#sheet punching machine

[remcorfiberlaser]

Remcor technology, a global supplier for the turnkey fiber laser cutting lines,which have around 18 years experience 500 sets installations globally. Located in Wuhan,where called World optic valley a city orginited for the laser application,Covering 80,000 M2 which integrated the sales,R&D, production etc. was the first generation into this industry..

[warcats-cat]

Please please tell me about printers, I would like to know <b>everything</b>

You asked for it /lh

Ok so some clarification: I spent three years at Staples working with a Xerox C70 color laser printer, so that's where my "expertise" lies.

FIRST OFF - DO NOT EVER GET YOUR PHOTOS PRINTED AT A STAPLES/OFFICE MAX/FEDEX/UPS/ANY OTHER OFFICE STORE!!!!!

All office stores (that I have been to) use laser printers. Laser printers are high capacity (meaning they can print loads of stuff before the toner needs to be changed), and use toner, which is a powder version of the ink that is electrically fixed and baked onto the paper. (Forgive the oversimplification) This means that the color will not soak into the paper/past the coating if there is one. So, if you want a glossy photo printed, you will literally be baking the color over top of the gloss, and the color will not be glossy. It will be ugly. I've made like at least 300 family photos and other shit on a laser printer. Don't do it.

Sometimes you can play with the printer settings (the Xerox C70 has pretty in-depth settings because obv it's for office printing) and you can set the color load to be "glossy" but that really just means a thicker layer of toner. It's a little shinier but not glossy.

Also, laser printers just can't get that tight, crisp color quality that an inkjet can. So many people came in wanting to make their Christmas cards with these ultra high quality photos and wanted them cheap and same-day, and then would complain that they were "fuzzy". Personally, I always thought they looked fine, but white suburban mom Karens complained all the damn time about the "fuzziness" of their fancy professional photos. Inkjet can get the crisp, sharp lines that you see in digital photos and art, whereas the toner, being powder based, just can't quite get it.

ALSO also! The colors on your computer screen will always be a little brighter and nicer than what comes out of the printer! That is because your computer is back lit, it's shining light at your eyes. Paper cannot do that, so sometimes the colors look a little "dark" or "muddy". Personally, I've seen this with really light lavender, beige, and cyan the worst. Combine this with the more limited scope of color mixing with a laser printer, and sometimes you get weird ass colors coming out. If you have a specific idea for your colors, inkjet is the better bet.

Tldr: get your photos printed at Walgreens or Walmart, or send them somewhere that specializes in photo printing.

There are two main categories of printers, Laser and Inkjet. You have an inkjet if you have a printer in your home.

Inkjet printers have the liquid ink in the cartridge, that's why you have to wait a little bit before it dries, especially for specialty papers or really old printers. The liquid ink can soak into the paper/through the coating, so that's where you get the nice glossy photo prints. ((You can also buy sheets of primed canvas for inkjet printers, which is super cool and I definitely have a bunch of it for some of my favorite digital artworks from friends)).

Ink can come in two types - dye based and pigment based. You have dye based ink if you have a printer at home. Pigment based inkjet is for like,,, the top of the top art printing. It's expensive as hell, but it doesn't fade from light exposure, like dye ink can. (Don't worry, the things you print at home are not likely to fade very much, unless you have them in direct light and never turn the lights off. I have seen photos fade because of light exposure, but that's because Staples never turns any of the lights off for whatever reason, and we had printed pictures using the poster printer to get the nice gloss without realizing.) Pigment based is also apparently a powder, but I'll be honest I don't know how it's fixed to the paper. I assume heat as well. (I've never gotten to work with a pigment printer, I only know about them because I was looking for good printers to print art and found out about them, then I saw the price tag and was like lolol)

When buying specialty paper to print on (like photo paper or canvas), you need to check the label!!!! There are papers designed for laser printers that can withstand the heat and accept the toner, and there are papers designed for inkjet that can hold the liquid ink as it soaks through. The coating on an inkjet safe paper is not as heat resistant as ones made for laser. If you put it in the laser printer, the coating will melt, and you will ruin the internal machinery. I have seen it happen. Don't do it.

Speaking of specialty paper! Have you ever heard of pearlized paper??? It's my favorite paper!!! It's sparkly!!!! 😍

Pearlized paper is typically for laser printing; I've tried to print on it with an inkjet but it came out looking really weird. It's shimmery without having chunky glitter on top that will fall off and go everywhere. Go to your local Staples and ask if they have pearlized paper, just to look at. Pictures can't do it justice. (My business cards for my fairies are printed on soft pearl, which is ivory colored, because I printed and made them myself so I got to do what I wanted /lh) We mainly used it for weddings and stuff, but I recommended for all kinds of stuff because I thought it was so cool.

Other papers: the two main types of paper you will work with at home are regular paper and cardstock. Cardstock just means thick. Both can come in tons of cool colors and textures (linen texture is my personal favorite, you usually buy it as 'resume' or 'business' paper.) you know how thick a piece of paper is by its "weight" which is measured in pounds. I don't know why it's measured in pounds, it just is.

If you want a nice quality paper to print on that's still flexible and foldable, you want to look for something that's 24-30lbs. Typical cheap copier paper is 20lbs, and a lot of the time you can see through it, i.e. if you print something double sided you'll be able to see a little of the text on the back showing through. I have found that 24lbs is thin enough to be more affordable (per ream), but thick enough to not have the bleed through. We had a 32lb paper that was thick nice thickness and super smooth, and we called it "ultra premium". It was nice, but I wouldn't print like flyers and stuff on it. I did a lot of booklets with that one.

If you're gonna get a cardstock, get something 60~lbs and up. 65lb is a really good thickness if you're printing coloring pages because it soaks up the marker ink and holds it nicely. Use 100lb if you're making a coloring *book* that's going to be double sided.

Cardstock cannot be machine folded without a really heavy duty machine, and it's very annoying because those machines are usually at the high-volume production centers and not in-house, so customers complain that they have to wait for their booklets. >.>

When working with business cards, post cards, and the like, you will hear about "bleed area" or "print to bleed". That just means whether or not the ink can go all the way to the very edge of whatever is being printed. When you design a business card or other card to be printed, you will typically have a bleed area, where you want the background to go a little farther than the actual size of the card to allow for cutting, but you want to keep any important text or photos to a certain area so it doesn't accidentally get cut off. The bleed area is not a negotiation. If you don't have space for the bleed, something will get cut off.

At Staples, our business cards were 2x3.5 inches, but the designs had to be about 2.25x3.75 to allow for bleed. The number of times I had to go in and manually fix some idiot's card because they didn't understand what a bleed was is absolutely absurd.

You can get full page size (8.5x11) printed to bleed, for things like flyers with special borders and letter heads, but those also require specialized printers that are at the production facility. The number of people who outright refused to understand this was also absurd. If you have a printer at home, there is a 99.99% chance it is not able to print to bleed for a full 8.5x11, and that's why you still have a white edge if you try to print something that is supposed to have color all the way to the edge of the paper.

My final bit of advice before I end my rant: when you're financially independent and able to/want to buy your own printer, if you plan on making your own art prints to sell, do NOT get an HP printer. HP is fine for general use, it prints well and it's pretty ink-efficient, but it's just not got the super fine quality. Brother and Canon are the two brands I personally recommend for art and photography; they're more expensive but they have a really nice quality of printing. I had to do a lot of training for HP printers and computers, and it's a lot of big words that mean very little in the grand scheme of things.

[catboymeowmeow]

here's my knitting machine life hack: if you are using a die cutting machine to make your punch cards (eg. a cricut) don't bother with those plastic binder dividers from the dollar tree. what you wanna do is get a roll of cake acetate online. just get one wide enough for your machine (measure how wide your punch card reader is, get a roll at LEAST that wide) and bam. now you can cut a punch card as long as your little heart desires with NO need to tape multiple binder sheets together. just trim the acetate to the length you need.

the cake acetate is a little thicker than the binder dividers, so the finished cards are a little sturdier too. but it also means you may have to trial and error your cut settings to get them to cut all the way through. i have no advice for you here, every machine and acetate brand is a little different.

[smithstructure]

Smith Structure |Efficient Manufacturing Facilities Engineering

Smith Structure is engineering company that specializes in designing & building efficient manufacturing facilities that are optimized for productivity & safety

[gemmabussell85]

Press Brake Tooling Manufacturers

Press brakes offer a lot of flexibility in sheet metal shaping. Learn about some of the many choices of punches and dies, and get the most out of your press brake from press brake tooling manufacturers.

