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slutforsilverfoxes · 9 months

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Oliver and His Company

[A/N: This can be read as a standalone, but if you want context on Aaron & reader’s relationship, find their story here and here! Enjoy 🖤]

4 times Aaron Hotchner refused to admit that he’s a cat person…

1) A Spicy Upgrade

“I swear, Em, it was like an out of body experience,” you tell your best friend through the phone tucked between your ear and shoulder as you balance grocery bags in one hand and fish your keys out of your pocket with the other.

“So everything was just backwards?” Emily laughs.

“Yes!” you cry, equal parts miffed by your dream and excited to have somehow slotted the key into the lock in the correct orientation without looking. “Pen was, like, fifty shades of beige, and everyone else was super bright and colorful! Hotch was wearing a suit worthy of Elle Woods herself,” you assert.

“I would pay a stupid amount of money to see that,” your best friend snickers. “Can we please get him a pink suit?”

“Not gonna lie, he looked pretty hot,” you muse quietly as you shuffle down the hall to the kitchen. “I’ll work on…that…”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer immediately, sorry to have worried her. “Just found my man in an interesting position. Call you later, love you, bye,” you rush out in a whisper, ending the call and snapping a photo for your personal album before the opportunity disappears. Clearing your throat, you place the last of the grocery bags on the counter with a solid thud. “Whatcha doin’ down there?”

Aaron’s answer is muffled given the fact his head is currently in the spice cabinet, the rest of his tall form tucked under him, ass comically up in the air for better leverage. You bend down with a groan and open the adjacent cabinet to pop your head in, meeting his sheepish smile and reddening cheeks. Pressing your lips to his, you murmur, “I didn’t quite get that.“

“I said-” He pauses to capture your lips in another sweet kiss, and the butterflies that have taken up residence in your belly since the first day you met Aaron Hotchner stir to life. “I read online that it’s easier for cats to open doors with handles than knobs, so I’m fixing all the doors before you move in.”

“You’re what?” You bump your head against the top of the cabinet in shock, letting out a harsh curse that you’re glad Jack isn’t around to hear.

“Oh, honey,” Aaron tuts softly, unfolding himself from his spot to help you out and delicately rubbing the tender area on the back of your head.

“You- by yourself- you’re swapping out every single handle in this house for Oliver?” You don’t mean to sound incredulous, but there’s no way this man is real. Then again, he bought this house six months into your relationship so that you could each have an office space and ample room for Jack and one or two additional little Hotchners to grow up- although he hadn’t divulged the latter part of that plan to you when he gifted you a key.

“I know it sounds ridiculous-”

“No,” you cut him off immediately, molding your palms against his cheeks to pull him in for a kiss, your lips quirking up in a victorious grin. “It sounds like something a loving cat dad would do.”

Aaron scoffs before muttering, “Just don’t want him getting stuck, that’s all.”

“Right,” you draw out the word, one eyebrow raised playfully. “Totally not cause you’re a cat person. And that’s why I spotted an empty box sporting a picture of a cat tree as tall as you in the garage?”

“I never said I dislike cats, I’m just a dog guy!” Aaron insists, his words falling on deaf ears as you playfully hum a tune from The Aristocats while arranging the groceries in the fridge and he returns to his project.

2) A Sleepy Surprise

Toeing your shoes off in the mud room, you call out, “Boys? I’m home!” The novelty of getting to say those words has yet to wear off even though the last of your moving boxes are piled up on the curb, waiting to be recycled.

There’s no answering pitter patter of feet in the hallway nor voices greeting your arrival, but the sneakers lined up next to yours- one large pair in understated colors, one much smaller pair with Darth Vader on one shoe and Luke Skywalker on the other- tell you your little family is definitely home. You place your car keys on their designated hook before making your way down the hall, pausing at the threshold of the living room with a smile on your face at the sight before you.

Aaron’s lying on his back, his tall form taking up the entire length of the couch, with Jack tucked into his side and an orange ball of fur curled up on his chest, rising and falling with each peaceful breath of his. You let out a content sigh, warmth blooming in your chest from the overwhelming sense of comfort and love these three have brought into your life. Holding your hair back so it doesn’t tickle your darling boy’s face, you press a delicate kiss to his cheek and his mouth turns upward for the briefest of moments. Then you nuzzle your nose against the soft fur between your cat’s ears, and he stirs with a half-hearted chirp before curling up even tighter on his literal man-made bed.

“You’re home,” Aaron murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you whisper with a guilty pout, carding your fingers through his hair. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to make dinner.”

He grabs your hand before you can get too far, and you turn back to find just who exactly Jack inherited the puppy dog eyes from. “We can order in tonight. Stay with me?”

You gesture to the full couch and ask, “Where?”

Aaron tips his chin down to see Oliver purring contentedly on his chest, and he taps his head until the cat sits up with bleary eyes. “You’re in your mom’s spot.”

You stifle a laugh as your cat pointedly yawns in your boyfriend’s face, then takes his time using Aaron’s solid body to stretch before flouncing away in search of a bed with less attitude. Aaron looks up at you with a self-satisfied grin and pats the newly vacated space. Shaking your head as you ease yourself down to lay across his body, you chide, “That was mean.”

“Never too young to learn about sharing,” he pontificates.

“Mm, yes, what a poignant lesson from father to son,” you respond, voice muffled against Aaron’s chest.

“Step-cat, at best. And don’t you even say it- I’m not a cat person.”

“Sure, babe.”

3) A New Purr-spective

“Jack-Jack,” you call out with a knock against the doorframe to get the little Hotchner’s attention. He looks up from his latest art project with a smile and says, “Yeah?”

“Daddy washed your uniform so you’re all set for tomorrow’s game. And I wanted to ask you about…this,” you offer hesitantly, flipping the shirt in your hands around so he can see Hotchner displayed at the top and the number matching his jersey. “Would it be okay if I wore this so we can match?”

“Does Daddy have one, too?” His excitement- and nonchalance about you sporting their last name- has relief flooding through you, and you mirror his eager smile.

“Of course! Except his is even cooler cause it says ‘Coach’ on the front,” you respond with a click of your teeth. “I made one for Uncle Dave, too!”

“Awesome. You’re the best!” Jack proclaims.

“No, you are.”

“Nu uh, you,” he insists.

“Nope! You!” You let the word be drawn out as you make your escape down the hall, peals of laughter from Jack’s room echoing behind you.

“I have received official approval to wear my shirt,” you announce as you cross into the master bedroom, only to find the space empty. You can hear Aaron’s voice in hushed tones from the walk-in closet, so you approach quietly thinking that he’s on the phone.

“…not exactly your textbook psychopath, right?” He pauses, then continues, “Right. So there must be a piece of the profile we’re missing, something that explains the evolution of the kills with the alarming disorganization of the crime scenes. Do you think we could be dealing with two unsubs?”

Aaron’s phone is on the bedside table, and he’s using both hands to wrestle one of his dress shirts onto a hanger. Then, you spot his silent partner- Oliver’s sitting in his bed, in the nook that Aaron built into the closet for him, languidly cleaning his paws as your boyfriend theorizes aloud.

“So,” you start, crossing your arms and leaning against the wide doorframe, “you still maintain that you’re not a cat person?”

You can see the back of Aaron’s neck turning red at having been caught, but he studiously carries on putting the clean laundry away. Without turning to face you, he asserts, “I’m just… using him as a soundboard. Animals are excellent judges of character.”

“Congratulations, Ollie,” you offer proudly to your son, “you’re the very first cat to join the Behavioral Analysis Mew-nit.”

“Now that’s bad, even for you,” Aaron chuckles, and you bark out a, “Hey!” with faux umbrage. “When are you going to admit you love this cat?”

“I do love this cat,” your boyfriend counters, finally turning to face you. He curls his arm around your waist to pull you against him and speaks between kisses dotted along your nose and cheeks, “I’m just not a cat person.”

Smoothing your hands across his chest with playfully narrowed eyes, you mutter, “The Hotchner doth protest too much, methinks.”

4) Paw-sitively Whipped

“Bedtime, my little bubbas,” you raise your voice to be heard over the churning of the dishwasher as it starts up, drying your hands on a towel while you walk into the living room. Jack is sprawled out on the floor, flicking a feather toy on a stick back and forth that has Ollie frantically giving chase. You’re honestly not sure which little guy is more entertained by the game. “But I’m helping Oliver get his exercise! Daddy says he’s looking chunky lately,” Jack negotiates.

You and your cat turn to Aaron in unison, the man in question suddenly engrossed in an article on his phone. “Daddy’s lawyer genes certainly passed on to you, huh, Jack?” The little Hotchner grins proudly up at you in response, but even that sweet face doesn’t break your resolve. “C’mon, my love, we left off at a really good cliffhanger last night, remember?”

“You’re right,” Jack gasps, suddenly inspired to get ready for bed. “I’ll be ready in two minutes!”

“Make it three- you need to brush your teeth for a full two, Jack,” Aaron calls as he zooms past you to his bathroom.

“Okay!”

“Alright, Weight Watchers,” you snort, tweaking Aaron’s nose while he looks up at you sheepishly, “who’s on reading duty tonight?”

“I’ve got it,” he declares, tugging on your hand to guide you into his open lap. You settle against him with a sigh, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and pressing lazy kisses to his skin. Aaron turns his head to capture your lips in a sweet kiss that quickly grows more heated, and you let out a whimper when he cups the back of your neck to hold you more firmly to him until Jack’s little voice rings out down the hall.

“I’m ready for bed!”

“And that’s your cue, Daddy,” you laugh, patting his chest fondly before detaching yourself from him.

“We’ll pick this up later,” he declares in a murmur, and you can’t resist a smack to his shapely ass before parting ways in the hall.

You run through your own nightly routine, then make your way back to Jack’s room to say goodnight. You find Aaron with his son settled on his lap as he reads, and Ollie is settled on his favorite boy’s lap, purring up a storm. Your boyfriend is absentmindedly scratching his chin, pausing only to turn to the next page in the book. Then Aaron shifts to hold the book with both hands, and Ollie bats at his arm until he relents and resumes petting him. He looks up to find you standing in the doorway, the ghost of a smirk twitching at your lips, and you mouth, You are so a cat person.

He smiles back and shakes his head in response, refusing to give in.

…and the 1 time he finally did.

When you open the front door, you’re surprised to find the house dark. Given your shared line of work and healthy dose of paranoia, you and Aaron always leave at least one light on when the house is empty. But then you hear Jack giggle, “She’s coming!” and Aaron quietly shushing him, and a smile graces your face at whatever adorable surprise awaits you.

