowly pans in on him and blackens out everyone around him and he's so focused on Susan and then starts clapping before anyone else can even react. That's Peter every night watching our dancer lady.

He starts sending beautiful bouquets of flowers backstage every night and leaving anonymous love notes attached to them. He only signs it with -P because he's trying to keep a low profile. If his enemies knew he was attending the same place every night like clockwork then he would become an easy target.

Peter starts sending out his men to take intel on this woman. That's when he finds out she's living with the club owner. He's using her for sex and, sometimes, prostitution in return for living a wealthy lifestyle and a spot as the main performer in his show. She can get an ounce of fame and money as long as he get to parade her around however he wishes. This, of course, does not sit with right Peter. He can pretend it's because of his morals on how to treat woman but, really, it's because he feels a connection to her so he has a possessive nature towards her. The idea of her sleeping with other men who are not him just doesn't fly.

So he starts his infiltration plan. Being a wealthy mob boss, it's not an unusual thing to try and make deals with the surrounding, shady business men. That includes our creepy, little club owner. Peter decides to offer a proposal. He would start funding the performances for a chance to spend "quality" time with the star dancer. The club owner takes this as Peter wanting in on the sex work side business he has going on. He doesn't really like the idea of losing his favorite lady to another wealthy man but money talks.

Basically Peter ends up buying this woman off his hands. Now we're into human trafficking apparently?? Idk where this plot is going but I started on a train with an unknown destination and I'm just riding it until I see where we end up.

Once he has dancer in his possession, I would cut to some scenes of them getting to know each other and Peter wooing her and being a gentlemen and treating her with such respect and much love. And she's like wow he's handsome and rich AND doesn't expect me to fuck him in exchange for getting to dance. SHE JUST WANTS TO DANCE, BABY! SHE JUST WANTS TO BE A STAR. And Peter just wants to look at her with hearts in his eyes for the rest of time.

Peter decided he's going to keep her forever and ever. BUT conflict arises when club owner wants her back. His sales are starting to plummet when he realizes that she was the real star of the show. Without her, his show is not bringing in the same audience it used to. He wants her back. Peter refuses.

Not good.

Club owner kidnaps dancer one fateful night. He knows Peter won't give her up willingly and if he can't have her then no one will. A terrible hostage situation occurs in the empty dark theater. He's standing up on stage with a gun to our lady's side while Peter attempts to talk him down from the aisle. He moves slowly closer and closer, his hands held up, speaking slowly and deliberately. One wrong move and that asshole could take away his lover forever.

But, then, surprise! A sniper bullet from the balcony section from one of Peter's gang hits club owner perfectly between the eyes. He collapses to the ground. Blood sprays over our dancer's face. She lets out a scream and falls to her knees.

For a moment, we think everything is over. We think the bad guy is finished and Peter gets his woman.

BUT YOU'RE WRONG

Because as Peter approaches her, he quickly realizes that it's not all the club owner's blood on her. Her own blood is seeping through her dress and soaking over her stomach. When he was shot, he pulled the trigger and the bullet went into her side.

Peter runs to the stage and collects her into his arms. She looks up at him, tears in her eyes, and places a bloody hand on his cheek with a soft smile as her eyes close.

.......You decide the ending! Does she die? Is Peter able to get her to the hospital in time? Does she recover or is her permanently damaged, never able to dance again? Or does she make that full recovery and Peter buys out the club and she's able to spend the rest of her life dancing every night like she always wanted? Or is this the last he will ever see of his beautiful dancer?

Idk! You pick!

Either way, at some point in the story, there's a pool scene where dancer pushes him into his heated rooftop pool overlooking the NYC skyline. And he laughs and reaches out his hand for her to help him out but the second he has a hold on her, he pulls her into the pool, beautiful gown and all, next to him. And they kiss for the first time under the night sky with the soft, dancing glow of the pool lights illuminating them.

[blvdknvght]

secret love- | part 1| ff| gojo x f! reader

gojo woke up to another boring day. he was curse hunting on the side to gain some revenge. all he could hear in his head was that it was his fault. how could he let a dangerous insane curse get away with taking his love?

he decided to go yet to another bar. it was a chill one. but it was also a gentlemen's club. he did not realize what it was. he went to see a play there. it caught him by surprise because it was way too realistic. it was called "the missing case of emiko suzuki".

he did not particularly enjoy musicals. he thought it was sick that they would expose someone's life like this, in the form of public entertainment. gojo was sitting there close to the center of the seating area.

there were areas with erotic dancers. (you were one of them. being the most successful one)

[emiko suzuki's play]

it starts with emiko in an interview for a cafe job.

interviewer- "so why do you want this job?"

emiko-"because I need it?"

interviewer- "what do you need it for?"

emiko- "you know, to pay bills and such, basic human living?"

interviewer- "is that all?"

emiko- "well I have goals. like everyone else"

interviewer- "do you mind telling me those goals?"

emiko- "why should I? you're just another person, a stranger"

interviewer- "come on, lady if you want this job then I will be much more than a stranger"

he said with a smirk at her while looking at her up and down

emiko- "how much does this pay?"

interviewer- "$14 an hour it'll raise up to $17"

emiko- "what? what are you guys doing here everyday. seems like a load of work"

interviewer-" well i'm afraid this a large chain of stores. we have them in the u.s too. so there is a high demand in-"

he was caught off by a mysterious and cute retail sales associate (who was gojo) his name in the play was eisuke sakura

eisuke- "hey boss, I just finished stocking up on the kids toys. it's getting close to Halloween I was wondering if we were going to be work-"

then he noticed emiko- looking at him. they were amused at how good looking they were. the interviewer noticed and decided to jump right in

interviewer- "uhhh sakura, this is suzuki, emiko- suzuki. our new sales associate"

emiko-"what? I got the job?!"

interviewer-" you seem to be careful, analytical and aware of your surroundings. you'd be great stocking up most of the items. now that requires organization"

emiko-"thank you when can I start?"

interviewer-"monday."

eisuke- "uhh hi."

emiko-"hello... uhh, sakura is it?"

eisuke-"it's eisuke-, sakura"

emiko-" what a nice name. I hope to see you around"

eisuke and the interviewer couldn't help but watch her walk away. with eisuke- smiling and the interviewer noticed. something about that pretty woman was very intriguing to her.

interviewer- "never gonna happen"

eisuke-"what?"

interviewer-"you and emiko-. have you seen how hot she is?"

eisuke-"uhh coming from you. eww! aren't you like 35?"

the interviewer laughed and flipped him off

[sciencestyled]

Biomimicry: When Mother Nature Becomes Your Art Teacher and Design Guru

Ladies, gentlemen, and anyone stuck in the multiverse of confusion that is this lecture, buckle up! Today, we're diving headfirst into the wild, wacky, and wonderfully weird world of biomimicry in art and design. Imagine if Picasso and Darwin had a love child, and that kid grew up watching The Simpsons while chugging energy drinks. That's where we're headed, folks! So grab your sketchpads, slap on your thinking caps, and let’s get weird.

First off, what in the name of Rick and Morty is biomimicry? Picture this: you're an artist or a designer (or just someone who doodles on the back of their math homework) and you're like, "Man, I wish I had some fresh ideas!" Enter Mother Nature, the OG influencer, dropping wisdom bombs like a Kardashian drops new product lines. Biomimicry is all about stealing—er, I mean, drawing inspiration from nature's most brilliant designs. Think honeycombs, spider webs, and other stuff you see when you're out pretending to exercise but really just taking selfies.

Take honeycombs, for instance. Bees, those tiny buzzing laborers of the sky, have been building these hexagonal havens for eons. It's like they cracked the code of efficiency while we were still figuring out how to not burn toast. These structures are stronger than a superhero's abs and more efficient than my grandma at a Black Friday sale. Artists and designers look at this and think, "Hey, what if I made something cool and sustainable like that?" And boom, biomimetic art is born!

Now, let's get into the nitty-gritty with a real-life example that’ll blow your socks off. Remember the Eden Project in the UK? No? Well, open another tab and Google it, I'll wait. It's like a giant bubble-wrap paradise but made by architects who clearly played too much Minecraft. The biomes are inspired by soap bubbles and use hexagonal structures just like our bee buddies. Not only does it look like something out of a sci-fi movie, but it's also super efficient in terms of energy use. Take that, flat Earth!

