#Boxing Injuries

[rubydracogirl]

I’m gonna ramble about one of my favorite Gravity Falls headcanons because I haven’t seen anyone mention or bring it up.

So, I’m curious, does anyone think that maybe the reason why Stan has such big ears that stick out so much is due to his experience with boxing? It’s true that he could just genetically have big ears, but from what I’ve observed, Ford’s ears don’t seem to stick out with the same prominence.

I’m not a medical professional and I don’t have a background with boxing/wrestling myself, but I know someone who did MMA and Krav Maga training for a few years. She developed a very mild case of cauliflower ear; the cartilage of her ear is calloused and curls in slightly. (It’s only noticeable if you really look for it.)

I think Stan has a pretty severe case of cauliflower ear that caused both enlargement and for the cartilage to roll forward, so his ears stick out. It’s undeniable that any fight training or participation is extremely hard on your body, especially if you don’t have access to medical attention, and I can’t help but think that a lot of his health problems are due to his experience with boxing, such as the fact that he wears dentures and hearing aids even though he’s allegedly in his early 60’s.

Now, I know that during the montage in ATOTS, you can see the progression of his age and his ears get bigger as he ages, which is something that naturally occurs without outside influence, but again, Ford’s ears don’t seem to stick out as much as Stan’s do even though they’re the same age.

I think this implies that Stan kept boxing while he was in Gravity Falls, (the boxing paraphernalia in his room seems to support this). Regular trauma to your body will have a physical effect the longer you expose yourself to it, and I think that’s what happened to Stan.

Anyways, I don’t know, maybe I’m overanalyzing, or maybe this just isn’t that remarkable, but I haven’t seen any mention of this, and I just wanted to bring it up because I think that, even if I’m incorrect, Stan’s exaggerated prominent ears, hearing aids and dentures are interesting details since Stan is the twin that took more to boxing/close combat training.

[freaksbuzz]

How To Protect Nose In Boxing And Avoid Injuries

[charcoaldustonmyfingers]

Mikey skeletal anatomy! Click for better quality

Box turtles are the kinds of turtles who can fully fit into and close their shells along a single hinge in their plastron, which once closed is extremely hard to break into for any kind of predator especially if they cannot get a proper grip on the dome of the shell. Box turtles are also usually found in plains rather than ponds, and while they need water to survive and keep hydrated and can swim well, they’re not generally considered aquatic. Box turtles do have an interesting adaptation due to their more northern range of being able to survive freezing temperatures for a short period of time by slowing their metabolism outside of seasonal brumation (similar to hibernation, but more of a dormant state) if absolutely needed.

After watching TMNT ‘03 where the turtles meditate to save oxygen and prevent suffocation in a broken airlock, I thought, why not mix their ninja ability to conceal their body heat and breath and mix it with a turtles natural ability to brumate? Perhaps the brothers could enter into a completely dormant state on command with enough training in order to survive extreme situations or astral project in some form. Just a fun thought to tie their strong mystic powers with their physical abilities!

Although I use the term heterothermy to refer to them being able to vary between generating their own body heat while active and relying on environmental temperature while inactive, the intricacies of understanding thermal regulation in animals eludes me. If there’s a term that fits better, go ahead! I’m not a biologist so you probably know better lol

These are all my personal head cannons! You can use em’ as reference or not, whichever you prefer :)

[General][Raph][Donnie][Leo][Splinter]

[motogpnewbie]

This photo has done irreversible damage to my psyche. If I had to take a guess I’m thinking it’s from Sachsenring 2021 but I’m not actually sure. Like he normally keeps it together in Parc ferme and in front of cameras but if it is Sachsenring his body would have been in a lot of pain he he would have been so high on painkillers but also just the emotion of it all

[non-newtonian-id]

this is complete insanity on my part because i thought about PIDW!Shang Qinghua a little too much but

he and PIDW!Mu Qingfang were in love. to me.

they never actual got together before og!sqh died but there was mutual pining happening

trust, i spoke to airplane himself (<- guy being delusional about two double fictional characters (characters that are fictional within a factional setting))

[sickficideas]

I NEED your Al/astor hc's please! He is also my fav and Im dying out here from lack of sickfic

omg of couuurseee💖 he's a prime candidate for being miserable

- this dubbed comic (which is delicious by the way 10/10 recommend) put me on board horribly seasick alastor lol...i think he doesn't really get motion sickness otherwise but on boats he feels like he's dying. unbearable nausea that is not easily remedied by anything. i think when he was alive it was much more manageable. Just a little nausea, and certainly something he'd never admit being from Louisiana but now there's absolutely no hiding it :))

