#shelve management systems

[planovashopfittingsolutions]

The Future of Retail: Enhancing Shopping Journeys with Premier Shopfitting Suppliers

Creating an engaging and practical shopping experience is critical in today's competitive retail scene for attracting customers and generating business growth. The process of planning and furnishing retail premises, known as shopfitting, is critical to reaching this goal. A successful shopfitting project is mainly reliant on choosing the correct shopfitting vendors and providing supermarkets with the necessary tools and equipment. In this in-depth study, we will delve into the world of shopfitting suppliers and investigate the role of supermarket equipment in improving the overall shopping experience.

First, a Discussion on the Importance of Shopfitting Suppliers

1.1 Understanding Shopfitting providers

Shopfitting providers are companies that provide a diverse range of products and services specifically designed to transform vacant commercial spaces into retail environments that are both functional and aesthetically appealing. These vendors provide a comprehensive selection of fixtures, fittings, display units, and lighting options, among other important components, all of which can be customised to meet the specific demands of each individual retail establishment.

1.2 The Importance of Shopfitting Providers to the Prosperity of Retail Businesses

Finding the right shopfitting supplier can have a significant impact on the success of a retailer. Retailers can gain access to expertise in the design of retail space, the optimization of product displays, and the efficient utilisation of space by closely collaborating with experienced shopfitting providers. Shopfitting providers have a wealth of knowledge about the most recent developments in the industry, which enables them to design visually appealing store layouts that attract customers and encourage them to browse for longer periods of time.

1.3 Important Considerations to Make When Selecting Shopfitting Providers

When looking for suppliers of shopfitting, there are a number of important considerations to keep in mind. Retailers have a responsibility to investigate the reputation of their suppliers, as well as the quality of their previous projects and workmanship. In addition, it is essential to take into account the capability of the supplier to deliver personalised solutions that are in line with the brand identity of the retailer and their intended customer base.

Part 2: Improving the Shopping Experience by Utilizing Various Types of Grocery Store Equipment

2.1 The Importance of Grocery Store Equipment to the Overall Productivity of the Store

A well-organized and effective retail space must necessarily include supermarket equipment as one of its essential components. The equipment used in supermarkets, from refrigeration units to checkout counters, is intended to facilitate streamlined operations and improve the quality of the shopping experience as a whole. Retailers have a responsibility to make sure the equipment they purchase is user-friendly for both their employees and their customers, as this will ultimately lead to increased levels of customer satisfaction.

2.2 The Importance of Ergonomic Design in the Equipment Used in Supermarkets

The design of supermarket equipment must prioritise ergonomics because it has a direct influence on the health and safety of both the employees and the customers. Staff members experience less physical strain during daily operations when working in retail settings that are ergonomically sound and feature well-designed equipment. This results in higher levels of both productivity and job satisfaction. In addition, customer satisfaction with their shopping experience is increased when the equipment is easy to use, which encourages customers to return.

2.3 The Effects That Eco-Friendly Grocery Store Equipment Has On Customers

Sustainable store equipment is becoming an increasingly important factor for retailers to think about in today's world, which places a greater emphasis on protecting the environment. Investing in energy-efficient refrigeration systems, environmentally friendly lighting options, and recyclable materials not only reduces the carbon footprint of a store but also resonates with environmentally conscious customers, which enhances the brand image and reputation of a retailer.

Part Three: The Success of Collaborative Efforts with Shopfitting providers and Store equipment

3.1 The Beneficial Relationship That Exists Between Shopfitting Providers and Store equipment

Shopfitting providers and store equipment providers need to work together to achieve a harmonious retail environment. This is necessary in order to fulfil the requirements of the retail industry. Retailers can ensure the seamless integration of equipment into the store layout by involving store equipment specialists during the shopfitting process. This helps retailers maximise both the aesthetic appeal and the functionality of the store.

3.2 The Capability of Customization and Adaptation

Shopfitting providers and store equipment suppliers need to collaborate closely in order to be able to provide individualised solutions that are tailored to the unique requirements of each retailer. It is rare that a one-size-fits-all approach is sufficient; therefore, adaptability is essential in the process of creating one-of-a-kind and engaging retail environments.

Conclusion

Shopfitting suppliers and providers of store equipment both play critical roles in the development of successful retail environments. The knowledge and assistance that shopfitting providers are able to provide to retailers in the form of shopfitting help transform empty spaces into environments that are both aesthetically pleasing and functional. In addition, store equipment improves store productivity, ergonomics, and sustainability, all of which ultimately contribute to a more enjoyable shopping experience. Retailers are able to create captivating retail spaces that leave a lasting impression on customers, which fosters brand loyalty and business growth. This is accomplished by carefully selecting shopfitting providers and investing in store equipment that is appropriate for the space.

[tj-crochets]

So I did not have a specific quilt in mind to work on next, but I rearranged some fabric to store the faux furs actually next to each other instead of in like three separate places, and in doing so I found my box of scraps from the rainbow triangle quilt!

20 half square triangles, one square, and a bunch of leftover fabric, so I think I’ll do some ironing, cut out some more HSTs, and see how big a quilt I can make with the scraps. It won’t be twin sized, but I’ll be able to make at least a baby quilt and probably a throw sized quilt, I think?

[be-good-to-bugs]

there is a god and he is cruel

[charliemwrites]

Sniff sniff sneeze… woof

Content: Dub-Con Touching, Dirty Talk, Invasion of Personal Space, Fantasizing

You’re browsing the back section of the bookstore when the scent of pine tickles your nose. It’s the only warning you get before a large hand lands on your hip, a low voice next to your ear.

“Quite a selection ye’ve got there.”

You nearly drop the stack, only for a thick pair of arms to come from either side, steadying you.

Soap. You stare in shock at the corded muscles of his forearms, the dark tattoo decorating one. His hands are so big and rough against the backs of yours. What would they feel like holding your own, on your wrists, your thighs…

“Th-thanks,” you manage, tucking your books to your chest and spinning around.

He doesn’t give you any room to do so, forcing you to brush up against him. Even pressing your shoulders to the shelves doesn’t offer much space between your bodies; he looms over you, eyes unnaturally bright in the soft bookshop lighting.

“Um… hi,” you manage after a moment, the silence so thick and heavy it’s like a weight on your tongue.

The smile he offers you feels almost mean.

“Hey yourself, hen. Nice to see you without all the…. distractions.”

All the convenient excuses to leave, you think grumpily.

“How - I mean… do you live in town?”

He tilts his head oddly. “Aye, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

He ignores you, eyes flicking again to the titles stacked in your arms.

“Looking for inspiration there, are we?” he asks, tongue rolling slowly over his bottom lip. “Doesn’t all hafta stay in your imagination.”

You flush hotly. Didn’t think he’d even recognize any of those titles.

“That’s not - it’s just for fun,” you babble. “I mean - it’s none of your business either way.”

God, you’ve never wished for Johnny and his man-hating tendencies more.

“‘S a little my business, aye? Gotta know just how you want me to ruin you.” He narrows his eyes a bit in amusement, teeth peeking out with his smirk. “What name you wanna scream.”

You puff up a bit, humiliation thankfully morphing into anger.

“The only name I’m going to call you is — eep!”

He’s got your face in one massive hand, cheeks pressed to your teeth. Your heart thunders in your chest, head spinning with confused adrenaline.

“Maybe we should start right here, eh? I can spank this pretty ass while you try out different names.” He leans in close, lips brushing yours. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find one I like before you lose the ability to sit.”

You whimper and squeeze your eyes shut, mortified to realize the dirt and gravel in his voice is making you slick.

“Stop it,” you whine, pathetic to your own ears.

Then all at once he lets you go and takes a big step back nearly to the other side of the aisle. His smile is easy and friendly, arms swinging casually by his side. The only indication of what he just said, what he just did, is the unnatural gleam in his eye.

“Something like that is what you’re after, aye?” he asks. “Here.” He reaches to the side of you shoulder and plucks a book off the shelf, setting it on top of your selections.

“You’ll like this I think.”

He winks and then saunters off, hands buried in his pockets.

—

When you get home, Johnny greets you at the door, immediately sniffing all the places Soap touched. He even noses at the book Soap picked out - and dammit, it was one you were looking for. Told yourself you weren’t going to let him ruin it…. and that it means nothing that it’s the first one you’re going to read.

But first…

“I’ll go outside with you in a little bit, bud.”

You head straight for your bedroom and your fully charged toy in the nightstand. Johnny saunters in, ears perked.

“Just… just gotta get it out of my system,” you mutter to yourself. “It’s fine since he’s not here.”

You won’t admit to anyone, ever, not even your dog, that you fantasize about Soap making good on his threat while you fuck yourself. Thinking about that big, calloused hand spanking you raw right there in front of god and everybody while you sob “daddy please.”

The next time you run into Soap - a less raunchy, but still exhilarating encounter in the Tescos where he reminds you get lube - you barely say hi to Johnny before making a beeline for your room. And then promptly throw it at the wall in a fit of frustration when you find the battery dead.

[redbuddi]

Today at GameStop:

I confirmed my suspicions that I was being underpaid (my male coworker was hired for more than me)

I was told I could not sit while having to organize numerous games on low shelves due to it "taking up too much space" (crouching and sitting take up the same amount of space)

Got my nametag changed to my real name

I was only able to do so after making a stink about it

I found out that the reason my manager made me wear a nametag with my deadname yesterday was because he couldn't be bothered to make a five minute phone call with HR, or at least let me not wear the tag until I could put my real name on it

I confirmed my suspicion that we do not make commission for selling hundred dollar consoles to people, the only commission we do make is for selling people issues of Game Informer (one dollar per issue sold)

I hid every copy of Hogwarts Legacy behind games no one will ever buy (mostly Gollum)

I was constantly made to run around the store organizing large objects or large piles of objects, I couldn't even take a break in the form of standing still and ringing customers up because my manager still has not properly put me in the system so I can't log in to the register

I was asked numerous questions by customers that I did not know the answer to, all while I was very obviously in the middle of something (carrying large objects or large piles of objects)

I found out that the closest thing we'll be getting to a bonus for working Black Friday is a free sweater which we will have to wear the entire shift (this job gets very sweaty)

I had to sneak off to use the bathroom because the bathroom in the store is full of boxes of Pokemon cards

My Manager was very smelly for some reason

I got away with leaving thirty minutes early cause I'm not officially on the schedule yet

[watchmegetobsessed]

WING IT

A/N: we are slowly getting more content, lets just hope something drops soon!

WORD COUNT: 3k

SUMMARY: It's your first day working in Selma's Home, you're nervous enough already, but when an emergency calls your boss away and you're left alone, the situation is topped when famous CEO Harry Styles casually strolls in.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

It doesn’t matter that this job is just an in-between. Something that earns you money until your dream position opens. A first day is always stressful, especially when you have no idea what to do.

You were applying to dozens of jobs at once, just shooting everywhere you could, hoping to get an answer back before your rent was due. Selma’s Home was the first one to invite you for an interview and somehow, miraculously you even got the job despite the fact that you have no experience in retail. You suspect that desperation was a big factor in your hiring, because Selma lost 2 of her employees at once when the young couple that was working for her moved across the country. 

Now here you are, walking into the store, nervously fidgeting with your fingers as you head down the aisles where you see Selma behind the cash register already getting ready to open.

