#because i personally am not into the rigid roles inside a pack
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staring into space as I realize this chapter is going to be like 8k
#post-kamino through Overhaul is a HUGE chunk of time to cover#but the problem is that if I split it in half then literally nothing will happen in the first half and too much will happen in the second#so it's one chapter#on the bright side I've decided how to address the ''pack dynamics'' part of a/b/o#because i personally am not into the rigid roles inside a pack#basically in my universe that's an archaic traditionalist system and almost nobody uses it#except for one group who we KNOW is already very into tradition: the yakuza (namely the shie hassaikai)#BUT as we all know many members aren't happy with how overhaul disregards yakuza tradition on the regular#so in my story their pack leader is unusually an omega with his alpha mate (kurono) happily taking a wholly subservient role#as both Overhaul's mate and one of his right hands [the other is mimic]#they and the 8 bullets are also all overhaul's left hands#it's very untraditional for them to hold dual roles as both peacekeepers/advisors and violent enforcers#especially since kurono is also the pack leader's mate#idk i saw a tumblr post with short and simple pack dynamics and i thought it would work for my story#since the central group in the story (The League) doesn't use them at all
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Day 11 of Harringrove April.
Also read on AO3
Some blood and injury detail below and homophobic language.
Hug
He doesnât know why he followed the noise; youâd think after everything that had happened over the last year in Hawkins he wouldnât, but here he was chasing after a strange grumbling sound. He couldnât quite describe it. It sounded human. Just. Whatever or whoever it was sounded in pain, and being the sap he was, he needed to check it out before he could leave with peace of mind.
The back street was dark and damp in the rain, the fat drops bounced out of puddles and dropped from his nose. The noise was getting louder and he tried his best to quiet his feet. His mother always said he sounded like a baby elephant when he moved around and complained loudly, and regularly, that he woke her on his way out to work. He was sure he had to turn one more corner and he would be in sight of whatever was making the noise.
He steeled himself, preparing to run in case he once again came face to face with a monster from a different dimension. Though running wouldnât do him much good if he did. A sudden need to be armed tore through him as he scanned the floor for anything that could be used as a weapon. He picked up a trash can lid and swing it around a few times. If that hero guy in Dustinâs comics could use a shield to beat people up surely Steve could do the same, right?
He tested its weight and slipped his hand through the handle, gripping it tightly. All his friend would be cursing his name if they knew where he was right now. He had promised them and, in turn, made them promise him that this wasnât something they would be doing by themselves ever. If there was ever any sign of trouble he should radio immediately and they would come running. Night or day his little pack of nerds would be there.
But for some reason Steve was convinced that this was something he shouldnât call them for. Itâs not that he wonât need them, but he felt like they shouldnât see whatâs coming. It sent a shiver of nerves and apprehension down his spine as he reached the corner. âShieldâ up and ready he took the final step towards the unknown.
The last thing he expected to see when he rounded the building was a person scrunched into the smallest ball possible, flithy, wet and bleeding. He didnât recognise them, but he rushed forwards regardless. He checked the area for anything suspicious, before crouching next to shaking body.
He could see they were male now, no women in Hawkins were built like that. Strong arms wrapped over his head, like he was protecting it, and his knees touched his chest. A feat would have deemed impossible if he hadnât seen it, due to so incredibly tight blue jeans.
The guy had cuts up his arms and what looked to be handprints wrapped around his wrists. His jeans had tears in them, and grazes in the holes like he had fallen on the pavement. He could see tiny bits of gravel wedged inside the cuts and scrapes, which were crying out to be cleaned.
Steve didnât touch him at first, seeing how terrified this guy was he didnât know how he would react. He just spoke to him in quiet but firm terms.
âHey. How can I help?â he said seeing the whole-body shudder as his voice reached the boys ears. âYou're injured and need medical attention; can I drive you to the hospital?â
The guyâs head shot up and Steve tried not to fall back on his arse. Billy Hargroveâs face looked back at him frozen in terror. His blue eyes ringed with red and both eye sockets turning deep shades of purple. His lip was cut and he had another hand print around his neck.
âNo fucking hospitals.â He croaked voice not sounding anything like Steve knows it should.
Steve kept calm. It didnât matter who it was, Billy still needed help and he would give it as best he could. âRight, so can I take you back home?â This reaction was worse. Billy flinched away from him, back hitting the wall, and Steve heard all the air puff out of him.
âOkay so not home either then.â Steve supplied.
Billy, who Steve was sure hadnât recognised him yet, probably because his eyes were on the way to swelling up, tried to speak again. He coughed twice before he managed, âThat ainât my home no more.â And his head dropped back into his hands.
Steve nodded to himself and came up with his last suggestion, he had assumed that not hospitals meant, no police either because taking someone in in this condition would over lead to them turning up anyway.
âMy house then. Its empty, just me home tonight and I have all the stuff I need to help you out.â He watched for any reaction and for a while there was nothing. Just as he was about to give in he caught the barest nod of his head in agreement.
âI am going to help you up, okay?â He reached out to grab Billy somewhere it probably wouldnât hurt too much, only to be shoved away by tattered fists. Whoever did this to Billy, he obviously fought back. He watched as Billy tried to stand with very little success. Steve gently wrapped his arm around his waist, hoisted Billyâs arms around his shoulders and started the long trudge back to his car.
What felt like an hour later, but was probably only about fifteen minutes, they got back to Steveâs car. Billy went rigid next to him; he internally cursed the blonde must have recognised his car.
âJesus fuck, of course itâs you, Harrington.â He spluttered around a cough.
âYeah, yeah, just get in the car so we can get you sorted out, Hargrove.â He complained as he man-handled Billy into the bimmer. âWhat happened Billy?â he asked as he climbed into the driverâs seat.
âGot beat up moron. What the fuck does it look like?â he grumbled at Steve.
âHargrove got beat up? Who did you fight a giant?â he asked trying his best to keep the mocking from his voice.
âNo, just four guys.â
âFour? Why the hell did they do that?â he asked. How on earth Billy got a single punch in was beyond him. Fighting four people wasnât like in the movies. They didnât wait patiently for the first guy to stop hitting you then attack. No, they tended to rush you, hoping to over whelm, which clearly, they managed.
âWhat did you say to get in this state?â he amended. Billy had a notoriously short fuse; one Steve had been on the receiving end of more than once.
Billy looked so pale. His tan face was much greyer now losing nearly all its usual golden colour. âWas just being me. Didnât know his friends were waiting. Fucking dick heads.â
âWhat do you mean being me?â he asked quietly trying not to spook him now he was opening up. He could only imagine he wasnât entirely sure what he was saying.
ââm usually more careful ya know.â Billyâs words were slurring but he seemed to be on a role. âBut he was hot and was flirtinâ so I thought fuck it. Letâs try.â Steve thought he got what Billy was saying but this is Billy Hargrove, he could be, could he? âHe tugged me round a corner then his buddies were there and they just went off. Calling me a faggot and stuff.â He groaned. âMy head is fucking killing me.â
Steve stayed silent. Just drove towards his house in shock. Billy had just told him he was gay. Or at very least liked to hook up with guys. He wouldnât judge. He was friends with Robin and he could appreciate a hot looking guy. Rob Lowe and David Bowie were something else. So, yea, no judging here.
He pulled into his drive and Billy was drifting off in his seat. Steve knew this wasnât great, he needed Billy to stay awake. He had no clue why, just that it was bad news. He slammed the car door shut behind him hoping it would jar Billy awake before he had to get him out of the car.
Luck was on his side for once as Billy stared at him, glassy eyed but at least awake. Heaving Billy into the house was no mean feat, especially as this time he seemed to be putting in little to no effort.
âYou weigh a fucking tonne!â Steve complained as he propped Billy against the door.
âsâall muscle baby!â he grinned at Steve, tongue peeking out from behind his bloodied teeth and swaying a bit as he attempted to flex. Steve just held in an eye roll. Of course Billy was flirting, he would always find time to flirt no matter how beaten down he looked.
âJust get in the house Hargrove.â He said pointing in the direction of kitchen. Billy seemed to have regained some semblance of control as his used the wall to help him in the right direction. Steve tried not to cringe as he watched the smear of blood and dirt lengthen down the hall but at least he would have a while to clean it up before anyone else came home again.
He found Billy slumped on the floor, against a cabinet, head once again cradled in his hands. Steve collected what he needed from around his house and returned to crouch down near him again. He laid everything out in between them both and pointed to each one as he was about to use it. He moved slowly, gently and carefully whilst he cleaned and patched up Billy.
Billy just stared at him the entire time. He nodded silently every time Steve asked permission to do something until he finished. He still looked like shit but at least he wasnât bleeding anymore.
âSo...â Steve started, not really knowing where he was going. âCan I get you to go to the cops Billy? Those guys targeted you and that fucking sucks.â Billy was already shaking his head. âBut Hopper could help you Billy!â Steve insisted.
âNo fucking way. No one would help me, he would probably just add to the bruises. No one helps people like me Harrington.â He snapped, but there was no venom in it. Just aching sadness that Steve felt to his core.
âI did. And I would again.â He stated softly. But quickly he felt anger rising inside him. âYou shouldnât have to go through this shit just because you are... Because you like... Guys!â He was so angry by the end, how could anyone believe they were so alone that no one would help them when they were hurt and broken? Part of Steve screamed that he understood. It could have gone that way for him after Nancy if he hadnât had Dustin or Robin.
âIâm dirty, Harrington. People donât like dirty things.â He told him. His shoulders were slumped and he looked down and away from Steve.
Steve surged forward and ignored Billyâs flinch as he did. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled his head in towards his neck. It was a damn awkward hug but eventually Billy relaxed and locked his hands behind Steveâs back. As he held Billy he spoke to him. âYou are not alone Billy. Any time you need help you come to me. I will help you. You arenât dirty.â He hesitated but ploughed on to a confession.
âIf youâre dirty then so am I. And so is my best friend. So fuck them and stay where we can help.â A silence hung in the air it was tense as he felt Billyâs hands tighten in his jacket.
âYouâre like me?â he asked. His voice muffled by Steveâs shoulder.
âYeah, I am.â He stated. It was the first time he had admitted it to himself let alone said it out loud.