- i think he hates throwing up, not in the emetophobic way, i think he just hates dealing with it. in an "i need to get this over with as soon as possible" kind of way

- does Not ❌️ like people touching him when he's sick or injured. in general not a fan of physical contact but in these instances especially. however when he truly can't do anything to help himself, he'll slowly lower his walls to let people help him, but certain things are still absolutely off limits

- when things are really bad. high fever, awful injury... and he's not all mentally there he'll start talking about his mom, or when mistaking people taking care of him as his mother 🥺 absolutely heartbreaking to anyone around to witness it. he said it once to charlie and she cried her eyes out poor thing. she knows his mother used to take good care of him

- i also love the idea of him being really good at taking care of other people because of his mother 🥺 him being sweet and helpful is very off putting to the majority of the hotel residents lol angel dust is creeped out by it

I have another ask with a request for alastor headcanons as well so I'll make some more on that one :))

[blusical]

The 2024 Paris Olympics: Images of the Moment

(sorry for the weirdness, tumblr only allows 30 images so i had to combine them)

[corrodedbisexual]

"For your modesty, dude"

[slightly-warmer-hibiscus-tea]

weird request but maybe blood-stained Ais with flowers in his hair? Something lovely to go with the violence.

Also, I really love your art by the way!

First off, THANK YOU SO MUCH!!❤️🥲

Secondly, I’m currently Obsessed with this idea! Though my table is almost at 10%, my pen is dead, and it’s 5am. So I’m gonna take a break (and probably a nap) and finish this once everyone is charged and ready to go again. Thank you very much for this ask. I’m going to rotate this in my sleep😤❤️

[valverii]

ENTER ARAHABAKI

NEW AU in which amateur boxer atsushi is roped into helping unravel an underground boxing ring. how he plans to accomplish that? fighting his way to the top. (of course i’m dropping chuuya’s design first but this au may be shin soukoku centric. unless.)

[dailymakotonaegi]

[nardos-primetime]

"Do we use stitches or glue?

What is going to see me through?"

[highwaywhump]

remember this piece?

unnamed guard dog is still unnamed.

TW/CW: pet whump, (former and current) dehumanization/animalization, distraught whumpee, whumpee idealizes death mentions of scars and injuries, long term whump situation, tbh not much is happening here but two old men are having a moment ig

---

The flames weren’t real. 

They were the first thing the guard dog saw when he was pulled from the abyss. Orange LED lights scattering through lenses and refractors, creating the illusion of a pile of embers that would never go out. 

And still, he noticed he wasn’t particularly cold. It wasn’t slick linoleum or cold metal against his skin, it was… fur?

He blinked and looked around, trying to get his eyes to refocus. He was on his side on a cream fur rug, facing a fake fireplace with neverending little fake flames dancing along the edges of fake logs. He turned over, biting his teeth together as his shoulders protested the movement. He was getting too old to be laying on floors, even if they were covered by plush fur rugs. 

Then again, that wasn’t up to him. 

What had even happened to land him here? It was a living room with high windows stretching up and up and up towards even higher ceilings. An luxurious-looking leather sofa, complete with a matching pair of chairs, made up the seating arrangement. There were bookshelves along the walls, a huge blue-hued painting of foggy hills on another. Everything looked needlessly expensive. 

Who had put him here? Why?

He tried to sit up, only to groan and rub his face with his palms as a sharp pain shot through his head. He hadn’t just been sleeping, he figured. He was always groggy after naps, but never like this. Somebody must have … given him … something- 

The guard dog lurched forwards, doubling over on himself and gagging violently as the memories flooded back to him, filling all his senses. The cold examination table, the clammy blue gloved hands, the bright light, the syringe… He would have thrown up, had he had anything to eat the last seven days. His pulse was racing, his hands were shaking as he grabbed onto the fur of the rug, trying to ground himself. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

The voice pierced through the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Thought I lost you there for a second. Again.” 

The voice was more familiar to him than the ache in his bones, the taste of blood in his mouth, the tight skin of his scars. 

He didn’t have to turn around and face the source of the voice to know who it belonged to. More importantly, he didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to believe it could be real. 

That he was back with him again. 

It took him several long, grueling seconds to find his voice. He realized he hadn’t used it for weeks, and when it finally came out of his mouth, it was gravelly and rough, nearly impossible to shape into words. For a moment there was only bare sound, akin to that of a wounded predator. 

Then, finally, did the words come. 

“I… I was supposed to feel better.” 

