#because i personally am not into the rigid roles inside a pack

[deadboyswalking]

staring into space as I realize this chapter is going to be like 8k

[mampysou]

Day 11 of Harringrove April.

Also read on AO3

Some blood and injury detail below and homophobic language.

Hug

He doesn’t know why he followed the noise; you’d think after everything that had happened over the last year in Hawkins he wouldn’t, but here he was chasing after a strange grumbling sound. He couldn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 Dustin’s 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 wasn’t 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 shouldn’t call them for. It’s not that he won’t need them, but he felt like they shouldn’t see what’s coming. It sent a shiver of nerves and apprehension down his spine as he reached the corner. ‘Shield’ 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 didn’t 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 hadn’t 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 didn’t touch him at first, seeing how terrified this guy was he didn’t know how he would react. He just spoke to him in quiet but firm terms.

“Hey. How can I help?” he said seeing the whole-body shudder as his voice reached the boys ears. “You're injured and need medical attention; can I drive you to the hospital?”

The guy’s head shot up and Steve tried not to fall back on his arse. Billy Hargrove’s 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.

“No fucking hospitals.” He croaked voice not sounding anything like Steve knows it should.

Steve kept calm. It didn’t matter who it was, Billy still needed help and he would give it as best he could. “Right, so can I take you back home?” This reaction was worse. Billy flinched away from him, back hitting the wall, and Steve heard all the air puff out of him.

“Okay so not home either then.” Steve supplied.

Billy, who Steve was sure hadn’t recognised him yet, probably because his eyes were on the way to swelling up, tried to speak again. He coughed twice before he managed, “That ain’t my home no more.” 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.

“My house then. Its empty, just me home tonight and I have all the stuff I need to help you out.” 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.

“I am going to help you up, okay?” He reached out to grab Billy somewhere it probably wouldn’t 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 Billy’s 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 Steve’s car. Billy went rigid next to him; he internally cursed the blonde must have recognised his car.

“Jesus fuck, of course it’s you, Harrington.” He spluttered around a cough.

“Yeah, yeah, just get in the car so we can get you sorted out, Hargrove.” He complained as he man-handled Billy into the bimmer. “What happened Billy?” he asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Got beat up moron. What the fuck does it look like?” he grumbled at Steve.

“Hargrove got beat up? Who did you fight a giant?” he asked trying his best to keep the mocking from his voice.

“No, just four guys.”

“Four? Why the hell did they do that?” he asked. How on earth Billy got a single punch in was beyond him. Fighting four people wasn’t like in the movies. They didn’t 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.

“What did you say to get in this state?” 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. “Was just being me. Didn’t know his friends were waiting. Fucking dick heads.”

“What do you mean being me?” he asked quietly trying not to spook him now he was opening up. He could only imagine he wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying.

“’m usually more careful ya know.” Billy’s words were slurring but he seemed to be on a role. “But he was hot and was flirtin’ so I thought fuck it. Let’s try.” Steve thought he got what Billy was saying but this is Billy Hargrove, he could be, could he? “He tugged me round a corner then his buddies were there and they just went off. Calling me a faggot and stuff.” He groaned. “My head is fucking killing me.”

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 wouldn’t 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 wasn’t 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.

“You weigh a fucking tonne!” Steve complained as he propped Billy against the door.

“s’all muscle baby!” 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.

“Just get in the house Hargrove.” 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 wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“So...” Steve started, not really knowing where he was going. “Can I get you to go to the cops Billy? Those guys targeted you and that fucking sucks.” Billy was already shaking his head. “But Hopper could help you Billy!” Steve insisted.

“No fucking way. No one would help me, he would probably just add to the bruises. No one helps people like me Harrington.” He snapped, but there was no venom in it. Just aching sadness that Steve felt to his core.

“I did. And I would again.” He stated softly. But quickly he felt anger rising inside him. “You shouldn’t have to go through this shit just because you are... Because you like... Guys!” 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 hadn’t had Dustin or Robin.

“I’m dirty, Harrington. People don’t like dirty things.” He told him. His shoulders were slumped and he looked down and away from Steve.

Steve surged forward and ignored Billy’s 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 Steve’s back. As he held Billy he spoke to him. “You are not alone Billy. Any time you need help you come to me. I will help you. You aren’t dirty.” He hesitated but ploughed on to a confession.

“If you’re dirty then so am I. And so is my best friend. So fuck them and stay where we can help.” A silence hung in the air it was tense as he felt Billy’s hands tighten in his jacket.