âOh.â Not quite what Steve was expecting him to say.
âYeah, oh.â
Billy lifted his head and looked Steve straight in the eyes and said, âSo Harrington, can I take you on a date?â
Hope you liked it!
#harringroveapril#Harringrove#billy hargrove#steve harrington#steve x billy#stranger things#st fanfic#Day 11
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Soooo guys Iâm doing this
Hold my beer honeybush nevermind my mom drank my honeybush. Hold my tap water.Â
Alright. First click on the link
Mmm alright, interesting episode, deep themes, excellent for meta things.
Second click on the link
FUCK EVERYTHING
THE FUCKING FUCKITY FUCK
Mark Campbell
I didnât even remember his name or face before opening the page
What the fuck
No WAIT
WAIT
THE FUCK
*smacks forehead*
OF COURSE
Guys this is an excellent combination. Keep holding my tap water.
Ready?
Metamorphosis. Sam is questioning a demon about Lilithâs whereabouts. Heâs a man on a mission. Hero, the demon mockingly calls him, to deny he is, as heâs slutting around with some demon. But Sam doesnât care. He wants to get the job done, finding Lilith in this case. In fact, he wants to get the job done as efficiently and cost-free as possible: he uses his demon powers to exorcise the demon from the possessed person, allowing the possessed person to survive. Ruby will get him to the ER, and heâll be okay, we suppose. Still Sam doesnât know where Lilith is; he doesnât realize that thatâs exactly the point, that Ruby wants him to exercise his powers, not to find Lilith at all. Lilith will show up when itâs time for her to make her move on the chessboard of the apocalypse-making.
But letâs get back to Deanâs reaction to discovering about Sam and Ruby going around hunting demons.
SAM: Dean, what are you doing? [Dean keeps packing his things]Â What, are you- are you leaving? DEAN: You don't need me. You and Ruby go fight demons. SAM:Â Hold on. Dean, come on, man. [Dean punches him]Â You satisfied? [Dean punches him again]Â I guess not. DEAN:Â Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal? From human? SAM:Â I'm just exorcising demons. DEAN: With your mind! What else can you do? SAM: I can send them back to hell. It only works with demons, and that's it. DEAN: What else can you do?! SAM: I told you! DEAN: And I have every reason in the world to believe that. SAM:Â Look, I should have said something. I'm sorry, Dean. I am. But try to see the other side here. DEAN: The other side? SAM: I'm pulling demons out of innocent people. DEAN:Â Use the knife! SAM: The knife kills the victim! What I do, most of them survive! Look, I've saved more people in the last five months than we save in a year. DEAN:Â That what Ruby want you to think? Huh? Kind of like the way she tricked you into using your powers? Slippery slope, brother. Just wait and see. Because it's gonna get darker and darker, and God knows where it ends. SAM:Â I'm not gonna let it go too far. DEAN:Â It's already gone too far, Sam. If I didn't you know... I would wanna hunt you. And so would other hunters. SAM:Â You were gone. I was here. I had to keep on fighting without you. And what I'm doing... it works. DEAN: Well, tell me. If it's so terrific... then why'd you lie about it to me? Why did an angel tell me to stop you? SAM:Â What? DEAN:Â Cas said that if I don't stop you, he will. See what that means, Sam? That means that God doesn't want you doing this. So, are you just gonna stand there and tell me everything is all good?
Ooooh man.Â
Iâm not going to go further down the script of Metamorphosis; the MoTW is a clear mirror for the journey the Winchesters are going through and there surely are more analyses of the episode written by brilliant meta writers out there that we can count.
At the end of the episode, Sam decides to stop using his powers, scared that he might step over a critical point, like the monster of the week, and turn into a monster irreversibly; we know how the story goes, still there are very important lines (I can't keep explaining myself to you. I can't make you understand. [...]Â I can't. Because this thing, this blood, it's not in you the way it's in me. It's just something I got to deal with / I'm not doing it for you. Or for the angels or for anybody. This is my choice.) but this is not the place to discuss about that side of the story. Because in this post weâre talking about Metamorphosis and Mark Campbell - aka the situation we find at the beginning of season 6. Mark doesnât say many words and dies pretty much right away, in the second episode of the season. His role in the narrative is to present us, the viewers, and the character weâre looking at the story through, Dean, what has been going on.
And guess what? In the months before the beginning of season 4, Sam was on his own (as in, completely separated from Dean, emotionally separated from Bobby) hunting demons with Ruby. In the months before the beginning of season 6, Sam was on his own (as in, completely separated from Dean, emotionally separated from Bobby) hunting things with the Campbells.
And in both Metamorphosis and the first episodes of season 6 weâre put in front of a similar situation regarding Sam and Dean: Sam defends his actions, adducing rational arguments - and yet deep down he feels a wrongness NOT in his actions but in himself - and Dean is disturbed at Samâs actions and angry at Sam keeping things hidden from him.
Oh boy.
This is so classically Sam and Dean that it hurts. Sam feels something wrong in the depth of his self (his blood in season 4, âsomewhereâ in season 6 until Dean and Cas find out about the soul thing), but rationalizes his actions. Dean, on the other hand, has the idea of ânormalâ flashing in his mind like a pulsing neon sign (Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal? From human?) WHATâS WITH META THINGS THESE DAYS AND THE CONCEPT OF âNORMALâ FOR DEAN POPPING OUT EVERYWHERE??? Oh yes, itâs me bringing it out because I am like this. I have too many feels about it and I am a cry because itâs just too much for my little heart to handle. and is freaked out by whatâs wrong with Sam but also doesnât drink Samâs rationalizations.
Samâs explanation for what he does with Ruby make sense. He is saving people instead of killing the meatsuit together with the demon. The narrative plays with us, asking us the question: whoâs right?. And in this moment we are supposed to tend towards Sam: Dean is stubborn and rigid in his judgement, heâs black and white. Demon=bad, human=good. Normal=human, using-demon-powers-and-working-with-Ruby=not-normal. We are supposed to be on Samâs side here. Dean would just have let the poor possessed guy die, stabbed him with the knife... We are supposed to believe that Ruby is helping Sam, that Deanâs unbending and uncompromising attitude is overstrict and narrow-minded and wrong. But then the narrative pulls out the twist and we realize that Dean was right all along, that his unbending and uncompromising attitude is what brings them out of the apocalypse, itâs what rips the script of fate and saves humanity.
Sam has good intentions, but heâs a consequentialist, while Dean is a deontologist. I invite you to read what I wrote about it here and here because it would get too long to discuss about those themes here. In the first post linked I also discuss the apparent contradiction between Deanâs deontology and Samâs consequentialism and what instead are their stances on good/evil.
Because despite Dean being black and white in his âwhatâs the right thing to do/whatâs the wrong thing to doâ while Sam is more flexible, their attitudes towards discriminating between good and evil are different.
Dean sees matters in a scale of doing good and doing evil, which is a spectrum and is connected to actions and choices, not essential characteristics. Sam sees matters in terms of being right and being wrong - and pay attention, ârightâ and âwrongâ here does not refer to opinions/knowledge (I say 2+2=4 and Iâm right, I say 2+2=5 and Iâm wrong) but to an essential quality of the self. We should probably use the terms âalrightâ and âwrongâ - for Sam, you are either alright or there is something wrong with you. And by the generic you, he usually means himself. I mean, thereâs always something wrong with Sam lol. Even in round 1 I talked about his fear of being âwrongâ in Dog Dean Afternoon...
Sam doesnât feel conflicted about using demon powers because of the goodness/evilness of the action of using demon powers itself. He feels freaked out by the fact that he has demon blood in himself, that he is contaminated. He is not ârightâ, he is âwrongâ, there is something wrong with his self in an essential way. Sam tells Dean that Dean canât understand, and, well, heâs correct; Dean judges things on an entirely different scale, itâs not about Sam having demon blood or not, Sam being impure or not, Sam being âwrongâ or not. Itâs a matter of Sam doing things. DEAN is the actual advocate for free will, because DEAN is all about the actions you choose to make. Sam is all about what you are, whether you are pure or not. Sam is delighted when he thinks the trials are purifying him, because he only thinks he can be saved if heâs pure. Dean doesnât care about pure or impure, he cares about what a person does or not. When Dean has the Mark, when he feels the darkness inside of him, he is not bothered by being contaminated by something - heâs bothered because the Mark makes him lose control over his actions.
Speaking of Mark - letâs go back to another kind of Mark, i.e. Mark Campbell. (Totally unintentional connection, I swear. It just happened.)
Sam rationalizes his hunting life with Mark, Gwen, Christian and Samuel, just like he rationalized his life with Ruby. Dean was in hell back then, and he relied on Ruby. Now, Dean is with Lisa and Ben, and Sam chooses not to let him know heâs alive not to disrupt his apple pie life. His hunting methods in Metamorphosis saved lives; hunting with the Campbells makes sense, theyâre efficient together and everything, Sam is somehow an even better hunter than usual, Dean is enjoying his quiet life with Lisa and Ben, everythingâs good.
But the Campbells are an alarm bell, just like the whole demon powers thing was an alarm bell - an alarm bell Dean hears.
Dean, stubborn and rigid in his judgement... knows immediately and instinctively if something is a no-no. He knew the Ruby thing was a no-no. He understands immediately that Samâs behavior at the beginning of season 6 is a red flag. Dean knows immediately the Campbells are not to be trusted, just like he didnât trust Ruby. He warmed up to Ruby when he found out she saved Sam from his suicidal urges after Dean went to hell, just like he tried to warm up to the Campbells and work with them. But inside he always knew neither Ruby or the Campbells belonged in their space. (See how Dean immediately trusts Casâ judgement instead -Â Why did an angel tell me to stop you? - and in season 6 he kept putting trust in Cas until it blew into his face, and yet he was still right in his judgement of Cas).
Sam isnât bothered by actions, heâs bothered by the feeling that something is not right with him. The demon blood, rather than the act of exercising his powers in itself. When heâs soulless and doesnât know it yet, he feels there is something wrong with him; even without his soul, his thereâs-something-wrong-with-Sam-radar is fully functioning anyway. Dean, on the other hand, doesnât judge Sam for what he is or the state heâs in. Heâs âfar from normal, from humanâ NOT because he has demon blood in him, but because he uses the powers that come with it. Heâd hunt Sam because of his use of the demon powers, not because he has them in the first place, as heâs shown all along (see the entire Gordon Walker arc...).
