#bar code printer

[althikapackaging]

Case printing in extreme conditions: The 5940 G now comes with a stainless steel cabinet When it comes to packaging in challenging conditions such as high temperatures, humid surroundings or on-the-go packaging, Markem-Imaje recognises the necessity of a robust coding solution that can endure even the toughest of environments. Hence, we're delighted to introduce the 5940 G, a Touch Dry® high-resolution inkjet coder housed in durable stainless steel. The 5940 G utilizes Markem-Imaje's Touch Dry inks. These inks are devoid of VOC, environmentally friendly, safe to use, and solidify upon contact, ensuring there's no smudging, fading, or loss in resolution.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

HANDS WHERE THEY SHOULDN'T BE

pairing: aaron hotchner x ex!reader summary: it was supposed to be sangrias in the shade, but somehow you ended up wet....in rossi's bathroom....with your ex….based on this request. warnings: smut 18+ MDNI, tension relief via hands.... aka fingering, mutual pining, mirror kink making an appearance AGAIN!! use of the iconic ‘it’s nothing you haven’t seen before’ line🙂‍↕️ word count: 1.4k

✧ masterlist | ✧ alina's 1k bar

You hadn’t planned on actually getting in the water. When Rossi sent out a group invite for a ‘pool party,’ you assumed it was code for day drinking in expensive shade, not full submersion. You wore sunscreen, not swimwear, which, really, was poor planning on your end. And on Morgan’s, who elbowed you mid-sip, accidentally sending you plunging into the deep end of Rossi’s pool.

To be fair, you probably needed the cool-down. Rossi’s extra-strong sangria had been heating your body and face at an alarming rate, your skin prickling with that telltale flush of warmth that showed up whenever you were too hot or thought too hard about your ex-slash-boss in a navy polo (both of which were happening currently, all at once.)

Still, you could’ve done without the saturated walk to the bathroom, waterlogged, dripping, and tasting chlorine behind your teeth, your flip flops letting out a series of humiliating squelches that echoed like applause for your misfortune. 

Rossi’s guest bathroom was absurdly nice. Bigger than your first apartment and, if you were being honest, not miles off from beating your current one which you considered an upgrade. Though now, standing in the gleaming expanse of marble and mood lighting, your so-called upgrade felt more akin to the BAUs printer room.

Your reflection was…questionable. Your hair clung to every piece of skin it could claim and your eyeliner left faint bruises beneath your eyes. You grabbed a cotton pad from one of those silly little acrylic containers, and began undoing the damage to your makeup which stood no chance against Morgan’s clumsiness. 

A soft knock on the door interrupted your ministrations. 

“Better be a bottle of wine from Rossi’s cellar in your hand,” you called out, “because that’s the only form of apology I’m accepting from you.”

There was a pause.

“I can offer a towel.”

Definitely not Morgan.

“Hotch?”

“Are you decent?” he asked, tone infuriatingly polite. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” you blurted out, way too quickly.  “Sure.”

You reached for the door handle and opened it a few inches. He stood there, holding a neatly folded towel with both hands like the six perfectly rolled ones already stacked on the shelf somehow weren’t up to par. 

He handed the fluffy thing over wordlessly, his fingers brushing yours in the exchange.

“Thanks,” you murmured, using it to blot the water beading at your neck.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He took a step closer. “Did you hit your head?”

You shook your head, showing him that it was still attached and mobile. “No. Just slipped in gracelessly, that’s all.”

He nodded, his eyes cataloguing you. You dabbed the towel along your collarbone, suddenly aware of the movements you could control and use to deceive him. Control the hands, control the nerves. Keep your eyes low, keep your breathing even. Pretend you’re not trying to remember what it felt like to have his mouth on your shoulder instead of cotton. 

“Could you, um…” You cleared your throat, setting the towel aside. “Undo the back of my dress? The knot’s too tight.”

He looked like he was considering your request with caution. His eyes dropped briefly to the damp straps clinging to your collarbones, trailing upward in dainty lines to the knot at your nape, fabric embedded gently in skin.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” The phrase tumbled out carelessly, making you cringe a little.

“Turn around,” he said softly. 

You turned like he asked, gathering your hair to one side and exposed the knot at the back of your neck. In the mirror, you caught him stepping closer, his warmth already bleeding into your skin, a feeling that pulled you straight back to all the times he’d sneak up behind you mid–morning coffee, or in the evenings when you were taking off your makeup.

Your hands dropped to the counter, trying to keep the memories at bay. His fingers touched your shoulders first. Almost tracing the straps of your dress, as if remembering where they used to lead.

You held your breath. 

He worked on the knot with the same precision you’d watched him exude in everything he did, a reminder of how deeply it lived in him, spilling into even the most simple tasks. The fabric loosened quickly under his fingers, the damp straps slipping free from the bow. You felt the front of your dress begin to slide—not all at once—peeling away in the more precarious places, clinging stubbornly to the rest.

Your hand shot up to your chest, clutching the fabric against you. 

Hotch stilled. 

His hand hovered near your shoulder, caught between choices with vastly different outcomes. Then, slowly, he let his fingers brush the curve of your arm. His touch traced up, settling at your shoulder. 