Speaking of efficiency, let's talk spider webs. Yes, those creepy-crawlies whose webs you walk into like an extra in a bad horror movie. Spider silk is stronger than steel and more flexible than a contortionist at Coachella. Designers have mimicked this in everything from bridge cables to body armor. Imagine wearing a jacket that can stop bullets and also catch flies. Okay, maybe not the flies part, but you get the idea. It’s like having Spider-Man's powers minus the radioactive spider bite and the tragic backstory.

Now, because we're all about learning science with art, let's dive into a bizarrely inventive project that you can totally steal—uh, I mean, be inspired by. Picture this: a building that breathes. No, I haven't been sniffing paint fumes; stay with me. Termites build mounds with a natural cooling system that would make any air conditioner cry with envy. By mimicking these mounds, architects have designed buildings that regulate temperature without using electricity. It’s like living inside a giant, eco-friendly lung. Spiderman meets HVAC engineer in the ultimate crossover episode.

But wait, there’s more! Let’s get real whacky with biomimetic fashion. You know how octopuses can change color and texture to blend into their surroundings? Imagine a dress that does the same thing. Heading to a job interview? Bam! It’s a power suit. Going clubbing? Boom! It’s a flashy neon outfit. Late for class? Zap! It’s pajamas. This isn’t just fashion; it’s fashion on steroids. Designers are already working on fabrics that can change properties on command, making the chameleon your new style icon.

And because I promised you an imaginative element, here’s one for the books: Biomimetic Art Project—The Self-Healing City. Imagine a city that repairs itself like Wolverine regenerates after a battle. Buildings inspired by the regenerative properties of starfish and certain plants that can grow back limbs. Picture this: you’re walking through downtown, and instead of finding a construction crew, you see buildings healing themselves after an earthquake. Skyscrapers made of materials that knit themselves back together like your grandma’s best quilt. It’s like living in a superhero universe where the city is the hero. Marvel, eat your heart out.

Now, before you all accuse me of having gone completely bonkers (which, let’s be real, happened a long time ago), let me wrap this up with a fun fact. Did you know that Velcro was inspired by burrs that stick to your clothes? Yeah, some guy got annoyed at these pesky things clinging to his pants and thought, "What if this was useful?" Boom, Velcro. Next time you’re ripping open a Velcro strap, remember you’re interacting with one of the greatest biomimetic inventions ever. And you thought nature was just pretty scenery!

In conclusion, biomimicry is like the ultimate cheat code for artists and designers. It’s taking notes from the ultimate playbook written by nature itself. Whether it’s the hexagonal genius of honeycombs, the super-strength of spider silk, or the adaptive brilliance of octopus skin, there’s a treasure trove of inspiration waiting to be tapped. So, go forth, my curious creators, and let nature’s weirdest, wildest designs fuel your next masterpiece. Just remember to give Mother Nature a shoutout in your acceptance speech.

Alright, class dismissed! Go create something that’ll make even a bee buzz with envy. And if you ever feel stuck, just remember: nature’s got your back, like a squirrel on Red Bull.

[lemonsterwatchesfilms]

2022 Film List

JANUARY

Ulan

The Favourite

Cruella

No Way Home

Being the Ricardos

Cats

A Quiet Place

Encanto

Borat Subsequent Film

Eternals

Totally Spies the Movie

Mina Anud

The Intern

FEBRUARY

Sound of Metal

Fight Club

Tinder Swindler

Bikram

Soul

Mean Girls

Harriet

Patintero

Hustlers

He’s Just Not Into You

MARCH

Rough Night

Wanted

The Lovebirds

The Mummy

My Name is Lady Gaga

Respect

Desi and Lucy

Rediscovering Gene Kelly

Rediscovering John Wayne

The Lighthouse

APRIL

Vacation

Meet the Spartans

Lady Gaga Celebrates Love for Sale

Hall Pass

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days

Zarude movie

Sonic

Indak

May

Bride Wars

Clueless

Book Club

Those Long Haired Nights

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

Salawahan

Ina, Kapatid, Anak

Pakiusap

Ganito Kami Noon

Oro Plata Mata

Kakabakaba Ka Ba?

June

Just My Luck

Leap Year

Bituing Walang Ningning

Pasan ko ang Daigdig

Babangon Ako’t Dudurugin Kita

Addams Family

Annie

Wild Child

Funny girl

July

Florante at Laura

Hello My Name is Doris

Mean Girls

Bakit Lahat Ng Gwapo May Boyfriend

How to Move on from Heartbreak

That Thing Called Tadhana

Girl in the Picture

My Amanda

Jackass 4.5

Metal Lords

Stranded

August

Big Night

Never Rarely Sometimes Always

Banaue

Minsa’y Isang Gamu gamo

Karma

Moral

Noli Me Tangere

Inside the Mind of the Cat

Bambanti

Love you to the stars and back

September

One More Chance

My Fake Boyfriend

Camp Sawi

Thelma & Louise

Together Together

House of Gucci

Resort to Love

October

Little Women (2019)

Lady Bird

FLAMES

November

Ngayon Kaya

Finding the Killer Nurse

My Policeman

December

A Christmas Carol

Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse

[fdlvh]

Sommerfell is a romance book reporting the events and falling in love in the lives of two Victorian gentlemen.

The Duke of Sommerfell is a young man who loves the classics and traditions. Persuaded by his younger brother Claude to attend a charity event run by a close friend of his who owns a gentleman's club in London, the duke will find the latter's company particularly enjoyable, a man whose name appears to be on everyone's lips, Albion the Earl of Hillsbury.

Virgil Beckwith is the main character and has held the title of Duke of Sommerfell for three years at the beginning of the plot. His family runs several businesses in addition to the estate: the silk trade, the sale of horses, and finally deals in loans. Virgil is an extremely shy and reserved man burdened with duties, expectations, strong beliefs and unnatural desires for the same sex. Virgil is also the eldest of four having in order after himself his brother Claude an expansive and thoughtless young man, his taciturn sister Maida and little Bramwell, a warmongering troublemaker.

Albion Trembath is the Earl of Hillsbury, foul-mouthed, scandalous, and almost twenty years older than Virgil. He is a bachelor with money problems, a charming and cultured man with a love of books and writing them especially when erotic in theme. Stuck running the family mines he desperately seeks an escape from what society imposes on him. Albion has a younger half-brother Burkhard with whom he has been waging a war over their father's legacy for years.

Eastyn Bradshaw is a close friend and missed brother by marriage to Hillsbury, sociable and extremely outgoing Eastyn is often described as having an all too good nature and idealistic if not childish views. Eastyn is the latest in a series of female daughters, the only male for decades on either side of his family.

Middleton Phyllis Thornbell is the earl's second best friend, earnest and inscrutable Phyllis is half-Chinese and the Viscount of Hardwicke. Pragmatic and always in a bad mood, he is a lover of music and theater. Phyllis is a second male child having before him a brother Benjamin and after him two younger twin sisters Adeline and Sophia.

Eugene Mosby is a doctor and third and final best friend of Hillsbury. Stern, unpleasant and crass he doesn't like human contact or people outside Hillsbury's club members.

Clarity Jane Ashdown is the daughter of the Marquis of Ashdown and niece of the Margrave of Kroemer and is betrothed to Virgil. Clare tends to talk too fast and without paying attention to decorum; some would call her inappropriate, others genuine.

Bennet Wyckwood is an old friend of the Earl of Hillsbury however something seems to have severed their friendly relationship.

The book is intended for a mature audience as it talks about gender identity, sexuality and religious faith heavily while also conteining deeply sexual themes.

[erodasfishtacos]

Curious Gazes

prompt: [CEO!Harry] four times harry has been spotted by employees being very unlike his demeanor at work.

word count: 4.3 k

warnings: harry is an asshole to everyone but is wife and baby.

**** <-- click for visuals throughout the story. ( because i love showing off how dumb rich harry is - i mean he’s a billionaire ffs)

notes: thanks so much for the love on the first part. I will be writing quite a bit for this trope. the next addition will be all smut. love you, enjoy.

PART ONE

----

RESERVATION RUN-IN

Harry has over a hundred-thousand full-time employees. He has nearly ten-thousand at his London office at all times. The skyscraper was beautiful with clear glass, a reflective grey tone, and the structure screamed modern. It has eighty-three floors.

So with that being said, Harry does not know even one third of the people who work in the building nor does he want to. He couldn’t pick them out of a line-up if he tried. 

However, having so many employees in the city means his staff members are bound to catch sight of their boss pretty often outside of the office.

