vault over

The Five Things You Know, and the One You Don’t

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2567

A/N:  back for round twoooo…..I feel like we all need some Bucky fluff right now

Originally posted by yourlipbalm

“Dammit!”

You lost your second out of four lives in this Nerf war, thanks to someone—someone most likely named Steve.  He’s a sneaky one. It’s pouring outside and nobody was in the mood to do anything productive, naturally the first suggestion had been a Nerf war.

“Y/N, you will be avenged!”

Pietro vaults over the couch, very action movie-esque, which would have been impressive if he hadn’t been shot right after.

“Oh. Sorry, I’m out,” he sighs.  

“It’s okay, I appreciate the backup,” you say, sending your teammate a smile. By your count, it was only Bucky and you left on your team, versus Steve, Sam and Wanda on the other.  You weren’t sure how many lives each of them had, but you all promised to be honest.

“Y/N,” Bucky hisses. He waves his Nerf gun in a complicated circle.

Keep reading

7

built five hundred feet into the permafrost of a norwegian island located some six hundred miles from the north pole (and twice that from oslo), the svalbard global seed vault is the world’s largest and most secure seed bank. 

safe from earthquake and flooding, and designed to last a thousand years, its mission is to serve as a backup for planet’s agriculture in the event of a catastrophe, be it from drought, floods, disease, war (see: syria) and/or the slow moving disaster of climate change.

known as the doomsday vault, it has amassed over 840,000 seed samples since the first deposit, that of rice seeds, was made in 2008 by the late kenyan environmental activist and nobel peace prize winner, wangari maathai. 

since then, all countries, save japan and china (the later of which is believed to have already lost 90 percent of its rice varieties) have entrusted the site with their agricultural heritage, and the collection, as of now, covers about half of the world’s known crop diversity. 

Loki and Children

I have been having some thoughts about the original mythological Loki and the thought that has been on my mind most is this:

Loki is

1. Surprisingly great with kids

2. Is addicted to parenthood

Let me explain.

As to the first bit, well, yeah, it’s surprising. Or it should be at first glance. Because, seriously, this is fucking Loki. Standing in close proximity to him for longer than a minute is bound to result in theft, arson, a splash of bloodshed for color, and at least one confused party waking up in bed with the fucker. He’s a chaotic, manic, and generally hazardous force to be reckoned with.

To us. That is, adults.

Mortals, gods, giants, trolls, dwarves, et cetera–but only those who are mature.* *Read: there is Something to be Gained from conning, seducing, or otherwise messing with us. Whether it’s to save his own skin, or to get some sweet petty vengeance, or to steal a bauble, or to satisfy some carnal itch, or to just fuck up somebody’s day for the Hel of it, Loki only ever targets those he can take something worthwhile from. 

And what is there to take from kids? 

Plenty of folks on his extremely extensive Enemies List have children, of course. No one in the Norse mythos was especially mindful of dropping their seed. So. Children.

Children–easy to fool, easy to make a hostage, easy to charm and siphon their parents’ secrets and treasures from–should be great big bullseyes to the God of Mischief and Trickery and Assorted Other Unscrupulous Things. Yet there isn’t a single Edda or snippet of lore in which Loki makes cruel use of them. Not once. 

But what’s the big deal? Most of the rude and/or villainous characters in Norse mythology don’t bother with harassing kids either. Except in the case of stories like Loka Táttur.

Loka Táttur is a tale about how a farmer loses a bet with a vicious troll who swears to kill the farmer’s little boy. The farmer calls upon three gods in turn. Odin, Hoenir, and Loki. Odin and Hoenir both disguise the boy and hide him away, but the troll is too clever and each time manages to sniff out the boy’s hiding place. Ultimately it is Loki who hides the kid–pulling an Idunn-in-a-Nutshell gag and hiding him as a speck on the eye of a flounder in the water–and then, rather than stepping back as Odin and Hoenir did from their work, he sits in his boat and lets the troll see him.