You flip on the light to find the foyer decorated with balloons dancing across the ceiling and streamers hanging down, each one adorned with pictures of you and Aaron, you and Jack, and your little family together. Your eyes immediately well up with tears seeing all the memories you’ve created and thinking about all the love you’ve been blessed with thanks to this family.

You walk through, awestruck, touching the Polaroids and printed pictures as you pass them. By the time you reach the living room and your eyes settle on Aaron with Jack standing pressed against his leg, your little boy holding your cat in his arms, you’re damn near sobbing.

“This is why you sent me to get my nails done, huh?” you ask through a half sniffle, half laugh. “You boys certainly were busy.”

Aaron smiles at you and holds out his free hand, and you grab onto him like a lifeline, letting him pull you in before bending down to press a flurry of kisses along Jack’s squishy cheeks. Ollie lets out a squeak of protest in the same timbre as Jack’s ticklish giggle, and you relent your attack with a pleased grin.

“Jack has a very important question to ask you,” Aaron murmurs, then winks at his son.

Jack raises Ollie up as high as he can, not unlike the scene out of The Lion King, and a glint of light flashes at you from your cat’s collar.

“Aaron,” you breathe out, moments before Jack excitedly asks, “Will you marry us, Y/N?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” you answer softly, looking up at Aaron as if he hung all the stars in the sky to find your adoring gaze reflected in his eyes.

—————

Lying in bed that night tangled up between the sheets and Aaron’s legs, you absentmindedly trail your fingers across his chest and muse, “Mighty interesting that a vehemently self-proclaimed not cat person would use a cat to propose, isn’t it?”

“You’re still on this, hm?” he murmurs from above you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Merely making an observation,” you answer back lazily, then roll over until you body is nestled between his legs, your hands pressed against his chest so you can look at him directly. “I lied, I’m still on this,” you concede with a playful grin. “Look me in my eyes and tell me you’re not a cat person, Aaron Hotchner.”

He hums, then leans up to capture your lips in a series of soft, slow kisses that nearly make you forget your name, let alone the challenge you’ve posed. “Can’t do that, honey,” he finally admits between pecking your lips.

“Cause you are!”

He laughs, his fingers ghosting up and down your spine. Aaron notices you shiver under his touch and pulls the sheets up higher on your body while you settle against the warmth and security of his broad chest. “Honestly, I have been since day one.”

“Oh yeah?” You attempt to goad him, but your sass come out muffled thanks to your lips pressed to his skin.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly as if you haven’t been lovingly arguing about this for over a year now. “He was your cat, and I’m a you person.”

Pushing against him to stretch up and level him with a raised eyebrow, you clarify, “Wait. He was my cat?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Now Ollie’s ours.”

“Everybody thinks you’re such a hardass, but you’re really a big teddy bear, Aaron,” you tease before pressing your lips to his.

“I’m admittedly both,” he concedes with a chuckle, pausing to kiss you again before adding, “and a reformed cat person.”

—————

[A/N: I absolutely adored writing these two and I enjoyed getting to sprinkle in a healthy dose of cat puns 😂 Thank you all for reading!]

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

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sk4d3 · 5 days

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Gut feelings; office dealings

toji x f reader office alt universe

001

Sometimes when the sun blooms too bright outside, you always get a hunch that maybe you should sneak an umbrella inside your bag. Sometimes its use has been to make your bag heavier, but sometimes, in an ironic way of how nature manifests, it does rain. Directly today you got that weird sensation flowing inside of you, it was a little tickle on your skin that you had unconsciously translated to this particular scenario. So you got to the cabinet in the hallway and fetched your red polka-dot umbrella in case it was one of these odd, bizarre days.

“I hope it doesn't rain though” you mumbled to yourself, but in actuality, you hoped it did rain, just so you could feel that dopamine at the end of the day when your intuition worked in your favor. Also in a twisted way, you found joy in seeing people complain, huffing, and puffing at how that same morning it was shining brighter than any day before. A small smile blooms on your lips but you don't dare say a word.

As you sat on your chair, you immediately heard your coworkers cry out about the change of weather. Clem started panicking because she had put the clothes to dry out in the sun this morning, meanwhile, Spencer grumbled about his car getting dirty after he had just cleaned it last week. You shrugged listening to both of them complain, a small laugh forming in your mouth.

“Smiley aren't we today” a voice spoke behind you as a stack of papers was slammed on your desk. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up at the author, messy slicked black hair and a small scar on his lips, it was in all his distorted glory, Toji.

He was wearing his usual office suit with his black baggy pants and white shirt. You noticed that he didn't usually wear ties, but today he did and you had to draw back the urge to fix it as it was loose on his neck. A slight smirk played on his lips that looked very concerning combined with the spark of his eyes. He had something up his sleeve and you wouldn't like it, not one bit.

“I need you to finish them by today” he exclaimed, his low deep voice doing something inside of you, a feeling of burning and something more, something unnamed that you would never wish to know of.

You looked down on the documents and whatever you felt, turned upside down as you looked at the material. Your face altered in one of complete terror as you looked through them.

“What the fuck are these?” you cursed as you kept flipping and flipping the pages. They were projects each needing a very detailed digital work. Hell was easier than whatever Mr. Zenin was throwing at your right now.

“Your debt to be paid” he shrugged “If it makes you feel better I'm also going to be helping you with them” Toji grabbed less than half of the stack, smirked like the son of a bitch he is, and walked away from you, so you could to drown in ultimate misery.

On your rookie days, when you had been hired on a whim without a proper interview and a terribly made CV that was created 2 hours before signing up for the spot, you had been excited, so enthusiastic for finally getting a proper job at a proper company. The days of 3 part times a week and scumming for low-paying online jobs were finally over. You hadn't analyzed the situation that maybe you hadn't been scammed for a job but that you were needed for urgency.

Two hours in your own desk stacks were thrown and paper to be worked on with red stamps at the end of the papers signifying the deadline, which was terrifying.

Due in 3 days

Your first days had resulted in underpaid hours and after-work. A lot of after work.And a lot of coffee that you didn't only have to make for yourself but for others. So not only where you made to work on projects that didn't intentionally belong to you, but had to satisfy everyone's needs of being a hardworking, laborlover and kind woman. Or maybe they assigned you as their new slave. Either way the pay was better, or maybe you had to lie to yourself that selling old people beds and dishwashers, and taking care of someones else devil spawn child was not promising.

On your fourth day Mr. Zenin walked by and everyone scurried to their seats. He was the Department Head, someone ushered in your ear. Once every two weeks he did a progress check on everyone on how their work was doing, which apparently had everyone on their tiptoes, like cats on hot bricks.

Maybe it was the lack of coffee that morning or maybe the fact you had a horrible sleep last night. Or was it the constant exploiting of your abilities. Either way you were pissed, and had a serious bone to pick with whoever was trashing the work on you. There is so much one can do and you were past your limit.

You stood up straight and walked towards Mr. Zenin, every step was screaming a different type of insult. He was examining someone's data analysis blueprint for the next products in the market while you glared at him.

After a couple of seconds, his ear twitched, and suddenly he turned to face you. He had felt your hot breath behind him and your murderous look, but when he turned he definitely didn't expect you, he really didn't. So he raised an eyebrow, slammed all the papers he was holding on the table, and paid full attention to you. He was tall and had a messy look, his stare was cold and formidable. He had a horrible scar on his face and even a horrible ironed white button-up. His appearance alone made you re-evaluate if maybe complaining about the amount of work you were hit with was not that bad anyway.

But it was bad

“Welcome, rookie. I hope you enjoy your temporary stay here,” he said before you could respond, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn't see a hearing problem on your CV, so stop pretending you have one,” he replied coldly. “Get to work. You're so behind that I'm starting to question if adding you to the team was a good idea at all,” he added, rolling his eyes dismissively.

You felt a surge of anger. “Well, your company didn't exactly advertise its poor management and lack of work ethic,” you shot back, your voice tight with frustration.

His eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “You really don't want this job, do you? You seemed promising for all of five seconds,” he snapped, his irritation now evident.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. “If you end up firing me, at least compensate me for the overload of work. It's not even my area of expertise,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze head-on.

He narrowed his eyes at that remark and almost felt not only him taking a step back but everyone in the room holding their breaths. He then took long strides to your desk, also bumping into your shoulder in that high school nemesis disrespectful manner. You hadn’t noticed but you had gotten pretty red from embarrassment, that everyone could see. Mr.Zenin then looked at the papers and work flayed on your desk, and the even more that were inside your bag. Not to even that but he suddenly demanded for you to open up your computer so he could analyze the so-called “work you are so behind” .

“Ill ask that you leave work early today, and when i mean early please leave now for home” he suddenly spoke, his back facing you and you could openly admire his huge muscles. His body was a fine piece of work.

“You can't just dismiss me like that” you pushed him so you could stand in front of him and look him in the eyes, those empty dark ones.

“Well I can and I just did so please do as said” he turned his head mumbling. He was looking at a great distance and you had noticed that weirdly his hands had formed into fists. You took a step back afraid that maybe he is about to punch you so hard you might even find the clue to Cleopatra's grave.

Filled with enough humiliation and discomfort, you had then grabbed your bag and stormed out of the office, leaving behind a trail of suppressed anger and unspoken words. You didn't care that everyone was watching, their eyes wide with shock. The cool air outside felt like a balm on your heated skin but the sun was still shining, mocking you with its relentless brightness. You sighed and began your walk home, feeling the weight of your decision pressing down on you.

As you walked, you couldn't help but replay the confrontation in your head. Toji Zenin, , with his intimidating presence and cutting remarks, had completely thrown you.

It would be next Monday when you came to work to notice a completely new staff and a whole week to learn that they were fired, and another month to understand completely that you had been exploited of work by your old colleagues, and months later that Toji zenin had some that for you.

Maybe not for you exactly but he had felt bad, something that he doesn't do.

#jjk #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #fanfic #alternate universe #office

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kookiesandcreams · 1 year

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THE OFFICE ROMANCE // JJK

Pairing: oc × jjk

Wc: ig less than a thousand? But dunno

Warnings: teasing, femdom, heel pressing? Kinda exhibitionism? Tiddie sucking, handjob, humping.

A/n: it took me 3 months haha. It's half ass edited cause idk no motivation? I hope you guys like it! <3

MASTERLIST

The meeting was boring indeed. But do you know what wasn't boring? Teasing him. Under the table. His composer slipped slowly while you played your little games. It appeared funny to you - how easily you could turn him on. You took pride in it. It made you happy and gave you immense pleasure to know that The Jeon Jungkook, CEO of JJK softwares is at your disposal.

He was boss for the staff, no one knew how he worshipped the floor you walked on. You were extremely intimidated by his aura at first when you joined the company as his personal secretary. Following him around like a docile sheep until one midnight, you found him stroking his cock and whining loudly in his spacious cabinet. Later what shocked you was the continuous chant of your name followed by mommy.