“Hi!” you greet her, her head snapping up at your weak voice. Selma is such a fierce, kind of intimidating woman, but you can see how it helped her to open this store and make it one of the most successful home decor stores in the city, offering tasteful stylish pieces along with practical utility items for one’s home. 

“Oh, hi! Welcome to your first day, you ready?” She even cracks a smile, but somehow it just makes you gulp hard.

“Yeah, readier than ever!” you manage to squeeze out a nervous chuckle, hoping she doesn’t sense your jitters.

“Alright, then let’s get started.”

With an hour until opening Selma is eager to squeeze in as much information into it as possible. She walks you through the store, talking about the most important items, but also handing you a handbook about everything that’s currently selling in the store.

“Use your downtime to roam around and you’ll learn them by the end of the week without the handbook,” she says, eyes running over the shelves as she is talking, already moving to the storage room in the back. 

She talks about the system, how to unload the new arrivals every two weeks and then you move on to the cash register, aka your biggest fear. It’s quite the stress factor to deal with money, making sure everything is neat and correct, you can only hope you won’t mess it all up.

Then the store opens and you follow around Selma to learn the ropes. What’s different here is that whenever a customer comes in you offer them help right away and if needed, you assist them throughout their whole time shopping. There are quite some designer products selling and you’ll need to know everything about them to be able to sell them to the customers just like Selma does.

She is so good at it. No matter who comes in, she so effortlessly talks them into leaving with not only what they came for, but some more as well. She is enchanting, nice, open and warm and you just keep taking notes mentally, though you don’t feel confident enough to be as charming as she can be the moment the bell rings above the door. 

When lunch rolls around you allow yourself to feel relieved for a second that you survived half the day already. Selma sends you to the back to have your lunch and you just sit in silence, staring ahead of you, mustering up all your energy for the rest of the workday. You’ve just finished your sandwich when Selma barges into the breakroom.

“Y/N, there’s a bit of an emergency.”

You jump to your feet, scenarios already running through your mind. Is there a fire? Did the storefront just collapse? Someone stole those hella expensive Japanese tablecloths? 

“What happened?”

“My daughter, she is ugh! Such a menace, she got into trouble at school, so I have to go there. I need you to cover for a bit, just an hour tops, I swear!” 

She is already grabbing her purse, pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head, car keys in hand while you just stand there dumbfounded. Is she actually gonna leave you alone in the store on your first day?

“Selma, I-I don’t…”

“You do, Honey. Just an hour. This is a dead time anyway, if anyone comes in, just try your best to help them and ring them up at the end. Easy, I know you can do it!”

She is storming out and you follow her like a lost puppy.

“B-But what if I mess something up?” you ask, panic setting in. 

“As long as you don’t set the store on fire, you’ll be fine. I trust you, Y/N!”

And with that, she is already gone, the bell rings above the door as you stand there like a statue. 

You watch the storefront in pure panic, your stomach dropping every time it seems like someone is approaching the shop, but no one comes in. 

Until the bell rings above the door. 

For a split second you hope it’s Selma, but looking up you see a tall, broad figure and your heart threatens to burst right out of your anxiety filled chest, at first because hello! It’s a customer! But then as he steps further into the shop and takes off his sunglasses, realization settles in. 

This is not just a regular customer, this is Harry Fucking Styles, CEO of Pleasing Productions, the studio that’s given the world the absolute best romantic movies in the past decades and the man is famously known for being a ladies favorite, but appearing as a total mystery in the media. 

You’ve read about him a lot before, it’s hard not to bump into his name online, thanks to his looks he is always somehow in talk for either having dinner with a model, appearing on the red carpet looking like a fucking snack, or, your personaly favorite, declining giving an answer to a question regarding his private life. 

And now he is standing there, looking around the store. 

It takes a couple of moments for you to push out of this frozen state and finally step forward.

“Hello!”

Wow. Did your voice actually sound like that?

Clearing your throat you keep moving towards him.

“Hi, can I help you with anything?”

You try to rake your mind to remember everything you’ve seen and heard from Selma to use now, but the moment he looks up, your mind goes blank. He is just as beautiful as he looks in pictures or maybe even more. Unlike on those red carpet photos where he is always dressed in designer suits, now he is wearing a pair of simple pants and a gray long sleeve, his hair is a bit tousled and it appears he is growing his beard out, a bit shaggy, but he makes it look very… hot. That’s all you can say looking at him.

“Oh, hey!” He is sporting a polite smile as he looks up, about to keep talking, but he stops for a moment upon looking at you and he stops.

Everything stops. 

It’s as if he is taking you in, you can feel your cheeks heating up, the nervous fidgeting starts again, but you hide your hands behind your back so he doesn’t notice. 

“I’m looking for some kitchen stuff,” he then says, hiding his hands in his pockets. 

“Great!” you breathe out. “We do have… those.”

You flinch internally, but ignore just how awkward you are in his presence. 

You ask him about what he needs specifically as the two of you start walking down the isles and for a moment you think of grabbing the handbook, but that would look awful, so you make a decision on the spot.

You’re gonna just wing it. 

What could go wrong? You’ll just pretend like you’re Selma, confident and know everything about the items, you’re gonna say whatever comes to your mind and just… wing it. 

All while ignoring how attractive this man is up close. And intimidating. And charming. And…

“I think I want to check out the coffee stuff first,” he suggests and nodding you walk him over to the kitchen items.

“Do you have a coffee machine and you’re looking for some accessories, or…”

“I just got one of those old fashioned moka coffee pots,” he says with a boyish smile. “But I want to get that to the next level, if you know what I mean.” You do not.

“Of course,” you smile, eyes scanning over the shelves. 

Your grandmother has one of those old moka coffee makers, but you have absolutely no idea what else could be used for those, so you just start grabbing things and making up what they are used for. 

One after the other, you just keep showing him stuff with no idea what you’re talking about, but the longer you’re talking the more confident you’re growing, especially when he just keeps nodding and humming along to anything you say. 

“So… which one are you more interested in?” you ask at the end of your little speech. You look at him and find him already looking at you with a tiny smile curling up the corners of his mouth. 

“What can you tell me about those?” he asks, ignoring your question and just moving to another shelf. 

He keeps asking about items and you just make up everything as you go. Of course, you know some of the stuff, but you were never really a true chef in the kitchen, so there are way too many items you don’t know that much, but somehow, you’ve gathered enough confidence that even you believe what you say. 

Slowly, Harry fills his basket as you move through the store and every time you look at him you catch him already looking at you with the same smile you can’t quite decipher. 

“What about those?” he points up at a set of plates on the top shelf.

“Oh, those are so pretty! Let me show you them!” you enthuse and run to grab the ladder from the back. 

It’s not the steadiest tool for sure, but you ignore the wobble you feel when you start climbing it.

“Are you sure it’s–”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” you chuckle, reaching the top step, but your knees are definitely shaking. You focus on grabbing the plates and getting off as fast as possible, but right when you take them off the shelf you already feel yourself losing balance. 

But Harry is quick to come to your rescue. One of his hands grabs the ladder to steady it and the other… the other one grabs the back of your thigh to help you hold yourself up. Until then you were shaking because of the ladder, but now it’s definitely because of his firm hold on you, the warmth of his touch and the thoughts that unrelease when you realize just how perfectly his fingers are digging into your flesh. 

“You good?” he asks in a deep, husky voice. 

“Yeah.” Your voice is barely more than just a whisper as you hold onto the plates as if they could hold you up. 

You start moving down on the ladder, but Harry’s hand doesn’t leave your body, it works up on your hips and waist, grabbing onto your elbow as you finally step onto the ground and even then, he is still touching you, his eyes locked on yours as you’re still holding those damn plates. The image of dropping them and pushing up against him flashes through your mind and your knees wobble again when you catch his gaze flickering down to your lips for a second. 

“The plates,” you blurt out then. He looks down and a smile stretches across his face.

“They really are pretty.”

“Right?” you let out a breathy laugh. 

“Now that you risked your life for them, I guess it’s only fair if I actually buy them.”

Fuck, your heart is about to jump right out of your chest, how is he so smooth?

You gather a few more things and then move to the cash register to ring everything up. 

“How long have you been working here?” he asks, patiently waiting for you to finish. 

“Um… Do you want the truth?” you ask, with a cheeky smile.

“Yeah.”

“This is my first day,” you admit, just as you finish the scanning and when you look at the amount it all added up to, you almost choke on your own saliva. “Um, your total is 1630.”

For a moment you think he’ll question how it’s so much, but without hesitation he whips out his card and taps it on the terminal.

“First day, huh?”

“You wouldn’t have guessed?”

“Oh, I kind of did,” he chuckles and he starts to help you with putting everything away in bags. “You really should learn what the items are used for.”

Normally you’d be embarrassed that he noticed how much you just made up, but the smile he is gifting you with vanishes all negative feelings and you can actually find it funny. 

“I will.”

“Thank you for your assistance,” he smirks, grabbing the bags from the counter. “And if I happen to leave a review about the excellent service, what name should I drop?” 

“I’m Y/N,” you say with a sheepish smile. He then sticks his hand out and you take it.

“Harry. It was really nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

With a final wave he turns around, slides his sunglasses back to the bridge of his nose and then walks out of the store. You stand there completely overwhelmed by the experience and you have no idea how much time passes by before Selma barges through the door.

“Hi Darling! How did everything go?” she beams, walking up to the counter where you’re still standing. 

“Great!”

“Did anyone come in?” 

“Yeah. Harry Styles was just here.” Selma freezes for a moment before looking up at you.

“Harry Styles? As in…”

“Yeah. That Harry Styles.”

“How did it go? Did he buy anything?”

“He spent 1600 dollars on kitchen stuff.”

“Y/N, that’s great!” Selma claps her hands. “Was he satisfied? Could you help him?”

“I think I could,” you say with a knowing smile. “He seemed… satisfied, yeah.”

The first day jitters are luckily gone by the next day, especially because Selma looked at you with so much pride after you told her about your encounter with Harry that you feel like you can’t do anything wrong. 

Before lunch Selma asks you to rearrange some stuff in the storage and you’re a bit relieved you don’t have to take any customers for now.

But because of that, you’re not out when one specific person walks into the shop. Again. 

Harry enters the store confidently, a smile already on his lips as he looks in the direction of the cash register, but it fades when he only sees Selma, but no sight of you. Selma, on the other hand, becomes ecstatic when she sees and recognizes him.

“Welcome! How may I help you?” she chirps, walking towards Harry, who is still looking around, eyes searching for you. 

“Hey, is the… Is the woman who worked yesterday here? Y/N?” Selma stops, surprised.

“Y/N? Uh, yes, but she is busy now, I’m sure I can help you–”

“I want her,” he states.

“She is still training, I’m sure I can–”

“Look,” Harry sighs. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Selma, the owner,” she states proudly.

“Selma, I’m more than happy to buy everything in this store if it means I get to talk to her. How does that sound?”

Selma stares back at him, finally understanding the situation. Her stance changes instantly.

“Let me go get her for you.”

You’re going over your list in the back when Selma appears, her spotless appearance feels odd in the storage room’s setting. 

“Oh, hey! I just finished with–”

“I need you outside.”

“What? Why?” Panic washes over you, because you can’t read her face and what could she possibly need you for outside on your second day?

“Just come. Now!” She turns around and heads out, not even checking if you’re following her. Of course you do.