The troll, being suspicious, asks what Loki’s business is. Only fishing, obviously. The troll demands to join him. Lo and behold, they bring up a wealth of flounders, including the one where the boy’s hidden. Loki manages to change the boy back to his true shape and hide the kid behind his back without the troll noticing. As Loki brings the boat back to shore, and to the farmer’s boathouse with the latter’s doors open, Loki tells the boy to run through the boathouse. He goes, the troll gives chase, and the troll becomes wedged in the entryway. 

At which point Loki proceeds to chop off the troll’s legs and stick an iron stake in the bastard’s skull. Then he walks the kid back home. The grand payoff for Loki after all this? 

The boy is safe. The troll is dead. The End.

Huh.

Now, much as Loki may have been the catalyst for a lot of corpses pre-Ragnarok–see his business with Thor getting his hammer back and leading more than one giant into a death trap–Loki is actually very rarely, if ever, one to get his hands dirty by killing a victim himself. Even Baldr was done in by an arrow he aimed with blind Hod’s fingers. So why did Loki personally orchestrate this plan in such a grisly way? For what gain?

What, other than the satisfaction of personally slaughtering the would-be child-killing prick troll?

In a less bloody narrative, we see his hand in getting Thialfi and Roskva, a pair of mortal siblings, taken into Thor’s service. While the exact ages of the two aren’t mentioned, they are young enough to still be in the care of their parents. When Thor and Loki are travelling it’s their father who invites them under their roof. Thor’s goats are slaughtered for the evening meal and–in some tellings–it is Loki who entices the son, Thialfi, into breaking a leg bone to taste the marrow. When morning comes and Thor resurrects his goats, one has a broken leg.

Thor’s visibly pissed—never ever a good thing–and so the family offers to make some compensation.

Loki, coughing through his hand: ThialfibroketheboneheshouldpledgeservicetoThor

Thialfi: Uh–

Loki, clearing his throat: Alsotakethesistertwoforonedeal

Rosvka: But I didn’t do anything—

Loki, en sotto voce: Kids, consider your options. Teensy mortal lifetime of toil on Midgard, harvesting dirt and snow on one hand. Potentially immortal lifetime, I don’t know, scrubbing giant blood off Mjolnir in Thor’s hall on Asgard on the other. Verdict?

Both: Sold.

Loki: Excellent! Really, Thor, you’re a master dealmaker, a born barterer, I’m in awe.

Thor: Wh—

Loki: AND WE’RE BACK TREKKING LETS GO

Cue laugh track.

Point being, Loki has been shown to purposefully go out of his way to help kids because…because. Yet how does this translate to the idea of him being good with kids?

I ask this purely hypothetically and am trying not to laugh as I do, because really. Really. How in the hell is a kid not going to be entertained by the Norse god of revelry and recreation?

Oh yeah, that bit’s often left off the résumé.

Loki, God of Mischief, is also God of Recreation. Play, in other words. Because playtime is a thing that is Chaotic rather than a product of Order, and so Loki is naturally all over it. There are some who even credit him with having added that trait to the first humans, Ask and Embla, while Odin, Vili, and Vé were carving them and breathing character into their souls.

On top of that, he’s also the god of flyting—poetic shit-talking.

So we have a shapeshifting, storytelling, magic-wielding, game-spinning, trickster god who can also teach young ears every bad word they could ever hope to learn, and he’s expected not to be a hit with kids? This is all without even mentioning the fact that Loki is a bit of a hyperactive attention hog all on his own. What better audience for him than a gaggle of credulous little onlookers who are too young to sneer at his antics rather than take delight in them? Children are wee balls of mischief themselves, muddled in with imagination and wonder and an eagerness to be wowed or made to laugh themselves into weeping.

All of which brings me to point number two:

Loki is a kidaholic.

Like, even though a lot of his and/or her sleeping around the Realms can be chalked up to an insane libido, there’s also just the sheer number of kids they’ve produced to factor in. Maybe more than even Odin or Thor could boast. At least half being born from Loki herself. Not because Loki was helpless against the workings of nature—it’s impossible to believe that Loki wasn’t smart enough or powerful enough to get around producing new Lokisons and Lokisdottirs with every other bedmate—but because Loki wants more kids. There will never be enough kids.