His little secret wasn't a secret anymore. And you, out of all people, weren't the one to let it pass. No, you weren't going milk him for all his money or blackmail him. You were going to do exactly what he wanted you to do. You were going to tease him and dominate him. Use him and his cute little cock to pleasure yourself.

So now, to pass your time and have some fun, you were playing with Jungkook. Your heel clad foot hovering over his inner thigh while he attended an online meeting with some overseas gaming company. The string of notification on your phone diverts your attention.

Mr. Jeon: Y/n, please don't toy with poor guys' feelings 😔

You: what?

You tap on the send icon and press your heel near his crotch. His painful expressions are now visible on his sculpted face. You slyly smirk at him.

"Are you alright, Mr. Jeon?" You fake worry and move to his side, quickly pouring some water for him and bending down enough for your cleavage to peek. He is not dense. He knows for sure that you did it on purpose.

He just presses his lips and tries to brush it off. His boner was prominent in his perfectly stitched suit pants.

"I apologize, Mr. Henry," he bows to them.

You: what a cute little puppy🐶

He groans visibly after reading your suggestive text, his hand rubbing his cock over his clothes. The viens on his neck were protruding by how hard he was trying to conceal his moans.

A few minutes pass by here and there with you teasing him some more and him trying his hard to keep a straight face before he ends the virtual meeting. "Thank you, Mr. Henry," he bowed again to convey his gratitude.

You just sit there with a vicious smirk. He knows you have something in your mind. You get up and walk to him, confident yet graceful. Grabbing him by his collor, you kiss him passionately, all teeth and tongue. You pull him closer by his tie, slightly choking him. Your dominance was a major turn-on for him. He starts moaning. His huge, warm, and callous hands are all over your body, devouring every beautiful inch of you, fondling your boobs and squeezing your thighs.

Poor thing was making attempts to lick in your mouth, but you weren't going to give. Grasping his hair near the neck, you pull him back. "Now baby, who's in charge here?"

"You, mommy," he says rather meekly.

He could manhandle you, toss you around and make you bend the way he wants, but there's something about you that makes him wanna listen to you. Be a good boy for you.

Jungkook gets closer to your tummy and starts sniffing down. You are quick to stop him. Soon you are fumbling with his belt and zip, pulling out his thick cock and spitting a fat glob over it. Stroking him at a constant speed, he is a moaning mess, his ripped body heaving up and down with pleasure.

"Mommy, please?" He begs.

"Please, what babyboy? Tell me, what do you want?"

"Wanna suck on your tiddiee," his pouty lips almost melt your heart. Unbuttoning your office shirt, you pull your bra down and straddle him. Wasting no moment, he wraps his lips around your nipple and starts sucking on it.

You throw your head back in pleasure. He is messy, sucking ferociously, as if he expects something to come out of it. Maybe he expects that, who knows. Just when you pull him back by his hair, you hear a confident knock on the door.

"Oh fuck!" You both exhale, sweaty and horny.

#bts festa #bts x reader #fanfics #send me asks #minkook #bts reader insert #run bts #cute jungkook #bangtan #bts smut #jungkoook #bts smuts #sexy jungkook #jungkook smut #sub jungkook #sub bts #your boyfriend yn #fypシ

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lupoteodoro · 4 months

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another photo of Lewis Nixon during the war.

caption: Paratroopers from "E" Company of the 506th Parachute Infantry Regimen and their battalion's intelligence officer, CPT Lewis Nixon, discuss German positions in Eindhoven with resistance people and an officer of the Eindhoven Police Department.

#Lewis Nixon #real nix #band of brothers

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zushigirl · 10 months

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Fall (Aka The Repairman WIP)

Continuing @ninzied tag game! It took me a while to find this one in my WIPs…then I decided to finish the story 😆 Enjoy!

“It’s only eighty degrees!” Karen rolls her eyes playfully at Foggy.

“Only eighty degrees!?! Only eighty! Karen -” Foggy holds up a limp piece of paper from the copier. “It’s so hot in here the paper is molting!”

“Alright! Alright! I’ll call the air conditioning guy back.” She spins on her black heels as if she can’t escape the break room fast enough.

Foggy sighs, wiping the sheen of sweat off his brow. He wishes Matt hadn’t stayed on vacation in LA after that swanky legal conference was over. He needs those super senses right now.

Something is going on with Karen and he can’t figure out what it is…

…Or why the air conditioner is such a point of contention.

When the AC went out in mid-June, Karen jumped on the task of getting it repaired.

Combed through Yelp and Google reviews like she was their office manager again - not the firm’s PI. After she’d narrowed it down to her top choice, Karen did what any self-respecting millennial would do: She made an appointment with the AC company online.

Foggy was sure he’d return from LA to a cool and comfy office - not a humid, oppressive Amazon jungle.

It was…weird. Karen’s not the type of person to let things fall by the wayside.

(Though he was impressed with the indoor plants Karen bought to decorate Nelson, Murdock, & Page in his absence. There’s a tall fiddle leaf fig tree in the waiting area, some pathos hanging from the bookshelf, and the vase of white roses on Karen’s desk is a nice touch.)

“Thank you,” he calls out to her closing office door. Silence except the sound of Karen rummaging through her purse for her cell phone. Then…

“Hey…”

He can hear her talking to someone, but the tone sounds…odd. How he wishes Matt was here to eavesdrop.

Two days later, Foggy walks into the office at 7am and practically dies of shock. Karen is already there: She’s leaning against the break room counter watering the nearby spider plant. An iced coffee and a single white rose are shielded by her purse – as though she tucked them away in hopes he wouldn’t notice.

***

He pretends not to; he has more important things to discuss…like the state-of-the-art Dyson Pure Cool fan in the corner.

“Where did that…Why…Why are you here so early?”

“The air conditioning guy came by. He needs a part to fix our unit. Left us the fan in the meantime.”

“But it’s seven in the morning.”

“He had a full schedule.”

She says it so matter-of-factly that Foggy decides to drop his interrogation. He just nods and goes over to the filing cabinet to look up the notes for his upcoming deposition. It isn’t until an hour later – as he’s basking in the blessedly cool breeze of the Dyson – that he realizes how early the repairman must have stopped by.

“Karen…?”

“Hmmm?” She’s sipping her iced coffee, scanning through a stack of files.

“Nothing.”

He returns to his case preparation. So what if his friend flirts to get the AC fixed. Who is he to judge.

***

It isn’t until later that evening – when he pops in the bodega by Marci’s apartment to get some tomatoes for the spaghetti sauce he’s making her – that Foggy begins to suspect the cause of Karen’s absentmindedness.

Whatever Happened to the Punisher?

The New York Bulletin headline glares up at Foggy from beside the register.

Suddenly he remembers that summer day Frank Castle’s face was all over the news for escaping Metro General. He remembers Karen walking into the office half a day late with no shoes on. It’s been…however long it’s been since then doesn’t matter. The day still holds significance for Karen.

***

Two nights later, he runs three blocks back to the office; he almost forgot his apartment key in his desk drawer. Foggy can feel the humidity sticking to his skin and it makes him irritable. The new silk shirt Marci bought him will need to be cleaned and not even stepping back into the office will provide relief.

When the hell is that air conditioning guy going to…

Foggy stops short as he opens the door to the lobby. The first thing that hits him is the cold feeling of circulating air. The second thing is the sight of tools strewn by the AC unit. The third thing…is the realization that a broad-shouldered man in a black t-shirt and jeans is cradling Karen’s hand to his cheek.

Upon hearing the door open, Karen and the man both jump up from the couch.

“Foggy! I…this…our AC is fixed!” Karen’s face is so red she might as well have been at the beach all day.

He bobs his head, eyes blinking at the air conditioning guy.

“Counselor. Good to see you.” Frank Castle’s deep voice is still as scary as ever, but the slight pink blush of his neck helps Foggy relax some.

“I…you. The papers said you’re dead. But you’re not…You’re…here…with Karen.” And now Foggy wants to die.

Castle gives a small chuckle. “I made a…big career change…couple months back. Buddy of mine who's good with tech stuff help me set up my website…And…yeah. I’m with her as long as she’ll let me be.”

Foggy doesn’t miss the hopeful look the former vigilante shoots Karen.

Karen – composure regained – smiles. “Give me a ten percent discount and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

To his surprise they both laugh. He smiles at Karen – happy to see her happy – as pulls up a chair.

There’s a story behind all this and at least Foggy has a cool, comfy spot to listen as his friend shares.

#kastle #frank x karen #kastle ff #kastleff #kastlenetwork #karen page #frank castle #kastle fic rec #kastle fam is the best fam #foggy nelson is a good bro #foggy nelson

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andheresthething · 1 year

Text

Let Me Catch Up With Ya’ Honey

Summary: Setting up a new office for your architecture business takes a turn for the best.

[No Use of Y/N] [Established Relationship] [Domestic Fluff] [Pet Names] [Kissing] [Accidental Proposal] [IKEA Furniture] [Interrior Decorating]

•·················•·················•

Notes:

I've had the idea for a while but only got around to writing it recently. Surprisingly, carpal tunnel didn't hinder this one, rather my inability to execute my own ideas and Resident Evil brainrot. Currently out of ideas so hopefully something hits me soon or someone gives a good prompt.

Gender-neutral reader once more :)

As always, character playlist plug.

Reposted from AO3

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A door slammed, echoing in the sparse room. You were focused on the sheets of wood and bolts splayed across the cold vinyl flooring, not minding the slight commotion behind you.

“Is that the last of it?” you asked the person behind you, continuing your work on what should be a coffee table.

“Yup, U-Haul’s empty. Now, all we need to do is put together all this furniture.”

You gained the will to stop working on your first project to face your boyfriend leaning against one of many large boxes surrounding the entrance to your office. Chairs, desks, tables, and cabinets. All for the two of you to start your next big step in life. Despite his efforts to beat the midday summer heat by wearing one of his crop tops and thin shorts, he still had broken a sweat from lugging all the boxes out of the portable oven you had rented. Luckily, the office managed to stay impossibly cool.

“Do you want help with that one, or should we work on separate pieces?” he asked.

“I’m alright. Besides, I’m a God at putting together furniture,” you said, staring at him with a straight face.

“Alright, point taken. Now, what to build?”

Nightowl turned to look at all the boxes, eventually picking out the desk he had picked out for himself. He dragged it over to the area you were working in and set it down gently. When he sat down, you slid him the box cutter you had so he could get to work. It took you a moment to figure out what exactly he chose to work on.

“Starting off with the heavy hitter?”

“Why not?” Nightowl shrugged. “It’s gonna be the thing I’m glued to for the rest of time. May as well get used to it now.”

