#motor relearning

[rakesh-snike]

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[shoecrabs]

continuing with my Leo with prosthetics propaganda (by giving him an arm gun his little bro :))

zoomed in pics of my faves as well

[therandomfandomme]

realizing im almost certainly autistic has put my childhood of physical therapy into a whole different light, bc i just thought i sucked at being a person for years, but no my brain is just wired that way lmao

[hgmason-hellion]

Wayfinder trio except they're the Elric Brothers from Fullmetal Alchemist and Aqua is Winry

Oh no, I went off in the tags

[andromachos]

toxic masculinity resigned 🤣😤💯

[little-pondhead]

The Phantom's Letters

[I had fun with this]

—

Uh...hey, I guess. 

I don't know how to start this, but I'm your…son. I think? Maybe clone. Still trying to figure out the details of that. But I just wanted to send a letter. I don't want a reply, but I just wanted to let y'all know I exist. It would feel nice if you did. 

And, uh, I don't have anything else to say, really? I have a sister. She's my adopted sister, so she's not related to you, but my sister says that writing letters is one of the ways you can vent your frustrations and organize your thoughts. She wants to be a therapist, so I'll take her word for it. I guess this is just my way of being angry. I can't be angry any other way, too many people would get hurt. 

So if this works out, expect more angry letters in the future? CW says that bottling up my negative emotions and keeping everything to myself will lead me down a dark path, and I'm trying to avoid the end of the world, thank you. So you're gonna be my outlet. My...trashcan. Ew, no. That sounds like the title of a weird porno Johnny made me watch once. I just need someone to see the ugly side of me, without expecting anything else. Right now I'm just basically yelling into an empty void, trying to be 'healthy' about my feelings.

Sorry. If you don't like the letters, just burn them or something. I won't care. 

Anyways, uh. See you next time?

-Phantom

—

Ancients, this is still weird. CW said it was helping, though. So that's good. 

I failed my English test today. I didn't mean to. I even studied all weekend! But Boxy decided it was the perfect time to get into a fight with Lunch Lady, and we nearly had another Nasty Burger Incident. By the time I returned from breaking them up, the class was over, and I got an automatic zero. It was an important test. Like, a state one. I'm still...sad, I think. 

I'm not sure. I know I'm disappointed in someone, but I don't know who. Myself? Lunch Lady? Boxy? The teacher? Whatever. As long as I don't cheat, it's not the end of the world. 

Being a student sucks major ass.

-Phantom

—

hehehehehehe

I played a prank on my friends today! I turned everything upside down in their lockers and switched the colors of their clothes. It was really funny, even if they gave me shit for it. I had some help from Sidney Poindexter, this guy I know, so everything was right at the end of the day. 

Sidney's a pretty alright dude once you get to know him. He hated me at first cause he thought I was being a bully to this jock kid, Dash. When in reality, I’m the one being bullied. That day Sidney caught me messing around, I was just trying to get some payback after Dash did something really nasty. It was really weird, looking back, cause Sidney suddenly got up all in my face and kept trying to defend Dash, thinking I was some horrible person. Eventually, the mix-up got cleared up, and I apologized to Sidney for reminding him of his trauma around bullying. He hates it for a reason. Don’t tell him I told you this, but Sidney died from being stuffed into a locker by a bully and being left there. Now I’m afraid of getting stuck in my locker, even if I know I can get out. And Sidney would never let that happen to another kid. It just…eats at me. Whenever Dash closes that metal door on me. It always feels final.

Huh. Am I claustrophobic?

-Phantom

—

I defeated Skulker again today! Whoo!

Who is Skulker, you may ask? Why, he’s only the most annoying and persistent bounty hunter I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. I don’t even have a bounty on my head! Well, except for that one from Walker, but Skulker hates Walker on principle and rarely teams up with him. Walker likes to put everyone in jail, even me! (Even though I think I’m his grandson somehow??) 

Anyways, Skulker just likes to chase me around cause I’m ‘rare.’ He wants to skin me for his pelt and display it on his island, even though he doesn’t like people visiting said island. So what’s the point? Also, I rather like my skin, thank you. I’ve already been electrocuted to death, I don’t want to keep floating around my afterlife with no skin. I’d have to ditch my organs, too! (Cause bones are more pleasing to look at, aesthetically) And then how would I finish school?

Oh and that whole ‘rare’ thing? BULLSHIT. Skulker regularly takes work from another one of my kind, and most of that work is making my life difficult. There are only four of us in existence right now, maybe five if CW’s hints are to be believed. But let’s stick with the four. There’s me, that fruitloop fucker, and then the other two who are still technically ME! (long story)

Well, enough of that. I blew Skulker’s head off with his own missiles so it’ll take him a while to reassemble himself. I’ll get a break from him, and that’s the only thing that matters.

-Phantom

—

I went to go see Frostbite today, my doctor. 

My kid is finally stable. She’s gonna be discharged next month. 

How do you feel about being a grandparent?

-Phantom

—

Well, I’m not gonna reveal names n shit cause then you might find me, but the kiddo wanted to send you a gift from the sickie bed. Drawing was something she took up to keep herself occupied since she can’t read much yet. Her ‘creator’ didn’t bother to install that knowledge, cause that would apparently lead to more trouble than it’s worth. But she's learning fast! She already picked up a few letters just from the nurse's documents. Granted, they're in the wrong language...

Holy fuck do I want to punch that fruitloop fucker. 

Anyways I’m keeping it short, the doc wants to talk to me about her recovery and medicine plan. I attached the pictures below. 

-Phantom

—

I hurt someone today. I didn’t mean to.

Please, believe me, I didn’t want to. That damn clown-

It hurts so bad. I can’t breathe and my core feels like it’s breaking.

People are flinching at me now. I can still feel bones breaking under my hands, and I can’t remember if blood was spilled. Why me? Why can’t I remember? My friends won’t tell me what I did. Not all of it. 

I know I did something bad. I didn’t-

I can’t do this anymore.

-Phantom

—

Okay, so I’m all better. What’s a little mind control for the trauma list, eh?

Don’t worry about me, I’ve gotten over it. As long as the people close to me know I wouldn’t hurt them on purpose, it’s all good! :D 

Some of the townsfolk kinda hate me now, but I just avoid them. In and out, just get the job done. The others don’t mind. They were affected too, so things will be quiet while we all recover. 

The kiddo is doing okay and is asking about you. I told her I don’t want replies, but she still wants to send a letter. You might get one soon.

-Phantom

—

Hey.

How the FUCK does one handle being a king?

Asking for a friend, thanks.

-King Phantom

P.S. I am not the one putting that signature down. Sorry about that, I’ll get it fixed.

—

Hm. I think it’s fixed now.

-Phantom 2, Electric Boogaloo

—

OKAY, NOW IT’S REALLY FIXED. THAT LAST PART WAS A PRANK FROM MY FRIEND I AM SO SORRY.

You’d think that writing on fucking parchment paper would make it difficult to change one’s signature after it was written in ink. But nope. I just had to make friends with a time lord and teach my friends old magics.

-Phantom

—

Just a heads up, I’m gonna come out to my parents tomorrow. Er, adoptive parents. About my death. About everything. They're ghost hunters, so I may or may not disappear for a bit depending on their reactions. Don’t worry about it, I always come back swinging!

