#Mattress Compression Machine

[terronindia]

A compression machine can be used to safeguard your mattresses from any harm that may occur while they are being transported. Both you and the clients benefit from this. A mattress compression machine, therefore, might be a lifesaver for any company, be it a manufacturer, retailer, or logistics provider.

[mattressmachinery]

foam press machine

The foam press machine stands as a testament to meticulous engineering, crafted specifically to compress foam blocks with unparalleled efficiency. With a remarkable 95% volume reduction capability, it revolutionizes the storage and shipping logistics associated with foam products. By compacting foam blocks, it not only enhances storage convenience but also leads to substantial savings on both storage space and shipping costs. The press plate, featuring an impressive travel distance of up to 1300mm, facilitates the compression of foam blocks with heights reaching a maximum of 1300mm. This unparalleled functionality ensures that the foam press machine is an indispensable asset in the foam manufacturing industry, streamlining processes and optimizing resource utilization.

[yourdoorisunlocked]

Kill Your Darlings - Part One

🎙️【 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒆 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑽 】🎙️

𝐀/𝐍: Welcome back, I've cooked up a chapter to kick off my new fic :) I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it!

Alright, let's get into this. (praying I don't lose motivation to complete this fic)

➺ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬: 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰, 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞. ➺ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏,𝟖𝟏𝟗

. . .

. . .

"I'll see you in hell, darling." 

The deep timbre of the demon’s voice faded into mere traces of static, before dissipating completely as blood rushed to your pounding head. The pale blare of the kitchen lights flooded your vision, and your hands trembled while you clutched your throat with shortened breaths. 

The tightness that compressed your lungs and squeezed the ventricles of your heart seemed to have calmed now, but although the room grew much warmer and your vision had cleared, leaving no trace of green fog to cloud your vision, phantom traces of panic still rattled you.  

But thankfully, your mind seemed to be yours again as you tried to calm yourself. 

Who the hell was that...? What even- How am I even alive?  

Your mind was simmering with questions. Whatever that thing was had left, but you had a sinking feeling that he would return, and that he’d bring something even worse to your doorstep when he finally did. And you didn’t think you could handle another visit, not with your weak, human heart hammering erratically whenever something, anything seemed dangerous. And frankly, all of this fucking screamed ‘DANGER!’ to you. 

An ill wave of nausea churned in your stomach as you shakily pushed yourself up from the frigid kitchen tile. You wanted to scream. You wanted to kick, bite, scratch, do something, anything to keep yourself from driving yourself insane with the thought that the demon would one day darken your doorstep once again. 

Maybe this was all just a bad dream, maybe you’d had a... A fucking hallucination or something that could explain away what you saw, what you felt.  

But the agonizing screeches and whines of radio static, the pure, chilling terror that had engulfed you in that moment, as the stench of festering decay invaded your nostrils and made the hair on your arms stand on-end was no hallucination, no, you highly fucking doubted that. Whatever this was, whatever he was, was beyond your own understanding.  But you had all night to dwell on the demon and his words.

As soon as your back hit the mattress of your bed, the questions that had been brewing in your mind since the moment that monster left finally frothed to the surface. What did that thing – eldritch demon, unholy terror, whatever the hell he was – mean when he said he’d ‘see you in hell’? Who was the woman that had left you to him? And what kind of fucking psycho would condemn another innocent person to this fate, to be haunted by this creature? 

...Did someone offer him your fucking soul? 

As one could guess, you barely got any rest that night, tossing and turning in your weighted blankets, waking up in a cold sweat multiple times from night terrors, before finally, the light of waking dawn burst through your curtains and disturbed you from another gruesome nightmare.

A lasting, burning image of that horrific smile stretched across the demon’s ashen gray skin like a cheeky taunt, a promise of bloodshed as his voice, fuzzy and crackling with static called out to you in your dream. 

“You can run, but you can’t hide from me, my Doe.” 

With a heavy, burdened yawn, you slumped out of bed, barely refreshed and sporting dark circles beneath your eyes. You spared nary a glance at the full-length mirror beside your door to schlep yourself into the kitchen with a groan. 

Nothing a nice cup of coffee can’t fix, was all you could tell yourself for some semblance of comfort as you inhaled the rich bitterness of the coffee machine grinding the beans. 

The tranquility of the morning, to your luck, was short-lived. 

As soon as you took a small sip of coffee, shivering in the cold air of your apartment as you gripped the steaming mug for comfort, a shadow zoomed past your vision, splashing sprinkles of coffee in your face as a dark gust of air whipped around you.

H-He came back? 

That thing - a shadow, or a ghost or something - that had just interrupted your morning musing was now grinning down at you cheekily, leaning against the small section of counters that faced the living room. It sported familiarly sharp features, that, to your horror, suspiciously paralleled the demonic devil-man that had visited you that last night, though it was... wispier, like a phantom, and entirely transparent.

“Holy shit.” 

Your heart squeezed as you pressed yourself against the cold countertop, but fear gave way to irritation when the phantom-demon-thing cackled down at you in your terror, though it was more in the way a radio would sound when trying to tune it. Sharp and deep, crackling through the air as you narrowed your eyes up at it. 

“W-What the fuck is this? What are you doing here...?” The shadow tilted its head down at you, before turning to look into your living room and lighting up. It jumped from its chair and zoomed around, eager to root through the contents of the living room and the kitchen.

You stood there dumbly, white-knuckling the coffee cup while fear tingled up your spine as you watched the curious phantom poke around the cushioned space.

“D-Did he send you here to... Collect me, or something?” You weren’t even sure if the thing could hear you, let alone respond, but either way, the shadow didn’t pay any mind to you. The shadow ignored your growing restlessness as it continued to search around your living room, cooing and ‘awing’ at the old photos of you and your family upon the shelves and fiddling with some of the baubles and decorations you had left around the apartment, mostly antiques and things you had thrifted and collected over the years. 

Suddenly, a low growl of malfunctioning static startled you from watching the demonic apparition whisp and zip around the living area. You raised an eyebrow at the shadow while it rumbled menacingly at the T.V. set in the center of it all. 

“Huh, I guess you can frown,” you crossed your arms and plopped down on the couch. “It’s... just a T.V., what, you’ve never seen one, before?” 

The shadow screeched angrily, and you winced. “Sheesh, alright, sorry.” 

Suddenly, the apparation zoomed across the room, searching for something before finally returning with a few pens and paper, mainly blues and reds. The horned shadow scribbled madly across the parchment, and finally looked up at you expectantly when it had finished its masterpiece. 

“Uh... Well, it’s certainly something,” you held up the paper to the T.V. across from you, comparing the two. It certainly wasn’t an artist, that was for damn sure. The messy drawing of a tuxedo-wearing television glared back up at you with bright crimson eyes, and a dapper little teal suit complete with a matching top hat that you snickered at. 

The letters written beneath the drawing crudely spelled out, ‘VOX’ in bright red marker, and you nodded slowly in understanding.

“So... This Vox,” you braced yourself for a screech as the shadow snarled at the name, “Is your enemy?” It growled and waved its hands around with short, heated clicks and whines thick with radio static. 

You got the message. The T.V. had to go. Or at least, you should never turn it on whenever the shadow visited to... watch over you? Collect your soul for its master? You weren’t entirely sure. Either way, that big old hunk of wires and plastic was expensive as shit, and it wasn’t even yours to begin with, so trashing it would be a no-go.

“Alright, then,” you got up and walked over to the fridge and taped the drawing to its surface. “Vox shall be banished to the ‘Wall of Punishment,’ if he bothers you that much.” 

The shadow jumped up from the couch with a newfound restlessness, curling around your body with a soft, staticky coo as it nodded to the T.V.

“Ohoho, no. That’s staying.” The shadow growled down at you. “But I won’t turn it on, at least for as long as you’re here, alright?” You sighed as the shadow drooped in slight disappointment, before lighting up and jumping over to the uppermost shelf in your living room. You noted a small, fuzzy tail wagging back and forth in excitement as it flew over.