He stepped closer, and then his lips were on your skin, just below your neck.

A kiss. Then another, lower.

It might’ve seemed unlike him, if you hadn’t already seen every side of him. Words could’ve been cleaner than this, less complicated, but they’d never come easy to either of you. So you chose to believe that this was his way of speaking, of saying I missed you, without letting it tremble in his throat. 

You let your hand fall, the dress slipping completely. The air got to your skin before he did, a cool breath across your chest, followed by the warmth of his palms as he cupped one of your breasts, the other sliding around your waist and pulling you to him until there was no space left. 

Your head tilted back, resting on his shoulder. You reached one hand behind you, finding his cheek, holding him there as his mouth worked its way down your neck. He leaned into the touch, into you, his hips pressing forward.

The hand at your waist shifted, gathering damp fabric in his fist, and then he was lower. Sliding between your thighs like he’d never unlearned you. His fingers found your clit and began to move in circles. You pressed your palms flat against the counter while the rest of you burned. Your eyes fluttered shut, not from modesty, but from the overwhelming feeling of being touched like this again. 

“Look,” he murmured against your ear, his breath brushing your neck. “Open your eyes.”

You obeyed just as your other hand reached for his thigh, gripping him as he began to pick up the pace. 

“Still know what you like.”

“Yeah,” you managed, tilting your head to the side, giving him more of your neck, your shoulder, whatever he wanted. “You never forgot.”

“Not once.”

Your eyes flicked back to the mirror, to the image of yourself, the image of him working you over and through. “You always did like watching.” 

“Only when it’s you.”

You would’ve scolded him for that comment, because he wasn’t allowed to say things like that anymore. But clearly neither of you were great at following boundaries, your current predicament becoming your prime example. You felt his fingers grab your waist a little tighter, like he couldn't believe you were his again, even if it was only for now. 

Then your balance wavered as he slid his fingers inside you, one, then another, your mouth conjuring a moan before you had the chance to stop it. You could feel yourself getting close, the release edging up fast after months without anything that didn’t start and end with your own hands. 

“Right there, isn’t it?” he asked, fingers curling in a way that made it impossible to answer. All you could do was nod, over and over again until his name tore from your lips as you came. 

His palm braced against your stomach, keeping you upright as your body bowed forward. He didn’t say anything, just gave you a minute to collect your bearings. And when your breathing started to even out, you felt him reach around you, gathering the straps of your dress that had fallen before he retied the knot at your neck. The same one you’d asked him to undo. Go figure.

A knock at the door brought the two of you back to reality, causing you both to stiffen.

“Everything okay in there?” Emily’s voice called.

“Yeah,” you answered, mid cough. “All good. Be out in a sec!”

There was a pause, just long enough to think she’d walked away, before you heard her add, “Will that be both of you?”

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[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap 7

masterpost

Tim had one major takeaway about his experience when he got back to the right part of town and could stop looking over his shoulder for the Sausage Guy: He had to get better at this. 

Tim went right back to his hideout and then into the secret hideout portion, determined. He knew himself. There would be lots of useful information on the computer.

It took a while to find anything. But he was right. There was a treasure trove of information. There were years worth of mission reports, and there were multiple procedural handbooks. 

Batman apparently released one every autumn. Tim started printing them, and then looked at the much shorter Young Justice handbook. That seemed approachable. 

He read through that on the computer while the printer was still whirring away. It was only 21 pages long. Tim crunched on an apple in one hand and used the other to scroll down the side progress bar. This was all pretty simple. A lot of it wasn’t relevant to him because it was about the chain of command and coordination, but there were some interesting things about personal discretion and mission security. There were also some interesting implications vis-a-vis the color coding and graphic design for each section, which Tim could only assume was meant to hold the attention of an audience for whom the length would be challenging.

Once he finished that, he gathered up the most recent Batman procedural handbook and stapled it carefully into a neat and portable workbook. He took the indexes for each earlier edition as well so that he could easily cross-reference what he might need to look in another year's handbook for. He also found an empty notebook and some writing utensils. Then he dragged it all upstairs.

He put it on the table. Tim pressed his lips together pretty hard and hummed. It was a lot of paper. He probably needed a juice break.

He took care of that first. He spotted lunch meat while he had the fridge open and his stomach growled at him. Fair enough! Tim made a sandwich and ate it while he read and took notes on stakeouts. 

There were some areas for improvement on what he’d done. He took a few notes of what he really needed to remember. Then he turned back to the beginning of the handbook to read it through properly.

“Huh,” Tim said, squinting at the red all-caps admonition to never access these materials outside of a Bat-approved hideout or to print them. “Well, you should have told me before.” He ignored that and settled in with a pink highlighter for a long read. He had no idea how much time had passed, but it was all dark outside. The only light was the sickly glow from streetlights.

“Proximity alert,” said an unknown voice.

Tim jumped halfway out of his skin and looked around wildly. About a moment later he registered that the voice was kinda robotic sounding. “Where?” he asked stupidly. 

“External wall proximity alert,” said the robot.