“You’re like me?” he asked. His voice muffled by Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I am.” He stated. It was the first time he had admitted it to himself let alone said it out loud.

“Oh.” Not quite what Steve was expecting him to say.

“Yeah, oh.”

Billy lifted his head and looked Steve straight in the eyes and said, “So Harrington, can I take you on a date?”

Hope you liked it!

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

Soooo guys I’m doing this

Hold my beer honeybush nevermind my mom drank my honeybush. Hold my tap water. 

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 didn’t 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 Lilith’s whereabouts. He’s a man on a mission. Hero, the demon mockingly calls him, to deny he is, as he’s slutting around with some demon. But Sam doesn’t 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 he’ll be okay, we suppose. Still Sam doesn’t know where Lilith is; he doesn’t realize that that’s exactly the point, that Ruby wants him to exercise his powers, not to find Lilith at all. Lilith will show up when it’s time for her to make her move on the chessboard of the apocalypse-making.

But let’s get back to Dean’s reaction to discovering about Sam and Ruby going around hunting demons.

SAM: Dean, what are you doing? [Dean keeps packing his things] What, are you- are you leaving? DEAN: You don't need me. You and Ruby go fight demons. SAM: Hold on. Dean, come on, man. [Dean punches him] You satisfied? [Dean punches him again] I guess not. DEAN: Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal? From human? SAM: 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: 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: 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: 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: I'm not gonna let it go too far. DEAN: It's already gone too far, Sam. If I didn't you know... I would wanna hunt you. And so would other hunters. SAM: 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: What? DEAN: 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. 

I’m 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. [...] 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 we’re talking about Metamorphosis and Mark Campbell - aka the situation we find at the beginning of season 6. Mark doesn’t 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 we’re 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 we’re 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 Sam’s 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, “somewhere” 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 “normal” 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?) WHAT’S WITH META THINGS THESE DAYS AND THE CONCEPT OF “NORMAL” FOR DEAN POPPING OUT EVERYWHERE??? Oh yes, it’s me bringing it out because I am like this. I have too many feels about it and I am a cry because it’s just too much for my little heart to handle.��and is freaked out by what’s wrong with Sam but also doesn’t drink Sam’s rationalizations.

Sam’s 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: who’s right?. And in this moment we are supposed to tend towards Sam: Dean is stubborn and rigid in his judgement, he’s black and white. Demon=bad, human=good. Normal=human, using-demon-powers-and-working-with-Ruby=not-normal. We are supposed to be on Sam’s 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 Dean’s 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, it’s what rips the script of fate and saves humanity.

Sam has good intentions, but he’s 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 Dean’s deontology and Sam’s consequentialism and what instead are their stances on good/evil.

Because despite Dean being black and white in his ‘what’s the right thing to do/what’s the wrong thing to do’ 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, ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ here does not refer to opinions/knowledge (I say 2+2=4 and I’m right, I say 2+2=5 and I’m wrong) but to an essential quality of the self. We should probably use the terms ‘alright’ and ‘wrong’ - for Sam, you are either alright or there is something wrong with you. And by the generic you, he usually means himself. I mean, there’s always something wrong with Sam lol. Even in round 1 I talked about his fear of being ‘wrong’ in Dog Dean Afternoon...

Sam doesn’t 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 ‘right’, he is ‘wrong’, there is something wrong with his self in an essential way. Sam tells Dean that Dean can’t understand, and, well, he’s correct; Dean judges things on an entirely different scale, it’s not about Sam having demon blood or not, Sam being impure or not, Sam being ‘wrong’ or not. It’s 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 he’s pure. Dean doesn’t 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 - he’s bothered because the Mark makes him lose control over his actions.

Speaking of Mark - let’s 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 he’s alive not to disrupt his apple pie life. His hunting methods in Metamorphosis saved lives; hunting with the Campbells makes sense, they’re efficient together and everything, Sam is somehow an even better hunter than usual, Dean is enjoying his quiet life with Lisa and Ben, everything’s 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 Sam’s behavior at the beginning of season 6 is a red flag. Dean knows immediately the Campbells are not to be trusted, just like he didn’t 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 Cas’ judgement instead - 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 isn’t bothered by actions, he’s 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 he’s soulless and doesn’t know it yet, he feels there is something wrong with him; even without his soul, his there’s-something-wrong-with-Sam-radar is fully functioning anyway. Dean, on the other hand, doesn’t judge Sam for what he is or the state he’s in. He’s “far from normal, from human” NOT because he has demon blood in him, but because he uses the powers that come with it. He’d hunt Sam because of his use of the demon powers, not because he has them in the first place, as he’s shown all along (see the entire Gordon Walker arc...).