You looked over to where it was floating to see it preening over an old-fashioned radio that you’d gotten years ago from Lord knows where, when you were still a newcomer to New Orleans. You had fixed it up a little, giving it a little re-paint and some long-due maintenance, but you were never savvy enough with older technology to actually fix it up and get it to work. 

“You like it?” The shadow nodded eagerly and picked it up, carefully placing it upon the coffee table and running its shadowy talons over the relic with soft wonder. 

With a small gasp, you watched as a bright green glow engulfed the radio, transforming it completely once the emerald radiance disappeared, and the phantom presented it to you proudly. 

A stately vintage device, looking like it came straight out of the 1920s, glinted up at you on the coffee table, with pretty gold accents and intricacies engraved into its wooden sides. The speakers looked shiny and pristine, more than you could’ve ever done for the radio when you first bought it. 

"Wow... You gave it a real upgrade!"

The shadow preened up at your impressed expression as you eyed the radio with childlike wonder, and it allowed you to run your hands over the device carefully before one of its talons reached over your palm. You tensed and stared up at the demon’s shadow, and the warm feeling of its hand over yours felt so familiar yet terrifying at the same time that you were practically paralyzed in its grip. 

It was as if its touch had given way to unmade memories. A nostalgic stream of warmth, whiskey, and soft jazz, while being held in the steady, loving embrace of a lover during windy summer nights. Slow-dancing on the patio and breathing in the musky night air, mixed with his delectable scent. You blinked up at the shadow, a storm of intrusive thoughts clouding your mind and compelling you to lean into this creature, this demon, this thing that you’d never met. 

But your soul would remember him. He’d make sure of it. 

The radio suddenly crackled, and you jumped and stepped back from the shadow, blushing and blinking furiously out of your daze. The shadow across from you drooped, seeming almost disappointed at the loss of contact as it whined softly and the two, fuzzy ears flopped atop its head.  

“S-Sorry, I-” 

A sharp whine of static and a smooth voice purred from the vintage speakers of the shiny new relic sitting upon your coffee table cut you off. 

“Why, hello again, my dear~.” 

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: PART ONE IS OUT!! FINALLY! AND I'VE PLOTTED (i'm just using an outline) EVERYTHING INSTEAD OF JUST WINGING IT! (a complete and total fucking LIE)

Hope you enjoyed! I'll see ya'll next time ;)

. . .

➺ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @mysterypotatoink, @burgerflipper72, @chibikochannumberone, @strawberry-gothic, @roboticsuccubus83, @lulurubberduckie, @fangirlanxiety74, @viviannagiorgini, @localmsifan, @justtnat, @karolinda007-blog, @mglawwica, @wonderlandangelsposts, @saitisfied, @repostingmyfavs, @weirdflower2024, @montis-posts, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @theperfectmangovoid, @slytherin4ever, @i-love-jafar, @itzlochnessie, @mariaclarade-la-cruz1, @susvale, @valentique, @twismare, @robin-the-enby, @v3n7s, @forbidden-sunlight, @leathesimp, @matemor, @groovybear99, @frompeach, @moonmark98, @nyxnightshade7656, @sushigogo, @crowleysthings, @zombiesnips-blog, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @impulsivethoughtsat2am

[moondirti]

8. VICES

CHAPTER EIGHT OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter seven / chapter nine ⇀

summary: a shower, a training session, and a blowjob

explicit (18+) | 5.8k words warnings: enemies to lovers, training arcs, unhinged smut, dubious consent, it's rough guys, blowjobs, handjobs, miguel o'hara is a strict (asshole) mentor, throat-fucking, choking, mentions of infidelity, mentions of starvation, homelessness notes: well. hope y'all still respect me after reading this

The cell doesn’t last long. 

You don’t know what you expected; the terms of your deal weren’t exactly negotiated in full. As a matter of fact, they hadn’t been discussed at all. You’d assumed Miguel agreed based on his reticence – as you’ve come to anticipate from him, a non-answer always means you have a point he’d rather not appreciate. But he’d added little else after the figurative pouring of your soul, his back turning towards you instead, fixing his hands on his waist. And it had stayed that way, up until you were escorted back to the laser enclosure, still as much a prisoner as anybody else.

So, perhaps you were wrong. You convinced yourself that it was okay, that you didn’t have any hope for your own redemption. You weren’t his problem to deal with anymore, not since you agreed to go home. He probably couldn’t see the potential in you, anyway. A string of excuses drawn upon one common line – self-degradation. Tamping yet another pipe dream destined to leave you evermore downtrodden. And that was okay. 

That is, until you were roused from sleep by the scarlet spider much later. It’d been light, a rest on the verge of consciousness, contorted into the most compressed position possible to make use of limited space. In truth, you’d been thankful for it – to be granted a break from the fruitless struggle and, finally, some cue towards your fate. But he led you away from the anomaly imprisonment sector – opposite from the go-home machine you thought would be your adjudicator.

Now, you’re here.

“Was ordered to pull something together from a spare recovery room,” Reilly crosses his arms, giving an approving nod to nothing at all. “‘Course s’not the biggest – not meant to be used for extended periods of time, but I could manage if I were you.” 

You don’t let yourself harbour a reaction, not before he leaves you to your own devices.  

Because, well – it’s perfect.

There’s not much to compare it to, naturally. You’d grown accustomed to sharing a dormitory back at college, cramped in shoebox square footage with your roommate. Then, when your earth had gone to shit, there were no houses left to revel in. The past year since your miraculous escape have found you homeless, huddled under awnings or atop park benches, and by that point, discomfort had found a permanent friend in you. 

Yet–

White asymmetric panelling hems the studio, broken up only by a triangular window that peeks out onto Nueva York’s cityscape. On your right, the wall recesses in to form a bed nook, where fitted sheets hug a thick mattress, two feather pillows stacked at one end. Opposite it hovers a multi-purpose desk, niche’s carrying reusable utensils, bowls, a lamp and a small first-aid kit. 

And it’s all you could want. Gorgeous. Not conventionally so, no; it’s plain and lacklustre with an air of futuristic frigidness. But it’s clean, and comes equipped with an air conditioning system that puts you in control of the temperature you sleep in. It’s a stationary point for you to return to,  no matter the day’s drag – a place to call yours if not home. 

Not to mention, there’s a flat door towards the back, too plain to have caught your attention until you actively look for it. It has no handle, opened with a slight push that releases a latch, and swings outwards. Given the size of the corner, you’re forced to take a step back – which, a more ungrateful version of yourself would’ve marked as a con, but you’re too caught up in the novelty of what you’re led into.

A bathroom. A private, unrestricted bathroom – with a toilet and a sink and a fucking shower. You’re unable to repress the grin that stretches your cheeks, absolutely ecstatic with the – however temporary – development. No more sneaking into gyms to use their bath facilities, fortunes splurged on soap over dinner. You can wash yourself whenever you see fit, not have to feel guilty about deluding expensive memberships or your own hunger. 

(Small blessings; that still-pious part of you succumbs to the sign. You’re being rewarded. You’re on the right track.) 

Immediately, you schedule your night. A shower, first – partly for your excitement, majorly for the necessity. You doubt there are laundry machines nearby, if there’s any at all, so soaking your clothes in the sink should have to do the trick. You have no others, and to ask for more would be testing the grace you’ve been granted so far. Besides, the sheets look sterile – to lay in them bare can’t be the worst option.

Wiggling your fingers, you plug the drain to fill the basin. The garments you shuck off quickly settle there too, crumpled in a way that only exposes all their worn-down qualities. Jagged rips in your jeans, caked gore on your shirt. It’s instinct to turn away once the grime bleeds into the water, dying the once-clear pool with the unsavoury colour of your recent exploits. Harder, however, is trying to ignore the dried slick on your panties, bashfully tucking them underneath everything else. 

Engrossed by the chore, you’re almost taken by surprise by the flash of your reflection in the half-body mirror. It comes suddenly, a shape in your peripheral that looks like it’s in the wrong place. An apparition in a horror flick – darkened, wrapped in bandages and dirt and set with heavy eyes from days of unrest. Your heart rate spikes, stuttering rapidly even as you realise that it is, indeed, you. 

Or – you and Wraith. Both, existing simultaneously. 

