heel first landing

firebird766-blog  asked:

If an woman were to vault over a second story balcony and land on someone, what kind of injuries could she expect? What kind of injuries could her victim expect? Would it be possible for her to come out relatively unscathed, if she put thought into the best way to land before she went for the jump?

Hey there! I’m glad you sent this in. Thanks for asking!

Your character has 2 things going for her:

1) She’s not falling from THAT high a height. She could still have significant injuries, but a second-story balcony is only about 12-15 feet off the ground. While that’s triple body height – our threshold for where we suspect serious injuries – it’s also not, say, the 5th floor (which is likely fatal).

But the person she lands on—assuming she plants her feet on their shoulders—actually helps reduce the height of the fall, making it closer to 7-10 feet, which is a much more survivable injury!

2) She’s landing on something soft (compared to concrete). The person may alter the way she lands, but they’ll also slow her down over a longer period of time than simply hitting the pavement.

Remember, it’s not the fall that kills your characters, friends, it’s the sudden stop at the bottom.

As to the specific injury patterns and “safest” way of falling, I’d say she would be best off going feet-first and aiming for the person’s shoulders or back with her feet.

Now, with a straight drop with a landing on the heels, you’d expect to see a very particular pattern of injuries called Don Juan Syndrome. What happens is that the person lands heel-first, and the force just travels directly up from there, breaking calcaneous (heels), knees, pelvis, and spinal compression injuries. DO NOT WANT.

However, if your character has any kind of martial arts training or has taken any parkour at all, she’ll have a better idea how to land: feet parallel, knees relaxed, land on the balls of her feet, allow her hips to tuck behind (rather than hyperflex the knees and push the hips forward).

If she does it right, and she controls not just the first fall (into the person) but the second fall (awkwardly, probably backwards, onto the pavement from the height of that person’s shoulders), she may walk away relatively unscathed, though for realism’s sake I’d appreciate at least a sprained ankle or wrist, or a goose egg on the back of her head.

I’m not a traceur, but this video has a surprisingly good illustration of the body mechanics she wants: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31IM_PRHoeg 

As for her victim, they’re in for a bad day. That kind of force landing on them, completely unexpected, makes me think of things like broken clavicles and shoulders, plus injuries from getting pushed to the ground, so up to and including broken wrists, broken arms, head strikes (with scrapes / hematomas / …) plus the possibility of a concussion.

Honestly, they could both walk away with concussions. Hooray for concussions!

From a reader’s perspective, I’m really curious as to whether or not she’s aiming for the person or if they just happen to get in her way. If she’s self-centered enough to think “they’ll break my fall”, that’s a really interesting trait for a character to have. If she’s trying to hurt them that’s even more interesting!

Either way, I hope this was useful!!

xoxo, Aunt Scripty


For the Future of Tomorrow

Saw this one and thought it would be fun!

bogdanowolfie submitted: You accidentally flung your dancing shoe across the ballroom and hit me in the back…or was it an accident? XO

“Oh, oh shit!” I exclaimed as I watched my shoe fly off my foot and land heel first into the back of the neck of the man crouched down a few feet away.

His hand flew to the back of his neck, rubbing the already reddening spot. Slowly, with his other hand, the man grabbed the shoe from the ground and turned around looking for the culprit–me. I gulped and felt my cheeks start to redden as his eyes zeroed in on my own. A smirk lifted at the corner of his mouth as he made his way over to me.

“I believe this is yours,” he said holding up the light blue heel.

I nodded and covered my face with my hands, careful not to pull off the frilly mask tied there. “I’m so sorry! I knew I shouldn’t have borrowed these shoes. I can’t believe I hit you! I’m–”

He halted my protestations with a shake of his head and a gentle tug on my leg. “Here, lift your leg. I cannae replace the fair damsel’s shoe wi’out access to her foot.”

Embarrassed, I lifted my leg and let him return the shoe to its rightful place.

“Perfect fit, Cinderella.” He joked, his blue eyes twinkling behind his silver mask.

“I’m no Cinderella.” I countered in the same joking tone.

“Och, I beg to differ. A gorgeous, mysterious woman loses her shoe and the handsome man returns it for a perfect fit, I believe that fits the requirements, wouldn’t ye say?”

I laughed and nodded my head. “If you’re going by those standards then I guess so, although I’d hardly consider myself the belle of the ball.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, similar to a scoff. “Dinna sell yerself short, Cinderella. How did ye manage to fling your shoe so far, anyway? If ye were wanting my attention, ye didna have to fling your shoe at me, I would have gladly come to ye wi’ just a crook of your finger.”