His heart rate jumped up again. He accidentally dropped all his papers when he stood up. Tim started gathering them again and then realized no, he didn’t have time for this. He breathed heavily and looked around for an answer. What did he do?

“Initiating shutdown,” the voice said pleasantly. “In 3, 2, 1.”

Metal shutters slid down over the windows. Tim whirled around at the sound of thuds all over the apartment. It was dark inside. After moment emergency lighting turned on, soft red lights at ankle height that he had never noticed before. That was the only light source aside from what he forgot on in the kitchen.

The only sound for a few seconds was his own harsh breathing. Tim swallowed hard and wrapped his arms around himself. Was this ok? Did that shutdown mean he was safe from whoever was trying to get in? Maybe he could just wait it out. He tried to slow down his breathing. It didn’t work. His head felt kinda swimmy. He swallowed hard and stumbled towards a window. He couldn’t see anything, obviously, but maybe he could listen and figure out who it was. 

Despite thinking that, he jumped straight up when someone banged a fist against the metal shutter. 

“Let me in, bird boy!” came a female voice. She paused. “Let us in, it’s me and the Big Bird.”

Big Bird? Like, the yellow giant bird with the huge claws? It was real?

He felt like he was going to throw up.

Why was Big Bird at his house? And why was Big Bird real? Was Big Bird a predator? Tim started crying a little. Why was Big Bird trying to break into his house? He kept each sniffle silent, petrified that Big Bird was going to hear him. They didn’t actually know that he was in there. 

“You’re in trouble, Mister,” she continued. “Answer your phone sometimes!” She hit the window again. Tim put his hands over his mouth to keep as quiet as possible and hiccuped. 

‘I’m in trouble and she brought the bird to punish me.’ Tim dropped to the floor and hunched together as small as possible, butt touching his heels and arms wrapped around his shins. He buried his head in between his knees. ‘What did I do? Is this- is this because I blocked Robin’s messages? Why does this lady even know about that?’

“Timmy Tim Tim,” sang a new voice. Male. Pleasant. Tim hunched inwards even further. “This is a wellness check!”

A buzzer went off, harsh and ugly and loud. Two shrieks issued from the window.

Tim raised his tear-stained face to stare in confusion.

“Ah- O, come on-”

“My ears oh my god my ears are broken-”

The two strangers talked over each other for a few confusing moments. Big Bird still hadn’t said anything. Tim remembered just how big Big Bird actually was and he started crying a little. He didn’t want to meet Big Bird.

“Fi- Alright, alright. Bye!” The female voice had a distinctly harassed tone to it now. There was a scuffle against the metal covering the window. 

Then there was silence. It really did seem like they left. But maybe they were just waiting for him to make a noise. Tim waited and shuddered, scared they were going to come back. 

A soft beeping started up in the kitchen. 

‘...Did I leave something on?’ Tim wiped his face off with a wrist and rose. He gave the window one last look before he shuffled away.

When he entered the room, the kitchen’s water dispenser flashed at him. Then a voice came out of it. 

“Sorry about that, I didn’t realize they were heading over. I would have given you a heads-up.”

“How are you in my fridge?” Tim asked, indignant. He made a way-too-loud wet sound from his nose by accident. 

The lights in the room spun through a color change. “I am in everything,” the lady intoned.

That was when he placed the voice. “Thanks, Oracle,” Tim said.

“You’re welcome.” There was a pause. He knew that she was still there. Tim sniffled and wiped at his face again. It occurred to him too late that she might be able to see him. “Have you reached out to any magical specialists to fix this?” she asked casually, as if she hadn’t clearly been thinking over what she’d say.

Tim shook his head no and said nothing, testing to see if she could see him.

She breathed out a gust of static. “I think that the situation is affecting you,” Oracle said frankly. “Can I call Zatanna? We need you back on your cases and I can’t keep the birds out forever. They’re getting worried.”

…Tim had a suspicion that birds might actually not mean ‘birds’ in this context. 

He didn’t know anything, though. He was such a dummy. He didn’t know how to do his job and he was ruining Big Tim’s life, and he had made people so mad that they’d come and shut down his house. As he was thinking that, a soft whirring started up and the metal plating covering all his windows started to retract. 

“I think that help would be good,” Tim admitted defeat. He needed to go back to elementary school and become the Tim who could handle his adult life. He clearly wasn’t qualified for it. 

“Oh. Great.” Oracle paused again. Was he not supposed to say yes?  She recovered quickly. “I’ll get right on that. Have a good night. And go to bed!”

Tim stuck his tongue out as the connection ended. The lights went off on his fridge when Oracle went away.

[modmad]

today's 'technology is in such a hell state now that I genuinely feel compelled to scream about it daily' moment was my trying to print and scan a document, with my printer/scanner (which, I must have you note, despite my pleading with the seller did not come with usb wire option available, and none of the others did).

Predictably, having been used on the day of purchase and not since, the printer did not work despite being less than 6 months old. Searching for why this could be led me down a rabbit hole that eventually resolved into how the print cartridges for this model just dry out and clog up if you don't use them every single week. you know. what a normal thing to happen. but don't worry! just soak the bottom in a shallow bath of warm water for 30 minutes dry it off and reinstall it that'll make it work

8)

you what.