Many people have criticized Dean for blaming Sam for things Sam wasnât fully responsible for. See Southern Comfort: Mistakes? Well, let's go through some of Sammy's greatest hits. Drinking demon blood? Check. Being in cahoots with Ruby? Not telling me that you lost your soul? Or how about running around with Samuel for a whole year, letting me think that you were dead while you were doing all kinds of crazy? Those aren't mistakes, Sam. Those are choices!
But thatâs the point. Dean believes so much in human agency that he tends to see everything as a choice. He exaggerates sometimes? Yes. But thatâs what makes Dean Dean, what allows him to save the world so many times. What brings Cas to him. Of course we were in season 8 at the time of Southern Comfort, and Dean has gone through the Mark of Cain storyline which has made him experience a situation where his agency is endangered. But he never fails to have faith in the human ability to keep hold of their agency, to the point he kills Death instead of letting Death dictate his actions for him. But I would digress if I talked about that Mark...
This is how Metamorphosis ends:
SAM: These powers... it's playing with fire. I'm done with them. I'm done with everything. DEAN:Â Really? Well, that's a relief. Thank you. SAM:Â Don't thank me. I'm not doing it for you. Or for the angels or for anybody. This is my choice.
Oh, Sam. Hereâs the word choice, the word Dean uses in Southern Comfort to describe Samâs decisions to work with Ruby first and to hunt with the Campbells later. (And there we thought Metamorphosis and a random Campbell were such a random association. Southern Comfort makes that association explicit lmao.)
Dean blames him for Ruby and the Campbells because he calls them choices. And itâs Sam who uses the word choice first; a choice he doesnât follow on. Sam ascribes the possibility of choice to himself regarding the Ruby situation.
Can we ascribe the possibility of choice to Sam while soulless? Maybe yes, maybe no. But Dean does because thatâs what Dean believes in more than anything. That there is always a choice. In My Time Of Dying:
TESSA: Whatever's gonna happen's gonna happen. It's out of my control, it's fate. DEAN: Huh. Well, that's crap. You always have a choice. You can either roll over and die or you can keep fighting, no matter what...
If Dean didnât believe that you always have a choice, what happens? Soul Survivor:
SAM: Look, if you come out of that room, I wonât have a choice!
DEAN: Sure you will! And I know which one youâll make. Isnât that right, Sammy? But see⊠Hereâs the thing: Iâm lucky. Oh, hell, Iâm blessed! âCause thereâs just enough demon left in me that killing you? Ainât no choice at all.
Well, this âainât no choice at allâ is a figure of speech; itâs a choice Dean has just already made. But I find the wording Dean chooses interesting, because heâs saying that that choice has been made for him by the âdemon left in himâ after all. Dean knows he would never choose to kill Sam otherwise, so now choosing to kill him isnât exactly a choice. Itâs a choice made by the instinct of self-preservation that the demon-ness has placed on top of everything else inside of him. I have been saying that Dean has always set his self-awareness aside for survival (his and his familyâs); in fact, demon Dean decides to act on that self-awareness (that John was abusive, that Sam is sucking the life out of him) out of an instinct of self-preservation that the Mark of Cain heightens in him while heâs a demon. Dean always knew that John was abusive and that his role as Samâs caretaker denied him a full life of his own; his demon-ness makes him prioritize his self-preservation over the choice to set that awareness aside for the sake of his family. Jeez, I digressed again.
In conclusion, a comparison of Metamorphosis and the role of Mark Campbell in the narrative tell us a lot about Samâs and Deanâs attitudes towards morality and towards free will.
There are of course more things that can be said about these topics, for instance regarding to the concept of ânormalâ and âhumanâ, mentioned by Dean in that speech at the beginning of Metamorphosis, and Samâs demon blood situation and the situation of a human without a soul; but I think I have written enough in this post and Iâll just free you from this hellhole of meta.
#my spn thoughts#spn meta#the great meta scavenger hunt#spn 4x04#season 6#soulless sam#sam and ruby#the campbells#demon dean#dean and the normal#sam and dean's ethical codes#spn
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Best Indestructible & Chew Proof Dog Collars
https://www.centralparkpaws.net/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/IMG_2381-2-300x247.jpg
Having had dogs as long as I have, there are few situations I am unfamiliar with.
However, chewing on collars is a new one.
Mirabelle (Mira for short), our new puppy, has brought this new challenge into our lives. Â
Mira does not chew on her collar but instead is interested in chewing on her siblingâs collars. Though she is small, her tiny milk teeth can do some severe damage to the collars.Â
We do not leave our dogsâ collars on at home since they tend to wrestle, and it poses a danger. Also, when we are gone, we always remove collars as an additional safety precaution[1].
However, we still have their collars on when we go for walks, travel, or if they are tagging along running errands.
Since I donât want to replace collars for my dogs every month until Mira grows out of this phase, I thought I would invest in three heavy-duty collars.
I am hoping this will be a one-time investment and that the collars will stand up to Miraâs torment for at least the next four to six months. Â
One of the Buckle-Down collars I went with
I love having a multi-dog household, but at times the financial responsibilities play a notable role in my decision making. Indestructible pet gear is worth the higher cost.
Because I needed to buy three collars (no one chews on Miraâs so sheâs okay with the one she has) I had to find moderately priced highly durable options. Â
After finishing my research, I realized there were a lot of dog parents going through similar issues regarding dogs who chewed on their own or their siblingâs collars.
So, I thought it would be good to share my findings in the hope it would help other dog parents like myself.Â
Is your dog chewing up their bed too? Check out our roundup of the best indestructible dog beds!
Best Chew Proof Dog Collars
Hereâs a list of the best indestructible dog collars:
Best Choice â Yunlep Tactical Dog Collar with Handle
Most Comfortable Indestructible Collar â Black Rhino Comfort Collar
Best Value for the Money â Tuff Pupper Heavy Duty Ballistic Nylon Dog Collar
Top of the Line Choice â Excellent Elite Spanker Tactical Adjustable Training Collar
Strongest Dog Collar â TSPRO Tactical Dog Collar
Best Chew Proof Dog Collar for Small Dogs â RUFFWEAR Hoopie Collar
Best Chew Proof Dog Collar for Medium Dogs â Buckle-Down Seatbelt Buckle Collar
Best Chew Proof Dog Collar for Large Dogs â REDLINEK-9
Best Dog Collar for Aggressive Chewers
Yunlep Tactical Dog Collar with Handle
Why Itâs the Best Choice
Click the image for more info
The Yunlep Tactical collar, made from military-grade 1000D nylon, has a metal side release buckle to add to the collarâs overall durability.
This collar also features an easy-grip handle for better control in populated areas.
The lightweight nature of this collar works great for hiking, running, walking, or any activity you and your dog enjoy. Also, the inside of the collar is padded to add to the collarâs overall comfort.
The collar has four color options and three sizes to choose from, all of which have a 1.5-inch width.
Plus, the collar has a Velcro strip for easy application of ID patches.
What I Liked
Made from heavy-duty military-grade 1000D nylon
Metal side release buckle for fast and easy removalÂ
Ability to add ID patches without sewing
Handle for better control
Padded interior
What I Didnât Like
Is not available in size small
Check Price
Read Reviews
Most Comfortable Indestructible Collar
Black Rhino Comfort Collar
Why Itâs the Best Choice
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The Black Rhino Comfort Collar, made from soft yet strong neoprene material, is specifically designed to hold up against the hard wear and tear of active dogs, as well as to the roughhousing between energetic dogs.Â
And, as the name of the collar indicates, it has a soft padded liner to enhance the comfort of the dog.
Though most-heavy duty collars have a padded interior, the Black Rhinoâs liner is thicker than most. Surprisingly, this heavy-duty collar is exceptionally lightweight, considering all of its features.
So, between the padding and weight of the collar, the Black Rhino offers the ultimate in comfort. Â
The Black Rhino is also accented with reflective stitching giving you added safety during evening walks.
Plus, the collar comes in five color options and four sizes.
What I Liked
The overall durability
The thick padded lining
The overall appearance
Grommet enforced adjustable buckle
What I Didnât Like
It lacks a quick-release buckle
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Best Value for the Money
Tuff Pupper Heavy Duty Ballistic Nylon Dog Collar
Why Itâs the Best Choice
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Tuff Pupper specializes in creating high-quality gear for dogs at affordable prices.
They offer everything from dog bowls to toys and everything in between, all of which are focused on dogs who need things to be durable.Â
Their collar features a soft bungee handle to aid in handling your dog in tight situations or training.Â
The Tuff Pupper Ballistic Nylon Collar, made from ballistic, fray-proof nylon, has a neoprene padded interior to provide ultimate comfort to your dog.
The neoprene padding is not only soft but is also a breathable mesh material perfect for warm summer weather. The buckle is adjustable and made from metal, adding to the sturdiness of the collar. Â
The Ballistic Nylon Collar comes in four colors, all of which have 3M reflective stitching for added safety, and comes in three sizes.
What I Liked
Aesthetically pleasing
Reflective stitching
Made with heavy-duty 3mm fray and rip-proof material
Stainless steel buckle
Weather and stink resistant
 Bungee handle
What I Didnât Like
It doesnât have a quick-release buckle
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Top of the Line Choice
Excellent Elite Spanker Tactical Adjustable Training Collar
Why Itâs the Best Choice
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Excellent Elite Spanker specializes in heavy-duty tactical gear for both humans and dogs.
The tactical dog collar is made from 1000D nylon ribbon, giving it the toughness required for tactical gear. Also, the collar has a soft padded lining to reduce chafing or skin irritation. Â
The collar has a durable handle to aid in training and provide better control.
The metal buckle is a quick release double closure to make taking the collar off and on a breeze, yet offering greater security when fastened.
Additionally, the collar is easily adjustable to fit a variety of sizes.
The tactical collar comes in 4 colors: black, tan, ranger green, and gray; and three sizes: medium, large, and extra-large.
Plus, the collar features a Velcro ID patch area, to aid in providing easy identification for your dog.
