bucket please

I picked this for you.

You weren’t into romance gestures, you didn’t understand boxes of chocolates as a gesture of love, you couldn’t understand why people would get weepy over gestures like flowers, a new outfit and jewellery. As for Valentine’s Day, eurgh. Bring out the sick bucket please.
Maybe because you’d never been on the receiving end of it, you’d just become immune to the idea of being the centre of that kind of love.

Unfortunately for you, Valentine’s Day loomed upon the Avenger’s tower. You knew Wanda would be all loved up with Vision, Tony would smother Pepper in grand gestures, Clint and Laura would finally spend some time together alone, you knew Natasha would be the object of Steve’s affections, probably Sam and Bucky’s too. How could they not? She was the ideal woman.
You’d seen the way they acted towards her, they just gravitated towards her, she reeled them in like a predator catching her prey and when she was ready, she’d pounce.
That left an unsettled feeling in your stomach.
You’d be the odd Avenger out. Again.


-Valentine’s Day-
Your alarm went off for half five, you crept out of your room and down to the gym. You were hoping to do training in peace before the barf-fest of Valentine’s Day kicked in the communal area upstairs.
It got to seven before Natasha bounded through the gym door, a bounce in her step, a smile on her face.
‘Hey!’ She greeted. You nodded back, wrapping your towel around your neck, downing back your water. She continued ‘I got a bunch of flowers from a secret admirer this morning’ She crooned.
You rolled your eyes and sighed. So it begins, your internal thoughts grumbled.
She took note of your mood ‘Ah, I forget, you’re anti-Valentines Day!’
You smirked ‘I’m not anti-Valentines Day…I just think it’s all bullshit. One day dedicated to love….what happens to the other 364 days of the year?’
Natasha held her hands in a surrendered pose ‘Okay Satan! Chill. You’re not into Cupid and bow and arrows – got it’

You left the gym and started to wander towards the communal area, which had changed into an array of colours pinks, reds and oranges. You sighed again.
‘Not your thing?’ A voice interrupted the silence.
You turn around and see Steve. ‘That massive sigh gave it away huh?’ You replied, losing yourself in the colours surrounding you.
‘You shouldn’t be so against it – you never know, Cupid might just fire an arrow your way’ Steve mimics shooting a bow in your direction. You react by pretending to vomit.
‘I’m going back to my room, have a nice evening Steve, Natasha loved your flowers’ You winked playfully. Steve’s cheeks tinted red.

Upon entering the corridor, you see Bucky leaving something by your door.
‘Bucky?’ You called
He shot up, like a deer in headlights; looking slightly terrified.
‘Whatcha doing?’ You asked, as you moved closer.
Bucky remained silent and still, paralyzed by your sudden appearance. You can see he’s gripping something behind his back.
‘Do…do you have something you want to give me Bucky?’
He relaxed a little, and shook his head. You couldn’t deny that you’re slightly disappointed.
‘Oh…’ Your eyes lowered to the ground ‘I guess, I’ll just be in my room then’
You opened your bedroom door, leaving Bucky standing at your doorway and headed to the shower.


It was nearing midnight when you appeared out of your room, but you stood on something outside your door. You picked up a single flower. Not just any flower, it was hand crafted, the person had even put a little blank tag on it. The petals had sheet music delicately designed onto them, it tugged at your heartstrings. You’d never mentioned about your allergy to flowers, so whomever gave you the flower had paid a lot of attention.
You wandered towards the kitchen, still admiring the handiwork of the flower, when you heard noises, a guy murmuring, a girl, giggling.
You turned the corner to see none other than Bucky Barnes playing tonsil hockey with some chick he’d probably met on his night out. You drop the flower in surprise, it clattered on the kitchen tiles.
Bucky immediately pulled back from the girl. ‘Shit! I’m sorry, I didn’t…I didn’t see you there!’
You stammered, pacing backwards to your room ‘I-i-it doesn’t m-m-matter’
You run back to your room and shut the door behind you, sliding down behind it. That awful feeling in your stomach returned and this time it reached to your chest.

