only 5 more floors to go

Addiction is shooting up in the nearest Wendy’s bathroom because you simply cant wait any longer. It forces you to call your dealer at 12:03am because your money just came through and you’ll be damned if you have to wait until a more reasonable hour. It’s crawling around on the floor desperately hoping to find a random pill or speck of drugs you dropped. It’s not just because you cant wait to get high. It’s mainly because you cant spend another second rocking back and forth, staring at the clock, wondering how only 5 minutes have passed. Addiction is impatient, unforgiving, and manipulative. Don’t test it. If you go in thinking you’ll stay in control, you will lose, and you’ll never be the same again.
—  Thoughts from a recovering addict

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

disclaimer    

Been roughly a year since the start of The Smothering.

Here’s a run-down of what’s happened in the last year and where we are now.

So originally I wrote out the storyboard for the episode out on 7 huge pieces of A2 paper, laying them out on the floor of my small room.

I then took the super sketchy ideas on the page, blu-tacked them to the wall above my Laptop, and redrew them all digitally as roughs. I added backgrounds, changed poses, modified shots I was unhappy with and just generally refined the storyboard as I drew.

After completing the roughs I started on the Line art. This is the process of redrawing the rough crappy sketches into much prettier, more appealing, art.

Currently I am finishing off page 5 of the line art, meaning that I only have 2 more pages to go until all the art for the project is finished.

(This is ignoring the backgrounds of episode, none of which have been done, but I do have some thoughts on how to rush those)

The remaining pages will not take that long, considering the fact that my later roughs looks less like crude, messy  sketches, and more unpolished line art that I merely need to draw over. You’ll notice that when the episode finally is released that the my ability to draw the characters massively improves as I progressed with the project. Like a microcosm of season one.

I’m hoping to have all the assets for the episode completed mid February. Then all that would be left is the editing. Which I would thankfully not have to do.

Have a Merry Christmas SU folks. I hope you’ll all like the episode when it’s finished. 

draco’s boggart hc pt.2

here’s part 1 (they’re not related, but just in the sense that they’re both boggart hcs (pls check it out i just want some love :’)))

this hc was inspired by the lovely @drarry-ponderings and her original post (go check it out!! and follow her; she’s beautiful and an excellent artist and an overall amazing person xx)