The two of you worked in comfortable silence for a while. Partially due to the intense concentration you bestowed upon your respective pieces. When you were finishing up with the small table, Nightowl broke the silence.

“I think only now the whole ‘we’re making our business super extra official’ thing is setting in on me.”

You lifted your head. “The loan we took out so we didn’t have to sell our organs for this didn’t do it for you?”

“Okay okay, that felt pretty real,” he laughed. “Seriously though, being in our actual office together and getting it all set up makes it feel like we really did it,” he smiled, now focusing his attention on you. You did the same.

“I get what you mean. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling it too. The realness is kinda anxiety-inducing, though.”

“In a good way, right?”

“Yeah, in a good way,” you smiled, going back to your table.

The two of you had started this business a while back. Nightowl had gotten a lot of recognition quickly at the company he started with when he finished grad school. While the idea originally was that he’d be working with a team, soon enough, it became clients requesting him to work on their projects solo. With his name being as known as it was, working for a company seemed somewhat pointless to him. So, he asked you what you thought about taking the plunge. After mulling it over, you agreed. He would be the architect, and you, the accountant and secretary.

It started by working out of the apartment you shared. In-person meetings taking place in coffee shops and online ones in the kitchen with a bedsheet as a background. The living room partially turned into Nightowl’s office, while the kitchen table was yours. After a year of the somewhat disorganized setup, you decided to upgrade to a real office space. Thus, started the lengthy process that brought you here.

Screwing in the last bolt, you stood up. “One down, a million more to go.”

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned.

“Come on, with me here it won't be so bad,” you said as you picked up the table and put it as far away from everything as possible. Nightowl continued his gaze, though it filled with adoration.

“God, what can’t you do?” he praised, eyes following you as you walked back to him. Still sitting on the floor, he looked up at you as you leaned down, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“I’m letting that go to my head.”

“By all means, let it.”

You went to the giant box collection and picked out the next piece. That’s how your day went. Building furniture, moving it either to the opposite side of the room or the vicinity of where you'd think it'd stay, then picking out a new box. Keeping yourselves entertained with a wide range of conversation topics.

As the early evening rolled around, hunger struck. You sent out Nightowl to pick up the cheapest pizza he could find while you fought with a bookshelf. Just as you wrangled it into place, the door opened once more, this time by a Nightowl carrying a much smaller box and a two-liter tucked under his arm. He came over to your workspace, moving aside various tools to place down the box. You immediately dove in while he sat down, him joining in once at your level. The incredibly cheap food felt like heaven in your starved stomach.

“This reminds me of my college days,” you remarked.

“We are eating poor college kid food,” he responded, opening the bottle next to him.

“I mean the situation, stupid. It’s just like when I got my first apartment.”

“Go on,” he said, setting down the bottle after taking a sip. You reached over for it, drinking before continuing.

“It was me and like, four other people in a small shitty apartment. It was our first day there, and we had brought in the few belongings we had to call it home. We were all starving and ordered a pizza because someone had a coupon, but surprise, surprise, we didn’t have any furniture. We all ended up eating together on the living room floor like this and sharing a two-liter because we also didn’t have any cups.”

Nightowl laughed, nearly choking on his food. “How were you so unprepared?”

“I definitely didn't have my shit together then. Besides, we were all nineteen-year-old finance majors that thought it would be so much better to live in an apartment. I don’t think it would have been possible for any of us to know what we were doing.”

“Makes me feel better about staying in the dorms for all of undergrad,” he smiled, taking another bite of his slice.

“You made the right call.”

The conversation continued, both of you reminiscing about your undergrad days and sharing stories you probably have told each other already. Neither of you minded hearing them over again, though. Truth be told, the time spent together made the whole venture worthwhile. Once finished, you threw the box and now empty bottle into the massive pile of cardboard in the corner of the room.

Nightowl got himself up and grabbed the next box from the now considerably smaller collection of boxes near the door. Soon, you joined him and both of you continued the day's work. Box after box, piece after piece, you had chipped away at the collection you had created. Nightfall set in by the time you finished.

Nightowl sighed as he stood up. “Why did we leave the impossible chair for last?”

“Fate must’ve had it out for us.”

“Seriously, if this stumped the furniture building God how was anyone supposed to put it together?” he grumbled. While you had originally been the one to work on it, you soon realized it would have to be a team effort. Nightowl took on the role of the builder as you read the instructions.

“It’s going to my head again,” you said as you got up from the desk you were sitting on to stand by his side.

“I’m more okay with that than you think.” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. “Confidence in yourself is hot on you.”

“I think it’s called ego, actually.”

“Basically the same thing. Take the compliment, cutie,” he pouted.

“Alright, alright. I will.”

“Good,” he said, placing a kiss on your cheek. The two of you stood there for a moment, admiring the work you had done.

“We should probably put everything in place, shouldn’t we?” you asked, looking up at him.

“Up to you, cutie. You’re the one in charge here,” he responded with a slight yawn.

“I don’t think either of us will have the energy to come back tomorrow to do anything but drop stuff off after a day of decor hunting.”

“Now it is then!” he declared, sparking his energy once more.

While you had pre-planned the layout, you found yourself stuck between two ideas. Nightowl didn't have a preference between the two, so it was up to you to figure out which you liked more. Unfortunately, your indecisiveness led to an hour of going back and forth between the two, even combining them at some point, before you finally settled on what you wanted.

Nightowl walked backward toward the door, back hitting it before he slid all the way down. “We’re finally done,” he smiled, looking up at you. You made your way over and sat down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder. He took your hand into his own. “I can’t wait to immediately pass out as soon as I touch the bed.”

“You definitely deserve it. I was the one making you move everything around over and over again.”

“As long as you’re happy with the layout, I don’t mind one bit.”

“Still, I do feel a bit guilty. Like I was bossing you around.”

“My opinion on your confidence has not wavered.”

“I don’t think-”

“Take the compliment,” he said, cutting you off.

“You are one strange man,” you laughed.

“Maybe I am, but you love me for it,” he teased back.

“That I do,” you responded, squeezing his hand slightly. “Surprising after today since the putting together furniture and arranging it thing supposedly tears apart relationships.”

“If we can survive this happily and do it for a business we started all on our own, I think our relationship can survive anything,” he proclaimed.

“It better. Wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else.”

“Neither would I, cutie. We should make it official.”

“Like get married?” you asked.

“Mhm,” he yawned. A second passed before he realized exactly what he said and how he said it. He let go of your hand and turned a bit to fully face you. “I don’t mean right now. Unless you wanted to then I mean right now.”

You were stunned, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Before his panicked rambling, you thought it was just more conversation. Sure, you had talked about marriage before, but always casually. Never did it come out like this. You continued to stare at each other. Though only for a few moments, it felt excruciating long.

Nightowl slammed his face into his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m tired and my brain fell out of my mouth. You don't have to take it as an actual proposal.”

“I want to.”

Nightowl lifted his head from his hands to face you once more. His face was red from embarrassment. You reached out to hold both of his hands. “Actually?”

“I haven’t exactly pictured my future without you.”

“There’s no way you actually want to marry me now.”

"Why wouldn’t I? We’ve been together for years and already started a whole business together. If anything, it’s a little weird we didn’t get married before that.”

“This isn’t real. We’re really gonna do this?”

“Yeah, we are,” you smiled.

Nightowl immediately dove to hug you, knocking you to the floor. “Holy shit, I love you so much. You actually want to get married to me. I’m so fucking lucky.” he gushed.

“You’re crushing me,” you wheezed. Nightowl lifted his weight off of you to reveal the biggest grin on his face and eyes glossy from joy.

“Sorry! You’re just… everything I've ever wanted and now I get to have you forever. Kinda unbelievable,” he said as he laid himself beside you. “When do we start the planning?”

“Maybe after we pay back most of the loan we took out.”

“That’s gonna take forever,” he whined.

“Did you forget how many projects you have lined up? We’ll get it done in no time. Plus, I got us a fantastic interest rate.”

“What if we did a courthouse wedding?”

“No ceremony or reception?”

“We can do that later. There's no need for us to wait on a legal marriage, though.”

“You are very eager to do this as soon as possible.”

"That I am. I’ll make an appointment for next week if you want.”

“How long have you been thinking about this, exactly? You seem to have everything lined up in your head.”

He paused. “Longer than I’m willing to admit.”

“I bet you have a secret wedding scrapbook,” you joked.

Nightowl’s eyes went wide. “What don’t you know?”

“You’re showing me it when we get home,” you sang.

“How did I accidentally pull this off so well?”

“The things you do accidentally tend to go well. It’s like a blessing to have luck on your side like that.”

“I think luck has been on my side for more than saving my ass.”

“Like how this probably wouldn’t have happened if we didn’t get that impossible chair?” you said as you propped yourself up, now sitting.

“Exactly! Definitely wouldn’t have been tired enough to propose if that thing didn’t exist,” he chuckled.

“We should probably get home before you’re too tired to function.”

“Agreed.”

You two got yourselves off the floor, admiring each other for a moment before Nightowl leaned down to kiss you. Once parted, you gave one last look at the fruits of your labor before going to grab your phones and keys. Nightowl flicked off the lights before leaving and you followed suit. For tonight, at least, the gigantic pile of cardboard would have to live in the office. You fumbled with your keys for a second before locking up. Turning around towards your now fiance, you reached out for his hand, which he obliged. With one last short stare of adoration, you led the way out of the building that housed your little office.

#blooming panic #bloomic #blooming panic fanfic #bloomic fanfic #nightowl #blooming panic nightowl #bp nightowl #bloomic nightowl #blooming panic x reader #nightowl x reader #bp nightowl x reader #bloomic nightowl x reader #sfw

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travellingcircus · 2 years

Text

home is whenever i’m with you

Written in response to the twitter thread here by GoldenDaffodils .

Obikin; 2.7k words; modern! abo; fluff;

Writer’s block is the enemy, and after sitting in front of his computer for the good part of an hour, typing and re-typing a comma, Obi-Wan gives up the ghost and decides to call it a day. Besides, it’s almost lunch time, which means he has work to do—Anakin’s lunch won’t make itself, and he still has the meat to thaw.

Obi-Wan gets up from his desk, rubbing the ache from his back, the action pulling the hem of his sweater upwards. He catches his reflection, then, in the window above his writing desk and absently cups the underside of his belly, visible only when he’s naked and tilted sideways. Almost three months along, and he’s still not used to it, nor is he accustomed to needing to fill his days now that he’s on a sabbatical. There’s the book that takes precedence over everything, because when the baby comes, he’ll have no time to write. The rest of his day is occupied by the odd household chore: this morning’s dishes, or the sorting and hanging up of the laundry, scheduling Anakin’s dentist appointment, or adding baby items to his already-teeming online shopping cart. And then there is Anakin’s lunch, which he takes on with the same attentiveness and detail that he tackles anything.