What I Liked
The material, 1000D tactical nylon
The padded lining for added comfortÂ
Handle for better restraint
The double quick release buckle
Quality warranty
What I Didnât Like
Not available for small breed dogs
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Strongest Dog Collar
TSPRO Tactical Dog Collar
Why Itâs the Best Choice
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TSPROâs Tactical Dog Collar is a thick heavy-duty collar that is made with a double layer of durable nylon webbing.
The TSPRO collar has a padded interior to reduce discomfort and skin irritation from the robust nylon. Additionally, because the collar is made from nylon, it is easy to clean.
The collar has a 4-point adjustable metal buckle, allowing to change the size easily.
Also, it has a slide protector to keep the tail of the collar from hanging down. The large metal D-Ring ensures your dogâs security when leashed.Â
The collar comes in two colors black and green and three sizes: Small, medium, and large.
If there are any issues with the collarâs quality, TSPRO has a 100% quality warranty.
What I Liked
Strong double-layer nylon webbing
Metal buckle
Solid metal D-ring
Metal grommets to reduce frayingÂ
Low profile
Interior soft padding
What I Didnât Like
It does not have an easy release buckle
It is limited in sizes
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Best Chew Proof Dog Collar for Small Dogs
RUFFWEAR Hoopie Collar
Why Itâs the Best Choice
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RUFFWEAR has a large variety of products like leashes, harnesses, and packs. But they also have a durable dog collars such as the Hoopie Collar, which is available in small sizes.
The Hoopie Collar is made from a durable woven webbing to ensure it will hold up against harder wear and tear of an active dog. The webbing is both durable and comfortable, negating the need for additional padding. Â
The collar features a hard plastic side release buckle to allow for easy on and off. Because there is minimal metal on the collar, it is an excellent lightweight option for smaller dogs.
The Hoopie Collar is easily adjustable, ensuring a perfect fit for any dog. Plus, it comes in 9 different color patterns and three different sizes.
The collar can be hand washed and air dried to keep it looking and smelling great.
Also, for those who like the Ruffwear brand, they have a few other durable collars available, like Top Rope and Front Range. These two are similar to the Hoopie but do have different features.
What I Liked
Heavy-duty woven material
Easy release buckle
Strong aluminum ring
Separate small D-Ring for tags
What I Didnât Like
Nothing
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Best Chew Proof Dog Collar for Medium Dogs
Buckle-Down Seatbelt Buckle Collar
Why Itâs the Best Choice
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I will admit this was already my favorite brand, and during my research, I was pleased to realize I already had some pretty durable collars.
I hadnât originally purchased them for their durability, but instead because I liked the way they look.
The Buckle-Down dog collars are made with a 100% durable polyester material and a seatbelt buckle for easy release.
The Buckle-Down collars are a bit on the rigid side, but not so much that they cause skin irritation, so additional padding is not needed.
From personal experience, the collars have faded over the years but never frayed or ripped.
Also, I will admit I am not a fan of hand washing, so I have put the collars through the washing machine in a laundry bag, which is why the colors on some of the collars have faded.
That being said, it does speak loudly to how well they have held up. The collars above are ones I have had for over five years.
Since switching my dogsâ collars over to the Buckle-Down brand, there hasnât been any damage from Mira.
What I Liked
Made with heavy-duty polyester
Easy on and off with the long-lasting metal seat belt buckle
Durable metal D-ring ensures your dog canât break loose
Looks fantastic â We always get compliments on these collars
Comes in a variety of sizes and collar widths
What I Didnât Like
They tend to be a bit spendy
The 1.5-inch width options are a bit heavy
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Best Chew Proof Dog Collar for Large Dogs
REDLINEK-9
Why Itâs the Best Choice
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REDLINEK-9 is made from Latigo leather, which is both a rigid and robust leather.
The interior of the collar is lined with felt to ensure the leather doesnât cause chafing or skin irritation. The collar has a leather easy-grip handle to aid in giving the handler control when a leash isnât available. Â
The wide collar design aids in its overall durability.
The welded metal D-Ring will give confidence that it will not break if your large canine pulls or lunges.
The collar has a four adjustable point buckle providing a secure fit.
Though the collar is low profile and only comes in black, the detailed stitching gives it a nice finished appearance.
What I Liked
The heavy-duty Latigo leather
Sturdy metal buckle and D-ring
Soft felt liner
Ideal for strong breeds
What I Didnât Like
Lack of breathability
Price
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Things to Consider When Looking for an Indestructible Dog Collar
There are several things to keep in mind when choosing the right indestructible dog collar.
Some of the features to consider are:
Durability
Though you want an indestructible collar, a dogâs chewing ability varies depending on dog size, age, and strength.
For example, Mira is only 17 weeks old and still has her very sharp milk-teeth but not a lot of jaw strength.Â
So, the damage to collars is usually in the form of ripping or fraying.
Though I need a durable collar for the other dogs in my house, I donât need one as hearty as the Black Rhino or the REDLINEK-9.
And avoid flea & tick collars when you have a collar chewer!
Collar Width
Many of the durable collars are 1.5-inches wide; however, not all dogs can comfortably wear a collar of that width.
For example, Sophie coughs when she wears ones wider than one inch.
In addition to comfort, some dogs look better in collars not so wide.
Padding
Many of the durable collars are made with less flexible material so, padding will aid in ensuring ultimate comfort, especially for dogs with short hair.
D-Ring
It is best to find a collar with a metal D ring, especially if you have a powerful dog.
This will ensure they donât break loose when pulling or lunging
Handle
Some of the tactical collars offer a handle on the collar. This is ideal for when you donât have a leash or you require greater control up close and is safer for your fingers[2].
Buckle
A sturdy buckle is essential to an indestructible collar.
Metal buckles are best since they wonât crack under pressure.
Additionally, for safety, a quick release buckle is ideal.
Coat Length
Your dogâs coat plays a role in finding the ideal collar[3]. For dogs with longer hair, you may decide to choose a lightweight collar.
And for those with dogs with short hair and thin coats, making sure you get one with great padding is vital so the collar doesnât chafe.
Conclusion
I have a hard time making just one recommendation since there are so many variables.
For people in my situation, who have a puppy with needle-sharp teeth but not a super strong bite, the Buckle-Down or Ruffwear would work perfectly. Also, for those who are looking for a collar with a bit more pizzazz than the solid earth tones colors, these brands offer a variety of patterns and bright colors.
For those pet parents like my friend Lisa, who has a German Shepard, a heartier collar like the Black Rhino or one of the tactical options would work best. He has long hair, so the leather collar wouldnât be the best fit as it may become too warm.
So, unfortunately, I do not have just one recommendation for the best chew proof dog collar; it all depends on the type of chewing your dog is capable of as well as what would be the most comfortable.
Resources
https://www.petmd.com/dog/care/5-ways-collars-can-harm-your-dog
https://www.rush.edu/health-wellness/discover-health/preventing-dog-walking-injuries
https://petcentral.chewy.com/pet-collars-and-leashes-fitting-and-safety-tips
from https://www.centralparkpaws.net/pet-gear/best-indestructible-chew-proof-dog-collars/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=best-indestructible-chew-proof-dog-collars
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[RF] Grandpa
** This is a long submission. It is incomplete and a work in progress. I suspect it will end up being about 7000 words when complete. This is by far the most complex short story I have attempted, and includes a number of sub plots and the most characters I have tried to use at once. Some of it is very much based in my real world experiences, with characters based on real people and family members. This story is therapeutic to write and deeply personal. Having said that, I REALLY want feedback on it.
As it is a long story, I will be forever grateful to anybody willing to read it in its (current) entirety and offer me feedback and their thoughts. There are bits I am super happy with, and bits I don't like at all. In case anybody has read any of my stories before (I have deleted the ones I have posted in the past I think), the third part of this story has already made an appearance on here before. After writing it, I decided to turn it into a much larger story, particularly utilising feedback from another member. Super thankful to this community for being such a constructive group!
I will of course return the feedback favour. Thank you. **
â
âItâs okay, Lis,â Jordan said, keeping his eyes planted firmly on his wife. âWeâll figure it out.â What he couldnât tell her was that he didnât believe it himself. His stomach churned at the thought of burdening her with such pain. So, he lied with his eyes; begging her to heed his words.
âI know,â Lisa said.
âJust think good thoughts. Weâll get there.â Jordan reached out and took his wifeâs hand, squeezing. They were cold; lonely. Her thumb nails were chewed and uneven, the result of an old, nervous tick rearing its head. All he wanted was to reassure her; make her believe it would all work out. He never intended to be the source of her pain, in fact, it was supposed to be his role to comfort her; to protect her. He was supposed to bring her joy, but lately that seemed to be the one thing he couldnât do.
âIâm just scared that when I get the test, itâll be bad news.â Lisa looked at Jordan. The creases around the edges of her eyes were deeper than usual and her nose was red. This had become a regular occurrence, but Jordan wasnât desensitized. If anything, the more he saw her cry, the more it broke his heart.
âWhat if they say never?â she asked. âWhat will we do then?â
Jordanâs insides screamed. It took everything he had not to throw a dining room chair across the room and into the mirror. He wanted to watch it shatter into millions of pieces and scatter across the room so that he could walk on the broken glass. It seemed like the only thing painful enough to distract him from reality. Staring into Lisaâs eyes, he felt his mouth hanging open, unable to speak. Words seemed suddenly unattainable, blurry and just out of reach. Then, the phone rang.
Jordan looked down to see his mobile vibrating on the table. The caller ID read: Dad. He saw his chance to escape the conversation and gave Lisa an apologetic smile. She nodded, giving him the okay to answer and squeezed his hand before leaving the table and disappearing into the kitchen. Jordan collected the phone, swiped the green button to the left and lifted it to his ear. âHey, Martin,â he said, hoping his dad would take the bait.
âDonât call me that.â His dadâs voice was uneven; rough. There was no banter, no jokes. It wasnât right.
âSorry, Dad. Whatâs up?â
âMatey, itâs Grandpa.â
Jordan furrowed his brow and inhaled before responding. âWhat about him?â
âHeâs not okay. Cancer.â For the second time in two minutes, Jordan found himself lost for words. It didnât make any sense, he thought. His dad always used to say his grandpa was fit as a fiddle made of steel. The man ate germ meal and steamed broccoli for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It didnât make sense.