-Phantom

—

bear granbparents ,

my nane is ellie.

i an baddy’s datuher

he needs helq.

pleas come

dab menn in wite

theg got hin

- da n i elle p han tom

—

Danny finds out hes a clone/ adopted, and instead of processing that like a normal person he decides, "Well its not like they can find me so imma mess with my bio parent(s) while venting my frustrations. Two birds with one stone."

Hence (hero or villian of your choice) begins receiving letters via untraceable magic of him telling them he's thier clone/son and just telling them about his day/past adventures.

Unfortunately most of his adventures are horrifying and the person is desperately scrambling to find thier dumb (possibly undead) child and rescue them.

It probably doesn't help that Danny only signs his name as Phantom and is careful not to give clues to his location.

[fingertipsmp3]

My eczema is actually driving me out of my mind I swear to fucking god

[aggravatedanarchy]

Favorite mode of transportation?

Honestly, I've only ever walked and been driven places before (cars and buses, but like, school buses- not public transport. I think you have to call people about that here if it's something you need/want.) In theory, it's trains though. I just think they're neat and I would probably enjoy myself on one.

OH WAIT. I have been on boats before- like, small ones. I get kinda nervous on them though. And seasick, depending on stuff. So trains still take the lead.

[knight-says-rollout]

Would you mind telling us about more disabled Cybertronians?

Oh boy would I

For this list let’s focus on physical disabilities, both because they’re the most commonly dismissed by the fandom and bc if we try to cover everything we’d be here all day (that can be another list, maybe, if y’all want)

This isn’t going to be comprehensive bc I’m tired but!! I will aim for a broad variety of examples nonetheless

Bumblebee - You all know him, you all love him. He’s the most obvious and most well known example of a disabled Cybertronian character.

In many iterations he is mute

Not by choice but because he lacks a voice box. Bee physically isn’t capable of speech and depending on the version has different tools to work around that. Sometimes he uses his radio to repurpose song and radio dialogue into speech, in cyberverse he also makes use of the internet for clips. In the aligned continuity (tfp and connected media) he speaks in binary, a very simplified form of language using beeps and buzzes, but still lacks a real voice and can’t form words.

In IDW he has a cane

At one point in the comics Bumblebee was shot by a human protester and as a result used a cane for a good bit of time. I haven’t had the chance to read that far into IDW yet so I’m not sure how long he had the cane for but it was enough time that it’s a solidified part of the charcaters history. I’ve seen little models of the cane for sale, to be paired with bee figures.

TFP Ultra Magnus - everyone’s favorite awkward commander, despite his popularity he’s surprisingly overlooked when it comes to this discussion

An amputee, he lost his hand

During an energon raid with wheeljack, magnus’ hand was crushed. Ratchet couldn’t save it and had to amputate, replacing it with a hooked prosthetic. I call it a prosthetic rather than replacement part because despite him being able to move it, it’s not a hand. Not in the way he had previously, and he has to relearn how to use it at all.

I think that’s an important distinction to make when discussing disability and transformers. Some bots might have only ever had one hand, or no legs, or etc but that’s always been their level of ability and since they Are robotic. Yeah they might not have the same capabilities as another bot but that’s a hard metric to go by. Seekers can fly but a grounder isn’t disabled because they can’t fly too, it’s a different standard.

WFC Shamble - far lesser known than Magnus, and reasonably so, this background character is Also missing a limb

Amputee, leg edition

His prosthetic is a lot less fancy than magnus’s, it’s a simple peg leg. Put em together and you get a pirate. Not much to say about him since i don’t know how he lost the leg, just that he did.

Shadow Striker - Most awesome lady in cyberverse. Unlike the above two, she Was able to get actual replacement parts rather than prosthetics. Despite this, she is both shown throughout the show and implied to have

Impaired mobility

Chronic pain

She was able to get replacement parts yes but they were needed because she was blown up. The limbs she was given were kinda just what the others could Find and as such are mismatched and don’t fit her very well. Her motor skills took a blow especially when it comes to combat, something she used to excel in. Her new limbs are described as unstable and prone to malfunction. The loss of mobility and implied chronic pain that come along with her situation are rough, but she makes do.

SG Soundwave - my favorite little guy, he’s in a bit of a different situation than the previous.

Bad Joints ™

His body was entirely overhauled multiple times, successfully, but the latest frame change was done with conflicting metals. Earth and Cybertronian materials clash in his joints, making them prone to getting stopped up. The most affected hinge being the one on the door to his tape deck. It is so prone to getting stuck that his cassettes refuse to dock with him at risk of getting trapped. To work around this, Soundwave has the aid of a personalized case he carries around that they dock in instead.

IDW Sunstreaker - speaking of assistive devices, this guy was (for a time) a wheelchair user! Or,, hoverchair.

Temporary,,, paraplegic? Correct me if another term fits better

Taking this moment for an aside to say hey!! Lookit that, both canes and hoverchairs are things that canonically and casually exist on cybertron!! It’s not too wild to assume there are bots out there who use them long term!! Yes both characters on this list were repaired eventually but they’re also both very popular old characters from an action based franchise and hasbro doesn’t have the balls to make something like that permanent yet. We the fandom are not hasbro. We can do whatever we damn want with our OCs. It’s canon that ur little guy can use mobility aids.

Ok, PSA over, anyway yeah Sunny’s body was basically wrecked and alpha trion was able to repair all of him except his legs. This put him in a hoverchair for a good amount of time.

Finback - he’s a con, a pirate, who developed a “metal wasting disease”

He’s on permanent life support

The disease is going to kill him eventually, and it’s explicitly stated that he’s come to terms with the idea of his death. In the meantime he’s using pretender tech, kinda like fancy armor, to reinforce himself and boost his immune system

Perceptor - for a microscope, the fact he’s got vision issues in multiple continuities is kinda ironic

He’s fully blind in cyberverse

He lost an eye in IDW

Between the two we get to see both routes taken to work with this. Adaption and technological aid. In cyberverse he uses his scope to compensate for the loss of vision Toph-style. In IDW he built himself a monocle that basically replaces the pieces that are missing.

Now we get into the uniquely Cybertronian disabilities, one’s that don’t quite translate to human conditions

Transmutate - is a beloved bot from beast wars

They can’t transform, they don’t have an alt mode

I’m hazy on the details of their character but afaik they came from a damaged stasis pod. Described as deformed and handicapped for their both their lack of an alt mode and general appearance, they are probably the oldest explicitly disabled Cybertronian character

Xaaron - from G1 is in a similar situation

He can’t transform, it would kill him

Unlike transmutate he does have an alt mode, a tank, but after thousands of years without transforming he is no longer able to. The new stress it would cause on his body would kill him.

Broadside - continuing with the subject of alt modes, this clumsy boy is a boat! That’s not a good thing.

He’s very prone to motion sickness

As you can imagine, chronic sea sickness isn’t the most helpful thing when you are the boat. This brings in the entirely new element of mobility issues that are inherent to alt modes. A bot that functions fine in root form might not in alt mode and vice versa.

Trailbreaker - is another instance of this. He’s not a fast car by any means but that doesn’t stop the fact

His frame has a very high energon cost

Possibly the least fuel efficient autobot, he’s got an outlier ability on top of it all that only further increases his required energon intake. He needs to pay more attention to his energon levels and refuel more often overall.