[raampsindustries]

High Quality Sheet Metal Components Manufacturer in India

Raamps is a renowned Sheet Metal Components Manufacturer in India, UK, US, Noida, and Germany. With years of experience in the industry, the company has established itself as a leader in producing high-quality components for various industries, including automotive, aerospace, and defense. Their state-of-the-art facilities and skilled workforce ensure that they deliver reliable and cost-effective solutions to their clients. Raamps' commitment to innovation and customer satisfaction has made them the preferred choice for many businesses across the globe.

Call Us: (+91) - 9818588668

Email id: info@raampsindustries.com

Address: J-60, Site V, Kasna Industrial Area Greater Noida - 201310 UP(INDIA)

URL: https://raampsindustries.com/

[pastryfication]

would you consider doing part 2 to the crash where the boys reunite with reader??

you’re everything that i want

pairing: oscar piastri x f2 driver!reader, lando norris x sister!reader note: part two to this.

content warnings: mentions of hospitals, injuries and a crash.

the hospital hallways stretch endlessly, each corner looking the same as the last. lando and oscar are rushing, a mutual feeling passing through them as they practically run through the busy hospital. but as they finally reach the door to your room, a heavy silence settles between them.

they know you’re stable, but that word had never felt more fragile. the crash, the screaming sirens, the gut-wrenching wait—they had both been on the edge of losing you, and that fear still lingers, clawing at the back of their minds.

lando hesitates, his hand hovering over the door handle. he’s never been afraid of much, but right now, he’s terrified of what he’ll see on the other side. oscar watches him, his own face pale and tight, but it’s lando who finally pushes the door open.

the sight of you hits them both like a punch to the gut.

you’re there, in the middle of the sterile, white room, looking small and fragile against the stiff hospital sheets. wires snake around your body, connecting you to machines that beep steadily, and bruises cover your usually vibrant skin. but it’s your face—pale, tense, and etched with pain—that makes them both freeze.

lando’s breath catches in his throat. he’s seen you on the edge before—crashes, spins, close calls—but nothing like this. nothing that left you looking so broken. his eyes dart over every inch of you, searching for any sign of the sister he knows, but all he sees is pain and it crushes him.

oscar takes a shaky step forward, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat. you’ve always been the strong one, the fearless racer who never backed down, but the way your face contorts with pain as you struggle to take a breath sends a jolt of terror through him. he’s seen you battle opponents on the track, but now, you’re fighting something invisible and relentless, and he feels powerless to help.

you look up as they enter, your expression caught between relief and agony. “hey,” you whisper, trying to sound normal, but your voice trembles, thin and strained. it’s a sound they’ve never heard from you before, and it shatters whatever composure they were clinging to.

lando reaches you first, his eyes glassy as he tries to keep it together. he grabs the nearest chair and sits down, taking your hand in his, squeezing it as if he’s trying to ground himself, too. “you’re okay,” he says, but his voice wavers, thick with emotion. “you’re… you’re going to be okay.”

oscar stands frozen at the foot of your bed, swallowing hard as he takes you in. seeing you like this, in so much pain, makes his stomach twist violently. he wants to say something—anything—but words feel stuck in his throat. all he can do is watch, his eyes filled with fear and helplessness.

you try to smile, but it quickly turns into a grimace as another sharp wave of pain crashes over you. your breath hitches, and you grip the bedrails, your knuckles turning white. “it hurts,” you admit, voice cracking as tears pool in your eyes. “it hurts so much.”

lando’s face crumples, the sight of your tears breaking something inside him. he squeezes your hand tighter, his other hand gently brushing a tear off your cheek. “i’m here,” he says, his voice breaking. “we’re both here, okay? we’ve got you.”

oscar finally moves, his legs feeling heavy as he sits beside you on the bed. he gently takes your other hand, his touch light but firm and grounding. his eyes are locked on yours, filled with raw, unfiltered emotion. “we’re not going anywhere,” he says softly, his voice laced with a mix of fear and determination. “just breathe. we’ll get through this.”

you lean into him slightly, seeking his comfort even as the pain spikes again, sharp and unrelenting. oscar’s thumb rubs slow, soothing circles on the back of your hand, and he places a long, lingering kiss in your temple as if trying to share some of your burden. “i’m right here,” he murmurs, voice low and calming. “just breathe with me, okay? we’ve got you.”

lando’s other hand rests on your arm, rubbing gentle, reassuring circles. his eyes are glued to your face, his heart aching at every wince, every pained breath you take. “you’re the toughest person i know,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own tears threaten to spill. “if anyone can get through this, it’s you. and we’re going to be here every step of the way.”

you nod, feeling the burn of pain and the flood of emotions all at once, but their presence—their unwavering support—gives you something to hold on to. it’s enough to keep you breathing through the pain, knowing you don’t have to face it alone.

oscar presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering once again as he fights to keep his own emotions in check. “we’ll get through this,” he whispers, his voice filled with quiet determination. “one breath at a time.”

and as you squeeze their hands tighter, you realize that’s all you need right now: lando’s steady words, oscar’s calming presence, and the unshakable reassurance that they’re here, right beside you.

[bindmachinejason]

China automatic loose leaf hardcover punching machine APM450 used for spiral notebook 

Automatic Paper Cover Hole Punching Machine For Wire O Notebook And Spiral Notebook

      APM450 paper punching machine is new developed based on our APM320 machine ,machine used very stable structure and safe cover to be ensure it can do paper ,cover ,pp sheets ,card board hole punching without stop .

      This machine is used for A3,A4,A5,A6 paper size hole punching ,is good choice for printing house to choose for their wire o notebook ,spiral book ,sketch ,twin ring book hole punching .

Machine link :

https://www.bp-machine.com/sale-21972267-automatic-paper-cover-hole-punching-machine-for-wire-o-notebook-and-spiral-notebook.html

[woso-dreamzzz]

Homework

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: You try to get someone else to do your homework

Studying was such a bore for you. You hated sitting in a classroom and studying. Lucy told you that you had a restless soul and that's why you would prefer to be out on the pitch rather than stuck inside.

Playing for Manchester City had been a perfect outlet and the call to play for Barcelona had been a dream come true.

It was just a shame that the schooling system still kept you shackled.

Taking online classes was better than physical school but it just meant that the actual studying and doing homework was left solely on you. Keira sometimes would allocate times for you to do it but Lucy would always stage what she would call a jailbreak and take you to the park or get a snack.

Either way, actually doing the work was something that you struggled with.

Which was, as you glanced around the break room, you had an empty word document and a sheet of questions of Spanish open in another tab.

Most of the team were either in meetings or getting food so it was just you and the younger members of the squad. Your eyes roved over them all, glancing back at your screen.

Esmee and Salma were playing each other on FIFA. Jana and Bruna were watching with rapt attention. But you found your target in Ona, who was throwing grapes into the air and trying to catch them in her mouth.

You slumped into the seat next to her, placing your laptop in her lap.

She raised a brow at you. "What is this?"

You gestured to the screen. "What does it look like?"

"Your homework?"

"Wow," You said sarcastically," Well done. It is my homework. Has anyone ever told you you're a genius?"

She rolled her eyes. "I meant, what is it doing here? On my lap?"

You sent her an award winning smile. "Do it for me?"

"Isn't that cheating?"

"It's not a test," You said," Just homework. Besides," You shrugged," It's been melting my mind. None of it makes sense. You'd just get through this so quickly."

She narrowed her eyes, easily seeing through your mediocre manipulation attempts. She glanced at your questions for a moment before she slapped some money into your hand.

"Get me a chocolate bar from the vending machine," She said," And an energy drink too..." She thought for a moment. "And you've got to be the one to ask Lucy and Keira if I can crash around your place tomorrow."

You almost groaned. You and Ona had been planning a movie marathon for weeks now but the tv at your place with Lucy and Keira was better than the one at her apartment so you had been trying to drop hints to Lucy and Keira about Ona staying over but neither had quite picked up on them.

"Fine," You said begrudgingly, standing up," A chocolate and an energy drink. Got it."

You slipped out of the room with little fanfare. If Ona managed to get your homework done quickly then the rest of your afternoon would be free to snack and muck around until Lucy and Keira came to take you home.

