#Bungee Shock Cord

[postoutreach]

Enhance Your Outdoor Gear with Bungee Shock Cords

When it comes to outdoor activities, having the right equipment can make all the difference. Whether you are camping, hiking, or kayaking, securing your gear properly is crucial to ensure a safe and stress-free experience. One essential tool for adventurers and outdoor enthusiasts alike is the bungee cord. These highly versatile and durable cords are ideal for securing and transporting equipment, holding things together, or even crafting custom solutions. With a variety of options available, bungee cords offer the strength and flexibility needed for almost any task.

In this article, we'll explore the different types of bungee cords, their uses, and why upgrading your outdoor gear with bungee shock cords is a smart move.

Why Bungee Cords Are a Must-Have

Bungee cords (or bungy cords) are elastic cords that are used for a wide range of purposes. Their flexibility and strength make them invaluable when it comes to securing items or absorbing shock during transportation. The main advantage of bungee cords is their ability to stretch and return to their original length, providing secure and reliable fastening in situations where standard ropes might fail.

Versatility for Outdoor Use

Bungee cords are useful in countless scenarios, from securing tarps and camping gear to attaching kayaks to your roof rack. Their versatility makes them essential for any outdoor enthusiast. Additionally, bungee cords with hooks allow for quick attachment, saving time and effort when loading or unloading gear.

For waterproof applications, such as boating or kayaking, a waterproof bungee cord ensures that your gear stays securely fastened even in wet or rainy conditions. This makes bungee hooks an excellent choice for outdoor activities where water resistance is crucial.

Marine Grade Bungee Cords with 2 Hooks

One of the top options for bungee cords in outdoor gear is the marine grade bungee cord. This high-quality cord stands out for its durability and reliability in challenging environments.

Key Features:

Durability: Made with a Dacron polyester sheath, this bungee cord resists UV rays, moisture, and abrasion, making it perfect for outdoor use.

Easy Fastening: The metal hooks provide secure attachment points, allowing for quick and efficient fastening to roof racks, truck beds, or even back to the cord itself.

Variety: Available in various lengths (from 16” to 72”) and colors such as black, blue, neon orange, red, white, and woodland camo, it offers flexibility in any situation.

Versatile Uses: Ideal for securing gear during travel, camping, or outdoor activities.

Availability: Sold in a 4-pack, the Marine Grade Bungee Cords with 2 Hooks provide an excellent option for any outdoor adventurer looking for dependable, long-lasting bungee cords.

Diamond Grip Elastic Bungee Cord

For those in need of a bungee cord with exceptional grip, the  diamond grip elastic bungee cord is an ideal choice. Made with a unique diamond-shaped grip cover, this cord offers superior handling and elasticity.

Key Features:

Elasticity: With 100% stretch, it is perfect for creating bungee straps, cargo nets, and more.

Tensile Strength: Ranging from 100 lbs for the 1/8” size to 555 lbs for the 1/2” size, the Diamond Grip Bungee Cord is highly durable.

Made in the USA: This bungee cord is proudly made in the USA, ensuring premium quality and reliability.

This bungee cord is perfect for activities like camping, kayaking, and biking, where a high grip and secure fastening are essential. Whether you're securing cargo or storing items, the Diamond Grip Elastic Bungee Cord will not disappoint.

Marine Grade Dacron Polyester Shock Cord

When it comes to strength and longevity, the  marine grade dacron polyester shock cord is unmatched. It is specifically designed for prolonged exposure to sunlight, moisture, and friction.

Key Features:

UV and Water Resistance: This cord’s outer polyester layer repels water and resists abrasion, making it ideal for marine and outdoor use.

High Modulus: The inner latex rubber core provides consistent 100% stretch, ensuring that the cord maintains its elasticity over time.

Available in Multiple Diameters: Ranging from 1/8” to 3/8”, it caters to various needs, whether you need bungee cords for securing large or small loads.

With its strong and durable construction, this waterproof bungee cord is excellent for securing loads in outdoor environments.

DuraStretch Shock Cord

For applications that require even more elasticity and strength, the  durastretch shock cord is an excellent choice. This high-quality bungee cord offers unparalleled performance in securing and protecting your gear.

Key Features:

Elasticity: With a stretch capacity of up to 130%, this cord ensures exceptional flexibility and strength.

Non-Slip Grip: The outer braid of MULTITEX polypropylene fibers provides a non-slip grip, making it easy to handle.

UV Protection: This cord is UV resistant, meaning it will withstand prolonged sun exposure without degrading.

Water Resistant: Even in wet conditions, the DuraStretch Shock Cord maintains its elasticity and strength.

From securing car tarps to protecting garden equipment, the DuraStretch Shock Cord is a versatile tool that offers superior performance in any outdoor setting.

Dyneema (Spectra) Shock Cord

Last but not least, the  dyneema shock cord is the perfect balance between affordability and high performance. Ideal for marine and outdoor use, this cord offers numerous advantages.

Key Features:

Budget-Friendly: This bungee cord provides exceptional value without compromising on quality.

Versatile Use: Suitable for crafting bungee straps, kayak deck straps, or even hammock suspension systems, the Dyneema Shock Cord is highly adaptable.

Color Options: Available in black and white, this cord suits a wide variety of preferences.

For those looking for a waterproof, UV-resistant, and rot-proof bungee cord, the Dyneema Shock Cord is an excellent option.

FAQs

What is the difference between bungee cords and shock cords?

Bungee cords and shock cords are often used interchangeably. However, bungee cords are typically associated with elastic cords that come with hooks, while shock cords are the elastic material itself, often without hooks.

Can I use bungee cords for securing items in wet conditions?

Yes, many bungee cords, such as waterproof bungee cords, are designed to resist moisture and maintain their elasticity even in wet conditions.

What makes marine-grade bungee cords different?

Marine-grade bungee cords, like the Marine-grade bungee Cords, are made with UV and water-resistant materials, making them more durable and suitable for harsh outdoor and marine environments.

How much weight can bungee cords hold?

The weight capacity of a bungee cord depends on its size. For example, the diamond grip elastic bungee cord can hold up to 555 lbs, depending on the diameter.

What are some common uses for bungee cords with hooks?

Bungee cords with hooks are perfect for securing cargo, bundling items, attaching equipment to roof racks, and much more. The metal hooks allow for quick and easy attachment.

Conclusion

In conclusion, upgrading your outdoor gear with bungee shock cords is a practical and smart decision. From securing heavy loads to protecting delicate items during transport, bungee cords offer flexibility, strength, and durability in all outdoor environments. Whether you need a waterproof bungee cord or one with high elasticity, there's a bungee solution for every situation.

[el-huddpudd]

#if i had a time machine i'd be the one who stole a suitcase of my grandma's gardening sweatshirts

god. yeah. maybe time travel is real. maybe that's why the suitcase was stolen but the wheelchair was left. they'll all be returned to us someday

will gao is the most wholesome person ever to exist

[canarydarity]

(haha happy new year! Heres 6K words of DL ranchers fighting 🤩 [ao3]) dull&slow

There was no feeling like a respawn; it was like jumping off of a building with nothing below to catch you, only to discover you had in fact been fastened into a harness when the bungee cord snapped taut. Except, it also wasn’t like that at all, because the mechanics of respawning—regardless of permanence—did nothing to curb the feeling of death, the actual sensation of dying. All it really did was remove the relief that one might experience had death been final, for what is death but a merciful release from pain? 