G1 Knockout - yes that’s right the shiny medic himself is on this list, though not for the same reason as his tfp version, g1 knockout still lives up to his name

He’s prone to fainting

A knockout in the more literal sense, he faints when he gets too excited. Fully collapses and everything. Since he’s a fall risk, his teammates take care to keep an eye on him.

Annnnd Yknow he probably should’ve been earlier in the list along with the “human-ish” issues but I’m tired, it’s late, and I’m bringing this list to a close

Im sure there are more characters that I didn’t mention but I hope this helped! Thank you for the ask

[apricotopera]

image id: a comic of sora and roxas from kingdom hearts talking to each other on a white background. sora looks upset, standing with his right arm in a sling, and says ‘man, i wish i could fight…’. roxas responds ‘why don’t you just use your left hand?’ with a baffled expression. sora gestures questioningly and says ‘because i can’t use my left hand?’. roxas replies ‘you can’t?’ and sora says ‘can you?’. roxas, leaning forward and similarly confused, says ‘yes???!’. end id.

very important headcanon: roxas is ambidextrous and just assumed sora was too. he is Not.

[rookiesbookies]

Recovery

Soap x Price’s Niece!Reader & and exploration of his platonic relationship with his teammates based on what we’ve seen in the games.

Content Warning: Hurt-Comfort, mild angst, bittersweetness, some fighting, and it’s over 5.2k words

It’s all under the cut from here, big thanks to @shotmrmiller for editing my crap

When Soap had been shot, he had gotten incredibly lucky. The bullet hadn’t gone all the way through and had ended up lower than Simon swore he saw.

Well, I suppose ‘lucky’ is subjective. Johnny would be in the hospital for months healing. He had lost degrees of peripheral vision in both eyes, so there was no way he could go back into the field, he had to learn how to walk again, and some of his motor skills were to be relearned. He had been confined to a wheelchair for months. Complaining constantly about losing his muscles and how it would ruin his charm. His hands shook, he’d be unable to do any of the demolition and explosive work he used to.

He felt as though who he was, Sergeant John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, was completely lost.

Captain Price and Laswell had been well overpatient with him.

Johnny had flung food trays at them when his hands shook too much to eat, constantly missing his mouth. He had had amnesia for the first two weeks or so after he woke up from his coma. He had had surgery after surgery, his mohawk shaved off to make it easier, the final piece of his identity stripped from him.

Price had never seen Johnny cry until the realization of who he became someone he could never be again.

Price still had no clue what had possessed him to call her.

His sweet niece, at least that's what he called her. She had been an exchange student, studying abroad for advanced college courses, when she lived with Laswell and her wife. They had volunteered so she could practice medicine on soldiers. Field medic had been her goal, but Price did reverse nepotism to make sure his niece never left the base.

He knew deep down she was the only one he could trust with the care of his sergeant. He also knew he could trust the Sergeant with the care of his niece.

It was a dream she had given up on, and she had planned to come visit anyway. Maybe this was an excuse to see the closest thing he had to a daughter again.

Laswell and her wife had offered to adopt the girl, Price told them they’d have to fight him for the chance. Maybe it was Price trying to atone for being too overprotective to let her fulfill her dream.

He had introduced Johnny to her before. Back when she had visited the second time. Johnny was still much younger, just earning his sergeant rank. He had threatened both Gaz and Soap, saying that if either tried anything he’d make them do work outs until they were in the medical station.

He knew Simon wouldn’t have been an issue.

Johnny and his niece were only a few years apart. Their first run in was when she was running to give Price some papers, it was before he had even introduced them and she had been on base. The floor was wet making sure she accidentally slipped and slide tackled poor Johnny. It wasn’t until she read his velcro on his uniform that she realized it was Price’s sergeant. She had been red in the face and embarrassed. Her papers littered the wet floor and she had been so apologetic she hadn’t even seen Johnny pick them all up.

It made their official introduction awkward, to say the least.

Johnny hadn’t seen her in a couple years when she walked into his room this time. His head was wrapped tight in a bandage, hair growing back in a small fuzz that he found embarrassing. His lips were red, cracked, and bloody from his angry chewing at it. He was so pale too, paler than a Victorian child. He didn’t smell of the arousing male musk he normally did, he looked weak. His pearly white teeth weren’t on show, his blue eyes weren’t bright.

“Johnny,” she said softly, “it’s been a while.”

“Don’t look at me, lass. I’m a sight to make eyes sore, not a sight for sore eyes.” He grumbled. Doing his best to cross his shaky arms and sigh. His voice wasn’t smooth or suave as it normally was with his natural Scottish gravel. It was dry, dusty, and crunchy like a gravel driveway in the summer.

They had flirted heavily. Or at least she had to him back in the day. An American who made disapproving jokes about the brits as he did. He couldn’t deny he found her attractive, the chemistry was undeniable, but he didn’t dare flirt back in the public eye for fear of his life.

She walked over and sat on the edge of his bed. Reaching out to rub his chin, feeling the rough scruff that was longer than he’d usually keep it. Small knicks littered his face from when he tried to shave. She used this as an excuse to pull his face to look at her.

“I don’t know what you mean, I still see the same Johnny I always did.” She spoke softly. She knew being delicate with patients like this was crucial. She ran her thumb over his cracked lip. “Here.”

She pulled a lip balm from her purse. Telling him to pucker a bit so she could rub it on.

He couldn’t bring himself to say thank you, but she saw it in his eyes. The desperation, the want to cry, the defeat.

“I doubt yer just here to visit me.” He grumbled, having to stretch his arms out as keeping them crossed made them begin to shake like earthquakes instead of the small tremors that they were prior.

“Uncle John called me. I take it he and Laswell haven’t told you the plan.” She said softly, taking one of his hands in hers. He tried to pull back but quickly let in. “Just means I get to deliver the news.”

He cocked a brow.

“The plan is to fake your death. Put you in hiding. Get you out of here.”

“Lass, yer probably too bonnie to think about this, but I can’t wipe my own arse.” He snapped, like a hurt animal, not an ounce of malice or hate.

“Why do you think they called me in?”

“Yer not wiping my arse, love.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” She mumbled. Looking to the door to wave Price and Laswell in, Ghost and Gaz filing in behind. It had been months since he had seen those two. She saw the way his eyes almost lit up and quickly dimmed. Hollow. Like a fire that tried to start but the spark burned out too fast.

“We’ve already filled out the KIA.” Laswell started. “We’ve started filing the paperwork to put you in witness protection. You’d be moved to at home care, somewhere quiet. Given new identification, new everything.”

“My girl is going to look after you. I expect you to do the same in turn. I'm trusting you with her, MacTavish.” Price said, a poor attempt at playfulness with the dead inside young man before him.

“We’re going to start your PT. Help you with your motor skills. You should have the ability to move to at home care in a month or so.” Laswell tacked on.

John’s niece got off Johnny’s bed. Putting a hand on her uncle’s shoulder and nodding to Laswell before they filed out. Giving him a moment with his teammates, his brothers.

“Yer both gonna let them tell this poor girl she can wipe my arse?”

“Really stuck on the ass wiping thing, huh,” Gaz mumbled.

Ghost turned to close to the blinds on the door before sitting and pulling his balaclava off his head.