Many people have criticized Dean for blaming Sam for things Sam wasn’t 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 that’s the point. Dean believes so much in human agency that he tends to see everything as a choice. He exaggerates sometimes? Yes. But that’s 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: Really? Well, that's a relief. Thank you. SAM: Don't thank me. I'm not doing it for you. Or for the angels or for anybody. This is my choice.

Oh, Sam. Here’s the word choice, the word Dean uses in Southern Comfort to describe Sam’s 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 it’s Sam who uses the word choice first; a choice he doesn’t 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 that’s 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 didn’t believe that you always have a choice, what happens? Soul Survivor:

SAM: Look, if you come out of that room, I won’t have a choice!

DEAN: Sure you will! And I know which one you’ll make. Isn’t that right, Sammy? But see… Here’s the thing: I’m lucky. Oh, hell, I’m blessed! ‘Cause there’s just enough demon left in me that killing you? Ain’t no choice at all.

Well, this “ain’t no choice at all” is a figure of speech; it’s a choice Dean has just already made. But I find the wording Dean chooses interesting, because he’s saying that that choice has been made for him by the ‘demon left in him’ after all. Dean knows he would never choose to kill Sam otherwise, so now choosing to kill him isn’t exactly a choice. It’s 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 family’s); 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 he’s a demon. Dean always knew that John was abusive and that his role as Sam’s 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 Sam’s and Dean’s 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 “normal” and “human”, mentioned by Dean in that speech at the beginning of Metamorphosis, and Sam’s demon blood situation and the situation of a human without a soul; but I think I have written enough in this post and I’ll just free you from this hellhole of meta.

[centralparkpawsblog]

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.  

Mira does not chew on her collar but instead is interested in chewing on her sibling’s collars.  Though she is small, her tiny milk teeth can do some severe damage to the collars. 

We do not leave our dogs’ 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 don’t 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 Mira’s torment for at least the next four to six months.  

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 Mira’s so she’s okay with the one she has) I had to find moderately priced highly durable options.  

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 sibling’s collars.

So, I thought it would be good to share my findings in the hope it would help other dog parents like myself. 

Is your dog chewing up their bed too? Check out our roundup of the best indestructible dog beds!

Best Chew Proof Dog Collars

Here’s a list of the best indestructible dog collars:

Best Choice – Yunlep Tactical Dog Collar with Handle

Most Comfortable Indestructible Collar – Black Rhino Comfort Collar

Best Value for the Money – Tuff Pupper Heavy Duty Ballistic Nylon Dog Collar

Top of the Line Choice – Excellent Elite Spanker Tactical Adjustable Training Collar

Strongest Dog Collar – TSPRO Tactical Dog Collar

Best Chew Proof Dog Collar for Small Dogs – RUFFWEAR Hoopie Collar

Best Chew Proof Dog Collar for Medium Dogs – Buckle-Down Seatbelt Buckle Collar

Best Chew Proof Dog Collar for Large Dogs – REDLINEK-9

Best Dog Collar for Aggressive Chewers

Yunlep Tactical Dog Collar with Handle

Why It’s 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 collar’s 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 collar’s 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 removal 

Ability to add ID patches without sewing

Handle for better control

Padded interior

What I Didn’t Like

Is not available in size small

Check Price

Read Reviews

Most Comfortable Indestructible Collar

Black Rhino Comfort Collar

Why It’s the Best Choice

Click the image for more info

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. 

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 Rhino’s 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.  

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 Didn’t Like

It lacks a quick-release buckle

Check Price

Read Reviews

Best Value for the Money

Tuff Pupper Heavy Duty Ballistic Nylon Dog Collar

Why It’s the Best Choice

Click the image for more info

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. 

Their collar features a soft bungee handle to aid in handling your dog in tight situations or training. 

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.  

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 Didn’t Like

It doesn’t have a quick-release buckle

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Top of the Line Choice

Excellent Elite Spanker Tactical Adjustable Training Collar

Why It’s 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.   

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 comfort 

Handle for better restraint

The double quick release buckle

Quality warranty

What I Didn’t Like

Not available for small breed dogs

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Strongest Dog Collar

TSPRO Tactical Dog Collar

Why It’s the Best Choice

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TSPRO’s 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 dog’s security when leashed. 