and ohhh man here we go


  • Harry and Draco were going to move into Grimmauld Place.
  • They’d been dating for three years, but they finally decided to move in together after their engagement.
  • Grimmauld Place hadn’t been lived in since the war (5 years ago), and the dingy old house was due for some serious cleaning.
  • A month into the great cleaning, and the two had made a lot of progress. The house was already looking loads better than it had during the war; they were done renovating the basement and the first two floors with only one more floor and the attic to go.
  • Harry and Draco were in the first room of the third floor, and Merlin were there a lot of drawers to clean out. Most of them had been filled with dead puffskeins and doxies, along with some trinkets of the House of Black that Kreacher had stashed.
  • “Draco, magic isn’t enough. I feel like I’m going to choke on the dust,” Harry said as he pecked Draco on the cheek. “I’m gonna go get the vacuum, okay?” He dashed out of the room before Draco could protest.
  • Draco huffed in frustration and moved onto the dresser standing in the corner of the room. It was made out of dark oak and intricate carvings of the Black crest were easily visible all around the towering dresser. He whispered a soft Alohomora, and opened the heavy dresser to start the cleaning again.
  • The doors broke off with a bit of tugging, and Draco exploded into a fit of coughs and sneezes as the dust and smoke from the dresser hit him at once.
  • With multiple repetitions of Tergeo, Draco finally looked up to see Harry stepping out of the dresser.
  • Draco rolled his eyes, “Harry, did you really think you could surprise me with something like this? Honestly, Smith could have thought of a better prank than this.” Harry didn’t reply. “Harry?”
  • “Who the fuck do you think you are to call me by my given name, Malfoy?” Harry spat. His eyes were cold of emotion and disgust was easily readable on his face.
  • “Harry?” Draco asked again. “Harry, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” Draco’s voice was softer now, more vulnerable.
  • “What’s wrong?” Harry laughed.”After all that taunting you did in school, how you were so much better than muggleborns, you’re too bloody thick to figure it out, aren’t you?
  • “My problem is you, Malfoy. It’s the fact that you’re still alive. It’s the fact that a fucking Death Eater still roams free. It’s the fact that I’m fucking engaged to you, a filthy Death Eater. A murderer,” Harry sneered. Draco had fallen to his knees during Harry’s monologue, though he couldn’t remember when. He was clawing at his throat with his left hand, the other clawing at his Mark. His breathing had become uneven, and Draco began to have a coughing fit as he breathed in the dust that had settled on the ground. The room was spinning, and Draco couldn’t make out anything other than the sight of Harry’s trainers and his fiancé’s voice ring in his ears.
  • “I can’t believe how stupid I was during the war,” Harry continued. “It’s all so mad, thinking back on it. I can’t believe I was an idiot enough to save you from the Fiendfyre, Malfoy. Ron was right. I should have left you there with your Death Eater friends, Malfoy. I should have left you in the Room to die, to burn. To become the ash you deserved t-”
  • Riddikulus!”
  • Draco couldn’t hear or see anything anymore. His vision was turning black with the lack of oxygen his brain was getting from his erratic breathing, and the thump, thump, thump of his rapid heartbeat echoed in his head and was starting to give him a migraine. The only thing he was aware of was Harry’s voice, ringing in his ears. I should have left you in the Room to die.
  • Fuck, fuck, fuck. Harry had abandoned the vacuum cleaner and dashed up the stairs when he heard a voice that wasn’t Draco’s upstairs, but he’d never expected for something like this to happen.
  • It was a sharp stab in the heart for Harry when he found out that his partner-of-three-years’ boggart was Harry telling him that he should have left Draco in the Fiendfyre.
  • Harry dismissed his own panic and distress and focused on Draco. His breathing was getting shallower and shallower, and his skin was chilling. Harry quickly conjured a small plastic bag and placed it over Draco’s nose and mouth to help steady his breathing. “Draco? Breathe with me, okay? One, two, three…” Harry held the plastic bag to his face with one hand and wiped cold sweat off Draco’s face with the other. There wasn’t a huge change in Draco’s breathing, but he was at least slightly responsive and trying.
  • After what seemed like hours (it probably had been hours, Harry thought), Draco breathed at a normal pace. He was curled in Harry’s embrace on the floor, and the room was silent except for Draco’s occasional sniffling.
  • “Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry asked softly as he carded his fingers through Draco’s hair.
  • “Well,” Draco laughed dryly. “To be frank, I didn’t know that this is my boggart.” He wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye and snuggled closer to Harry. “I did suspect that it was probably something to do with you rejecting me, and it seems I was right- just not for the right reasons,” Draco finished.
  • Harry silently held Draco for a few minutes, and pressed light kisses from behind his ear to his lips and looked at him in the eye. “Draco? I truly, truly want you to know that I have never, and will never, regret saving you from the Fiendfyre. It was one of the best decisions of my life.
  • “I never would have grown and healed to be the person I am today without you, and my love for you will never flicker; I promise. I swear on my life,” Harry finished softly. Draco had burrowed his head into the crook of Harry’s neck and mumbled something incomprehensible.
  • “What was that?” Harry asked.
  • “I said, you’re a great big sap, Harry Potter,” Draco murmured.
  • Harry laughed. “Only for you, Draco Malfoy.”
  • Draco hummed in approval. “Can we go home now? I’m positively exhausted.”
  • “’Course,” Harry replied and pulled Draco to his feet. The two charmed themselves clean and headed for the door.
  • “Take-out curry for dinner?”
  • “You know it, Potter.” 

-fin

Imagine helping Spencer through Gideon’s death

*Requested*

Set during 10x14: “Hero Worship”

Originally posted by toyboxboy

1:04 A.M.

“Good night, Spencer.”

“Good night.”

You bumped into Rossi on your way into the BAU from the upper floor, where you worked on forensics (chemistry, psychology, anthropology, you name it). You gave him a small wave and he told you that Reid was waiting for you at his desk.

You put your go-bag on the floor next to his and your messenger bag on the table, strap still on your hand, “Ready?”