“Johnny.” He said as softly as his sharp voice could. “Maybe this is the fresh start ya need.”

“I don’t want a fuckin fresh start. I want my old body back.” Johnny growled.

“You can’t get that bloody back,” Simon snapped back before returning to his soft tone, “Price and his niece are doing your sorry arse a favor. This poor girl has agreed to be married to yer ass for an indefinite amount of time, don’t ya get that ya bastard?”

“A favor I didn’t ask for.” Johnny grumbled. He looked over at his gear, which sat sadly on a table.

“Johnny yer still young.” Simon sighed. “She’s a good girl, let her care for ya. We’re actively working to get permission to visit ya when yer all settled.”

Gaz stood, looking out the window at nothing, “ya know some would give a lot for an opportunity with a girl like that.”

“Then I’ll trade ya,” Johnny snarled back in a low voice.

Simon looks Johnny in the eyes one last time maskless in the room, “don’t fuck up yer chance at a new life, Johnny. Be smart for once ya bloody dense bastard.”

Ghost pulled his mask back on over his face. Blonde hair disappeared as he shoved it back under properly. Gaz moved to fix the window covering on the door, pulling it back open.

A couple of nurses filed in to change his bandages, the two men disappeared out to the hall.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea, Uncle Price,” she started, rubbing the back of her neck, “he doesn’t seem as… enthused as he normally would have been.”

“He’s in there, he’s just adjusting.”

“Hard to adjust to being helpless.” Gaz mumbled.

“Once he starts PT- the physical therapy will help.” John’s niece interjected. “The lack of is what’s been causing problems. Once he tries harder and has goals he may pep up.”

“I think it’s the loss of his beloved mohawk. I vote to get him a bloody wig.” Ghost threw in.

Laswell sighed. “Poor boy. He’ll pull through, it will just take time.”

Getting to Johnny to do PT was like leading a horse to water, you can’t make it drink.

His Commanding Officer yelling orders at him hadn’t done it, John’s niece couldn’t get him to do it with soft cooing and coaxingand even Simon failed. Johnny just ended up throwing the crayon he held in his hand to work on writing, and let himself fall as he tried to walk. Shouting about being a lost cause and how it was a waste of time.

“Johnny, please,” she pleaded, “just a few more steps. You’ve made such good progress.”

“Yer not my bloody girl, quit tryin to sweet talk effort out of me. I can smell yer pity.” He hissed, sitting back in his wheelchair.

17 steps.

They had gotten 17 steps out of him today. Which was a step and a half more than yesterday.

At least Simon hadn’t needed to pick him up like a giant baby to get him back to the chair today. He had also stood a good 10 minutes before needing a break.

When it was Simon’s day to motivate Johnny, he was by far the hardest on him.

“I'm going to keep pickin your sorry arse up and making you walk until you double what you did yesterday,” Simon growled through his mask. “I can tell yer not giving it your all.”

Anyone with eyes could see how emotional it made Simon. He was pushing his dear Sergeant sometimes well beyond his means.

It was also beyond a struggle for Simon to communicate how hard it was to watch Johnny just give up. Price could see how Simon’s eyes turned shiny as glass as he yelled at Johnny. He heard the small cracks in his voice as he picked Johnny up and made him walk those few more steps. He could see Simon’s pushing was all out of desperation to get Soap back. To get his partner back.

John Price had known Simon a long time. Well before he became Ghost, Price worked with him. Johnny was one of the few that brought Simon out in Ghost. Price and Gaz did as well, but not the way Johnny did. Johnny and Simon had the same dry sense of humor, there was a sense of understanding between the two that Price was proud to foster. That sense of understanding flooded the team, but whatever was between Simon and Johnny was just that bit more in depth. They were a team of brothers in arms, but those two were true friends.

Anyone could see Simon blaming himself for what happened to Soap as the two snarled back and forth. One of the two only let up when a physical therapist touched their arms or John’s niece quietly told them that arguments didn’t lead to progress.

Simon wasn’t supposed to be here even helping Johnny. Price had tried to tell him no. That it added risks, to which the lieutenant snarled that if the Captain could go see him he could. That it would arguably be safer for him since no one knows his face but the team.

Simon had never spoken to Price like that before.

Gaz had typically decided to wait outside for the sessions after the first one, it would have ended with Johnny fist fighting a physical therapist if he could close his fist without violently shaking and using all his strength.

Johnny didn’t see Simon blaming himself until the day he got so fed up in the private session he threw his mask to the floor to scream at him. A pointed finger to his chest as Simon finally exploded.

“Are you fuckin blind, Johnny? We’re not fighting against ya!” Simon practically screamed at Johnny. It was the first time he had yelled at anyone in years. Even stunning Price. “We’re not the enemy. We’re a team! We’re trying to help you get back to yourself.”

Simon took in a deep, shaky breath, “We don’t care about Soap, Soap is just a callsign and nothin more. We’re here for Johnny, ya dim bastard! Each and every one of us. We ain’t fightin ya, we’re fighting for you.”

A rogue tear, an enemy operative, running down his eye black. No one would have believed it if the trail wasn’t clear on his face. It was as if Simon’s tough love finally registered in his mind. As if someone else’s feelings were finally registering in his mind. This wasn’t the orders of a superior. This was love from a true brother.

It was the first time Johnny hadn’t had a snarky quip in two months. There was no snarl back, no growling, no yelling. Johnny just did his best to open his arms for a hug. Bracing himself with his brother’s body. Finally realizing he wasn’t the only one affected by this, that Simon and his team had genuinely thought he was dead. That they wanted him to truly live again.

The sight had the poor Captain teary. His niece took his hand to comfort him, watching carefully at the sight as months of Soap’s attitude turned into soft cries against Simon’s shoulder. She also distracted her uncle and herself, giving the two men some privacy.

The poor ferocious beast licking its wounds turned back into a scared little boy. One that muffled cries about losing who he was, not knowing what was next, fearing he’d never be the same, that feared he’d lose his team- his only true family- to this weakness and pain.

Simon just listened. He did his best to lift a bit of Johnny’s weight from his feet. Knowing he couldn’t stand long enough, or hardly at all. A small gesture, a bit of consideration for his friend.

It was the longest John MacTavish had stood since the accident. While he wasn’t unsupported, they all counted it as progress. A great deal of progress.

“It could only have been you to get through to him, ya know?” Price said with a sad playfulness as he nudged Simon.

“He’s got a thick skull, the bastard does.” Simon sighed, trying to return the playfulness, but all he only sounded defeated.

“I think where we are is evidence of that enough,” Price laughed dryly. Kneeling in front of Simon in the recreation room on base for the team. “Never seen ya yell like that, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t like yelling, but the ringing in his ears must still be there.”

“Still think it’s because he doesn’t have the mohawk?”

“I’m getting the idiot a wing from party city and gluing it to his head next time he tries to fight me,” Simon grumbled with a smirk under the mask. Price could see it, even if he couldn’t see it.

It was sad humor before John gave him a nice little love tap before going to bed.

The rest of the night was quiet. Johnny was wheeled to his room, legs aching from weak muscles and hands shaking from gripping things. He didn’t sleep. For now, he has the drive to keep going. A newfound understanding for his new chance. A second one. He took the large oversized and overly thick pencil from the best side and the giant clipboard. Hands shaking in attempts to grip them.