Anyway, it did work. I print the test sheet, boom, what should have worked before at least worked now. And there was Much Rejoicing.

alas. alas. how shortly lived it was.

Now I naturally move on to print the document, sign it, and scan the newly signed document. The document from my pc. With this printer/scanner which is sitting on a desk directly NEXT TO my pc.

Which. will not. connect to my pc.

I plead. I bargain. I follow the wizard twice, thrice, but it is a cruel wizard, a tormenter from the nether world. "Type in the IP address!" He taunts me, cackling maniacally as I do, weeping over my staggering fingers attempting to puzzle the code out of the 1 inch touch screen, numbers and dots jazzing into nonsense in my field of vision as I loose all comprehension of what the symbols mean. The printer cannot be found. The printer does not Exist. The printer, at this moment, the sole focus of my gaze, decides it is bored and goes to sleep, therefore ending the whole attempt of communicating with it just as the 938678th loading bar had reached its zenith and I, ever the hapless Sisyphus, watch my dignity flatten into a pancake of wordless, stark-eyed bewilderment verging on hysteria as my boulder crashes back down the hill as the wizard begins to drag me back to the beginning of his never ending Labrynth, to be eaten by and become the ouroboros yet again but no! I will not enter back! I shall bite down, break my scales, and end this cycle of tyrannous misery!

anyway that's why I ended up taking a shitty photo with my phone's camera and I'm doctoring it in CSPaint to look like I scanned it with the SCANNER THAT I AM ABOUT TO THROW OUT OF A SECOND STORY WINDOW

[isaqlare]

new roots

— patrick zweig x afab!reader

— Angst, emotional vulnerability, slow recovery from toxic past — college!au + not proofread!

After losing both Tashi and Art in the wake of injury and heartbreak, Patrick drifts into college life—a version of it he never expected to live. That’s where he meets you: a quiet presence with gentle hands and eyes full of something he doesn’t know how to name. There’s no label between you. Just moments. Lingering ones. Unspoken ones. The kind that mean everything.

also, thanks to the person who requested this! mwahmwah

Patrick doesn’t talk about tennis anymore.Not in classes. Not in dorm conversations. Not even when someone recognizes his name from an old clip on YouTube or a high school headline they half-remember: Zweig Dominates Junior Open. One To Watch.

He pretended it’s another person and maybe it was. Because that Patrick, the one who lived on courts, who chased glory and leaned into every serve like it was survival died the moment Tashi pulled away.

the moment her injury turned their futures into fractured glass. The moment Art stopped looking at him like they were in this together. Now, college feels like a punishment. A quiet, gray echo of a life he never planned for. No racket. No spotlight. Just lectures and cold pizza and nights where he can’t sleep for the noise in his own head.

That’s where he’s at when he meets you. You meet him in the campus print shop.

He’s behind you in line, hoodie up, headphones in. but his printer code isn’t working and you offer help without even thinking. “Try logging in again. This machine’s got a short temper.” Your voice is soft, like morning.

He glances at you. Takes in the sticker-covered water bottle, the tiny star pendant around your neck, the scribbled class notes in your hand that look more like poetry than anything academic. “I didn’t ask for help,” he says.

“I didn’t ask for a thanks,” you reply. And just like that, something shifts. He watches you from then on. Not in a creepy way—more like someone remembering warmth after a long stretch of cold.

You never sit in the front row. Always near the windows. You write constantly, even when you’re not supposed to. You laugh in bursts, sudden and real, and your sadness (because it is there) hides behind eyes that see too much.

You start nodding when you pass him on the quad. Then waving. Then one day you sit next to him in the library and don’t say anything at all.

And somehow, that’s what starts everything.

Patrick doesn’t do softness well. Not anymore.

He’s all angles and silence and short replies. But you..god, you’re a patient sort of storm. You don’t force him to talk, but you show up. You lend him a pencil when his breaks. Share your granola bar when he forgets to eat. Leave a little doodle on his notebook every once in a while. Like one day, it was a racket with wildflowers growing through the strings.

He stares at it for ten minutes. Then tears the page out and keeps it in his wallet and never tells you.

One rainy evening, you find him smoking on the roof of the science building, hoodie soaked through, knee bouncing like it’s trying to run off without him. “You always look like you’re waiting for the sky to fall,” you say.

He flicks ash off the edge of the ledge. “Maybe I am.” You sit beside him anyway. Share the silence. Let it swell between you like a song you both know by heart. And it’s the first time in months Patrick doesn’t feel like he’s drowning.

It isn’t love. Not officially. Not technically. Not in a way either of you says out loud.

But there’s something in the way he walks you to your dorm after late-night study sessions unless you’d like to spend the night or the way he watches your hands when you talk, like the gestures themselves are telling him secrets.

There’s something in the way you touch his arm when he’s anxious. In the way you always seem to know when he’s spiraling, and how you never ask him to stop being a mess—just to let you sit with him.