After Bucky asked the girl to leave, he picked up the flower from the kitchen floor and made his way to your door, petals slightly cracked from the impact to the tiles and the little tag facing upwards with scrawled handwriting:

I picked this for you – Your Bucky’

(I used this picture)

Headcanon that Jack goes to Pride in his hockey jersey and gloves bc I couldn’t find a better picture to use shhh in pastel pan colours because a) he keeps getting called gay or bi by the media and he wants to remind people that pansexuality actually exists and b) Bitty says he looks good in pastels

So the Falconers sell a limited edition Zimmermann jersey in these colours with the proceeds going to LGBTQ charities and, listen, I’m pansexual and there’s one thing I know about being pan and it’s that we get so little representation that if this happened there would be a whole army of pan people who developed a sudden interest in ice hockey overnight

But that’s not the point

The point is that Jack phoned Lardo at three am like “I couldn’t sleep and I had this idea for Pride and now I think I’m about to ruin my bathtub with cyan dye”

And Lardo’s just like “welcome to art, bro”

Wet Floors || Open

Q’s favorite time of the day was any time after one thirty in the morning. The kitchen and communal areas cleared out, it fell silent, and there was almost a sense of calm in the space that was usually filled with a certain intensity that made Quentin want to crawl out of his skin - especially now. It had only gotten worse with the recent events and that made him appreciate his alone time more than ever.

So there he was, sleeves rolled to the elbow and latex gloves to mid-forearm, hands and knees, scrubbing under the counter at two thirty am.

Sure, it wasn’t what most people would consider fun, and it wasn’t necessarily relaxing, per say, but he definitely found it therapeutic. It was something he did well, and it kept him busy. And awake. That, and it seemed to cause some of the people in this building physical pain to wash their own fucking dishes every once and awhile. He was starting to believe they thought they washed themselves, and at this point, they were almost right. If they were left out, he would wash them, and he certainly wouldn’t complain about it because dealing with interpersonal conflict wasn’t exactly on his resume. However, to be fair, he had to admit that it was more often than not that he found himself going through the cabinets and rewashing all the already ‘clean’ dishes anyways, just to be sure. Regardless, it was still common courtesy to at least try to clean up after yourself. Hobgoblins. 

He paused when he heard a sound. Footsteps. From where he was kneeling behind the counter he couldn’t see them, and he was pretty positive they couldn’t see him either. He stayed silent for another moment, sponge stilled in his hand as he waited for them to say something or make another sound. He was prepared to just stay silent until they went away when he suddenly remembered where he had left some of his supplies and spoke up, hoping to stop them from tripping and making another mess. 

“Mind the bucket.”

Poetry Riot Prompt (Week One-Hundred Twenty-two)

The prompt for this week is:

bucket list

Please tag your work with #poetryriotprompt. If you do not see your work reblogged within 72 hours, please send us a message with a link to it. If the tag is used but the idea or theme of the prompt isn’t, your piece will not be reblogged.

As a reminder: short stories and blackouts are acceptable and encouraged for the prompt.  

You may write as many pieces as you like for the prompt, only the first one you post will be reblogged.

If you haven’t already, please read our post about the prompts and triggering topics. And please use the tag #poetryriot for pieces that are not prompt related and #riotprompts for past prompts. Thank you.

The confusion is in the air! If you cry at things, bring your tear bucket please.

… and yeah bring it anyway because the cliffhanger is gonna be real. Tears of frustration are always allowed.

First page / Page 119 / Page 120 / Page 121

I have this idea about PB&J coming out and the media excepting this huge scandal about polyamory but it just??? Doesn’t happen???

Like, they ask some people about it and get a few “it doesn’t hurt anyone so I’m not judging” type comments that they absolutely weren’t expecting, but that’s not a good story, so they go out and find people who object

Except that backfires, because the people who object are the sort of people that most people don’t want to associate with. Consider:

‘What do you think about polyamory?’

‘Well, I didn’t like it at first, but then the Westboro Baptist Church decided to oppose it and I thought, actually, people can do what they like’

The only complaints are from fans who (jokingly) object to Bitty dating Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann. Like, goddamn Bits, if you’re going to date one rich, attractive, legendary hockey player, at least make your second boyfriend more mediocre. Be fair to everyone else

Bitty loves his boys because they’re wonderful dorks, but he’s not above enjoying the fact that he objectively hit the jackpot

Popular (With Chanyeol)

Originally posted by fyeah-chanyeol

genre: fluff!!
3912 words

summary: whoever wins at a carnival game in one try deserves a freaking medal not a rilakumma plush toy, everyone thinks. well, everyone except for chanyeol. he’d rather spend a hundred dollars than come home without that bear.

“Ring toss! Toss a ring and win a thing! Five dollars, five dollars!” You chant, waiting for more kids and teens to show up at your booth so you could show off your carnival skills to your coworkers.

You’re pretty sure it’s because one bucket full of rings is only five dollars compared to all the other expensive games they have in this carnival but your ego isn’t going to let yourself admit that.

“Give me one bucket please.”