I couldn’t hold back my laugh. “I really am sorry, Sir Charming, for hurting you with my shoe. It really wasn’t my intention.”

“Och, sure it wasn’t.” He laughed back with another sly wink that was truly more of an owlish blink.

“Shall we?” He offered, hand extended. “They’re playing our song, Cinderella.”

“Our song, huh? Well, how could I turn down a dance with my Prince Charming?”

He spun me around, then pulled me close to his chest. “So Mr. Charming, what brought you to the hospital benefit ball?”

“My niece is a patient here.” He said quietly into my hair. I could feel the timbre of his voice resonating through his chest. “I helped fund the event.”

I pulled back just far enough to be able to look into his eyes. “You’re the mystery sponsor?”

He nodded, closing his eyes. “Caitlin was born early…we thought she was stillborn. It about killed my sister to see her child blue and seemingly lifeless.” He took a deep breath, opening his eyes and staring deep into mine. “That was nearly two years ago. One of the nurses charged with preparing a stillborn for the parents final viewing noticed the faint breathing coming from her. Christ, it was the most stressful day of our lives, waiting and watching, never knowing if that faint breath and heart beat would remain steady and strong. Jenny has a brood of children ye see, and I was tasked wi’ keeping them in line. Her eldest had just turned ten and understood more than his siblings. He kept asking to go see his sister and when the doctor came out to tell us she was dead…Wee Jamie broke down. His fit was worse than any he’d ever had even as a bairn.”

I hesitantly reached up and touched his cheek. “But she survived.”

He nodded, tears pooling in his eyes. “Aye, she did. I swore then that I’d do whatever I could to try and help families to never experience the kind of day we did. I ken I canna save the truly stillborn bairns, but I could help fundraise, donate, and even provide equipment needed to help support those children in need. The ones who are just on the verge of not being strong enough.”

Tears had filled my own eyes as he continued his tale. This strong, mysterious man has been the benefactor for so many saved lives in the last year from this one humbling experience, and without knowing it just gave away his identity to me.

“Did you ever get to meet the nurse that helped save your niece’s life?” I asked after clearing my throat.

He shook his head while looking at the ground. “My sister and brother-in-law did, but I didna get the chance to do so.”

“What would you tell her if you could?”

His eyes snapped up and searched my own. “I’d tell her how grateful I am to her, that her attention to the small details of person is what saved my family from excruciating grief and that I was in her debt. That because of her willingness to stand up to those who were deemed superior to her, my family is whole as well as many other families. If it were not for her, I don’t know if the donations I made or request for more neonatal training would have been made. Mostly I’d want to tell her thank-you.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Fraser,” I whispered in response. My throat too thick with emotion to do much else.

Mr. Fraser’s body tensed as he let my statement sink in. “Nurse Beauchamp?”

I nodded, biting my lower lip. “It’s Doctor Beauchamp now, but yes, two years ago I was Nurse Beauchamp. That experience had a lasting impact on me as well, Mr. Fraser. I went back to school determined to find some way to help, I’m the newest Neonatal Surgeon in residency here. I never want to see a family suffer unnecessarily again.”

We had stopped moving, all pretenses of dancing gone. Mr. Fraser had moved away from me just enough to survey my entire being, before pulling me hard to his chest. I felt a pressure to my head, as well as warm droplets of tears as they cascaded down his face and into my hair.

“Thank-you,” he whispered over and over again in my hair. I wrapped my arms tighter around his waist, giving him silent comfort.

“Mr. Fraser–”



“My name is Jamie, please call me by my first name.”

I smiled into his chest, “Well then, Jamie, shall we continue this dance or take a walk around the pond? It’s starting to feel a bit too crowded for my liking.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Doctor Beauchamp.” He smiled, holding out an arm for me to take.

“If I am to call you Jamie, it’s only proper that you call me Claire.”

“Aye, Claire it is.”

One Secret Too Many

A/N: Okay so, here’s a filled request in which you and Dylan are both cast members on Teen Wolf and get asked during an interview about your relationship. I put it under a cut because it got way longer than I thought it would - my bad! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!!! :)

You don’t really have time to process anything that has happened the past twelve hours until you saunter into your hotel room, immediately kicking off your high heels and landing face-first on the king-sized bed. A few seconds later, you hear Dylan emerge from the bathroom. He’s changed into a pair of sweats and a baggy Mets shirt.

“Thought you and Shelley were gonna grab some In-N-Out together?”

“Too tired,” You respond, your voice muffled against the mattress. You feel the bed dip as Dylan lays beside you, tenderly rubbing your back.

“Yeah, I remember my first Comic-Con,” he says. “Posey almost had to drag me from room to room. I slept for like, eighteen hours the day I got home.”

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