With the staff and the rest of the girls in meetings, the hallways were empty. You got to the vending machine with ease, punching in the code of Ona's favourite chocolate and energy drink. You've just fished them out when a shiver ran down your spine. A shadow fell over you.

You turned around slowly and was met with the face of your captain, dripping in disapproval.

"Nena," She said and your usual nickname struck fear into your heart," Aren't you supposed to be doing your homework?"

While Keira grew bored of making you study and do your homework, Alexia did not. Your very first day in Barcelona consisted of you walking into the locker room to see her standing by your cubby with the school schedule you had given over to the staff.

You were pretty sure that if you didn't already know Keira and Lucy from City then you would have ended up moving in with Alexia, if only so she could keep a close eye on your studies.

"I...er...Went to get some snacks?"

She raised a brow at you. "Really? Ona's favourite snacks? What were you meant to be studying today, your Spanish? If I go into the break room, will I find Ona doing your work for you?"

You didn't answer.

But that was answer enough.

Alexia sighed, one of those long drawn-out sighs that only ever really got used on you - and sometimes Mapi, when she was acting particularly like a kid.

"Sorry?"

"No, you are not." She took you by the shoulders, making you walk in front of her all the way back to where Ona was sitting, dutifully typing away at your homework. She cleared her throat.

Ona turned and immediately went pale. She looked at you. She looked at Alexia.

"She bullied me into it!"

"Liar!"

Alexia fixed you both with a stern look that you wilted under. "So, you're telling me a sixteen-year-old bullied you into doing homework, Ona?"

"Er...yes?"

"Go and do three laps."

"Alexia!"

"Do you want to make it four?"

Ona took off running and you shoved the drink and chocolate bar into her hands as she passed.

With her gone though, Alexia's ire was firmly back on you. She plucked your laptop up from the sofa and placed it on the table. You knew what she wanted so you went without fuss, slumping into the seat.

She made you watch as she deleted all of the work Ona had done for you.

"You're smart, nena," She said as she did it," You just do stupid things. Do I have to take you with me to my meetings now? To make sure you get your work done?"

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, not wanting an even longer lecture. You, however, didn't keep your feet out of your mouth because you replied," You hover enough. I don't need you watching my every move."

Alexia sent you a withering glare and you shrunk in your seat. You hastened to placate her and started typing. It seemed like you did understand what you're homework was telling you, the little break to get Ona's snacks must have given your brain the respite it needed.

Alexia slid into the seat next to you. She didn't do much - barely even checked her phone - but made sure to look over your shoulder as you wrote.

By the time, you've finished, it's time to break for lunch. Esmee and Salma had just left so you tried to catch up with them but the hand at the back of your collar stopped you in your tracks.

"You're coming home with me tonight," Alexia told you succinctly," I've still got clothes left over from when you last visited. You'll sit at the table and do that economics essay you've been putting off and, if you get it done without complaint, I'll check over what you just finished."

You made a face. "Is this your way of saying I completely flunked it?"

Alexia rolled her eyes and you knew by the way she tucked you under her arm, that she was no longer mad. "Focus on the positives, nena. If you're very good, we'll even order dinner to the house."

[cera-writes]

"Ma chère, you are mine." 🃏part Four

"Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight, For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light" - Oscar Wilde

[: Please, Just Breathe - Written By Wolves]

The sterile scent of disinfectant did little to mask the tremor in Gambit's hands. He traced a finger along the cool metal railing of your bed, his reflection distorted in the chrome. Days had bled into nights, a monotonous vigil punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines keeping you tethered to this world. You were lying motionless on a bed back at the X-Mansion.

Literal weeks had passed since the massacre of Genosha. The X-men had brought your body back, wondering whether just to bury what was left of you or wait for some sort of miracle.

"Hey there, ma chere," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the cool sheets. "Been a rough couple of weeks, that's for sure. Feels like the world decided to take a nosedive after you were savin' our collective butts."

A wry smile tugged at his lips, but it never reached his eyes. The memory of your sacrifice, of the raw power you wielded, sent a shiver down his spine. You were still here, thank heavens, but how much of you remained?

"Was I ever good enough for you, Eclipse?" the question tumbled out, a ragged whisper. "Did I ever truly measure up to the expectations of the woman who could snuff out the damn sun?"

He knew it was a stupid question. He loved you, fierce and unconditional, but the doubt gnawed at him nonetheless. Had he been just another adventure in the grand tapestry of your extraordinary life?

Taking a deep breath, he launched into a slow recount. "Genosha, chere... man, it was bad. A slaughterhouse. Rogue's beside herself, grief eatin' her alive. Went tearin' after answers, found nothin' but dead ends."

The weight of his unspoken words hung heavy in the air. A tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down his temple, landing with a soft plop on the back of your hand. The silence in the room was deafening, only replaced by the sound of the monitor as it beat to the slow, faint rhythmic pulse of your heart.

"Oh, darlin'," he rasped, his voice thick as he wiped at his tears. "Professor says you're stuck between worlds, a flicker of a flame in a hurricane."

A muscle in his jaw clenched. The diagnosis, delivered by a surprisingly alive Charles Xavier, was a gut punch. You, the woman who could snuff out the damn sun, were a wisp, a fading ember.

"Said it would take someone reachin' in, pullin' you back from the brink," Gambit continued, his voice tight. He knew what that meant. Someone had to wade into the void, navigate the chaotic remnants of your near-death experience, and somehow coax you back to the land of the living.

A wry smile, tinged with desperation, tugged at the corner of his lips. "Looks like it's time to try an' bring you back, wouldn't you say, ma chere?"

He knew the risks. The void could be a treacherous landscape, a swirling vortex of emotions and memories. But the thought of facing life without you was a desolate wasteland he couldn't bear to contemplate.

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Professor X, ever-stoic despite the ordeal with the Shi'ar, sat by the window, his gaze fixed on the storm raging outside, mirroring the turmoil within.

"Professor," Gambit called out, his voice laced with a mixture of defiance and hope. "Any chance that fancy head of yours can cook up a way to get me there? Looks like I got a rescue mission on my hands."

Charles turned, his eyes holding a depth of understanding that only someone who had stared into the abyss himself could possess. A flicker of something akin to approval crossed his features.

"Gambit," he said, his voice raspy but firm, "you've always had a knack for the impossible. Perhaps this is just another challenge in your colorful repertoire."

"I think I'm done waitin' for any possibilty of her coming back from the dead, I gotta reach into her mind now, pull her back. No more waitin' around."

"You know the risks Gambit. And you're certain this is what you want to do?"

"Plus sûr que je ne l'ai jamais été," Remy nodded, placing his hand over your cold, unmoving one.

"Okay," Professor X nodded once, joining you at your bedside. "I'll have to link the two of you telepathically. It's a dangerous gamble but worth a fighting chance. There's also a chance you could be pulled into the darkness with her. But the bond between you should give you good luck in our efforts of bringing Eclipse back."

A surge of relief washed over Gambit, a lifeline thrown across the churning waters. He wouldn't be going in alone. With Xavier's help, he might just have a fighting chance of dragging you back from the brink.

"The odds always be in my favor, Professor." He smirked, a determined glint hardened his gaze.

He wouldn't let the darkness win. He wouldn't let you go. You'd been gone for far too long; longer than he'd had the patience of waiting for. He'd delve into the void, face whatever demons lurked within, and bring his sunshine back home.

Professor X cleared his mind, prompting Gambit to do the same. He pressed two fingers on each side of his temple and began the process of linking all three of your minds together in a psionic surge.

The world dissolved into a swirling vortex of colors, a chaotic kaleidoscope of emotions and memories. Gone was the sterile white room, replaced by a churning expanse of fragmented realities. Gambit plunged headfirst, the familiar tug of Professor Xavier's mental tether his only anchor in this tempestuous sea.

He fought against the relentless assault of disjointed images – flashes of the Genosha battle, the blinding brilliance of your eclipse power, the chilling emptiness of your still form. Each fragment ripped at him, threatening to pull him under in this maelstrom of your subconscious.

Then, he saw it. A lone figure, shrouded in shadow, standing on a precipice overlooking a vast emptiness. You. But this wasn't the Eclipse he knew. This figure seemed lost, a hollow shell consumed by an inky darkness that pulsed around her like a malevolent aura.