“Come on, Johnny.” He mumbled to himself, resting the clipboard and paper on his thighs. He took the kiddy pencil in his right hand.

His grip faltered a lot. He worked to even put enough pressure against the paper to draw a line.

Then a line turned into squiggles.

Squiggles turned into a name that looked like it was written by a toddler, but it was a name. It was his name. He put it all on his bedside table and picked up his old journal.

He gingerly flipped through the sketches and words.

Why had he given up on being an artist? Why had he let it go completely and only continued as a hobby? He had been an Advanced Art Student in school as a boy, how could he let it go? How could he have taken it for granted?

He ran his fingers over the pages. He laid it in front of him lower on his thighs, bringing the clipboard and pencil back, flipping to a new blank page. He groaned at how run down the pencil was, he’d need someone to sharpen it soon.

He weakly gripped the pencil so it was vaguely horizontal with the blank paper.

“Come on, Soap, ya wee bastard. Just do it like you always did.” He mumbled, hands shaking as he tried to touch the pencil to the paper.

He made sure the lines were faint, going over it 3 or 4 times to create darker ones to make sure it was all in the shapes he wanted. He tried to copy an old sketch of his red skull mask.

It was clunky. Looked like bad cubism mixed with a toddler's hand turkey if that were possible. He worked on it all night. Copying it until his pencil was worn well to the wood.

When the nurses came to wake him the next morning, they found him asleep lightly holding the pencil with his journal and clipboard on his lap.

One of the nurses snagged a photo of it, all the scattered copies around his bed and beside it, sending them to Price’s niece, who was listed as the emergency contact. It wasn’t proper and the nurse knew that but they figured the family would want to see such progress.

She had sent the images to Simon, telling him to bring Soap his sharpener, and more big pencils. Simon was scheduled to be Soap’s first visitor of the day, taking to rotations on days that weren’t PT days made it easier on them all.

Price was usually the last visitor.

In a way, he blamed himself more than Simon ever could. He gave the two that mission, let them take it on. Let them get lost. Let them get pinned down.

He stopped Johnny from shooting the fucker when they had the chance.

It was more than easy to see that Price dreamed of being a family man- craving two or three kids to come home to, a dog, a white picket fence, and a missus to keep his life in order. Sadly, it was a dream he gave up on a long time ago.

In a way, he did have three kids. Three boys he adopted risk their lives day in and day out for the safety of others - it made him prouder than anything. It was hard knowing that Soap- John MacTavish- had no known family. No real family to take care of him. No one to notify if anything happened.

Price had tried too, using what samples the military had from him to find any family.

What Price found broke his heart. All he learned was that Johnny had been an orphan since he was a kid. His parents were lost in a car accident, t-boned by a super speeder at an intersection. Johnny had been home with a babysitter, still practically a baby. He did his best to find other relatives, but none knew of Johnny, all were too distant.

In a lot of ways, he looked at Johnny and saw his son. Johnny had always made him proud since the day Price first met him. Johnny had always been willing to go the extra mile to be the best.

Laswell jokingly called Johnny ‘Junior’ to Price. She saw a lot of resemblance to a younger Price in the Sergeant.

She found Captain Price sitting outside Johnny’s room, he was clearly deep in thought as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s tough as nails, John, he’ll pull through.” She said, sitting next to the Captain.

John pulled off his hat, holding it in his hands as he slouched forward. He braced himself with his forearms against his thighs.

“Can’t help the worry.” John mumbled.

“He’s getting better.”

“It’s taking so long.”

“Healing from anything takes time, especially something physical and mental like this.”

“He didn’t deserve it.”

“No one said he did.”

Laswell gently rubbed circles on John’s back. “No one believes he did,” she mumbled again.

“Terrible things happen to the best of people, the ones who deserve it least especially.” She said, watching the tears bead up on his lashes as he tried to blink them away.

“Blaming yourself for this isn’t what happened, no one on the team is at fault. No one could have known what would happen next.”

“I should have let him shoot the bastard,” Price mumbled, his hand moving up to hold his forehead. Trying to cover where the tears fell down his cheeks before getting lost in his beard.

“You can’t blame yourself for not knowing then what you know now.”

Price sighed.

“You can’t, John.”

“I gotta ask myself if it should have been me,” John mumbled against quivering lips.

“Everything happens for a reason.”

He stayed silent as she kept up her circles on his back before she stood up to go.

“If you can’t be strong for yourself, be strong for the kid.”

Gaz sat quietly in Johnny’s room. He had never been much of an artist so Johnny figured they could both learn as he relearned.

Gaz held up a poorly drawn humvee, “remember the time we superglued the zipper to Price’s sleeping bag and because he always had it all the way up he got stuck and Ghost had to cut him out of it?”

“Yeah,” Johnny gave a chuckle, “remember the time when we made a bet that whoever couldn’t get the nurse’s number from Alejandro’s base had to buy the rounds at the pub when we got home?”

“I remember us both losing.”

“She didn’t have a wedding ring, I didn’t know she was married!” Johnny laughed, holding up his crudely drawn humvee. Johnny snorted, “Looks like we’d be great cubists.”

Gaz cocked a brow.

“It’s an abstract art style, looks goofy. It’s the one famous artists do when they get lazy after becoming famous for super detailed work. They just slapped a name on laziness.” Soap snorted, “reminds me of my hot art teacher from school. What I would have even for a chance with that braw lookin lass as a 13 year old.”

“We all had those teachers, mate.” Kyle laughed. “Had a Spanish teacher with big ones,” he said, holding his hands in front of his chest, “I learned nothing in that class.”

Kyle clapped him on the shoulder as they both laughed. Then a silence fell.

“Next time I may just be wheeling behind you as we make our great escapes.”

“How about I push you instead,” Kyle said, holding out his fist for Johnny to pump.

And he did, weakly. But it was far from the amount of shaking it would have taken him to hold a fist weeks ago, or a month ago when the process started.

Johnny held out five folded pictures to Gaz, “been working hard on ‘em, they’re labeled.”

Gaz nodded and gave him a hug with a chuckle, “I’ll make sure they get to the right people. Get some rest, dishy lad.”

It didn’t hurt as bad for Kyle to be around Johnny.

Kyle was grateful for that, he had his buddy back.

He shuffled through the folded paper in his hands.

One for himself, Simon, Price, Laswell, and Price’s niece.

He patted Price’s back, “ready to head back?”

“How is he?”

“In a much better humor than a month ago, even has gifts for us.” Gaz said, holding up the papers.

When they got back to the waiting room, Gaz dished them out.

Each slowly unfolded the papers with their names on it. Price’s niece was the first to get her’s open, a soft gasp leaving her mouth as her eyes began to tear up.

It was a sketch of her standing between Price and Laswell from when she was first introduced, the paper had clearly been torn from a journal. A second paper fell to the floor from behind it and she snatched it up before it hit the floor. It was a copy of the image, its lines were sharky and it was clearly one of the blank printer paper sheets they had given him to practice writing on, but the image was pretty close to the same.

‘Always thought you were such a bonnie lass, hope my bad attitude didn’t scare you off.

-Johnny’ was written in the bottom corner of the page with a small heart. The writing was as shaky as the art but it didn’t stop her flushed face and her shocked tears that threatened to fall.