Sarah, Lucielle, Jack, and Anya - all from the customer service department of Styles Media and Marketing Inc. - are all out to dinner. They decided to go all out and dish out a hefty amount to eat at Il Nascondiglio Segreto. It was a reservation they had made nearly a month ago.

As they’re enjoying their appetizer, Lucielle nearly chokes on her oyster, “Holy shit. It’s Harry,” She whispers, nodding her head in the direction she was staring with bulging eyes.

They all can’t help but turn subtly, a perfect vantage point from where they’re sat right across the way from the group of employees. Their boss was dressed in a bit more casual - not by much - attire than he’d worn to the office earlier that Friday afternoon.

He had an open blazer with a white, nearly see-through button up. Their eyes nearly jumping out of their skulls when they spot his butterfly tattoo sitting on right below his sternum. Jack’s hawk eyes catch that he has a name in cursive on his left pec. 

Plus his normal tailored suit trousers were replaced with tight skinny jeans that hugged his crotched - making it unmistakable that he was well….endowed. Hair was no longer as styled and curled. Laying more carelessly on his shoulders. ****

But what was the most absurd thing they saw him wearing was a smile. His lips were curled up in a large, white grin that was big enough to cause little wrinkles around his eyes. 

His hand intertwined with his wife’s until they arrived at their table, pulling out her chair for her, landing a soft kiss on her cheek before sitting down in his across from her.

He automatically puts an open palm halfway across the table and his date places her’s right on top of it. Her large engagement ring and wedding band sparkling in the low lighting in the restaurant. They were holding hands over the table.

The group had never actually seen the women they deemed Cruella Deville. They had envisioned his wife with bleach blonde hair, fake tits, and fish lips complimented with botox that made it so her forehead didn’t move.

But they were met with a beautiful, natural one instead. She had gorgeous curled locks trailing down her back, light neutral makeup with normal sized lips, small creases where they should be. 

Her body was natural as well, breasts pushed up in a bra but obviously not manufactured by the way they sat, a bit of a pouch around her midsection - a telltale sign from her recent pregnancy, and a radiant smile to match her husband’s. 

They looked so happy and in love.

She was dressed short, polka-dotted black dress with a pair of simple black shoes. She complimented with with a bright red lip which stood out against the dark fabric. ***

It’s not that they didn’t look like a match - she was absolutely stunning. It just wasn’t who they imagined for the boss they despised ninety percent of the time.

The group can’t keep their eyes off the couple - subtly, of course - for their whole time at the restaurant.

Harry was laughing loudly - different sound than when he laughed without a humor at bumbling, nervous employees.

It was light and higher pitched - but still gravely low; smooth like honey as his wife matches his laughs.

At one point, after their meal arrives - Harry offers her a spoonful of his food, playfully complaining that she took too big of a bite - but then immediately offering her more right after.

When she excused herself to the bathroom, Lucille catches Harry’s sneaky hand reaching out to give her backside a quick grope which earns him a warning glance that has him snickering.

Anya who was in the restroom nearly runs into her, Y/N apologizes instantly, “I’m sorry! Wasn’t watching where I was going! Are you alright?”

Anya nods, a bit at a loss of words, talking to Harry Styles' wife, “I’m okay, thank you.”

“I swear I have two left feet,” Y/N jokes, complimenting her dress before disappearing into a stalls. A completely lovely girl.

It’s pathetic but the group lingers around to watch their boss’s full dinner date. It was creepy but they were just so stunned at the man that was sitting by them.

The couples behavior had turned more flirty by this point, Y/N’s eyelashes fluttering at little bit more at her husband, her giggles flowing more often with licks to her lips. 

By the clenched fist on the table, Harry seems to be falling prey to the teasing. 

But when his wife whispers something - that must have been filthy - and leans forward so her cleavage is displayed more, Harry’s pulling out his wallet, pulling an absurd amount of bills out and throwing them carelessly on the table.

Y/N’s eyes are twinkling in victory as her husband stands and helps her out of her chair - ever the gentlemen.

It doesn’t seem very gentlemen like though when his hand comes to the very lowest point on the small of her back -  pushing her into him. He leans down to murmur something into her ear before landing a damp, way too intimate for public kiss to her jaw and then throat.

In turn, she looks up at him with a mischievous tilt of her lip and a challenging raised brow. You could cut their sexual tension with a knife.

Y/N lifts up on her toes to kiss him before grabbing his hand and guiding him out of the establishment quickly - his eyes glued to her bum the whole time.

Jack breaks the bated silence, with a bewildered chortle, “What the fuck was that?”

Sarah sips her wine, “Maybe he has a twin? Like a good twin? And he’s the evil one.”

They all laugh and finish up their desserts. 

---

MOTHER’S DAY SHOPPING

Kasey and Tom - from Human Resources - are out for the day. It was a week before Mother’s Day and they were both scrambling for a gift at the shops.

Harrod’s was nearly empty as they had came in a few minutes after the store opened. Kasey had gotten distracted from her mission and was trying on shoes. 

There was a 40% off sale and she wasn’t passing that up.

Tom had wondered off to the electronics department very soon after the first five shoeboxes arrived next to her chair.

“Pink!” Kasey hears a high-pitched baby voice squeal with utter delight. She looks up to see a curly haired toddler pointing at a pair of pink baby shoes.

The little girl had the cutest denim dress on with white stripes ***, white tights on, and white Mary Janes. When Kasey looked closer she realized the Gucci emblem was on the dress - holy shit, she didn’t even know Gucci made baby clothes.

“Daddy, please?” The toddler asks in a sweet, small voice looking to the approaching man who scoops her up in the crook of his elbow.

“Ivy, y’can’t run away from daddy. Do you understand me?” 

Kasey’s eyes widen as she recognizes that deep, raspy voice. It was her boss, Harry Styles, and with his little mini who looked like a cherub angel.

“No run, daddy,” Ivy grins up at him, looking for approval.

The slightly stern look dissipates from his face into a softer, relaxed smile at his daughter’s words. He kept her close against his chest.

“Daddy, please?” She piques up again, pointing at the small shoes on the wall.

“Y’want those shoes?” Harry asks, nodding towards the pink sneakers.

Ivy nods before pointing at the other shoes next to it, “All, please?”

Despite her father not having any manners in the slightest, his daughter seemed to have excellent etiquette.

Harry chuckles, smoothing a stray curl down from her forehead, “Y’want a pair of all these shoes?”

Ivy nods with wide doe eyes and one of her dimples popping in her left cheek. 

“Y’mother’s going to kill me,” Kasey hears Harry mutter before waving a sales associate over.

“Good to see you, Mr. Styles - I’m Tracey. What can I help you with?”

Of course they knew him by name. He was by the looks of it one of their most appreciated customers, figuring he rarely wears the same thing twice.

“Can I please get a pair of all these shoes in a toddler’s size three? And can you please ring them up for me? Thank you,” Harry asks, his voice taking on the executive and firm tone with the associate who nods and turns on her heel.

“Daddy? Kissy?” The girl asks her father, her little palm patting his cheek and she’s puckering her pink lips.

“Yes baby,” Harry obliges, giving her a peck before blowing a raspberry on her cheek. He tugs down her dress that’s ridden up in true parent fashion.

As they’re waiting, Harry continues to talk to his daughter, “Y’know pet, we came here to shop for mumma for mother’s day. Y’always manage to get something out of it, hmm?”

“Mummy?” Ivy squawks, repeating her father’s word. 

“Yes, mummy. I think she’s really going to like the necklace we picked out,” Harry taps at her nose, his eyes just read love and amazement for his little girl.

Kasey was dumbfounded. 

This man had literally stormed into their offices yesterday, frustration seeping into his loud tone as he asked the room of employees if it was a lady's brunch club or a place of employment when he hadn’t gotten a report on his desk at a certain time.

They’d all stuttered and apologized but Harry had already slammed the door of his way out - the doorframe shaking. A nasty email being sent to their inboxes mere minutes later.

“Mr. Styles? We are out of two of the pairs,” The saleswoman appears and tells him, tablet now in hand.

Harry’s voice is calm but he looks her dead in the eye, “Do you not know how to ship them to a house? I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

She begins to apologize, pulling up a page of her tablet, “Your total comes to £6,309.45 for the shoes.”

Kasey’s eyes nearly pop from her head at the total but Harry merely blinks and states, “Charge it to my Amex on file.”

“Would you like me to add on the items you picked up downstairs? That would bring your total to £ 213,088.79. The necklace *** will be shipped within the next two weeks and will need to be signed for at your doorstep by an authorized person of your choosing, they’ll need to provide identification to certify their identity.”

