i wish i were in the tropics

I just randomly remembered that in junior high the principal’s office made a huge fucking deal of wearing sweaters after noon. The reason? I have no fucking clue and yes we have tropical weather but being in a classroom just sitting doesn’t really help me get warm thanks

Anyway, I was threatened by a lot of prefects and some teachers because I was wearing mine after noon so my grandma knitted these undershirts that were made of wool to keep me warm. Some people made fun of me but fuck you laura, you wish your grandma cared about you as much as mine did

Gravity

Originally posted by 107th-infantry

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Gravity

Prompt: Can I please have a Bucky x Reader? The reader lives in a small town in Oregon and is totally the stereotype. And whatever you do with it is cool. Idk I live here and love it and yeah haha thank you so much!

Warnings: I am still suffering from Gravity Falls feels. Forgive me.

It was summer. And while you wished you were off on some tropical island, your parents had shipped you off to work in your great-uncle’s shop in a small town in Oregon. It was boring. Every day was the same as the last. You watched as helpless tourist after tourist stumbled into the tourist-trap-town. Well, until one day.

The day had started as normal. You were sitting behind the register, flipping through a magazine during one of the slowest hours of the day.

“Ugh,” You set down the magazine and pulled out your phone, forgetting for a moment that the shop didn’t seem to have any cell service. It was a real problem. And until you went back to New York, where your parents lived, you had patchy service and more bug bites than you could count.

“Something wrong, kiddo?” asked your great-uncle Dan. He was dressed up in his usual uniform, a suit and tie with his lucky 8-ball cane.

“The cell service is out again.” You complained. “How am I supposed to text my friends if I can’t even get a bar?”

“I’ll see what I can do about that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, why don’t you restock the vending machine and fold some t-shirts and then maybe it’ll be fixed.”

“Sure, whatever,” you grumbled.

You got out from behind the counter and grabbed the box of chip bags stashed back there. You used a key from the ring hooked to your belt loop and unlocked the vending machine. It only took a few minutes to restock the machine. After that, you folded t-shirts and set them on the stacks of shirts in the middle of the store.

The little bell over the door rang, signaling that you had to resume your post behind the desk. You trudged over and sat on the stool as a man walked in.

He was tall, muscular, his chin covered in stubble. He was wearing a red flannel, worn out jeans, and brown work boots. You caught a glint of metal peeking out from beneath his sleeve. Tufts of brown hair stuck out of his baseball cap, and he looked to you with soulful blue eyes.

You watched as he walked around the shop, picking up a few things and making his way over to the counter to check out. You rang up his things: a t-shirt, a keychain, a new baseball cap, a flashlight, and some other things.

“What brings you to our sleepy little town?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. He smiled a little, shyly.

“I, uh, I’m looking for a girl named (Y/N),” he said. Your heart raced. Shit. He knew.

“Why?” You asked, subtly hiding your nametag by zipping up your hoody. “Did she do something wrong?”

“No, uh, she just…she’s special. We need her.”

“How did you find me?” You asked, defensively. Your expression hardened. “And who are you with?”

“You’re (Y/N) (L/N),” he stated in disbelief, looking you over. “I expected someone…”

“Older? Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“My name is Bucky. Your great-uncle is the son of my friend.”

“Hey kid, is everything okay in here?” asked Grunkle Dan, walking back into the store. He eyed the stranger. “Well I’ll be darned. Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes. I’ve been waiting for you for a while, pal.”

“Grunkle Dan, what’s happening? Who is this?”

“(Y/N), this is Bucky. He’s going to take you somewhere safe. Did you pack your duffle bag like I told you to?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Take it and go. I’ll see you soon, kiddo.” he said quickly.

You grabbed your bag from behind the counter and reluctantly followed Bucky out the door. He opened the passenger door of a shiny black pick-up truck and helped you into the seat. He slammed the door shut before walking around the side of the truck and hopping into the driver’s seat. He started down the old dirt roads.

“I know it’s kind of a bit late for introductions, but…I’m James. Everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Where are we going?” You asked, a bit scared. You had no idea what was happening. Mere minutes earlier you had been a Gifted working in a gift shop. Now, you didn’t know what was happening.

“You don’t have to be scared, (Y/N). I won’t let anyone hurt you.” he paused. “But to answer your question, we’re going to upstate New York. I have a friend that’d like to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

What’s the worst thing your school has ever done? Removed the vending machines? Canceled Taco Tuesday? Went with “Tropical Paradise” for a prom theme, instead of your suggestion, “Mad Max World”? Consider yourself lucky: Diana Achieng, a student at Kenya’s Strathmore University, wishes she had those kinds of problems. Her school ordered security forces to open fire on campus in order to simulate a terrorist attack back in November 2015. Sadly, while the attack itself was fake, the dozens of injuries and one fatality it caused were all too real.

“On the day of the attack, I had just left the Students Centre to go for lunch when a friend I was with received a call from someone at the school,” Diana recalls. “The caller was running out of there because there were gunshots coming from the Students Centre, where I’d been just a few moments ago. A couple of armed masked men wearing white overalls were shooting going up the stairs. … We decided to check Twitter, which is where we finally found out what was going on: It was a security drill.”

That’s right, Strathmore decided to announce their drill on Twitter after it already began, which was possibly the least helpful thing ever. They might as well have announced it through MySpace.

5 Horrifying Lessons From The Day My School Killed Someone