Jimmy imagined that there were few things that could even begin to feel like what a respawn did—the simultaneous cracking of all your joints at once in a manner akin to a human glow stick; ice cream that had been left out on the counter to melt but was then shoved back into the freezer again after only making it to that indescribably viscous stage between solid and liquid; a jam in a paper shredder—the kind where half of the page is relieved and sticking out of the top, completely intact and fine, while the rest is in ribbons below, still warm to the touch at the recent dismemberment. 

And that was only the physical aspect—the violent draw of your subconscious from the brink of death to perfect health mid-panic was something else entirely. It never got any easier, no matter how many times he did it (and Jimmy did it a lot). 

This was their second respawn, but it was different in the way that it happened unlike it did the first time: together. It was new but not unexpected to shoot up in bed at the ranch, cows mooing to his left and moonlight peaking through the window to his right. Jimmy heaved some breaths in and out; logically, he knew he was fine, but his body remembered the vertigo of falling. 

Tango was next to him, still lying back in their small bed staring at the ceiling. 

For a few beats, they were quiet, they caught their breath. The buzz of the cicadas outside was heavy in a way, droning alongside the cacophony of cows and the muted clucks of chickens from below ground. 

When his eyes began to itch and dry out from staring at nothing and his heaving sounded more like huffing, Jimmy broke the silence first. 

“I was leanin’ over the edge…why was I leaning over the edge?” His words were incredulous and barely there, only formed enough to actually get them out of his mouth but not any further. Had Tango not been right next to him, he probably wouldn’t have heard. 

Tango sat up, “Jim, hey–hey!” One of Tango’s hands reached behind Jimmy and settled on his shoulder, the other moved across himself to settle on Jimmy’s arm. “It’s okay! It’s only our second life, it was bound to happen sooner or la—”

Jimmy blinked out of his daze to realize Tango was soothing him; It was not shocking in the way it hadn’t happened before—it had actually, in fact, happened quite often—but in the way it was happening now. the combination of noises pushing in all around the ranch, having just lived through dying, again, and Tango’s warmth that he would’ve appreciated any other time, made it all immediately too much. Tango was soothing him—Tango misunderstood. 

It was instinct to throw Tango’s arm off of him, to scatter, to stand and create distance, and had Jimmy been in the right state of mind he would’ve explained that and apologized, but Tango’s shocked offense was the last thing he was focusing on. 

“No, you—why was I leaning over the edge?” 

It was the only thought that had run through his head since he’d woken up and stopped feeling like an egg mid-scramble. Not worry about being on red life, not concern about having been the one to return the favor of killing Tango this time, not upset that things were shaping up like they always did. 

Tango wasn’t necessarily wrong to assume that that’s where Jimmy’s thoughts had gone, as that’s usually where they would have. But this was not Jimmy when he was anxious, when he was guilty; This was Jimmy when he was mad.

He was pacing, but he wasn’t aware when it had started. He was just—he couldn’t stop thinking about fish. Or—no, not fish, parasites; there was this parasite he’d heard about that matures in the eye of a fish but reproduces in the belly of a bird. Jimmy had heard this and thought what a stupid, impossible thing—and he’d thought he had shit luck.  

That was until he’d heard the rest. Under control of the parasite, infected fish swim closer and closer to the surface of the water, leading it to be spotted and picked up by a bird; the parasite ends up where it needed to be all along, and that damned stupid fish is what gets it there. It doesn’t know what it’s doing, it’s not choosing to swim near the surface—by that point, the parasite is choosing for it—but it’s still— 

It just—

The fish gets itself eaten, essentially. The scariest part, Jimmy thought, was that he wasn’t sure the fish even knew. Was it aware it had been infected? Or was it swimming up and up and up and thinking what the fuck am I doing? Was it resting precariously below the surface, watching in fear as the birds circle, knowing all it had to do to avoid being eaten was swim the fuck back down, but for some reason, it just couldn’t?

Jimmy just—why was he leaning over the edge? His hands were wrapped around his stomach, griping his sides, hard. His teeth were grinding together, or he was biting his lip, or he was mumbling nonsense that even he didn’t know what meant. 

The floorboards of the ranch creaked and groaned with his pacing, and Tango remained watching from the bed, his face still painted in confusion. 

A noise—something caught between a whine and a grumble—worked its way out of Jimmy's throat, and more words came with it.  

“I saw them with their bows and arrows out—Joel, Etho, Scott—and I—” He shook his head. “We’d have been fine if I just didn’t peak my head over!” 

Jimmy turned back to Tango and pointed at him; Tango blinked, but the accusation delivered wasn’t for him. “And they weren’t even shooting at Grian, at—why weren’t they shooting at anyone else?”

Tango shook his head a little, opened his mouth to reply, but Jimmy wasn’t done. “I don’t understand—I don’t—” he grabbed at his hair and pulled; he bit into his lip again, not stopping when it started to hurt even though he knew Tango must’ve felt the ghost of it too. Jimmy rocked in place, “I even thought it. I thought ‘what are you leaning over the edge for, idiot!’ And then!” 

Jimmy spun, but no form of movement could match the direction of his thoughts, the restlessness of his mind. He felt like he was malfunctioning, every action begun and then subsequently aborted in favor of another; as if he could stop it all if he could just get himself to feel physically how he felt mentally, equilibrium a sort of saving grace. 

Jimmy hit himself in the head once like he could knock things back into place, fix whatever was loose in there–get the paper to start shredding again; in pieces, maybe, things would be okay. There was a call behind him of stop that, hey, none of that! and the bed creaked as Tango finally made the move to stand. 

“I don’t understand,” Jimmy mumbled again. They were inside, but his hair still felt the wind ruffle through it as though he were at high altitude; his hands touched nothing, but he could grip the hardwood of the defense tower all the same, rough and splintering. Joel and Etho had stood so far below, looking up, each with a hand up to their eyes to shield them from the sun. Jimmy remembered every detail about that moment—Grian had been leaning over right next to him. “Stupid parasite and it—why weren’t they shooting at anyone else? All I had to do was not lean over…”

Jimmy startled when Tango spoke again, he’d forgotten for a moment he wasn’t alone. 

“I don’t follow—parasite? What pa—”

Right, he wasn’t alone. 

“Gosh, and I’ve killed you, too, we’re–we’re red!” Jimmy said, facing Tango again. “And we’re back to nothing, we’ve lost everything—the horns, they’d have taken them by now, surely.” The anger from before seeped back into his voice, and Tango kept his space; a part of Jimmy felt bad at that, but he mostly felt validated. The guilt would come later, his chest didn’t house the room to feel so many things at once. 

Though space didn’t mean Tango was willing to stay out of things completely. 

“Jimmy, just hold on, I can’t keep up.” Tango was clearly still thrown by the direction things had gone in—he’d been expecting to reassure, not pacify—but Jimmy didn’t have it in him to stop and explain. His hands out like he was corralling a feral animal, he said, “What are you even…? Slow down, alright.” 