“Just … one more game. Please.”

You pulled up a chair, knowing that Spencer’s solitary games could go on for a while. And seeing his half-empty coffee, you knew it was already going on for awhile.

“Okay. Wake me up when you’re ready.”

5:45 AM.

“(Y/N),” Spencer brushed a hair out of your face, only for you to respond with a whine. He laughed at you, “C’mon. You need to wake up. You normally wake up with 6 alarms, the first at 4:30, so this isn’t new for you. Get up.”

Begrudgingly, you untangled your limbs from him, lifting your head from his lap. You groaned, kissing his cheek, “We didn’t go home?

“Sorry.”

You cupped his face with one hand, “Hey, you’re grieving. It’s.” You hesitated. You’d been dating Spencer for two years now, and he was barely comfortable talking about his job, let alone Maeve. “It’s different with Gideon than it is with Maeve.”

You brush his hair out of his face, and his body came down crashing onto yours in a much needed embrace. After a few minutes, you went to pour him a cup of coffee.

“Here, Spencer,” you handed it to him. You bent down to reach into your go bag and pulled out one of his shirts. He looked at you confused momentarily. “You work with profilers. Someone is going to notice that you’re wearing the same shirt, even if you put a cardigan over it. Don’t give me that look; I like sleeping in your clothes.”

“Thanks, (Y/N),” he kissed your cheek, pulling you into his lap and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

He needed you right now and you weren’t going anywhere.

Request things!!! Masterlist

A/N: wow, you guys really like Spencer Reid lol

I don’t believe in God but I’m praying for snow storm tomorrow for it could cancel school.
My left wrist hurt because my morning school bus couldn’t wait for 5 second or more for me to sit… This the third time I hurt my wrist. One more time I’m going to report this because I could end falling to the floor (almost did many times) and my break my wrist for real.

Joke of the Day

Things To Do In An Elevator

1) When there’s only one other person in the elevator, tap them on the shoulder and then pretend it wasn’t you.
2) Push the buttons and pretend they give you a shock. Smile, and go back for more.
3) Call the Psychic Hotline from your cell phone and ask if they know what floor your on.
4) Bring a camera and take pictures of everyone in the elevator.
5) Move your desk into the elevator and whenever anyone gets on, ask if they have an appointment.
6) Lay down the twister mat and ask people if they would like to play.
7) Leave a box in the corner, and when someone gets on, ask them if they can hear ticking.
8) Pretend you are a flight attendant and review emergency procedures and exits with the passengers.
9) When the doors close, announce to the others, “It’s okay, don’t panic, they open again!”
10) Grimace painfully while smacking your forehead and muttering, “Shut up, all of you, just shut up!”
11) Crack open your briefcase or purse, and while peering inside, ask, “Got enough air in there?”
12) Stand silently and motionless in the corner, facing the wall, without getting off.
13) Wear a puppet on your hand and use it to talk to the other passengers.
14) Listen to the elevator walls with your stethoscope.
15) Draw a little square on the floor with chalk and announce to the other passengers, “This is MY personal space!”


Child’s Play

Something drabblish that satan-onii-chan headcanoned with me. 


Mr. Angeal had the class line up before the could go to recess. All the 5-6 year olds were impatient, but none more than Zack Fair bouncing at the front. 

“Zack, no running,” Mr. Angeal said, stopping a catastrophe before it happened. Zack held still as Angeal finished counting heads. 

“Alright, follow me,” Angeal said. By now his Kindergarten class knew they had to be quiet until they got outside and Angeal was pleased to hear only the scuffle of tiny shoes on the floor. 

He held the door open again and counted heads. As his class gleefully took control of the playground before the first graders could arrive, Angeal frowned. He was missing one. 

He noticed a lack of blonde hair andl sighed. He glanced back. 

“Do you mind watching mine for a bit,” Angeal asked Mrs. Gainsborough form 1st grade, “I think I’ve got one in the classroom.” 

“Sure,” she said, “Let Mr. Angeal get through, class.” 

Angeal only needed to poke his head inside for proof. There was Cloud, hunched over his desk, no doubt coloring. 

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