The guy’s got a case of severe paternal/maternal hoarding going on. I mean

Loki: I need another one.

Odin: You really don’t.

Loki: You’re right. I need two other ones.

Odin: I am positive that you do not.

Loki: Three. Triplets. Need them. Right now.

Odin: Loki.

Loki: Four? Four. Definitely four.

Odin: Loki, please.

Loki: Yeah, let’s go with four. I can give or get. I’ll flip a coin.

Odin: Loki, as Allfather, I am expressly forbidding you to impregnate or be impregnated for at least a century.

Loki: Fine.

Odin: …

Loki: …I’ll settle for three.

Odin: What did I just say?

Loki: Three’s a good number, isn’t it? All good things come in threes. You and your brothers—

Odin, fighting an aneurysm: You and your brothers—

Loki: So you agree!

Odin: I did not—

Loki: Three it is!

Odin: Loki—

Loki: Be back when I feel like it

Odin: Loki

Loki: Give my love to Sleipnir

Odin: LOKI—

Loki, pantsless, vaulting over the wall, cartwheeling towards Jötunheimr’s Ironwood forest: Bye

It’s in that Ironwood that he meets Angrboda and fathers a giant wolf, a giant snake, and the literal corpse-faced queen-goddess of the dead by her. Being that Loki’s scope of attractiveness/aesthetic acceptability is elastic enough to let all sorts of species between his legs, I find it hard to believe that his kids’ unique looks would repulse or even faze him. They’re his children. Therefore they’re great.

And we all know how that happy family ended up. Ditto his second family with Sigyn and his two little twin boys.

Enter Ragnarok, warfare, general Bad Times, and so on.

Anyway.

Comical as it is to envision a Loki who cringes at the notion of parenthood and/or fears his more monstrous children, I just don’t believe it lines up with what we know of the Loki of myth.

Myth Loki is a god who would spend hours entertaining a child, simply entertained that the child is entertained.

Myth Loki is also a god who would hunt down and methodically dismember whichever idiot thought it would be okay to make a child cry within said god’s earshot.

  • lafayette and mulligan: we fought with him
  • laurens: me I died for him
  • washington: me i trusted him
  • laurens: hOld thE fUcK uP *vaults over the railing and skids along the floor*
  • angelica, eliza, peggy and laurens: me I loved him

anonymous asked:

i'm giggling to myself bc i keep imagining that sasuke's and naruto's friendship starts bc sasuke learns that naruto has massive chakra reserves and he's just like "well /hello destruction/" and they probably become everyone's worst nightmare.

The first time Sasuke really notices Naruto is during their Academy class’s unit on sealing.

To be fair, it would be kind of hard to miss him after the way he shoves so much chakra into the exploding tag he’s supposed to be making that he blows up the back half of the classroom and launches himself about twenty feet into the air. A couple of the other kids are a bit singed, and they end up having to share a room with another class until the terminally overworked Mokuton user can fix the wall and ceiling, but Naruto wanders back in the next day looking sheepish and entirely unharmed.

Since Sasuke saw him take the brunt of the explosion, this is worthy of note. So is the fact that he managed to shove enough chakra into the tag to burn out the safety seal that was supposed to keep things like that from happening.

Under the cover of Iruka-sensei’s yelling, Sasuke looks down at the diagram on his paper, a jutsu that his father dismissed as unreasonable and unusable given normal human limits, and thinks, Huh.


“All your old designs?” Shisui says with some confusion when Sasuke tracks him down after class. He rocks back on his heels, eyeing Sasuke a little warily, and swipes ineffectually at an ink-stain on his cheek. “Yeah, I still have them—I wouldn’t throw them out after you gave them to me for safekeeping, brat.”

“I need them,” Sasuke says with determination. “All of them.”

Shisui blinks, then tilts his head, studying him for a moment. “You know the amount of chakra they need would kill most jounin,” he says, though it’s too curious to be an accusation. “I think even Sarutobi-sama might have trouble with some of them. You’ve got a habit of thinking big, kid.”