Because it is the image you’ve become familiar with. The slope of your cheeks, the curve at your waist. It’s off putting seeing her again after some time; you don’t think you’ve spared a glance for more than half a second since the day of the gala, when you’d sat crouched in front of yourself, swiping gloss on puckered lips. But it’s those same lips that purse back at you now, unchanged. You recognise it all so quickly.

None of it resonates. 

An ugly bruise mars your temple, a yellowing one at your ribs. Your skin is littered with silver scars, or purple, depending on recency, like the two points at your neck where fangs have made their mark. Stark, white gauze circles each arm, one below your shoulder, the other above your wrist. And you’re… less, than you had been – evidence found around your cheekbones, or across your collar. Your flesh sinks into the hollow planes behind bone. When was the last time you’d eaten? 

Wraith. This haunted, cursed figure. 

You breathe through the discouragement. You tell yourself that it’s okay, the words quickly becoming a new mantra. You won’t go as far as to say it’s ambition – but the new sense of purpose that courses through you works to drown it out. You have something to work towards, no longer an aimless soul wandering uncharted realms. Whatever happened, whatever happens – all of it doesn’t matter now that you’re finally setting things straight. 

Your enthusiasm is enough to tide you over, at least, and when you step in the shower, the final dregs of hatred drip away.

White noise accompanies the cleanse. You’re suspended, surrounded by the pitter patter of water splattering down on the tiled floor. It’s overwhelming – the system has been pre-programmed to a common preference, but you find that it’s too cold for you, turning it up to one that singes your exposed form instead. Your lungs tighten, unaccustomed to the steam that quickly replaces oxygen. Hair plasters to your ears. It’s good, though, an appreciated racket. You look for soap and can  focus only on that, the buzz of guilt that constantly occupies you drowned out in favour for more menial tasks.

Of course, that really only leaves room for one train of thought.

You wonder what he’s doing right now. Has he retired for the night, back to a warm home with a partner already drowsy, cushioned in their shared bed? He seems like a family man, the type to have a galley kitchen that breaks open to a dining room, four chairs tucked beneath glossy oak. One supplanted by a high chair, maybe, meant for a squealing babe; because he’s a dad, for sure. You’ve never known Miguel to be tender, but that’s towards you and your criminal disposition. There’s a sort of careful consideration he harbours – like stopping mid sentence, that moniker, Wraith, on his tongue, and opting for something less loathsome when you grimace. You imagine it honed in a gentler setting, fostered by children he adores. 

And his spouse– 

You squeeze a generous dollop of shampoo on your palm, working it into your scalp. 

What is his type, anyway? Dedicated individuals who prioritise discipline over all else? Certainly, he wouldn’t be married to another spider-person, not when their relationship jeopardises his mission’s motto. Someone homegrown, then, a childhood sweetheart who knew him before he became all that. Who continued to love every inch of him as sinew stretched to brawn, the civilian he once was falling out like a baby tooth, fangs spouting in its stead. Unconditionally, or something along the lines. 

You recognise the notion, how important it is for a hero like him. To be tasked with responsibilities beyond human ability, one has to become more. A martyr, a villain when need be. You don’t exactly blame his vendetta against you, but you’ve come to resent the man regardless. Doubtlessly, the sentiment is felt by others he’s put in their place.

So, someone who sees past all that. Miguel O’Hara, as he is behind the mask.

The provided bar of soap is small enough to wrap your hand around. You flip it a few times, lathering it until suds form. It’s unscented, so you imagine what it could be. Patchouli springs up, the most immediate smell in your memory. You have to squash it down, alongside the ache that gnaws your core.

Sulphur, pungent and sickening as it permeates your earth’s atmosphere. 

Ichor and its metallic aftermath, clinging to your tongue. 

The catalogue presented in the last year isn’t exactly pleasant. You push beyond it, settling on a vague cloud that accompanied your college roommate. Her lavender lotion, of which she bought in bulk. You’d smear it over your knuckles and knees prior to class, comforted by the balsamic undernotes. Light, fresh. Your peers would gravitate towards you, divinely feminine, resting their heads on your shoulder when lectures droned on for too long. 

(And you’re aware of how dead they all are, blown to ash because of you. 

You’ll ask for lavender products, perhaps, when you’re sent back.) 

Is it a prerequisite to being a hero – to be loved by someone from before, who sees you for who you are? You have no one, and you’re afraid of what it means for your salvation. The right thing, in your case, is eternal solitude. When it comes down to it, would you be able to accept that? 

Your gut sinks; the answer you come up with is selfish still. No. 

There’s a long way to go until that changes.

(Your skin prickles. The water sprays right through you.

You wait until you phase back in.)

With nothing left to do, you rinse off. You can feel the rot begin to grow on the sanctuary you’ve built, and with hope to return, you can’t have it destroyed just yet. 

Your room is cold when you exit, recycled air nipping your balmy skin. The towel – found folded under the sink for resident convenience – is shorter than you would like, barely enough to wrap around your bust. That is to say, it’s utterly useless at preserving heat. It occurs to you to stand in place and drip-dry, but going to bed damp is asking for a sickness that’ll knock you off course. 

You’re about to check the heater when you notice something strange, lumped by the entrance. 

For all intents and purposes, it looks like a trash bag. Slouched in a teardrop shape, tied off with an expert knot. The colouring is off though – not the plain charcoal you’d expect, but grungier, stroked with a varicoloured grain. It seems to shift, too, flicking between textures; red, yellow, grey with little inked words, as if cut straight from a newspaper. 

It’s so distinctive that you can discern who it’s from; a spider-person expressed in much the same manner. Hobie. 

It’d do well to approach it with hesitation. After all, you have no business with him. The most you’ve exchanged was a thanks, after he’d defended your plea the first time you’d been captured by the spider society. It seems so long ago now, but you recall the comfort his stance had provided, already scared out of your wits by the hoard of stylised people who claimed they were like you. He’d been the only one to see that. 

Sighing, you tear through the side, nails too soft to undo the top. The contents are remarkably plain. Leggings. T-shirts. Packs of underwear and a hairbrush. Long socks, meant for the boots he’d also thrown in. The only article that reflects his personal way of dress is a cardigan, patches haphazardly attached with yarn. In one slouchy pocket, a piece of parchment sticks out. 

(A housewarming gift. Figured you’d need it. 

– HB.)

And it doesn’t feel like charity, as opposed to Ben’s escorting you here. Rather, his genuinity registers through the scrawled handwriting; prompting a tired, thankful smile. 

You do need it. Not just the clothes, but the reminder that you’re not as alone as you might feel.

“You’re late.” 

His voice cracks the silence you’d been walking in up to this point, pitched with an irritation seemingly etched into his being. It takes you off guard – not for its husky quality, that which you’ve grown relatively accustomed to, nor his sudden appearance. No. It’s how he stands when he says it; brashly centre-stage, taking up half of the gym with presence alone. His eyebrow is quirked, lips pursed in an inquisitive line, and you have to cycle over the day’s happenings to land on the invariable conclusion that he, in fact, did not set a schedule for you to follow in the first place. 

“Wasn’t aware there was anything to be early to,” You hesitate, lingering at a bench near the doorway, keeping an eye on him as you lay your things down. The water bottle you’d pilfered from the cafeteria crinkles under your tense grip, condensation licking a frosty trail down your fingers. 

“Would I let you prance around HQ on your own?” 

“That’s being hopeful, but no.” Miguel makes no indication of where to stand, so you continue to amble awkwardly in his perimeter. “Just– A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“And were we given a heads up when The Spider showed up on Earth-15?” He pushes, maintaining the line of questioning that starts to itch at you. You shake your head, doing your best not to tip your chin downwards – with your hands wringing the fabric of your sweats, you already feel like a child, caught elbows deep in a figurative cookie jar. 

Tension plucks at the strings tethered to the both of you. He waits for you to come up with a retort, then sighs when you fail to.

“Part of being a hero is adjusting. Security isn’t in the books for them.” From the lesson, you hang on to his choice of language. Them. Not us. Again, you’re excluded, but it occurs to you that he seems to exclude himself too. “You didn’t expect me today. What were you going to do had that been the case?” 