The voice of the man he did not want to face, scoffed, caught off guard. “What?” 

The guard dog keeled over, his scarred, wide hands digging into the rug as he yelled into its plush fur. 

“I was supposed to feel better!” 

“I fucking hope you do!” the voice snapped harshly, and a pair of fine leather shoes trod across the dark hardwood, into the guard dog’s line of sight. 

“You better feel fucking great! They were going to kill you!” 

“Yes!” the guard dog moaned, hiding his face in his hands. His shoulders shuddered, the scars there dancing. “That was the point.” His voice took on a sore quality, like he was straining to control it, to keep it together. He didn’t look like the mighty guard dog he once was, hunched over on the plush rug, stifling his sobs. 

“That was the point, so why didn’t you let them.” 

The other man was silent for a beat. The guard dog could, between his fingers and through the tears fogging up his eyes, catch a glimpse of the black Oxfords he wore, perfectly shined as always. 

Derbies are for doormen and loafers are for geriatrics. If you forget everything else, remember that, pup. 

The man sighed and went down on one knee, steadying himself with a hand on the floor. He wore the same ring he always had. The red garnet shone in the fake firelight, reminding the guard dog of all the times that hand had struck him, the ring often slicing the skin of his cheek. 

 “Don’t tell me I should have let them murder you. I don’t want to hear it.” His voice was resigned, but nevertheless cold, not leaving it up for discussion. Some years ago, that voice would have been enough for the guard dog to forget even the mere thought of disobedience. 

“Why did you bring me back here? Why-” The guard dog hunched in on himself, caught in a coughing fit brought on by the sudden and harsh use of his gravelly voice. He wouldn’t be surprised if he coughed up blood on the fine fur rug. 

The man, now behind his back, did not react to the sharp onslaught. He remained silent until the guard dog’s wide shoulders had stopped their rhythmic contractions. His voice was still unwavering. “I am only reclaiming what is mine.”

“Yours?” The guard dog barked out, then groaned as his sore lungs protested. “You sold me! You didn’t want me anymore. You sent me away to the first caller!” 

“I sold you only because I had no other choice. You do not understand these things. You never did.”

The man reached out as he said this, hand folded, and slid his knuckles down the column of the guard dog’s neck. 

His touch was like an electric shock, his warm and gentle hand such a contrast to the guard dog’s cold surroundings that he flinched like he had been hit, his spine jerking away on its own accord. The skin contact was enough to wrench another violent sob from his body. 

“And I let Louie take you only because I couldn’t bear the thought of having to see you go any further. It was better to do it quickly. It wouldn’t have been healthy for either of us to wait around for the right person.” 

“There was nothing healthy about him!” groaned the guard dog. “He put me in the fights! I made his fortune when I knocked out Bruiser! And six months later he sold me on again, and after that….” His voice broke. His anger seemed to have dissipated now, replaced by violent sobs that caused his whole body to heave and lurch in between his words. 

“Oh, pup. What did they do to you…” The man’s fingers ghosted across his spine, following one particularly nasty scar, too jagged to come from a blade. “I never should have let you go, should I.” 

“I wish you never got me back.” Despite the words, the guard dog’s voice was not resentful, only fatigued and spent. 

“Don’t you like me anymore? You used to love me.” 

He was quiet for a while. The man wondered idly if he had passed out, but did not check.  

“It wasn’t love,” came the rough voice eventually. “It wasn’t about that.” 

“Then what was it about?” 

“Loyalty.” The answer came before he could even think of it. Loyalty was the fundament for everything he was, everything he would ever be. Everything he had ever done. “I will always be loyal to you. No matter what you do to me.” He recalled the very last beating they had shared, the evening before his new owner had retrieved him and brought him to the fighting rings. 

It was quiet for a while.

“I know you don’t believe me, but I will always be loyal to you, too,” the man said eventually. 

He looked up, suddenly face to face with the man he had been made for, all those years ago. Now older, rougher, gray around the edges, but still the same brown eyes, framed by the same perpetually upturned eyelids. The guard dog’s own eyes were bloodshot, tear tracks creating shiny trails down his cheeks. They were only a few inches apart, the man having knelt down to his level. 

It wasn’t the first time they had been this close, but the guard dog watched him with fresh eyes this time. Nigh on two decades of life away from his master had forever changed the curious atmospheric aura they once used to share. 

“You’re right. I will never believe you again.” 

The familiar brown gaze studied him for a second, jumping down and back up, roaming the litany of scars and blemishes on his skin, several stretching into his hairline. His lips made a peculiar twitch before he suddenly sat back up and got to his feet, limber and flexible despite his age. 