And maybe that was the last straw—his soulmate, known for his rage, asking him to calm, to slow down; the stark contrast between the Tango standing in front of him—hands splayed, face confused but determined—and the Tango who’d needed to be restrained as the ranch smoldered behind them; the fact that it was Jimmy who was being looked at like a time bomb with not even 5 seconds left to spare. 

This time, the accusation was meant for Tango, and Jimmy watched him stumble a little in shock when he received it. He threw his hand out like he’d needed that extra strength to pull the question from him, like his throat wasn’t up for the challenge alone, like he had to prove this was something he wanted to start and start now.  

“Why aren’t you mad?”

Tango’s face wound up with disbelief. “What?” 

Jimmy’s voice wasn’t made to be raised, but he gave it his best effort. It hurt, in a way—his throat not used to the coarse delivery; it hurt more for the fact that he’d made Tango the object of its direction. 

“You’re sitting here, and you’re calm,” he spat. “And—and you’re telling ME to be calm! Me!” Jimmy huffed again at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. “Why aren’t you mad?”

This time as Jimmy spoke, Tango wound down; he visibly CTRL+ALT+DLT-ed, a total system shutdown reboot. His hands dropped back to his sides and he stood up straighter. His face reset until he was just blankly watching Jimmy sputter and steam. He was still in a way Tango rarely was.

Jimmy thought it was the most un-Tango-like thing he’d ever seen, and that just made things worse. 

“Because it was going to happen either way, I could’ve just as eas—” its delivery was flat, like Tango knew he was stepping off of a bear trap but onto a landmine; though he did it anyway, and in most circumstances, his dedication to the idea of if at first you don’t succeed! was something Jimmy found endearing. If it wasn’t clear enough already, this was not most circumstances. 

Jimmy made a noise of dissent. This wasn’t—

“No, not—that’s not what I meant.”

A few beats of silence. They argued with the awkward hesitation of two people who’d never fought before and therefore didn’t know the procedure; neither of them had had time to memorize their lines. Fight was something they didn’t do—partially because they hadn’t been together long enough to garner the need, and partially because they got along with a simplicity they hadn’t expected. There was a question in this lapse between one comment and the next, an are we really going to do this?  

Tango blinked at Jimmy. “You don’t mean why am I not mad at you?” 

It would’ve been an easy out if he had. A way to walk them back to familiar ground—the kind where Jimmy was apologetic and guilty and anxious and Tango was steady and reassuring and kind. 

He couldn’t lie and say that wasn’t part of it; he was a liability, and he would never be over Tango being his collateral damage. 

He looked away from Tango, “Well—”

“Jimmy…” Pity was such an ugly, regretful thing. 

“No! No—yes, that’s not what I mean.” And it really wasn’t—at least, not at first, not completely. That was the undertone that would drive all his decisions and thoughts and feelings, it’s true, but this was different. This was—they’d died, Jimmy killed them, and Tango wasn’t upset about it; moreover, Tango was docile, passive. He was—

“Then I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

—resigned. 

Jimmy didn’t yet look back, because he knew it would be his turn to talk when he did. All that he had to explain lacked the rationale to be said aloud; simply put, he was mad because Tango wasn’t. 

“You’re gonna have to give me something to go off of here, Jim.”

Eyes still fixed resolutely on the wall, Jimmy repeated the only sentiment he really could express at the time. “You’re not mad…” He let the end trail off, embarrassed it was all he had to offer, knowing it was unfair to Tango, knowing a normal person would’ve been able to voice more; just another way Jimmy fell behind. 

“At?”

“At anything!” He was discovering that when he did yell, his voice got high, and he tended to cut off the ends of his words. They shortened, got sucked up into the emotion until they weren’t letters anymore but sounds. “You’re—I had to restrain you, practically, after Scar burned down the ranch! And I wasn’t there, but I heard about last life and I—”

He felt like his sentences were being recorded in takes; start and stop, start—stop, mark! He would sound so much better edited together. He needed a script, surely he’d be able to say the right words had someone else given them to him. He’d do it right then, he knew. Of course arguing, too, was something he wasn’t good at.

Jimmy gestured at Tango, “You’re not mad, at anything, you’re just standin’ here! We’re going to die and it’s like you don’t even…like you’re not upset.” The final clause came out dejected and unsure; it sounded like it belonged to a completely different conversation. If he were reading lines, he’d likely receive notes about consistency and remaining in character. It was hard to do that when he wasn’t sure who he was or was ever supposed to be.

Tango looked no less confused. “That’s how the game works, Jimmy—we’re all going to die at some point.”

“I know that, Tango, I know.” Jimmy bit his lip. “How are you just okay with it?”

Tango’s eyebrows raised in shock, the kind that spoke to his questioning the audacity of something. “Well, I’m not happy about it, bu—”

“You are, though.” 

Eyes narrow, frustration finally starting to seep in, Tango said: “No, I’m not.”

“You are!” This felt more tantrum than argument; more whining about not getting his way than making a point about having been wronged; he wasn’t really sure he had been wronged. At least, not by Tango. But he didn’t know how to rewind, he didn’t think there was a going back. 

“Damnit, Jimmy, I’m not. You think I want to lose this?” 

No, Jimmy didn’t—and that’s why he was so confused. 

“Then why aren’t you angry that’s what I don’t��” This line of questioning wasn’t going to work—he’d already discovered that again and again. He needed to figure out a different direction to head in. “Even now I’m yellin’ at you and you’re just there.”

“So now you’re mad because I’m not yelling at you?” Annoyance, frustration, irritation—they were close, but none of them were what Jimmy wanted. Or—not what he wanted but what he needed. People were mad at him far too often for him to crave it in this uncommon time when no one was, but he needed to know Tango was with him on this.

“No, Tango!” Jimmy whined.

“Well you’re not explaining anything, what am I supposed to think? That’s what it sounds like you’re saying to me!” His voice finally at an above-normal volume, Jimmy shrunk; reality wasn’t ever quite like expectation, was it? The simultaneous relief mixed with the guilt, and everything got worse; he thought maybe that’d been his goal all along, he could see it now that it had occurred. And yet, it wasn’t right; sure, Tango was mad—but he still didn’t get it. Tango kept rambling.

“You’re mad that I’m not mad, and you say it’s not about you, but then you’re also mad I’m not yelling at you—which I have yet to figure out, by the way, and—” 

Following Tango’s wild hand gestures, Jimmy’s eyes landed on their wall of chests, and he knew what he needed to do. He scooted past Tango, who turned to keep facing him, and started rooting around until he found what he was looking for. 

“Oh, and you’re ignoring me too, now, which is neat,” Tango said to his back.

He’d wrapped it in a bundle of spare wool hoping that bed made they wouldn’t need much else and Tango wouldn’t find it on accident, but he pulled it out now and turned back to face Tango gripping it in his hand.

His soulmate shut up immediately, his gaze first on Jimmy’s hand, and then up at his eyes. 

“Where did you get that.” The anger was finally there, but Jimmy didn’t immediately respond. “Why do you have that?”