"Eclipse?" Gambit called out, his voice a threadbare whisper against the roaring storm.

The figure turned, her head a swirling mass of darkness where her face should have been. Tendrils of inky energy lashed out, coiling around his mental form, a chilling touch that sent shivers down his spine.

Fear gnawed at him, but the memory of your smile, the warmth of your hand in his, fueled his resolve. He wouldn't let the darkness win.

"Don't you give up on us, cher," he roared, channeling his Cajun charm into a psychic shout that echoed through the void. "We need you, the X-Men need you. Hell, the whole damn world needs you."

His words seemed to pierce the veil of darkness surrounding the figure. A flicker of recognition sparked in the empty void where her eyes should have been. A whisper, faint as a dying ember, reached his mind.

"Remy?"

Hope surged through him, a beacon in the storm. He pushed forward, his own memories forming a bridge across the void. He conjured moments of shared laughter, missions where the two of them had to work together to see it through, their own kind of connection that he didn't have with anyone else. Images flashed before the shadowed figure – the comfort after heartbreak, the playful banter during training sessions, the laying of her head on his shoulder the night before she died in his arms.

Slowly, the darkness began to recede. The inky tendrils loosened their grip, revealing fragments of your true self beneath. A tear, a single luminous droplet, trickled down the shadowy visage.

"I... I can't control it," your voice, weak and trembling, echoed in his mind. "The darkness... it's a part of me now."

"Maybe," Gambit conceded, his voice firm yet gentle. "But you're still Eclipse, chere. The woman who fights for what's right, the woman who lights up the darkest corners. You're stronger than you think."

He stretched out a mental hand, a beacon of warmth and love. The figure hesitated, then hesitantly reached back, her touch tinged with fear and uncertainty.

It wasn't enough. You were still adrift, tethered to the void by a threadbare connection.

"Professor?" Gambit called out, a desperate plea in his mind.

A wave of mental energy surged through the connection, bolstering the bridge they had built. It was a risky maneuver, Professor Xavier pushing his telepathic abilities to their very limit.

Together, they pulled. They coaxed. They pleaded with every fiber of their beings.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the figure began to respond. The darkness receded further, revealing glimpses of your true form. A single tear, shimmering with a familiar light, traced a path down your cheek.

Then, with a final desperate tug, they pulled you free. The world dissolved back into the sterile white room, the sterile scent of disinfectant stinging his nostrils.

You gasped, a rattling sound that filled the room with a melody sweeter than any song. Your eyes fluttered open, a spark of life rekindled within their depths.

"Remy?" your voice, weak but hopeful, echoed in the room.

A choked sob escaped his lips, relief washing over him like a tidal wave. He wasn't alone. You were back. And together, you would face the darkness, both within and without.

"You're back! She's back!" Remy couldn't stop grinning and shaking with tears, pulling you into a deep embrace as his arms held onto you so tightly that he was scared if he let go, you'd leave him again.

"Oh cher, don't you ever scare Gambit like dat again!" He shook with sobs as he nestled his face into your hair. You held him back, tears cascading down your cheeks.

"I-I thought I was dead," you choked, voice merely a whisper. "I did too, cher. We all did. Rogue went to out tryin' to get revenge for you." Remy stroked your hair, no sign of breaking your shared embrace.

You took in the scent of him, tobacco and sandalwood with a hint of spice you'd always found comfort in whenever he was around. That scent that you'd loved and missed so, so dearly.

"Remy..." you cried, just letting your emotions tumble out of you. You were alive, and he had brought you back. Your Remy.

"Shh, shh, it's gon' be okay chere. You're okay," he soothed. You sighed into his touch, his presence alone bringing you back to life with every comforting word and soothing touch.

Something else caught your attention for a split second as you glanced over. You'd notice that chair anywhere. It was Professor Xavier, who was still very much alive and well. A small smile graced your lips.

"Professor?" your voice raspy, barely a whisper.

Xavier offered a reassuring smile. "Yes, Eclipse. You're back." He turned to Gambit, a hint of amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I believe you two require some time to reacquaint yourselves. I'll inform the others."

With a nod, he exited the room, leaving you and Gambit alone in the sterile silence. Relief finally battled with exhaustion, your eyelids heavy as you tried to focus on the man before you as you pulled away to finally get a good look at him, that face you missed so dearly.

"What... what happened?" your voice trembled as you tried to piece together the fragmented memories swirling in your mind.

Taking a deep breath, Gambit launched into a slow, heartfelt recount. He spoke of Genosha, the devastating attack, and Rogue's consuming grief. He touched upon Emma's unexpected transformation and the lingering uncertainty surrounding Magneto's fate. But most importantly, he spoke of the chilling revelation – the existence of a new enemy, a shadowy figure known as Bastion.

As he spoke, a wave of exhaustion washed over you. You closed your eyes, the weight of the world settling on your weary shoulders.

Sensing your fatigue, Gambit stopped his narrative, gently squeezing your hand. "Don't you worry about the rest, chere. You take all the time you need to get your strength back. We'll handle things here."

A weak smile graced your lips. "Thank you, Remy," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For everything."

He leaned closer, his eyes searching yours. "Don't even think about thank you's, chere. Just get yourself healthy. We've got a whole world of trouble waitin' for us, and it ain't gonna fight itself."

A tired chuckle escaped your lips. You knew he was right. The fight was far from over, but for now, all that mattered was the warmth of his hand in yours, the steady beat of his heart a counterpoint to your own. With him by your side, you could face anything, even the darkness that still lingered within.

"There'll be time to talk later," you rasped, your eyelids fluttering closed once more. "Just... stay with me, Remy. Please?"

He didn't hesitate. Pulling a chair closer to your bedside, he settled in, running his fingers through your soft hair. In the quiet of the sterile room, he kept vigil, a silent promise etched on his face. You were back, and he wouldn't let you slip away again. Together, you would face whatever darkness lurked in the shadows, both within and without.

══════════════════

The sterile white of the infirmary faded to the familiar blue and gold of the X-Mansion as you stumbled out, supported by Remy's steady arm. A day of rest had done wonders, but the echoes of the void still lingered in your mind, a faint tremor that unsettled you.

Remy squeezed your hand reassuringly. "Easy there, belle. You're still movin' a bit like a newborn giraffe."

You managed a weak smile. "Feels like it. I have questions, Remy. About Genosha... about Bastion."

He sighed, a flicker of pain crossing his eyes. "Plenty of time for dat later, chere. Professor wants you to ease back in slow."

But the urgency gnawed at you. You could feel it in the hushed whispers that followed you down the hallway, in the worried glances cast your way. The world had moved on while you were trapped in your own personal nightmare, and you were desperate to catch up.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the training room. The sound of crashing metal and shouts echoed through the halls. You exchanged a confused glance with Remy.

"Looks like someone's havin' a temper tantrum," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Before you could respond, Ororo burst through the doorway, her face a mask of frustration.

"Remy, Eclipse," she said, her voice clipped. "Professor Xavier needs you in the war room. Now."

The urgency in her voice sent a jolt of adrenaline through you. You exchanged a wordless look with Remy before following Ororo, the tremor in your legs replaced by a growing sense of dread.

The war room buzzed with activity. Xavier sat at the center table, his brow furrowed in concentration. Scott and Jean stood beside him, their expressions grim. But it was the sight of Rogue in the corner, her aura crackling with barely contained rage, that sent a shiver down your spine.

"What's going on?" you asked, your voice cutting through the tension-filled silence.

"We've received a message," Xavier said, his voice strained. "From Bastion."

He gestured to the holographic screen at the center of the table. A distorted figure flickered to life, a silhouette shrouded in darkness.

"Mutants," the figure boomed, his voice filled with malice. "Your defiance has reached its end. You will all face your judgment."

The image flickered before dissolving into static. You felt a familiar coldness creep up your spine. Bastion's voice resonated within you, a dark echo stirring the remnants of fear from your recent ordeal.

"What's he planning?" you asked, the question hanging heavy in the air.

"He's making a statement," Scott said, his jaw clenched tight. "A threat. He wants us to live in fear."

Rogue let out a growl. "He wants a fight. And believe me, he's gonna get one."

The air crackled with barely contained energy. You could see in their eyes the same desperation you felt – the need to act, to strike back before Bastion could make his next move.