“Selma, what did I–” you start mumbling behind her, but just when you step out and spot Harry at the cash register.

His face lights up the moment he sees you and those damn butterflies start raging in your stomach. 

“Harry, you’re here. Again,” you state the obvious. 

“I am,” he chuckles and you see Selma walk away from the corner of your eyes. 

“How, um–What can I… help you with?” you ask, clearing your throat. Why is he here? Could it be… because of you? Yesterday you definitely spent an awful lot of time daydreaming of the way he was touching you on that ladder and you’d be lying if you said you felt disappointed he just walked out, knowing you might never see him again. 

Well, so much for that.

“I forgot to get something yesterday.” 

“Oh,” is all you can say, the disappointment snaking back into your gut. He is not here because of you, how could you even think about that?

Harry’s smile widens as he watches your face drop and then he finally continues.

“Your number.”

Your eyes widen and you must look quite funny, because Harry chuckles at the sight of your expression. 

“Was this too straight forward?”

“No!” you snap right away, maybe a bit too eagerly. “Not at all.”

“Great, then…”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it over, you type your number in quickly and hand it over. He taps on the screen and a second later your phone starts buzzing in your back pocket.

“Just checking you didn’t give me a pizzeria’s number,” he jokes, making you laugh. “And… now that I’m conveniently here, maybe you can show me some more stuff.”

“What do you need?” you ask as the two of you head down one of the aisles. 

“Hmm, how long is your shift?”

“Um, another four hours,” you scoff.

“Then I guess I’m interested in everything. Whatever takes four hours to look at so I can take you out once you’re done.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[pseudowho]

Glory Glory: Higuruma Hiromi

An absolutely unhinged delicious "Help, I'm stuck!" series, where the reader is taken care of by the JJK guys.

18+ as always.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Too many late nights and bottles of wine with Hiromi went this way; your conversations ran through a brambled path of half-Law and half-Jujutsu, as was in-keeping with the new path Hiromi's career had taken. His little office was dark, all old mahogany and panelled walls lined with case files, yellowing and dry. Hiromi liked to live life on the edge in this tiny office, by enjoying his wine with you by candlelight.

As you moved from one bottle of wine to two, the conversations turned from educated, to gossipy, and Hiromi participated eagerly with hooded eyes and a sardonic half-smile as you took turns to spill tea. A man who loves learning, loves information in many forms, you reasoned to yourself.

"I mean, Nanami Kento is absolutely right," Hiromi urged, his rich voice wine-drunk and sultry now, "Jujutsu sorcery is shit. And work is shit. I'm not sure why I do any of it. Maybe I should go back to my briefly attempted life of being a murderous reprobate." Hiromi drained the last of his wine, releasing a happy "mmmm" as he rolled his wine glass thoughtfully.

"And yet, we must work to live," you groaned, a dramatic arm over your eyes as Hiromi smiled at you, hooked nose crinkled, jaw resting against his hand. Pointing a finger at you as he arrived at a thought, Hiromi swung his legs down from the footstool before standing, reaching up to a shelf to start rummaging for a folder.

"I read something in an old case file the other day actually, and thought of you...hang on...where is it..." Hiromi mumbled to himself, hunting.

He gestured a hand back to you, still looking through the high shelves, "It's red," he pressed, "the folder, it's red. Help me search." You hummed your assent and went to the corner behind his desk, where a series of case notes stood perilously stacked on either side of a tight nook. Spotting a red folder at the back, underneath a large stack, you knelt on all-fours, and tried to weedle the folder out without causing disturbance to the others before--

-- a heavy paper rustle had you totally engulfed in swathes of case files, now falling open and tumbling over you, squashing your top half down with their weight, leaving you uncomfortably face-down-arse-up.

You heard Hiromi gasp behind you, "No no no, my filing--"

"Oh, 'filing' my arse, Hiromi, that was chaos--"

"-- I knew where everything was and now look at it--"

"--alright, alright, I'll just get out and you can sort--" as you moved backwards to pull yourself out, more stacks teetered and wobbled, collapsing onto you and Hiromi cried out his disdain, pushing you back into the nook with a strong hand on your arse.

You blushed, squirming against him, "Hiromi!" He held you in place, chastising you. He resisted the urge to squeeze you, arousal seeping into him at the shape of you in your delicious pencil skirt, nipping in at your waist and stretching over your arse and thighs.

"Don't move, you're making it worse!" He tutted at you, and you heard him rustling around above you, trying to correct the opened folders. After a few minutes, he sighed, giving up, the job too impossible to manage after so much wine.

Grabbing his gavel, he placed a wooden coaster on top of your outstretched arse, and tapped it sharply, once; "Guilty, of fucking up my filing system. Naughty." You giggled, wiggling your arse at him.

"Oh no, what's going to happen to me, sir?" Hiromi chuckled, humming, eyes darkening at you wiggling at him, god, you didn't know what you did to him, wine-drunk with him in the candlelight, your blouse slowly unbuttoning as the night went on, the gossip getting spicier and the inhibitions lowering, but never enough that you would come to him and let him taste the wine off your lips--

"Did you know," Hiromi pondered, pleased you couldn't see how solid his cock was against the thigh of his black trousers now, and Hiromi loosened his tie with one fine-boned finger, "that I can change the size and shape of this gavel?"

You paused, confused, wondering how this was relevant, but humoured him; "Oh?"

Hiromi hummed, stroking the gavel thoughtfully against your arse cheeks as you shivered, the wine bringing a blush, hot and fervent, to the surface of your skin.

"Obviously, I've considered its many applications," Hiromi continued, voice like satin now, convincing, alluring.

"Almost as long as I've considered you...in that skirt...in my office...all alone together, late at night." Your eyes fluttered shut as you bit your lip, soaking in his voice; you would be lying if you said you hadn't felt the same.

Hiromi's hands ran along the hem of your skirt, clever fingers rubbing circles underneath it now on the inside of your thighs. You let out a hushed moan, much to Hiromi's satisfaction. Emboldened, he continued as he rolled your skirt slowly upwards, thrilled to see the lace edge of your stockings come into view.

"Do you want to see...how it would feel? Inside you, getting bigger, smaller, longer, shorter...it could be fun. Something new." You gasped, pussy clenching at the thought of Hiromi pleasuring you, and you let out a happy murmur, too embarrassed to voice your agreement in words. Hiromi laughed, rich and bold behind you.

"Good girl." Your arse was completely exposed now, and Hiromi made quick work of disposing of your underwear, admiring the womanly curves and dips of you, tracing stretch-marks and dimples with his lithe long fingers. He grabbed his gavel, turning it in his hand.

You felt him kneeling behind you, Hiromi pressing his hips and throbbing cock hard once against you for relief, as he let out a crackling moan. He leaned down, nipping your arse a few times as you squeaked, punctuating the little red marks with wet appreciative kisses. You heard him growl, low and determined.

"I'm going to make you cum so hard, you forget your own name." You whimpered as Hiromi slipped his fingers through your folds, finding your clit with ruthless efficiency, removing them for a moment to taste you and spit on his fingers before pushing back into your pussy, rolling your clit between his fingers like a little pebble as you cried out and trembled at the sudden shocks of intense pleasure. You gasped, mewling, as your pussy clenched around nothing.

Hiromi watched your fluttering pussy, eager to be filled, and twisted his gavel, grasping it by the hammer now. Rubbing the handle up and down once, twice, three times between your folds, just as you were about to cry out and beg him, Hiromi slipped its length inside you to the hilt, and you squealed at the sudden cool wood inside you.

Hiromi continued, hushing you gently, continuing to rub small, tight circles on your clit as he planted soft, open-mouthed kisses to your lower back. He thrusted the handle of his gavel firmly in and out of you, tilting it just so that it rubbed insistently against your g-spot, and you shook and moaned.

"Could do with being a bit...thicker, though, hmm?" You squeaked in alarm and ecstasy as you felt the handle expand in diameter inside you, its added girth pressing flush against your inner walls, making you feel so tight as Hiromi continued to thrust it, harder now, and you felt pleasure coiling rapidly within you, your knees threatening to collapse underneath your shaking body.

"Or how about...longer?" You had a moment to gasp out in anticipation as you felt the gavel stretch inside you, pressing harshly against your cervix as you bucked and cried out. Hiromi revelled in delight as you fell apart beneath him, clever fingers working magic on you as you fizzed with ecstasy.

Hiromi's black spiked hair was unruly now and his shirt came untucked as he carried on working on you, thrusting the gavel into you at a relentless pace as he quickened his pace on your clit, and you begged, nonsense and pleas rolling off your tongue as Hiromi bit his lower lip, frowning and groaning at the white ring of cum forming around the base of his gavel as he thrusted and thrusted it.

Your orgasm was about to peak, when Hiromi rapidly reduced the size and shape of the gavel, and you cried out in utter disdain. Hearing a rapid rustle of fabric behind you, and a zipper being pulled down, Hiromi pulled the gavel out, throwing it aside, and thrusting his aching cock hard into you until he bottomed out with a sandy moan.

Folded over you to continue his frantic circles on your clit, Hiromi rutted into you with abandon. Your orgasm burst through you, white hot, and you would have collapsed had Hiromi not held you up, still slamming his hips against you with wet slaps, unadulterated wine-fuelled whimpers falling from Hiromi's lips as his orgasm hit him, pleasure crackling through him, eyebrows raised and mouth agape in agonised euphoria.

Hiromi held his breath as he came, releasing it in one shaky gasp as he came down, grinning and delighted. You slumped to the floor, utterly dazed, Hiromi's cum dripping out of you onto the dark oak floor.

Hiromi panted, leaning down to kiss your back again as he squeezed your hips. Nuzzling you with his hooked nose, he spoke casually.

"More wine?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

[monolithiot]

MonolithIoT smart shelves integrate weighing sensors into your shelves. Enable digital communication with your own inventory management system to remotely check weights of all bins individually and convert the weight into actual stock levels of any material.

[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap ch 1

Little Tim wakes up in big Tim's apartment.

The idea came from this chain started by @ew-selfish-art and the contribution by @faeriekit

(repost of something that's currently just in a reblog chain)

His first observation was that this wasn't his house.

Tim was new to detecting, but he thought that was a pretty dang salient observation.

He didn't actually remember going to sleep. It didn't feel like he woke up here, either. He just suddenly noticed he was sitting somewhere he'd never been in his whole 9 years of life.

Very weird! Pretty neat, though.

Tim prowled around in his socked feet in total silence, investigating by the little light that came in through mostly shut curtains. He wasn't in his own clothes, which was kind of scary. He had to keep hiking up his sweatpants to keep them on, and he rolled down his socks three times to tighten them up. At least the floors didn't creak at all, even when he stepped on the dark wood panels in between dark red rugs. It made him feel more secure to move around quietly.

He was in an apartment that seemed relatively expensive but new, no antiques or family heirlooms. It was an open plan, with floating stairs and a white sofa. It was also sterile, as if no one really lived in it. It was clean in the same un-lived in way his house was. Someone professionally cleaned this apartment. 

Tim was really, really careful not to make any mess. 

Theory one: he had been kidnapped. It seemed pretty sound. He went to bed at home, and he woke up sitting on a strange sofa. Danger alarms were going off.

He looked around for a house phone to call for help. There was none. Troubling. 

On the other hand, Tim opened the apartment door to the hallway and stuck his head out. He could see sunlight coming in through the huge lobby windows.