“In any case, you’re getting a hosedown before dinner. You smell like shit.”

---

tags:

@maracujatangerine (were there more of you? lmk, also lmk if you don't want me to tag you)

[womenwhump]

Otherside Picnic

[jamiesfootball]

29 for the whump dialogue prompt perhaps?

"Tell me where it hurts, and be specific."

He doesn't know how it went wrong so fast. He never fucking knows.

"Get him out! Get him out of here right the fuck now!"

He never knew how it was that his dad could ruin everything as quick as upending a box, shaking out the bits of Jamie - smacking the box for good measure to knock out all the stubbornly clinging fists - until he was nothing better than something his dad went and spilled on the floor. A fucking pile of Legos for people to dodge around less the sharp pieces of him prick the the soft padding beneath their feet.

"Everybody, shut up! Jamie, Jamie, bruv, breathe. Breathe. In and out like. Can you do that? Does it hurt?"

It felt like being underwater, it did; or like they were in an indoor pool. Sweat all dried until it was cold and clammy. Everything echoed, a public's worth of voices shouting to be heard over each other ("What did you hold me back for?!" "Me?! You were right there!") while the walls bounced everything back, and over the din came Colin's voice, both muffled and clear- "I heard something snap."

Dr. Sharon was going to be so disappointed with Jamie. Jamie was going to walk back into her office with the crumpled up portions of himself bundled in his arms, and she was going to frown, polite and quiet and judging while Jamie lined up all the pieces in front of her, trying to explain to her what he'd done wrong and begging her to show him how to make it better.

"Beard's got it from here. Him and the boys in security 'll figure it out. Now, how's our- is that blood?"

Because he was a coward, he'd serve the best parts of himself first. The chunk of him that hadn't meant to let any of it happen. The lump that understood how his presence on the pitch led to the team losing. The slice of him that had honestly, stupidly thought his Dad would be so caught up in his own team winning that Jamie's own garbage performance would go unnoticed (amateur thinking to go with amateur playing). The ration of him that hadn't been rational at all - had opened his mouth to argue when he knew better, didn't he, lad? Should know better by now. He hadn't been given the signal. Couldn't be trusted with his own words - had to wait for someone to tell him it was alright, otherwise look what he'd get?

"Tartt? Are you listening?"

He'd show Dr. Sharon the slab of him that wanted to do right by the team, and she'd tilt her head to the side and remark that the slab looked a bit spoiled now, didn't it?

Something brushes his shoulder, a touch so lacking in violence it doesn't register as real.

"Come on. Jamie. You need to let us get a look at you. We need to know where you're hurt."

He never fucking knows.

Something strong grips the back of his neck. There's nothing left of Jamie now; just bundles of raw nerve endings telling him run and hide and the dislocated parts of his body reporting back that they're not capable of either right now. His lungs aren't working right, and there's no running or hiding anymore - there's just smaller. Tugging close the pieces of himself - the broken tiles of himself - and sweeping them close in his arms where they're less likely to get shattered any further. There's retreating, dropping deep into the recess of his head, anything to spare himself from witnessing the ugly spectacle he's made.

The grip on his neck disregards what he wants. Cups the delicate space below his jaw between two hands. Examines him while Jamie flutters in his grasp like a moth avoiding the light.

"Jamie, this is serious. Tell me where it hurts, and be specific. We need to know if we need to get you to hospital."

Point to any piece of him, where his dad's gone and left him on the ground.

"Fuck it, he’s not answering. Somebody get the medics."

[musictooth]

Have you ever thought about Pete having muscle cramps, nosebleeds, sprains, fractures, abrasions, bruises and cuts. Skin infections, blisters. Itching, redness, and discomfort of the skin. Dislocated finger, shoulder or jaw. Busted knees, shin splits, genital injury. Rib, back, neck and elbow injuries. Collapsed lungs, herniated discs, spinal fractures. Broken nose and black eye. Dehydration, heat stroke. Headache, dizziness, confusion, nausea, and temporary memory loss due to concussion. Pain around the joints, discoloration of the skin, heavy bleeding, difficulty in swallowing and/or breathing.

Or have you ever thought about Pete being treated with gentle stretching, ice packs, cold compresses, warming liniments and balms, bandges and sterile gauze bads. Alcohol, anti-septic or anti-inflammatory medications and pain relief medications. Surgery followed by physical therapy. Reduction, immobilization, and rehabilitation. Rest.

I have.