“I need the necklace by next Sunday- it’s my daughter’s Mother’s Day gift to her mum - hence the pink diamonds,” Harry states to the woman like she’s stupid.

Did that woman just say that amount? And did Harry not even bat an eyelash at it. 

Kasey’s brain couldn’t really comprehend it.

“Expedited shipping on this item would be…” Tracey looks down at her tablet and taps a few buttons, “It will be an extra £3,219 for expedited shipping as it’s coming from Swittzerland.” 

Harry is distracted for a moment as Ivy is wriggling until Harry puts her down. Kasey didn’t see that he had a plush doll tucked in between his jeans and belt on his back.

“Baby doll,” Ivy pokes at her father’s thigh, too short to reach her toy. 

Harry tugs it out and hands it to her, “Stay right here, Vee.”

Ivy unceremoniously plops on the ground next to her father’s leather boot while he confirms the purchases and signs off on them.

It was cute - the plush baby doll she was playing with was ratty, worn, and very visibly loved. It seems as if it’s been her favorite toy for a while.

After finishing up with Tracey, Kasey sees him slip her a few bills for her trouble and lugs Ivy back up onto his hip.

“Shake, daddy?” Ivy lisps hopefully, green eyes sparkling up at her father’s. 

Harry lets out a chuckle, “No, baby. It’s only ten in the morning, y’can’t have a milkshake. Let go home, maybe mumma will make us some blueberry pancakes if we give her lots of kisses?”

“Mummy,” Ivy agrees happily, her plush held tightly against her chest.

“She’s going to love your gift, darlin’, even though y’the best gift we’ve ever got,” Harry murmurs lovingly, pressed a warm kiss to his daughter’s cheek.

Tom has wandered back to the shoe department, eyes unfortunately meeting his boss’ right away - widen with surprise.

Harry’s eyes narrow when he finds Tom staring, “Can I help y’mate?”

“Uh-no! Sorry, just, erm, I work for you?” Tom stutters stupidly at his annoyed employer who currently has his toddler trying to pulls his sunglasses off the top of his head.

“Then I’d recommend, if you’d like it to stay that way, you mind your own damn business,” Harry bites out with a warning tone, unnecessarily rude.

Ivy doesn’t seem bothered, delighted when she tugs the shades off his head and attempts to put them on. She begins huffing as she struggles and Harry gently takes them and slides them on for her.

Tom nods, still baffled, and scurries over to Kasey. 

They both glance back when their boss isn’t looking. He hears him murmur softly, “Let’s go see mummy.”

“Pancakes?” Ivy chirps, looking at her dad for confirmation.

“Anythin’ for you, my little love,” Harry agrees, starting to walks to the elevator to the entrance of the store. 

Tom and Kasey look at each other with unexplainable expressions as they watch their asshole of a boss clearly wrapped around a toddler’s finger. 

—-

THE PARK

“Hi! Is anyone sitting here?” Savannah hears from beside her on the park bench. 

She looks up to see a beautiful, young woman looking to be around her age looking at her expectantly. She has a backpack on her shoulders and a curly-haired toddler on her hip.

“Nope! You’re good!” Savannah replies kindly, moving over to make room on the bench for her to sit.

“Awesome, thank you. I’m Y/N and this is Ivy. Say ‘hi’,” Y/N prompts her daughter with a nudge.

Ivy puts on a beaming smile, white little blocky teeth on display, “Hi.”

“I’m Savannah and the little brunette boy in the green shirt is mine - his name’s Flynn.”

“Tell her how old you are, baby,” Y/N smiles, always trying to get her daughter to socialize as much as possible.

“Two!” Ivy giggles before impatiently squirming, “Mummy, play.”

Y/N laughs, “Just as impatient as your father. Go on, stay where mumma can see you, please.”

Ivy nods before speeding off towards the little jungle-gym to automatically start playing with the little group of kids.

“I wish I had their energy,” Y/N sighs, tugging a water bottle out of her backpack. 

Savannah was obsessed with everything gucci - even though she couldn’t afford anything - so when she spots the flashy bag, she can’t help but ask, “Is that a custom Gucci monogram multipack?”***

Y/N takes a sip before answering, “Yeah, my husband gave it to me as a gift on ‘national stay at home mum day’ - which I don’t even think is a real thing. He just knows I’ll chew him out if he buys me things like this without reason.”

They both laugh, Savannah can’t help but glance over the woman a little bit closer. She had a ratty, vintage tee on, plain black leggings, and a pair of black Nikes on - nothing that screamed over the top.

But then she spots the engagement ring *** on her finger. Savannah thought it looked so extravagant it almost looked fake. But the way the faucets reflect so magnificently in the sunshine makes her sure it’s real.

“What was that?” Savannah snaps back, realizing she hadn’t heard what Y/N was saying - too busy deciding how much money she had which wasn’t right when the girl was being so friendly.

“Oh, just - do you know any mum groups around here? I was in a group but all they liked to do was gossip and bitch. And I think Ivy heard the word ‘cunt’ one too many times from them.”

Savannah barks out a laugh, Y/N turns out to be extremely funny and friendly. She has a bit of a foul mouth and a quick wit but is a good listener.

“And so I said to the dude -“ Y/N cuts off when her phone rings, digging it out and answering, “Hi H, yeah. The one with the big purple slide, okay.”

When she hangs up, she tells her new friend, “My husband is stopping by really quick. He has a business dinner later and won’t see Ivy before her bedtime. Or me before my bedtime,” Y/N laughs.

“That’s so nice of him!” Savannah says, knowing her husband enjoyed when everyone was asleep by the time he came home. Would never go out of his way like Y/N’s husband would.

Y/N says with a smile in her eyes, “Yeah, he’s really good to us.”

They continue to chat until they hear a loud engine revving into the car park, Y/N rolls her eyes and mutters, “Of course, he brings the loudest car today.”

A vintage car swings into a spot and Savannah nearly gasps at who exits the car and begins to stride towards them. No one other than her boss. 

The man who had her doing her job by the book and when one hair fell out of place he knew right away. 

The man who she avoided at all cost possibly - taking the stairs so she doesn’t have to be in the elevator with his intimidating presence.

It took her a minute to connect the dots. Y/N was married to Harry? Harry was Ivy’s dad? It through her through a loop - Y/N was just - so nice. 

But it does explain all the gucci and the massive diamond ring. She did happen to work for a fucking billionare. Y/N didn’t come off as a billionaire or a billionaire’s wife.

‘Holy shit, this is wild,’ Savannah thought.

Harry makes his way over to the bench, Y/N standing up to hug him. Harry kisses her softly with a large palm coming to slip under the back of her shirt to rub at her bare back.

Uh - this man was being loving and affectionate? Proving all Savannah's preconceived notions about him wrong. Mostly that he was a robot.

“Hi darlin’, have a good day?” Harry asks his wife, still holding onto her and tugging her into his side - looking to Ivy who was obliviously - playing on the swing.

“Mmm, don’t want you to go tonight,” Yn/Ngroans dramatically, squeaking when Harry playfully pinches her side.

“Tell me and I won’t go,” He murmurs with surprising sincerity against his wife’s cheek, smiling when Ivy lets out a loud, carefree giggle with her new friends.

“Oh! I’m being rude. This is Savannah, Savannah this is my husband Harry,” Y/N introduces the two, unknowing of their connection.

Savannah swallows harshly and gives him a timid wave, “Hello.”

Harry shows no recognition that he knows her but gives her a curt nod and rasps out a “hello.” 

Y/N rolls his eyes at her husband, patting his toned stomach, “He’s always a little crabby after work,” She jokes as he smirks at her - he’s rarely ever crabby with his wife and they both know it.

After work? How about from the time he stepped foot through the lobby doors everyday? He only had one mode at work - crabby.

“It’s ok-“

“Daddy!” A squeal interrupts them, a blur of brunette curls crashing into her father’s legs - full force with excitement.

Harry is bending down and tucking her into his arms for a hug, “Hi baby, y’bein’ so good for mumma?”

His tone had shifted into a low, relaxed drawl that Savannah had never heard. His words are kind and caring towards his daughter.

“Good for mumma,” Ivy parrots her father, dimples popping as she pushes at Harry’s face when he attacks her with kisses.

“You taste so good I could eat yah!” Harry growls playfully, Ivy giggling delightedly at her fathers antics until her cheeks are flushed pink with laughter.