The golden apple was cold in his hand, colder than he thought it should have been. It glowed slightly in the darkness of the ranch, a yellow hue that spread out in a dim radius; he had the bizarre thought that it would've made a good nightlight had it not been illegal. Jimmy had always been a bit scared of the dark (he’d been pleased, then, when the game had started and he found that his soulmate glowed just the same). He didn’t need the apple sitting on the lid of their chests to provide light—not so long as he had Tango; how ironic then that he only got both or none, that consuming—and therefore getting rid of—the apple would rid him of Tango, too. 

Jimmy didn’t want to be left alone in the dark, but that was sort of why he looked back at Tango and he said, “I think you should eat it.”

“No.” It was both a response and an expression of disbelief rolled into one; a no, this conversation is not happening, not now, and a no way in hell is that thing getting anywhere near my mouth. The stillness was back, but it was more dangerous this time; less resigned, more preparing to strike.

Jimmy repeated himself, lifting his arm and holding the apple between them as he did. “Tango, you should eat it.”

“No.” Tango shook his head. “Jimmy, I said no.” 

“Why not?”

“Why not?” A sardonic, humorless laugh made its way out of Tango, and Jimmy flinched at the sound; a broken echo of their usual selves. “This is a joke, right? There’s something here that I’m missing that makes this all super-happy-funny and we’ll laugh about it in 5 minutes.”

“I’m serious, Tango.”

His hands on his hips, Tango nodded at Jimmy as he said, “you are.” It was deceptively compliant, mockingly understanding. Jimmy was misled often enough in conversation to recognize when he was being set up, but he hadn’t quite yet learned the skill of letting things go; he walked again and again through a door labeled trap! which was how he knew he was doing it now. 

“Yes...” 

“Serious-serious, you’re seriously asking me why I don’t want to eat a golden apple.” Tango doubling down, Tango continuing to misunderstand, the fact that Jimmy couldn’t blame him for any of it, the feeling of everything at once, and the knowledge that all was out of his control; he felt his eyes well up with tears of frustration. 

“That’s what I just said...” Dejected, a clown waiting for the punchline—waiting for others to laugh at his expense; setting up joke after joke, forgetting what it was like to not provide the entertainment. 

“Well I just wanted to confirm before I informed you that that’s the stupidest question I’ve ever been asked in my entire life.” It was at this point that Jimmy let out a breath, and a tear fell with it. “Like, wow it’s almost an accomplishment how stupid that question is.”

“Tango…” He’d plead but he knew he didn’t have the right—not in this conversation of his own devising. It wouldn’t be a lie to say he didn’t know how they got here, but it wouldn’t be the truth either. 

“Really! I’d make you a ribbon to commemorate and everything if we had literally anything to our name at all.”

Catching the opportunity to jump back in, Jimmy took it. “Okay, that—that’s my point.” 

“That I haven't offered to make you a rib—” 

Jimmy cut Tango off again before he could stuff the conversation with more nonsense in defense. “That we have nothing—have had nothing since we started!” 

It was more than just luck—it was design. There came a point where chance ended, a place coincidence didn’t reach. Jimmy had dwelled long enough in the space between unlucky and doomed to know that one was cyclic, intermittent, while the other was ceaseless, fixed. Luck would come and go, but damnation? That kind of fate had been here since before all of them, and would remain long after. 

The subject was taboo, but there wasn’t a single person on this server who was unaware that Jimmy was ill-fated. They poked and prodded him about it, but any level of seriousness to the conversation was buried under veiled laughter and slightly glassy eyes; the kind of sheen to a stare that said even if they tried, they couldn’t know what it was they talked about. To everyone else, Jimmy’s “curse” was a bit they’d overindulged in; to Jimmy, it was a burden he wasn’t allowed to acknowledge. They didn’t let him. 

He’d thought maybe…Tango was being forced to share it; maybe something would click; maybe they’d let him have this for just a few weeks. 

Jimmy didn’t think he could get any more stupid. 

The sarcasm remained equipped, defenses high. “Well, I’m sorry that you think I’m not doing enough to provide for you, Jimmy, bu—”

Jimmy groaned again. “Tango can you be serious for 2 minutes! 2 minutes, please!” 

“No!” Tango was looking at him in a way he never did; a look that conveyed I cannot believe you, the underlying sentiment of dismissal that hurt more for it coming from the only person who’d ever really listened to him without reservation.“You know what, no, I cannot. If you’re going to start a ridiculous argument you’re going to get ridiculous responses—you don’t like it, too bad.”

Jimmy had been involved in a lot of ridiculous arguments before—it came with being a reactive person; he existed with defenses always already half-raised, on high alert for anything that might make him the center of negative attention. 

But this wasn’t one of them. The ranch, Tango, soulmates—they were easily the most valuable things he’d ever had—and that was why he couldn’t have them. He was going to lose it—he was already losing it; it never hurt so much when he was the only thing he had. “Gosh, dont you get it?! There’s nothing we can do—nothing! I’m gonna kill us, you understand?”

It felt good to say it out loud, to watch Tango blink in the face of such bluntness. Somehow his shock betrayed his lucidity, and proved to Jimmy what he’d feared all along: Tango felt it too. 

And that made him circle all the way back to the beginning of this stupid roundabout conversation. Maybe he didn’t know it in so many words, having less time to experience it than Jimmy did but Tango knew—their time was running out; running out in a way it didn’t for anyone else playing these games; running out in a way Jimmy had—until now—never before been allowed to acknowledge. Tango knew. 

And Tango wasn’t mad. 

“Ugh, this is—this is childish, is what it is! I don’t…I can’t believe this is happening. This is—it’s madness.” What did they bother going in circles for if they were just going to end up right where they’d started?

“You’re the one trying to force feed me a golden apple,” Tango grumbled, eyebrows raised and face mocking as he looked at the cows. A few of them were standing against the fence staring back, mooing insistently; a strange audience for a strange night. 

“Because I’m sick of it, Tango!” He was, once again, not the right recipient of this complaint, but what else was Jimmy to do? Seasons of grief built up in one desperate conversation, it was becoming more a list of grievances than a call to action. “Of all of it! Of the jokes, of losing, of—of not being in control of anything, of dying—and you—”

“Me?” Tango huffed, interrupting. “Wow, tell me how you really feel, Jim.”

Jimmy shook his head and looked down, a dismissal; his answer immediate and unhesitant. “No, that’s not what I—” 

Sick of Tango—it wasn’t possible, but he saw in his hands that he still clutched the golden apple, and he was reminded again of all the ways in which he was dangerous; of the ways in which he was the heavy rock tied around Tango’s ankle, sinking slowly despite all efforts. He closed his eyes, tight, hard enough to hurt, and swallowed the bile in his throat. “You know what, yeah. I am.”

He looked up again to look at Tango, forcing himself to look determined, sure. “Yes, I’m sick of you.”

“Jimmy…” There was a warning there, but following warnings was never Jimmy’s strong suit. 

“I am!” He didn’t think there was much of a chance Tango would believe him, but he loved Tango enough that he owed it to him to try. “I’m sick of you and how calm you’re being. We’re losing everything, again, always and you’re just standin’ around and I’m sick of it, Tango.” 

Tango refused to answer, and Jimmy knew to be any convincing at all, he had to commit. 