Obi-Wan has bought cookbooks, a huge stack of them now lives in the kitchen cabinet along with top-of-the-line ceramic pots and pans. He has taught himself how to baste, how to julienne, how to glaze and de-glaze. He has learned how to bake bread, kneading dough by the palmfuls and getting flour everywhere, when he used to just buy bread by the loaf from the bakery down the street. They used to expire, untouched on the counter. Now he has a proper bread box and cupcake moulds. Now he knows what other purpose a rolling pin serves other than to ward off groping husbands.

This new skill is born of two things: boredom and procrastination because sometimes writing does necessitate a break, but it’s also partly due to the rapturous look on Anakin’s face each time he bites into food that Obi-Wan has made for him. He’ll eat anything Obi-Wan makes for him, granted, no matter how terrible, but it seemed disingenuous not to at least make an effort.

So Obi-Wan cooks. He tends to the hearth and home, not because it’s what expected of him as an omega, but because of the sheer delight it brings Anakin. The meals he makes he takes to Anakin’s office where they eat lunch together and chat about their day. The recent promotion has Anakin working longer hours, too tired for anything in the evening except a brief meal, a cold shower, and easily the world’s most unsatisfying quickie, all in that order.

Lunch simmers in a pot while Obi-Wan checks the weather outside: clear skies, the sun finally out after a week of steady rain. Later, Obi-Wan takes his motorbike out of hiding from the garage and clambers on, lunch packed in an insulated bag slung across his shoulder. He rides out of the neighbourhood and into the city, over puddles that slosh across his boots and streak them with flecks of mud. The wind is cutting; traffic slows him down a bit but it does nothing to tamp the heady feeling that sits inside his chest now that he’s on the move again. He’ll miss this when he gets bigger. He already misses teaching.

It only occurs to him as he’s parking his motorbike next to Anakin’s Lexus in the company carpark, that he probably should have changed into something less shabby. As it stands, he’s wearing his favourite sweater, with the visible hole in the armpit and the colour leached out after many trips to the washer. At some point it had been a vibrant green, now god only knows what shade it actually is—some sort of cross between teal or sea-foam green. He checks his reflection in the reflective glass wall of Anakin’s office building and musses his hair where his helmet has flattened it. There are biscuit crumbs on his beard; he brushes them away with a sheepish swipe of the hand.

Well, he thinks, wryly. That’s the best he can do in this situation. He’d forgotten to change out of his flannel sweatpants and it’s rather unfortunate that he’s wearing a pair of Uggs too—not a sartorial choice, necessarily, they just happen to have enough cushioning for his swollen feet.

Most of Anakin’s coworkers know him, and when Obi-Wan passes them by, they nod and wave at him in acknowledgement. Benefits of being married to the VP, Obi-Wan supposes, and a warm stab of pride hits him like a jolt: Anakin has worked hard to get where he is— blood, sweat, and tears, a lot of tears, really, if they’re being honest, and now they have enough money saved up that Obi-Wan can comfortably stop working for a little while and simply tend to how ever many children they decide to have, hopefully not a lot, he isn’t getting any younger. And it’s not as if Obi-Wan has plans of quitting the workforce for good: he loves teaching, and domestic life may be tolerable in short stretches but if Anakin moves them to the suburbs, there will be Words.

Obi-Wan strolls up the lifts but is pulled abruptly from his thoughts by someone calling out to him. “Excuse me! Sir! Yes, you in the sweatpants!”

Obi-Wan turns, arching an eyebrow as he pivots on his heel. “Yes?”

It’s the receptionist—only today it isn’t anyone he recognises. She seems…new. And young too, like she’s fresh from university. Obi-Wan has taught undergrads that have looked older. “I’m sorry, but the lifts are strictly for employees only. Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” Obi-Wan says, chuckling, but his mirth fades when he sees that she isn’t nearly as half-amused as he is. “I don’t have an appointment but I am here to drop off lunch.”

“Door Dash?”

“No,” says Obi-Wan drily. “I’m not affiliated with them, I don’t think. I’m here for Anakin.”

“Ana—” Her eyes widen in understanding. “You mean Mr Skywalker?”

“Yes, I’m his—”

She nods and holds up a finger, cutting him off. Obi-Wan bites down on a response, years of boarding school training coming back to bite him in the arse: it’s a gesture he’s familiar with, and not because he’s an omega. He quiets down, pressing his lips into a thin line. Silent, he sighs, crosses his arms, and patiently waits for the new receptionist to finish typing into her computer.

“Sorry,” she says, making a face at him, flicking her gaze south and upward once more in obvious appraisal. “But Mr Skywalker’s in a meeting right now.”

“Is he? I could have sworn he said he’d be free after noon.”

The receptionist holds her smile—it’s brittle, and rote, the kind of smile you give when you’ve worked customer service long enough and have to deal with difficult people. Is Obi-Wan being difficult? He doesn’t want to make trouble. “Well,” he says, after a great deal of patting around his back pockets for his mobile phone which apparently he’d forgotten at home—convenient, just convenient. “I guess I’ll wait here then.”

“Sorry,” she says again. “But we have a strict policy against letting guests just loiter about! Surely, you understand.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be loitering,” Obi-Wan says. “I’d be waiting. There’s a difference.”

“I’m sorry Mister—”

“Kenobi.”

“Right, Mister Kenobi, I’m sorry but if you don’t leave right now I’m going to have to ask the guards to escort you out.”

“You must be joking,” Obi-Wan says. All right: apparently not. Her finger is already hovering over some button Obi-Wan is half certain has the power to summon security.

“Really? You want me to leave,” he says.

She nods tightly, still with that cloying smile on her face.

Obi-Wan presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose, fighting off a headache. He doesn’t want to argue further, not when his body is already betraying him in so many ways: his feet have started to throb again, his bladder feels full even though he’s just popped to the loo on the way, and he’s one chin wobble away from feeling some sort of emotion.

“Right, then.” He unslings his lunch bag and sets it down on the desk. “You can hand this over to Mister Skywalker. Careful not to jostle the bag too much; there’s a thermos of soup in there. You can tell him—tell him I’ll be phoning him when I get home and that I’ll see him later.”

She nods, writing all of that down on a yellow sticky note. “Kenobi, right? And how is that spelled?”

“Exactly how it sounds, and with a K,” Obi-Wan tells her.

He exits the building, unable to tell whether he’s relieved or disappointed. Relieved because he’s at least fulfilled his marital duties and dropped off Anakin’s lunch, as promised; disappointed because the only thing he’s been looking forward to that day has been taken from him: nothing compares to the pleasure of seeing Anakin enjoy his cooking, and he’s made something new today: miso soup with tofu and seaweed. An experiment, but still something he can be proud of.

Obi-Wan makes it home in under half an hour, where he makes a beeline to the bathroom to relieve himself. He can’t pinpoint what exactly it is he’s feeling, now that he’s taken care of two of his three pressing issues. Hormones have wreaked havoc on his emotions lately, and maybe that could be it. One minute he’s watching a documentary on sea otters and the next he’s so moved by the sight of them holding hands and swimming in pairs that he has to have a good, long cry.

He shakes himself out of this strange mood, and heats some frozen pizza in the oven, eats it standing up while dancing his fingers across the steaming hot cheese. He has a nap afterwards on the sofa, while a David Attenborough documentary plays on the telly, because what else is there to do, this is his life now, though he briefly considers having a leisurely wank with his vibrator within reach and just sitting there where he’d left it this morning. Another unexpected but not entirely unwelcome side effect of the pregnancy is his increased libido.

On weekends, when they elect to sleep in, Anakin can take him upwards to five times before dinner, and Obi-Wan will be ready each time: wet and wanting. They haven’t had sex in a few days, though, mostly because Anakin has been busy. Obi-Wan doesn’t mind entirely; he knows how these things go. For years, his academic career ate into aspects of his private life, and if it weren’t for Anakin who’d insinuated himself into his life with persistence and sheer stubbornness, they wouldn’t have been, well, married and about to have pups. Not a bad life, considering Obi-Wan had at one point resigned himself to being married to his career.

Obi-Wan falls asleep as soon as his eyes close.

And he wakes to the familiar sound of Anakin’s car nosing up the driveway.

Strange, the light in the room tells him there’s still some daylight left. Obi-Wan gets up when he hears the door rattle. Not a second later and it’s flung open, Anakin’s heavy treads thudding the floorboards of the foyer. There’s a crash, and another thud: Obi-Wan can hazard a guess that Anakin has managed yet again to tip over the coat stand.

“I’m here, dearest,” Obi-Wan says, waiting patiently until Anakin materialises. And materialise he does, touting his briefcase in one hand and looking very, very cross. His face is red and splotchy. His disheveled hair gives the impression of having been tugged at in frustration, a habit that Obi-Wan has trouble weaning him off of.

“Are you all right?” Obi-Wan asks, concerned.

“I’m gonna kill that bitch,” Anakin huffs, as he stomps over to grab Obi-Wan by the forearms. Despite the palpably murderous intent roiling off him, his touch is feather-light, careful as he rubs up and down Obi-Wan’s arms. “I got your message. You should have called me so I could have picked you up from the lobby.”

“I left my phone at home,” Obi-Wan says, stroking Anakin’s cheeks to calm him, “And besides, you seemed busy. I didn’t want to intrude. You had a meeting.”

“I never schedule meetings when I know you’ll be coming over with lunch. I make myself available. You know that.”

“True, but, do remember you’re running a company, dearest, and I don’t always expect you to accommodate me.”

Anakin makes a pained noise. “I’m gonna fire her,” he mutters.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “She was just doing her job. Don’t fire her for my sake.”

Anakin clenches his jaw, stubborn as ever. Obi-Wan presses a kiss to his lips, smiling when Anakin absolutely softens into it. “Promise me,” he says, patting him on the cheek. “You’re not going to fire her. Say it.”

Anakin’s nose twitches, and he doesn’t say it explicitly, but he nods, once: a concession.

Anakin spends the rest of his day working from his laptop in his home office, wearing his suit from the waist up and his sweatpants from the waist down. He finishes right on the dot—at six pm when Obi-Wan has a beef pot pie baking in the oven and he’s halfway through a crossword puzzle. Then he’s out his suit for good and in a ratty old university t-shirt spelling the name of his alma mater in front in bubbly font.

Anakin slides behind Obi-Wan at the counter and rests his chin on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around Obi-Wan’s middle, absently stroking his growing stomach. “Cock,” Anakin says, without preamble, and Obi-Wan blinks before giving him a bemused look. “Too early for that love, at least let dinner finish cooking first.”