âHeâs having an operation to remove a large tumour from his brain,â his dad continued. âWe should visit him before he goes in.â
âYeah, of course.â Jordan stuttered through his response. âWhen?â
âTomorrow. Iâll see you and your brother at four oâclock outside the Wesley.â
âDo you need me to call Kurt?â
âNo. Itâs done.â
âRight. See you tomorrow.â
âBye, matey.â
The phone disconnected and Jordan stood in stunned silence. The world felt quieter; less chaotic. But, much darker. His grandpa was lively and charismatic in his old age; the life of the party. That image immediately began to fade, only to be replaced with hollow stillness.
âWhat was that?â Lisa called from the kitchen.
âThat was Dad.â Jordan tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it only seemed to get larger. âGrandpaâs sick. Youâll have to get the test on your own tomorrow.â
Lisa reappeared from the kitchen. âIs it serious?â
Jordan turned to look at her and nodded slowly.
â
***
â
Outside the Wesley Hospital, Jordan watched his brother take a long draw from his cigarette. Clamping it between his fore and middle fingers, he pinched his eyebrows together in what looked like intense concentration, before blowing out the smoke and gazing into the distance. It was funny, Jordan thought, how all smokers seemed to suck on their cigarette in exactly the same way.
âSo, cancer,â Kurt said, âthatâs shit.â
Jordan frowned and let out a small chuckle. His brother always had a knack for thoughtless thoughtfulness. It was charming in a way. Reminded Jordan of the beauty to be found in simplicity.
âYeah. Itâs shit,â he agreed.
Jordan had always found it difficult to talk with his brother. An ocean of difference separated them, often too expansive to swim and too murky navigate. Kurt had always been into heavy metal and horror movies, while Jordan was more interested in sport and politics. They were brothers, but theyâd never really been friends. Of course, it hadnât helped that, growing up, they fought like brothers.
Jordan had always been good at poking the bear, like the time he found one of Kurtâs cigarette filters on the floor of the living room and, even though he knew exactly what it was, decided it best to pretend otherwise and show it to their mum. Jordan marvelled at his own genius that night, taking great pleasure in his brotherâs admonishment and indefinite grounding. The look in his mumâs eyes had always stuck with him, though, as he was sure it had with Kurt. Looking into them was like being pulled into a black hole, lost forever within an expansive and ever painful nothing. Heâd thought it best to make sure those eyes were never directed at him.
But, like any self-respecting older brother, Kurt would reciprocate to Jordanâs provocation. One time, after Jordan had stolen his Play Station controller, Kurt chased him under the house and guarded the only exit with an enormous stick. Too scared to get close and too stupid to apologise, Jordan had cowered in the corner of the room until their mother had gotten home. Thinking he was finally saved; Jordan screamed for his mother at the top of his lungs. Ironically, it was then that he faced that which heâd feared so much.
They were both grounded.
A stiff breeze forced Jordanâs hands into his jean pockets. Looking at Kurt, he was both jealous and impressed by his brotherâs ability to ignore the cold. There they were, standing in ten-degree weather, and Kurt was wearing a black tank top and cargo shorts, tapping his foot to an imaginary beat as he smoked his Winny Blue. His nonchalance was awe-inspiring.
âSo, howâs up north?â Jordan asked, hoping to break the uncomfortable silence.
âItâs fine,â Kurt said, taking another draw from his cigarette. âHot. Sticky. My air-conâs shit.â
âThat sucks.â
âOath. Mining workâs tough too â two weeks on, two off. I can never quite get settled.â
âSorry to hear, man. Iâd hate that.â Jordan scrambled for another discussion point. âHowâd you get down so quick? Dad only called me yesterday afternoon.â
âHe got onto me about ten in the mornâ yesterday. I flew down early today. Had lunch in the city.â Kurt took one final draw from his cigarette before dropping it to the cracked pavement and stomping it out. Then, without pause, he pulled the pack from his back pocket and lit another. âHow about you?â he asked, âHowâs Lisa?â
Jordan gave his brother a quick smile, doing his best to mask his apprehension toward the topic. âYeah, sheâs good. Weâre good.â Kurt looked at him as if to say, that was convincing.
âGood to hear, mate. Did you know about Grandpa?â
Jordan was glad his brother had moved on. âNah. Didnât even know he was sick. You reckon Dadâs known for long?â
Kurt took his last draw from his cigarette, dropped it to the pavement next to his first, and stamped it out.
âWe can ask him ourselves. Here he is.â He motioned behind Jordan.
Their father walked towards them. His posture was slouched, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadnât slept in days. His hollow smile was worn thin and a five oâclock shadow painted his jaw in grey. It looked wrong; incorrect. Martin Alexander was a man of rigid, unwavering routine. Every morning he got up at six, brushed, shaved and showered in that order. He ate the same breakfast every day; one whole orange, sliced in half, one cup of coffee and two slices of wholemeal bread with vegemite. Whenever he left the house, he had to check that all the windows were closed, all the power points turned off and every door was locked. Twice. The man was like a machine. Programmed to perform the same tasks in the same ways every day. Seeing just one of these routines broken made Jordan feel uneasy. Martin Alexander with facial hair didnât look like Martin Alexander; rather he looked like Bizarro Martin. Dark Martin. Martin from another world. Another reality. A reality Jordan didnât want to know about because it was obviously darker than this one.
âHello, boys,â Martin said as he approached. The brothers glanced at one another before hugging him.
âHeâll be right, you know,â Martin said.
Jordan and Kurt looked at each other and grimaced. âYeah, Dad. We know,â Jordan said, placing his hand on his fatherâs shoulder, and giving it a light squeeze.
âHeâs got a lot of life left in him,â Martin continued.
âThat he does,â Kurt said.
âHeâll have the surgery and be-â Martin paused and looked past his childrenâs heads, avoiding eye contact, but refusing to cry. He continued, âHeâll-â
Jordan interjected, âDad. We-â
âHeâll be up and at âem again soon. Iâll make sure of it.â
Jordan watched as his dad tried desperately to control the uncontrollable. Heâd always been like that â determined to keep everything in order. Like a marching band. Organised and predictable. Most of the time he was successful, but Jordan sensed that today would slip through his fingers.
âDad,â Jordan said. Martin turned to look at his son in the eyes. âWe know. Letâs go in.â
â
***
â
The room was white; oppressive; sterile. Jordan hated it. The walls were pristine; not because they'd been prepared for visitors, but because they'd been meticulously cleaned with bleach - or some other nauseating chemical - time and again. He could smell it in the air. Their sheen was a sombre reminder of what happened there week-in and week-out. People went there to die.
The sun spilled through the small window and into the dark room, trying desperately to remind everybody the world outside was still bright. Dust danced through the light and, presumably, settled across the room, decorating it in filth. Jordan chuckled to himself. It was ironic, he thought. A place kept so diligently clean was still unable to escape dust.
Martin was standing next to him with his head down and his eyes closed. His arms were a straitjacket across his chest, folded so tightly, it looked as though he was struggling to breathe. Kurt was by the window, reading some medical poster that was hung on the wall. It outlined the circulatory system or the lymphatic system or some system. He was still tapping his foot to an imaginary beat.
A cough from behind them disturbed the solemn silence, and they all turned in unison to stare at the bathroom door.
"You okay in there?" Martin called; arms still locked. There was no reply. "Dad?" He tried again. "You okay?" He looked at his sons, frowned, and exhaled.
"Be right out, mate," Grandpa called. His voice was hollow. Sick. but still full of unrestrained enthusiasm. "Just dealin' with the toot!"
Jordan put his hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh and turned to look at his dad. A smile was haphazardly scrawled across Martinâs face and he was slowly shaking his head back and forth. "That's Dad," he said and shrugged.
âHe used to call me Kurtle.â Jordan look at his brother, his eyebrows raised, imploring him to continue. âYou know, like a turtle.â
âYou loved them as a kid,â Martin said, shifting his weight on the spot.
âYeah. Still do. None up north, though.â
âNot even in the desert sand?â Jordan asked, his tone sarcastic and his smile exaggerated.
âNah, too dry,: Kurt said, straight faced, before turning back to his poster.
Without warning, the bathroom door flew open and a frail eighty-two-year-old walked out in a blue hospital gown. His grey cheeks and thinning hair were juxtaposed against his wild smile and starry eyes.
âCheck it out fellas, theyâve got me in a bloody nappy!â Grandpa shrieked.
With no other warning, he yanked up his gown to reveal a large, white adult nappy.
Jordanâs eyes widened and, unable to contain his laughter, he turned away from his grandpa to look at his dad.
Equally amused, but twice as embarrassed, Martin protested, "Jesus, Dad! Put your gown down." His arms unlocked and he waved them in front of him, as if to say we don't need to see that!
Jordan looked back at his grandpa. Martin Senior couldn't have given two shits, wiggling his hips from side to side in some kind of dance. His eyes were wide and mischievous and the wrinkles on his face creased as he smiled. Even in the face of death, their grandpa was full of life. It pained Jordan to think that he couldn't remember if he'd always been this way; if he'd always been such a kid. He hung his head, unable to recall when heâd last spent meaningful time with his grandpa.
He cast his mind back as far as he could reach, but all he was able to pluck from the ocean of memories, were a few sporadic moments in which heâd ignored the man who only wanted to know him, in favour of video games, alcohol, and anything else.
Jordan made his way to a chair in the corner of the hospital room and sat down. On the periphery of his vision, his dad struggled with his grandpa, fighting to get his gown down, with Kurt watching from the sidelines offering unhelpful commentary and egging his grandpa on.
Jordan exhaled, pushing what remaining life was left in him out into nothingness. He could feel his muscles growing weak and his eyes becoming increasingly heavy as tears welled. The world wrapped its icy tendrils around him, pulling him in for the kill. His head pounded as it played over every moment he'd missed to actually get to know the man standing just a few feet away.
âAlright, Dad. Now just sit there, will you?â
Jordan looked up. His dad had managed to convince his grandpa to sit down. Studying the bed, Jordan noticed a small jug attached to its side about half-filled with yellow liquid; urine. A plastic tube hung loose; disconnected. The catheter was yet another visual reminder that, even though the nappy was funny, and it was good to see him laugh, his grandpa was in a world of pain.