To exercise sounds beyond stupid, even though your attire and location announce it as the truth. It felt the most logical place to start when you’d woken up this morning, but Miguel is verging on philosophical now, and that’s something you hadn’t planned on at all. You don’t tell him that, though, because it would be asking to be sent home.

“To strengthen my stamina.” 

“What for, exactly?” 

“If I’m going to go back to that wasteland of a world, then I need the power to tough it out.” You’re getting real sick of how incompetent he’s making you sound. “Transportation is entirely contingent on how far I can walk.” 

“Huh. That’s… dumb.” He says, arms crossing over his chest. They’re thick, built like tree trunks, with muscles bulging along their lengths instead of bark. How hypocritical, you think, repressing the shiver that crawls up your spine – it’s clear he works out himself. You’re only as dumb at the way he looks today; clad in those same grey sweats, a compression top sculpting every bit of him. Out of uniform –  like he’d been using the equipment before you got here. 

(Or, he’s dedicated the entire day to training you.) 

“If you have a better idea–”

“Think a few jumping jacks will make you a hero?” A smirk edges his lips.

Your stomach lurches – whether in anger or a more mortifying emotion, you don’t know. “Can you stop with the questions, big guy?” 

He cocks his head, countenance straightening to one more serious. It terrifies you a little, the carmine in his eye, how fast it glints, sharpened with a daring edge. “Okay, then.” Miguel’s stature slacks, an open invitation. “Show me what you’re made of.” 

You regret speaking up at all. 

“Like, on the treadmill, or…?” 

“Pin me down.” He adds, as if it’s the most normal command in the world. Granted, his mind is probably not as far gone as yours. “Three seconds, and you’ll have proved your point.” 

“That’s not–” Fair skids on your tongue. His potential reaction is simple to imagine (‘nothing is fair’), and it’s obnoxious at best. You’ve had your fill of the condescending jabs, wedged to a corner where you don’t belong, ineptitude assumed of you. If his intentions are to keep you there until you give up, then you won’t let them come to fruition.

He starts to shrug, but the dismissal is interrupted by your clumsy resolve. You collide into his abdomen, channelling all your energy into the impact, arms in an arch. It’s made to grapple him by the waist, leverage in overpowering him to the floor. The odds are stacked against you, though. Miguel – twice your size – anchors himself in half the time, hard as stone against the onslaught. And your stance isn’t wide enough, feet positioned in a way that robs you of the necessary stability.

Perhaps carelessly, you press on, pouring everything into your attempt. The sheer force behind your manoeuvre is palpable; you are a spider-person, after all, and your enhanced strength would be enough to put the average human to their grave. But your opponent is far from that – he’s the pinnacle of what you preach, the resistance he musters now an attestation to the fact. 

“Torpe.” 

Your ribs burn with exertion, body still recovering from the injuries you’ve accumulated as of late. In a fluid motion that belies his size, Miguel retaliates, seeing the futility in your struggle. His hands clamp down on your shoulders, warm and vaguely comforting for the second before he flips you off of him. You’re propelled backwards, his shove sending shockwaves through your frame. Your bones rattle when you smack against the wall. 

“That hurt,” You hiss, scrambling to a stand. 

“In case you didn’t know, grace is a prerequisite for this little spider-club.” He ribs, calling to your quip at the quarry. It would be enough to set you off on anyone else, but the humour isn’t lost on you. Not with him. 

“Did you just make a joke?” You start to pace circles around him, assessing the best angle of attack. His head turns to track you, forehead marked with lines from his lifted expression. “As I live and breathe. Miguel O’Hara made a fucking joke.”

“Symptom of imminent victory.” 

“Cocky bastard,” 

“You gonna keep talking?” 

“I recall asking you to stop the questions.” You run up behind him, hoping your footsteps are light enough to not call any attention to your advancement. It isn’t very successful – he catches on quick, pivoting to confront you head on. You’re ready for it though, ducking under his reach to slip to the other side. His back is open, the opportunity presenting itself, and you spring onto his broad back with little contemplation. 

Your arms instinctively wind around his neck, securing your hold, legs thrashing to follow suit. Transformed into a glorified backpack, you stubbornly cling onto him as he attempts to shake you off. 

“¡Qué mierda haces?”

With half your face buried in his hair, you don’t respond, focusing instead on using your weight to throw him off kilter. Or, you want to focus on it. 

But he smells like patchouli, the robust aroma laced in every lock. It’s potent, much more than usual; without the sweat that usually dilutes it, you’re hit full force with every idiosyncrasy. Damp soil, freshly turned earth – rich, like the verdant undergrowth of a forest. You’ve never noticed the touch of leather underlying his cologne, nor its nuanced spice. Now, they worm their way through your rationale, parasitic, eating away at tissue until they find a blooming incurve to settle in. 

Your gut; broiling in that specific way it does when he’s around. It sinks to your core, right where you’re pressed against him, stimulated by the frantic motions of his body. Miguel hooks onto your calves, prying them off, and it’s innocent enough to only make your sudden desire worse. 

“Get. Off." He emphasises, authority compounded into every syllable. His jerks steer you in various directions, spurring nausea that blends in with your desperation. The mix courses through your bloodstream, sickening and, along with your headlessness, allows the slightest weakness to seep into your stance – a crucial opening that he seizes without hesitation.

Your vision swims as you’re capsized, thrown off course and onto the unyielding embrace of the ground. Pain shoots down your spine, the oxygen knocked out of your lungs dissipating into air. It takes you longer than necessary to realise what had happened, gasping for breath until you land on the reality that he had just used your lust against you. But of course, he doesn’t know that. To him, you’d just faltered – a rookie mistake for the rookie you are. 

It’s harmless, then, when he straddles your chest upon impact, knees touching the ground on either side of your head. Pinned in place – a mounted butterfly, captured in the perennial moment of your shameful sin – you’re convinced you’ll die like this. Miguel’s crotch under your nose, rubbing your thighs together to rid yourself of the nagging pressure between them. Wanton for nothing, wanton for him.

And it’s not the first time, a bank of memories coming available at the familiar arrangement. When he’d finally detained you on 15, groyne cleaving your ass while he undid your restraints. That damned kiss, exploring the plush lips that currently curl with a complacent sneer. They’d been so soft, the impression of his fangs just barely grazing past. And how good those had felt, too; your arteries swollen, bloated with venom injected into your neck. Lethargic for hours afterward, unable to do anything to sate the response he’d triggered.

Now, you’re not as powerless. He’s on top of you, doused in some fragrance from heaven, blessed with a robustness you’re sure extends to every appendage. If he is married, how high would fucking him be on your list of transgressions? Surely, it can’t be your worst, though you hope you’re above it at this point. 

(But, if he wants this too–)

You look up at him, mouth parted. It isn’t a request so much as it is an assessment, tallying every suggestive hint he gives. There is none. Instead, he does much the same, catching your scrutiny before promptly looking away to calculate his options on an adjacent wall. 

(The logical part of you can already sense how dreadful this’ll turn out. You’re not thinking straight. 

You hope he succumbs to your debasement.) 

Your hips buck involuntarily, a rip release effect to your rising need. He takes it as a plea to get off; that which he defers to, dismounting your chest. 

No.

You stop him, left hand clamping down on his thigh. Slowly, he sits back, tipping his weight forward, onto the curve where your clavicle plunges to your throat. You can hardly move, diaphragm pinching in a bid for breath, and it’s okay for as long as he stays where he is. 

(Apollo, meet Dionysus.)

It’s gradual – deliberate – when your fingers meander on their trek to his waistband. You skim over his hips, pelvis protruding to border his V-line – which holds prominence, even under the layers of his sweats and boxers. Miguel does nothing; gives no shiver in encouragement, nor an order to stop. He just looks down on you, dissecting the fervour with which you touch him; a woman crazed. 

His shirt is stubborn in rolling up, elastic and tight against his form. You want to feel the way his flesh heats, defined abdomen rolling in eventual pleasure, but it’s a privilege you don’t have in this setting. You’re only able to pull it out from underneath his pants, allowing a sliver of skin to be exposed to your gluttonous gaze. Bronzed, gorgeously brown in contrast to the desaturated colours he’s chosen to don. Drool pools behind your tonsils.