“I’m sick of this place,” he gestured around the ranch, rebuilt since the fire but still nowhere near as advanced as the other bases on the server; they could try and try and try but they’d never reach that level; they couldn’t be allowed to have an actual chance. “and—and how we built it from nothing and it still didn’t matter. We weren’t even doing that bad, and we’re still losing, and I’m sick of that, too!” 

Tango standing still, Tango with his hands on his hips, Tango refusing to rise to the bait in Jimmy’s words. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe me? Fine, I’ll just keep going then.” He shrugged, undeterred, glancing around as if he wasn’t bothered—and his eyes landed on the cows in the corner, still watching them as if simply their being awake meant they’d be getting fed. Jimmy raised the arm with the golden apple, using it to point at them. “These stupid cows mooing all the time—the chickens—might as well just kill ‘em all now, 'cause they’re not going to matter either, are they? I’m over this place, and—and everyone else treating us like a joke.”

He looked back at Tango when he’d finished. “And I know you’re sick of it too, you are.”

“I’m not.” This, finally, was familiar ground—Jimmy projecting, Tango reassuring—but for once, Jimmy wished his anxiety proven right, he wished Tango would give in and admit that this wasn’t what he wanted—that Jimmy wasn’t what he wanted; not if it meant the absence of a fair chance.  

“You are, you have to be.” And it was somewhat like begging. Jimmy’s never begged someone to be sick of him before—he was usually pleading for the opposite; how backward, how wrong, everything in him screaming what are you doing?! No one else had ever treated him like Tango did. 

He sniffed once—as he was still crying—and kept listing things; the sort of fears it would kill him if Tango validated, but he said them anyway. If there was any chance it’d get Tango to eat the apple and be safe. 

“You’re sick of having to cater to me, right? Of having to answer a million questions and reassure.” Tango began to shake his head, but Jimmy ignored it and kept going, stepping closer to his soulmate. 

“And I bet you’re sick of losing, too. You don’t want to lose, Tango, not again, right?” It was a low blow, but Tango didn’t look hurt so much as he looked sad; he accepted Jimmy’s meanness as a product of his fear, and he curbed his offense to make room for the heartbreak. 

Figures that Jimmy starts a needless argument insulting Tango endlessly and was still the most pitied in the room. He didn’t know if it was a product of his selfishness or Tango’s altruism, but the effect remained the same. 

Within arms reach at last, Tango raised a hand but stopped it midway between them, unsure if breaching this distance was yet allowed. When Jimmy didn’t do anything about it, Tango lowered his hand until it rested on the front-facing part of Jimmy’s shoulder, eyebrows furrowed, not trusting that this was over.

Jimmy mirrored Tango with his own hand, feeling the warmth of Tango’s vest and above-average temperature below—the heat that’d been keeping him warm at night when they couldn’t splurge on extra blankets or were sleeping in a half-burned-down building or just because. He only allowed himself to feel it for a second before he pushed—not hard, but enough to make Tango take a step back, more because he wasn’t expecting it than due to force. 

“Come on,” Jimmy pled. “Fight back. Get mad, hit me.”

“I’m not going to hit you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy stepped forward and pushed again, both hands; not harder but more firm. “Fight back, Tango, come on.”

“No.” Tango’s face was scrunched together in the most vehement disagreement he could give, and, out of options—out of energy—Jimmy made another noise somewhere between a whine and a groan and raised his hands again, only for Tango to catch them this time and drag Jimmy closer; dropping his hands the second he was within holding distance, one of Tagno’s arms wrapped around him and the other cradled the back of Jimmy’s head as he pulled it down towards his shoulder. Their height difference made it difficult at first, but they’d been practicing for weeks. 

Jimmy went without protest, arms at Tango’s waist, screwing his eyes shut tight enough that he could almost pretend he didn’t hear the I’ve got you’s that he didn’t deserve but Tango was nonetheless whispering to the side of his head. He wanted to protest—or, no, he wanted to want to protest; to keep trying until Tango understood, until Jimmy screwed up enough that Tango got fed up and left the way anyone else would’ve done weeks ago, possibly just upon finding out they were paired. 

“You’re okay—we’re okay,” Tango said. “I’ve got you. We’re going to be okay,” hand steady on the back of Jimmy’s head, holding fast when he tried to shake it and express his opposition. Jimmy didn’t think that ‘okay’ had a place here, not for them, not anymore. 

They were on their last life now, he could feel the effects of being red thrumming through him, though they weren’t as much to blame for the damage he’d caused as he wished; this disaster, like most, was entirely Jimmy’s own. 

Still murmuring and offering reassurance, fingers of one hand still scratching through Jimmy’s hair, Tango used his other to gently pry the golden apple from Jimmy—no longer putting up a fight—and toss it away without looking until it rolled on the wood flooring through the gate of the cow pen. Jimmy watched, head still on Tango’s shoulder, as the cows shuffled around for the lobbed apple, mooing increasingly louder until, after a crunch or two, it was assumed no longer there. 

He felt more so than heard Tango clear his throat, the motion vibrating through Jimmy like a warning. “I am mad,” Tango whispered, voice only half-formed at the low volume. “I am,” he repeated, “don’t think I’m not.” His tone the kind of calm that only gave way to true anger. “But what can we do?”

Jimmy closed his eyes. He didn’t know. 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

They’re in bed after, facing each other in the dark; Tango watching Jimmy, Jimmy watching their clasped hands between them. Tango’s thumb ran along the ridges and valleys of his knuckles, waiting for something, though he didn’t know what. In his mind, Jimmy was running through all he had to offer—the things he should say, the things he couldn’t voice—but what he kept getting stuck on was:

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Tango said; not exasperated, not upset, just matter of fact. 

Jimmy raised his eyes to Tangos, shaking his head as much as he could while lying down, not willing to risk any more miscommunication, “I’m not sick of it here.” 

“I know, Jimmy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” Tango pulled their joined hands until Jimmy scooted forward, head under Tango’s chin, all not forgotten but, at the moment, behind them. They were on their red life, after all—there were other things to worry about. 

Jimmy knew that the fact that Tango loved him shouldn’t be one of them, but when it was more than he wanted to live, it was. There was nothing he could do about it now. They would wake up in bed tomorrow and, maybe if they were lucky, the day after that—but there wouldn't be another respawn. They were out of time, out of options—this was it. 

Tango loved him, Tango wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t need to press his ear further into Tango’s chest to hear his heartbeat—not when it was an echo of his own—but he did it anyway and tried not to number the beats like a countdown, to assign them values and limitations. 

He squeezed Tango tighter, comfort disregarded; it was an offering where words had previously failed him, though there was no guarantee that his message would translate this way either. Physicality was another language Jimmy had never gained proficiency in—pretty much any method of communication verbal or non-verbal was—but he owed it to Tango to try. The trace of his fingers along Tango’s spine said I’m sorry, his breath on Tango’s chest whispered of how he’d spare Tango’s heart from his if he could; forehead to collarbone asked if things could still be normal tomorrow, since there was now a very real possibility that tomorrow was all they had. 

He didn’t bother interpreting the response, focus lost as Jimmy tried and failed not to drift away on the subliminal messaging of his own; that this was his loss, his failure, his fault. 