Simon hadn’t intended to open his until he got back to his own barracks, but when he peered over and saw the niece’s he could help himself.

“What did the jammy bastard do now,” Simon grumbled. Eyes going wide as a photo of him and Johnny on their skull masks fell out. A polaroid Alejandro had taken with a camera they found. Simon told him to burn it. Apparently, he never saw Johnny slip it into his gear. An older sketch of it Johnny had done and a small scratchy sketch in there too.

‘Remember when Gaz and I tried to see how many of your stupid masks we could steal before you got mad when we were new on the squad? I remember you waited us out until we had to get the baklava off your face. The ass kicking you gave me for coming close to getting it in your sleep definitely scared me straight.

-Johnny’ Simon ran his fingers over the scratchy words before folding it up for safe keeping. He’d give Johnny back his polaroid later.

Price’s was a sketch of the photo they took before their first 141 mission, it always sat on his desk in his office. An old one he had done probably a year ago and a new one.

‘Couldn’t have asked for a better CO. Thank you Captain. We had a good run.

PS: I knew I was always your favorite sergeant, I didn’t tell Kyle though.

-Johnny’

Price didn’t even register the tear sliding into his beard and the sad chuckle that left his lips.

Laswell unfolded hers, it was a drawing of her and John from the back and her with her elbow on his much taller shoulder.

‘Make sure my team doesn’t get into too much trouble. I won’t be there to bite the next bullet for them.

-Johnny MacTavish’

Laswell gently held the two sketches side by side, chuckling at his terrible joke about his situation. It was from the day Price made Kyle do a pushup for every tooth in the zipper of the sleeping bag because he took the fall for the prank. He made Johnny and Simon stand behind them and watch so they knew what would happen if they messed around. Laswell laughed fondly at the memory, it was a bittersweet chuckle.

Gaz was the last to open his. Softly unfolding the papers. The sketches were of an old selfie they took from the time they were stationed at the same base for training. The rest of the recruits behind them and the two made overly dramatic shocked faces with Soap - with Johnny pointing at the angry General staring at them. The new shaking sketch only focused on himself and Johnny and their stupid faces. A reference to a terrible meme they had seen earlier. He remembered fondly that one of the sergeants on base made them mop the rain outside that afternoon because they had already pissed off the General before that morning at breakfast. He forgot how he really only talked to Johnny at training, Johnny starting just after him.

‘Don’t forget to consult me on any base antics, I still have plenty of ideas. Bonus points if you guilt trip Price and tell him you’re doing it in my honor when he tries to get you in trouble.

-Johnny’

They all sat there quietly before saying goodbyes, going their separate ways.

Price’s niece slipped away back towards Johnny’s room with a knock, earning a, “come in.”

“Hey Johnny,” she said, moving to where he patted her at the edge of his bed, near his hips. “I had no clue you did so many sketches.”

“Had to fill my free time somehow, you can only walk around the base so many times before you lose your mind.”

“They’re beautiful, both of them.” She said softly, looking at them again, “I had no clue you drew me.”

“Woulda done it like one ‘a my french girls but yer uncle didn’t like the idea.” He chuckled, cut off by her planting a soft kiss on his temple. She held his chin with her hand gently, thumb dragging lightly over his lower lip. His face flushed as she treated him like glass.

“No sassy retort?” She asked with a giggle. Face not far from his.

“I got brain damage, lass, and out of practice, gotta give me time to get back in my groove,” he chuckled. “Also, ya missed.”

“What do you mean I missed?”

“I’ll show ya,” he said, planting a kiss on her lips. It was quick, testing the waters, making her face flush and her eyes widen. “So glad yer uncle won’t yell at me now for this, been waiting a while for this chance.” Johnny pressed another kiss with more pressure as she giggled against his lips. “Promise to make sure I don’t eat Mexican so wipin’ my arse ain’t so bad.”

“Again with the wiping the ass thing?”

“Just gotta remind you what ya signed up for,” he said with a chuckle, planting a lingering kiss at the corner of her mouth.

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see! Also Comments are always appreciated! I love hearing from yall!

[lets-try-some-writing]

How good would the bots handwriting be?

In English? In Cybertronian? Why not both?

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

On Cybertron, writing anything by hand was not exactly common. Technology trimmed the process down a great deal and writing by hand was seen as something reserved for the higher castes. A written series of glyphs was a material promise, something important and made only to be used in serious events. Otherwise most everything was done digitally to save time and improve efficiency. Autocorrect most certainly helped many a struggling writer back on Cybertron.

With this in mind, as resources cut short and Earth lacked the needed materials to make a surplus of datapads, handwriting skills became very clear. More so than ever once the children decided to try and teach the bots to write for possible cover reasons. One could never be sure when one would need a bot to sign them out of school early.

Arcee has the worst handwriting by far, a surprising twist considering her dainty digits and relatively small size. One would think writing would come easy to her, but she hates doing anything like that by hand. She can type quickly, but writing out anything on a datapad, much less paper of all things? No she would much prefer being on Shockwave's operating table over having to possibly write her report manually. The glyphs of the various dialects on Cybertron are too much for her and the hatred of writing transferred over to English even though it is FAR easier to write in. The team won't say it to her face, but her writing looks like chicken scratch in both languages. The children don't know she is garbage at writing in Cybertronian too, and the team are content to leave them with the thought that she is just bad at learning English.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack share one braincell on a good day, and their writing shows this. They write exclusively in the wartime Wrecker dialect that formed over the millions of years of conflict. No one but Autobots can even begin to read their writing as its all a strange deviation from Autobot encryption. Sure they can write in mainstream Cybertronian dialects, but it looks awful and honestly the team prefer having to put on reading glasses and stare at their encrypted writing over having to get out a dictionary to even begin to parse out their other writings. In light of this, they do not write in English when asked to use an Earth language. Instead, they like Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and other such languages due to the ease of which they find encrypting the writing to be. They are hated by Bot and human alike for their habit of making things more complicated than it needs to be.

Ultra Magnus writes in the most computer generated manner known to any of the bots. How he does it is a mystery. Yet somehow he got so used to manually writing out his signature that now his every written glyph comes out as if it were typed. He doesn't seem to notice or care for the team's gawking, and he absolutely refuses to write in English simply because he had no interest in relearning writing. The team don't know, but the real reason he doesn't want to write in any other dialect is because he purposefully trained his motor functions to only write in his very specific manner. To try and learn a brand new written language would mess that up and ruin his clean and crisp glyphs.

Ratchet is an odd ball in his writing. When in a hurry, his writing in both Cybertronian and English looks like the Doctor's scrawl that those outside of the medical field have no hope of figuring out. However when he's not in a rush, he has a very distinct method of writing his glyphs and letters. In Cybertronian dialects of any kind, he adds extra emphasis in places where there has been no need for further glyph usage since the age of Wrath. In English, he adds interesting swirls and excess E's absolutely everywhere as if it is an additional glyph meant to add meaning to the word. Rafael tried to correct him once. That didn't end well.

Smokescreen has never written anything in his life. He can type like lightening, but he was never schooled in traditional manual writing simply due to how time consuming it was and how unneeded the ability happened to be at his post. He can't do any writing to save his life, but he has managed to convincingly fake the ability to write when in a tight spot. He can scribble and make it look like REALLY bad Tarnian dialect. And since that particular script hasn't been used since the city was destroyed, most don't judge him for it. But Optimus knows, and when he has time, he does what he can to school the rookie. Rafael has also taken it upon himself to try and teach Smokescreen some English with limited success.