The cords of his waistband unlace when you tug it with your pointer, hinged at the middle. Miguel makes a sound, the beginnings of a growl rolling up his throat. It’s to tease yourself, you want to say – because the fuzz of his happy trail leads down to a darkened bush, and the brief flash will forever be seared into your mind’s eye. Goodness fuck, if your yearning were any worse, that would have been enough to tip you over the edge. It’s been so long since you’ve wanted anything this bad. 

Pining wreaks a foreign mess on your systems. Toes curl within your boots. Lashes quiver with every ruminative blink. Your new panties are doubtlessly ruined, generic cotton soaked through with slick; you’d been so ashamed of it just last night, washing your previous pair in the sink. Now, all you can consider is how expertly he’d test you, calloused thumb running over your clit until he witnesses just how wet you can get. 

(Is it the length for which you’ve gone without this, deprived of your favourite vice? Before you’d discovered the stars, you’d pursued your most carnal desires, jumping from one hookup to the next. 

You didn’t suppose you'd missed it this much.) 

Maybe that’s why you go for him, out of anyone else. Because he’s immediate, the most prominent presence in your life. A convenient outlet, for all your bad blood. He doesn’t stop you, either, his pinky instead grazing your wrist, almost pushing for you to reach in.

If you do, things’ll change. When they had just settled. 

Your dynamic seemed okay to morph into what you needed it to be: mentor, and mentee. But this– 

This is so fucked. You would rather be anywhere else if not seated on his lap, and that’s a level of dysfunction you should be unsure about. Would he even let this progress? Beyond a one time thing, so that it doesn’t become a fixture you’ll always regret? 

(Does it matter?)

You dip into his boxers. 

(So, it is your lechery that negates your need for consideration. Call it thirst, or self-sabotage.)

Shit.

He’s thick, fucking pulsing on your palm, dry and heavy enough to cause considerable trouble when fishing him out. You’re at an adverse angle, twisting your arm to grip the base. Miguel’s hiss thins to a whispered curse, a muddle of Spanish and English that loses legibility as he shifts to help you. Hand swooping next to yours, he cups his balls, hoisting them out of the suffocating fabric. His cock follows suit, slapping his tummy upon release. 

It’s–

Angry. A blossoming shade of purple that grows more vibrant the lower you go, guided by two fat veins that branch along his frenulum. Huge, too – not the longest you’ve had in your mouth, but stocky enough for you to worry about it regardless. You run your nail up its length, doing the maths in your head. 

“Intimidated?” He says. It doesn’t register as proud as he probably intends for it to be, voice too  hoarse, broken by some unspoken lust. 

“Cocky bastard,” You murmur, holding your arm above you in the meantime. He takes a second to understand what your extended hand is for, bowed in a reverent-like appeal. And, even when he does, he pauses, gathering the saliva around his teeth. “Take that as a double entendre.”

He doesn’t laugh, spitting onto your palm, watching as you smear the natural lube around his mushroomed head. It melds with his pre-spend – that which pearls at the tip – forming a pearlescent marker for where your caress travels. Above the glans, rounding to coat down the body, and running out before you reach the root. 

It’s enough, though. Enough to provide momentum to your motions, jacking him off above your face. Up to this point, Miguel has eased his mass off of you, balanced on his haunches – but your ministrations have him losing that awareness, leaning further and further until he all but sits on your neck. His fingers latch onto your head, cradling your jaw in a similar fashion to how he treated your whiplash, each thumb at a cheekbone – waiting for the opportune moment to plunge into your mouth. 

It comes with the hypoxia, his choking straddle clotting the oxygen meant for your brain. What you can see – him mostly, meaty thighs and a lean torso, with a face that screws up with controlled precision – spots as secondary to black vision, your eyes bulging at the edges, struck with stationary blood. It’s opposite to smoke inhalation, that scratchy condition that only grew more uncomfortable the more you coughed. This is debilitating, the last dreg of stimulants you need to embrace your drunk efforts. You’re drowned in a pool where nothing matters except what’ll pull you out – life vest, a buoy, the hefty cock tapping your bottom lip. 

You unhinge your jaw the widest it can go, accounting for teeth and all. Hollow cheeks accommodate his size when he drives in, but your lips still stretch, aching at the corners where thin skin threatens to rip. Immediately, your tongue laps over the dense intrusion, mapping out the patches where he seems most sensitive. Below the head, along the ridge. Right between his veins, if you press down hard enough. Your usher more of it in, stuffing your gullet full of him. 

How does he manage to smell good here, too? Muskier, still, a heady ambrosia of masculinity.

His balls slap your chin, stopping you from swallowing any more. Miguel doesn’t take too favourably to that, however, bending your head to parallel his pelvis and pushing. Your neck aches, spinal plates prodding at where it inclines – the combination of that, the choking, and the swollen head that spears your tonsils makes for a deadly combination. You’ve been doing your damnedest not to gag, clenching your thumb in a fist, but the sound erupts from you regardless. A lewd, wet gluck – tears pool upon your lashes, caught by the thumbs still guiding your face. 

And Miguel groans.

“Mmmf–,”  His hips withdraw, giving you an instant’s respite, before snapping back forward. “Se siente tan bien.” 

“Hnmghh,” You attempt to reply. 

“Filthy fucking girl. So– mierda, always so goddamn stubborn,” He continues, accent curling with a raspy quality, smouldering at its core. “Never listens, never rests.”

You’re unsurprised to hear that what he really feels for you, exposed in this crude confessional, is just more indignation. 

(Does it matter? Does it really? 

He’s fucking your throat like cumming down it will reaffix the spiderverse.)

The gags drop rhythm, snowballing to become a chorus of the most salacious whines you can make, punched in tandem to his thrusts. Saliva coats your lips, bubbling when he withdraws, welcoming him back with the sight of you wrecked, glazed in salty liquids from multitudinous sources. 

You lose yourself to it, squeezing your eyes shut until he urges you to open them back up again, brushing the corner where your skin burns from crying. His brows are pinched, canyons of deliberation formed between them, regarding your debauched expression with something more than the base measures exchanged in the past half hour. 

He pulls out with a pop. You clasp around his dick’s circumference – rubbing over the tip, where his hole leaks a steady flow of prespend – and question him with a keen. You can’t exactly manage anything else.

“Where do you want it?” 

You frown, leading him back into your mouth. Where else?

It isn’t much longer until he carries out the promise. 

The sequence of events is more organised than anything else that’s happened today. You’ve come to recognise it, an expert in unravelling. He jostles your head back onto the floor, stabilising you for when his rear lifts, slanting his cock ninety degrees downward to ram straight into your mouth. You wince, incisors accidentally skimming the surface, which only prompts him deeper in. Your nose squishes onto the coarse hairs of his groyne, soaked with drool, and his balls tighten under your mandible, leaden in an indication of what’s to come. 

You want it, so bad you can hardly gulp in precious breath. Your pupils roll behind your lids. You want, you want.

And finally – for the first time, over the entirety of your relationship – Miguel O’Hara gives that to you. Readily.

He cums. Hard. In throbbing spurts that coat your oesophagus, your molars, the back of your tongue. It’s sweltering, viscous and thick enough to choke you again – you cough up the excess that doesn’t quite fit, sinuses screeching with the overexertion. You can’t gulp, not when he’s still buried in you, so you do your best not to suffocate as he rides through his orgasm. Rope after rope, until he releases you, excess drops splattering onto your nose.

Then, he tucks his softening dick back into his pants and moves off of you.

You swallow, left with a weeping cunt and a swift sobering up.

Miguel proffers a helping hand, meant to lift you off the floor. Swatting it away, you clamber onto your own, unsteady feet, collecting your abandoned things from the bench, and bolt out the door.

What the fuck did you just do?

chapter nine

find a position visual here

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[aceswritingcorner]

Cheating, house husband! dabi, mutual cheating, compress being a flirt.

Wc: 614 words

—-

House Husband! Dabi who’s the definition of toxic. He’s a pretty trophy husband.