“Swings, daddy,” Ivy motions with green doe eyes. Grass and mud stains the outfit her mother had dressed her in - cute striped overalls with a white tee underneath  *** and little sneakers ****.

“Oh dove, I wish I could. I have to go back to work,” Harry frowns, his thumb coming to caress her sweaty cheekbone.

Her brows furrowed and her full pink lips turned down - Savannah has to contain a laugh by how much she looks like her father with the displeased grimace on her face.

“No, no, Daddy,” Ivy argues adamantly, her eyes brimming with sad tears.

“Vee, c’mon, my love. I’ll be home later,” Harry soothes, starting to rock her from side to side to calm her.

But Ivy is in her terrible twos and doesn’t like the word ‘no.’

Y/N comes up to her husband’s side, tucking a hand into his back pocket to rest. 

“Ivy Elizabeth, we need to let your father go. Come to mummy now, please,” Her mother asks in a soft but firm tone.

“No!” Ivy absolutely shrieks with a awfully high pitch, “No mummy, daddy swings!”

The couple shares a look before Y/N is gathering her backpack on her shoulder, looking back to Savannah, “Hey! Text me, it’s about nap time for this one.”

Savannah agrees and gives them both a wave off as Harry totes his tantruming toddler to a sleek, teal SUV. It takes her a moment to scoff internally - off course it’s a Bentley ***.

And because Savannah can’t help but be nosey she googles the price of the car and quickly locks her screen when she sees the base price is £ 210,000.

Harry is planting little pecks on his daughter’s face and murmuring to her until her tears have dried up and she’s laughing at her dad once again.

After Harry straps her into the car seat and shuts the door, he gently pushes his wife back against it. His body is crowding hers, arm over her shoulder against the car.

The talk for a moment before Harry’s ducking down to pull a few kisses from her lips before she’s giggling and pushing him off.

Savannah couldn’t wait to tell the old women at in her customer relations department tomorrow.

— 

THE GAME

Cassie didn’t mind Harry actually. She made his coffee nearly every morning and she secretly knew he was the one who left those hefty tips.

She’d fumbled over his orders a few times when she’d started and apologized profusely but Harry had just looked up from his phone and said, “S’fine.”

Yeah, that’s not much but compared to some of the horror stories she hears, but she was grateful for another reason.

—-

One day he had found her crying in a empty corridor that he used to walk to his car at the end of his day.

“Y’alright?” Her boss asks gruffly, pausing to look down at her - no clear emotion on his face.

Cassie nods sheepishly, “M’sorry, I’m just really stressed out.”

Harry’s eyes flash a tad darker, “Is Carole giving you trouble?” 

Carole was her manager.

“N-no. I got declined for my school financial aid. If I don’t come up with the money I’ll have to drop out. I-I have a son and I do-don’t have the money to go without help.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, rustling into the inner pocket of his suit and fishing out something - a checkbook.

He clicks the pen and moves his hand quickly across the pad before ripping it out and handing it to her, “Good luck and use the extra on your family. Don’t go spreading it around that I did this.”

Cassie goes to thank him or refuse it but when she looks back up from the check he’s already striding away down the hallway away from her.

She lets out a loud sob as she sees a check written for £150,000 right in front of her.

—

Cassie still works at the Starbucks part-time while attending college with the help of her secretly kind boss.

The extra money she’s stowed away in an education fund for her son after he graduates. 

Anyways, she was at Man U football game that she got invited to with her boyfriend - Jacob. His dad won tickets for box seats from his work in a raffle.

Cassie soon realized that their box was right by the Styles Media and Marketing one. The way they were placed, she could see right into their area.

It was just Harry and a woman in there. 

They were obviously a couple and this was the Cruella Deville. Cassie didn’t refer to her as that as she had a bit of a different perspective of the man.

His wife was sipping on a water bottle and cheering loudly with the rest of the fans. Harry watched her with amusement at her excited behavior, at one point pulling his photo out and snapping a picture of her.

When the exciting bit is over, she seats herself on his lap and wriggles until her back is against his chest - comfortable and cozy.

His large palm comes to cup at her stomach, Cassie now seeing that she is clearly pregnant as he cradles the noticeable bump protectively.

For most of the game, his hand never leaves her belly - rubbing circles with his thumb. His head came to rest on her shoulder to watch the game.

They seem so happy together - giggling and talking animatedly throughout. His wife constantly tilting her head back with her lips puckered requesting kisses that Harry happily supplies each time.

At one point, Cassie witnesses Y/N eat two huge corndogs in a row while her husband watches her with humor in his eye. Then goes on to order her a massive spool of candy floss that he feeds her throughout the game.

It was a late game and it was now in overtime. The clock reads nearly eleven at night. Harry’s wife has dozed off against his shoulder and when he notices he gently rouses her.

As she blinks her eyes open, Harry shucks his jacket of his shoulder and helped her slip it on. They must decide to call it a night because he’s helping her up, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and guiding her out of the box.

Cassie never tells anyone that she saw him that night or what he did to help her family.

The End.

Hope you bubbbies enjoyed. Send me requests for this verse. Smut is up next for this trope.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

(This is an excerpt from my unfinished but fully outlined Reign of Vader fic, in which Darth Vader assassinates Palpatine and then finds out that unfortunately this means he actually has to rule. After Luke is captured by the Empire, Vader reveals both his heritage and a desire to fix things in the galaxy. Luke is wary, but it's not like he has anywhere to go)

Darth Vader was not a man of infinite patience, and the Ruling Council was growing ever nearer to discovering the limits of his tolerance. 

"Day-to-day procedures are a delicate matter, Majesty," Greejatus was saying, "It would be an unprecedented disaster to force change upon all offices all at once. May I recommend a gradual shift as your reign takes root?"

"Yes yes," Sate Pesage agreed. His eyes glittered out of his gaunt face with ambition. "This proposal to outlaw slavery, for instance-"

"-Is non-negotiable," Vader interrupted. "It was an idiot's decision to legalize it in the first place. My empire will have no need of slave labor."

"Of course!" Pesage bowed. He was beginning to sweat under that ridiculous hat of his. "We are eager to begin this journey into the future your reign promises, Majesty. But the galaxy is vast. Perhaps it is best to...phase the law in slowly? It takes time to bring new ordinances all the way to the Outer Rim."

Vader had heard quite enough for one day. 

"Enough. The decree goes into effect tonight." 

He stood, and all five members of the Council jumped a little. 

"You have until then to review the revised legal codes I have provided for you."

[[MORE]]

With a sardonic lilt to his voice, he added, "The rule of the Grand Vizier through the Moffs has ended, gentlemen. If you do not feel that you are adequately prepared for the task ahead, I will accept your resignation and begin the process of finding your successor."

He waved a hand. "In the next week, we begin hearings for the Alderaanian Massacre. You are dismissed."

There was a certain satisfaction in watching Palpatine's five advisers bowing and trembling on their way out. After decades of putting up with their snide comments and inane commands, it was nice to see the shoe on the other foot for a change.

Of course, they hadn't covered much. Just an overview of what the Imperial Ruling Council actually did. Once Vader mentioned that he intended to sell his secondary residence in the district and distribute the funds as reparations, the meeting had devolved into excuses and protests for the next two hours. Luckily, he was far too stubborn to pay any attention to their complaints.

While he had no strong feelings about most of his actions in the last nineteen years, neither hatred nor regret, he was willing to acknowledge that not all of his targets had been legitimate in a military sense. For Padme's sake, he would make amends if possible. 

Naturally, it was uncomfortable to try putting a price on life. But the sale of that ridiculous "castle" Palpatine insisted on him staying in would provide a good starting place.

It took about fifteen minutes of calculating, but ultimately Vader decided there was more than enough in Palpatine's personal accounts to cover about 17,000 wrongful death settlements, with additional funds in the cases of recurring medical bills. 

Arranging reparations for Alderaan would take more work. Vader quickly decided he was going to delegate that to the department of finances.

(They...did have a department of finances, didn't they? Surely Sidious hadn't done his own bookkeeping.)

With that settled, Vader's itinerary consisted primarily of a meeting with the Hands to make sure they knew their boundaries. After that, a remote consultation with a newly-renowned surgeon living in one of the lower districts. It would, unfortunately, take up the majority of the day. But for now, at least, he had two hours to himself.

The emperor closed his eyes and stretched out with his senses. It took several seconds before he was able to pinpoint his son's location. Luke's presence was dimmed, slightly. Muffled.

The reason for this became apparent the moment Vader found him.