“Are you going to give them to me or not?” Sasuke demands crankily, because he’s got curfew in three hours and he still has to pick through his plans to find the easiest one and find Naruto.

“Of course.” Shisui sounds offended that he’d think otherwise. “They’re your designs, Sasuke. Check the hall closet, top shelf—Tenzō!”

Shisui’s boyfriend takes one look at the manic light in his eyes, the scrolls scattered over the breakfast table, and the ink smeared across his face, then blanches and turns right back around.

“No no no!” Shisui lunges after him, grabbing up his scrolls and vaulting clear over the table. “Tenzō, no, come back, I swear this one isn’t like last time, this is a brilliant idea, you will be blown away!”

“Urgent mission, ANBU called, I have to go!” Tenzō calls over his shoulder as he bolts.

Tenzō! That wasn’t even a convincing lie! Come on, you’re the only one in the village with Mokuton, you have to try this or my brilliance is wasted, it’s a gorgeous jutsu! Tenzō!”

Sasuke rolls his eyes as the yelling fades behind him and heads for the closet. The box with the jutsus his father rejected is right where Shisui said it would be, and Sasuke clutches it and thinks a little gleefully about the potential of even one of these jutsus, provided he can get Naruto to agree. The destructive power. The awesome might. The possible explosions.

(Somewhere deep in R&D’s basement Mikoto pauses in the middle of creating a devastating combination jutsu, and turns to smile fondly at the picture of her youngest son on the wall. She’s so glad he got more of her proclivities than Fugaku’s, even if her husband does tend to complain about the property damage more frequently since she introduced him to the wonders of explosive chakra techniques.)


Naruto is just heating up water for his nightly cup of ramen, halfway through trying to factor a new jumpsuit into his monthly budget while still having money for Ichiraku’s, when there’s a knock on his door. A little wary—because Hokage-jiji usually warns him when he’s going to drop by, and there’s no one else who visits Naruto—he pulls it open, and finds himself face-to-face with the weird nerd who spends pretty much all of their time in class drawing on big scrolls. Iruka-sensei yells at him to pay attention almost as much as he does Naruto, which automatically makes Naruto like him.

But he and Naruto have never even spoken before, so Naruto has no earthly idea what he’s doing here.

“Hello?” he asks.

The boy thrusts the shoebox he’s carrying at Naruto and says, “Your chakra reserves are amazing will you try my jutsus?”

This is, Naruto learns much, much later, the Uchiha equivalent of a marriage proposal.

Even if he’d known, he probably still would have lit up with glee and cried, “Yes!”


“Not a word,” Mikoto tells her husband as she ladles miso soup into five bowls instead of the usual four.

Fugaku rolls his eyes at her, ignoring her warning to offer, “I don’t think Kushina would have liked anything more than for you to take in her son.”

“And now we have an excuse,” Mikoto says triumphantly, waving the ladle like it’s a weapon to stab Danzō and the other Elders with. “We couldn’t approach him but they didn’t say anything about Sasuke now did they? Hah!”

“I think,” Fugaku says dryly, casting a glance at where Sasuke is looking halfway to manic as he explains one of his jutsus to a beaming Naruto, “that the Elders are very shortly going to have much bigger things to worry about.”

anonymous asked:

As inspiration form what happened to Mitch, can you write something about Nurse getting hit in the face with a puck

first of all, this is the funniest fucking prompt i’ve ever gotten, so thank you. also, he so would, oh my god, poor nursey

(for those of you unaware, this is the referenced hit.)

Nursey’s used to getting hit on the ice. He’s a d-man, it’s basically his job to take hits and dole them out.

Getting hit by a person and getting hit by a puck, though, are two very, very different things.

First of all, you tend to realize when you’ve been hit by a person–it’s pretty hard to miss. Hockey players are pretty big; when they slam into you, you notice. But at least they’re only usually moving twenty miles an hour, tops.

Pucks, on the other hand, can fly around eighty miles an hour.