The collar comes in two colors black and green and three sizes: Small, medium, and large.

If there are any issues with the collar’s 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 fraying 

Low profile

Interior soft padding

What I Didn’t 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 It’s 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.  

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 Didn’t Like

Nothing

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Best Chew Proof Dog Collar for Medium Dogs

Buckle-Down Seatbelt Buckle Collar

Why It’s 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 hadn’t 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 dogs’ collars over to the Buckle-Down brand, there hasn’t 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 can’t break loose

Looks fantastic – We always get compliments on these collars

Comes in a variety of sizes and collar widths

What I Didn’t 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 It’s 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 doesn’t cause chafing or skin irritation. The collar has a leather easy-grip handle to aid in giving the handler control when a leash isn’t available.  

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 Didn’t 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 dog’s 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. 

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 don’t 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 don’t break loose when pulling or lunging

Handle

Some of the tactical collars offer a handle on the collar. This is ideal for when you don’t 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 won’t crack under pressure.

Additionally, for safety, a quick release buckle is ideal.

Coat Length

Your dog’s 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 doesn’t 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 wouldn’t 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

[ecotone99]

[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. **

​

“It’s okay, Lis,” Jordan said, keeping his eyes planted firmly on his wife. “We’ll figure it out.” What he couldn’t tell her was that he didn’t 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.

“I know,” Lisa said.

“Just think good thoughts. We’ll get there.” Jordan reached out and took his wife’s 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 couldn’t do.

“I’m just scared that when I get the test, it’ll be bad news.” 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 wasn’t desensitized. If anything, the more he saw her cry, the more it broke his heart.

“What if they say never?” she asked. “What will we do then?”

Jordan’s 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 Lisa’s 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. “Hey, Martin,” he said, hoping his dad would take the bait.

“Don’t call me that.” His dad’s voice was uneven; rough. There was no banter, no jokes. It wasn’t right.

“Sorry, Dad. What’s up?”

“Matey, it’s Grandpa.”

Jordan furrowed his brow and inhaled before responding. “What about him?”

“He’s not okay. Cancer.” For the second time in two minutes, Jordan found himself lost for words. It didn’t 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 didn’t make sense.

“He’s having an operation to remove a large tumour from his brain,” his dad continued. “We should visit him before he goes in.”

“Yeah, of course.” Jordan stuttered through his response. “When?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll see you and your brother at four o’clock outside the Wesley.”

“Do you need me to call Kurt?”

“No. It’s done.”

“Right. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, matey.”

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.

“What was that?” Lisa called from the kitchen.

“That was Dad.” Jordan tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it only seemed to get larger. “Grandpa’s sick. You’ll have to get the test on your own tomorrow.”

Lisa reappeared from the kitchen. “Is it serious?”

Jordan turned to look at her and nodded slowly.

​

***

​

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.

“So, cancer,” Kurt said, “that’s shit.”

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.

“Yeah. It’s shit,” 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 they’d never really been friends. Of course, it hadn’t helped that, growing up, they fought like brothers.

Jordan had always been good at poking the bear, like the time he found one of Kurt’s 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 brother’s admonishment and indefinite grounding. The look in his mum’s 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. He’d thought it best to make sure those eyes were never directed at him.

But, like any self-respecting older brother, Kurt would reciprocate to Jordan’s 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 he’d feared so much.

They were both grounded.

A stiff breeze forced Jordan’s hands into his jean pockets. Looking at Kurt, he was both jealous and impressed by his brother’s 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.

“So, how’s up north?” Jordan asked, hoping to break the uncomfortable silence.

“It’s fine,” Kurt said, taking another draw from his cigarette. “Hot. Sticky. My air-con’s shit.”

“That sucks.”

“Oath. Mining work’s tough too – two weeks on, two off. I can never quite get settled.”

“Sorry to hear, man. I’d hate that.” Jordan scrambled for another discussion point. “How’d you get down so quick? Dad only called me yesterday afternoon.”

“He got onto me about ten in the morn’ yesterday. I flew down early today. Had lunch in the city.” 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. “How about you?” he asked, “How’s Lisa?”

Jordan gave his brother a quick smile, doing his best to mask his apprehension toward the topic. “Yeah, she’s good. We’re good.” Kurt looked at him as if to say, that was convincing.

“Good to hear, mate. Did you know about Grandpa?”