…Okay. He was going to consider that a viable escape route. He glanced at the side of the door where there was a pair of shoes. They were big but he could probably use them in a pinch.

So. He could just walk out at any time. He frowned. That wasn't very good kidnapping practice. He would plan a much better restraint system. Like, a rope would be a good place to start, or maybe breaking the little bones in his feet? 

“This is so disappointing,” Tim muttered to himself. “I'm not even being ransomed?” 

Just… Some effort would be nice.

Hmm. He didn't want to believe anyone that incompetent had managed to transport him into Gotham proper from Bristol while he slept. So. Tim formally recategorized his kidnapping theory to a  suspected no. 

It was undeniable that he'd been moved in his sleep, which was pretty classic. But the counter evidence? The new location looked pretty easy to escape, if he was willing to get his socks dirty outside. 

Conclusion: This probably wasn't a conventional kidnapping. What else was there?

Theory two: he hit his head or fell asleep while he was out birdwatching, and some good person took them into their house to keep him safe.

That neatly explained why he was in the actual city. Tim ran his fingers through his hair looking for a bump. He wasn't sure if he found one or not. Maybe his head was just kind of oddly shaped. Troubling. Maybe he should go to the doctor about that. 

It would have been helpful information either way if there had been another human being around to talk to. 

There were signs that someone lived here. Tim poked around in the closet and in the fridge, building a mental profile for the resident.

One person lived here, and they were clearly kind of a loser because they had no photos of friends or family up. The jacket hanging by the door told Tim they were either an average sized woman or a small man. They couldn't cook at all, which was excellent because that meant there was a really great variety of ready to eat food. Tim snacked on string cheese and a can of soda while he flipped through the books on the shelves.  He pulled a couple off to check for secret compartments. Nope. Just books.

“Boring,” Tim said to himself. 

They were all books about things like business and management. It was the type of self-aggrandizing garbage that his parents made fun of: memoirs that you knew damn well that person hadn't written, manifestos on the virtues of hard work from someone born into the financial elite, and how-to's directed at an audience who had no personal shame.

Momentarily, he entertained the fantasy that he had been kidnapped by someone who was going to mold him into the ideal Drake Industries CEO, someone who wouldn't jet off across the world to follow a passion. The suspects were the entire board of directors. 

Kidnapped theory redux: the Board of Directors did it. Evidence?

Tim sat down and made a chart for his thoughts, quantifying how much each person had been inconvenienced by his parents’ absence in the last fiscal year. He concluded that Mr. Morrison might hate his parents enough to do it, but the projected timeline was beyond his scope. Tim didn't think he had it in him to plan that far out.

So, the apartment owner was just a boring person. Tim made a note. Theory two was looking pretty good. The person who lived here kind of sucked at life but they were probably really nice.

Something started beeping. That was interesting. He followed it to the bedroom that he hadn't been brave enough to poke around yet. There was a weird tablet on the bedside table. He picked it up and it unlocked automatically. Wow, the security was so bad. He felt embarrassed on behalf of the absent apartment owner.

The screen showed an email from someone called Tamara Fox. 

“Tim, can you get me the numbers from the acquisition in Peru?”

He blinked at it. Was the person who lived here also named Tim? Surely she wasn't actually asking him. He looked around uncertainly. 

There was still no one else. The blinking display on the alarm clock told him that it was half past noon, and no one else was in the apartment. 

…. poor Tamara probably really needed that information, if she was asking for it in the middle of the workday. Tim sat down on the bed and started putting together context clothes to figure out what Miss Fox was talking about. Her email signature had her title at Wayne industries listed, so that was a pretty big clue. He had access to a team calendar that showed meetings and ongoing projects, which he used to narrow it down. 

When he figured it out, he sent her back an email and sat back in satisfaction. A moment later, he realized that the email account had an attached auto signature. It claimed to be Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises. 

What.

He stopped breathing and momentarily considered that he had traveled to the future and this was really his apartment, but the name was impossible. There was no way he was going to marry either one of the Waynes. Bruce and Dick were kind of old. Tim wrinkled his nose at the thought. Gross. 

So, no. He wasn't Tim Drake-Wayne. “...It must be an inside joke,” Tim decided. “It seems really unprofessional.”

Tim was a little disappointed that he wasn't the boss of everyone, but at least he wasn't in a troubling marriage with a huge age difference. He had another cheese stick about it and the feeling went away.  Ah, good. Maybe that was how Mom dealt with Drake Industries: she distracted herself until she didn't feel bad about putting it on the back burner. It was a good tactic. He'd need more cheese sticks. He made a mental note to figure out how to replace these ones.

He found a loose blanket on a side chair and tied it around his shoulders, because the apartment was pretty chilly.

The email dinged again. Tim dragged his blanket cape back into the bedroom and stared at the tablet, lost in thought.

He didn't mean to be annoying. He really didn't. He knew people hated it when you got in their stuff. But the thing was: this guy got a lot of emails. And he wasn't here to answer them, which was pretty rude of him, honestly. It seemed like his job needed him a lot. 

Maybe when he got back, he would be mad at Tim for looking at his stuff. 

On the other hand, maybe he would appreciate it. Tim told himself that it would be fine, and he manned that email account until the end of business hours at 5:00 p.m. Then he gave a luxurious stretch and went to find something interesting in the freezer that he could microwave. 

His feelings about the email account had changed, after the hours spent together. It was their mutual email account now. Tim was willing to fight about it. He was emotionally attached to that email. People asked him all sorts of questions there, and he got to answer. It was pretty fun.

The apartment looked a little friendlier in the early evening light. He crossed it again and pushed a chair up against the deep freezer so that he could root around inside.

“Omigod, lasagne!” Tim ripped the package open in his excitement. Today was the best. He liked this place. Maybe he'd get to stay there when the owner came back to look at their shared email account.

While the lasagne heated, he went back to checking for fake books on the shelf. They were all disappointments. He did finally notice that there were pets here. 

“I should feed you,” Tim told the fish, because he was really fixing this guy's life. The fish didn't pay him any attention. The microwave beeped completion, so he went back and got his lasagne. He held it in one hand and ate while he searched for fish food. When he found it, he stuck his fork in the lasagne to free up a hand and shook flakes into the water. 

A secret compartment in the floor opened up.

Tim froze. He took a step back. He looked around the apartment, as if someone was going to materialize.

“…I might as well go see,” he told himself. “They're already gonna be mad that I answered our email.”

Down he went. 

[planovashopfittingsolutions]

Enhancing retail spaces with custom fixtures and displays

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Shop fitting manufacturers are experts in the design and production of retail fixtures and fittings that can be customised to meet the specific requirements of a variety of different retail businesses. They are aware that the layout of the store and the displays can have a significant impact on the level of engagement customers have and the decisions they make to make purchases. Shop fitting manufacturers are able to create bespoke solutions by capitalising on their expertise, which enables these solutions to maximise the use of available space, improve product visibility, and facilitate the flow of customers more smoothly.

Working with shop fitting makers allows for the creation of bespoke fixtures that are in keeping with the retailer's branding and the aesthetics of the store. This is one of the most significant advantages of working with shop fitting makers. These manufacturers have the capability of incorporating a brand's colours, logos, and other visual elements into the fixtures, which helps to strengthen the brand identity and creates a more unified shopping experience. Retailers can ensure that their store fixtures not only serve a functional purpose but also reflect their brand values and leave a long-lasting impression on customers by collaborating with the manufacturers of shop fittings.

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To summarise, the innovative shop fitting manufacturers, merchandising products and solutions that shop fitting makers provide are an essential component in the overall improvement of retail environments. Retailers are able to create environments that are aesthetically pleasing, functional, and focused on the needs of their customers because of their ability to create customised fixtures, maximise the use of available space, and integrate technology. Retailers can turn their stores into desirable destinations that make an indelible mark on their customers and contribute to the expansion of their businesses by forming partnerships with the manufacturers of shop fittings. In the fast-paced and cutthroat world of retail, forming strategic partnerships with shop fitting makers is an investment in the future that can produce measurable returns.

[inkskinned]

i. about 2 weeks ago, i was told there's a good chance that in 5 or so years, i'll need a wheelchair.

ii. okay. i loved harry potter as a kid. i have a hypothesis about this to be honest - why people still kind of like it. it's that she got very lucky. she managed to make a cross-generational hit. it was something shared for both parents and kids. it was right at the start of a huge cultural shift from pre to post-internet. i genuinely think many people were just seeking community; not her writing. it was a nice shorthand to create connection. which is a long way of saying - she didn't build this legacy, we built it for her. she got lucky, just once. that's all.

iii. to be real with you, i still struggle with identifying as someone with a disability, which is wild, especially given the ways my life has changed. i always come up against internalized ableism and shame - convinced even right now that i'm faking it for attention. i passed out in a grocery store recently. i hit my head on the shelves while i went down.

iv. he raises his eyebrows while he sends me a look. her most recent new book has POTS featured in it. okay, i say. i already don't like where this is going. we both take another bite of ramen. it is a trait of the villain, he says. we both roll our eyes about it.

v. so one of the things about being nonbinary but previously super into harry potter is that i super hate jk rowling. but it is also not good for my mental health to regret any form of joy i engaged with as a kid. i can't punish my young self for being so into the books - it was a passion, and it was how i made most of my friends. everyone knew about it. i felt like everyone had my same joy, my same fixation. as a "weird kid", this sense of belonging resonated with me so loudly that i would have done anything to protect it.

vi. as a present, my parents once took me out of school to go see the second movie. it is an incredibly precious memory: my mom straight-up lying about a dentist appointment. us snickering and sneaking into the weekday matinee. within seven years of this experience, the internet would be a necessity to get my homework finished. the world had permanently changed. harry potter was a relic, a way any of us could hold onto something of the analog.

vii. by sheer luck, the year that i started figuring out the whole gender fluid thing was also the first year people started to point out that she might have some internalized biases. i remember tumblr before that; how often her name was treated as godhood. how harry potter was kind of a word synonymous for "nerdy but cool." i would walk out of that year tasting he/him and they/them; she would walk out snarling and snapping about it.

viii. when i teach older kids creative writing, i usually tell them - so, she did change the face of young adult fiction, there's no denying that. she had a lot more opportunities than many of us will - there were more publishing houses, less push for "virally" popular content creators. but beyond reading another book, we need to write more books. we need to uplift the voices of those who remain unrepresented. we need to push for an exposure to the bigotry baked into the publishing system. and i promise you: you can write better than she ever did. nothing she did was what was magical - it was the way that the community responded to it.

ix. i get home from ramen. three other people have screenshotted the POTS thing and sent it to me. can you fucking believe we're still hearing this shit from her when it's almost twenty-fucking-twenty-three. the villain is notably also popular on tumblr. i just think that's funny. this woman is a billionaire and she's mad that she can't control the opinions of some people on a dying blue site that makes no money. lady, and i mean this - get a fucking life.

x. i am sorry to the kid i was. maybe the kid you were too. none of us deserved to see something like this ruined. that thing used to be precious to me. and now - all those good times; measured into dust.

/// 9.6.2022 // FUCKING AGAIN, JK? Are you fucking kidding me?

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Why none of my books are available on Audible (and why Amazon owes me $3,218.55)

I love audiobooks. When I was a high-school-aged page at a public library in the 1980s, I would pass endless hours shelving and repairing books while listening to “books on tape” from the library’s collection. By the time iTunes came along, I’d amassed a huge collection of cassette and CD audiobooks and I painstakingly ripped them to my collection.

