that's probably one of the reasons james fell in love with you

from the dining table; bucky barnes

based of the song “from the dining table” by harry styles

warnings: cheating, liqour, feelings, lots of language, angst, iM soRRY

The night wasn’t supposed to go this way. You had come back from a mission early, elated to surprise your loving boyfriend. Seems more like you were the one surprised instead. As you trudged up the stairs to your shared apartment, it was startling to find two people standing in front of the cheaply made door.

It didn’t take long to realize who one of them was, tall with a dark haired man bun. Your Bucky. What you didn’t know, was who the other person was. Or why the pair of them were standing so close.

You swiftly hid behind the wall concealing the stairway and listened closely. You could feel your head pound to the rhythm of your heart and the tips of your fingers tapped together in anxiousness.

“I really had a great time, Buck.” The woman had obviously spoken, using the nickname reserved for his closest friends and you.

“Me too, doll.” Your heart twindged at the adorning name but you couldn’t find it in you to reveal yourself.

“Maybe next time, we can end it at my place?” She spoke suggestively and you could hear it followed by Bucky’s chuckled.

“I’d like that,” You peeked your head around the corner and took in the sight before your eyes. Her long arms around his neck and nails in this hair, her lips planted firmly on his. His arms snaked around her hourglass figure as he lifted her off the ground and reached for the door knob.

You felt physically ill. With your stomached tied into several knots and your knees feeling weak, you turned on your heel and slowly walked down the stairs leaning on the wall for support.

Of course it had to rain this night of all. The cold splatters soaked you to the core as you stepped out into the night. The rising bile in your throat made an appearance as you ran to the bushes and dry heaved seemingly forever.

You chest hurt and it felt like someone was stabbing into you repeatedly, all the while rubbing salt in the wounds. You stumbled to a standing positions and began walking toward the hotel a block from your- his apartment.

The receptionist had noticed your distraught look, recognizing it as heartbreak; something no one was immune to. She took pity on your defeated form and gave you a room on the top floor, far from anyone. With a muted thanks and a slow sluggish walk you willed yourself to the elevator to the 14th floor.

The room was nice, with a crystal chandelier and a mini fridge, any other time you would have been elated but now you just wanted to cry. You stood in front of the closed mahogany door and the tears you managed to keep in spilled from your bloodshot eyes. Sliding down the door, and shook violently as you screamed out in frustration.

How could he do that to you? How could he find another woman within the weeks time you were gone. Thats when it hit you, it was going on much longer than that. All the late night gym trips and sudden disappearances had added up. How did you not see it before? How had you been so stupid? So blind to what was right in front of you?

The pristine white of the bed mocked you, the purity of the sheets mocked you. You had given Bucky everything you had, and he tainted it all without you noticing. Your pure view on him was ruined, ripped apart and stomped on until there was nothing left with dust, painful dust. Sorta like your heart.

You shakily stood and stripped the soaked clothes from your body and dragged
yourself to the shower. The water burned your skin and left you raw and red, but you secretly hoped it would wash your pain away. You stayed in there until you felt so tired you were worried you may collapse in the shower.

The bed was cool against your hot and raw skin and soothed the scars of your heart. Your eyes stared at the white ceiling and the tears leaked out of the sides of your eyes. Sleep engulfed you like the darkness your heart now felt.

Woke up alone in this hotel room

Played with myself, where were you?

The sun shone through the opened curtains and you winced, the pounding sensation in your head making you feel delirious.

The unfamiliar room was puzzling to you until the events of last night rushed to your mind. The pain reinstated itself into your chest and you pulled a shaky breath, unable to cry anymore.

The digital clock next to the bed read 10:47 and the lump in your throat grew as you thought of Bucky. His mystery woman was probably making them breakfast, or was leaving to go home. Thoughts ran through your head at a rapid pace and you stopped yourself.

You didn’t deserve to feel this pain.

You threw the mini fridge open and found they had no alcohol stored, but when you walked to the door to run to the bar downstairs, you found a bottle of bourbon at your feet.

A small note was attached and you bent over to inspect it. “Heartbreak’s a bitch, but bourbon isn’t” You realized it must have been from the receptionist and faintly smiled as you picked the glass bottle up.

It was half gone by twelve.

Fell back to sleep,

I got drunk by noon.

I never felt less cool.

It was another day before you gathered the courage to go home. To him.