That’s fast.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I really love your writing and now I'm pan for vanderwood i hope you're happy >:3 If it's no trouble, could you please write rfa + minor trio reacting to a usually hyper and happy mc feeling really down (because they feel misunderstood or got triggered)? I hope I don't bother you with that request, I could just really use some love and care from the baes ^^;; Love and hugs, have a wonderful day!

✿  *cracks knuckles* Boy, it’s been awhile, huh? I polished off my finals a few days ago, and while I won’t be churning headcanons out at a super fast rate, I thought it was time I give this blog some TLC!

Yoosung

  • His brain goes into terror-alert mode when you don’t tackle-hug him the minute he gets home from work. Living with you is sort of like living with a hyperactive puppy, and his first thought is, oh god, are you dead? Did you slip and fall in the shower? Did aliens kidnap you and are now experimenting on your lifeless body? W h e r e a r e y o u.
  • The answer to “where are you” is “in the bedroom, having a lie-down”. He breathes a sigh of relief when you turn over and look at him, but still, that weak way you smile as you say hey leaves him concerned.
  • He immediately asks you what’s wrong. Are you feeling sick? Should he get you anything? Do you have a cold? Have you been eating enough fruit? Have you…–??
  • This manages to make you laugh a bit, and you sit up enough so you can pull him back down to the bed. You just want a hug, you say. And some comfort.
  • Yoosung is happy to oblige. After all, he’s a vet, isn’t he? He’ll always take care of you, his adorable little angel.

Zen

  • When Zen finds you staring absently out the window, his first cheer-up attempt is to call you by every pet name he knows. Starshine! Sugardrop! Love! Darling! Gooey-sweetie-snuggle-bottom hunie bear!
  • (you smack him lightly for that last one.)
  • Next, he tries every pick up line he knows. He compares your beauty to the moon shining on the lake, he recites poetry, he even sings you a little sonnet, and when he finally gets you to smile a little, he asks you what’s wrong.
  • (he wanted to make whatever it was feel a little less fresh before you talked about it, after all.)
  • He takes you on a motorcycle ride after, since that always helped distract him - though he obeys all the road laws on this one, because his precious, precious blossom is with him right now. He takes you out to one of his special places, and he helps you forget whatever it was that upset you.
  • It’s hard to be unhappy when the warm wind is on your face and a handsome man is at your side.

Jaehee

  • She finds you in the closet of the bakery, and you apologize, because you wanted to be better before she found you. You didn’t want to bother her. You know that you’re supposed to be the happy one, the cheerful one, the person rooting her on and keeping her sane when the world is building up around her.
  • She tells you that’s nonsense, brings you a cup of tea and a new cake she’s working on, and asks you to tell her what’s wrong.
  • Jaehee is so good at listening. She’s careful, attentive, and treats everything you say seriously. She never makes fun of you, or tells you that you’re overreacting or silly.
  • Jaehee would probably dropkick your problems if she could, but she can’t, so she settles for hugging you, petting your hair gently, before bringing you another drink and some of the flowers from the rosebushes outside.

Jumin

  • You try to smile at Jumin when he comes home, and you’re doing so well, but then everything cracks apart, your smile falters, and you find you’re sobbing on the couch with a baffled Jumin in the doorway.
  • He only stands still for a moment. He literally VAULTS OVER THE CHAIR because it is the FASTEST PATH TOO YOU, and if you weren’t emotionally compromised, it would have been hilarious to see this man in a ten-thousand dollar suit act like a college track star.
  • He basically scoops you up, much like you’re a cat, and he tells you to tell him e v e r y t h i n g. When you say you don’t want to trouble him, you know how much it means to him to have you waiting at home for him, all cheerful and happy, he says that is NONSENSE. It isn’t you being cheerful that makes him happy, it’s you being you that does. And sometimes you’re going to be sad.
  • And he’s going to make you feel better when you are.

