this is a wierd question maybe but has a medical professional ever said anything at all about quadrobics?
i just know that in human pup safety courses they specifically dedicate a lot of time talking about wrist and hand injuries you can give yourself related to not playing properly and not using any wrist protection or support. MMA gloves are one of the most basic humanpup gears that they frequently stress is the Most important piece of gear you have because it's basically armor. and in humanpupplay, there is no running and jumping and parkour-type shit; youre just on the floor walking around or wrestling another dog. if its so easy to break your wrists doing that, imagine how easy it is to break your wrists with absolutely no protection whatsoever, running and jumping around?
(video from Gpup Alpha who is a humanpup educator AND doctor!)
iirc one of the entire points of the sport is to do it without protection to show off how adaptive or agile your body is. and honestly i think this is really terrible. this is a 1 way ticket to completely fucking up your wrists. again - if its easy to fuck up your wrists just by walking on your knuckles and knees, its even easier to do that when youre running and jumping and slamming your entire weight down onto your wrists without protection or support
i feel bad not having a real conclusion to this post. i want to say "go buy MMA gloves, go buy wrist support, go watch humanpup safety videos" but i am also not a medical professional and i have no idea what would work best here as protection against injury or longterm strain. maybe i'll say you should check in with a doctor before starting quadrobics and see what they recommend for wrist support because SOMETHING has to be better than forcing your entire body weight onto your hands and wrists this way (a fragile structure which has 8 bones btw!!)
be careful with your body. i dont care if you hate your body or do not identify with it. it is still a delicate machine that carries you through your life!!
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One of my favorite parts of phase 2 (and indeed one of the few moments I resonated with IDW Prowl) was when the neutrals were coming back to Cybertron and Prowl said that he refused to let Autobots be pushed aside and overruled after they were the ones who fought for freedom for 4 million years (the exact wording escapes me atm).
And I mean, that resentment still holds true even once the colonists come on bc like. As much as it's true that Cybertron's culture is fucked up, and as funny as it can be to paint Cybertronians as a bunch of weirdos who consider trying to kill someone as a common greeting not important enough to hold a grudge over.... The colonists POV kind of pissed me off a lot of times, as did the narrative tone/implications that Cybertronians are forever warlike and doomed to die by their own hands bc it just strikes me as an extremely judgemental and unsympathetic way to deal with a huge group of people with massive war PTSD and political/social tensions that were rampant even before the war?
Like, imagine living in a society rife with bigotry and discrimination where you get locked into certain occupations and social strata based on how you were born. The political tension is so bad there's a string of assassinations of politicians and leaders. The whole planet erupts into an outright war that leads (even unintentionally) to famine and chemical/biological warfare that destroys your planet. Both sides of the war are so entrenched in their pre-war sides and resentment for each other that this war lasts 4 million years and you don't even have a home planet any more. Then your home planet gets restored and a bunch of sheltered fucks come home and go "ewww why are you so violent?? You're a bunch of freaks just go live in the wilderness so that our home can belong to The Pure People Who Weren't Stupid And Evil Enough To Be Trapped In War" and then a bunch of colonists from places that know nothing about your history go "lol you people are so weird?? 🤣🤣 I don't get why y'all are fighting can't you just like, stop??? Oh okay you people are just fucked up and evil and stupid then" ((their planets are based on colonialism where their Primes wiped out the native populations btw whereas the Autobots and OP in particular fought to save organics. But that never gets brought up as a point in their favor)) as if the damage of a lifetime of war and a society that was broken even before the war can just magically go away now that the war is over.
Prowl fucking sucks but he was basically the only person that pointed out the injustice of that.
And then from then on out most of the characters from other colonies like Caminus and wherever else are going "i fucking hate you and your conflicts" w/ people like literal-nobody Slide and various Camiens getting to just sit there lecturing Optimus about how Cybertronians are too violent for their own good and how their conflicts are stupid, with only brief sympathetic moments where the Cybertronians get to be recognized as their own ppl who deserve sympathy before going right back to being lambasted.