Standing in front of the cheap and poorly painted door of your apartment, it almost seemed unreal. Walking into what was once a home filled with blissful memories, it was hard to believe there was something sinister behind closed doors.

You cautiously treaded on the wooden floor, not wanting encounter anyone. Much to your dismay, Bucky was sitting on the couch and heard you come in.

“Doll?” He grinned widely, rushing towards you to engulf you in a hug. You stood in the embrace, not moving to hold him too. He took notice and pulled back with a concerned look. “You okay?”

You pulled a sad smile and nodded, “Just tired” The lied passed straight through yor teeth so effortlessly you wondered why you explode on him.

The rest of the day had been filled with silence, besides Bucky’s attempts at starting a conversation. He tried to understand that you were tired, but his frustration was obvious.

we haven’t spoke since you went away

the comfortable silence is so overrated

why won’t you ever say what you want to say?

“Doll, you gotta talk to me. I haven’t had anything to do since you left.” He whined and pouted his bottom lip at you. It was so cute you almost forgave his sins right there.

You scoffed and mumbled under your breath, “But you had someone to do.” You dipped a tea bag into some boiled water and tried to avert your attention.

Bucky furrowed his thick eyebrows, “What was that, love?”

You set the mug aside to sit and rolled your eyes in annoyance. “Nothing, James.” That had caught him off guard, you never called him James.

Why won’t you ever say what you want to say?” He groaned and leaned against the white countertop.

Something in his tone had ticked a nerve, and that’s the exactly moment things went from bad, to hell.

“You wanna know what I have to say?” You snapped, turning around and facing him, anger etched into your features. He gave you a look that urged you to continue, so you did.

“What did you really do while I was gone, hm?”

His stomach dropped for a split second before he regained himself and tried to reason that you had no idea. “Whaddya mean, doll?”

“Oh shut the fuck up James.” The anger and betrayal leaked through your voice and he knew everything was going to change.

“Excuse me?” He tried, feigning confusion to her outburst.

“So who is she, Buck?” You glared into his blue eyes and saw fear flash through them. “An agent? A civilian? Some random whore?” You spat and began to walk away.

“The hell are you talking about, (Y/N)”

“Jesus Christ James! Just stop lying already. I fucking know you’ve been sleeping with someone else.”

The pain that pulsed through your heart showed in your eyes, because Bucky took a step back and felt a knot form in his throat.

“I came home two days ago, and saw you and the skank outside of our door.” You whispered and ran a shaky hand through your hair.

His blue eyes got glassy and he was at a loss for words. For the first time, James Barnes didn’t know what to say to woman. “Doll-”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT DAMNIT!” You screamed slamming your palms on the counter.

“THEN WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?” He yelled back, fat tears starting to roll down his scruffy cheeks.

“NOTHING! IT MAKES IT WAY EASIER TO HATE YOU THAT WAY.” You screamed and blinked rapidly to push the oncoming tears back

“Oh so you’re gonna hate me now? After one lousy mistake?”

He was trying to play the victim. To flip the whole situation like it was your fault he cheated. “Oh stop being such a fucking prick. I know it was more than once.” You turned around and placed your palms on the counter that was previously behind you. “All the nights out. The early morning disappearances. It all makes sense now.” You gritted out through your teeth as the tear spilled over your clenched eyelids.

“Well it wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t such a shit girlfriend. You were never good enough!” He seemed to realize the venomous words that slipped off his tongue and immediately wished he could take them back.

It happened so fast he barely had time to react. The mug filled with hot tea flew passed his head and shattered against the wall as glass flew to every inch of the room. “Maybe everyone was right,” You spoke fiercely before shrinking to a whisper. “I’m not good enough. But at least i’m not a monster like you.”

He had never felt pain like he had in that moment. His stomach knotted so tightly he feared he was going to puke all over. His temples pounded to the beat of his heart and his world spun around him. How had he done this to you, he wondered. To the one person who had ever accepted him after everything he did, and forgave every thing he had done in the past. How had he tainted the one pure thing left in his life? How had he taken every inch of your big heart only to vandalize it with infidelity and hateful words? He hated himself, he hated what he did to you. And he would never forgive himself.

As you rolled your packed luggage to the door, tears soaking your pink cheeks, you paused. Bucky sat crumpled to his knees, his head buried in his hand and he cried roughly. Your heart lurched at the defeated sight, and had it not been for the cab already waiting downstairs, you would have stayed. His crystal blue eyes traced your features, trying to memorize every detail before you walked out of his life forever.