Inside the library, on the lower level, Luke was sprawled across one of the ridiculous armchairs the nobles had favored. A book lay open on his chest, rising and falling gently. A small stack of texts encompassing everything from speeder repair to adventure novels sat on the floor, just next to where one of Luke's hands dangled off the edge of the arm rest. Clearly, he had been in the library for several hours before falling asleep. 

Sleep had softened the boy's features, painting him in a far more vulnerable light. The fear and caution of the previous night had been wiped away, leaving someone who seemed far too young, and far too small. How could he be twenty? How could Padme's baby already be twenty? 

It was tempting to leave him there. To let him sleep. But the chair was not the most supportive frame, nor was the library the most secure chamber of the palace. Reluctantly, Vader bent to touch Luke's cheek. 

"Luke," he said quietly, "This is hardly an appropriate place to sleep."

Luke's eyelids fluttered, but he did not fully awaken at once. Carefully, ever so carefully, Vader took hold of Luke's shoulders and guided him back into an upright position. 

"Your spine will thank me later," he said. 

Luke shifted, then opened his eyes with a groan. He didn’t seem to register Vader’s presence at first. One arm stretched up over his head, and the other came up to rub at his eyes.

“What time is it?” he yawned.

“Nearly noon,” answered Vader. The meeting with the Council had taken far longer than he would’ve liked. “Are you hungry?”

With a garbled sound, Luke waved a hand from side to side. “Don’t know yet?” he said in a still sleep-slurred voice.

After a few more seconds, he finally noticed just who had woken him. Instinctively, he straightened his spine, and looked a little bit nervous.

“Oh,” he said, very quietly. “H-hello, Father.”

“Hello, son.” Vader sounded amused. “Was your choice of reading that dull?”

After a moment, Luke nodded. He made a face. "I know there's supposed to be a famous musical made from this or something. But a whole chapter on how the sewer system of Ryloth's capital city works doesn't seem like good song material."

He jumped when Vader laughed. It was a warm, rich sound, utterly at odds with his austere appearance. 

"Poor boy!" He gently took the book from his son. "That was required reading for our literature studies when I was a boy. I loathed it. Very few of my peers sought it out voluntarily."

"I guess I can see why," Luke admitted. "But it seemed like it was going to be a good story."

"Then you are better served finding an abridged copy, I think," Vader chuckled. "Come. You should eat something."

Luke pushed himself up out of the chair. “Do I...need to put the books back?”

Vader leaned back on his heels. He looked at the books, then at the shelves. “I...will leave that to your best judgement. I do not know where you got them from.”

It was such a normal sounding conversation! Why?! 

Why did you have to be like...like this?! Luke fought a surprising burst of frustration. I have no idea how to talk to you! 

Serious and formal one moment, then laughing the next? Vader? Laughing?! It was as if the man he’d met on Cymoon and the man idly examining his stack of books were two completely different people.

Luke set the books on the console with the Holonet terminal eventually. Vader had suggested that he learn the cataloguing system of the room at a later time. At least that seemed to mean that he would be allowed to go back to the library again. Luke thought about his conversation with Artoo. Perhaps his father was trying to be kind to him. Whether that kindness would extend to anyone else was a different matter.

“I thought you were still meeting with dignitaries or something,” Luke said.

He trailed along behind Vader up an ornate staircase with his hands in his pockets. He was still uncomfortable walking too closely to the man. For all that he acknowledged that the new emperor was, indeed, his father, he was still a force to be reckoned with. 

Luke took a moment to internally groan at his unintended pun. Han would probably have elbowed him in the ribs for saying something like that. Chewie would think it was hilarious. 

Luke’s attempt to stay safely out of range failed quite suddenly. Vader deliberately slowed his steps so that Luke couldn’t hang back without being extremely obvious about it. He didn’t want to offend the emperor, so he tried to ignore his fight or flight instincts shaking his insides and kept pace with his father.

“I have several more meetings to endure today,” Vader said casually. “But the most onerous of those has been dealt with.”

This was not quite true. The Ruling Council was too full of Palpatine loyalists. Just intimidating them into compliance would only work for so long. They had connections, and they had money, and that could prove to be a headache if not dealt with sooner. Vader needed to replace at least three of them.

He had almost considered appointing Luke as Vizier in Amedda’s place, but had quickly thought better of it. Such a position would almost guarantee that Luke would never have time to fly again. Cutting a Skywalker off from the stars for good seemed too cruel. 

His son had not had the childhood he could have had if his mother had lived. If Palpatine had died much sooner. Let him enjoy his youth while he could.

But the problem of finding a Ruling Council that Vader could trust would still be waiting.

“The stupid hat club, right?” Luke asked.

He was unsettled by Vader’s proximity. Vader could sense that. He understood: the armor had been made to terrify. Perhaps one day he would have the option of seeing his son with his own eyes, but for now the boy would have to acclimate himself to the sight.

It was not often that Vader found himself cursing the cold, impersonal nature of his mask. He would have liked to smile at his son.

“Yes. The...stupid hat club.” He settled for letting his amusement be clearly heard in his voice. “That is not an inaccurate description. They run the day-to-day matters of ruling an Empire. But as they were all close to the former ruler, I find that I’d rather not trust them in matters of delegating governance.”

Luke grimaced. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea,” he agreed.

[usafphantom2]

The SR-71 Blackbird

In the 1960’s, the US Air Force (USAF) developed the SR-71 Blackbird, a plane that could travel more than 3 times as fast as the sound produced by its own engines.

Throughout its nearly 24-year career, the SR-71 spy plane remained the world’s fastest and highest-flying operational aircraft. Flying at Mach 3+ from 80,000 feet, it could survey 100,000 square miles of Earth’s surface per hour. And in the off chance an enemy tried to shoot it down with a missile, all the Blackbird had to do was speed up and outrun it.

SR-71 T-Shirts

CLICK HERE to see The Aviation Geek Club contributor Linda Sheffield’s T-shirt designs! Linda has a personal relationship with the SR-71 because her father Butch Sheffield flew the Blackbird from test flight in 1965 until 1973. Butch’s Granddaughter’s Lisa Burroughs and Susan Miller are graphic designers. They designed most of the merchandise that is for sale on Threadless. A percentage of the profits go to Flight Test Museum at Edwards Air Force Base. This nonprofit charity is personal to the Sheffield family because they are raising money to house SR-71, #955. This was the first Blackbird that Butch Sheffield flew on Oct. 4, 1965.

JP-7

The SR-71’s engineering was so cutting edge that even the tools to build the SR-71 needed to be designed from scratch.

In fact, given that the Blackbird became so hot because it cruised at a speed of Mach 3.2 conventional jet fuel could not be used in it. As told by former SR-71 pilot Richard H. Graham in his book SR-71 Revealed The Inside Story, Shell produced a special blend of fuel called JP-7, a one-of-a-kind fuel that used an additive to raise its flash point so the fuel would not break down at extreme temperatures.

SR-71 Blackbird needed TEB (Triethylborane) to light its engines and afterburners

Graham explains;

‘The high flashpoint brings up another problem. Most jet engines use igniter plugs, nothing more than a very hot spark plug, if you will. Using these igniter plugs they used with the JP-7 and just drowns it out, it won’t ignite. Kelly [Johnson] put his engineers to work, and he said, ‘OK, gentlemen, how are we going to start this?’ They came up with a very unique way. Triethylborane – TEB for short.

Impressive video shows SR-71 Blackbird J58 Engine tested at Max Afterburner Power

TEB (Triethylborane) was needed to light both the J58 and the engine’s afterburners. The J58 powered the SR-71 Blackbird.

‘Each engine has a one-and-a-quarter pint. If I had it in a squirt gun and I squirted it into the atmosphere, it would go Kaboom! – it explodes with contact with the atmosphere. And that’s how we started the engines. As the engines rotate, at the right time, it sprays this amount of TEB into the turbine section, which goes kaboom, which in turn lights the engine. When you take the throttles up into the afterburner, it puts this metered amount of TEB in that lights up the JP-7. You get 16 shots for each engine.’

TEB was the most dangerous material after fissionable nuclear material

Mounted on each engine was a sealed tank, inerted with nitrogen gas and filled by maintenance with 600cc of TEB prior to each flight.

Former SR-71 Blackbird pilot David Peters adds: ‘An interesting note to this is the transport of it. If we landed away, servicing had to be hauled to our location. The NTSB lists TEB as the following most dangerous material, one step below fissionable nuclear material. The folks that handled this stuff were highly trained and good.’

