Summary: You were already having a bad day, and then in walks Mr. Perfect and his best friend’s puppy. Oh, and he needs you to hurry because he’s got a blind date tonight, and he’s really nervous.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 2,993
Author’s Note: Do you know how long this has been in my drafts? Anyways, here’s more fluff. Sorry I’ve been the Ebeneezer Scrooge of fluff, but I can’t help it that I’m a cynical, angsty bitch who likes to make people suffer.
There were certain rules to being a veterinary technician.
Number one, waterproof mascara and eyeliner always! When the customer cries, you cry. Number two, carry a lint roller on you at all times; it’s best to get the pocket-sized one, because Mr. Twinkles sheds a lot! Number three, iron your scrubs! And it’s probably best to keep an extra pair in your car, because Mrs. Comier’s Jack Russell likes to pee on people.
Even though you knew these rules by heart, and you followed them every single day of your work-life, today was an exception. It was just one of those days that absolutely nothing- no matter how hard you tried- was going right. You were covered in fluffy cat hairs, Mrs. Comier’s Jack Russell peed on your leg twice, and you had run out of waterproof mascara; so when Mr. Langley brought in his thirteen year old Labrador to put her down, he cried, and so you cried, and in the end you looked like the raccoon that liked to sneak into the office dumpsters at closing.
some 99% canon things to remember in order to remember cedric diggory’s 20th year of being 6 feet under
the time he spent being dead is longer than the time he spent being alive
he probably didn’t even have his wisdom tooth wholly out when he died
out of all the dead characters in the series, he is the only one who didn’t have time to choose whether he wanted to fight alongside harry or not
“bring my body back to my parents” was his last wish
despite being the one hogwarts champion who actually put his name in the goblet, wanting the glory and the money and everything else, he was 100% okay to let harry win in order to stay loyal to his own sense of morality
he forgave viktor, who actually cast the cruciatus on him, quickly enough to get him out of the maze before anything bad happened to him
he was hot enough that moaning myrtle spied on him whenever he took a bath and that fleur tried to woo him into inviting her to the yule ball
by the age of nine he had already outreached half of his life
the last words he ever heard were “kill the spare”
the last words he heard from his father were most probably about him needing to kick harry’s ass
he was a pretty brilliant wizard
given that he and cho started dating the 25th of december, he died the day before his 6 months anniversary with her
the night he died, his friends were probably made pack his things up in order to give his trunk back to his parents
he never had the chance to freely practice magic outside hogwarts, as he became of age during his last school year
despite being the “real hogwarts champion”, he was completely ignored by the media
and still, he never was particularly bitter about it with harry
basically everyone in the ministry tried to dismiss his death as a “tragic accident”
no one actually paid for his murder: crouch jr was kissed by the dementors before the chance of a trial could have been considered, peter was killed by his own hand and voldemort died in the last battle
his mother found comfort in thinking that at least he died so quickly that he didn’t realize what was going on, so that he could have been still excited for having won the tournament
so like i made this months ago with the intention that one day i’d draw the other outfit and,,, i never did. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
anywho, this is fanart for @geek-fashionista and her Luck Us fic, which i totally loved everyone shoud read it (though, it is on the longer side, which is like dedication, so definitely go read it) and i know mari didn’t model the dress herself but,,, i like drawing her. hope i did the dress justice :)
*He fed me. He bought all food, cooked all meals, washed all dishes.
*He dressed me in the morning, undressed me at night, and took my laundry to the cleaners along with his. One evening, while taking off my shoes, he decided they needed resoling and took them to the shoemaker the next day.
*He read to me endlessly: newspapers, magazines, murder mysteries, Katherine Mansfield short stories, and my own files when I brought them home to catch up on work.
*Every three days he washed my hair. He dried it with my hand dryer and was clumsy at it only the first two times. One day he bought an outrageously expensive Kent of London hairbrush and beat me with it that evening. Its bruises persisted beyond all others. But every night he used it to brush my hair. Neither before nor since has my hair been brushed so thoroughly, for such long periods at a time, so lovingly. It shone.
*He bought tampons for me and inserted and extricated them. When I was dumbfounded the first time he said, “I eat you while you’re menstruating and we both like that. There’s no difference.”