âWill you stop fussing over me?â his grandpa said. âI get enough of that shit here as it is.â
Martin looked unimpressed. âDad, this is serious. You need to be careful and look after yourself before the surgery.â Jordan watched his grandpa shoo his dadâs concerns away like they were nothing. This, of course, bothered Martin to no end. He did little to hide it.
âKurt, mate,â Grandpa began, âhowâs up north?â
Kurt began to answer him, but Martin interrupted. âHave you thought about accommodation when you come out, Dad?â
âJenâs set the basement up.â
âWhat about care?â
âI donât need it. Iâm fine.â
âDad, look, you need t-â
âDad,â Jordan interjected. âCalm down. Leave it be.â He looked directly into Martinâs eyes. They were wet and red, ready to burst. You canât control this, he thought, trying to telepathically communicate the sentiment to his dad. Just leave it.
And for a second, he thought heâd been successful in communicating his message as Martinâs expression appeared to soften. For a second Jordan thought that maybe his father might accept that he was unable to control just one thing. Then his phone rang, breaking their telepathic connection and breaking Martin free from his calm.
Jordan looked at his phone. Lisa was calling. He felt immediately guilty that heâd forgotten where she was. What she was doing. Without him.
Sighing, he said, âIâve gotta take this.â
As he left the room, Jordan heard his fatherâs berating continue and he shook his head to himself.
Jordan closed the door. He looked in both directions, making sure nobody else was in the hall. Nothing but still silence. He didnât really know why he had to be alone to take this, but for some reason, the notion of a stranger hearing potentially life changing news felt like a violation. Looking down at his phone, he took in a deep breath and answered.
âHey, Lis. Whatâs the go?â
Nothing.
âLis?â He could hear muffled sobbing on the other end of the line and his heart dropped. He tried again. âLisa?â
âI donât know.â The words spilled out her messily.
Jordan softened, âSo, why the crying?â
âIâve just got a feeling, Jord.â She took a deep breath and phone fell silent once again.
âLisa, are you there?â
âYes.â
âWhat feeling?â
âJordan-â She took another breath. â-what if we never get pregnant?â
â
- TO BE CONTINUED -
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I wished you had hurt me harder than I hurt you
I thought I had made a mistake somewhere. That if I had said it out loud properly, that if I had conveyed my feelings to you clearly, youâd understand.
But you didnât want anything to do with that.
Letâs forget about that, you said, shuttered eyes looking away, your mouth twisted in that awful, fake smile. Like we were strangers. Like we were nothing.
I had it wrong all along. It was all in my head, the way you looked at me, gentle and intimate, the way you would look away, embarrassed, when I looked back.
In the distance, I heard the dull roar of the crowd, chanting for another encore. I smiled back at you, numb. Yes. I understand.
There was no point in refusing. After all, starting tomorrow, we would never see each other again.
Nogizaka46 fanfiction. Nogizaka46 is an idol group produced by Akimoto Yasushi. This is a work of fiction; any similarities to their real lives is wishful thinking.
Part 01: Nanase
Nanase has a late breakfast with Kazumi once a month.
They talk on the phone and message, of course, but itâs over runny eggs and flaky croissants that they talk about Nogizaka.
They catch up on news, Yumiâs new stage production and Erikaâs latest collaboration with the TĆkyĆ Metropolitan Symphony Orchestra. Asuka is releasing a photobook later that year and sends Nanase pictures of the rugged countryside, quaint cottages, rambling food reviews. They discuss Kazumiâs drafts for a new novel and Nanaseâs role in an upcoming film. They make plans to try a new restaurant with Karin and her boyfriend, to help Misa and YĆ«ri move next month, to catch Marikaâs exhibit.
They talk for hours, lingering over extra cups of coffee and dessert, before Kazumi reluctantly leaves, hugging Nanase tightly and promising to see her again soon.
It is still early yet, the weather sunny without being too hot. Nanase decides not to take a taxi, to walk home instead. Itâs a twenty-minute walk to her apartment, easily manageable by foot.
She is almost home when she almost runs over someone.
âAh, sumimasen.â She backs up and bows.
âNanaseâŠ?â
Nanase startles, jerks her head back to look at the person. Itâs been three years, but she looks the same.
Yes, she and Kazumi talk about Nogizaka, about the members they are closest to, those who stayed, those who graduated, those who come after. They donât talk about Mai.
Nanase wishes they did. She may have been more prepared to see Mai, small child in her arms, propped up on her hip.
âCongratulations,â Nanase says.
Motherhood suits Mai. It softens her face, makes her approachable in a way she never seemed in Nogizaka.
âAh, itâs been a while.â Her daughter squirms in her arms, and Mai hefts her higher, rocking to shush her. âHow are you?â
Nanase knows Mai means nothing by it, but the question seems loaded, weighted.
âIâm well. How are you?â
Mai smiles wryly, head tilted as her daughter tugs at the end of her braid. As Mai attempts to disengage the hand, her glasses, low on her nose, slip further. Mai looks harried. She also has never looked more beautiful or unattainable.
Maiâs fingers, slim and pale, are bare. That hardly means anything.
âMai-chan!â A tall man charges around the corner, diaper bag slung across his chest. Her husband, then. âSorry to keep you waiting.â
Maiâs laugh, a low chuckleâ
Nanaseâs hands, still gripping the strap of her satchel, clenches.
âItâs fine, Akihito-san.â She hands the girl to him. He takes her with confident hands, holds her securely, cradles their daughter against the crook of his neck.
âSumimasen, you had company.â
He is handsome with a genial, pleasant face, sharp jawline under the beginnings of a beard. Nanase smiles and bobs her head. He starts to as well, then smiles ruefully as his daughter fusses. He seems kind.
âAkihito-san, this is Nishino Nanase, my good friend. Nanase, this is my brother-in-law, Miura Akihito-san, and my niece, Saya-chan.â
âAh, domo.â Nanase bows, mind whirling at the information. Brother-in-law? Niece?
âSame here.â
âJÄ, Iâll see you next weekend? Tell onÄ-chan I want to eat yakiniku! Yakiniku!â
Miura Akihito-san laughs and agrees. They wave as the pair turn the corner.
âYour niece?â
âMm, Saya-chan is just over a year old. She takes after Akihito-san more than onÄ-chan though.â
âSheâs cute.â
Nanase turns to look at Mai to find Mai staring at her.
âNanaseâŠitâs really good to see you.â Maiâs mouth curls up in a slow smile. Nanaseâs heart lurches at the sight. âDo you have some time? Thereâs a cafĂ© down the street if you want to have an early dinner.â
Nanase has just eaten. There is a new script waiting at home. She is flying down to Ćsaka tomorrow morning and she has yet to pack. Nanase is in love with Mai.
âMm. I want to go.â
Nanaseâs phone pings as sheâs doing laundry.
She pauses, finishes removing her clean sheets from the dryer before she checks the message.
There is a video from Mai, of her coaxing her cat from under the sofa. Or at least, attempting to. The cat makes plaintive meows but does not come closer.
Nanase laughs as video Mai struggles to keep her impatience in check.
It has been a week since she returned from Ćsaka, but they have been in constant contact, messaging daily about nothing important.
ItâŠis almost like being friends.
âI want to apologize,â Mai starts after the waiter leaves with their order. âFor that night.â
Nanase would rather talk about anything else but that.
She remembers that night vividly. Maiâs rigid shoulders and clenched jaw, how her face shifted, how normal she looked when Erika and Sayuri came into view. Mai had always been good at acting normal. Nanase wished she could be a little less professional though, standing there, laughing and joking with the others like she hadnât just devastated Nanaseâs world with her words.
NÄ-chan, donât cry, Sayuri murmured as she hugged Nanase tightly.
âYou donât have to apologizeââ
âNo, I do.â Mai pauses, then reaches out to place her hand next to Nanaseâs on the table, just enough that they barely touch. âI wanted to protect you. I didnât want anyone to use our arrangement against you.â
Arrangement. Nanase doesnât know if she wants to laugh or cry. MaiâŠdoesnât know. This is too much.
Over the years, Nanase replayed their relationship over and over in her mind. She had mistaken attraction for interest, affection for love. She had figured that it was just a thing girls did, play acting at relationships. She didnât think she had it all completely wrong.
âIt wasnât that I didnât want to do that with youââ Mai reddens, coughs, then takes a long drink of water. Nanase watches her throat work, canât look away, wants to press her mouth there to follow the movement.
âWhat about now?â Nanase blinks. Did she just blurt outâ
Mai chokes, almost spilling her glass as she puts it down.
âWhat?â
Itâs almost like watching an accident in slow motion, Nanase pressing onward. âWhat about now? If I were to ask, would you say yes?â
âAre you? Asking.â
âYes.â Nanase meets Maiâs eyes, drops her gaze. What am I doing, she thinks. She is making a fool of herself. Just because Mai hasnât said no yet, doesnât mean she will say yes. Nanase starts to pull her hand away, thinks about how she can play this off as a joke.
âOkay.â Mai stops her hand, fingers loosely encircling Nanaseâs wrist, their palms touching. Maiâs ears are still red as she clears her throat shakily, but her eyes are clear and sure. âYes.â
Well, Mai said yes, but now Nanase isnât sure how to proceed. Nanase smooths down the sheet, then reaches for the comforter.
The last time they had been sexfriends, it had been Maiâs idea.
âUnbelievable,â Mai-yan huffs as she sits down at the edge of the bed. âI canât believe Misa is kicking me out just to have sex with YĆ«ri.â
Itâs more than just that, Nanase thinks, sitting down on the other bed. However blasĂ© YĆ«ri is acting, there is no way itâs just sex for her and Misa.
Even so, Mai does have a point. Their rooming had been arranged by management weeks ago, Misa with Mai-yan, YĆ«ri with Nanase. For Misa to decide to swap after they checked in downstairs is uncharacteristically rude of her.
âAre you okay with this, Nanase?â Nanase startles at Mai-yanâs question. Even though sheâs always been more comfortable being called Nanase than NÄ-chan, Mai-yan calling her by name feels different. Intimate.