707

  • Seven knows immediately that your smile is forced. How could he not? He’s faked so many smiles over his years of being alive that he’s become all-too able to recognize the same expression on someone else’s face.
  • He doesn’t want to force it out of you, so he turns off the lights suddenly, leaving the star-shaped lights you have suspended from the ceiling as the only thing illuminating the room, and then pulls you up to dance.
  • He twirls you, spins you, is surprisingly graceful with you, despite being a total and complete nerd - though, he was a former secret agent, perhaps dancing came with the job. And you don’t have to pretend, you don’t have to say anything, you just have to… dance.
  • It helps. And when he holds you, during the ‘slow dance’ portion, you tell him what’s wrong as he rubs your back gently. And then you dance some more, because the world keeps spinning, despite the trials and tribulations you have to undergo.
  • You reminded Seven that he had a future, and now it’s his turn to remind you that you have one too.

V

  • V sits with you quietly and never blames you, even though you know he’s been through so much already and shouldn’t have to deal with your shit. You should be happy! You should be cheerful! You ARE genuinely happy and cheerful most of the time, taking him on dates and bringing the world to him, but today you just… can’t.
  • You can’t. You feel guilty, but you can’t.
  • He tells you that it is not your fault. You are human. You are allowed to be sad. You tell him all these things, and the same applies to you, too. He bops your nose with his finger when you try to protest, and you lean against him, letting him hold you and gently rub your shoulder.
  • After awhile, he brings out his phone, and he shows you all of the cute animal photos he’s taken over the years. It’s hard for him now, but he has so many memories captured on his various memory cards, and he shares them with you in a quiet room and a fond voice.

Unknown (Saeran)

  • Saeran doesn’t know how to comfort you, so he makes a dozen pancakes using the container of Bisquick you have into the cabinet and then shoves one into your face like a burrito.
  • “What was that for,” you ask, after you’ve managed to chew and swallow, and he just puts another directly into your mouth, effectively using it as a fluffy batter gag.
  • You eat that one too, staring directly at him the entire time.
  • “Are you feeling better,” he asks once you’re finished, and you reply that you’re mostly just really confused. 
  • One of the websites he’d read said that making pancakes for people was an expression of love, so he figured that would be enough to make you feel better, right?
  • You eat fruit to get better from a cold, so love should help you get better when you’re sad… right?
  • Right, you say, because Saeran is a prickly moron, but somehow his deranged antics make it hard to stay depressed.

Vanderwood

  • Vanderwood is really bad at this gooey, lovey-dovey shit, so when they notice you don’t have quite as much pep in your step as usual, they aren’t really sure what to do. They do know, however, that they should do something, so they decide to tell you a joke.
  • “Knock knock,” they say, and you do a bit of a double-take, because Vanderwood isn’t really the type. But you’re intrigued enough that it momentarily distracts you from what’s making you gloomy, so you ask, “Who’s there?”
  • “Etch.”
  • “…Etch… who?”
  • “Bless you,” they say, in a perfectly flat voice, and you laugh at how stupid it is.
  • “Knock knock,” they say again, hands in their pockets, and you’re delighted at this point.
  • “Who’s there?”
  • “Seven.”
  • “Seven who?”
  • They clear your throat. “Seven, you motherfucker, you know I don’t speak Arabic, so open your goddamn door.”
  • (You cover your face and snort.)
  • “Knock knock,” they say a third time, and you notice they look a bit shyer now.
  • “Who’s there?”
  • “Al.”
  • “Al who?”
  • “Al…” They rub their mouth, averting their eyes. “….Al give you a kiss if you open the door.”
  • You, sufficiently cheered up by this ridiculous display, peck them on the lips and thank them for being wonderfully embarrassing.

thelastbluebunny  asked:

Stony 87

“Stay Awake”



It takes an awful lot for Steve to lose his composure. 

He’s walked alone into deathtraps and faced off entire fleets and armies without a single shake of his hand or hitch of his breath. It’s just what he does. who he is. Steve rogers is the stoic leader, Steve Rogers does not panic. 



He gets an alert that a bomb’s gone off in the penthouse of the Avengers Tower, and the bottom drops out of his world.




He was a few blocks away, in a SHIELD safe-house, spending a few days away from Tony. Because they’d been screaming at each other so long and so loud it had woken the rest of the team, and Steve had finally snapped, yelling at Tony about how they were through, they were done, he was leaving.