"We can't let him control us," Jean said, her voice steady but firm. "We need a plan."

Xavier nodded, his gaze flicking to you. You felt a spark of apprehension. Despite your weakened state, you knew you wouldn't be left out of the coming conflict.

"Eclipse," Xavier said, his voice filled with a question. "Are you well enough for this?"

You straightened your shoulders, a newfound determination fueling your resolve.

"More than well enough, Professor," you replied, your voice ringing clear and strong. "The X-Men fight together. And I'm not going to sit this one out."

A flicker of approval crossed Xavier's face. A sense of unity settled over the room, replacing the fear with a steely resolve. The battle against Bastion had begun, and the X-Men, battered but not broken, were ready to fight. You had stared into the void and come back. Now, it was time to face what lurked in the shadows.

When the meeting was seemingly dismissed, you lingered in the halls with Remy for a beat too long. There was still so much that lingered unspoken between the both of you. Neither of you had admitted actual feelings yet. You reached out for him, but he brushed you off, a coolness to the air. "Sorry chere, I'm just...still gettin' used to dis. It's crazy. You bein' back from the dead and all. Don't get me wrong, I'm more than happy you're back. It's just...I dunno chere, I guess I just need time to process it all," he sighed heavily flipping a Queen card between his fingers.

You understood all too well, your own feelings of displacement fresh. You'd been away for weeks but present at the same time.

"Right, no...I-I understand. I need time too," you replied, feeling an air of indifference between the two of you. You parted ways, even as your feet dragged the halls. It stung. You couldn't lie. But if time was what Remy needed, you'd give that to him with respect and space.

The sterile halls of the X-Mansion echoed with an emptiness that mirrored the hollowness you felt inside. The near-death experience had left you adrift, a ghost haunting the place you once called home. You craved a connection, a familiar voice amidst the strategizing and simmering tension.

Spotting Morph lounging by a window, a pang of relief nearly flooded through you. "Hey stranger, finally back from the dead to catch up on our horror movie sessions. Sorry it took me so damn long."

Morph smirked. "There's that dark sense of humour I missed. C'mere." They opened their arms and brought you into a bone crushing hug. "Careful there, or you'll break me in half." you smirked, hugging them back with equal comfort.

"I've missed your dumb face. Your real one. You know how many times I had to shapeshift into you just so I could get by without breaking down? Every time I did, only to see you staring back at me in the mirror, telling me you were okay and shit was gonna be alright?" They sighed, voice trembling and threatening to break with each word.

"Oh, Kevin..." you were trying so hard to fight back your own wave of emotions. "Don't ever pull that shit again Eclipse." They pulled away, serious this time.

You decided to take this conversation to the living room, a vast open area where the two of you used to laugh at stupid rom coms. You took a seat on the sofa, patting the seat next to you for Morph to join.

They settled in beside you, popping a can of soda in the process, soaking in the rare moment of calm. The weird sensation of having you back.

"Tell me about Genosha, Morph. Remy filled me in on the big stuff, but…"

Their face hardened. "It was bad, Eclipse. Real bad. I watched the events transpire on television and let's just say, no horror movie could pale in comparison to what I saw on the news. And Rogue… well, she was not herself."

They recounted the raw grief that had consumed Rogue, her powers surging out of control as she sought vengeance. He spoke of the fight with Synch, the desperation in her eyes.

"And Remy? How'd he cope with it all?" you finally asked, voice tinged with trepidation, the question lingering heavy in the air.

Morph hesitated, then sighed. "He was lost, Eclipse. He cared for you deeply. But after… well, after you were gone, Rogue was on a one-woman warpath. Gambit tried to reason with her, but…" they trailed off, leaving the unspoken words hanging in the air.

You felt a flicker of something akin to disappointment. Despite your connection with Remy, the knowledge that he might have sought solace in Rogue during your absence twisted a knot in your gut. You couldn't have blamed him though.

"There was more to it than that," a voice cut in, sharp and laced with a raw honesty that made you turn. Rogue stood there at the archway into the living room, arms crossed.

"Rogue," you said, your voice cautious. "I can't imagine what you've been through."

"Hey sugah...things ain't been easy since you went lights out on us."

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "Don't pretend, Eclipse. You and I, we both know there was something between Remy and me after you… after you died."

A wave of unexpected honesty washed over you. You met her gaze, your voice equally as raw. "I always felt there was something lingering between the two of you. Remy made no mistake of hiding it... but Genosha, and that dance with Magneto... did you love Remy?"

The question hung in the air for a beat too long before Rogue finally answered. "Maybe. In a way. But it wasn't the same. He was… broken, Eclipse. After you were gone, a part of him just… shut down. The man i knew wasn't my Remy."

Her words struck a chord deep within you. You remembered the haunted look in Remy's eyes, the way his touch had seemed distant, a mere echo of the warmth you once shared.

"He tried to help me," Rogue continued, her voice heavy with regret. "But he was just going through the motions. It wasn't fair to either of us," she explained, making her way closer to you.

A strange sense of understanding bloomed between you. You saw the vulnerability in Rogue's eyes, the unspoken grief she'd been trying to mask. It wasn't about betrayal, you realized. It was about two people clinging to the wreckage of their emotions, seeking solace in a broken bond.

"We all lost someone, Rogue," you said, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. "But we can't let that break us. We have to fight. To live to see another day. And for Remy too. Maybe, just maybe, by fighting together, we can help him find his way back to himself."

Rogue flinched but didn't pull away. A flicker of something akin to hope flickered in her eyes, a silent pact forged in shared grief and a newfound understanding. She was still your best friend and nothing would ever change that.

[taintandviolent]

howlin' for you ; Kai Anderson x reader

summary: Winter throws a Halloween party, Kai dresses up as a werewolf, and “hunts” you, one of Winter’s hotter friends. How cute, you dressed up like a cat for the party. He knows that masked, it’s the only way you’d ever consider fucking him. w a r n i n g s: 3.4k words! hard to get!reader, dubcon / slight non-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, rough blowjobs, handjobs, mask kink, mentions of fucking in animal costumes, animal noises, despite all that this isn't a furry fic. a/n: [🎃 part of #lizzie's halloween fics! 🎃] baby's first Kai fic... be gentler than he was to reader. full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

You peel your eyes open, reaching blindly for the flat, room-temperature can of soda on the floor.

“Hello?”

A pause. You take a sip.

“Hey Winter. Yeah… yeah, I’m still coming.”

She asks if you decided on a costume.

“Yeah, I’m going to wear that kitty outfit. The one with the fur on the tummy.” You sniff, and add: “Is your fuckin’ weirdo brother going to be there?”

Winter pauses. “Yeah, Y/N… we live in the same house. I can’t lock him in his basement.”

“I fucking will, then.”

“Go for it.”

You hang up the phone.

-

You take a deep breath and open the door. It’s crowded and there’s bodies everywhere; undulating to the music or clustered in corners. The room smells like the inside of your trick-or-treat bag as a kid; a melange of candy, fabric and latex. There’s a fog machine going in the corner, and it hisses as you walk by.

Winter has decorated the place adorably; black and orange streamers hang from every corner and are stretched across the entire living room. There’s bowls of candy on the coffee table, flanked by little paper table toppers of various spooky characters. As you walk by, you flick one, smiling as it bobbles back and forth.

You saunter across the living room, swaying your ass back and forth. You felt hot; the little sexy kitty decision had been a good one. So far, the Grease Lord hadn’t made his presence known - maybe he locked himself in the basement and didn’t want to play with Winter’s friends. Good.

Your head turns back and forth, surveying all the costumes. Most of them are minimal effort, but you appreciate the fact that they came dressed up at all. Better than the alternative of showing up in a ‘This is my costume’ t-shirt. One costume in particular catches your eye. Big werewolf. It’s a good costume; he’s got the whole ripped and shredded clothing thing going on, boot covers, gloves with claws and fur… this dude at least put in a little more effort than the guy wrapped in nothing but a sheet and telling people he’s Caesar.

Wolf stands in the corner, leaning against the wall and offering a nod to anyone who interacts with him. Whether or not that’s a part of his wolfish act, or just the bland personality of the dude in the costume, you aren’t sure. His head turns slightly, and you assume that he’s clocked you. You cover your mouth with your kitty mittens in a dramatic gasp as you pass him, amping up the scared kitty act. You throw in a little hiss as you round the corner. Very cute.