Anakin rolls his eyes and points to the crossword on the counter, tapping a corner of the page. “Four across. Another word for rooster that begins with a C.”

“Cock,” Obi-Wan agrees with delighted laugh.

They eat dinner; Anakin takes care of the dishes while Obi-Wan thaws in the shower. When it’s Anakin’s turn in there, Obi-Wan dries his hair on a towel and doesn’t put any clothes on. He knows what happens next: it’s one of the two things he looks forward to on any given day, because he is a man with simple needs and what he needs is, four across, another word for rooster that begins with a C.

And because it’s shaped out to be a good day, despite the whole ordeal at lunch, they have time enough to be tender.

Anakin fucks him, sweet and slow, clutching his ankles. Then, because Obi-Wan can’t get enough, he rides Anakin afterwards with the same agonising slowness with which Anakin had fucked him. He clutches the headboard for balance while Anakin presses his thumbs into his hips and mouths filthily at his nipples, sore from teeth marks and Anakin’s many attempts at drawing out milk even though it will be months yet before Obi-Wan’s body will be able to produce any. They last a whole two hours, though most of it is just spent kissing and pawing at each other. They fall asleep, nestled like spoons, and in the morning Anakin will have to leave for work early again; Obi-Wan will make him a pot of coffee, will blearily wave at him from the driveway in his tatty robe and fluffy slippers, before going inside and taking a very long nap. Afterwards, he will spend hours staring at his blinking cursor, before getting up to make Anakin lunch—a new recipe he’s picked up on the internet that doesn’t seem overly complicated.

This is life, and it must be a sign of getting older, because Obi-Wan has come to love it in spite of everything: the meals he makes for himself and Anakin, and the humdrum of his routine, the home they are trying to make for themselves and for their future children, built by love and shaped around it.

#fic #obikin #rated: mature #for: cas #ps: this whole idea was @kidhuzural's #cas is amazing

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beardedmrbean · 9 months

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A suburban Kansas City couple was sentenced Tuesday to life in prison for the killing of 32-year-old Kensie Abury, whose dismembered body was discovered buried in a yard in 2021.

Michael J. Hendricks, 42, and Maggie Ybarra, 32, were found guilty of murder and several other felonies, including sexual abuse of a child, at the close of a jury trial in July. Both allegedly lured Aubry to a home under the pretense of a sexual encounter while they conspired to kill her as part of a murder fantasy.

The chilling case was brought to the attention of authorities by a teenage girl in foster care. She reported to police that the pair sexually assaulted her when she visited them.

The young girl also said she was shown photographs of a mutilated woman with a dismembered head and told by Hendricks the approximate location of the body. Detectives with Grandview police opened a case of sexual assault based on the girl’s account and ultimately linked the photographs to Aubry, who by then had been missing for several months.

Aubry, originally from Texas, was reported missing in October 2020. In July 2021, her body was unearthed in Hendricks’ yard, at his sprawling Grain Valley home, which sat on six acres and had a hangar for a helicopter.

The body, which had been divided into white garbage bags, was buried along with zip ties and duct tape near a recently-installed septic tank. Neighbors later told police Hendricks had been using heavy equipment to dig a large hole in the yard.

Search warrants on the property yielded a saw in a tool cabinet in the aircraft hangar. The blade had traces of DNA authorities linked to Aubry.

Hendricks, formerly an owner of a since-disbanded Kansas City information technology company, was married with two children at the time the charges were brought. Authorities determined Hendricks and Ybarra had an extramarital affair.

Detectives also learned of a dark sexual fantasy harbored by Hendricks and Ybarra. Hendricks searched online for “snuff,” a term for a pornographic movie of a murder, and both allegedly later bragged to witnesses about killing Aubry.

Prosecutors said Ybarra had a cellphone app that marked the date of Aubry’s killing alongside other “special moments in her life that she wished to celebrate,” including her anniversary with Hendricks.

In asking for the judge to issue maximum sentences for Ybarra and Hendricks, prosecutors filed a motion Monday saying Aubry was betrayed by Ybarra, once her friend, and choked to death by Hendricks for four minutes in a “terrifying” and “brutal” manner.

Prosecutors also pointed to the emotional pain of the teenager who came forward to police, saying the “haunting images” of Aubry that were shown to her remain fresh in her mind.

In a statement Tuesday, Jackson County Prosecutor Jean Peters Baker said her office spent “countless hours to assure justice in this case of frankly unspeakable human behavior.” She praised the young girl who came forward to police and the work of the Grandview Police Department.

“I am proud of this trial team that brought these defendants to today’s fitting outcome,” Baker said. “I must again point to the bravery of the young victim who led law enforcement to these defendants.”

#nunyas news

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misterkingdom · 11 months

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FIRST LINES MEME: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

I’m going to divide this between original fiction and Fanfic.

ORIGINAL FICTION:

1. It’s May in New York City which means it’s pissing rain down from the glaucoma grey skies.

2. Jacklyn “Jack” Gilmore flicked her half finished cigarette into the virgin snow at her feet, the red tip of it glowed like a falling star until it hit the ice with a dying hiss.

3. The sky was smudged grey with clouds threatening rain of biblical proportions.

4. Tommy sat in his room, drinking a beer he commandeered from Dad’s liquor cabinet—which was just a fancy way of saying that his father kept the alcohol in the higher cabinets since Tommy was a toddler and didn’t bother to move it when he got a little, a lot taller.

5. The air this high up in the mountains was thin, the wind moving through the castle sounded like the howling of ghosts.

6. Conan James Lynch III’s lips were glittering with spilled beer in the putrid, yellow light of the cheap lamp in the corner of the too small living room.

7. Toodles Galore was a six foot three, beast of a man, with rolling muscles and skin shiny, oiled to perfection. He smelled of something flirty and evilly tempting, like a forbidden fruit drowned in Vodka. His cheap wig was bone straight and white-blonde, contrasting with his midnight skin. His artificial, jean blue eyes were watching The Spaceman with something more intimate than he's felt in a long time, as the man slipped cherry Blow Pop between is full lips. He wore a red, frilly, threadbare, heart red robe with black, black laced panties underneath, holding back an impressive package.

8. The bathroom walls were flamingo pink and hasn’t had any work done since Dylan’s mother remodeled it in the mid-2000s. The floor was checked black and white, smudged with footprints. A red, fuzzy rug peeked out from under the sink. The mirror was dream hazy with the friendly fire of toothpaste as Dylan and his Dad’s toothbrushes rolled around in a dirty glass—black and red, respectively.

The bathroom had the flavor of a seedy motel that charges hourly. Dylan’s mother had always been a Vegas girl, through and through. This bathroom held the one piece of her wild spirit that hadn’t abandoned him when she up and left to live in England with a minor lord she met online nine years ago.

9. Aishwarya Mehta sat behind the office desk, watching the electric blue open sign to the family motel wink. It was sometime between the wolves and the birds, the clock had blinked off hours ago. The front office was eerie and abandoned at night, with only a tinny rendition of Creep by Radiohead interfering with her walkie-talkie keeping her company. Her older brother had snuck off hours ago, probably to sleep in one of the unoccupied rooms.

10. The Spaceman wraps his lips around the brown cock of a sweating, cold, Bud Light. The beer hasn't burned since he was thirteen. The drink slides down, silky as Ella Fitzgerald’s voice.

FANFICTION:

11. The sun rises in her irises like it does over an ocean—all sapphire blue with a sprinkling of gold cradled in them. In their depths lies a coldness and a question: How could someone so disgusting, so lowly dare to touch her? Syril doesn’t have an answer. He just breathes in the scent of jasmine like it’s the last breath of air before he is pulled under into the deep.

(From a WIP starring Dedra/Syril from Andor.)

12. He’s supposed to knock her out but her lips on his were soft as satin and she’s silver in the moonlight.

(From an Until Dawn fanfic starring Josh and Sam.)

13. Cold blew from the river Thames, dragging its icy lips across Widowmaker’s dead face—she can scarcely remember the sensation of skin on skin, but icy tears crawled down her face, the sensation reminiscent of spider legs walking down her cheeks.

(From a Windowmaker/Tracer fanfic.)

14. Dick’s hair had grown long, untamed, black waves cascading down to his pale collar bones. He wore a large army green jacket, jeans, and white sneakers. He sat against the hood of his funeral black 1990 Dodge Charger outside of a diner, smoking a cigarette. He was only lit by the red light of the neon sign bleeding across the parking lot—it’s a good thing Tim has binoculars as he lay on a roof across the street.

(From a Batman-Tim/Dick fanfic.)

15. “You are like the sun—“Namor began.

“Hard to look at?” Shuri joked, trying to drown her nervousness in humor—a familiar situation. It instead forms a rock in the pit of her stomach. It was the type of wordplay that would earn her a soft chuckle from T’Challa. T’Challa wouldn’t approve of this, he’d search the entire ocean for her. But he’s not here, he’s nowhere. He’s dead…and he took the Black Panther with him.

“Radiant.” Namor continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Come here.”

(From yet ANOTHER Black Panther Namor/Shuri political marriage fanfic. I know there are dozens, which is why I won’t be posting this.)

16. They sent in the social worker when Jason Todd told the first three cops to fuck off. She looked as if she road in on the last bus out of Las Vegas—fried, bleach blonde hair, blueberry eyeshadow, dry lipstick the color of fresh blood, and burnt gold skin with black pupils. She was trying too hard to sound sympathetic. It came out as synthetic. It hurt his ears.

(From a Dick/Jason fanfic.)

17. Elsa Bloodstone didn’t know how she would die but she knew it wouldn’t be in bed, dying easily was not her birthright. The Bloodstone was, however. In pursuit of it, she ended up in a cage with a monster who wore the face of a unassuming, handsome, slightly dopey gent. When she first laid eyes on him, she thought she could eat him for lunch. He didn’t ooze masculinity like the other men crowding the room. He also didn’t want to fight her. She should’ve known he was the most dangerous. It’s always the quiet ones. She took a shuddery breath. He hopes he makes it quick and then somehow devours her stepmother.

(From a Werewolf by Night Jack/Elsa fanfic,)

18. Steven’s body wasn’t a temple—it was a flat and too many people were living in it. Marc is the stereotypical strong silent type but Steven can tell that the little American man inside him was getting antsy. They share a body so all of Marc’s anxiety about all the crazy magic shit is getting to him. Steven had been ignoring Marc but it only seemed to make him louder, like there was a megaphone blaring in his head.

(From a Moon Knight Marc/Steven fanfic.)