He’d been lying. The day he wanted finished with Tony would be the day Red Skull decided he wanted to rally for world peace.

Tony hadn’t known that.


Tony was still in the tower.



The traffic was heavy, but Steve was running on the roofs of the cars instead, so it didn’t much mater.

It would take him two minutes and thirty four seconds to get to the tower, and an additional two minutes and forty four seconds to get past the police and up to the penthouse.


Thor was away in New Mexico. Clint and Nat had left at the same time as he did, off to go undercover for three weeks in some Russian city. Bruce was at a science convention in New Delhi.

Steve had left him, and it had just been Tony, alone in the tower.



And now he was looking at the top floors of the tower as smoke billowed out of the windows and glass fell to the pavement below, pushed out by the huge fires that were engulfing their home. 


The whole top five floors had been utterly incinerated.

(Beware, the read more, mobile users/ to read the rest, log in on your laptop or pc!)


Keep reading

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    

MariChat May Day 22: Rooftop Kisses.

For breeeliss on AO3!



Marinette followed Cat Noir through her skylight, yawning sleepily and rubbing the grit from her eyes.

“You didn’t have to get up, Princess.”  He stepped out of her way and stretched, arching his back in a very catlike manner.  “I just wanted to let you know that I was leaving.”

“I know,” she yawned.  “Wanted to.”

“I wish I didn’t have to leave, but my transformation can’t last much longer, and I’ll be missed if I don’t get back soon.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face to his shoulder, and his arms came around her shoulders.  “I know,” she said again.   Despite being vertical, she still wasn’t quite awake, and complete thoughts were still beyond her.

“Marinette?”

“Hmm?”

“What are we?”

She leaned back to blink up at him sleepily.  “Huh?”

“What are we?” He asked again, gesturing between them.  “What is this?”

“I—”  She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs.  “I don’t know.”

“Think about it.  I’ll be back later, so we can talk.  Okay?”

Her lips parted, and she nodded mutely.  He leaned down to feather his lips gently over hers, lingering but never deepening the kiss.  She melted into him with a sigh, and he straightened regretfully.  Her eyelids fluttered open.

“I have to go.”  His miraculous gave its first beep, as if to underscore his point, and he pressed another brief kiss to her mouth.  “À bientôt, Princess.”

Marinette leaned on the railing of her balcony, her fingers over her lips, and watched him vault his way over the rooftops in the early morning light.

She had a lot to think about.

Ninette Week Day One: Serenity

It’s here everyone, the blessed week of Ninette!! Im not sure how many of these prompts I will be able to fill, but this one especially spoke to me <3


Marinette’s life was one of vivacity. 

It was pink purses, blue Parisian skies, and suits of red and black. It was the the sound of the ovens dinging, pigeons taking flight, loud bells between classes, and the dull cacophony of traffic that seemed to reach her whether she be curled up in bed or vaulting over the Arc de Triomphe. It was the smell of sweet creme filling melding into the scent of rain-soaked pavement curdling into the odor of Chloe’s cloying, over-priced perfume and then rewinding back again.

It was color and life and movement and “go here do this save them”, and as much as Marinette loved those moments of wild reddish curls engulfing her in a hug and heartfelt teases purred into the bridge of her knuckles, there were still times she just wished it would stop.

Or, at the very least, just… pause? Perhaps dull is the best way to describe it.

She wouldn’t trade her life for anything, but sometimes her father’s usually infectious laughter ground on her eardrums, her mother’s typically gentle fingers stung as they lovingly pinched her cheeks, and the warm scent of baking bread stuck unpleasantly thick to the inside of her nostrils. Sometimes Alix’s pink hair assaulted her eyes, Chloe’s perfume choked her lungs, and the droning voice of their teacher made Marinette abhor the classroom she often-times found so much solace in.  Sometimes the twang of her yo-yo made her cringe and the rushing of wind felt like needles against the portions of her face not covered by Ladybug’s mask, Chat’s puns falling as flat as the dull slap of rooftop beneath her sprinting feet.