âMm, I donât mind.â
Mai-yan hums in disbelief, but she doesnât push Nanase. âWhy donât we watch some television then?â
She turns on the television and starts flipping through the channels. She stops on an old rerun of an anime, turns to Nanase.
âM-mai-yan?â
âHave you thought of it before?â
Nanase did not, but now that Mai-yan mentioned it, thatâs all she can think about. Misa dropped something on the floor in the elevator and bent down to pick it up, but not before running a slow hand up YĆ«riâs calf, a secretive smile playing on her lips as she stands up. YĆ«riâs answering grin and the way she yanked a laughing Misa inside their room. How easy they make it seem, how casual.
Mai-yan has moved to sit next to Nanase, so close that she can see the individual lashes around Mai-yanâs intent eyes.
Nanase nods.
âWant to try?â
Your cat is cute, she messages back.
I give up. He can stay there, Mai writes with a teary emoji. Are you busy tonight?
Just finishing laundry. Nanase snaps a picture of her made bed, then blushes at the implication.
Iâm trying a new recipe tonight. Want to come over?
Yes.
Hereâs the thing: Nanase was not waiting for Mai.
But dating is hard, harder still since she had never been in a relationship before. And no one shines as brightly as Mai.
But once, just onceâshe had considered it.
Iwasaki Kenta-san was already a rising star even before he received a leading role in Director Takagiâs detective drama. Iwasaki-san had a guest role on an American drama, and the producer there had introduced him to a Hollywood director and a small role in a suspense trilogy. But he was still humble, still earnest, as he greeted everyone on set during the first rehearsal.
He cuts a sharp figure, lean, neatly pressed slacks and tie, shirtsleeves rolled up to emphasize his toned arms, and his Detective Fujimoto smolders with burning intensity during the shooting, leaving the other women on set swooning. It comes as no surprise when he is nominated for Outstanding Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role for the Japan Academy Prize.
As for Nanase, her acting has improved over the years, and while her Detective Sasaki is good, she isnât great.
Iwasaki-san escorts her the night of the award ceremony, hand hovering over her back. They look good together, and they laugh off questions about their relationship with each other, but there is a moment, right before she sits down, that his hand drops to the small of her back and she doesnât pull away.
Their eyes meet, and Nanase thinks, maybe.
When he asks if he can walk her back to her hotel room, she agrees.
They donât talk on the elevator ride, and Nanase feels more uncertain the further up they go. She likes him, doesnât she? She has to, on some level, to agree to this.
The elevator stops on the eighth floor, and he gestures for her to go first.
She fumbles her keycard outside her door, andâ
She doesnât want him.
âNishino-san?â
âIâm sorry. IâI canât.â
He stares at her, brows furrowed in confusion andâ
Ah.
His concentration when he mouths his script, their easy chemistry when theyâre shooting a scene, his dedication and careâ
He reminds her of Mai.
Iwasaki-san looks irritated now, and she wonders if he will press the issue, if she would stop him if he asked again.
But he sighs and nods. âI understand.â
âIâm sorry.â
âI thought you wanted toââ
âI thought I did too. Butââ She shrugs helplessly.
His face gentles. âSo, itâs true. That there was someone before, someone who wounded you.â
She bristles at that. Sheâs not broken, sheâsâ
She just almost had sex with someone who reminded her of someone she loves. Loved. Loves.
âThen, is there someone else?â
âThereâs no one.â
That isnât a lie either.
He gives her a dubious look. No, she thinks, itâs just better when thereâs love.
But she doesnât owe him an explanation, doesnât owe him anything, so she apologizes again and closes the door softly in his face.
Nanase hesitates outside Maiâs door.
This is new territory; they have never visited each other at home before.
The door opens to Maiâs bemused smile. âI thought I heard someone.â
âAh. Ojamashimasu.â As she bends over to line up her shoes, a tortoiseshell cat darts around the corner and stares at her with wary eyes. âIs thisââ
âYes,â Mai picks up the squawking cat and drapes him over her shoulder. âThis is my menace.â
âMai,â Nanase laughs, reaching out with a finger. The cat sniffs her, then bumps her hand and purrs.
âI mean, this is Yanagi.â
âYou named your cat Yanagi?â
âMisa named my cat Yanagi. This is all Misaâs fault actually. I was looking for a dog.â
Nanase smiles and follows Mai into the living room. âWhat happened?â
âWe were looking at puppies when a staff member passed by, bleeding. Apparently, Yanagi didnât like him. He was brought to the shelter when his owner passed away.â Mai strokes Yanagiâs back with gentle fingers as the cat curls up on her lap. âMisa didnât want to leave him there since heâs already six years old.â
Of course, Misa didnât. Nanase grins. This is just like Mai.
âThen why didnât she adopt him?â
âShe claims that YĆ«ri would kill her if she brings home a pet without asking. Well, it couldnât be helped.â
Yanagi rolls on his back, exposing his belly to be rubbed. Mai huffs but obliges.
Mai hasnât changed one bit.
âWhat are you grinning at?â
âItâs justâyour place, itâs very you.â
The apartment, all dark woods and rich fabric contrasting with light curtains, the chrome and marble kitchen, Mai in socks and frayed sweater, worn with ageâ
âYeah?â
âI like it.â
âDid you change your mind?â Mai asks, handing over a wet plate for Nanase to dry.
Nanase freezes. Thereâs no mistaking what Mai is asking.
âNo.â A pause. âDid you?â
âMe neither.â
They finish the rest of the dishes in silence. Mai dries her hands.
âI went to checkâI mean I havenâtâIâm clean. There has only been one other person.â
Nanase holds back a flinch but only barely.
Of courseâ
Maiâ
Nanase respects Mai, her commitment and her drive and her kindness. Sheâs always trying her best, whether itâs dance or speaking or mentoring the younger girls, but all in a casual way, without making a big deal out of it. Such a personâitâs no surprise Mai would have found someone easilyâ
Being with Mai, sometimes, is like being blinded by the sun.
Nanase wishes she did not know.
She wonders if she knows the person.
âWhat about Nanase?â
She wonders what she should say, decides on the truth. âThere has been no one else.â I couldnât, without thinking of you.
âNanase.â Maiâs voice is low, urgent. Nanase meets Maiâs eyes, feels her chest clench at how dark they are. âMay Iââ
âPlease.â
Mai kisses her, and Nanase whimpers at the sensation. The chemistry is still there, the chemistry and the attraction andâ
Maiâs hands tighten on her hips, and she lifts Nanase up until Nanase is half sitting on the counter.
Has Mai always been this strong?
Maiâs hands span the width of her hipbone, slides up under her shirt. They have been urgent before, but not like this, only stolen moments on tour, all quick, furtive movements. Mai presses closer, one hand pulling Nanaseâs leg further around her waist, and Nanase jolts at that, knocking a ladle into the sink.
Yanagi hisses in the other room, and Mai pulls back, panting, eyes wild.
If nothing else, their compatibility has never been in question.
If I go down this path, I can never go back.
Nothing has changed. This is physical, can only be physical, can only be casual because Maiâ
But Nanase has tried leaving, has tried finding someone else, and sheâs tired of not having Mai.
âNanase.â Mai searches her face, uncertain. What is she looking for?
Nanase pulls Mai in again, kisses her with quiet desperation.
She doesnât want her feelings to spoil this.
Nanase wakes up in Maiâs bed, Mai curled up behind her, arm slung low on her waist.
Staying is intimate, too intimate. But as she tries to slide out, Maiâs arm tightens around her.
âMai,â Nanase whispers. Mai grumbles and hides her face in Nanaseâs hair. âI should go.â
âStay.â But Mai loosens her grip and moves back to blink blurrily at Nanase. Nanase turns to face her. âUnless you have something to do tomorrow?â
âNo, I donât.â
This is dangerous.
Mai hums, already halfway asleep again, idly stroking Nanaseâs bare hip. âThen stay. Iâll cook breakfast.â
This cannot end well. Nanase pulls the comforter up to cover them both properly.
âOkay.â
They have a light breakfast, eggs and toast, while Mai runs the laundry, and they shower separately. Mai doesnât walk Nanase home, but she does smile and ask that Nanase text her when she arrives.
Nanase walks home and hopes that sheâs making the right choice and that this doesnât end up destroying both of them.
#fandom: nogizaka46#fanfic: nogizaka46#series: I wished you had hurt me harder than I hurt you#pairing: shiraishi mai/nishino nanase#pairing: etĆ misa/saitĆ yĆ«ri#character: shiraishi mai#character: nishino nanase#character: nogizaka-chan
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#TELLEMBOOBSBYE
Switchinâ up the typical format of my bloggerooni (moaning, ranting, list..ing?) today and presenting to youâŠ. the FIRST EVER SHTICKY SITUATIONS INTERVIEW!!!
 *cranks up Soca Jams and humps dog aggressively*Â
Two-ish years ago (wouldnât that be such a mediocre way to start a story? âOnce upon a timeâŠI thinkâ), I had the privilege to meet, Winnipeg born, stand-up comic and fearless LGBTQ warrior, Chantel Marostica (!!!!!THE CROWD GOES WILD!!!!).Â
Since that day Chantel and I have bonded over each otherâs quirky world views, candid chatter and the frustrations that arise when succumbing to overwhelming waves of anxiety and depression (arenât we ADORABLE!?).Â
Chantel has always been incredibly open and hilariously unfiltered about their struggles with mental health, as well as creating awareness and educating audiences, and comedians alike, about gender identity, sexual fluidity and the importance of creating safe spaces for people to flourish in whilst finding acceptance for themselves.Â
Over the past year or so, theyâve been working hard to help reconstruct how we think in terms of rigid gender stereotypes. Not feeling completely comfortable being labelled as, strictly, a âmanâ or a âwomanâ, Chantel, like many others, feel best when gender isnât being forced upon them, both in physicality or when being referred to. The latter is a work in progress, rife with patience, education and conditioning. In order to achieve the former, however, Chantel has decided to undergo a double mastectomy. A VOLUNTARY DOUBLE MASTECTOMY!? You wonder to yourself. Well, yes. Thatâs just how much of a misrepresentation and, therefore, burden they are for them. How could you deny someone the right to feel like themselves? Not I. But then again, Iâve always been more of an ass woman...err..person.