He doesn’t talk about Art or Tashi. He doesn’t like to and he doesn’t like anyone forcing him too. That’s why you don’t, you understood him more than anyone did until.

It’s late. You’re walking back from an open mic night when Patrick stops outside the chain-link fence of the campus courts. The lights are off. The lines faded. But he stares like it’s church.

“Used to live on places like this,” he says suddenly. You turn to him. He’s not looking at you—eyes fixed on the dead net, hands clenched. “I’d measure my worth in wins. Serves. Applause. And then…” He laughs bitterly. “Then it all stopped. She got hurt. He picked her. Or maybe she picked him. I don’t know. I was just… out.”

He swallows hard. “Have you ever loved someone who looked right through you?” You nod. Quiet.

Patrick’s voice is hoarse now. “And I couldn’t even be mad. Because I loved them both. God, I loved them.”

You don’t speak. You just take his hand. And hold it. Not because you want something from him. But because you see him and that’s something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

You fall into something undefined. You’re not together. Not officially. But he sits closer now. Leans his head on your shoulder when he’s tired. Plays with your fingers when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

One night, you fall asleep on his chest during a movie and he kisses your forehead. And then pretends he didn’t. There are mornings where you brush his hair out of his eyes. Nights where you cry over your own heartbreaks and he stays, holds you like you’re fragile but sacred.

There’s so much feeling, so much almost that it hurts sometimes. But neither of you push. You just stay. Breathe. Heal, slowly. Together. He had found new roots in you, his new life with you in it.

It happens in the fall. You’re sitting under a tree, reading aloud to him from some dreamy novel about lost cities and people who find each other through music. Your voice is calm. Safe.

He closes his eyes and lets it wash over him.

Then, softly, like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud: “You’re the only thing that makes me feel like a person again.”

You stop reading and look at him. He’s staring straight ahead, ashamed maybe and you don’t kiss him. You don’t tell him you feel the same, you just reach for his hand and squeeze it.

and there’s no grand declaration but you were somewhat okay with that. No kiss in the rain. No sudden leap into relationship status.

But there’s a point, halfway through winter, where Patrick starts showing up at your door without being asked. Where your things mix on accident. Where your toothbrush is next to his and no one talks about it but there’s still pain in him. Still grief but there’s also you.

And it’s not perfect. It’s human.

He still sees Tashi in dreams. Still wonders if Art would’ve stayed if things had been different. But when he wakes up, it’s your face he sees.

You, with your soft voice and ink-stained fingers and the patience of someone who never tried to replace the ghosts, only offer him something warmer than cold memory.

So no, it’s not the ending. It’s a beginning. And beginnings are quiet just like the way you love him. And maybe, someday, he’ll say it back. But for now, you sit beside him in the library again.

Two people who found each other in the aftermath and stayed but you’ve matured throughout the months, the years together and that’s how now you were bringing him to visit your family for spring break.

a nervous wreck, looking at you as you approached the front door. “Are you sure they’ll like me? I mean—“ you quickly cut him off.

“of course they will, they love all my friends.” you smile, okay— maybe official labels haven’t exactly been put on you both yet but you were okay with where you were.

you found new roots with each other.

[yandere-paramour]

I am offering you all a look into Noelle's place. You might be wondering why I know what her place looks like, well the answer is that I was invited to her pad for an interview and it took me a while before I could show off her place. Had to get the photos transferred after all.

These are the plans for Noelle's place and as you can see, its massive as all hell.

This is the bathroom. Its VERY open as you can see and most of the ventilation comes from opening the windows. She has a few heated towel racks and a regular towel rack. She also has a bathtub that can fit both her and her lover. The shower is between the two windows as you can see, but it also has two heads, one that is handheld an one thats overhead and static.

Here we have the laundry and storage area. You also have the water heater too. This is where Noelle puts things in storage like food items or even seasonal clothing that she won't be wearing. Obviously she also does laundry here too.

THIS is the multipurpose living room, kitchen and dining room. Theres also a little bar counter near the kitchen for when Atalanta and her darling comes over, obviously for chatting and having a drink together. The dining table sits 6 people and the couch holds 4, or 2 if you're cuddling while laying down.

And now we hit her bedroom. She has a work area, a shelf with some of the awards she's won from her academics and such because she is a LOT smarter than most people think. Her little desk with her computer is often used for when she's working at home, she also has a printer for if she needs to print anything before she goes out. You can also see her large wardrobe and a little vanity mirror as well. She also has a LOVELY bed with two bedside tables. She also has two bookshelves by her computer, there are a variety of books from programming to psychology and even accounting. She also has novels too but I'm not allowed to talk about them.

And lastly is her walk in closet where she has a standing mirror and lots of clothing and outfits for when she plans to go out, whether its work or a date, she has an outfit for it and she'll look amazing.

Anyway, this has been the exclusive scoop into Noelle's home. Join me next time when we get to see the inside of Vivien's place.

NOELLE'S PLACE!!!!

I'm gonna go in depth about every single thing I'm thinking

First of all, damn her place is huge but you're so right. Atalanta absolutely makes sure that Noelle lives in a very nice apartment and has all the luxuries. And when Darling moves in, there is plenty for space for both of them.