“I hope she was worth it, James.” You whispered before walking out the cheaply painted door, wishing never to see his face again.

Your last words haunted his sleep for years. He had never regretted anything so deeply and sincerely.

On what would have been your 6th anniversary, had he not ruined everything, he picked up his phone and typed in the number that was forever chiseled into his brain. Pressing send, he let out a shaky breath and waited.

“I’m sorry.”

He waited and waited for the familiar ding of his phone. But it never came. He would have to wait until death to be relieved from the weight on his shoulders. And he did.

Maybe one day you’ll call me
and tell me that you’re sorry, too.
But you, you never do.

Originally posted by imagine-that-marvel

Coincidences Part II (Bucky x Reader)

You guys have waited way too long for this and for that I’m sorry. But here it is, so I won’t start it with my usual long-winded preamble. 

Happy Reading!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Modern AU thingy)

Words: 5046 (yikes, that’s the longest fic I’ve ever written)

Warnings: The usual tiny bit of swearing

Excerpt:  For a moment, you wonder how this became your life. Yesterday, you were just another girl worrying about everything except her lack of a love life. Now that’s all you can think about because you’re flirting with a complete stranger. How insanely insane is that? For all you know, he could be a forty-something year old dude with three ex-wives and a beer-belly that could carry triplets. Somehow, though, you don’t think that’s likely.

Series Tags: @melanie451 @sebstanwassup @colagirl5 @winenighthoe @lovemarvelousfics @gotnotfeature @sebastianst-n @alwayshave-faith @hollycornish @iggytheboywonder 

Tags: @langinator @fairchild21

Originally posted by little--batman

Originally posted by gliceria

Your name: submit What is this?

New Message from Mr. Catarcs

3:42 a.m u up?

You blink your eyes blearily and shift in bed. The sheet is wrapped around your legs like sweaty vines, constricting your movement. You growl angrily and throw them off, sitting up and relishing in the cool air of your apartment. Despite the frigid cold outside, you somehow still manage to wake up sweating. Maybe you’re a mutant. 

Glancing over at your phone, it dings again to impatiently let you know that you still haven’t opened the text that woke you up. Usually your phone is switched to silent because of your job at the diner. There are always so many phones going off that it’s almost impossible to tell which is which. It’s just easier having your phone on silent because then you’re never worried about whether your phone is ringing or if it’s someone else’s. It saves you a lot of unnecessary anxiety. 

But ever since last night’s conversation with James, you decided that you wanted to hear your phone ring with a text. It’s the first time in your life that you don’t want to miss a text. 

You pick up the offending piece technology and swipe it open. Sure enough, the text is from James and you grin despite the fact that this message is the same one that woke you at—you squint at your alarm clock—3:49 a.m. 

Deciding you are both thirsty and in need of some time in the open air of your apartment and not under the suffocating sheets, you get up and stretch. The floors are cold as you pad to the kitchen and fill a glass with water, shooting a text back to James. 

3:51 a.m I am now

You wait for an answer while downing your glass of water and putting the empty glass in the sink again. Maybe he fell back asleep when you didn’t answer right away. 

For a moment, you wonder how this became your life. Yesterday, you were just another girl worrying about everything except her lack of a love life. Now that’s all you can think about because you’re flirting with a complete stranger. How insanely insane is that? For all you know, he could be a forty-something year old dude with three ex-wives and a beer-belly that could carry triplets. Somehow, though, you don’t think that’s likely. 

You have no proof of this, and absolutely no reason to believe he isn’t a creep except for a gut feeling. You resolve to ask his age whenever he decides to answer you. 

You think about that. He could lie to you and tell you that he’s 20 when he’s really a lot older than that. The only way you’d truly know is if you meet him in person. 

Suddenly you’re a little dizzy. This is just way too much to worry about at four a.m. You decide to just talk to him. You genuinely like his personality, and you don’t have to worry about all that other stuff until you actually meet him. If you actually meet him. That’s a big, neon-colored, flashing sign in the middle of absolute nowhere if.  

Your phone dings and you look over from where you’re clutching the counter. You don’t notice how hard you were gripping the counter until you pull your palms away and it stings, lines etching themselves across your palm. 