Without further ado:
Q) When did you decide you'd have enough of your boobs and it was time to send âem packing?Â
A) I've never identified with my chest. I cried my eyes out when mom told me I'd get them in the first place. I don't know how to explain gender dysmorphia in words. You just know something isn't right. All the pieces just don't FIT. I've always been self conscious about my body and I couldn't really put my finger on why till I put on my first binder. It was so amazing to not look down and see them. I felt like me for the first time physically since I was a kid. It's a decision I've come to slowly, I don't think there's "one thing" that could happen to a person to make them question their outside matching their inside. It's an accumulation of experiences, I was born a woman, so I was raised and treated like one my whole life... until I decided to make my outward appearance reflect all the questions I had about gender identity in my head. Then I slowly came to realize I am whoever I want to be, and I don't have to be a man, or a woman, and my chest doesn't have to cause me crippling anxiety anymore. Â
Q) Preach. Just curious, whatâs your parents current take on the situation?Â
A) This question is hard, because at the end of the day it doesn't matter what they think. Or what anyone thinks. It's so frightening to say out loud "I want a double mastectomy" it's a jarring life changing surgery and everyone's response to it... isn't great. My parents don't know what to say about it. So they don't. It's terribly lonely to experience this all without family guidance or support, but it's uncharted territory for almost everyone, unless you're gender non-conforming, gender queer or trans you can't explain or expect people to fathom your experience, which is that you don't belong in your own body. My parents will come around to it all in time, they always do, they love me so GD much, but it'll be something they "get used to" not that they'll understand or attempt to educate themselves on. It's fine though, they love me, and it's my life, my body, and my decision.Â
Q) You are knocking these questions out of the park. Now, being a comic and allâŠHas comedy helped you get to a place of comfort with your gender and sexual identity?Â
A) Comedy hasn't helped in any way. It's cathartic in general to do comedy because it's everything to me, but being non-binary is incredibly difficult to talk about on stage. Half of my set up for my jokes on the subject are a gender Ted talk I give to stunned looking straight people. Lol. On stage I have a choice of talking about it or not talking about it, I read the crowd... and also decide if I feel like "teaching" people that day, or just making them laugh... Off stage is harder. Comedians can be incredibly judgemental people, and also... uneducated people, at least on like gender and queer issues. Just a bit tone deaf. Hosts often bring me up as she, and refer to me by "she/her" pronouns, because they've either forgotten to use the "they/them" pronoun or they thought I was joking or simply just had no idea what I was talking about when I asked "can you use they/them pronouns?"Â Â
Q) It will take time but I believe enough of us can get there. And in the meantime, what's the dumbest thing someone's said to you since you made this decision?Â
A) "Are you keeping your nipples?" - Jeff Paul lololololol honestly the funniest question EVER asked.Â
Q) What's the most supportive or humbling thing someone's said to you since you made this decision?Â
A) That my openness and willingness to share my experience publicly has helped them. I've had many non-binary people just thank me for saying it out loud "I didn't know that it was normal to want my breasts removed... I thought I had to be trans to want or need that," which is what I grappled with a lot too. Looking between the extreme black and white that is gender and finding comfort and normalcy in the grey was my biggest hurdle. Â Â
Q) Beautifully said. In light of inspiring youth, if you could go back to high school what would you tell your adolescent self?Â
A) To come out of the closet.... That being gay is not wrong, or gross, or something to be teased and hated for. And that all my homophobic bullies would have shitty lives, so not to get too caught up on their idiot homophobic judgements. Â
TEEN PREGNANCY YA'LL. it'll GETCHA. Â Â
Q) Are you allowed to ask the hospital to keep your post-surgery boobs like wisdom teeth?Â
A) You're an idiot. Â
Q) Thought Iâd try and one up Jeff Paul with that. Now, I know you've been working to achieve a shift in how friends/family/performers address, refer to and introduce you.Â
Could you discuss a bit about that and what that's done for your confidence and comfort in the community since enforcing this change of language?Â
A) It makes my heart feel... I don't know, I feel whole when people gender me properly and use the proper pronoun. I didn't think it would feel like that. When people I don't expect to understand correct themselves after they slip up... I almost cry every time. It's so validating. It's like being seen for the first time as YOU. Â Â
Q) What's the first thing you're going to do post-surgery when the drugs wear off?Â
A) I'll probably go home and rest. It's a really intense surgery, but when I'm all healed up, I'm đŻ air brushing off all my tattoos and re-air brushing all of Bieber's tattoos on me...  and recreating every topless photo of him. Ever. #GOALZÂ
Q) The fact that you love this straight, white wealthy male amazes me. Has there been anyone (in real life or in the media) who has been a steady role model for you or inspired you towards (forgive the corniness) living your truest self? That wasnât Bieber.Â
A) My trans friends and my queer family are the biggest inspiration in my life. They're all so GD brave and perfect.Â
Q) What can us heteronormative snooze bores do to help standardize the conversation and support those working to achieve comfort in their own skin?Â
A) Listen. Ask people their pronouns. Listen. Use their pronouns properly. Listen. Validate requests from marginalized people. Listen. Educate yourself... and yeah just listen, you can't speak for anyone's experience except your own, and you have to accept other people's experiences for what they are, opening your mind and expanding to other possibilities is the only way you can really validate and respect people whose stories are different than yours. Â
In a world filled with regression, letâs piggyback onto things we have in our own control to better. Letâs BE PROGRESS. And in light of this all, Chantel is hosting an incredible show to help achieve their goal faster because Canada pays comedians in rabbit turds. And also, shows are fun. SO FUN.
THE SHOW DEETS:Â
#Tellemboobsbye Chantel Marostica's Top Surgery Fund-O-Rama + Comedy Showcase The Rivoli (334 Queen Street West) Wednesday, November 15th, 2017/9PMÂ Â
Tickets - https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/tellemboobsbye-tickets-38502417768?utm_term=eventurl_textÂ
Or if you canât make it and want to contribute to the surgery you can do so here- GoFundMe -Â https://www.gofundme.com/
#gofundme#mastectomy#gender#genderidentity#identity#sexuality#sexualfluidity#lgbtq#feminist#humankind#toronto#yyz#winnipeg#canada#the6ix#love#performance#performance art#comedy#comedian#humour#standup#blogger#blog#comedyblog#comedyblogger#change#help#mondaymood#mondayblogs
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Flexibility in White Boxes
Introduction:
Whether you are planning to create packaging box for your products or planning to change the product packaging, you must be thinking if the appearance of any product matters a lot. Many people think the product and its performance is far more important for the success of your business than its packaging. But packaging has to play a significant role in success or failure of the packed product, as packaging makes the first impression and good packaging has enough potential to introduce your product efficiently. So its importance cannot be neglected.
Primary function of packaging is to keep the product safe on its way from manufacturer to retailer and then to its consumer. Packaging with extra features attracts more and more customers for example for packaging soup the bowl must be able to keep it safe from contamination and must be strong enough to avoid spilling . But if the bowl is also microwave able then this feature will make it more appealing to the working community resulting in it increased demand. Thus packaging has a significant role no one can deny.
âI am not a make-up person, but I love wearable products that are easy to use, with fun packaging.â Said Charlotte Ronson.
Types of Packaging Boxes:
Everything needs a packaging to complete its look. Different types of packaging boxes are being used for variety of purposes. White box is as much important as that of any colored or printed box. White packaging box is perfect for almost all kind of packagingâs either for industrial use or for gift packaging. It looks simple, elegant and sophisticated as white is the color of elegance. There are different types of white packaging boxes described below:
Simple White Packaging box: Simple   standard sized boxes are made in bulk by packaging companies which are   ready for use. These types of boxes are used for several different   purposes. Small square shaped boxes for packaging single object most   commonly for packaging gifts or toys. Rectangular boxes are capable of   holding more than two objects but if the thing supposed to be packed in a   box is elongated then box will keep only one object inside it. Careful   selection of box is of prime importance. Box material and dimensions must   be appropriate to your product so that the purpose of packaging must be   fulfilled. These simple white boxes can also be customized.
Custom White Packaging Box:  Your product packaging is the first   thing that customer looks at. It communicates to the customer and makes the first impression of your product. Whether itâs a label or a box (or both), it must have to have the ability to make connection, create emotion and intrigue through the type of product you pack in the packaging container or box. The style of your packaging also helps customers to  communicate the contents of your product. Numerous options of  customization can be added to white packaging boxes to boost up their utilization and usefulness. These boxes are pocket friendly because of their low prices compared to other expensive colored boxes. Their  simple white color makes them perfect for variety of purposes. Custom  white packaging box not only allure the customers but also portrays significant information about the product like directions to used , its ingredients, an in case of food packaging the calorie count is must for diet conscious people. Custom white packaging must be able to  target wide range of customers for better growth of your business.
For getting a custom made box according to your desired dimensions you have to contact packaging manufacturer. For this you would have to let them know about the type of your product and also explain what kind of box you want for your product. They will suggest you the best material for packaging your product if for example you want to pack some fragile object then they will suggest you corrugated box or a rigid heavy duty box. While on the other hand if you want food packaging box then keeping food fresh and hygienic is the major concern then box is selected according to the type of food item. After finalizing the material, then comes its style. Square boxes, rectangular boxes, single piece boxes, boxes with separate lid, window boxes, these are few common types of boxes with are customized in your given dimensions. Once custom white box is ready now you can either use it simply the way it is or you can print it for marketing and promotion of your brand name.
3. Custom Printed White Packaging Boxes: In order to differentiate the product of one brand from the other, product packaging must be having company or brand name or logo printed on it or some specific color scheme of company. So the concept of custom printing white boxes evolved to help in this regard. This custom printing of white packaging boxes costs little and returns more by helping customer. Most important factor in success of any business is how much they care for ease of their customers. If you go to the grocery store and want to buy any product of some specific brand then a custom printed white packaging box will help you find that product easily. You donât have to go through each and every product to get your desired one all this because of custom printed white boxes.
Customization of white boxes is not just meant for retail packaging but also looks marvelous in gift packaging boxes. Wholesale of custom white packaging boxes is so much common. If you want to grab custom packaging boxes then contact packaging manufacturers their designers will guide you to choose one and you will be pleased on getting an amazing packaging box for your product to be packed.
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