House Husband! Dabiwho gets upset when his pretty little partner doesn’t cook and clean up after coming home from work like he expects. You just worked a long day and now coming home to a mess.

Dishes in the sink, laundry piling up by the washing machine. A burned out wick from the candle that was lit last night, wax all melted onto the coffee table. That was going to have to be scraped off-

“Dabi?”

Lewd noises were coming from the bedroom, platform boots tossed aside from your husband, bed creaking from whatever movement was on top of the old box spring and mattress. He was doing something again-

“Dabi?” You tried again, calling out the name of the man that you married. It wasn’t a nice life, god it wasn’t easy either, but at least there was someone that you could share a bed with. Even if you had to take control of the household chores.. and handling your job.

“What the hell do you want, doll? Why aren’t those done?” His gruff voice speaks up as he walks into the rancid apartment. “I’m busy right now, go get your shit done.” The box spring squeaking with every movement that he makes, pornographic moans coming from whatever girl he picked up from off the streets. This was just to be expected by now, he was just a pretty trophy husband, if that.

..There wasn’t much else to say when it came down to Dabi.

But maybe something fair would make things better. The door shutting behind you as the moans become silenced once more, Dabi’s unenthusiastic grunts leaving him. Maybe finding some random guy to fuck would make you feel better…

“What is a lovely face like yours doing looking so solemn, darling?” A man spoke up, adorned in an oddly fitted suit. A white mask covering his face completely. “Someone as lovely as you does not deserve to frown, darling. Perhaps I might be of assistance to help give a performance if that would bring your mood back up?”

You glanced at the man, swallowing thinly before looking around. No one else was one the street… Wasn’t this the same guy that Dabi worked with? What was his name?..

“I- I’m sorry… who are you?”

“Oh- my apologies, my dear. I go by the name of Compress, but you may call me Atsuhiro.” The masked man spoke, offering a gloved hand. “Perhaps I can provide some company for the night, it is a shame that you are alone.”

…were you alone?

Dabi was at home.. but it wasn’t you in that bed. Sure- hell, anytime you did share a bed with him it ended in something amazing but- it wasn’t fair, was it? To work and come back… back to your husband. Back to him fucking someone else…

Maybe it was time to get a little revenge against him.

-

You didn’t know how it got to this-

Finding refuge in his arms, your steps matching his as his arms wrap around your waist. Passing breaths escaping as you break away from his lips for a small moment before chasing after him again. Mask pulled up from his face, the stupid black cover curling around your fingers as you desperately tugged it up to see the man’s face.

“Please.”

Atsuhiro lifted an eyebrow, a soft chuckle leaving him as he helps lift the covering away from his face before looking at you, lifting you up into his arms.

“Don’t worry, darling, I promise to take care of you properly. Just how you deserve to be treated, mi amor.”

[tassjis]

A list of objects and technologies created by Myne

The gremlin has been busy. Anything red was created by another, but without Myne creating something else, the creator would not have made it, so Myne's name is not listed as the creator but Myne was the reason it was made. Anything blue was improved upon

VEHICLES

A horse-drawn carriage with suspension

FURNITURE

Spring mattress spring upholstery - Zach

COSMETICS + ACCESSORIES

Rinsham - all-in-one shampoo Hair Ornaments Librarians armband Tote bag - improved

FASHION

Bubble skirts Halter-top dress Tie-dye - previously existed Wax Dyeing Stencil Dyeing Water ripple embroidery

EVENTS

Tasting party Charity Concert Dying competition

TOYS

Karuta Reversi Chess Playing Cards Baby Rattle Educational baby toys - such as shaped blocks and holes implied other toys

FOOD - Ingredients and condiments -

Compote Tanieh Cream Gelatin Gnocchi Gratin Herb Dressing Lage Sauce (Basil Sauce) Mayonnaise Yeast Pasta Ponzu Sauce Pomme sauce Rumptopf Rutreb Jam White sauce

- Savoury -

Capellini Caprese Salad Carbonara Consomme Soup Double Consomme Soup - Leise Crispy-Crispy Launeide and Sujaru Salad (Vegetable Salad) Crun-Crun Ju-Ju Farba (Chicken Salad) Cappellini Fikken - improved Fluffy Bread Sandwich - Improved with fluffy bread Hamburg Steak Lasagne Macaroni Gratin Osso Buco - Later improved by Leise Parue Burger Parue Okonomiyaki Pizza Potatoffel salad Pomme Soup Risotto Steamed Potatoffel Steamed Taschitz (chicken) Quiche French Toast Salted Cucumber imitation

- Sweet -

Bavarois Cookies Langues De Chat Crepe Fallfold Tart - Nicola Ice Cream Mille Crepe Mousse Panna Cotta Paru Cake Pound Cake Pudding Short Cake Tiramisu Tanier Cream/Mont Blanc

TOOLS

Chopsticks Clothes Hanger - improved Hairpin Herbal Candles Crochet hook Hand pump Hide Glue Steamer Precision Knife Roller Starch Glue Metal letter types Round Bell Safety Pin

MACHINES

Waxing Machine Letterpress Machine

PRINTING TYPES

Woodblock printing Stencil printing Letterpress printing

STATIONARY

Clay Tablet Mokkan Faux Papyrus Dipitch Dipitch Stylus Soot pencil Linseed and soot Ink Colour Ink Folders

- Paper -

Plant Paper (Volrin paper) Conjoining Paper (Nenseb paper) Effon (Music) Paper Fireproof Paper (Trombe paper) Rinfin Paper - Illgner Wax paper (Wax/Rinfin paper) Trauperle Paper -Illgner

- Magic Paper -

Enhanced Conjoining paper - Drewanchel Spellcasting Nenseb paper (Nenseb/Trombe with magic circle) Spellcasting effon paper (Effon/Trombe with chant) Maximum Quality Fey Paper (Effon/Trombe/Nenseb) improved by Ferdinand

MAGIC TOOLS

Music Box with Effon paper (technically made by Ehrenfest students) Drivable Highbeast Rainbow Highbeast Stenluke Disappearing Ink Plush Toy with recorded messages Magic tool to send books back to their shelves

MAGIC

Water Gun Copy and Place

KNOWLEDGE

Salting Out Lace knitting Written Calculation Decorative shaped vegetables Origami Introductory system Tickets Red seal Trading Graphs Myne Decimal System Rosemyne Magic Compression Method Female Crest Copyright royalties Questionnaire survey

PRINTED PRODUCTS

Black and white picture Book Children's Bible - Supreme God and the Eternal Five Children's Bible - Spring Subordinates Children's Bible - Summer Subordinates Children's Bible - Autumn Subordinates Children's Bible - Winter Subordinates Story Books Knight's Tale (short stories 1-3) - Compiled and translated Knight's Tale (short stories 4-5) - Compiled and translated Mother's Bedtime Stories Collection Unnamed Operation Grimm Book (Groschel) - Lutz Etiquette and Noble Euphamisms Book 1 - Fran Etiquette and Noble Euphamisms Book 2 - Fran Rozemyne's Recipe collection Knight's stories - Elvira Royal Academy stories - Elvira Royal Academy love stories - Elvira A history of Dunklefelger - Compiled and translated Knight stories Ahrensbach - Compiled Ditter Story - Roderick Royal Academy love stories 2 - Elvira The tale of Fernstine Part 1 - 3 - Elvira Sheet Music Concert programs Accounting report Printed illustrations (created to promote a knight's tale) Ferdinand illustations Cinderella Romance Novel (pornographic smut)

Songs

Tulip Anime Song Song for the concert Movie theme song "Under the chestnut tree" A hymn for Eglantine (requested by Anastasius) A couple classical songs

[petnews55]

7 best cat beds of 2024 in reviews, cozy & for the money!

1. Best Cat Bed for Feeling Snug: Meowfia Premium Felt Cat CaveASHINGTON

Price: ~$50-60

Review Summary: Only 100% Merino wool makes this possible so that great warmth in winter and cool health in summer act with its natural antibacterial protection firmly against dirt and odor. It is best for cats that like privacy but it is hand-washable so you have to wash them by yourself. It also flattens out to double as a cave-like cover.