You head for the punch bowl, hoping that Winter made it because whenever Winter makes the drinks, they're good. Much to your relief, she’s actually there, refilling it. Sick. She’s dressed as a fallen angel and the black feathers on her wings flutter as she leans over the bowl.  

“Meeeeooooow,” you say, swiping at her halo with your furry mittens. She immediately recognises you and grins, happy that through all of your party fatigue from last night, you still made it to her party, too. You pull her in for a hug, swaying her back and forth. Winter was never a hugger, but you decidedly were, and made a show of it every time.  

“Have you seen Kai yet?” She asks, almost nervously as she hands you a cup with red liquid quivering at the top. You take a large gulp, savouring the perfect blend of punch and alcohol.

“Oh, so he is here. Great .” You take another sip. “But no, thank god. He seems like the type to hate cats, so hopefully he’ll leave me alone.”

She quirks a brow, questioning your statement.

“Nevermind.” Not a conversation you were ready for. When you turn to look back at the wolf in the corner, he’s gone. There’s something in your gut that gives you pause, but you chalk it up as a disappointment that the wolf had lost interest in his feline prey.

“I’m gonna’ mingle,” you say, wiggling your fingers at her.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Oooh, that’s no fun.” You frown. “If you see Kai, tell him I hate him, pretty please.”

Winter looks uncomfortable. Underneath all his cringey faults, he is still her brother and your hate for him has always been extreme. She wondered if it’s something else… something less about trying to convince yourself to be nice to him and more about trying to convince yourself to hate him. She’d never dare say that to your face, though.

As you wander, there’s a few people you recognise and hold meaningless conversations with. That is, until the wolf is in your peripheral again. He’s holding a cup, but not drinking from it. Probably because he couldn’t… not without taking his mask off. Which, given his current objective, seemed counterproductive. Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and you were curious… so you ended your current conversation, darted around the corner, and picked up a casual one with a mutual friend. Thomas? Brad? Despite digging your fingers deep into your brain, you couldn’t recall the poor bastard’s name. It didn’t matter; your eyes flitted back and forth, surveying your surroundings. Not more than a minute later, he was there again, nestled into the opposite corner. Close enough that you could see him, but far away enough that you wouldn’t notice, if you weren’t paying attention. Fortunately for him, you were. Your heart skipped a beat, thudding behind your ribcage.

“Hey, hold that thought - I’m gonna’ get more punch.” They can hardly hear you over the heavy music, but nod anyway.

You race back to the kitchen, and before you get there, the wolf is waiting at the archway, one arm braced up against it. You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling an unmistakable heat in your belly. This chase is turning you on.

Shit.

“Here, kitty-kitty….”

His voice sounds familiar; it’s throaty, but there’s a medium-pitched bite to it. You can’t place it, try as you might. “Do I know you?”

He shakes his head very slowly and very honestly, the little faux-fur fibres around his ears swaying with the action. You believe him, or pretend you do, because the concept of fucking some random werewolf-masked individual is way hotter than finding out it was some dork you met twice at another party.

You turn sharply on your white high heels, and start walking in whatever direction isn’t inundated with people. Regrettably, that’s headed towards the basement. You can feel him rampaging, gaining on you, hearing his heavy steps creaking behind you. For a second, you’re almost afraid. He barks low and catches up to you faster than you anticipated, and when he backs you against the wall, he pins your arms above your head with one hand. His chest heaves as he stares at you, waiting for you to say something. You don’t. Instead, you lean your head against the wall, laughing towards the ceiling. The steps to Kai’s weirdo basement are directly to your right. You hear the TV downstairs, immediately assuming it’s something political. Maybe he’ll hear you fucking this guy. You hope he does. You really do — and you hope it irritates the hell out of him.

“Ohhh, who’s a big bad wolf?”  You yank one of your hands free of his grip to feel his boner outside of his tattered jeans. It’s thick and hot, so you stroke it a little. He gives you a throaty ‘Awwooo’ and involuntarily bucks his hips into the palm of your hand, forcing heavier friction. The chase must’ve got him going. It got you going, that’s for sure. You can feel your cunt aching, and clenching every time he thrusts into your hand.

You move your hand away, pulling an angry groan from the werewolf. With a smile, you run your fingers deeply through the little tuft of grey and white fur that’s peeking out from his flannel. Fur grinds against fur as he humps your hand, heavy breaths echoing from inside the mask.

“Big…. Bad wolf…” you say again, sniggering. You’re delighted by his horny aura. That was one thing about Winter’s punch — it was strong. “You want me to blow your house down?”

He nods, and you sink to your knees, watching as he makes quick work of his jeans. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart and reaches into his boxers, allowing his cock to spring free. It bounces heavily in front of your face, beads of clear collecting at the slit. Your tongue darts out of your mouth, running along the ridge on the underside of his cock before reaching the tip, and lapping the pre-cum up like the good little kitty you are. It’s heavy on your tongue, so you alleviate some of the weight by grabbing it.

His cock is hot to the touch when you grip it, and you revel in the way the warm, supple skin moves beneath your grip. You roll your fingers one by one over the tip of his cock, playing with it. He groans above you, looking down as far as the mask will allow. When it’s not enough, he bends forward, arching over you.

He has a better visual now, and his chest starts to heave with every pass of your fingers. When the teasing becomes too much, he takes a fistful of your hair, and yanks it back. Your silky hair slips easily through the rubber claws, so he pauses, and rips the gloves off, tossing them down the stairs. You hope Kai trips over them. He grips your hair again, much harder this time and forces your gaze upwards to stare at him. Stare up at the beast who could annihilate you, kill you if he wanted to. Your cunt flutters, hot and wet and leaking into the polyester fibres of your costume.

He pinches your jaws, applying pressure to force them open. His grip strength is fucking insane, and you wince, letting out the tiniest mewl. His other hand hangs at his side, and the veins are swollen, trailing up into the sleeve like thick roots. Satisfied with the way that your pretty little mouth hangs open, waiting and eager, he grips himself and wastes no time. He slaps the tip of his cock onto your tongue over and over again, before pulling your head towards it. Your throat immediately seizes up, but you force it to distend, to relax. A wave of icy panic settles over you like someone’s draped a sheet over your shoulders. He’s going to throat fuck you. You see his eyes darting around your face, watching your mouth, your eyes…

Your eyes immediately begin to water as his meaty dick violates your mouth; pressing into the back of your throat, bumping into your cheeks to stretch them out, grazing along your teeth when your jaws involuntarily close in hopes of hindering his thrusts. It doesn’t work. Both hands are pressed against the wall, fingers splayed out. He pounds into you, slipping in and out of your perfect little throat.

He fucks it harder, groaning louder and louder. The hollow sound of his cock hitting the back of your throat almost sends him over the edge. Your breath is sticky with his pre-cum, and every time you try to pull your head back for a reprieving gulp down, he slams his hips into your mouth, bumping the back of your skull against the wall with a thud.

Desperate, you reach up, wrapping your slender fingers around his cock, tightening around the base until he pulls away, looking down at you.

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” You ask, putting on your best coy kitty voice in hopes that it will end the merciless barrage on your throat. Your words are congealed and messy, airways still coated with his fluids. He considers this for a moment, a whole slew of thoughts playing out. Finally, he nods, and hastily brings you to your feet.

Grateful that the diversion was working, you reach down between your legs, finding the cloth covered zipper and pull it open. It was added for convenience, and it certainly served that purpose as the werewolf guided his heavy cock into your wet, waiting slit. At first, he toys with it, smearing his head over your puffy, sensitive clit and pulling desperate, whining gasps from your mouth every time he drags it upwards. But soon, that isn’t enough for him, and he buries himself in you, plunging his cock to the base. The stretch of your walls, your cunt doing her best to accommodate his girth, had you crying out. He was bigger than you’d prepped yourself mentally for, but at least your pussy was gushing with lubrication, ready for every bit of what he had to give you.

He found his speed quickly, humping you with reckless abandon. Trying to find something - anything to use as leverage to hold onto, your fingers slipped into the slit on the backside of the mask, toying with almost shoulder length strands of hair. They’re soft, and slightly wavy. Wait. Not that other guys couldn’t have wavy hair, but the thought is too overwhelming. Lightning fast, you reach for the mask, pulling it up just above his chin and Kai’s vascular hand catches yours, holding it tight. The visual is enough for you to realise.