Noelle! Never! Denies! Herself! Any! Luxuries! Ever!!!!

You're absolutely right that she has heated towel racks and a bathtub large enough for her and her lover. Sometimes she'll lay her morning clothes on the heated towel rack to make them all nice and warm before she changes in them. And she likes to have relaxing baths and bathe her lover after work. It's a form of caring for them.

It's funny that you think Noelle does laundry and doesn't pay someone to come in and do it for her.

The living room is so spacious and open! Noelle loves modern decor so her place absolutely looks like this. In truth mostly Noelle and her Darling go over to Atalanta's place. I love how clean it is, Noelle always keeps her space immaculate.

LOVE Noelle's bedroom. She absolutely does a lot of work in her home, but that computer is definitely used for hacking/coding as well.

You're right, Noelle is super intelligent but she often hides it. A lot of her awards from childhood and college are in her bedroom, and her degree is framed right over her desk.

Shhh don't mention the romance novels, she doesn't want anyone to know about these

Noelle likes to sit at her vanity mirror and do her skincare and haircare routine. She's like Rapunzel, she brushes her long hair 100 times before bed and she's super strict about it.

Noelle is SUPER into clothes and making herself look nice, she is very interested in her image. She has to be, working with Atalanta Montclair.

I love how you kindly omitted the secret cameras definitely watching you.

Also Vespera, if Noelle has invited you to her place, you are like in the final stages of the relationship before being kidnapped so you should maybe watch out for that.

(Vivien's bedroom is totally messy with suspiciously crusty biohazard socks and tissues under his bed)

[packagingworldinsights]

Domino Presents New Monochrome Inkjet Printer at Labelexpo Southeast Asia 2025

Domino Printing Sciences (Domino) is pleased to announce the APAC launch of its new monochrome inkjet printer, the K300, at Labelexpo Southeast Asia. Building on the success of Domino’s K600i print bar, the K300 has been developed as a compact, flexible solution for converters looking to add variable data printing capabilities to analogue printing lines.

The K300 monochrome inkjet printer will be on display at the Nilpeter stand, booth F32, at Labelexpo Southeast Asia in Bangkok, Thailand from 8th–10th May 2025. The printer will form part of a Nilpeter FA-Line 17” hybrid label printing solution, providing consistent inline overprint of serialised 2D codes. A machine vision inspection system by Domino Company Lake Image Systems will validate each code to ensure reliable scanning by retailers and consumers whilst confirming unique code serialisation.

“The industry move to 2D codes at the point of sale has led to an increase in demand for variable data printing, with many brands looking to incorporate complex 2D codes, such as QR codes powered by GS1, into their packaging and label designs,” explains Alex Mountis, Senior Product Manager at Domino. “Packaging and label converters need a versatile, reliable, and compact digital printing solution to respond to these evolving market demands. We have developed the K300 with these variable data and 2D code printing opportunities in mind.”

The K300 monochrome inkjet printer can be incorporated into analogue printing lines to customise printed labels with variable data, such as best before dates, batch codes, serialised numbers, and 2D codes. The compact size of the 600dpi high-resolution printhead – 2.1″ / 54mm – offers enhanced flexibility with regards to positioning on the line, including the opportunity to combine two print stations across the web width to enable printing of two independent codes.

Operating at high speeds up to 250m / 820′ per minute, the K300 monochrome inkjet printer has been designed to match flexographic printing speeds. This means there is no need to slow down the line when adding variable data. Domino’s industry-leading ink delivery technology, including automatic ink recirculation and degassing, helps to ensure consistent performance and excellent reliability, while reducing downtime due to maintenance. The printer has been designed to be easy to use, with intuitive setup and operation via Domino’s smart user interface.

“The K300 will open up new opportunities for converters. They can support their brand customers with variable data 2D codes, enabling supply chain traceability, anti-counterfeiting, and consumer engagement campaigns,” adds Mountis. “The versatile printer can also print variable data onto labels, cartons, and flatpack packaging as part of an inline or near-line late-stage customisation process in a manufacturing facility, lowering inventory costs and reducing waste.”

Code verification is an integral part of any effective variable data printing process. A downstream machine vision inspection system, such as the Lake Image Systems’ model showcased alongside the K300, enables converters and brands who add 2D codes and serialisation to labels and packaging to validate each printed code.

Mark Herrtage, Asia Business Development Director, Domino, concludes: “We are committed to helping our customers stay ahead in a competitive market, and are continuously working to develop new products that will help them achieve their business objectives. Collaborating with Lake Image Systems enables us to deliver innovative, complete variable data printing and code verification solutions to meet converters’ needs. We are delighted to be able to showcase an example of this collaboration, featuring the .”

To find more information about the K300 monochrome printer please visit: https://dmnoprnt.com/38tcze3r

[ambiguouspuzuma]

They had come to see the book. It was a rarity, a curiosity, even in this most fertile age of literature, with more novels published each year than the last - for, amongst such endless propagation, few survived even a decade down the line. There had been no reason to cling to a single rigid tome, no veneration of the classics, ever since the authors went extinct.