Then came Audible, and I was in heaven — all the audiobooks, none of the hassle of ripping CDs. There was only one problem: the Digital Rights Management (DRM). You see, I’ve spent most of my adult life campaigning against DRM, because I think it’s an existential danger to all computer users — and because it’s a way for tech companies to hijack the relationship between creators and their audiences.

In 2011, I gave a speech at Berlin’s Chaos Communications Congress called “The Coming War on General Purpose Computing.” In it, I explained that Digital Rights Management was technologically incoherent, a bizarre fantasy in which untrusted users of computers could be given encrypted files and all the tools needed to decrypt them, but somehow be prevented from using those decrypted files in ways that conflicted with the preferences of the company that supplied those files.

As I said then, computers are stubbornly, inescapably “general purpose.” The only computer we know how to make — the Turing-complete von Neumann machine — is the computer that can run all the programs we know how to write. When someone claims to have built a computer-powered “appliance” — say, a smart speaker or (God help us all) a smart toaster — that can only run certain programs, what they mean is that they’ve designed a computer that can run every program, but which will refuse to run programs unless the manufacturer approves them.

But this is also technological nonsense. The program that checks to see whether other programs are approved by the manufacturer is also running on an untrusted adversary’s computer (with DRM, you are the manufacturer’s untrusted adversary). Because that overseer program is running on a computer you own, you can replace it, alter it, or subvert it, allowing you to run programs that the manufacturer doesn’t like. That would include (for example) a modified DRM program that unscrambles the manufacturer-supplied video, audio or text file and then, rather than throwing away the unscrambled copy when you’re done with it, saves it so you can open it with a program that doesn’t restrict you from sharing it.

As a technical matter, DRM can’t work. Once one person figures out how to patch a DRM program so that it saves the files it descrambles, they can share that knowledge (or a program they’ve written based on that knowledge) with everyone in the world, instantaneously, at the push of a button. Anyone who has that new program can save unscrambled copies of the files they’ve bought and share those, too.

DRM vendors hand-wave this away, saying things like “this just keeps honest users honest.” As Ed Felten once said, “Keeping honest users honest is like keeping tall users tall.”

In reality, DRM vendors know that technical countermeasures aren’t the bulwark against unauthorized reproduction of their files. They aren’t technology companies at all — they’re legal companies.

In 1998, Bill Clinton signed the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) into law. This is a complex law and a decidedly mixed bag, but of all the impacts that the DMCA’s many clauses have had on the world, none have been so quietly, profoundly terrible as Section 1201, the “anti-circumvention” clause that protects DRM.

Under DMCA 1201, it is a felony to “traffick” in tools that bypass DRM. Doing so can land you in prison for five years and hit you with a fine of up to $500,000 (for a first offense). This clause is so broadly written that merely passing on factual information about bugs in a system with DRM can put you in hot water.

Here’s where we get to the existential risk to all computer users part. As a technology, DRM has to run as code that is beyond your observation and control. If there’s a program running on your computer or phone called “DRM” you can delete it, or go into your process manager and force-quit it. No one wants DRM. No one woke up this morning and said, “Dammit, I wish there was a way I could do less with the entertainment files I buy online.” DRM has to hide itself from you, or the first time it gets in your way, you’ll get rid of it.

The proliferation of DRM means that all the commercial operating systems now have a way to run programs that the owners of computers can’t observe or control. Anything that a technologist does to weaken that sneaky, hidden facility risks DMCA 1201 prosecution — and half a decade in prison.

That means that every device with DRM is designed to run programs you can’t see or kill, and no one is allowed to investigate these devices and warn you if they have defects that would allow malicious software to run in that deliberately obscured part of your computer, stealing your data and covertly operating your device’s sensors and actuators. This isn’t just about hacking your camera and microphone: remember, every computerized “appliance” is capable of running every program, which means that your car’s steering and brakes are at risk from malicious software, as are your medical implants and the smart thermostat in your home.

A device that is designed for sneaky code execution and is legally off-limits to independent auditing is bad. A world of those devices — devices we put inside our bodies and put our bodies inside of — is fucking terrifying.

DRM is bad news for our technological future, but it’s also terrible news for our commercial future. Because DMCA 1201 bans trafficking in circumvention devices under any circumstances, manufacturers who design their products with a thin skin of DRM around them can make using those products in the ways you prefer into a literal crime — what Jay Freeman calls “felony contempt of business model.”

The most obvious example of this is in the Right to Repair fight. Devices from tractors and cars to insulin pumps, wheelchairs and ventilators have been redesigned to use DRM to detect and block independent repair, even when the technician uses the manufacturer’s own parts. These devices are booby-trapped so that any “tampering” requires a new authorization code from the manufacturer, which is only given to the manufacturer’s own service technicians.

This allows manufacturers to gouge you on repair and parts, or to simply declare your device to be beyond repair and sell you a new one. Global, monopolistic corporations are drowning the planet in e-waste as a side-effect of their desire to block refurbished devices and parts from cutting into their sales of replacements:.

DRM laws like DMCA 1201 are now all over the world, spread by the US Trade Representative, who made DRM laws a condition of trading with the USA, and a feature of the WTO agreement. Whether you’re in South America, Australia, Europe, Canada, Japan, or even China, DRM-breaking tools are illegal. But remember: DRM is a technological fool’s errand. So while there is no above-ground, legal market for DRM-breaking tools, there is still a thriving underground for them.

For example, farmers all over the world replace the software on their John Deere tractors with software of rumored Ukrainian origin that floats around on the internet. This software lets them fix their tractors without having to wait days for a $200 visit from a John Deere technician, but no one knows what’s in the software, or who made it, or whether it has sneaky back-doors or other malicious code.

And yet, manufacturers keep putting DRM in their products. The prospect of making it a felony to displease your corporate shareholders is just too much to resist.

Which brings me back to Audible. Back before Amazon owned Audible, I bought thousands of dollars’ worth of Audible audiobooks, and they worked great — but they failed badly. When I switched operating systems and could no longer get an Audible playback program, I was in danger of losing my audibook investment. In the end, I had to rig up three old computers to play my Audible audiobooks out in real time and recapture them as plain old MP3s. It took weeks. If I’d made the switch a couple years later, it would have been months (the “audiobooks” folder on my current system has 281 days’ worth of audio!).

Amazon bought Audible during a brief interval in which the company was taking on DRM. They had just launched the Amazon MP3 store, as a rival to Apple’s iTunes Store, which sold music without DRM, so users wouldn’t be locked to Apple’s platform. This was a problem the music industry had just woken up to, after years of demanding DRM, they realized that nearly all the digital music they’d ever sold was locked to Apple’s platform, and that meant that Apple got to decide whether and how their catalog was sold.

Amazon’s MP3 store’s slogan was “DRM: Don’t Restrict Me.” They even sent me a free t-shirt to promote the launch, because they knew my feelings on DRM.

When Amazon announced its Audible acquisition, they promised that they would remove DRM from the Audible store, and I rejoiced. Then, after the acquisition…nothing. Not a word about DRM. The Amazon PR people who’d once enthusiastically pitched me on Amazon’s DRM-free virtue stopped answering my email.

When I got new PR pitches from Amazon, I’d reply by asking about DRM and I’d never hear from those PR people again. I got invited to give a talk at Amazon and I said sure, I’d do it for free — but I wanted to talk to someone from Audible about DRM. The invitation was rescinded.

Once on a book-tour, I gave a talk at Goodreads — another Amazon division — about my work and when they asked if I had any questions for them, I raised Audible’s DRM and the senior managers in the audience promised to look into it. I never heard from them again.

Today, Audible dominates the audiobook market. In some verticals, their market-share is over 90 percent! And Audible will not let authors or publishers opt out of DRM. If you want to publish an audiobook with Audible, you must let them add their DRM to it. That means that every time one of your readers buys one of your books, they’re locking themselves further into Audible. If you sell a million bucks’ worth of audiobooks on Audible, that’s a million bucks your readers have to forfeit to follow you to a rival platform.

As a rightsholder, I can’t authorize my users to strip off Audible’s DRM and switch to a competitor. I can’t even find out which of my readers bought my books from Audible and send them a download code for a free MP3. Even when I invest tens of thousands of dollars of my own money to hire professional narrators to record my audiobooks, if I sell them on Audible, they get the final say in how my readers use the product I paid to create. If I provide my readers with a tool to unwrap Audible’s DRM from my copyrighted books, I become a copyright infringer! I violate Section 1201 of the DMCA and I can go to prison for five years and face a $500,000 fine. For a first offense.

All of this is so glaringly terrible that it prompted me to coin Doctorow’s First Law:

“Any time someone puts a lock on something that belongs to you, but won’t give you the key, that lock is not there for your benefit.”

It’s been more than a decade since Amazon bought Audible and it’s clear that their DRM policy isn’t going anywhere.

Which is why none of my audiobooks are available on Audible.

I don’t want to contribute to the DRM-ification of our devices, turning them into a vast, unauditable attack-surface that is designed to run programs that we can’t see or terminate. I don’t want my work to be a lure into a DRM-poisoned platform. I don’t want to make myself beholden to Amazon, locking my customers to its platform with every sale.

This doesn’t mean I don’t have audiobooks — I do! Early on, I worked with great audiobook publishers like Random House and Blackstone and Macmillan to produce DRM-free audiobooks which were sold everywhere except Audible. But Audible has the vast majority of the market, and it just didn’t make financial sense for these publishers to pay me a decent sum for my audio rights and then pay great narrators and engineers to produce books.

So I started retaining my audio rights in my book deals, and paying to record my own audiobooks. The first one was Information Doesn’t Want to Be Free, recorded by @wilwheaton​, with introductions by @neil-gaiman​ and Amanda Palmer, which explains Doctorow’s First Law in detail.

Since then, I’ve produced many more independent audiobooks, including the audio for Homeland (the bestselling sequel to my YA novel Little Brother, also narrated by Wil), Walkaway (a fabulous multi-cast audiobook starring Amber Benson, Wil Wheaton, Amanda Palmer, Miron Willis, Gabrielle de Cuir and others), and Attack Surface (the third Little Brother book, narrated by Amber Benson).

Generally, these books recoup and make a little money besides, but not nearly so much as I’d make if I sold through Audible. My agent tells me that if I’d been willing to set aside my ethics and allow Audible to slap DRM on my books, I’d have made enough money to pay off my mortgage and save enough to pay for my kid’s entire college education.

That’s a price I’m willing to pay. In the years since the Amazon acquisition, Audible has become the 800-pound gorilla of audiobooks. They have done all kinds of underhanded things — like buying up the first couple books in a series and releasing them as Audible-only recordings, then refusing to record the rest of the series, orphaning it. They’re also notorious among narrators for squeezing their hourly rates lower than anyone else. Audible also refuses to sell into libraries, so all the “Audible Original” titles are blocked from our public library systems.

I think audiences get that there’s something really wrong with a system where a single company controls an entire literary format. In 2020, I Kickstarted the independent audiobook of Attack Surface and broke every record for audiobook crowdfunding, raising $276,000.