Bumblebee grew up under Optimus, and Optimus in turn grew up under Alpha Trion. The two have startlingly similar handwriting more often than not. They both know many languages and dialects and are fluent in them, they both share glyph usage preferences, and both are known for their regular language swaps in writing. The only way to really tell them apart is to look REALLY closely at either the curvature of a specific glyph in Ancient Cybertronian or to stare really hard at the way their write their O's and B's. Both write like they walked straight out of ancient eras of old on a good day and write like living dictionaries for pretty much any other dialect. The team and the children gave up trying to figure out who wrote what a long time ago. If they can't pick it up from the context of the writing, they can just assume its important regardless.

[ofyoursilentreverie]

i was listening to @thefoxholecast 's third episode, and they were talking about kevin's injury and whether it was realistic for him to come back from - i ended up sending them an ask with stuff about soccer injuries but i think i've thought of a better analogy.

i'm assuming exy is played with both hands like lacrosse (although it's never really mentioned in the series) but i would imagine that, like lacrosse, one hand is more of a stabilizing and supporting hand while the other gives a lot of the power and aim - with that in mind, and knowing that lacrosse is probably the best analogy but unfortunately i never played outside of gym class so i can't really speak to it, i'm thinking of fencing - a sport that also involves a lot of wrist movement from one arm. i had a teammate who injured her right shoulder and fenced left-handed for the year that it was healing, idk of anyone at a super high level who's done it, but it's definitely possible to relearn with your non-dominant hand. and once her shoulder was healed, she slowly started using it again and is back to fencing right-handed. i also know of a lot of serious injuries like acl tears that take roughly a year to a year and a half to recover from. his recovery timeline is a little fast based on how severe they make his injury sound, but he doesn't start using his left hand again until after the winter banquet, which would be right around a year after he first injured it, which i can accept as fairly reasonable, especially because it doesn't seem like exy uses a ton of fine motor skills so his hand probably didn't need to be completely like it used to be in order for him to play exy with it

i think a slightly less realistic injury would be neil's shoulder - he frequently dislocates it (which is realistic, once you do it once you're more likely to do it again), but he hops right back into contact without any rest time. every teammate i've had who's dislocated a shoulder has had to sit out from contact for at least a couple weeks, and most of them ended up getting surgery on their shoulder (i can't speak to the specifics cause i've luckily never done it myself but they were certainly not jumping into practice the next day). i know a lot of his injuries throughout the series are superficial - bruises, cuts, etc - but even something like a sprain can put someone out for weeks depending on the severity of it. coming back from baltimore should have been more than a week and a half long recovery. so in my mind, kevin's injury and recovery timeline actually makes a lot more sense than neil's throughout the series, and i understand that it's cause nora sakavic needed to keep the plot moving and the foxes really didn't have any subs to take neil's place, but his injuries are more severe than his recovery times would indicate, and it's one of the things that pulled me out of the series the most when i was reading it for the first time

[last-of-the-lot]

thank you for the @ I loved seeing your response!

I could honestly ramble on and on about how weird and a bit fucky playing a stringed instrument can get with shot nerves. Or like, anything out of the ordinary.

Music is difficult, and stringed instruments tend to get a rep for being above average in difficulty. I'm disinclined to say if I believe it or not without a second opinion, but I will put this out there.

So much can go wrong so quickly, and when you don't know your body anymore it is like fighting a losing battle.

Wanting to get better, needing to get better for both magic-related and mental reasons, I could see Raine being so very determined to claw back what they had. There is a lot of frustration and pain in music to get to the level we saw them at, and returning to that is such a wonderful thing to think about because of how much goes into it.

I can also appreciate the catharsis that comes from the idea of them getting back to where they were. Yes, there is a little pain, probably more than a few tears, but the realization one day that you are there is so exhilarating.

someone's probably already thought about this but. raine and hunter dealing with the aftermath of possession. especially with the experience having chronic effects beyond the scars. hunter staying with both raine and darius for a while because i'm a raine-darius cohabitating life partners truther. hunter avoiding sleeping with an insistence that is Stressing Darius Out because he does NOT know how to get the kid to believe he's safe, only for raine to wake up shouting from a nightmare & darius to suddenly understand that this is about something else. hunter and raine having already had a great deal of mutual respect and concern for each other, so it's easier to banish self-loathing, bc if NEITHER of them could fight off belos, then probably they shouldn't be too hard on themselves. eda getting involved on the potions / pain management end when raine winces because there's nonsensical residual aching in the scar tissue and phantom pains in the nerves, like, Everywhere. about a year later hunter discovers that the remaining tremors in his hands make it extremely hard to hold a knife steady and he ends up locking himself in a closet to cry because he wanted this palisman carving apprenticeship so MUCH and he knows it'll be fine and he's probably spoiled to even BE upset, but it feels like belos will never stop taking things from him, even from beyond the grave. raine seeks him out and sits with him in silence for a while, then confesses, i've needed to relearn my violin technique too, kiddo. do you want me to show you?

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

tips on learning how do fiber arts with apraxia / fine motor deficits? want to crochet or knit but every time try ends in injury because dexterity bad and because impulsive motor. any tools that can buy for this? have looked for adaptive classes but can’t find

sudden remember this ask… meant to answer

am actually maybe. worst person ask this because. not really know. some personal pointers, not sure how helpful they are:

knit for me easier because know how do it & learned motor pattern. if erase motor pattern memory & tell me relearn again now that motor & ability learn new stuff even worse, not sure what would say.

there two types of hold yarn/needles for knit. am knit “english style” (throwing), which basically, use right hand to wrap yarn over right hand needle & keep tension. another called “continental style”, which you use left hand hold yarn hold tension, usually like hold some finger on left hand high with yarn n manipulate right needle to almost “hook” that yarn.

use english style because learned this way never learned continental, but do find it easier for me. find continental, for someone like me with very bad motor, have less control n grip on left hand needle since some of your fingers used hold yarn, n have lots going on, need insert right needle into loop while making sure left hand yarn tension keep good, then “hook” yarn (find that take more dexterity just simply don’t have), n again while left hand keep tension, pull yarn through hoop make stitch. like entire time you cannot drop tension on left hand or else mess up. find continental left hand hold yarn similar to crochet hold yarn, n because bad motor, have like only one way that can actually hold yarn in left hand n let it stay n not loosey goosey, but that really hurt hand after a while & semi permanently messed up middle finger. people say continental knitting faster more efficient, but rather take so called slower way than try do “fast” way that cannot do at all. but have seen ring type adaptive tools you hook yarn on n it help tension?

compare to english, feel like it. you can break each step into it own thing. insert needle into loop, but this time with both hands full finger grip both needles. then, wrap yarn over needle with right hand. now that used to it, can just use some fingers, but if beginning, perfectly okay like, support right needle against body to prevent it fall off, then use entire right hand wrap. and then, can do both hand pull loop through. you not have to so worry abt tension through out all this because after finish all of this, can just pull on yarn n adjust tension.