19. The sun was shards cracked by the reaching limbs of trees as they rode along a faint path, in symmetry with the too clear, rushing stream that scattered their reflections. The lush green, towering trees roofing over them, painted their piece of Eden a friendly emerald. The blue of the sky was unbroken by clouds, clear as a polished mirror. The windless, mild weather, spoke of a cool summer, even though the cusps of autumn loomed nearby.

Their Imperial Warmblood was a large animal, bigger than any horse Dorian has ever seen. It was cloud white and named Snowball by Sera. The elf had apparently named every animal they’ve gotten in all of Skyhold. It’s a feat, considering how many creatures Dorian runs to in any given day.

Snowball was followed by Shadow, a large, oil slick black Ferelden horse that Cullen grew attached to. It was trailing at a slower pace, making soft noises that could barely be heard over the light clatter of hooves. Their bags were stacked on the horse like pebbles on a riverbed.

Cullen’s body was a hard, hot weight against him, even through Cullen’s armor and Dorian’s leather. Dorian somewhat felt bad for Snowball, the way they were two bulky men weighing the mount down, but the horse didn’t look like it was a burden.

The commander dragged his finger up Dorian’s side until it reached the underside of his arm. Dorian suppressed a squirm—he was particularly ticklish right under his armpit. He found that out from Iron Bull—while Cullen moved his gloved finger down the curve of Dorian’s bicep. The touch was ghosted, hinting that the commander could be caressing him with the rough pads of his scarred fingers or holding him with his slightly out of true fingers.

Cullen moved his hand until it was splayed on Dorian’s lower belly. Dorian inhaled against the heat pooling in him at a mere placement of the commander’s hands, even through the Dorian’s heavy outfit, and Cullen’s gloves.

Dorian held onto the reins, lest the animal gets startled and paralyzes them both.

“I get the feeling you want something, commander.”

“Is that so?” Cullen’s stubble-itchy jaw scrubbed against Dorian’s freshly shaved one. Both of his hands rested against Dorian’s for a moment before he moved them to Dorian’s navel. Dorian failed to suppress the shudder and the ache where Cullen could be right now if they were to stop in the middle of nowhere.

Cullen inched back before planting one wet kiss in the vortex of Dorian’s neck. The commander held his lips there while sticking his hand into the material of Dorian’s harness and trailing the hot hand until he felt his peck. Cullen’s leather covered thumb caught on the sensitive bud of his nipples. Dorian bit back a gasp as Cullen slid his hand even further down until just the tips of his fingers brushed Dorian’s cock. Dorian failed to swallow his groan. He took one of his hands off the reins and pressed Cullen’s hands further down. The commander got one good stroke in before Dorian begrudgingly took Cullen’s hand out of the outfit. He stopped himself from grounding down on the saddle for relief.

“We need to stop, love.” Dorian said. “This is technically bestiality. We need to get off this horse.”

“Get off this horse? I know you’re a hedonist but this is a little much, don’t you think?”

“Oh, you know what I meant.” Dorian said as he pulled the reins. The horse stopped with a soft noise. Shadow got the hint and stop just short of the other mount. Dorian got off the beast slowly and stretched. His thighs hurt from being in that position but Cullen, ever limber, came down with grace.

(A piece of Dragon Age: Inquisition Cullen/Dorian fanfic which I will never post ;__;)

20. “The Supreme Leader respects you like I would a very clever attack dog.” General Hux said. “We could never lose you. I could never lose you.”

Kylo Ren stared up at the general from the hospital bed. His wrist itches and burns but the pain feels faraway. The lights smear into diamonds and Hux is just a black figure far above him.

Kylo Ren’s body feels made out of stone. He feels like an empty vessel for the First Order to pour and pour and pour their hate toward the Resistance, the Republic, the Jedi—everything, until lashed out violently to suit their needs. Now more than ever, he feels like a sick dog on a leash. He believes in the cause but the cause believing in him was the most important thing.

Leia and Han Solo made the decision to send him to Luke Skywalker. He joined the Knights of Ren because of the wise Supreme Leader. He was clay—something to be molded by hard hands. He was mere pieces before he joined the First Order. He was sewn together by their hopes and dreams—a Frankenstein’s monster. The only thing he can take credit for is his mistakes.

If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear, and chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred.

He now sees that the only substantial decision he’d made in years was to bash his wrist against the bathroom mirror.

Hux pushed one of the three medical droids out of the way. The bot whirled as it fluttered. Hux then took his handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed the stiff, dry material under Kylo Ren’s eyes—were there tears? Hux’s look of cold formality flickers into one of pity.

“So tell me, Ren, were you hoping to die? Is it because you were bested by a scavenger?”

Kylo Ren took a staccato breath. Rey. Rey.

“Well, you don’t get to die.” Hux said. He stuck the towel back into his pocket. He gently cupped the side of Kylo Ren’s face. His leather glove was cold and dry—a barrier between their faux intimacy. He can’t remember the last time he felt skin on his. “You are a tool and I won’t let you die until you’ve served your purpose.”

He wasn’t trying to die but he didn’t mind that death could’ve been a side effect.

Hux traced his thumb along Kylo Ren’s bottom lip.

“Our live are not our own, Ren. We fight and die so something greater can grow in our place. You will do well to remember that.” Hux’s slipped his thumb passed Kylo Ren’s teeth and rested on the tip of his tongue, the fresh leather was chaffing. He pressed down until spit pooled in Kylo Ren’s mouth. The general removed his digit from Kylo Ren’s mouth, leaving a trail of spit ending on his chin. “Are you listening to me?”

Kylo Ren reached beyond the general’s face and crushed one of the medical droid, barely feeling the pinch of electricity or hear the whirring come to a halt. The pieces fall like dirty snow, like fiery meteors, like stars as they sprinkle on him.

Hux smirked.

“Good.”

(From a Star Wars fanfic—Hux/Kylo Ren.) **

The pattern I notice from my original fiction is that it’s all pretty grim and dirty, especially the way I describe scenery to set the mood. I hope I’m not too one note.

The pattern I learned from my from my fan fiction is that it’s a lot of hero/villain and opposites attracting but doesn’t that make it more fun?

I don’t have any writer friends to tag so I tag all of you reading this! If you do it, tag me in it so I can read your writing! Thanks.

#Richard do this with song lyrics #I’m too embarrassed to tag you because this gets steamy #writing memes #writing meme #writing #writeblr

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naturalrights-retard · 1 year

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A clandestine UK Government unit dubbed the Counter-Disinformation Unit (CDU) has been implicated in a troubling endeavor to curb and control online discussions about the controversial Covid-19 lockdown policies. The covert operation allegedly involved the collaboration of social media companies in a strategic bid to quell supposed domestic “threats.”

According to revelations from Freedom of Information requests and data protection requests from The Telegraph, posts critical of Covid-19 restrictions, including those questioning mass vaccination of children, were systematically removed.

Social media companies are now under scrutiny following allegations that their technologies were deployed to thwart the wide circulation or promotion of posts tagged as potentially problematic by the CDU or its Cabinet Office equivalent.

The files revealed the surreptitious monitoring of critics of the Government’s Covid plans. Artificial intelligence firms were reportedly enlisted by the government to search social media platforms, flagging any discussions opposing vaccine passports.

In a startling revelation, the BBC was implicated in clandestine government policy discussions regarding this alleged misinformation.

The CDU, hosted by the Department for Culture, Media, and Sport (DCMS), operated a “trusted flagger” system with major social media companies. This mechanism expedited requests for content removal. The CDU, still operational, was formed in 2019, initially focusing on the European elections, later shifting its attention to the pandemic.

Critics, including MPs and freedom of speech campaigners, have labeled the revelations as “truly chilling” and a strategy tantamount to “censoring British citizens” — a tactic likened to those of the Chinese Communist Party.

“Any attempt by governments to shut down legitimate debate is hugely concerning, but to discover that DCMS actively sought to censor the views of those who were speaking up for children’s welfare is truly chilling,” said Miriam Cates, a Conservative MP to The Telegraph.

A government spokesman refuted the allegations, stating that the unit was designed to track narratives and trends using publicly available information to safeguard public health and national security. The spokesman insisted that the unit never monitored individuals and had a strict policy against referring journalists and MPs to social media platforms.

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ayofficesystem · 2 years

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hindisoup · 2 years

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This is the final 30/30 vocab list for this November challenge. I made it! Thank you @guillemelgat so much for inspiring this challenge! 🧡🧡

Office Vocabulary

कार्यालय, दफ़्तर - office, bureau (masculine) * and office can be निजी (private) or साझा (shared). कार्यस्थान - workspace, workplace (masculine) रोज़गार - employment (masculine) कार्य, काम - work, task (masculine) नौकरी - job (feminine) * work or job can be for example लिपीकीय (clerical), प्रशासनिक (administrative) or प्रबंधकीय (managerial), अंशकालिक (part time) or पूर्णकालिक (full time). * मोजूदा नौकरी - current job (feminine) काम करना - to work (transitive) संगठन - organization (masculine) संस्था - institution (feminine) कंपनी - company (feminine) व्यवसाय - business, occupation (masculine) व्यवसायी - businessman (masculine) नियोक्ता - employer (masculine) ओहदा - position, post (masculine) कर्तव्य - role, duty (masculine) कनिष्ठ - junior (adjective) वरिष्ठ - senior (adjective) आधिकारिक - official, governmental (adjective) अधिकारी - officer, officials (masculine) विभाग - department (masculine) * बिक्री विभाग - sales department सहकर्मी, काम साथी - coworker, colleague (masculine) कर्मचारी - employee, staff member (masculine) कार्यकर्ता - worker (masculine) कार्यकारी - executive, working (adjective) निदेशक - director, administrator (masculine) प्रबंधक - manager, administrator (masculine) प्रबंधन - management (masculine) प्रशासन - administration (masculine) अधीक्षण - supervision (masculine) मालिक, पर्यवेक्षक - boss, supervisor (masculine) मुख्य कार्यकारी अधिकारी - CEO (masculine) प्रतिनिधि - 1. representative, 2. substitute (masculine) समूह के नेता - team leader (masculine) समूह का सदस्य - team member (masculine) लिपिक - clerk (masculine) सचिव - secretary (masculine or feminine) सुरक्षा प्रहरी - security guard (masculine) ग्राहक - client, customer (masculine) आगंतुक - visitor (masculine)