*He ran my bath every night, experimenting with different gels, crystals, and oils, taking an adolescent girls delight in buying great varieties of bath products for me, while sticking steadfastly to a routine of showers, ivory soap, and Prell Concentrate for himself. I never stopped to contemplate what his cleaning woman thought of the whip lying on the kitchen counter, of the handcuffs dangling from the dining room doorknob, of the snakes’ heap of narrow, silvery chains cooled in the corner of the bedroom. I did idly wonder what she thought of this sudden proliferation of jars and bottles, nine barely used shampoos crowding the medicine chest, eleven different bath salts lined up on the edge of the tub.
*Every night he took my makeup off. If I live to be a hundred, I won’t forget how it felt to sit in an armchair, my eyes closed, my head thrown back, while the gentle pressure of a cotton ball soaked in lotion moved across my forehead, over my cheeks, lingering on my eyelids…
WHAT I DID:
Elizabeth McNeill, Nine and A Half Weeks: A Memoir of A Love Affair
The rhetoric that demonizes anti-Latino and anti-Asian immigrants is disturbing not only for what it says, but more so for what it does not say. By portraying immigration to the United States as a matter of desperate individuals seeking opportunities, it completely disregards the aggressive roles that the U.S. government and U.S. corporations have played— through colonialism, imperialist wars and occupations, capital investment and material extraction in Third World countries and through active recruitment of racialized and gendered immigrant labor— in generating out-migration from key sending countries. As Joe Feagin reminds us, “recent immigrants have mostly come from countries that have been substantially influenced by imperialistic efforts by U.S. corporations and by the U.S. government around the globe.” This portrayal of immigration stigmatizes the immigrants as desperate, undeserving, and even threatening, and delinks contemporary immigration from past U.S. corporate, military, or governmental actions abroad.
As I watched this spectacle of border making, I was reminded of my own bordercrossing experience. In 1975, when tens of thousands of Vietnamese refugees, including my own family, arrived in the United States, the majority of Americans did not welcome us. A Harris poll taken in May 1975 indicated that more than 50 percent of the American public felt that Southeast Asian refugees should be excluded; only 26 percent favored their entry. Many seemed to share Congressman Burt Talcott’s conclusion that, “Damn it, we have too many Orientals.” Five years later, public opinion toward the refugees had not changed. A 1980 poll of American attitudes in nine cities revealed that nearly half of those surveyed believed that the Southeast Asian refugees should have settled in other Asian countries. This poll also found that more than 77 percent of the respondents would disapprove of the marriage of a Southeast Asian refugee into their family and 65 percent would not be willing to have a refugee as a guest in their home. Anti-Southeast Asian sentiment also took violent turns. Refugees from Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia in many parts of the United States have been attacked and even killed; and their properties have been vandalized, firebombed, or burned. The antirefugee rhetoric was similar to that directed against Latino immigrants: Southeast Asians were morally, culturally, and economically deficient— an invading multitude, unwanted and undeserving.
- Yen Le Espiritu, “Homes, Borders, and Possibilities,” in Asian American Studies Now (2010)
When Harry Styles sets off for Provincetown, MA from his tiny hometown of Kerkhoven, MN, he’s facing an uncertain future. He’s always planned to leave, just…not like this. When he meets a gorgeous cabaret performer on his first night in P-town, little does he know how his life is about to change, or how much he has yet to learn. When they become more than just friends, Louis makes it clear he’s not looking for anything serious, but at least, Harry consoles himself, they’ll always be friends. Over one extraordinary summer, Harry learns to navigate life on his own through a journey of self-discovery and sexual awakening. But when Harry’s past tragically reappears in his life, will his friendship with Louis be able to hold on?
Art by the amazing artist, Elliott @blueylouie . I’ve never worked with an artist before, and it was an incredible experience. Mainly, he did his thing and I just went WOW and cried a bit (a lot).
This fic has been in the works for nine and a half months. There are so many people I have to thank, I don’t even know where to begin.
So, SO many people have supported me in the writing process from the very beginning and I love you guys, so much. My Squadron, my Oop for It friends, my Larrying friends. I hope you know how much I love you and how much you have made a difference in my life with so much more than just writing.
To my advance readers and betas. To Stacy, daysundercover, a-writerwrites, femmequixotic and noeeon - you lovely, lovely people. I cannot thank you enough for your help, your support, your criticisms and the push to keep writing when I got lazy. THANK YOU SO MUCH and a million kisses to each of you.