Pros — Temperature regulation, Eco-friendly, Can be compressed.

Cons: Expensive, hand-washing required.

Cats up to 20 lbs and who love cozy, private spaces

More read: Cat Foods for Sensitive Stomachs

2. BEDELITE Cat Cube Cat House

Price: ~$30-40

Review Summary: This cube-shaped cat bed is versatile, with one bed inside and another on top as well as a scratching board on the side. It has several lounges: 3 perches for balconies, and a hideaway cave as well- making it ideal of restless cats that get bored easily.

Pros: Machine washable, scratcher included with a versatile design.

Cons: Not for cats that are over 20 lbs

Best for: Cats who like to both lounge in the open and hide inside

3. Aspen Pet Bolster Cat Bed

Price: ~$15-25

Product Review:Plush… — Feature List The plush bed features a low price point at about $45 and is both soft to touch and machine washable. It is soft and recycled fiber fill, with a fleece top/ suede bottom. While not the best for extremely warm weather, it is a go-to choice for cats who enjoy plush and soft spots.

Pros: Cheap, machine washable, eco-friendly material.

CONS: The color selection in which you will receive is random when making a purchase.

Editors' most recommended pet mattresses for Owners looking to find the best dog bed that is plush, affordable, and eco-friendly

4. CATIT Cabrio Carrier PLUS – Titanium Rosewood Bamboo Cat Radiator Bed

Price: ~$40-50

Product Review Summary: Great for cats that crave warmth, this bed attaches to a radiator and provides a warm perch. Made of bamboo slats, this material is eco-friendly and can be easily disassembled for machine washing. But it still is not suggested for larger cats.

Advantages: environment protective, heightening and warming house ornaments.

Cons: May not be sturdy enough for large and heavy cats.

Perfect for: Cats who like to be warm and stay high up

5. Furhaven ThermaNAP Self-Warming Quilted Faux-Fur Mat

Price: ~$10-20

Product: Self-warming Mat For Pet Dogs & CatsTomlyn Relax And Calm Chews CatDetails of the Design With Patented “THUNDER SHIRT” Material – Great for Fireworks/StormsLength-widthHeight12.5 inches25… Machine washable, Light weight and can be used on floor or furniture. But the crinkly sound could scare some cats.

Pros: Inexpensive, self-warming, machine washable.

The Cons: Some cats are sensitive to its crinkly noise.

For: The basics with no bells and whistles

6. BODISEINT Modern Soft Plush Round Pet Bed

Price: ~$20-30

Overview: A plush donut-shaped bed stuffed with cozy recycled polyester and covered in faux fur, which works well for those felines who tend to lie sprawled. Making your perfect engagement gift for the happy couples is machine washable and available in various sizes as well as colors. The only con is that it might get a little matted the longer you have them.

Pros: Incredibly soft, washing-machine-friendly and available in a variety of sizes.

Cons: Mats easily if not fully dried.

Ideal for: Cats who prefer to STRETCH out in SQUISHY and RELAXING nooks

7. Armarkat Burrow Cat Bed

Price: ~$25-40

Quick Overview For burrowing under the covers cats who love to hide and snuggle Glossy fabric, plush filling Package arrives with rolled-up in vacuum plastic but no Original box Size Approx... 20x13… Mattress, Sleeping Bag Size, Warm and Secure the bed is. The closed end may not be appealing to certain cats, but it is perfect for those who like to burrow.

What Are the Good Things About it: It must give a cozy, protected environment in which your Kitty Can burrow (if you've got |gressiveCats)

Cons: Not ideal for all cats.

Ideal for: Cats who enjoy privacy and can burrow deep into beds

These beds are developed with the various preferences of a cat in mind—whether your beloved pet prefers to snuggle up into cozy hiding spots, bask under the warm glow above, or simply lounge around all day. When deciding, you should take into account the dimensions of your cat, what she likes to lie on, and her comfort preference.

[dekui-intelligent-equipment]

Spring Coiling Machine: Key Equipment to Improve Spring Production Efficiency

In the spring production industry, the Pocket Spring Coiling Machine is a vital piece of equipment. Its appearance not only greatly improves the production efficiency of springs, but also ensures the consistency and quality of the products. The spring coiling machine is mainly used to produce pocket springs, which are widely used in mattresses and seats. Its working principle is as follows:

1. Material preparation: The machine first receives metal wire of predetermined specifications, usually high carbon steel or stainless steel.

2. Wire heating: Some models of coiling machines preheat the wire to improve its plasticity and processing properties.

3. Automatic winding: The machine winds the wire into springs through an automated system. The specific process includes setting the diameter, number of turns and length of the spring.

4. Spring cutting: After winding, the machine automatically cuts the spring of the required length.

5. Forming and compression: Some advanced coiling machines are also equipped with forming and compression functions to ensure that the size and elasticity of the spring meet the standards.

As the core equipment of spring production, spring winding machine has greatly promoted the development of spring manufacturing industry through its high precision and high efficiency. From mattresses to industrial equipment, the application of this machine in various fields has significantly improved product quality and production efficiency. With the continuous advancement of technology, the future of spring winding machine will be more intelligent and environmentally friendly, and continue to provide reliable solutions for all walks of life.

[terronindia]

The mattress compression machine has become a very important part for any manufacturer who aims to streamline the process of packaging and also has an aim of improving the delivery of products.

[petterworld]

Orthopedic Foam Sofa Bed - Bottle Green

All Weather Ultra Luxury Soft Crystal Velvet Orthopedic Sofa Bed with Convoluted Foam Base for Pressure Relief and Calming Effect

Our comfortable and stylish Orthopedic Sofa Beds are a classic addition to your Pet wardrobe. Made from soft crystal velvet fabric on the sides and top, this bed is soft, roomy and at the same time strong & sturdy. Orthopedic Convoluted Foam base at the bottom provides the perfect support to the spine, which your pet deserves. It is a luxuriously comfortable bed with padded perimeter that provides support and comfort for restful sleep or lounging. It is great for pets of all ages & breeds, and comes available in multiple colors and sizes, so you can select the right bed that suits your home décor as well. Gift your pet a comfortable resting time with our Luxury Orthopedic Sofa Pet Bed.

Our Sofa Beds are made in contrasting colors that blend with modern home interiors. The anti skid bottom does not let it slip and offers a strong grip in both wet and dry conditions. The top cover is replaceable and machine washable.

Help create a better world for your pets! Our products are specially crafted with one goal in mind, seeing your pet at its very best. With a wide variety of offerings designed to keep animals healthy, happy and energized, Petter World stands out as the brand that truly puts your pet first.

Petter World All weather Ultra Luxury Crystal Velvet Orthopedic Sofa Bed with convoluted foam base for pressure relief and calming effect:

PETTER LIVING - Finally, your furry friend can stretch, curl up, and rest comfortably all on one bed; Thick, quality-assured foam & fiber inserts and soft outer fabrics make Petter World beds the only option for dog & cats of all breeds & sizes

CLINICALLY SHOWN TO REDUCE JOINT PAIN - Study data has shown that our raised pet beds help ease joint pain and improve mobility; The headrest supports your pet’s head while they sprawl across the rest of the giant dog bed

WASHABLE COVER - Petter World’s covers are machine washable & smell-resistant; the fabric is designed to withstand rubbing, digging & nesting; Easily remove the zippered cover for shrink-free washing, stain cleaning, or even quick replacement. Equipped with a full-coverage inner liner to help protect the filling from accidents

PREMIUM MATERIAL - Filled with plush virgin polyfill stuffing as well as Orthopedic Convoluted High Density Foam with soft Crystal Velvet Fabric for calming effect, this pet bed keeps your pet warm in the winter and cool in the summer

INDOOR AND OUTDOOR USE - Can be used with kennels, crates, and carriers, or as a stand-alone bed; Portable dog bed can be taken anywhere you and your partner go

INTUITIVE DESIGN PREVENTS CHEWING - We’ve designed our beds with the zipper tucked in & seams sleekly incorporated so that your pup can't easily chew; Not only is the microfiber material durably woven, it’s designed to look great in your home

ELEVATED DOG BED - Our dog furniture is made in INDIA, sustainably sourced & quality-assured to not flatten or pancake over time; Let your best friend rest easy in a soft & durable raised bed

Medium Sofa bed Dimensions - 34” X 23” X 10”

Large Sofa bed Dimensions - 40” X 30” X 10”

Extra Large Sofa bed Dimensions - 48” X 38” X 10"

PLEASE NOTE - The dog bed is compress-packed, because we want you to spend money on the quality of the product itself, rather than the delivery freight. so that it will take some time for a recovery, usually for 72 hours. If necessary, continue to reshape and fluff the bed!