Getting and Leaving a Job

नौकरी की तलाश में होना - to look for a job (intransitive) नौकरी का आवेदन - job application (masculine) नौकरी के लिए आवेदन करना - to apply for a job (transitive) कार्य अनुभव - work experience (masculine) नौकरी के लिए साक्षात्कार - job interview (masculine) दबाव संभालना - to handle pressure (transitive) वेतन - salary, wages (masculine), also तनख़्वाह (feminine) अधिलाभ - bonus (masculine) कमाना - to earn (transitive) समझौता - agreement, negotiation (masculine) हाथ मिलाना - to shake hands (transitive) नौकरी का प्रस्ताव - job offer (masculine) नौकरी हासिल करना - to get a job (transitive) नौकरी देना - to hire, employ (transitive) हड़ताल - strike (feminine) संघ - union (masculine) इस्तीफ़ा, त्यागपत्र - resignation (masculine) * नौकरी से इस्तीफा देना - to resign from a job (transitive) नौकरी छोड़ना - to leave a job सेवानिवृत्त हो जाना - to retire (intransitive)

At Work

कार्यालय की इमारत - office building (feminine) मंज़िल - floor, storey (feminine) बहुमंजिला - multi-storey (adjective) परिचय पत्र - ID card (masculine) कुंजी कार्ड - key card (masculine) लॉबी - lobby, waiting area (feminine), also प्रतीक्षा क्षेत्र (masculine) लिफ़्ट - elevator, lift (feminine) मुख्यालय, मुख्य कार्यालय - headquarters, head office (masculine) शाखा - branch (feminine) बैठक, सम्मेलन - meeting (masculine), also मीटिंग, सभा (feminine) * बैठक का कमरा - meeting room * फ़ोन सम्मेलन - conference call, phone conference * ऑनलाइन बैठक - online meeting * बैठक निर्धारित करना - to schedule a meeting (transitive), also मीटिंग शेड्यूल करना विश्राम कक्ष - lounge (masculine) घन कक्ष - cubicle (masculine) समय पर पहुंचना - to arrive on time (intransitive) ब्रेक लेना - to take a break (transitive) कॉफी ब्रेक पर होना - to be on a coffee break (intransitive) भोजनावकाश - lunch break (masculine) दस्तावेज - document (masculine) हस्ताक्षर करना - to sign, to write a signature (transitive) अभिलेख - records (masculine) फाइल - file (feminine) फाइलें रखने की अलमारी - filing cabinet (feminine) ईमेल लिखना - to write an email (transitive) भेजना - to send (transitive) फ़ोन उठाना - to answer the phone (transitive) फ़ोन करना - to make a call (transitive) प्रिंट करना - to print (transitive) प्रति बनाना - to make a copy (transitive) मंथन करना - to brainstorm (transitive) परियोजना - project (feminine) * परियोजना ख़त्म करना - to finish a project (transitive)

#30 days of vocab #vocabulary #hindi #हिंदी #हिन्दी

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forumbusinessivy · 1 year

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mariacallous · 2 years

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Mykhailo Fedorov and his team “make things happen,” Time magazine wrote when it selected Fedorov as one of its 100 emerging world leaders in September.

“It is like it is in his DNA to take action,” his profile read.

Fedorov, Ukraine’s 31-year-old deputy prime minister and minister of digital transformation, keeps it modest about making it onto Time’s list.

“I was pleasantly surprised,” he said in an interview with the Kyiv Independent. “It motivates me to keep working.”

Wearing a black hoodie, the youngest member of Ukraine’s Cabinet spoke about the role of tech during the war and his accomplishments on the digital battlefield via Zoom from his office in Kyiv. The old wooden furniture in the room – a holdover from previous, old-school governments – stands in stark contrast to Fedorov’s tech-savvy personality.

For balance, Fedorov decorated his space with children's drawings, books, and a neon sign reading "Diia" – the name of the state mobile application launched by Fedorov and his team to achieve President Volodymyr Zelensky's promise to digitize government services.

Fedorov's wartime portfolio is impressive: He helped bring Elon Musk’s satellite internet Starlink to Ukraine’s front line, pressured global tech companies to stop operating in Russia, and lobbied to legalize cryptocurrency so that Ukraine could accept donations to the military in crypto.

Unlike other government agencies that are often drowned in bureaucracy, Fedorov organized his Ministry of Digital Transformation to operate like a startup: young and entrepreneurial civil servants put forward ambitious ideas – some so ambitious they are unfeasible – and then seek funding to implement them. “Only 10% of our ideas take off,” Fedorov said.

Before the war, Fedorov’s dream was to make Ukraine “the most convenient state in the world.” To do so, he worked to move government services, such as paying taxes and receiving unemployment benefits, online. The fruit of his labor is Diia, now used by more than 18 million people out of Ukraine’s 41 million adult population.

Fedorov also pushed for the legalization of cryptocurrencies in Ukraine and introduced a special taxation system – Diia City – for tech firms and startups. The tech community is split on this initiative — some consider it a threat to the current system where tech specialists pay a favorable 5% revenue tax if they’re registered as private entrepreneurs.

Technology has proven vital in times of crisis, whether it be the Covid-19 pandemic or war, Fedorov said. And Ukraine, partly thanks to his ministry’s efforts, was ready to use tech to fight against the enemy and support the economy.

The innovations gave Ukraine a real edge against the heavily outdated Russian army, which mostly uses military equipment left over from the Soviet era. By the third month of the war, for example, when the Ukrainians had already started using Starlink for communications, many Russian soldiers were using ERA cryptophone system, which did not work in most regions of Ukraine and could easily be cracked by Ukrainian intelligence.

As Russia continues its war, one of Fedorov's priorities now is to turn Ukraine into the center of military tech development and production. “I want more Ukrainian tech companies to help kill Russians,” he said, smiling.

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nancypullen · 1 year

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Where Was I?

It’s been a busy few days, where did I leave you? I think we were stuffing our faces with Valentine food. I’ve been on a celery and salad kick since then - my arteries need scrubbing. Since then we’ve made more progress on the kitchen (hardware added, sink and faucet ordered, quartz counters ordered) and I love it more every day. Here’s the hardware -

They’re a warm, oil-rubbed bronze finish and Mickey made short work of attaching them to 28 cupboards and drawers. My hero. That’s why you see a glimpse of his shop vac in the second photo - he even sucked up sawdust from his drill as he worked. His mama trained him right. We finally chose and ordered our countertops. I spent a long time shuffling and staring at samples.

I thought I’d be more of a fan of the sort of soapstone sample - the rectangular, dark tile that’s middle left. Maybe I should have waited until we had the hardware on and viewed hem that way. Nah, I knew that I was getting the right vibe from some of the beige pieces. I zeroed in on one that is a few shades darker than the cabinets, but in the same family. Not too cool, not too warm, has a soft, creamy feel, that sort of thing.

I didn’t like the really busy samples at all. The darker options seemed too harsh in the open concept (I hate that phrase) floor plan we have. Beige worked best, but some were too light, some were too gray, and the sample named Taj Royale was baby bear’s chair - just right.

Our installation date is March 10th and I can’t wait. Hallelujah! In even better news, Matt arrived yesterday! He came home to spend his birthday week with us and it’s already been fun. Tomorrow he’ll be 38 and there’s absolutely no way I can have a child that old. NO way. How did that happen?? Obviously, I was a child bride. When Matt and I are together something weird usually happens. We’re both freak magnets, and we thoroughly enjoy that. Today we went out and about on a couple of errands but it was all very ordinary. Bummer. We’ll try again tomorrow.

One of the stops that we made today was at an auction house. There’s a company in Denton that deals in estate sales and that sort of thing and they have an auction every week. During the pandemic everything went online and they’ve never gone back to hosting live auctions. They post a catalog of items every Sunday and customers have all week to scroll through it. On Saturdays and Sundays they throw open the doors so you can inspect the goods, and bidding ends on Monday, with auctions closing every few seconds. We have lost our ever-loving minds over this stuff. Last week we picked up two Cracker Barrel rocking chairs for less than the price of one. Score! I bought a gorgeous large mirror to start a makeover of the downstairs powder room...and only paid four dollars for it. The cheapskate in me is quivering with delight.

Here’s the mirror, stashed in the garage. You can see the rockers too!

Don’t judge that corner of the garage. It’s a work in progress.

I’ve picked up batches of gorgeous picture frames for a few dollars. Mickey won the bid for a beautiful Longaberger storage basket with a wooden lid that is currently storing vinyl and paper in my craft room. It’s so nice. We turned Tyler and Jamie on to the auction sit and they’ve made a couple of fabulous purchases. Yesterday’s auction had some wonderful patio furniture that I wish I had a need for - and it went cheap. We did get these great wicker trunks for the master closet, perfect for keeping things tidy.

They’re in excellent condition and you know I love pretty storage. I couldn’t resist this adorable baby doll cradle.

It rocks perfectly. I’ll clean it up and make it sweet for the grandgirl to tuck her baby into. You know there will be rosebuds and lace involved. One of the items that Jamie purchased was an exceptionally nice faux plant. She’d been shopping for one for their home office, and as you know they’re ridiculously pricey. I sent her pics from the auction house of three different plants and this was the winner.

She won it at just over the five dollar mark. She’ll fluff it up and put it in a pretty pot and she’s saved herself about a hundred bucks. I’m giddy over the bargains.

Mickey purchased this thing.

He says it’s a saw, and that giant rolling case has some saw-related paraphernalia in it. He’s looking toward retirement and thinking of making frames (for his millions of photos) and doing a bit of woodworking like his dad did. I’ve shared a few of the purchases the Pullen family made, and left out a bunch of odds and ends that were smaller. A wooden desk organizer, vintage bowls, etc. Mickey was working today and the Edgewaters are over the bridge doing the same, so I told everyone that I’d be happy to pick up all of the winnings. I love doing it and it makes me look like a big spender. BUT...I forgot that our SUV is in the shop (that’s another story) and we have a rental. A little sedan with a trunk just about the size of that doll cradle. Matt said he’d come with me to help load up and I warned him that I might have to make three trips. Those big wicker trunks, that enormous saw and case, the large plant, the cradle, the odds and ends...oh dear. Luckily, I raised kids in the generation that played countless video games and Matt’s Tetris skills kicked in. We filled every nook and cranny of that little car and got it all home.

It wasn’t purty but we got ‘er done. Now I’ve got to wrap this up and get dinner on the table. I started a pork loin in the crockpot about 11am and I’ve got taters and green beans to roast. I’ll add a balsamic glaze to the pork loin and serve it all to these hungry boys. Later I’ll sneak upstairs and wrap the last couple of gifts for the birthday boy and tomorrow we will celebrate him. Sounds like a recipe for a wonderful day. I hope you’ve got something on the calendar to look forward to - anticipation is half the fun. If not, put something on the calendar - “treat myself to a facial” or “picnic in the park”. Oh gosh, stretching out on a blanket with a good book after a picnic lunch sounds like something I need to schedule. Choose something you’d enjoy and make it happen. Life is short, might as well make it sweet. Sending out love, grab some if you need it. Stay safe, stay well.

Nancy P.S. I typed this super fast, I’m sure I’ll look at it later and cringe over the typos. Have mercy.

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