But Audible continues to dominate. It is the only digital audiobook channel Amazon will allow, so anyone who searches Amazon for a book will only see the Audible audio edition. It’s also the exclusive audio partner for Apple’s iTunes/Apple Books channel, which is the only iOS audiobook store that doesn’t have to pay Apple a 30 percent commission on all its sales, so it’s the only audiobook store that lets you actually buy new audiobooks.

Other audiobook stores require you to buy your books with a web-browser (which avoids Apple’s sky-high commissions) and then switch back to the app to download them — a clunky experience that has ensured that Apple’s own audiobook channel — with its mandatory DRM — is the only one iOS customers really use.

Not surprisingly, a lot of people assume that if an Audible search for an author or book comes up empty, that means there is no audiobook available. They don’t think of searching for the book on Google Books, or Libro.fm, or Downpour. They never think to check to see whether the author maintains their own storefront, as I do, where you can get all their ebooks and audiobooks without DRM.

That’s bad enough, but it gets worse. So much worse.

Audible has a side-hustle called ACX: it’s a “self-serve” platform where writers and narrators can team up to self-produce their own audiobooks, which are locked to Audible’s platform and encumbered with Audible’s DRM.

ACX has some nominal checks to ensure that the audiobooks that land on its platform are duly licensed from the rightsholders, but these are trivial to circumvent. Here’s how I know that: on multiple occasions, I’ve discovered that my own books have been turned into unauthorized audiobooks over ACX.

Scammers claiming to have the rights to my books commission narrators to record them on the cheap, with the promise of a royalty split when they are live. Inexperienced narrators, excited at the prospect of recording a major book by a bestselling author, put long, grueling hours into recording them. Then the book goes live, and I discover it, and have it taken down. The scammer disappears with the profits from the sales in the interim, and the narrator is screwed.

As am I.

Because these illegal ACX audiobooks compete with my own, self-produced editions, for which I pay narrators, directors and editors a fair wage for their creative labor. These unauthorized ACX audiobooks show up in searches for my name on Audible and Amazon, where my own (vastly superior, authorized) DRM-free audiobooks are not allowed.

This isn’t an isolated incident. It’s happened over and over again. It just happened again.

Last week, I heard from Shawn Hartel, a narrator who got scammed on ACX by someone calling themself “Barbara M. Rushing,” who told Hartel that they held the audio rights to my 2017 novel Walkaway. They do not have those rights.

I spent about $50,000 recording a stupendous audiobook edition of Walkaway, which you can buy here for $24.95.

This audiobook has met with widespread critical acclaim and the print edition has been translated and celebrated around the world. But Hartel didn’t know that.

On January 11, 2021, he accepted an offer from “Barbara M. Rushing” to record the book and worked long hours to produce a 16-hour narration. On February 1, 2021, the book was accepted by Rushing. On July 7, 2021, ACX listed Walkaway for sale. On November 9, 2021, ACX took the book down, having figured out that it was infringing.

In the meantime, Rushing sold 119 copies and gave away ten more, diverting people from buying my own, DRM-free edition.

129 times $24.95 is $3,218.55, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s what Amazon owes me.

Now, I’m not going to sue them (probably). I don’t have the money or time to fight that kind of battle. For one thing, I have eight books (four novels, a YA graphic novel, a short story collection and two nonfiction books) in various stages of production right now, and I’m going to be producing my own audio editions for them, which is going to suck up a lot of time.

But Amazon does owe me $3,218.55.

I don’t expect they’ll pay it.

Anyone who’s paid attention to Audiblegate knows about Amazon’s dirty ACX dealing. The company has been credibly accused of more than $100 million in wage-theft from ACX authors and narrators, whom it has scammed with a combination of a one-sided refunds policy and out-and-out accounting fraud.

I know a lot about Audiblegate because there’s a whole chapter about it in Chokepoint Capitalism: How Big Tech and Big Content Captured Creative Labor Markets and How We’ll Win Them Back, the book on creative labor markets that Rebecca Giblin and I wrote for Beacon Press:

Chokepoint Capitalism explains how large media and tech companies have cornered the markets for creative labor, and why giving creators more copyright won’t unrig this rigged game. The tech and entertainment giants are like bullies at the school gate who shake down creators for their lunch money every day.

To reach your audience you have to go through the chokepoints they have erected, and when you do, any additional copyright powers Congress has granted you is taken away as a condition of entry (think of how Audible nonconsensually takes away your right to use DRM law if you want to list your audiobooks).

If you give your bullied kid more lunch money, you won’t buy them lunch — you’ll just make the bullies at the school-gate richer. Giving creators more copyright inevitably results in those copyrights being transferred to Amazon and other monopolists. To get lunch for your kid — or justice for creators — you have to get rid of the chokepoints.

That’s what Chokepoint Capitalism is really about — not just how the markets got rigged, but how to fix them, with a list of shovel-ready, practical actions for local governments, national legislatures, artists’ groups, as well as creators, technologists and audiences.

We’re going to be rolling out a crowdfunding campaign for the Chokepoint Capitalism audiobook in a couple of weeks (the book comes out in mid-September). We’ve scored an incredible narrator, Stefans Rudnicki, who you may have heard on the Ender’s Game books, Hubris by Michael Isikoff and David Corn, or any of 1,000 other audiobooks. Stefan’s won a Stoker, a Bradbury, dozens of Audies and Earphones, two Grammys, and two Hugos. It’s gonna be fucking great.

And it won’t be available on Audible. Who owe me $3,218.55.

But you know what will*be available on Audible?

This. This essay, which I am about to record as an audiobook, to be mastered by my brilliant sound engineer John Taylor Williams, and will thereafter upload to ACX as a self-published, free audiobook.

Perhaps you aren’t reading these words off your screen. Perhaps you are an Audible customer who searched for my books and only found this odd, short audiobook entitled: “Why none of my books are available on Audible: And why Amazon owes me $3,218.55.”

I send you greetings, fellow audiobook listener!

I invite you to buy all my audiobooks at prices lower than Amazon’s, free from DRM and unencumbered by comedy-of-the-absurd “user agreements” that no one in their right mind would ever*agree to. They are for sale at craphound.com/shop.

Among those audiobooks, the $15 edition of Information Doesn’t Want to Be Free, where I explain not just Doctorow’s First Law, but also my Second and Third Laws (my agent was Arthur C. Clarke’s agent; when I told him I had come up with “Doctorow’s Law,” he told me that I needed three laws). As noted, this is superbly read by Wil Wheaton, and Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer read their own intros:

Of course, you will only find this book if Amazon ACX accepts it. I’ve combed quite carefully through their terms of service and I don’t see anything that would disqualify this from being listed as an ACX book.

But then again, they say they ban books produced without permission from the copyright holder and we’ve seen how that works out, right? From poking around on ACX, it looks like Amazon’s main way of checking whether a user has the rights to a book is by looking in Amazon’s catalog to see if there’s already an audiobook edition. That means that if a writer refuses to sell on Audible because of their DRM policies, Audible will use that boycott as an excuse to let ripoff artists bilk the writer, the narrator and the listeners — because if there’s no Audible edition, they assume that the audio rights must be up for grabs.

Will Audible let me use its platform to give away a book that criticizes Audible? Or will they exercise their overwhelming market power to both abet a $3,218.55 ripoff and suppress a critique of their role in that ripoff?

Only time will tell.

#

[Image ID: A screengrab of the ACX page for the audiobook, showing that it is 'pending audio review]

Addendum: I wrote the above on July 4, 2022, just before submitting the audiobook to Amazon and leaving for a holiday. Over the past two weeks, I've checked in with ACX daily, but the audiobook still shows as "Pending Audio Review." ACX advises that this process should take a maximum of ten business days. It's been 15. Perhaps they're very backlogged.

Or maybe they're hoping that if they delay the process long enough, I'll give up. In the meantime, there is now a Kindle edition of this text:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B5RWTPR7/

I had to put this up, it's a prerequisite for posting the audio to ACX. I hadn't planned on posting it, but since they made me, I did.

[Image ID: A screengrab of the Kindle listing page for my ebook showing it as the number one new release in antitrust.]

Bizarrely, this is currently the number one new Amazon book on Antitrust Law!

Also bizarrely - given the context - this book was taken down for several days due to a spurious copyright issue over the cover art, a cack-handed collage of some Creative Commons icons I put together with The GIMP. Amazon flagged this as a copyright violation (despite correct Creative Commons attribution) and took the book down, demanding that I change the cover art, ignoring my explanations. I was ultimately able to get the book restored by contacting someone I know at Amazon legal, who intervened.

I don't know if Amazon will ever release my audiobook, but I hope they do. In the meantime, you can listen to the audiobook of this essay for free via my podcast:

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_431/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_431_-_Why_none_of_my_books_are_available_on_Audible.mp3

#

ETA: Within a few hours of my publishing this thread, ACX released my audiobook. https://audible.com/pd/B0B7KH8KSD

Image: Paris 16 (modified)/CC BY-SA 4.0; Dmitry Baranovskiy (modified) CC BY 4.0

[Image ID: An anti-pickpocketing graphic featuring a stick figure reaching into an adjacent stick-figure's shoulder-bag. The robber's chest is emblazoned with an Amazon 'a' logo. The victim's chest is emblazoned with an icon of a fountain-pen. The robber's face has an Amazon 'smile' logo. The victim's face has an inverted Amazon 'smile' logo (and is thus frowning). Beneath these two figures is a wordmark reading 'Audible: Am Amazon Company.']

[dolimiu]

NIGHT LIGHT.

izuku midoriya  ×  fmr   𝞋𝞎   synopsis ;   after being convinced by his classmates to come back to UA, izuku still can't be sure if this is where he belongs.  ──  ❪   hurt ╱ comfort  0.9k  est relationship,  cw  anxiety & panic attacks   ❫

the night breeze slipped through the cracked balcony door, a cool contrast to the warm interior. with the lights out, most people in the dorms slept as peacefully as they could in these troubled times. not long ago, everything had been in shambles, forcing everyone to seek refuge behind UA's large metal walls.

everyone was on edge, their faith in the system shattered from just a year ago. izuku bore the brunt of their distrust. how could they let the very target inside the stronghold itself? despite uraraka's speech changing many hearts, citizens were not the same. a hero nor a hero-in-training could earn their trust blindly. they let him stay for now, but if he became "too dangerous," he would be abandoned. it was as simple as that; izuku was a danger.

izuku tossed and turned, his messy hair splaying across the pillow with each movement. when his classmates tracked him down and forced brought him back to UA, he fell asleep as soon as he finished washing up, not even making it to his own bed. but now, his eyes wouldn’t let him rest. he groaned, flipping his pillow again and rearranging himself again. he shouldn’t — he really shouldn’t bother you. you’d done more than enough for him.

yet, his breath quickened, his mind racing, eyes refusing to close despite the heaviness pulling at them. maybe it wouldn’t hurt? you mentioned staying up late these days. maybe you were still awake? then he wouldn’t be a bother. izuku clenched his eyes shut, feeling his body spiral deeper; it was terrifying.

he’d fought villains day after day, each tougher than the last. but here he was, a victim of his own mind. what if all for one attacked right now? what if innocents got hurt? what if his mother died in the backlash, along with his classmates? with you?

that was the breaking point. his feet carried him through the dorm hallways. he couldn’t stop this feeling on his own. his heart ached more by the second. what was he supposed to do? what would all for one’s next move be? how should he progress his training with one for all? could he even manage without sleep? his mind raced too fast to register that he stood in front of your room.

his hand hovered over the dark wooden door, his stomach in knots as he debated changing his mind. should he go back to bed? why did he come here at 4am? of course, you were sleeping. he shouldn’t interrupt you. izuku frowned, stumbling backward. he shouldn’t be selfish; this was the path he chose.

the door creaked open, making the freckled teen’s eyes widen in surprise. you froze, a light gasp escaping your lips. "goodness, izu, you scared me," you mumbled sleepily, rubbing your eyes.