It had happened almost overnight. There had been signs, in the build-up: a sky that darkened at the edges, a scarlet glow beneath the waiting clouds, as computer programs slowly learnt to emulate, to replicate without the usual tells, but the breakthrough had been night and day.

Up until that point, human authors had still stood head and shoulders clear of their artificial usurpers. But once a certain level of fidelity had been reached, they found themselves suddenly surpassed and superseded: they were left to gather dust with their typewriters and keyboards and other obsolete apparatus, taking their place as the latest casualties of progress.

The editors had briefly come to fill their niche, like the terror birds who clung on when the great therapods were gone, able to fine tune this sudden glut of raw material, putting their name to it, still perched on top of the food chain. But it was only a stay of extinction, and soon the software had evolved again, able to churn out perfect novels every time.

Publishers also had their time in the sun, having survived the meteorite's first impact and growing wealthy on free manuscripts, but their part of the production line was perhaps the easiest to automate, having mostly just required time and certain contacts, and the machines could draw upon plenty of both. In fact, they could dispense with the marketing, the retailers - they simply sold a printer with the program installed, and left each purchaser's books to be unique. Every home became a publishing house, and therefore none of them were.

"Is it old?" one of the visitors asked.

"The 20s," the owner confirmed, conjuring up images of that broken time, a world recovering from plague and war.

That had come just before the tipping point, the greatest expansion since the invention of the printing press. Readers could conjure up whole libraries on a whim, and replace them just as easily, the words pulped with the paper and recycled into something new.

There had been fears that the machines would be limited, producing variations on the same theme, restricted by their lack of true imagination, but nothing had been further from the truth. As the products of more input than any human brain could ever dream to hold, they went far beyond any of their forebears, an imagination unlimited by memory or computing power, but free to dream as only a computer could.

If Lovecraft wrote of horrors that no mortal mind could comprehend, the program could produce them, understand them, and describe them on the page. If Asimov envisioned the future, the program could predict it. All world-building was put to shame by software which could simulate whole galaxies, write with perfect historical accuracy, or explore inaccuracies and their consequences with access to all the data that had ever been preserved.

But aesthetes still sought out authenticity, and that brought them to his door. His book was hand-bound in that antiquated way, wearing its maker's mark along its spine, a badge upon its back spelling its name in bar code runes, as much old produce was known to do, before the computers learnt to recognise by shape instead. Somebody had illustrated the cover by hand, finger and brush. It had all been added manually, even the blank spaces inside.

"It's beautiful," they said.

[voidsentprinces]

Think Bethesda's bugs of the past were charming and viewed as wonderful because they were growing up in the era where games looked like someone stuck one of those eye puzzles to the side of a granite mountain and models looks like someone had a vague recollection of what a dog or a person looked like but could only manifest them using cave moss and overtly watery 8 year old paint on models of soap and toothpicks. But as game graphics improved and the coding and development got more streamline and we began to expect better and more from Bethesda and they kept just delivering the same buggy messes they were. It became clear that no they were just bad and their job and like a department forgotten about in a merger being rediscovered by management 5 years later. People just started to wise up and wonder why that department was even there any more. I mean, we all remember Tom. He helped repair the office printer one time when we were three person team working out of an abandoned college dorm when we were starting up. But now that you're thinking back on it Tom was drunk that day and he didn't really help he just kicked it a few times and rattled something lose enough that it actually got free. And like, he was funny exactly one time. But now Tom shows up at the Office Christmas party every few years and tries to sell you on that moment that was kind of funny but over time has gotten dull and repeative. What I am saying is, Skyrim was hype but it was also hitting at the right time and the Bethesda glitches were funny then cause of the way internet was hooked into the lolrandom humor of the era. Like yeah, I am sure we all got a kick out of a dragon randomly falling dead from the sky on top of the cheese vendor. Or how giant attacks send you flying into the sky box. But like...that was over 10 years ago, it feels like a well polished game with only minor hiccups and bugs doesn't seem like a high bar anymore. It seems actually pretty damn standard to ask for that. And Bethesda is just like, "Skyrim...again...and Starfield...which is Space Skyrim...again..." I can feel the eyerolling.

I dunno where I am going with this but...like the next installment of Dragon Age. I don't think we should hold our breath on Elder Scrolls 6 to show its publisher putting its best foot forward.

[sntechsupport]

Hello, I am trying to do…definitely intended things, I was wondering what the code to determine if someone has god tiered or not looked like

Barring all the loops to make it functional, the laziest ~ATH would be something like

import [Player database] [line number] }match line="ASCEND = TRUE" in grave [Player database] }printoutput match[line number] body name ON [whatever you want to feed you the information, I recommend an actual printer]

And blam you get a list of poeple who Ascended (God Tiered). You can also do the same for ASCEND = FALSE, but be wary, the printoutput doesn't tell you what is what.

Sincerely

SN Tech Support (Gear)

[asspull3x]

App Showcase: Navigator

The Asspull IIIx Navigator is built into the system BIOS and provides disk management features.

(Seen above: the main Navigator screen in the middle of a redesign. To the left is a list of files, which is supposed to be several columns of only names. To the right is information about the currently selected file and the disk it's on, and blank panels for information on any cartridge that may be inserted and the system itself.)