Orthopedic Dog Beds

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[ancureclinic]

How to Sleep with Lower Back Pain and Sciatica: Tips for a Restful Night

Lower back pain and sciatica can make getting a good night's sleep seem impossible. The discomfort and pain can keep you tossing and turning, preventing you from getting the rest your body needs to heal and function properly. However, with the right strategies and adjustments, you can improve your sleep quality despite these challenges. In this blog, we will explore practical tips and techniques on how to sleep with lower back pain and sciatica, helping you achieve a restful and restorative night's sleep.

Understanding Lower Back Pain and Sciatica

What is Lower Back Pain? Lower back pain refers to discomfort or pain experienced in the lumbar region of the spine. It can result from various causes, including muscle strain, disc problems, or degenerative conditions.

What is Sciatica? Sciatica is a type of pain that radiates along the path of the sciatic nerve, which runs from the lower back through the hips and down each leg. It is often caused by a herniated disc or bone spur compressing part of the nerve.

Impact on Sleep: Both lower back pain and sciatica can significantly impact sleep quality. The pain can make it difficult to find a comfortable sleeping position, leading to restless nights and chronic fatigue.

Tips for Sleeping with Lower Back Pain and Sciatica

1. Choose the Right Mattress: A supportive mattress is crucial for managing lower back pain and sciatica. Look for a medium-firm mattress that provides adequate support to keep your spine aligned while also offering enough cushioning to reduce pressure points.

2. Use Pillows Strategically:

For Back Sleepers: Place a pillow under your knees to reduce lower back strain and maintain the natural curve of your spine.

For Side Sleepers: Place a pillow between your knees to keep your hips aligned and reduce pressure on the sciatic nerve.

For Stomach Sleepers: It is generally advised to avoid sleeping on your stomach, but if you must, place a pillow under your abdomen to reduce pressure on your lower back.

3. Maintain a Proper Sleep Position:

Back Sleeping: Sleeping on your back with a pillow under your knees is often the best position for lower back pain and sciatica, as it helps distribute your weight evenly and reduces pressure on your spine.

Side Sleeping: If you prefer sleeping on your side, make sure to keep your knees slightly bent and use a pillow to maintain proper alignment.

4. Stretch Before Bed: Gentle stretching before bedtime can help relax tight muscles and reduce lower back and sciatic pain. Consider incorporating stretches like the knee-to-chest stretch, piriformis stretch, and cat-cow stretch into your nightly routine.

5. Apply Heat or Cold Therapy: Applying a heating pad or ice pack to your lower back before bed can help reduce pain and inflammation. Use heat for muscle relaxation and cold for reducing inflammation and numbing sharp pain.

6. Practice Good Sleep Hygiene:

Establish a Routine: Stick to a regular sleep schedule by going to bed and waking up at the same time each day.

Create a Relaxing Environment: Make your bedroom a calming space by keeping it cool, dark, and quiet. Consider using blackout curtains, earplugs, or a white noise machine.

Limit Stimulants: Avoid caffeine, nicotine, and heavy meals close to bedtime. These can disrupt your sleep and exacerbate pain.

7. Consider Over-the-Counter Pain Relief: Non-prescription pain relievers, such as ibuprofen or acetaminophen, can help manage pain and improve sleep. Always consult with your healthcare provider before taking any medication.

Additional Strategies for Managing Pain

Physical Therapy: Working with a physical therapist can help you develop a tailored exercise and stretching program to strengthen your back and improve flexibility, reducing pain over time.

Mind-Body Techniques: Practices like mindfulness meditation, deep breathing exercises, and progressive muscle relaxation can help reduce stress and improve pain management, contributing to better sleep.

Ergonomic Adjustments: Ensure your sleeping environment is ergonomically friendly. This includes adjusting the height of your bed, using supportive pillows, and making sure your mattress is in good condition.

Conclusion

Sleeping with lower back pain and sciatica can be challenging, but with the right strategies, you can improve your sleep quality and find relief. By choosing the right mattress, using pillows strategically, maintaining proper sleep positions, and incorporating pre-sleep routines like stretching and heat therapy, you can manage your pain and achieve a more restful night's sleep. Remember, it's important to consult with a healthcare professional for personalized advice and treatment options. Prioritize your sleep, as it plays a crucial role in your overall health and well-being.

By focusing on practical tips and personalized strategies, this blog aims to provide valuable information for those struggling with lower back pain and sciatica, helping them achieve better sleep and improved quality of life.

[multipromachinespvtltd]

Experience the cutting-edge capabilities of the Hydraulic Mattress Vacuum Packing Machine, designed to revolutionize how mattresses are stored and shipped. This state-of-the-art technology compresses mattresses into compact packages, effectively optimizing storage space in warehouses and distribution centers. By sealing mattresses tightly, it shields them from dust, moisture, and physical damage, ensuring they maintain their quality throughout the supply chain. Streamline your operations with automated vacuum sealing, reducing packaging time and costs while improving overall efficiency.For more information , visit :

https://www.multipromachines.com/product/matress-vacuum-packing-machine

[multipromachines]

Seal, compress, and pack with precision using our state-of-the-art Mattress Packing Machine. Revolutionize your packaging process today with efficiency and ease.

For more details, visit- https://www.multipromachines.com/product/matress-vacuum-packing-machine

[mechvinmachines]

Fiber opening machines have various applications across different industries, primarily in textile manufacturing and nonwoven fabric production. Here are some common applications:

Textile Industry: Polyester fiber opening machines are used to process natural fibers (such as cotton, wool) and synthetic fibers (like polyester, acrylic) in textile production. They prepare the fibers for further processing into yarn, fabric, or other textile products.

Nonwoven Fabric Production: Fiber opening machines play a crucial role in the production of nonwoven fabrics. They are used to open and blend fibers, creating a uniform fiber web that is then bonded together to form nonwoven fabrics. These fabrics are used in a wide range of applications such as hygiene products (diapers, wipes), medical products (surgical masks, gowns), automotive interiors, and construction materials.

Filling Materials: Pillow Filling Machines are utilized to process fibers for use as filling materials in pillows, cushions, mattresses, and stuffed toys. These machines open and fluff the fibers, ensuring they are clean, uniform, and free-flowing for optimal filling.

Recycling Industry: Fiber Opening And Pillow Filling Machines are employed in recycling facilities to process waste textiles and garments. They help to separate and open up the fibers, making them suitable for reuse in new textile products or nonwoven materials.

Insulation Materials: In industries such as construction and automotive, fiber opening machines are used to process fibers for insulation materials. By opening and aligning the fibers, these machines create insulation products with desired thermal and acoustic properties.

Overall, fiber opening machines are versatile tools with applications across multiple industries, facilitating the processing of fibers for various end uses ranging from textiles to insulation materials.

[as-enterprises]

Maximizing the Potential of Circular Foam Cutting Machines

Unlock the full potential of circular foam cutting machines with precision, versatility, and automation. Learn how to achieve high-quality foam cutting for various industries and applications.

Ever since foam has dominated a larger part of comfort in our lives, it is not possible to ignore its presence everywhere around us. Right down to the car seats we sit on or end a hard day relaxing on a comfortable mattress, foam is everywhere. But how does it shape, compress, or cut to feature exemplary designs we enjoy in our everyday lives? At the centre of the foam industry lies the machines that make it possible to craft the foam in an exemplary way we witness and use them. A S Enterprises is a pioneer manufacturer of PU foam cutting and processing machines, representing India internationally with its ASE technology, timely delivery, and post-sale services.

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