Jordan was glad his brother had moved on. “Nah. Didn’t even know he was sick. You reckon Dad’s known for long?”

Kurt took his last draw from his cigarette, dropped it to the pavement next to his first, and stamped it out.

“We can ask him ourselves. Here he is.” 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 hadn’t slept in days. His hollow smile was worn thin and a five o’clock 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 didn’t look like Martin Alexander; rather he looked like Bizarro Martin. Dark Martin. Martin from another world. Another reality. A reality Jordan didn’t want to know about because it was obviously darker than this one.

“Hello, boys,” Martin said as he approached. The brothers glanced at one another before hugging him.

“He’ll be right, you know,” Martin said.

Jordan and Kurt looked at each other and grimaced. “Yeah, Dad. We know,” Jordan said, placing his hand on his father’s shoulder, and giving it a light squeeze.

“He’s got a lot of life left in him,” Martin continued.

“That he does,” Kurt said.

“He’ll have the surgery and be-” Martin paused and looked past his children’s heads, avoiding eye contact, but refusing to cry. He continued, “He’ll-”

Jordan interjected, “Dad. We-”

“He’ll be up and at ‘em again soon. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jordan watched as his dad tried desperately to control the uncontrollable. He’d always been like that – 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.

“Dad,” Jordan said. Martin turned to look at his son in the eyes. “We know. Let’s go in.”

​

***

​

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 Martin’s face and he was slowly shaking his head back and forth. "That's Dad," he said and shrugged.

“He used to call me Kurtle.” Jordan look at his brother, his eyebrows raised, imploring him to continue. “You know, like a turtle.”

“You loved them as a kid,” Martin said, shifting his weight on the spot.

“Yeah. Still do. None up north, though.”

“Not even in the desert sand?” Jordan asked, his tone sarcastic and his smile exaggerated.

“Nah, 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.

“Check it out fellas, they’ve got me in a bloody nappy!” Grandpa shrieked.

With no other warning, he yanked up his gown to reveal a large, white adult nappy.

Jordan’s 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 he’d 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 he’d 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.

“Alright, Dad. Now just sit there, will you?”

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.

“Will you stop fussing over me?” his grandpa said. “I get enough of that shit here as it is.”

Martin looked unimpressed. “Dad, this is serious. You need to be careful and look after yourself before the surgery.” Jordan watched his grandpa shoo his dad’s concerns away like they were nothing. This, of course, bothered Martin to no end. He did little to hide it.

“Kurt, mate,” Grandpa began, “how’s up north?”

Kurt began to answer him, but Martin interrupted. “Have you thought about accommodation when you come out, Dad?”

“Jen’s set the basement up.”

“What about care?”

“I don’t need it. I’m fine.”

“Dad, look, you need t-”

“Dad,” Jordan interjected. “Calm down. Leave it be.” He looked directly into Martin’s eyes. They were wet and red, ready to burst. You can’t control this, he thought, trying to telepathically communicate the sentiment to his dad. Just leave it.

And for a second, he thought he’d been successful in communicating his message as Martin’s 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 he’d forgotten where she was. What she was doing. Without him.

Sighing, he said, “I’ve gotta take this.”

As he left the room, Jordan heard his father’s 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 didn’t 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.

“Hey, Lis. What’s the go?”

Nothing.

“Lis?” He could hear muffled sobbing on the other end of the line and his heart dropped. He tried again. “Lisa?”

“I don’t know.” The words spilled out her messily.

Jordan softened, “So, why the crying?”

“I’ve just got a feeling, Jord.” She took a deep breath and phone fell silent once again.

“Lisa, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“What feeling?”

“Jordan-” She took another breath. “-what if we never get pregnant?”

​

- TO BE CONTINUED -

submitted by /u/OneStepAway14 [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2RH5KiZ

[caewyn-stradfort]

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, you’d understand.

But you didn’t want anything to do with that.

Let’s 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 it’s over runny eggs and flaky croissants that they talk about Nogizaka.

They catch up on news, Yumi’s new stage production and Erika’s latest collaboration with the Tōkyō 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 Kazumi’s drafts for a new novel and Nanase’s role in an upcoming film. They make plans to try a new restaurant with Karin and her boyfriend, to help Misa and Yūri move next month, to catch Marika’s 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. It’s a twenty-minute walk to her apartment, easily manageable by foot.

She is almost home when she almost runs over someone.

“Ah, sumimasen.” She backs up and bows.

“Nanase…?”