If he’d tried, maybe he’d have read the brush of Tango’s fingers through his hair as I don’t mind, the press of lips to the top of his head as reaffirming the deliberate choice being made—the decision to stay, to be a part of this. 

But he didn’t. Jimmy was stuck, and not at all like he had thought. Maybe he wasn’t the fish, maybe he was the parasite; the birds were circling and Jimmy could beg all he wanted, but Tango loved him. Tango wasn’t going to swim down. 

Tango wasn’t going anywhere.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

For the 100 drabble whump list - Mockery, Pet, and/or Terror for Myla?

100 Drabble Challenge: Whump Edition

Author's Notes: could be considered a version of a recapture arc after Myla's series, OR can stand alone

Content Warnings: mermaid whump, lady whump, captivity, up for sale, put on display, difficulty breathing, painful restraints, electric shot, threats, cruel whumper, slight dehumanization, referenced past whump

----

The flea market is loud and bustling on this bright spring day, people eager to be out and about after the winter. Rows of stalls stretch as far as the eye can see, vendors out for their first show of the year to sell everything from antiques to fresh food, clothes and furniture to plants and tools, and even exotic pets.

Merfolk aren't the rarest creature the market has ever seen, but the stall selling nothing but one freshly caught mermaid still draws a small crowd of onlookers. Freshly is something of an exaggeration, but the man selling her isn't about to admit to keeping the mermaid in a cramped tank of frigid water for the past several months. The long, cold, miserable days subdued the mermaid's fierce spirit until she no longer lashed out when he came to feed her. By the time Myla was wrapped in a wet sail, tossed into the back of a pickup and driven to the market, she felt hollow and hopeless.

The people stare and whisper while her captor straps her to a broken mast with bungee cord, pulling it tight until it clearly hurts her, then tightening it just a bit more. Myla lets out a cry and the humans' chatter increases excitedly at the otherworldly sound.

The man props the mast against the back of his truck so the mermaid is at an angle, on full display for potential buyers. Her pulse drums fast with fear, the gills at her sides and neck fluttering and flaring and sore as they strain to draw in water that isn't there. She takes thin, hoarse 'breaths' through her lips and nose, her underdeveloped lungs trying and failing to compensate for what her gills won't provide her.

For a few moments, Myla's view of the small crowd is blocked when her captor stands in front of her with a bottle and sprays her with warm water, from her fingertips stretched high above her head, down her entire body to the tip of her tail, which lies sprawled on the ground. One of the man's booted feet presses down on it like a warning.

"You better hope someone buys you," the mutters, to himself as much as to her while he gives her gills a few extra sprays, a small but welcome relief. "After the fucking fees I had to pay when my neighbor ratted me out for having you...if you don't bring in enough to pay them off, I'll make you pay in every other way I know how."

Dread grips Myla at the suggestion alone. If she thought last time was bad, she can't begin to imagine the depths of cruelty the man is capable of when so angry and bitter towards her. She tightens her jaw and resolves to be calm and docile, well behaved.

But being ogled by these disgusting humans reignites something in the proud former warrior, and it grows and grows as the people move closer. A sign declaring DO NOT TOUCH and the stern glare of her captor are clearly the only things keeping their curious hands from feeling over her skin and scales, prodding at her gills, grabbing her fins.

A few don't watch where they're going and step on her broad tailfin. Myla bites down on her lip to stifle any cries, until a heeled shoe digs in a little too sharply and the stab of pain makes her shriek and thrash in her restraints. The humans gasp and draw away; some leave.

Furious, her captor pulls something from his pocket and presses it to her back, out of sight of the remaining humans. A shock shoots down Myla's tail and up her spine, quick and mild but enough to get the point across. She gasps, tense with spasming muscles until they gradually relax and she goes limp in the restraints, breathing shallowly. The man sprays her with more water.

After some time, more people pass by and gather and, having missed the earlier outburst, lean in close to examine the mermaid. Now she is too weak and afraid to react with more than little whines and pleading eyes. Please. Someone.

"That asking price has to be a joke, right?" one man says above the crowd. The seller shoots a glare his way, waiting for him to elaborate. "I mean, come on...she's got scars, missing and miscolored scales, clear signs of malnutrition."

"You want a perfect specimen, go to the museum," her captor interrupts. "Look, she's pretty, nice coloration, no missing limbs or fins, what more do you want?"

The conversation picks up from there, interested buyers trying to bargain, the seller bargaining back, occasionally remembering to spray more water onto the languishing mermaid. Too much light, heat, dry air, too much noise and pain and fear, it's more than she can take. Myla passes out not knowing whose she will be when she wakes.

[daisychainsandbowties]

Palmer Station AU Lilith always in short sleeves (Ava: you know you’re in Antarctica, right? Where the pencilguins are?) and everyone is a little concerned because she’s always underdressed and usually damp and never seems to notice it’s cold (Ava: it’s cold enough to freeze your tits off! Why is she in shorts? We know she’s tall, she doesn’t need to draw further attention to it.

Camila: She’s a horseshoe crab, that’s for sure.

Ava: … explain.

Beatrice: Survived 4 major extinction events but appears to be threatened. Apt.

Camila: Thanks. I would rather she just wore a jacket).

lilith who once spent hours every day swimming without a wetsuit in the atlantic, leaving her hoodie on a tree branch and her backpack with her gameboy and her snack bars wrapped in a tarp and rigged up on a length of repurposed bungee cord, because she read about big cats who pull their prey up into trees.

the first shock of water in the low celsius and how it made her feel so awake, so alive. and she’s addicted to that feeling, just a little, the body startled into bright awareness.

so at palmer while cam’s always going on about the insulative properties of wool, where even beatrice keeps quilts and her solar space heater and a good sturdy jacket up in her observatory, lilith is walking around in tank tops, hair wet on her shoulders, hands always chilly to touch so when cam tries to show her scales on the keyboard she ends up turned sideways on the upside-down bucket they use as a piano bench, cradling lilith’s hands in her hands and warming them with her breath.

faint notes of matcha and anise from her mouth and lilith wondering how she’d taste.

cam murmuring, ‘you’re freezing. doesn’t it hurt?’ and lilith shrugs.

she can’t look at cam while she speaks. afraid she’ll lose the words, or decide to do something else with her mouth. she’s not good at talking, learned ASL and ESL to let her speak with other divers underwater. in water, sound behaves differently.

‘most fish are cold-blooded. it allows them to live in broader temperature ranges. a useful adaptation for an environment that is traversable vertically and horizontally.’

cam humming, playing with her fingers now, finding the calluses, skin-texture shaped by years of performing certain, repetitive actions. lilith has a few from holding cutlery too tightly.

dark curls shifting as cam looks up. ‘you study that, right? adaptations.’

sign language underwater. backpacks in trees and a body growing fond of the cold. old manor houses with poor central heating and lilith curled up next to the fire downstairs while her mother is at dinner parties. waking up with a blanket over her, and for years convincing herself it was her father’s ghost. because she could not imagine her mother, tipsy in high-heels, smelling of cigarillo smoke, having the delicacy to cover up the small shape half-lit by the dying fire.

maybe she just didn't want to see it.