"i’m sorry — i just came 'cause i, um…" he stammered, words slipping from his mouth. the knot in his stomach slowly dissolved at the sight of you, your presence a comfort no one else could provide.

you sighed gently. "can't sleep again?"

izuku nodded quickly, a guilty frown tugging at his lips. "i'm sorry, i shouldn’t have come. my feet just carried me here, and i thought maybe there was a chance you were still awake… but i see now that was stupid. obviously, you were sleeping at 4am. i mean, who’s awake at this hour — "

"izu, come lay down," you cut him off, your voice as gentle as your smile, opening the door wider. "besides, i was already awake. you didn't disturb me. i had to go to the bathroom. and i’d be upset if you didn’t come to me on nights like this. i want to be there for you, 'zuku."

like a breath of fresh air, his body relaxed. trudging into your room, he felt its warmth. everything around him reminded him of you, from the photos of the two of you to the trinkets on your shelves. unlike his room, yours wasn’t dark but softly lit by a night light. collapsing on your bed, he breathed in your scent.

still standing by the doorway, you looked at your tired boyfriend with concern. "i'll be right back, m'kay?"

"okay…" izuku replied, his eyebrows creasing as he thought about you leaving, fearing the feeling might return. lying back on your pillow, he shifted to his side, eyes wandering around your room. breathe in and out. he just had to wait until you returned, not letting those intrusive thoughts creep in again.

crickets chirped outside, filling the void of the silent night. the setting of your room and the sounds of summer made him feel different than in his own.

"izu? i'm back," you whispered, opening the door. his head shot up at the sight of you in your pjs, looking slightly more awake. you slipped into bed beside him, cupping his cheek. "i don’t know what’s bothering you, but i’m here. you’re not the only hero in the world." izuku melted into your touch, nodding as your words eased his mind. "i’m always here, especially for you. so don’t shut yourself out or be too hard on yourself. i know more than anyone how much you care and how beautiful your soul is." your thumb brushed over his scattered freckles.

he watched as his body slowly relaxed, his mind letting go of its worries. "i love you, izuku," you murmured, kissing his head.

"mm, love you too, y/n. you're my everything," he whispered breathlessly. in all the chaos, you were always izuku’s safe place.

© dolimiu was this rly self indulgent ? absolutely. i have no shame in saying that this fic was entirely based on many episodes i've had recently 😭 i love izuku sm, i just wanna hug him.

[hazelfoureyes]

HateJokeFuck

*very sacrilegious*

Alastor knew the best way to have a laugh on Halloween! Bother the fuck out of Lucifer. Literally. Nuns don’t wear pants, right?

For my sweetest @minkdelovely

「warnings/promises: TopLucifer x BottomNun!Alastor, hate fucking, clawing skin, wings come out, HCU (hazel cinematic universe), threats to tear Alastor apart, The Lords Prayer bastardized, anal creampie, still ace ass Alastor, rough sex」

Minors dni

Alastor wasn’t particularly excited for a Halloween party at the hotel, even if he knew watching the others could be fun.

But then he had an idea to make the evening positively entertaining.

Which led him to where he was now, pressed against Niffty’s various cleaning supplies in a hallway closet, ass pounded by his furious majesty.

Alastor had thought it would be funny to wear a nun’s habit, having hand stitched little X’s and an inverted cross in red thread to personalize the outfit. 

While heaven did exile Lucifer and systemically murder his subjects, Luci still had a soft spot for what was now religious imagery. Devoting your life and body to the Lord was something he thought to be quite admirable.

So when Alastor walked into the party dressed in holy attire, Luci saw red. And black. And white. The colors of Alastor’s sinful costume. Dressed as Dadcula, Dad Dracula, obviously (Which was just Lucifer in a black cape and bat ear headband), Luci marched up to the radio demon.

“Hallway, now.” He grabbed Alastor by the arm, the nun leaving the party as quickly as he had arrived. Charlie saw the men rush out the room and worried a fight was brewing.

“Yes, your majesty?” Alastor steepled his hands together, “what’s the matter, pray tell?”

Lucifer smacked his hands down, “Stop that! You are making a mockery of centuries of worship!” Sputtering, he gestured up and down. “Take that off right fucking now!” He stomped his foot and managed a calming breath, “Please.”

The grin should have been enough to tell Luci he’d walked into a trap, “Who am I to deny my liege?” Alastor found the zipper in the back and pulled it down, letting the smock open and fall forward off his arms. Lucifer’s eyes followed the habit down from neck, to bare chest, to toned stomach, to-

“Are you-!” Lucifer’s hands came out to hide Alastor’s exposed cock, “naked!?” He seethed.

A voice called from the ballroom entrance, “Dad? Is everything alright?” Charlie was positive her father and Alastor were already tearing into each other. 

To her credit, they would be soon enough.

Panicked and terrible under pressure, Lucifer opened the closest door and shoved both himself and the now nude Alastor into it.

It was, to his despair, a broom closet. Perhaps two people could fit comfortably had it not been occupied with a shelving system of supplies, mops, brooms, and a large outdated vacuum cleaner.

As soon as he pushed them in and closed the door, he found his body pressing into Alastor’s bare ass.

Alastor was certain there was a God now, and he a favored child. What hilarious developments. Even he couldn’t orchestrate such comedy gold.

“Oh, Father, is this confessional? I have a mighty long list.”

Lucifer smacked at Alastor’s back, “Do not call me Father!”

“Daddy?” Alastor asked, coyly looking over his shoulder to the smaller man.

“Dad?” Charlie echoed.

Lucifer’s hands shot up to cover Alastor’s mouth, “Shhh, or I will kill you once and for aAAH,” a moan breaking through his sentence as Alastor ground back into his crotch.

Alastor mumbled into Luci’s palm.

“What’s wrong?” Vaggie joined, her and Charlie now feet from the door.

“I thought Dad and Al were out here bickering…” 

Alastor began grinding himself into Luci, feeling something there for him in the King of Hell’s lap.

Lucifer couldn’t help the reaction, Alastor had been intentionally winding him up for weeks.

Reaching for the newspaper and slipping, hand coming down onto Luci’s crotch. Needing something on a high shelf and just having to press his much larger body upon Luci’s smaller frame. He even sat on Lucifer once, joking, “Oh I didn’t see you there, hmm.” A size joke and groping combo.

He was touch starved and primed, so when he looked down to see skin and curves and warmth offered to him, he simply lost it.

Angel Dust had been so kind as to teach him the word hatefuck recently. And he was going to hatefuck the sass out of Alastor.

Was he using that correctly? Unimportant, a fleeting concern as he fought to undo his belt with one hand.

“They’re probably here somewhere fucking around, don’t worry about it babe. Come back and enjoy your party.” Vaggie, a psychic of some sorts, led her love away just in time.

Luci wasn’t sure he could keep it up knowing his daughter was just outside the door. But that little obstacle was gone. When Luci didn’t immediately remove his hand Alastor snaked his tongue out and around his fingers.

“Gross,” Lucifer took back his hand, thinking for a second as he stared at the wet fingers before sliding them between Alastor’s cheeks. The taller man shivered. “Did you…” the realization he had been played hit him like a piano, oddly familiar but still quite heavy. “Why are you already lubed and stretched?”

Alastor reached down slowly, face smug as he slipped a tiny bottom from a single garter belt on his right thigh. 

“Holy water?”  Luci took it from Alastor before his face fell flat, nose curling as he sniffed the air, “Is this coconut lube oil? You’re foul.” He used his teeth to unscrew the lid and poured the contents down Alastor’s lower back, “I hope you understand. You make me regret  millennia of human free will more than I already did.”

“Your majesty I cannot get any harder, please stop the dirty talk.” Alastor shimmied his hips, elusive plush black-topped, red-bottomed tail swishing along.

Lucifer was briefly mesmerized, why was it so cute? Alastor should enter every room ass first, tail out. He’d be much more palatable. Blinking away the thought he swiped his leaking member up and down the demon’s ass as he spread lubricant on himself.

“I hate you, please don’t forget that.” Lucifer lined himself up and pressed in, groaning as he effortlessly was taken to the hilt. Alastor had prepared well. Another second to imagine Alastor in the nuns' habit, legs spread and hands busy working himself open for Lucifer. Alastor’s breath hitched as Luci’s twitched and grew slightly in him. 

Alastor hadn’t started the night planning to get fucked. Once the outfit was on and he decided pants weren’t necessary, he began to consider all the ways he could fluster Lucifer. Nothing would be funnier than making the king of hell fuck a nun.

So here he was, gripping the shelves as Lucifer’s hips snapped into him.

“Oh fuck,” Luci moaned, Alastor was so tight and hot, how could someone so horrid feel so damn good? His nails dug into Alastor’s hips, pulling him back to meet every thrust.

Lucifer was enjoying himself. It felt good, Alastor not numb to pleasure, but he wanted to rile up Luci even more.

“Our Lucifer, who art in hell,” Alastor began his bastardized prayer. It worked, Luci’s hips slowing.

“Alastor.” He warned.

“Sullied be thy name; my king shall cum,” Alastor’s grin was audible. A growl came from behind him as a faint glow of fire illuminated his face, “thy sin be done,” he choked, Luci’s hips snapping into him with a sting to his ass. The fallen angel’s wings erupting and knocking the supplies off the shelves around them, no space for them to flex. Even though he knew Lucifer couldn’t hear him over the sounds of crashing bottles and broom handles, even though he could barely speak through the painfully rough fucking he was taking, he finished his prayer. 

“On earth as it is in hell,” the sentence was squeaked out in staccato, air sucked in with every stretch of his hole by his king. Alastor gripped the metal shelf side so tightly his fingers were losing blood flow, the rage behind Luci’s punishing cock making his eyes roll back. 

Lucifer gripped onto Alastor’s tail with a silent show of force, “You will stop this sacrilege.” Words forced through clenched teeth, “Or I will rent your dirty existence,” a pause to momentarily bury himself as deep as he could reach, “body and soul, asunder.”

Alastor couldn’t respond, mind slipping into a new realm entirely. He understood a threat had been made, and nodded as best he could with his head hung low between his hunched shoulders. He was making sounds as Lucifer’s nails cut into him, but he couldn’t place from where they came, pain or pleasure, only that his chest rumbled and his mouth was going dry. 

As his hips returned to their literally bruising speed, Lucifer felt his orgasm nearing. He’d never been so angry and so determined to fuck his own seed into someone else. It felt like giving a punishment, like a humiliation. He wanted Alastor to wobble out of the fucking closet, cum dripping out much later from the previously unreached place Lucifer marked.

Alastor’s body was hit up against the shelves as his knees gave out, Lucifer’s strength too much for him to withstand. As Lucifer came his wings pulled back before coming down and in. Alastor felt a heat deep in him, pooling in his guts. On his arms and forehead the soft touch of feathers caressed sweat slick skin.