Nanase startles, jerks her head back to look at the person. It’s 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 don’t 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.

“Congratulations,” Nanase says.

Motherhood suits Mai. It softens her face, makes her approachable in a way she never seemed in Nogizaka.

“Ah, it’s been a while.” Her daughter squirms in her arms, and Mai hefts her higher, rocking to shush her. “How are you?”

Nanase knows Mai means nothing by it, but the question seems loaded, weighted.

“I’m well. How are you?”

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.

Mai’s fingers, slim and pale, are bare. That hardly means anything.

“Mai-chan!” A tall man charges around the corner, diaper bag slung across his chest. Her husband, then. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Mai’s laugh, a low chuckle—

Nanase’s hands, still gripping the strap of her satchel, clenches.

“It’s fine, Akihito-san.” She hands the girl to him. He takes her with confident hands, holds her securely, cradles their daughter against the crook of his neck.

“Sumimasen, you had company.”

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.

“Akihito-san, this is Nishino Nanase, my good friend. Nanase, this is my brother-in-law, Miura Akihito-san, and my niece, Saya-chan.”

“Ah, domo.” Nanase bows, mind whirling at the information. Brother-in-law? Niece?

“Same here.”

“Jā, I’ll see you next weekend? Tell onē-chan I want to eat yakiniku! Yakiniku!”

Miura Akihito-san laughs and agrees. They wave as the pair turn the corner.

“Your niece?”

“Mm, Saya-chan is just over a year old. She takes after Akihito-san more than onē-chan though.”

“She’s cute.”

Nanase turns to look at Mai to find Mai staring at her.

“Nanase…it’s really good to see you.” Mai’s mouth curls up in a slow smile. Nanase’s heart lurches at the sight. “Do you have some time? There’s a café down the street if you want to have an early dinner.”

Nanase has just eaten. There is a new script waiting at home. She is flying down to Ōsaka tomorrow morning and she has yet to pack. Nanase is in love with Mai.

“Mm. I want to go.”

Nanase’s phone pings as she’s 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 Ōsaka, but they have been in constant contact, messaging daily about nothing important.

It…is almost like being friends.

“I want to apologize,” Mai starts after the waiter leaves with their order. “For that night.”

Nanase would rather talk about anything else but that.

She remembers that night vividly. Mai’s 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 hadn’t just devastated Nanase’s world with her words.

Nā-chan, don’t cry, Sayuri murmured as she hugged Nanase tightly.

“You don’t have to apologize—”

“No, I do.” Mai pauses, then reaches out to place her hand next to Nanase’s on the table, just enough that they barely touch. “I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want anyone to use our arrangement against you.”

Arrangement. Nanase doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry. Mai…doesn’t 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 didn’t think she had it all completely wrong.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do that with you—” Mai reddens, coughs, then takes a long drink of water. Nanase watches her throat work, can’t look away, wants to press her mouth there to follow the movement.

“What about now?” Nanase blinks. Did she just blurt out–

Mai chokes, almost spilling her glass as she puts it down.

“What?”

It’s almost like watching an accident in slow motion, Nanase pressing onward. “What about now? If I were to ask, would you say yes?”

“Are you? Asking.”

“Yes.” Nanase meets Mai’s eyes, drops her gaze. What am I doing, she thinks. She is making a fool of herself. Just because Mai hasn’t said no yet, doesn’t mean she will say yes. Nanase starts to pull her hand away, thinks about how she can play this off as a joke.

“Okay.” Mai stops her hand, fingers loosely encircling Nanase’s wrist, their palms touching. Mai’s ears are still red as she clears her throat shakily, but her eyes are clear and sure. “Yes.”

Well, Mai said yes, but now Nanase isn’t sure how to proceed. Nanase smooths down the sheet, then reaches for the comforter.

The last time they had been sexfriends, it had been Mai’s idea.

“Unbelievable,” Mai-yan huffs as she sits down at the edge of the bed. “I can’t believe Misa is kicking me out just to have sex with Yūri.”

It’s more than just that, Nanase thinks, sitting down on the other bed. However blasé Yūri is acting, there is no way it’s 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, Yūri with Nanase. For Misa to decide to swap after they checked in downstairs is uncharacteristically rude of her.

“Are you okay with this, Nanase?” Nanase startles at Mai-yan’s question. Even though she’s always been more comfortable being called Nanase than Nā-chan, Mai-yan calling her by name feels different. Intimate.

“Mm, I don’t mind.”