“Here you go sir-” As you give the bucket of rings, you look up to find the most popular guy at your school in front of you, a big grin of dedication on his face.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

She's such a stuck up bitch I can't look at her ugly face anymore. I don't know what the fuck Harry sees in her. She's got to go.

Maybe it was dark and he was drunk, just saying

Do you need a sick bucket? @avintagesoul1967 pass the bucket please, we got another one

thanks anon, breathe through your mouth

high school teachers//c.h

A/N: I remember I saw this as a prompt but I forget who wrote it or reblogged so whoever you are thank you! or if you know this person let me know so I can credit them!

“So then you’ll take your scalpel and cut from the throat down to the pelvis, and then cut across again once or twice, and pin down the skin so you can look at the organs on the inside.” You were explaining to your grade 12 biology class how to start their dissections of fetal pigs, and as usual you saw some excited faces, and some faces turning green. But you continued with your mini-spiel. “So once you have your gloves on you can come to the back and get a pig from the bucket. Please don’t splash any of the liquid because it will make your clothes smell like the boys bathroom” you added with a smile, happy that at least some of your students laughed at your joke. 

You gave them the go ahead and as your students started getting read you got some gloves on and hung a plastic apron around your neck, tying it at the waist. The school didn’t have enough funding for proper lab gear so you went to one of your old friends in down who worked at the butcher and roped him into buying one of his apron’s off him. And you weren’t able to find another 25 aprons so you warned the class beforehand to wear old clothes today just in case. As students were lining up in front of you you opened the lid to reveal fetal pigs submerged in a modified formaldehyde solution. It stunk, and a lot of the students let you be the one to reach in and put a pig on their tray. As you placed the last pig on the last tray you heard a slight knock on your classroom door. 

“Mr. Hood, what an unusual surprise” you grinned, closing the bucket lid and meeting him in the doorway. As silly as it sounds, you’d developed a small crush on the school’s English teacher, Calum Hood. Since you were the school’s Biology teacher you didn’t see him as you both taught in different parts of the school. Only in the mornings and sometimes after work would you see him and occasionally chat. 

You took off your gloves and tossed them in the nearby trash and placed your hands on your hips, facing him but also keeping an eye on your class. “What can I do for you?” you grinned. “Well I was just on my prep and I wanted to see what kind of scientific operations you were conducting up here in the science wing,” he smiled, crossing his arms. You both turned to look at your class, and you saw the class clown making his pig dance across the table. “Hey! Jackson, do not mishandle the pigs, if I see that again I will not hesitate to give you a zero” you called, eyeing him down as he carefully put the pig back on his tray. “That goes for all of you, please respect your specimens, they did not die for you to treat them with such disrespect.”

“Clearly you foster the brightest minds that will discover the next great scientific breakthrough” Calum whispered in your ear, causing you to laugh loudly before shutting your mouth as students started to look your way. You turned to him, “Well as long as long as they leave the classroom a little bit smarter than when they entered, my job will be complete” you replied. Calum smiled and looked at you with such warmth, and you swore you saw a bit of lust? Desire? Wanting? But it could have been the harsh fluorescent lights playing tricks with your eyes. “Would you like to go on a date with me tonight Ms. Y/L/N?” Your mouth hung open and you struggled to find words to articulate your thoughts. “I..I…You…you’re asking me on a date? Really?” you stammered, trying to stop the light blush that was creeping on your cheeks, “When I have on an industrial apron and I smell like dead pigs?” 

“Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind..” he said with a playful smile, causing you to turn a full crimson. “I..you..you said love….what?” 

Calum chuckled lightly, “Just an expression Ms. Y/L/N, the wise words of Shakespeare. I thought it was fitting” he said, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “Oh, right, yes…” you mumbled, mentally cursing yourself. “Well um, I would love to go on a date with you Mr. Hood.” He beamed at your reply, standing a little taller and running his hand through his ebony waves. “Well I’ll come to your classroom after school then.” You nodded and gave him a shy smile. “Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say–” You shoved his shoulder before he could finish his ridiculous dramatic exit, but you chuckled nonetheless, blushing yet again as he winked before making his way back to his classroom. 

You turned back to your class and were met with squeals of intrigue as well as groans of disgust, but as it was time to clean up you decided to end the class. “Alright everyone that does it for today, please close up your specimens and bring them back here. We will be working on them for the next couple days so remember which one was yours. Once you clean up your bench you are free to go!” Your body was focused on assisting with cleaning up and getting organized for your next class, but your mind was already daydreaming of your date with Calum…

A/N: didn’t know how to end that one, ask for a part 2 if you want? idk I hope you liked it though!