They both stayed connected, only their chests moving as they heaved in and out. Lucifer waited for himself to go soft before he pulled out, forehead resting on Alastor’s back, both men on their knees.

Sometime after Luci’s wings folded back in and disappeared, Alastor regained enough sense to speak.

“Amen.”

Lucifer pulled him to the floor by his neck, fist cocked back when the door opened.

“Oh sir, not again*. Your jokes are really not funny.” Niffty scurried over Lucifer’s back to retrieve a roll of paper towels before flitting out the room. Before closing the door she huffed, “Please stop telling them. No one ever laughs.”

“Dad, why do you smell like a piña colada?” Charlie leaned into Lucifer, taking in the aroma. “Wait a minute…. I know that smell.” Angel brightened,’“Awww baby’s first hatefuck!!”

*Alastor’s other bad joke

ଳ⊹₊ ⋆ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove  @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings

@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith ,

[metamatar]

When electronics manufacturing took off in China in the 1980s, rural women who had just begun moving to the cities made up the majority of the factory workforce. They didn’t have many other options. Managers at companies like Foxconn preferred to hire women because they believed them to be more obedient [...]

Hiring a young, female workforce in India comes with its own requirements — which include reassuring doting parents about the safety of their daughters. The company offers workers free food, lodging, and buses to ensure a safe commute at all hours of the day. On days off, women who live in Foxconn hostels have a 6 p.m. curfew; permission is required to spend the night elsewhere. “[If] they go out and not return by a specific time, their parents would be informed,” a former Foxconn HR manager told Rest of World. “[That’s how] they offer trust to their parents.”

[...] the Tamil Nadu government sent a strong signal welcoming Foxconn and other manufacturers: Authorities approved new regulations that would increase workdays from eight to 12 hours. This meant that Foxconn and other electronics factories would be able to reduce the number of shifts needed to keep their production line running from three to two, just like in China. [...] Political parties aligned with the government called the bill “anti-labor” and, during the vote, walked out of the legislative assembly. After the bill passed, trade unions in the state announced a series of actions including a demonstration on motorbikes, civil disobedience campaigns, and protests in front of the ruling party’s local headquarters. The government shelved its new rule within four days.

Indian Foxconn workers told Rest of World that eight hours under intense pressure is already hard to bear. “I’ll die if it’s 12 hours of work,” said Padmini, the assembly line worker.

For the expatriate workers, the slower pace of the factory floors in India is its own shock to the system. A Taiwanese manager at a different iPhone supplier in the Chennai area told Rest of World that India’s 8-hour shifts and industry-standard tea breaks were a drag on production. “You have barely settled in on your seat, and the next break comes,” the manager lamented.

In China, Foxconn relies on lax enforcement of the country’s labor law — which limits workdays to eight hours and caps overtime — as well as lucrative bonuses to get employees to work 11 hours a day during production peaks [...] five Chinese and Taiwanese workers said they were surprised to discover that their Indian colleagues refused to work overtime. Some attributed it to a weak sense of responsibility; others to what they perceived as Indian people’s low material desire. “They are easily content,” an engineer deployed from Zhengzhou said. “They can’t handle even a bit more pressure. But if we don’t give them pressure, then we won’t be able to get everything right and move production here in a short time.” [...] At the same time, the expat staff enjoy the Indian work culture of tea breaks, chatting with colleagues, and going home on time. They recognize they are helping the company spread a Chinese work culture that they know can be unhealthy. [...]

On the assembly line, Foxconn’s targets were tough to reach, workers said. Jaishree, 21, joined the iPhone shop floor in 2022 as a recent graduate with a degree in mathematics. (With India’s high level of unemployment, Foxconn’s assembly line has plenty of women with advanced degrees, including MBAs.) [...] “At the start, during my eight-hour shift, I did about 300 [screws]. Now, I do 750,” she said. “We have to finish within time, otherwise they will scold us.” [...]

Mealtimes are an issue, too. In December 2021, thousands of Indian Foxconn employees protested after some 250 colleagues contracted food poisoning. In response, the company changed food contractors, and increased its monthly base salary from 14,000 rupees to 18,000 rupees ($168 to $216) — double the minimum wage prescribed by the Tamil Nadu labor department for unskilled workers. [...]

Working conditions take a physical toll. Padmini has experienced hair loss because she has to wear a skull cap and work in air-conditioned spaces, she said. “Neck pain is the worst, since we are constantly bending down and working.” She has irregular periods, which she attributes to the air conditioning and the late shifts. “[Among] girls with me on the production line, some six girls have this problem,” Padmini said. Workers said they regularly see colleagues become unwell. “The day before yesterday, a girl fainted and they took her to the hospital,” [...] Padmini, at 26, believes she is close to the age where the company might consider her too old. “They used to hire women up to age 30, now they hire only up to 28,” she said.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Can you please make one of Muntant mayhem x reader? I bet you will do a awesome job on it! By the way love your content! <3

Beauty in the Bodega: part 1 (Fluff)

MM!Leonardo x reader

Part 2

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A/N: Thank you so much!😊💕💕 I’ve actually been wanting to write for Mutant Mayhem for some time now, but I just haven’t had any ideas until now💚 Inspired by when Mikey comments on Leo’s crush on April with: “Here he goes again”, and Donnie’s: “Every girl, man”, implying that MM Leo has had quite a few crushes in the past💙😏

Hope you enjoy!💚🐢

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During a grocery run to the nearest bodega, Leonardo sees a girl that makes his heart skip and his insides feel warm.

Warnings: Spelling and Mutant Mayhem cuteness💙

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The sewers beneath New York City were a chaotic blend of echoes as the four brothers moved stealthily through the shadows. With a memorized grocery list in hand, they moved silently and stealthily, just like their father had taught them to, each of them knowing exactly what to get.

Leonardo led the way, his keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. His younger brothers, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael, followed closely behind, their ninja senses sharp as they navigated the labyrinthine tunnels, until they made it to the familiar ladder that led them to the world of the humans.

As they reached the surface, the brothers climbed the nearby fire escape before sprinting across the roof, until they found themselves on top of the building that housed the small bodega. Leo surveyed the area, ensuring it was safe, before nodding to his brothers. With practiced ease, they slipped in through the ventilation system.

In the vent just above the store, the four turtles found themselves staring down at the mostly empty store. The only human being, the ever absent minded cashier at the cash register, who was busy with a very infuriating crossword, mumbling about a word that was causing them a lot of problems.

With a quick nod from Leonardo, the brothers crawled out of the vent and split up to cover more ground. Donnie took care of the toiletries, while lip syncing to the music playing in the bodega. Raph was busy finding kitchen and cleaning supplies, while Mikey was digging his way through the best junk food. Leo found himself in the snacks aisle, contemplating the various options. He remembered what his father had told him before they went out. Make sure the Doritos were party sized. Party sized Doritos. Remember that Leonardo.

The bell above the entrance to the bodega rang, altering the cashier and the brothers to a new presence in the small store. All four of them knew what that meant - hide. With lightning fast speed Donnie disappeared up into the vent, Raph found a spot among the cleaning supplies, and Mikey hid up above on top of the long lamps. Leo stayed on the ground, hiding behind the shelves, relieved when he realized that the cashier still hadn't noticed them.

Through the shelves, he caught a glimpse of the person who had just entered the bodega, and his heart almost stopped at the sight, making him drop the Doritos bag. Of course he had expected a human, but he had not expected one looking like you did. Your presence, seemingly ordinary yet captivating, drew Leo's gaze. He couldn't help but watch as you moved through the bodega, selecting items with an easy grace.

You came into the store, humming to the music that was playing in your headphones, totally oblivious to the eyes of Leonardo that were watching your every move.

Leo’s brothers, scattered throughout the store, noticed his distraction and exchanged knowing glances. Raphael, spotting Leo's fixation, smirked and made eye contact with Donatello, who joined in the silent communication with a playful grin.

Leo tried to regain his composure, tearing his eyes away from you for a split second, as he moved to a different shelf, before you managed to see him. His heart was beating, not just from the fear of getting caught by a human, but the thought of how close you were to him. But as you moved away to a shelf further away, Leo couldn’t help but follow along, making sure that he was staying hidden.

Leo watched as you gathered your things before walking up to the cash register. You placed your stuff in front of the cashier, waiting as they groggily started scanning your items. Leo and his brothers used this as an opportunity to get the last they needed, before hurrying back into the vent, all while the cashier was focused on your items.

With all of their groceries in bags, they hurried through the vent and up onto the roof, just in time to see you leave out the front door of the bodega with your newly bought groceries, once again humming to the music in your headphones.

“It feels like / Skuba duba dabda dididaj / Skuba duba dabda dididaj / I love you / Another cliche baby”, you sang along, doing a little dance as you walked.

Leo watched you with a smile, his heart skipping a beat at the sight. There was just something about humans, especially the ones like you, that just warmed his heart. Carefree, dancing and singing down the street, without having to worry about who was watching. How he wished he could do something like that, with someone just like you.

Raphael couldn't resist a teasing comment, hitting Leo’s arm when he saw him staring after you. "Well, well, look who's got heart in his eyes again. Leo, you've got a thing for grocery shopping now?"

Donatello joined in, smirking. "I think I saw a spark between Leo and that cereal box".

Michelangelo laughed. "Maybe it's love at first sight. Or should I say, love at first snack?", he said and pulled out a pack of oreos from his bag, causing both Donnie and Raph to hold their stomach in laughter.

Leo tried to brush off their comments, a faint blush visible under his mask. "It's nothing. Let's just go home".

“Booooooring”, Donnie groaned out loud, as he followed Leonardo’s lead back to the sewers. But his brothers weren't about to let him off the hook that easily.

As they made their way back home through the sewers, Leo’s brothers continued to tease him, comparing you to all the other girls that have caught his attention over the yes. Was it really so bad that he dreamed of getting a girlfriend one day? All human teenagers his age did the same, so was it wrong of him just because he was a turtle.

As they were about to round the corner before the entrance to their home, Leo stopped in realization. He had forgotten the Doritos.

“Oh shit”, he mumbled, before giving his bags to his brothers.

“Yo, what’s happening, man?”, Raph asked in confusion.

“I forgot the Doritos”, Leo said in a hurry. “Tell dad I’ll be back in a minute! I’ll hurry!” And with those words Leo was down the sewer before any of his brothers could protest.

Leo made it to the ladder and pushed the sewer cover off, only to stop dead in his tracks. Right in front of him on the alley floor was a perfect party sized Doritos bag, with a note taped to it.

Leo’s first thought was that he should run. The fear that a human had caught him burning in his throat. But he didn’t run. Instead he looked around to make sure he was alone, before he reached out and grabbed the bag, bringing it down to the sewer. Once at the foot of the ladder, Leo took a look at the note taped to the bag. It was hard to read with his shaking hands, but he managed.

“Hey stranger! I think you dropped this at the bodega, so I thought I would bring it to you. (Y/N) <3. P.S. You and your friends are quite noisy once you get up on the roof;)”.

Leo felt like fainting. A human had brought him the Doritos that his dad had asked him for. Not just any human, but you. The pretty human from the bodega.

Heat creepy up his cheeks, as he took the note and hid it in a pocket on his belt. Thinking back on Raph’s comment, Leo couldn’t help but giggle a little. He might have a thing for grocery shopping now.

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A/N: MM Leonardo with his crushes gives me “Cliche Love Song” by Basim vibes. Also the song used💕