“No fucking way.”

Immediately, he yanks the mask back down over his face and cups his hand over your mouth, suppressing the scream that he knew was coming. He’s pressing hard enough that the cartilage in your nose begins to ache. You stare hard into the eyes of the werewolf, breathing heavy through your nostrils as you’re seeing what you hadn’t seen before. Those dark, almost black brown eyes staring back at you. The same ones that you’d seen roll at you or glare at you so many times before. The same fucking ones.

You heard his chuckling breath behind the mask. He leaned forward, pressing the latex nose against your ear and began panting into it obnoxiously, like a dog. His thrusts matched his breath, his rock hard cock pounding up into you remorselessly.

You wrestle away from his hand, freeing your mouth enough to speak. “Get your fucking dick out of me, Kai.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He thrusts harder and crams his fingers in your mouth, as though he’s pulling your next words from your throat. You bite down and he groans through clenched teeth. You feel his cock twitch inside you. He likes this.

“Is that what you really want? Say it and I’ll stop.”

You struggle with the words, they won’t leave your lips the way you want them to. You can feel your own arousal leaking down your thighs in response to the way his dick is hitting every spot.

“I knew it. Always have.”

That infuriated you, but you couldn’t argue. Not with his fingers in your mouth, or the veins of his thick cock massaging your insides better than any of your dildos at home did.

“I knew you didn’t hate me,” he started. You could hear it in his voice that one of his egocentric, mansplaining, delusional monologues was on the way. Usually, you’d just roll your eyes at Winter and turn to your phone, but he had you in a position where you had to listen. He liked that, too. You let out a loud moan as he hammered inside of you, hoisting one leg up to your chest.

“The opposite, actually. You act like such dumb little slut around me, so angered by everything I do. I see through it. Your act. Much like waving a bloody steak in front of a hungry dog, your salivating is irrepressible.”

Did he really just say what you thought? “Listen, you piece of —“

He forces you to cut yourself off with another moan, pressing your leg farther into your chest. Your cunt swallows him whole with every thrust, and the hatred you have for him is leaking out of your pussy and along your thighs.

You slam your head against the wall, letting your neck go slack. It feels so good, Kai feels so good.

“Say it, say you fuckin’ like it…”

You shake your head. You won’t give him that satisfaction. His bare hand rears up, and comes down across your face. Your cheek burns with stinging, searing pain before you even have time to process that he’s just slapped you - backhanded you with months of pent up rage and frustration. Enraged, you reach for the mask, yanking it off and tossing it down the stairs where it tumbles to the bottom step. His greasy strands are separated with sweat, and a sheen of it covers his shapely nose and forehead. There it is; the face that was the receptor of so many insults, so much hatred. Every time you saw it, you ran your mouth like a schoolyard bully with a crush.

“I will fucking kill you….” Anger dribbles out of your mouth like spit. You wanted him to see you say that unobstructed.

“Yeah?” Kai challenges, reaching down to thumb your clit like the joystick of a game controller. He’s smiling, absolutely delighted by your intrinsic, feminine anger. Your recalcitrance fuels him further, and he bucks his hips up into your cunt, the head of his cock bumping deep into you, as far as it can go. You writhe under his grip, clenching your teeth. It almost hurts, but he’s building it, faster and deeper, and the burning coil in your stomach winds tighter. It burns just above your bladder. You feel like you have to piss, and Kai says,

“Defiant little slut.”

Seconds later, you’re losing it over his cock, your orgasm splashing over his jeans and your furry legs.

He doesn’t stop fucking you and within a few thrusts, you’re so severely overstimulated that your legs are quivering. Briefly, you become aware of the Halloween music that’s playing out in the living room. A salty ribbon of sweat drips into your eyes, stinging.

“S-stop, fuck… stop.”

He ignores you and keeps fucking you, drilling your swollen cunt like it’s a tournament and he’s determined to win it. And when he does, Kai grips your throat and holds your jaw in place. He assertively holds your gaze as he shoots his hot, thick load into your weeping pussy, making sure you wished that you hadn’t taken the mask off.

His once prevalent boner was now fading away, and Kai stuffs it back into his jeans, keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer before he turns and casually descends his basement steps. He stops to pick up the mask, swinging it back and forth like a child’s toy.

Doused in sweat and anger, you want to collapse to the floor and scream. Instead, you zip yourself up, wiping your slick fingers off on your thighs, and somehow manoeuvre around the crowds to the bathroom. You reel around and lock the door, before turning to the sink.

You brace yourself, holding yourself over the sink’s basin. You look at yourself in the mirror; your cute little whiskers are smeared on one side, and streaks of mascara are running down your cheeks in its place. Your black nose is rubbed off, undoubtedly smeared in Kai’s bush of pubic hair. Fucker. Your pink lipstick is practically gone, the only remnants are a faint hue around the perimeter.

As you stood there in Winter’s bathroom, head hanging over the sink, you searched for the disgust, panicking as you rifled through your mind to find the inevitable horror that you were going to experience. You were ruined by that cringe monkey — he violated you. Right? You waited for the gag, the vomit even, to hurl itself up your throat. That was what was supposed to happen after something like that… wasn’t it? The disgust? The anger?

But it wasn’t coming. In fact, something much more alarming had settled in its place. Your cunt still felt warm, and you rubbed your thighs together, smearing the mixture of cum into the soft kitty fur. You felt invigorated. You hadn’t been fucked like that…. Ever. You heaved a sigh of relief like someone who had been submerged underwater, and was suddenly let up.

You reach into your discreetly placed thigh pocket and pull your phone out, hurriedly swiping past the notifications that flooded your screen. You pull up Messages, and tap on Winter’s icon. She’s in your pinned contacts, a favourite.

I found your brother

You hit send.

Almost immediately, the status went from delivered to read, but Winter didn’t reply. You know why, and she knows why.

You might’ve hated Kai. But your pussy didn’t.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randodummy /

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[shares-a-vest]

@steddielovemonth Day 25: Love is… Asking, “Do you want a blanket?” (Prompt by @thefreakandthehair)

wc: 952 | Rated: T | cw: Hospital setting, mild descriptions of injuries and general hospital stuff, physical pain, one mention of blood

Tags: Post-s4, Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Hospital

'Hospital Blankets'

“Steve? Hey, Steve?”

Steve is pulled out of a restless slumber by Eddie’s stage whispering. A twinge in his back fully rouses him as he remembers exactly where he is – in Hawkins General, bent up like a pretzel on what is quite possibly the world’s hardest chair, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and his underwear. He blinks harshly, his vision blurry as he looks in the direction of the chattering, dark-headed form lying in the bed in front of him.

“Huh?” he grunts, his voice thick with sleep as he becomes very much aware of the overall pain radiating over his whole body.

His throat burns too, even from a single word. He instinctively reaches a hand up to the reddened scar there – already a formed habit – only to scratch himself with his patient wristband.

“Do you want a blanket?” Eddie continues, his weakened voice indicating he is barely conscious, let alone aware of Steve’s discomfort.

Steve arches his back this time but it causes his chewed-up sides to ache, the bandages stiffening and contorting. Their tacky borders pinching at the already tight skin and scar tissue.

He gives up and slumps back in the chair, clutching the armrests for dear life as a twang shoots directly up his spine to his head. He runs a hand through his hair, impossible to keep from flopping in his face considering all he can do is give himself a goddamn sponge bath these days.

He should have just listened to Robin (and more than a few disgruntled nurses) when they begged him to stay in his own room.

But his room feels empty. Big and dark, just like his family home but a little more white and clinical smelling. It gives him nightmares. If he manages to settle enough to sleep that is…

It’s kinda hard when your friends are scattered throughout the bowels of the local hospital, all in varying states of distress meanwhile, outside the world has half caved in.

“Steeeve,” Eddie whines this time as he repeats, “Do you want a blanket?”

He half dry-sobs his query and Steve has no choice but to shimmy upright – thankfully, the slippery cover of his stupid seat helps him up this time.

Blanket… he finally considers and finds himself stifling a shiver.

He didn’t think to bring a blanket with him as he was much too focused on getting out of bed and down the hall to Eddie’s room. A room that is much colder than his own, which the occupant clearly knows.

Eddie’s fist is balled up in his blankets, offering them up as he raises his shaky arm.