Mai-yan hums in disbelief, but she doesn’t push Nanase. “Why don’t we watch some television then?”

She turns on the television and starts flipping through the channels. She stops on an old rerun of an anime, turns to Nanase.

“M-mai-yan?”

“Have you thought of it before?”

Nanase did not, but now that Mai-yan mentioned it, that’s 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 Yūri’s calf, a secretive smile playing on her lips as she stands up. Yūri’s 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-yan’s intent eyes.

Nanase nods.

“Want to try?”

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.

I’m trying a new recipe tonight. Want to come over?

Yes.

Here’s 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 once—she had considered it.

Iwasaki Kenta-san was already a rising star even before he received a leading role in Director Takagi’s 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 isn’t 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 doesn’t 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 don’t talk on the elevator ride, and Nanase feels more uncertain the further up they go. She likes him, doesn’t 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, and—

She doesn’t want him.

“Nishino-san?”

“I’m sorry. I—I can’t.”

He stares at her, brows furrowed in confusion and—

Ah.

His concentration when he mouths his script, their easy chemistry when they’re shooting a scene, his dedication and care—

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. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought you wanted to—”

“I thought I did too. But—” She shrugs helplessly.

His face gentles. “So, it’s true. That there was someone before, someone who wounded you.”

She bristles at that. She’s not broken, she’s—

She just almost had sex with someone who reminded her of someone she loves. Loved. Loves.

“Then, is there someone else?”

“There’s no one.”

That isn’t a lie either.

He gives her a dubious look. No, she thinks, it’s just better when there’s love.

But she doesn’t owe him an explanation, doesn’t owe him anything, so she apologizes again and closes the door softly in his face.

Nanase hesitates outside Mai’s door.

This is new territory; they have never visited each other at home before.

The door opens to Mai’s bemused smile. “I thought I heard someone.”

“Ah. Ojamashimasu.” As she bends over to line up her shoes, a tortoiseshell cat darts around the corner and stares at her with wary eyes. “Is this—”

“Yes,” Mai picks up the squawking cat and drapes him over her shoulder. “This is my menace.”

“Mai,” Nanase laughs, reaching out with a finger. The cat sniffs her, then bumps her hand and purrs.

“I mean, this is Yanagi.”

“You named your cat Yanagi?”

“Misa named my cat Yanagi. This is all Misa’s fault actually. I was looking for a dog.”

Nanase smiles and follows Mai into the living room. “What happened?”

“We were looking at puppies when a staff member passed by, bleeding. Apparently, Yanagi didn’t like him. He was brought to the shelter when his owner passed away.” Mai strokes Yanagi’s back with gentle fingers as the cat curls up on her lap. “Misa didn’t want to leave him there since he’s already six years old.”

Of course, Misa didn’t. Nanase grins. This is just like Mai.

“Then why didn’t she adopt him?”

“She claims that Yūri would kill her if she brings home a pet without asking. Well, it couldn’t be helped.”

Yanagi rolls on his back, exposing his belly to be rubbed. Mai huffs but obliges.

Mai hasn’t changed one bit.

“What are you grinning at?”

“It’s just—your place, it’s very you.”

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 age—

“Yeah?”

“I like it.”

“Did you change your mind?” Mai asks, handing over a wet plate for Nanase to dry.

Nanase freezes. There’s no mistaking what Mai is asking.

“No.” A pause. “Did you?”

“Me neither.”

They finish the rest of the dishes in silence. Mai dries her hands.

“I went to check—I mean I haven’t—I’m clean. There has only been one other person.”

Nanase holds back a flinch but only barely.

Of course—

Mai—

Nanase respects Mai, her commitment and her drive and her kindness. She’s always trying her best, whether it’s dance or speaking or mentoring the younger girls, but all in a casual way, without making a big deal out of it. Such a person—it’s no surprise Mai would have found someone easily—

Being with Mai, sometimes, is like being blinded by the sun.

Nanase wishes she did not know.

She wonders if she knows the person.

“What about Nanase?”

She wonders what she should say, decides on the truth. “There has been no one else.” I couldn’t, without thinking of you.

“Nanase.” Mai’s voice is low, urgent. Nanase meets Mai’s eyes, feels her chest clench at how dark they are. “May I—”

“Please.”

Mai kisses her, and Nanase whimpers at the sensation. The chemistry is still there, the chemistry and the attraction and—

Mai’s hands tighten on her hips, and she lifts Nanase up until Nanase is half sitting on the counter.