How to light SR-71 Blackbird afterburners without Triethylborane

At this point, one may ask if there was a way to light the Blackbird’s afterburners if TEB wasn’t available.

SR-71 print

This print is available in multiple sizes from AircraftProfilePrints.com – CLICK HERE TO GET YOURS. SR-71A Blackbird 61-7972 “Skunkworks

Even though according to Peters in the 24 years the SR 71 flew, it never ran out of TEB, but there was a plan just in case.

John Olp, an SR-71 Mechanic from 1975-1985 at Beale AFB, explains;

‘The J58 engine had a unique way of lighting the afterburners if TEB wasn’t available for whatever reason.

‘Inserted into three rings of the flame holders were six catalytic ignitors. If TEB wasn’t available, the engines could be manually over-trimmed to increase the exhaust temperature and superheat the ignitors. When the throttles were advanced into afterburner, the glowing catalytic ignitors would light off the fuel, albeit somewhat harshly!

‘The catalytic ignitors were in place as a backup if TEB wasn’t available. There was a manual up-trim switch in the cockpit to control engine EGT. It was a hard light off if used, but was an option!’

Olp concludes;

‘Overtemping the engine would only be momentary to allow the afterburner light, probably not enough to cause any damage to the engines. That’s why the manual up-trim switches were available.’

Be sure to check out Linda Sheffield Miller (Col Richard (Butch) Sheffield’s daughter, Col. Sheffield was an SR-71 Reconnaissance Systems Officer) Twitter Page Habubrats SR-71 and Facebook Page Born into the Wilde Blue Yonder for awesome Blackbird’s photos and stories.

Photo credit: TSgt. Jose Lopez / U.S. Air Force

@Habubrats71 via X

Linda Sheffield Miller

Grew up at Beale Air Force Base, California. I am a Habubrat. Graduated from North Dakota State University. Former Public School Substitute Teacher, (all subjects all grades). Member of the DAR (Daughters of the Revolutionary War). I am interested in History, especially the history of SR-71. Married, Mother of three wonderful daughters and four extremely handsome grandsons. I live near Washington, DC.

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t

[sombreboy]

Biorhythm (1)

⇢𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

⇢Explicit (18+)  ⇢Pairing: JJK & PJM ⇢Genre: Smut, BL, romance, angst, drama, android AU ⇢Word count: 2.9k ⇢Ch.warnings: profanity, prostitution/gentlemen’s club, alcohol, sexual tension

The young and wealthy Jeon Jungkook, creator and owner of the largest android company in the world, ironically doesn’t care much for the machines. They were made to be loved, fucked, or used as tools to do your everyday chores. They replaced humans in every way possible. Everyone adores them, but JK grew apathetic. He’d never felt the touch of a real human, so he set himself out to find the one for him. Where? Well, at a gentlemen’s club, of course. And who does he find? No other than the feisty, very human prostitute that worked his ass off (literally) to scrape by in an unfair, robot-dominant society.

Jungkook falls in love at first sight, and decides that he’s the one.

A narrow arid walkway stretches between the club’s dressing room and the space where the whores are shown off. It’s dim and unwelcoming, rarely occupied for long—just a space to get from one place to the other. The acoustics, however, are crystal clear. Long vacant walls and a tall ceiling act as an echo chamber for the greeter’s voices to bounce freely.

“…and who would you like to see up close?” A gruff club employee lilts from the presenting room. Their tone seems genuine to the untrained ear, but to the workers, it’s all an act. Kindness goes a long way during a sale. For used-up sex workers, the swift persuasive tongue of a greeter is practically a necessity.

“This one—“ the employee says in a honeyed tone, “we call him deep throat.” He pauses for dramatic effect—you can practically hear the amusement build within his barreling chest as he chuckles out the rest of his statement, “…for obvious reasons, of course. He’s the best cock sucker we have on staff. Gives a little teeth upon request, and plenty of tongue. Plus, take a look at those lips. So thick and juicy, you won’t want to leave even after you’ve cum! Never once had a dissatisfied customer part from this one, I can guarantee you that.”

Jimin, a recent addition to the staff, rolls his eyes from within the empty hallway. He leans casually against the doorway, out of sight—a strict order from the club owner.

“Fucking bullshit,” he mutters as he adjusts his latex shorts. He crosses his arms to warm his slim torso, exposed and prickled with tiny goosebumps. The owner refuses to push heated air where it isn’t needed, which leaves the unused whores in the cold to further encourage them to do their best.

”It’s not personal, it’s business,” the owner often touts, always dressed in a large fur coat. Faux or not, it made him look like the world’s biggest douche. Sunglasses, too. Indoors, at night, you couldn’t miss the gleam of the club lights as they reflected off his tinted gaze.

“Deep throat,” the small underdressed male scoffs to himself. He adjusts his posture as he hears the sale come to a close. Being the least housebroken of the whores, he’s always saved for last and left either an unfortunately late businessman to fuck, or the creepiest and most scuzziest returning customer. Doesn’t matter to him, as long as he gets his money in the end.

“A fine choice, good sir. Remember to tip your server,” the employee chuckles out into the room as he leans over and peeks an eye into the hallway. “You’re next, street whore,” he whispers. His glassy eyes scan Jimin’s exposed chest and he licks his lips. “And put on a fucking smile this time, the last customer complained you weren’t enthusiastic enough.”

Jimin rolls his eyes once again and drops his arms to puff out his small chest. “Like this?” His pretty cherub face cracks an exaggerated grin—teeth shining like diamonds even in the dark space.

“Take it down a notch, kid. You don’t want to scare them off.”

The sex worker reduces his smile. “I know what I’m fucking doing. Just stay out of my way and let me do my job.”

Without another word from the man, Jimin steps into the room and sits prettily on one of the many velvet couches to wait for a cocktail waiter. Unserved tired businessmen and clients alike mill around the room, nodding their heads to the low bass. Some swerve on zombie legs as they gulp down one too many whisky and rums, and others lean against pillars or sprawl out on the other couches and wait to be approached.

But not Jimin. He’s not one to approach, rather, he waits to be pursued. He won’t even allow the greeters to talk him up or attempt to sway the clients in his direction. He knows his worth, even when he’s at the very bottom of the totem pole.

For years he’s worked on his own and had no problem finding men enthusiastic enough to pay up. As dangerous as it was, he’s learned to sell his body, his way. Not to mention, his natural seductive pout and shadow-dusted siren eyes never fail to work in his favor.

“Vodka cranberry,” he promptly instructs a passing waiter. “Make it a double, it’s Friday. Gotta live it up somehow.”

With a nod, the waiter scurries off to fill his request, knowing how feisty the man can get when he isn’t pleased. Jimin releases a heavy sigh, lifts his eyes to assess the crowd, and then turns a 180 when he sees that perhaps there are some potentially profitable sales to be made. He flicks on his charm in a snap and crosses his legs to show off their length. A coy smile, bared chest with perky pierced nipples, and relaxed shoulders—works every time.

And tonight, it did indeed work in his favor. As the bouncers moved aside, a man passed through the main doors to enter the dim venue. It didn’t take a long second for anybody that laid eyes on him to know he’s not your ordinary John passing by for a quick fuck after work– no, this is somebody that turned heads wherever he went. And this one, was a rather well known name. Known for his generosity and kindness, but also for other things… Rumors has it, though, that he had found love and stopped showing his face around these areas.

So, why has he returned, looking more alluring than ever?

“Is that Jeon?” A worker murmured to another as they stopped in their tracks. “I don’t fuckin’ know, is it? He’s not been here for ages… Didn’t think he’d ever be back since–” The workers were interrupted by their employer, scurrying them back to work, hissing something in the lines of ‘I don’t pay you to chitchat with each other.’

Indeed, it is the Jeon Jungkook that passed through the doors, across the floor as if he owned the place. Which, he easily looked like he might as well do. Every inch of his body is adorned with luxury. A blood-red pair of snugly fitted dress pants, hugging his waist together with the belt just right to show off the contrast from his slim stomach to his wide chest, exposed by the open dress shirt that’s loosely tucked into the waistline. To top it off, he seals the look with a just as red, robe-like dress jacket. Earrings dangle from his ears, rings clink together as his fingers move… There wasn’t a single piece of this man that wasn’t maxed out to show off his wealth, and intentions seemed more than clear with the way his eyes scanned the room like a hungry wolf.