one really funny chant (well for us would be chant in head) for english is “stab it. strangle it. scoop out its guts. throw it off a cliff.” & it work for some, it kind of violent, but maybe it help.

not very helpful advice is just. take it slow. it will be frustrating. that okay. we struggle with motor & we work with what we got & we not gonna be like most knitters with okay motor n that okay.

advice for knitting beginners often always knit with bigger/chunkier yarn and bigger needles, because knit up faster. true, but more reasons for us with bad motor:

found that, holding small needles hurt hand make hand stiff easier, n bigger needles, because thicker, have easier time hold.

keep tension not too tight or else will be hard go through loop. think looser tension may be easier at first, just as long as not too loose where yarn fall off?

explore between bamboo needles vs metal needles (smoother which help yarn glide but also may be easier fall off). explore between pointy tip needles & more dull tip needles (pointy may help with insert through loop. but if you use hand to push on tip to help go through loop, it may hurt).

use lighter color yarn (darker esp black yarn hard see stitches)

use plied yarn with more tighter twist, instead of yarn that just one loosely spun single. first type easier see easier go through loop, second type it easier poke through yarn itself & split yarn. so first type better for beginners

.

crochet harder for me because new motor pattern now that ability learn stuff really declined… n same issue with continental knit with left hand hold yarn. it also lots right wrist movement. but unless do specialty crochet, there only one working loop (instead of like knit there many on needle). so it easier put down n pick up project.

have seen adaptive tools where make handle part thicker! which make easier. have also seen people just DIY that n use chunk of foam

.

spinning yarn, most financial accessible thing for beginners is drop spindle, so talk about that.

there different weights of drop spindle, some heavy some lighter, n different weight spindle said to make spin different thickness of yarn easier (but have spun lace weight yarn to worsted & bulky yarn on same spindle, so definitely not must). remember more spun up yarn you wrap on spindle, heavier it get, so if weight impact motor ability, that something think about.

there also type called supported spindle! where instead of lift spindle in air, it spin resting on thingie. never used myself but something worth look into!

(top whirl drop spindle where round disk thingie on top) advice is get one with notch on disk. find that without notch, yarn may slide all over place & especially with low motor, hard to hook yarn in way that not let it slide all over place.

n when start. take it slow. break it into multiple steps. don’t try do too much at once. when get used to, maybe able spin it and draft (like pull roving into thinner strand for yarn) while it spinning. but at beginning. spin, over spin it so have more twist on yarn than want. park it (like put it between two legs, etc rest it somewhere), then draft it/pull roving. then spin again. then park it. etc. and then wrap it around spindle.

don’t try spin too thin at first. it okay if it thick n thin and you not do it on purpose. try learn with (non superwash) wool because wool have microscopic scale-y teeth thingie on fiber that help it stick together n not too slippery, so even if you accident break roving, can just smoosh them together n it be alright. there some breed of wool that said to be more friendly for beginners than others (apparently merino not one).

.

probably over all tip for any craft is. find method that allow you split each step into its own thing, where can pause between each thing, n not have to do multiple things at once.

n take it slow n let self be frustrated. ok to fail n start again later. learned to knit 3 separate times until finally stuck. motor skill simply didn’t work for crochet so failed at least 8-10 separate times (like not restart one project 8-10 times in one sitting but like 8-10 times each with weeks or months or year in between).

feel like said bunch of nothing & very obvious tips but 😅hope at least some of it helpful?

if have specific craft in mind or specific project in mind, again not sure how helpful can be but happy give own thoughts to you

[skelelephant]

i cant remember if you talked about this before but i think youve mentioned it before?? can you discuss your thoughts on griff's head scar and his relationship with wolfstan i cant seem to remember where you discussed it. definitely not

HI WOW THANK YOU TOTALLY ANONYMOUS USER FOR THIS QUESTION

I’m SO glad you asked I have so many thoughts on this. SPOILERS FOR BLACK DEATH (2010) UNDER THE CUT. PLEASE (please) WATCH THE MOVIE THEN COME BACK

The cool thing about Black Death is that it gives you juuuuuuust enough hints about the connections between its characters but never actually lays anything out so you’re left to piece together things based on context clues alone (did you know Osmund and Averil were childhood friends? Because until I watched the behind the scenes content on the DVD I Didn’t Either)

But ANYWAY. We’re here to talk about Griff and Wolfstan

(One of my favourite shots of my pretty princess <3 also you can see the scar really well here)

Their relationship is one that’s so fascinating to me (obviously) but is also so very brief within the movie as a whole. Griff’s total screen time is like. Maybe 10 minutes if you’re being generous with shots where he’s in the background. It’s Fucking Dire Out Here.

But first things first. We’re introduced to Griff and Wolfstan as a pair. Dalywag, Mold, and Ivo all get their own separate introductory shots, (and obviously we’ve met Swire and Ulrich by this point). But Wolfstan and Griff are continually referred to as a pair. In the first scene we meet them and Wolfstan jokes “God has no men left, He sends us a boy” he’s directing that joke at Griff. He’s looking at Griff when he says it. Already we’re lead to believe these men are familiar with each other

“Erin how does this relate to Griff’s scar?” I hear you asking.

WELL.

The first real juicy piece of character information we’re given about these two comes from Swire, when he tells Osmund how he spent time in the King’s army with Wolfstan and Griff. This information is delivered along with a shot of the two of them bringing up the rear of their company, watching over their shoulders for any approaching threats.

So. We’ve now learned that these two were soldiers together. And now, after the war, they find themselves travelling as hired muscle under the command of a holy man. (I’ve made a post about how I interpret the relationship between the Company and Ulrich, so I won’t get into that here. But you can read it if you want.)

So. Where does that leave Griff’s scar?

Well it’s never actually addressed at all in canon, it’s not even acknowledged. It’s just a character detail that has no bearing on the story at all.

So. This is where we get into my own interpretation and headcanon.

I think Griff and Wolfstan were close even back in the army— pointedly never intimate but skirting the line CLOSE— and Griff sustained a critical head injury during one of the battles. A wound like that would certainly threaten a man’s life, and if he managed to survive it he would likely never hold a sword again. So Griff is dead weight, and this is a war zone. And my THEORY IS: in order to make sure Griff was able to recover from his injury, Wolfstan deserted the army and took Griff with him. Forfeiting any sort of glory or honour from the battles they’d been a part of, but at least they’d be together.

Wolfstan is the reason Griff survived and in the years that followed he helped Griff relearn the motor function he’d lost, including how to wield a blade. (Griff barely draws his blade in the movie so I think he’s still not as confident as he once was, but he can fight again!) Also during that time where Griff was in recovery the two of them finally broke down and got together. So by the time the events of the movie come around they’re well involved with each other.

So you can IMAGINE how this adds heartbreak to the scene where Griff finally succumbs to the plague and Wolfstan has to be the one to kill him. After fighting so hard to keep Griff alive, in the end it was just borrowed time, and Wolfstan has to end his life all the same. (I made a post rambling about this specific scene as well! Smile)

You know that Margaret Mead quote that gets tossed around a lot about how “the first sign of civilization was a healed femur”? I think Griff’s scar is a sign that someone once cared enough to save him. And I think that someone was Wolfstan.

Anyway! I need to go collapse into a heap about them again. Dear fucking god. Please talk to me more about this movie PLEASE. I could talk about it for ages.