‘yes, among other things.’ lilith watches her fingers fold, unfold, as cam manipulates them. ‘some fish, like bluefin tuna, are warm-blooded. this allows them to swim on average around 1.6 times faster than other fish. an advantage, but it also makes them more vulnerable to the effects of climate change. temperature and habitat disruption.’

‘is that why you won’t wear a coat? are you afraid of adapting?’

cam’s eyes are shrewd, searching.

biting her lip, hands almost pulling out from the campfire of cam’s hands. ‘i- no i just… want to belong here. don’t like hiding from it, don’t like all the tight layers and the itchy heat. i like the water to decide how i feel.’

(so you don’t have to.)

camila is not so unkind as to say it, but her dark eyes are bathypelagic. deep, but home to things lilith loves.

‘i like to be free,’ she finishes. a bit lamely, in her mind, but cam only looks intrigued.

she curls lilith’s hands into two tight fists and returns them to her. they end up on her lap, peeling back apart like a pair of dead crabs.

‘but… sometimes adaptations are good, right?’

lilith shrugs, ‘yes, and sometimes they’re a cancer. evolution is a one-sided story. it’s not an artist’s sketch, or god. it’s chaos - just an account of a bunch of creatures who got lucky.’

she expects this to provoke a flinch, a wash of cold water, but camila only giggles, taps a few keys. the start of a tune lilith half-recognizes. familiar in the way a mouth can be even after a long time, with eyes closed.

‘you’re right.’ cam's eyes glitter. things live in the deep ocean where it’s dark. lilith knows this, but cam’s eyes make her believe it. ‘people can get used to the cold.’

her cold hands in cam’s warmth

‘but it’s okay to be warm sometimes?’ cam's voice hitches up at the end, so maybe it's a question. maybe she should answer.

lilith wonders if cam knows how to sign. she should teach her. it’s so useful for diving, for when a girl takes all the air out of the room.

cam turns bright, then. pelagic. ‘also, you don’t want to end up getting sick around me. i’ll make you so much tea you’ll start to hate me.’

impossible, lilith thinks. but all she does is nod, and look away.

[goatsludge]

CAG Helmet Setup, 2006-2011

MSA MICH TC2002

Ops-Core X-Nape Chnstrap

Surefire HL-1A Gen.2

MS2000 Strobe

AWS Inc. 2-Hole NVG Shroud and ANVIS Ground Mount Adapter (one of my replicas)

ANVIS Mount + LPBP

Glint Tape Patch (1x1" Square of 3M Scotchlite Fabric + Adhesive Hook Velcro)

Velcro Beige and Black Adhesive Hook and Loop Tape, 2"

Random Bungee + 1/8" Shock Cord + SPH-4 ANVIS Cable Clips

I know none of these refs show the 2-Hole Shrouds

However:

Some weirdos were absolutely using them even later than my bucket's set up for, so can it :V

But I do need to get a Surefire E1L

[xandriagreat]

Hey, ehh I want ask you can you make story bad guys

Reaching and Learning More

Author's note: Sure!

Notice/Warnings: eating/food, shock collar/shocking

▪▪▪

Rupert Marmalade the IV always loved to learn about space. He likes learning other things as well but space and all of the things that are in space, it makes him very happy.

He grew up in a mansion with both of his parents and a few servants. 

His parents, Rupert the III and Evangeline Marmalade, both worked as the head of different science departments. Some of the science fallacies do know that the main bosses are guinea pigs. But for the others, they don’t know who the main boss is. And someday, Rupert will be given the boss title when his parents retire.

They would sometimes bring work home with them and their son would get to see what they work on, learning from their work. It was mostly stars.

That’s probably how the young guinea pig became fascinated by astronomy. 

☆

Rupert woke up excited today and got up to get dressed.

It’s “Take your kid to work Day” today. 

He was dressed in dark blue pants, white shirt, a purple vest, and black nice shoes. He topped his look with his science coat that he got as a gift for his tenth birthday.

Rupert quickly exited his room and ran down the stairs to get to the dining room. He saw both of his parents at the dining table, almost done eating breakfast. He got to his spot and ate the food from his plate. 

Both of his parents noticed the outfit that their son

“You look nice.” his mother said, smiling. “Is there anything happening today?” his father asked, starting to sip his coffee. 

The little guinea pig smiled and said, “It’s “Take your kid to work day” today.”

Rupert the III choked on his drink while Evangeline’s eyes widened. “That’s today?” both asked together in surprise. 

Rupert nodded. “Is… is something bad going on at work?” 

“No, it’s nothing bad.” Rupert the III said, clearing his throat. 

“Honey, don’t lie to him.” Evangeline said, glaring at her husband.

“What? I’m not lying to him.”

Rupert looked at his parents worriedly and confusedly. "It's ok. I can stay home and learn with Ms Loves if it’s dangerous-" he started but Rupert the III interrupts, "Nonsense. We can take you to work."

Rupert’s eyes lit up excitedly. He ate quickly so they could leave soon. 

As soon their son left the dining room to get ready to go to the car, Evangeline went to Rupert the III, a frown on her face. “Rupert, I don’t think it’s time for him to see… what we’ve been studying recently.” she stated. “He’s only eleven years old.”

“Evie, it'll be fine.” Rupert the III reassured her. “He’s going to know about ‘animaling out’ sooner or later.”

☆

Rupert was excited as the Marmalade family entered the science fallacy.

He knew the people who worked there and he greeted them everytime. Normally everyone smiled and waved, responding with a “hello” or “hi”, at him. 

But today, they all had a worried or confused look at him, like he isn’t supposed to be here today. 

‘I wonder what’s going on.’ Rupert thought as he walked with his parents.

They got to a lab with scientists, different guards, and a wolf with many scars in a harness. 

Rupert noticed that the wolf was wearing an orange jumpsuit, the harness hooked up to some type of bungee cord, and some type of collar. He was confused as he stayed close with his parents. 

“Ladies. Gentleman.” Rupert the III greeted the scientists and guards while Evangeline greeted the wolf with a bit of fear, “Mr. Scarson.” 

Mr. Scarson nodded to her.

While Rupert the III talked with the scientists about what they’re going to be doing, Rupert didn’t listen and just watched Evangeline talk to Mr. Scarson. “Understand this, Mr. Scarson. You will be triggered to get your animal side out.” she explained.

Mr. Scarson nodded and replied, “I understood the consequences when I was given this offer. But thank you for reminding me.”

Then everyone walked with the group to a room that Rupert likes to call the safe glass view room.

The little guinea pig was near his parents as the test started.

Everyone watched Mr. Scarson as rude audio came on the speakers and saw that the pupils of his eyes became from big to small after a few minutes. He started to try attacking but with the short bungee cord pulled him back and then a big shock came through the collar, stunning him to make him stop.

Rupert didn’t feel scared but he felt… excitement as he watched this experiment happen. “What’s this experiment called?” he asked his parents.

Rupert the III looked at him, smiling and said, “This is called the ‘animaling out’ experiment.”