“Jeon! It’s so good to see you here again, er…” The owner immediately made himself known to the man, offering a courteous hand to shake. “Umm, they’re not working tonight, but I can make a few calls–”

“Not necessary, I do not want an android.” Jungkook takes the owner’s hand in his, tilting his head as he smiles lightly. It could melt anybody’s heart if they weren’t prepared, and even the man in the faux fur felt his cheeks heat up when he feels the cool of the rings against his skin, knowing they probably are of more value than all of his whores combined.

“Of course, sir, but..”

“I just wanna look around. It’s been a while.” The rich man slowly lets go of the hold he’s got, instead moving his overgrown, raven curls behind his ear to display the very dangly earrings reflecting the club lights. He nods to the owner in a vague, polite bow before his eyes return to see what’s on the menu, so to speak.

His eyes land on a petite man relaxing in one of the many velvet couches provided. A human? He’s sat all by himself, nobody approaching him as for now. His long legs are on display, as is his completely nude chest, leaving little to the imagination. But what really reeled in Jungkook’s attention was his face; the pillowy lips coated with a thin layer of gloss, and fox-like sly eyes staring out into the crowd. Jungkook wishes their eyes would meet. But he’s too eager to wait to be noticed– and that’s a feeling he hasn’t felt before.

“Well, then, I’ll be enjoying my night.” Jungkook murmurs to the man before his legs move on their own towards the seated man. His steps are slow, steady and purposeful– like he’s zeroing in to corner his target up the wall, if he could. But his eyes are smiling. “Hello.” Jungkook stops when he’s merely inches away from touching Jimin’s crossed leg with his knee, settling his hands on his hips. He tilts his head like a curious puppy, unsubtly drinking in the pretty view beneath him. “Mind if I sit?”

Jimin gives a slow and discerning look from where their knees touch, noting the man’s flamboyantly bold clothing. His eyes move up the man’s body and lock in on his kind stare. Large, dark and round, sweet and seemingly innocent, Jimin thinks. Perfect.

“Mind?” The half-naked sex worker nods his tapered chin down towards the seat beside him, motioning for the lavishly-dressed gentleman to take his spot. “Not at all… But, don’t waste my time, babe. If you like what you see, you’ll have to pay up.”

His charm is firing on all cylinders, but there’s something about the club visitor that makes Jimin want to take a bite out of him. The man looks like he’s come on a mission, with a wallet to back it up. His natural looks are jaw-dropping–absolutely gorgeous. Gifted with sharp facial features and softened with a youthful glow. Surely the whore has dealt with far worse clientele, so he tries his best not to come off too harsh. The waiter circles around the couch as the potential client takes in the sight before him and passes off Jimin’s drink. Before he can leave, Jimin holds up a hand for pause.

“Anything to drink for you, Mr…”

“Jeon Jungkook.” The man’s soft smile widens at Jimin’s direct approach, comfortably plopping down in the seat right next to his, “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

“Comin’ right up.” The waiter bows at the rich man before turning on their feet to fetch the order quickly, leaving the men to their own for the moment. Jungkook is intrigued already, and seeing his new interest up close only amplified the attraction he initially felt from afar.

He crosses one leg over the other, turning his body in Jimin’s direction as he rests his elbow against the backrest of the couch, supporting his chin with the flat of his palm. Admiring the view, he doesn’t waste a second to let his eyes roam down the smaller man’s frame.

“You’re rather direct, aren’t you. Not into formalities such as conversation beforehand?” The rich man asks, grabbing the drink directly from the tray as it arrives in no time. The waiter knew not to make a man such as him wait for longer than necessary– the drunker he is, the better for their business..

Jungkook nods in thanks, dismissing the waiter with a light wave with his free hand as he positions himself comfortably again, looking at his drink with curious eyes. “What’s this drink called?” He offers his glass for a toast, “Is it your favorite?”

“Astute observation, Jeon.” Jimin skips the formalities and clinks his glass against his new guest’s. “Vodka cranberry. Low on calories. Gets you nice and fucked up, fast.” He raises his eyebrows at the man, takes a long sip to polish off the chilly glass, then settles it on the couch arm for the waiter to collect. “I’m not typically one for mindless chit chat beforehand, but you’ve caught me in a rather nice mood,” Jimin smirks, implying the formidable aura is him on a good day. With a slim manicured finger, he pokes Jungkook lightly on the bare patch of his chest and drags it up, searching his eyes for a reaction. When his touch is seemingly well received, he settles his warm palm on the heated skin and gently smoothes it side to side, pushing the billowing fabric away for his eyes to drink in. Toned, lean muscle lays beneath. Being a man with high sex drive and rarely sated lust, he begins to enjoy his shiny new toy… as long as the young man knows what he’s in for.

“My turn,” the little scantily clad whore says in a gentle voice, lowering it for the art of seduction. “What brings a boy like you to a place like this? Aren’t you a little young to be paying for a quick fuck?”

“Mm, guess you’re right.” Jungkook’s eyes lower to watch Jimin’s hand smooth over his chest, doing nothing to stop it. No, he’s enjoying it thoroughly, and there’s nothing he wants more right now than to feel every inch of his body beneath greedy lips and hands. “Who says I’m looking for a quick fuck, though?” The rich man’s dark gaze reflects the flashing lights of the venue when he looks up at Jimin. This guy sure is something... Jungkook has never encountered anyone with such a strong personality, yet alone dares to talk him down in this manner. It’s rather refreshing, and with his angelic features, it creates quite the contrast that puts Jungkook’s hormones in a twist.

“So..” He adds, finishing off his drink as well. He’s by no means a lightweight, but the man next to him was right; it did give effect faster than many other drinks he’s had, feeling his skin heat up just a bit. Jimin’s touch might be the culprit as well, though. “You never told me your name.”

“You’re right, I didn’t.” Jimin waves his hand in the air for another round of drinks, confirmed by a nod from a passing waiter. If he’s going to chat any longer, he’s going to need a couple more drinks in him to keep up the cordial behavior. He’ll never admit that he’s enjoying the handsome man’s presence. Even more, his ambitious nature and eagerness to get to know Jimin past being a paid fuck buddy is far past what he’s used to entertaining.

He uncrosses his legs and scoots closer to his guest, placing his other hand on the man’s thigh. “You can call me whatever you want. Baby, honey, love…” He breathes in Jungkook’s entrancing scent and continues his thought. “…or perhaps you’d prefer to call me your needy whore…your little slut. Just a nameless hole for you to fuck.”

Although all of those names are both intriguing, sweet, and definitely arousing to think of; the need to know the man’s actual name itched deep within. But Jungkook also understands that everything has a price; and that the man next to him wasn’t going to let him in immediately. It’s normal, he supposed. They did just meet after all. However, Jungkook is patient. And eventually, he’s positive that he’ll get what– or who, he wants.

“Is that what you are?” Jungkook inches his face closer, reaching his ring clad fingers to smooth over Jimin’s delicate hand on his thigh. “A nameless hole? I bet your name is much prettier.” Jungkook glances at Jimin through his dark fringe as it falls over his eyes, quickly brushing them back behind his pierced ear. “You really won’t tell me? I’m dying to know.”

“Dying to know?” Jimin’s lips curl to an amused smirk. “Well we can’t have that, now can we?” As if energized by the power he wields, Jimin dangles the precious information just out of reach. A name? He’s never met someone so adamant on knowing something so…useless. Very few clients have interest in anything other than whether their cock feels good as it slides in and out of his tight rim. And most of the time, not even that.

The warmth of Jungkook’s hand as it slides over Jimin’s is new too. If anything, it’s sudden. Clients tend to skip the hand-holding and go straight for gripping him by the dip of his waist as they fuck him raw, or even by the throat. Startling at first, yes, but over time he’s grown accustomed to the aggressive nature most men like to handle a pretty and sexually open twink. In fact, the only way he can cum now is if he’s being used like an object…not that he’s complaining. It’s perfect for business.

Jimin leans in close, lips glossing over the wealthy man’s ear. “For the right price, I’m yours to thrust into with reckless abandon, Jeon, and what you want right now is to know my name,” he tuts. Hot breath fans over the man’s sensitive skin. The sweet scent of the sex worker’s strawberry-flavored gum wafts between the tight space that separates their bodies. He lingers to feel a response from the man, moving his hand up his thigh until it traces the impressive outline of his cock through the blood-red pants. To seal Jungkook’s fate, the tempting whore draws a flattened tongue along the cuff of his ear and whispers his long-awaited answer, softly, for only him.

“Call me Jimin.”

© ꜱᴏᴍʙʀᴇʙᴏʏ 2021. Do not repost, edit or translate.