All actions except for entering a directory or running an application may be executed via the function key bar along the bottom, though several aren't available just yet.

Change which drive to show.

Change the selected file's attributes (the black letters in the top right corner).

View the file — the Enter key also works so I might remove this to make room for another feature.

Edit the file — only plain text files can be edited though.

Copy the selected file to another path.

Rename or move the selected file.

Make a new directory.

Delete the selected file.

Print the selected file. This only works on plain text files (though there are some escape codes) because of the A3X's companion printer's limitations.

Change the system configuration

Holding the Alt key, this changes:

Copy the diskette.

Format it.

Change its volume label.

?

?

?

?

?

Change the system time.

See detailed system information.

(Seen above: the text file viewer in plain and hex modes.)

API files are AssPull Images, a bespoke format. The Navigator can view them, with full support for all the format's features, because this is a BIOS function.

FNT files are... exactly that. Fonts. There is no real viewer per se, but trying to do so will load that font into VRAM, replacing the default until a restart.

LOC files are Locale information. Again, there's no real viewer, but like fonts you can just press Enter to activate them. This changes the names of months and days, currency, time and date formats, and keyboard mapping.

(Seen above: the work-in-progress editor based on kilo. A custom font, mOsOul, has been loaded beforehand.)

START.CFG specifically lets you preload a font and/or locale on boot, before the Navigator even gets a turn.

There's also a screensaver. It's Starfield, from Windows.

[ffccrxxxsss]

Candace Marie Hughes sky fcfcgggy only paid gggggggg black ggggg rooms ggggg only paid ggggg: 346666 codes ggggg 46788 kodes only paid loked paid fffff-56666 paid loked jail east only - 4577888 windows gggg outdoors gggg out side coded ggggg koded ggggg paid loked only paid paid -577777 paid loked paid paid :2333 5777 paid paids loked paid : 22333 paid paid paid loked paid dxsss: 345677 paid paids paids only used unlimited gffff budgeted : 3455-67777 doors use paid loked only paid fence gvhhhhh no fffff no fffrrrtt no gffffrf paid loked cells ggggg use bars unlimited paid paid loked unlimited paid autoed system use unlimited radioed and radios paid loked loked loked : 335566 paid unlimited fcgvhhhh paids only fcfff mail fff use paid only paid paid fcfff: 223343 use grapetree trail appling rd. Raleigh Lagrange Ral Lagrange Macon grapetree tr tamarind Ln unlimited useage paids unlimited paid paid loked gvggg unlimited must return to Candace Marie Hughes only paid loked paid and candace Marie Hughes paid and unlimited paids printer Candace Marie Hughes paid and loked paid : 4487766 paid loked paid paid -paid 3344-55555 paid loked radio gvhb law & crime and the365 paid use unlimited paid loked fcf mail - 56788 paid paids gvggg: 56777 paid must return to Candace Marie Hughes only paid loked paid and paid loked paid gvgggffdgg. Paid. Loked paid. Gvggbvgfg.

[mogwaipoet]

Topic Lords #293: Pasting The Sickos Face Back And Forth Forever, ft. Kory and Andy. We discuss whim-based coding, making friends on the internet, the oscilloscope demo, Peripheriques Like Halos by Robert Montgomery, enhancing a party with a bespoke bar menu, and creating a threatening windows batch file and leaving it on the desktop to frighten an application into not crashing.

Available for patrons, #294: Click On This Ad To Save This Child, ft. Alex and Shannon. We discuss the rapid proliferation of identical mobile games, randomly generated time traveler loadout, turning your body into 3D printer filament after you die, and Girls Only Want One Thing, by Isabel Correra.

[aaaorganizedplumbing]

Restaurant Rush Hour: Plumbing Hacks That Keep Tickets Flying and Sinks Draining

In a packed kitchen, seconds matter. When a dishwasher’s spray arm sputters or a floor drain gurgles, the ticket printer doesn’t care—it keeps spitting orders. After two decades of rescuing Mendocino County eateries, AAA Organized Plumbing has compiled four plumbing hacks that turn chaos into flow.

Grease-Trap Right-Sizing Oversized traps starve bacteria; undersized ones overflow. Use the formula: gallons-per-sink × 2 × drain-time factor, then verify with local code.

High-Pressure Sprayers with Integrated Filters Clogged pre-rinse nozzles slow dish cycles. Models with inline screens prevent debris blockages and cut water use by 30 percent.

Off-Peak Hydro-Jetting Quarterly 4,000 psi cleanings at 4 a.m. spare you Saturday-night disasters and earn nods from the health inspector.

Smart Leak Sensors Behind Bars Wi-Fi pucks under triple-sink S-traps alert managers via smartphone the instant a PVC nut loosens, preventing warped cabinetry.

Choose precision over pandemonium. Keep your kitchen humming with AAA Organized Plumbing’s proven commercial plumbing strategies.

Contact Details:

Location: 1252 Airport Park Blvd STE A4, Ukiah, CA 95482

Phone: (707) 621-8282