Yes, every once in awhile Marinette felt things a bit too keenly, experiencing life in a way that was too colorful, too loud, too busy for her senses to process. It made her twitch and sweat and stutter until she was forced to either snap or retreat, shying away from anything and everyone except…

The first time Nino had found her amidst a sensory overload, she’d been buried nose-deep in her sketchbook and curled beneath a schoolyard stairwell. 

Keep reading

Hardcore Parkour

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: It’s been an unusually mundane week at the Avengers Tower, so Bucky comes up with an idea

Word Count: 1487

Warnings: Literally nothing. Like, your grandma would probably approve. (I did say ‘ass’ once tho. Sorry. Kids these days.)

A/N: This is actually the first fic I ever wrote… it’s just been sitting in my drafts for the past 6 months cos I was too chicken to post it, until now. It’s not groundbreaking or anything, but it makes me giggle and I figured spring is the perfect time to spread cheer. As always, feedback is most welcome

Originally posted by prewarbucky

It had been an exhausting week for everyone, though not in the way you were used to. Normally, rough weeks meant one of two things. Either a mission had gone south and every fibre of your being was aching from physical and mental stress, or the mission was a success despite almost getting your ass handed to you several times. This week, your fatigue came from neither of those things.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

because the winter finale of S6, au in which princess!Emma has a pirate sneaking into her bedroom at night and all the guards secretly know but they tell no one of the royal family about it

Y’know I should probably finish this one before it all gets Jossed to hell this Sunday…

Quite on accident, Emma found herself half in love with a pirate, of all people.

She’d accepted her young widowhood quite graciously, focusing all of her energies on raising her son – and a fine young man Henry was turning out to be. She’d thought nothing else would honor her late husband’s memory than to ensure that their son, the future crown prince, would bring nothing but honor to their family.

But Henry was growing up, as all young boys do, and as he went squiring about and having his own adventures, he needed his mother less. Emma found herself drifting from one activity to the next, bestowing her princess’ favor upon charities and the good people of her kingdom, but something felt… off.

Missing.

Until the night a man vaulted over the railing of her balcony, mistaking her rooms for some treasure vault.

Keep reading

every so often (most nights)

The car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and you have to walk 4 miles to the nearest town in the pouring rain.

All of you crowd into the tiny pub, a few vibrant locals scattered around, drowning themselves in cheap crystalline glasses filled with whiskey.

You’re all soaked to the skin, and the rain is still chucking down outside, droplets on the windows catching the warm glow from the light fixtures swinging precariously in their sockets. It reminds you of when you were five and you would spend evenings down the pub on your Mum’s knee, the smell of chips in your nostrils, the conversation and music in the background like a din in your ears, and all you wanted to was sleep.

Everything is cheaply upholstered, the corner booths done up in tartan fabrics and a scratchy carpet on the floor imbued with cigarette smoke and fraying at the edges, certain spots worn down by the feet of many patrons over the years, although you have no idea how many, considering this pub is at least an hour away from anywhere worth visiting.

You couldn’t manage to drag the car out here and Sirius refused to spend another night sleeping inside, since Remus just gave him a lengthy lecture on foot-and-mouth disease, and he’s yet to figure out that it’s not a real thing. Remus currently trying to make calls on his mobile while Sirius slams himself down at the bar and demands a whiskey straight, and Peter is attempting to dry his socks out by the open fire.

Everything is jaded and homely and kind of scraggy and undone, the warmth of the place a mixture of the coat hooks by the door and the ash sprinkled around the hearth like grave dust, soot stains on the carpet and worn brick walls, chipping tabletops and lacquered counter.

That’s when a girl comes out from the back, a black apron tied around her waist over a faded, red gingham dress, her hair in plaits and a smile slashed across her mouth like it’s written in blood. She vaults herself over the back of a bar and wrings a dirty dishtowel around the lip of a whiskey glass, propelling it across the lacquered bartop to Sirius, hoisting the whiskey off a shelf behind the bar and pouring him his drink.

You meander over to sit at the bar.

Keep reading