‘Animaling out’ Rupert thought, smiling. ‘This might be a good tool for someday

[tele-static]

one time when i was 19, i got in a small accident on the highway. the other guys car was essentially fine, but my front hood was absolutely destroyed, and after exchanging info, i had to putt to the nearest gas station in the middle of nowhere to assess the damage.

terrified and shaking, i realized my front hood wouldn’t stay down but i was an hour from home and couldn’t afford a tow. so i just stood there not knowing what to do until a small biker gang showed up.

these 4 or 5 middle aged dudes immediately came over to help me out. they bought me bungee cords to keep the hood closed, instructed me to take the back roads and not to go above 60km/h, assured me that the damage was mostly body-related and i would be okay to drive the hour home (i was!) and even bought me a water bottle and a kitkat bar to make sure i wasn’t in shock. they wouldn’t take a cent from me.

i dont even know what i would have done without the kindness of those men tbh.

sorry radfems live in a horrible bubble or whatever but the rest of us do not.

I see the radfems out there saying that every man who's ever been born is a psychopath who's constantly looking for an opportunity to commit a felony and then I remember this one time I was really struggling to get a shopping cart out of another shopping cart and a dude came over to help me, but he couldn't do it, and then another dude came over to help him, and then another came over because it was a challenge he wanted in on, and then I had 3 guys all tearing at a stuck shopping cart, and literally none of them even needed a cart.

And when they got it out, they fist pumped and I said thanks so much and one of them said "easy." And then they left.

And it's like.

I don't think radfems go outside.

[tarps101]

How Moving Blankets Protect Your Valuables During Relocation

Relocating can be both exciting and stressful, particularly when it comes to ensuring the safety of your belongings. One of the most effective tools for safeguarding your valuables during a move is the moving blanket. These heavy-duty, padded covers provide an essential layer of protection for furniture, appliances, and delicate items. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore how moving blankets work, their benefits, and why they are a must-have for any relocation.

What Are Moving Blankets?

Moving blankets, also known as furniture pads, are thick, quilted coverings designed to shield items from damage during transportation. They are typically made from a combination of polyester, cotton, and recycled materials, offering both durability and cushioning. Available in various sizes and thicknesses, moving blankets are indispensable for protecting valuables against scratches, dents, and impacts.

How Moving Blankets Provide Protection

Moving blankets are engineered to minimize the risks associated with handling and transporting items. Here are the key ways they protect your valuables:

1. Prevent Scratches and Scuffs

When furniture and other items are moved, they often come into contact with walls, doorways, and other surfaces. The soft, padded surface of a moving blanket acts as a barrier, preventing scratches and scuffs on:

Wooden furniture

Glass tabletops

Appliances

Electronics

2. Absorb Shock and Vibration

Transporting items in a moving truck exposes them to constant vibrations and occasional jolts. Moving blankets help absorb these shocks, ensuring that fragile items like mirrors, picture frames, and ceramics remain intact.

3. Provide a Cushion for Heavy Items

Heavy items such as sofas, refrigerators, and wardrobes require additional protection to avoid dents and damage. Moving blankets distribute pressure evenly, preventing concentrated stress points that could harm your belongings.

4. Protect Against Dirt and Moisture

Moving blankets also shield items from dirt, dust, and moisture that can accumulate during transit. Their durable material creates a protective barrier, keeping your valuables clean and dry.

Benefits of Using Moving Blankets

Investing in moving blankets offers a wide array of benefits, including:

Cost-Effective Protection

Compared to the cost of repairing or replacing damaged items, moving blankets are a highly economical solution. They can be reused for multiple moves, making them a worthwhile investment.

Versatility

Beyond moving, these blankets have numerous other uses. They can be repurposed for:

Soundproofing rooms

Protecting floors during renovations

Providing insulation for storage items

Ease of Use

Using moving blankets is straightforward. They can be draped over items or secured with tape, straps, or stretch wrap to ensure maximum protection.

Enhanced Safety

Moving heavy or awkward items without protection can lead to accidents. Moving blankets improve grip and reduce the risk of items slipping or falling during handling.

Tips for Using Moving Blankets Effectively

To get the most out of your moving blankets, follow these practical tips:

1. Choose the Right Size and Thickness

Select blankets that are large enough to cover your items completely. For delicate or heavy items, opt for thicker, heavier blankets for added protection.

2. Secure the Blankets Properly

Use packing tape, bungee cords, or stretch wrap to keep the blankets securely in place. This prevents them from shifting during transit.

3. Layer for Maximum Protection

For highly fragile items, use multiple layers of moving blankets. Pair them with bubble wrap or foam for additional cushioning.

4. Cover All Surfaces

Ensure that every part of the item is covered, including corners and edges. This minimizes exposure to potential damage.

5. Label Items for Easy Unpacking

If you’re covering items completely with blankets, label them to avoid confusion when unpacking.

Where to Buy Moving Blankets

Finding the right moving blankets is essential for ensuring the safety of your valuables. Consider purchasing from the following sources:

Online Retailers: Amazon, U-Haul, and Walmart offer a wide selection of moving blankets in various price ranges.

Home Improvement Stores: Stores like Home Depot and Lowe’s carry high-quality moving blankets suitable for all needs.

Wholesale Suppliers: US Cargo Control and similar suppliers provide discounts for bulk purchases, ideal for large-scale moves.

Caring for Your Moving Blankets

To extend the life of your moving blankets, follow these maintenance tips:

Clean After Use: Most moving blankets can be machine-washed. Use a gentle cycle and mild detergent to avoid damaging the fabric.

Dry Properly: Air-dry or tumble dry on a low setting to prevent shrinkage or wear.

Store Neatly: Fold blankets and store them in a cool, dry place to avoid mold and mildew.

Conclusion

Moving blankets are an invaluable tool for protecting your valuables during relocation. By providing a cushioned, durable barrier, they prevent scratches, absorb shock, and shield items from dirt and moisture. Whether you’re moving across the street or across the country, investing in high-quality moving blankets ensures your belongings arrive in pristine condition.

[chiefhuntingbear-is-a-shaman]

After paying her $120.00 one day and another $257.00 a couple days later, Debera said I am dirty, smell bad and she has to sanitize everything I come into contact with to protect her other customers from becoming sick and if I "answer her back" her husband Martin the other owner of the store will talk with Pasadena Police on the payroll of the Chinese underworld to deal with me. Shocked because this was the first time she spoke to me like this I said I'm no dirtier than most of the customers I have seen while doing business with you for the past ten years that you don't humiliate including a homeless man that you give coffee and food to everyday when you tell him it's time to wake up and unhook the bungee cord he holds his cart to your front door with and allow him to come in to steal . Then today on Friday morning at seven o'clock November 29th, 2024 Debera began following through on her threat to punish me for what she considered "answering her back" by having an 'Iron Wall' Security Guard accost me in such a way it was impossible to petition by standing in front of my signs and screaming. On my way out of the Market Place Mall there were two Pasadena Cops standing outside their S.U.V.s with flashing lights who let me pass without a word. I had hoped to go into Ralph's grocery store to use the bathroom and buy a six pack of Sprite with the $50.00 gift card a woman gave to me the other day but Charles a cashier or assistant manager has been making credible threats to beat my ass even after I spoke to the Store Manager Apema twice on Wednesday, November 27th, 2024 only being told to ignore him because he won't attack knowing it would cost him his job and called and explained the situation to the 911 Emergency Operator.