Has Mai always been this strong?

Mai’s 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 Nanase’s 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 Mai—

But Nanase has tried leaving, has tried finding someone else, and she’s tired of not having Mai.

“Nanase.” Mai searches her face, uncertain. What is she looking for?

Nanase pulls Mai in again, kisses her with quiet desperation.

She doesn’t want her feelings to spoil this.

Nanase wakes up in Mai’s bed, Mai curled up behind her, arm slung low on her waist.

Staying is intimate, too intimate. But as she tries to slide out, Mai’s arm tightens around her.

“Mai,” Nanase whispers. Mai grumbles and hides her face in Nanase’s hair. “I should go.”

“Stay.” But Mai loosens her grip and moves back to blink blurrily at Nanase. Nanase turns to face her. “Unless you have something to do tomorrow?”

“No, I don’t.”

This is dangerous.

Mai hums, already halfway asleep again, idly stroking Nanase’s bare hip. “Then stay. I’ll cook breakfast.”

This cannot end well. Nanase pulls the comforter up to cover them both properly.

“Okay.”

They have a light breakfast, eggs and toast, while Mai runs the laundry, and they shower separately. Mai doesn’t walk Nanase home, but she does smile and ask that Nanase text her when she arrives.

Nanase walks home and hopes that she’s making the right choice and that this doesn’t end up destroying both of them.

[shtickysituations]

#TELLEMBOOBSBYE

Switchin’ up the typical format of my bloggerooni (moaning, ranting, list..ing?) today and presenting to you…. the FIRST EVER SHTICKY SITUATIONS INTERVIEW!!!

 *cranks up Soca Jams and humps dog aggressively* 

Two-ish years ago (wouldn’t that be such a mediocre way to start a story? “Once upon a time…I think”), I had the privilege to meet, Winnipeg born, stand-up comic and fearless LGBTQ warrior, Chantel Marostica (!!!!!THE CROWD GOES WILD!!!!). 

Since that day Chantel and I have bonded over each other’s quirky world views, candid chatter and the frustrations that arise when succumbing to overwhelming waves of anxiety and depression (aren’t we ADORABLE!?). 

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. 

Over the past year or so, they’ve been working hard to help reconstruct how we think in terms of rigid gender stereotypes. Not feeling completely comfortable being labelled as, strictly, a “man” or a “woman”, Chantel, like many others, feel best when gender isn’t 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. That’s 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, I’ve 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 ‘em packing? 

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.  

Q) Preach. Just curious, what’s your parents current take on the situation? 

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. 

Q) You are knocking these questions out of the park. Now, being a comic and all…Has comedy helped you get to a place of comfort with your gender and sexual identity? 

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?"  

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? 

A) "Are you keeping your nipples?" - Jeff Paul  lololololol honestly the funniest question EVER asked. 

Q) What's the most supportive or humbling thing someone's said to you since you made this decision? 

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.   

Q) Beautifully said. In light of inspiring youth, if you could go back to high school what would you tell your adolescent self? 

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.  

TEEN PREGNANCY YA'LL. it'll GETCHA.   

Q) Are you allowed to ask the hospital to keep your post-surgery boobs like wisdom teeth? 

A) You're an idiot.  

Q) Thought I’d 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. 

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? 

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.   

Q) What's the first thing you're going to do post-surgery when the drugs wear off? 

A) I'll probably go home and rest. It's a really intense surgery, but when I'm all healed up, I'm 💯 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. #GOALZ 

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 wasn’t Bieber. 

A) My trans friends and my queer family are the biggest inspiration in my life. They're all so GD brave and perfect. 

Q) What can us heteronormative snooze bores do to help standardize the conversation and support those working to achieve comfort in their own skin? 

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.  

In a world filled with regression, let’s piggyback onto things we have in our own control to better. Let’s 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: 

#Tellemboobsbye Chantel Marostica's Top Surgery Fund-O-Rama + Comedy Showcase The Rivoli (334 Queen Street West) Wednesday, November 15th, 2017/9PM   

Tickets - https://www.eventbrite.ca/e/tellemboobsbye-tickets-38502417768?utm_term=eventurl_text 

Or if you can’t make it and want to contribute to the surgery you can do so here- GoFundMe -  https://www.gofundme.com/

[custom-white-boxes]

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.

“I am not a make-up person, but I love wearable products that are easy to use, with fun packaging.” 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 packaging’s 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 it’s 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 don’t 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.