Like I literally struggled to enjoy the story at multiple points because there was only so much I could take of the characters I knew and loved being raked over coals constantly while barely getting to defend themselves or be defended by the narrative so like. It was just fucking depressing and a little infuriating to read exRID/OP
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heads up: depiction of anxiety attack (hyperventilating, anxiety, a loss of control/out of body feeling) + mentions of vomiting (fic primarily under readmore as a result)
from the moment you left your apartment, you knew something was wrong.
living with your own personal concoction of mental bullshit sucks. your family knows about it, your friends know a little less, and your long-term boyfriend knows... probably the most of any of those people, since you opened up to minho easier in a weird way. he texted you maybe ten minutes ago that he'd be there in thirty minutes, and you'd realized that you were out of drinks and the store was only a short walk away... so what was the harm in making a quick run?
except something just... set you off in a weird way. maybe it was a text from someone else that you decided to answer later, or it was the person walking down the street in a jacket that you felt you'd seen somewhere else, or maybe it was something about the news article you read that morning that slithered under your skin and stayed there. but the moment you stepped outside, you felt... off.
and now you're really feeling it now that you're safe at home again, already shut into your bedroom as you pace and try to swallow these feelings whole. minho will be here in a few minutes, you tell yourself: push back. you can try to smash the ugly panic rising in your chest if you just try hard enough, can't you? except it doesn't work that way. you've been able to stave off these moments of hyperventilation and sobbing until you were able to get out, but that's not how it works at home. home is out. home is safe for you to come undone, and your brain seems to refuse to let you breathe now.
a swear bubbles up and tumbles from your lips as you decide you have to ride this out. you can't fight it, and minho will be there soon, and you can't let him see you as a mess. he'll let himself in: you know he will, because he always does nowadays. he practically lives there now. and that means he'll see you and he'll worry and you can't have minho worry more than he already does.
you practically collapse onto your bed, curling in on yourself as your breathing grows more frantic, more uneven, more fucked up as everything feels like its closing in on you. you fumble for your phone, desperate to find some sort of help. a video to help you breathe. something. but your hands shake too much to type, and you abandon it, pulling a pillow into your arms to grapple with as your body fights against you.
if you could just stagger your stupid breathing, you could be better. you would be fine. but your body and your mind feel at odds with one another now. all you want is for it to be over. you sob into the pillow you're clutching, just trying to find some way of stopping yourself.
the door opens. you think minho says your name as he hurries over, asking if he can touch you now. he's seen your anxiety attacks before, he's helped you through them, and yet he still asks to be careful. to make sure that he's not overstepping. he pulls the empty trashcan from beside your desk over to the bed, and he sits, reaching for you. you shift so that your head is in his lap, still holding the pillow to your chest as he finds your hand.
"can you count with me?"
you don't think you can do anything more than sob and breathe frantically. you don't think you can do anything at all, really. your body feels like its out of your control, and it makes you nauseous. minho holds your hand securely, murmuring that he's here. he's with you.
and he begins to count, slowly.
one... you feel your stomach turn. you haven't eaten today. is that good? is that bad? he'll scold you. but you feel sick. you're going to be sick.
two... minho's watching you carefully. does he pity you? does he wish he was dating someone else? why is he with you? why doesn't he just leave? you don't want him to leave. please. don't leave.
three... what does he see in you? what does anyone see in you? lots of things, you manage to think: people like you for a reason, even if you struggle to see them.
four--
you swear loudly, lunging for the trashcan as you vomit into the bag. minho's already there with you, though, hand rubbing your back as he supports you through this. it isn't much, but your throat burns nonetheless and you wipe your mouth on your sleeve before burying your face into minho's shoulder. he slowly sets the can down, holding you as your breathing finally evens out. your eyes are still wet. minho's saying something you don't quite hear.
"did something happen?" finally pushes through your foggy mind, and you shrug. you don't know what happened, specifically. all it took was one perceived threat somewhere along the way for you to get so upset. funny thing, anxiety.
"it's okay," he says a moment later, still rubbing your back. "you can always call me if you start feeling anxious."
you know you can. you nod. "i know," you finally manage to say. just so he knows, too: you trust him, even though you hate him seeing you like this. you hate anyone seeing you like this, really.
minho presses a tiny kiss against the side of your head. "i'm going to get you some water, okay?" he waits until your draw back, and he takes your face into his hands. "okay?"
you nod. "okay. thank you, honey."
a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth: he'll only rarely admit it, but he loves when you call him things like honey. it makes him feel loved, the same way you feel when he looks at you. "we can cuddle when i come back, if you want to stay here a little longer." he tucks a strand of your hair back from your face. "i was going to ask if you wanted to go out, but..."
"maybe in a bit," you say, and you watch him get up after pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. getting out with minho feels... possible, if you take care of yourself first. the water, maybe a little snack... and cuddling with him for a bit, just to help you feel safe again. "min?"
he looks up from where he's tucking your trashcan away. "yes?"
"i love you."
he does smile this time. "i love you, too. i'll be back in a moment."
(and he is, quietly pressing a thing of plastic-wrapped crackers into your hand too. just to say how well he knows you.)
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