“No,” Steve says softly, shaking his head and waving him away.

Eddie needs it more.

With a herculean effort, Steve moves the chair a few inches closer to the bed, hoping it isn’t scraping the floor or tangling up any of the wires and tubes hooked up to beeping machines – god knows where they each begin and end. His sides all but seize up as he sits back down and forces himself to correct his posture.

“But you’re cold,” Eddie frowns, his voice impossibly small.

“I’m fine,” Steve protests.

Eddie’s weak hand punches at his banket in a haphazard swish motion.

“Get into bed with me…” he mumbles, closing his eyes, “Rest with me, sweetheart.”

His head lolls to the side and Steve huffs out a laugh. Eddie is certainly on one hell of a cocktail of meds, mixed with the overall exhaustion that must come from almost dying. Steve can barely keep his own eyes open and he wasn’t anywhere near as close to it.

His heart thuds in his chest as thoughts of Eddie’s almost lifeless body rush back to his sleepy brain.

Dustin’s sobs… Robin scrambling to tear up clothes and sheets from the Upside Down version of the Munson’s trailer to make bandages… Nancy forcing everyone to focus as she devised a game plan, stopping every few moments to shoot down undead bats…

Steve screws his eyes shut and stands, bracing his arms on the sides of the chair before swiftly moving them to the bed for purchase.

At least Eddie’s right side is a little less banged up – but only just enough, Steve thinks as he hikes back the three warm layers of blankets enough to sit himself down on the bed. He swings his legs up next, clenching his jaw as every muscle in his body aches and pains from what transpired however many days ago.

The bed is a tight fit, but Steve doesn’t mind. The mattress is perhaps a fraction more comfortable than the chair, but he soon warms as he settles down and rights the blankets, smoothing them out for good measure and double-checking he hasn’t disturbed Eddie too much.

His body warms almost instantly as he rests his head beside Eddie’s on his pillow, positioned close enough that he can feel frizzed dark curls tickling his cheek. Eddie’s wispier than he expected and smells of the generic hospital soap – but at least the dried and caked-up blood is gone.

“That’s good…” Eddie coos, turning his head to face Steve, those tickling tendrils now replaced with a soft woosh of his breathing.

He can see the scar on Eddie’s cheek now. The bandage patch has been removed, exposing raw stitches today. Steve sighs, relieved by the smallest of steps forward.

Eddie can’t do much more than reach his hand out. And Steve takes it, interlacing their fingers despite the heart monitor clipped onto Eddie’s right index finger.

“Blanket’s... warm…” he mutters, nodding as he feels slumber tugging at him once again.

Eddie hums in agreeance and lightly squeezes his hand.

[hellfirenacht]

Wing Man: End Credit Scene

Fic Summary: Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington is your best friend, and is constantly striking out. Sick of this, you two make a deal; you’ll wing man for each other. Hooking Steve up with dates is easy, but he finds himself struggling to find you a date. At least, until Dustin starts talking about his new cool friend Eddie.

Chapter Summary: Post Credit Scene

Words: 786

(Master List 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 Epilogue Post Credit)

A young boy with short and unruly curls stares at the vending machines. He has very limited pocket money, having spent the morning poking through every payphone and looking under every couch cushion for the last quarter to allow him to buy a bag of chips and a TAB. 

He punches in the code for the soda, double and triple checking to make sure he’s going to get his desired treat. With success, the soda falls with a satisfying THUNK and he carefully tucks it into his coat pocket. 

Now he moves to the snack machine and punches in the number for the chips, again double checking that it is correct. The machine makes a noise, and the swirly metal that holds the chips shakes for a moment and then... nothing. 

No satisfying fall of the chips, just a mechanical hum and then silence. 

The boy frowns and reached out to push the coin return button. 

Nothing happens. 

He pushes it again, a few more times in a row, and is still met with a stillness. 

He gives the machine a shake and a smack before letting out a defeated sigh. He leans against the machine, and tries to remind himself that at least he got his soda, which is more than he could normally say. The thought that he could ask a teacher or the principal for a refund crosses his mind, but that’s quickly shut down by common sense. No one would give a shit about letting the poor freak get his quarter back. 

“Is it broken again?” Someone asks him, and he looks up to see a girl about his age. She’s holding a library book and a few sheets of loose paper. 

The boy nods. “Yeah, it ate my quarter.” He says. 

The girl moves next to him, and he’s unsure how to feel about someone so close to him. Ever since middle school started, most people avoided him like the plague but this girl seems more concerned about the vending machine. 

She digs into her pocket and pulls out her own shiny set of quarters and drops one. Both kids reach down to pick the coins up but end up bumping their heads together and laughing awkwardly. The boy picks up the quarter while the girl rubs her forehead. 

The girl takes the quarter and looks at the machine. “Which one screwed you?”

“B3.” The boy replies. 

She looks at the vending machine and pokes at the 3 button a few times before handing over her library book to him. He looks down at the cover, it’s a book on how to do origami which seems pretty random to him. The girl pulls out a folded piece of paper (is that supposed to be a fish or a frog?) and starts rubbing the folded seam between the buttons. 

“3 sticks.” she said. “That’s what someone told me at least.” 

She pushes B3 again. Nothing happens. 

“They might have also been full of shit.” she shrugs and the boy laughs at the bluntness. “Is there a different one you want?” 

He looks at the options and settles on a candy bar at the bottom. “That one.”

She pushes the buttons, and this time, it falls successfully. The boy pulls it out and quickly unwraps it. 

“Here.” he says and snaps it in half, handing it over to the girl who takes it, along with her book. 

“Are you sure?” she asks, and he nods. 

The bell rings, signaling that they have about 30 seconds to get to home room before either of them would be in trouble. The girl hands over the piece of paper she had tried to use to help him. (Maybe it’s a car? No, cars don’t have legs but neither do fish... this has to be a fish, right?)

“Trade you.” She says with a smile and quickly runs off towards her class. The boy awkwardly waves before turning and hurrying towards his own homeroom. 

The alleged frog would eventually get covered in chocolate and tossed with other garbage at the end of the week. The half of the girls candy bar would be eaten in three bites and forgotten about. Ultimately, this interaction that only lasted three minutes at most shouldn’t mean anything. 

Most meetings are rarely memorable or dramatic. Sometimes, you meet someone once and never see them again. Sometimes, you’re lucky enough to meet someone for the first time over and over. 

Eddie Munson never thought of himself as lucky. You never thought of yourself as much of anything. 

It’s a good thing that it never mattered, as the two of you met over and over until there were no more firsts and only continuations.

I've never finished a fic that was more than 3 chapters. Say something nice to me, please 💜

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

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[seat-safety-switch]

Like any honest, well-adjusted human being, I've often had reason in my life to daydream about owning my own 1,600-ton sheet metal press. I don't want to have to go to the junkyard for a fourth time this weekend just because I forgot the passenger door is also rusted out.

Why should the automakers have all the fun? Sure, they have millions upon millions of dollars, whereas I have about fifteen bucks in my wallet. They have enormous facilities capable of serving the mechanical and electrical demands of such an intense machine, and I have a motorcycle gas tank on my kitchen table because there's simply nowhere else to put it. Automakers can source kilometers-long rolls of precision-engineered high-strength steel, and I think I might be able to weld some stolen road signs together with enough advance notice. This, it turns out, is all details compared to the big problem with setting up my own autobody foundry in my backyard: the noise.

Yes, friends. Like in many well-meaning jurisdictions all across this once-great land, the bigwigs at City so-called Hall have decided to stick their noses where they don't belong. Regulating that residential neighbourhoods are not allowed to operate massive industrial machinery in the backyards is against what the founding motherfathers intended when they stole this country from the people who were already living there. Back then, people made wagon wheels in their backyard. They didn't have the luxury of going on RockAuto and ordering them from a distant trading partner, somewhere that they still built things.

What am I saying? We need to shake up government in this country. I envision a world in which the government pays you to punch out new tailgates for a 1993 F-150, immaculate bumperettes for a Valiant, and rust-free patch panels for Escorts. They will tell you it can't be done, which is even more proof that we need to go do it ourselves. If you manage to find someone willing to back this political project, send them by my house. I'll be there all weekend trying to figure out where the Princess Auto warranty on $10 hydraulic bearing presses and $3 ball-peen hammers becomes invalid.

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