4:03 a.m srry didnt mean to wake u

Before you can even formulate a response, he’s texting you again. A double text. Gasp.

4:04 a.m just couldnt sleep. i was wondring if u wanted to talk

You tilt your head at your screen. He’s up in the middle of the night, and the first thing he does is text you? Why? Does he not have other people he can talk to? A stupid part of you, the same part that wants to meet him in person, thinks that maybe it’s because he wants to talk to you. 

Maybe he does. Probably not. It’s too much to hope for. All his other friends are probably asleep. Regardless, not answering is not an option. Well, it is, but it’s not one you’re likely to explore, not when your chest has those freaky bubbles in it and your stomach is doing that stupid flippy-thingy. Nope. This, you decide, feels like High School when a cute boy texted you first and the instinct to giggle shot up to level 12. 

4:06 a.m alright. what about?

Capitals, Y/N. What the hell happened to capitals?

You take your phone and pad back into your room, perching yourself up against the headboard with your knees drawn up to your chest and your phone in your hands as you wait for a response. Worrying your bottom lip, your mind drifts to work. You’ll have to get up in about three hours to be at work on time. Man, you’re going to be tired. 

It’s then that your phone dings. You decide then that talking to him makes it worth the fatigue. 

4:11 a.m twenty questions?

4:11 a.m Fine, but since you woke me up you have to go first.

The three dots that mean he’s typing pop up three different times before the response finally comes through. 

4:15 a.m whatd u go to school 4?

You laugh. 

4:15 a.m getting down to the nitty gritty personal stuff I see

You think for a moment. Telling him what you do isn’t divulging too much about yourself, so you decide it’s okay.

4:16 a.m lol yup thats me. i want the deep personal stuff. might just ask what ur fav color is nxt

4:16 a.m 1. editing; 2. sorry, that’s sacred info

4:17 a.m 1 ah i understand y ur a grammar nazi now…2 obviously

Thinking for a moment, you decide that favorites are just too cliche. Any conversation anyone has with some new friend ends in questions that start with “What’s your favorite…” You really want to know how old he is, but you figure you need an ice breaker before you get to the actual nitty gritty. 

First, though, you must take the bait to piss him off:

4:19 a.m What would you have done if I hadn’t gone to college?

With a yawn, you lie back down and curl on your side, sitting your phone on the nightstand in front of you with your eyes glued to it. Once you realize that staring at it isn’t going to make him type faster, you turn over. 

You’re totally not too eager. There’s no—


You flip over so fast that you rip the sheet from the other side of the bed and end up with half of it between your stomach and the bed. It pulls from the bottom corner of the bed and is slightly uncomfortable, but you don’t care. 

4:22 a.m high school?

4:23 a.m I didn’t go to high school FOR anything 

You’re not sure if the use of caps-lock is weird, but you send it off anyways, deciding that emphasis on that one word is crucial to your meaning. He replies within seconds. 

4:23 a.m i mean dunno bout u but i went to learn

You laugh, probably louder than is necessary. 

4:24 a.m Touche. What’d you go to school for?

4:26 a.m repeating questions isnt alowed

Frowning, you wonder if he actually didn’t go to college. Should you push it? Maybe you should just change the question. There’s a part of you, the curious part that wanted to be a reporter when you were young, that really wants to know. 

There isn’t too much time for you to think all of that before he’s texting you again. Usually, you’re the one to mercilessly double-text. James, it would seem, has you beat in this department. Also, you didn’t want to double-text a complete stranger. 

Before you even look at the text, it hits you again: this is a complete stranger. The thought of not answering enters your mind again, but you push it down. No harm in just talking if neither of you meet, right? Right?


4:27 a.m i joined the military right out of HS

It’s a real Oh moment, and you find yourself staring at your screen as if it’s a real person. The military? What are you supposed to say to that? What’s the protocol for a text that you’re not sure how to answer? Should you just leave it alone? No; if you leave it alone then he’ll think he freaked you out. He hasn’t. Your brain is just short-circuiting on an answer. 

Should you think him for his service? No. Not yet. You don’t want to call too much attention to it in case he doesn’t want to talk about it or he’s had bad experiences, but you’re still not sure how to respond. Have you taken too long already? 

You summon up some courage and type out a message. 

4:31 a.m Oh wow. Well, what would you have studied if you had gone?

You cringe, totally not meaning for that to sound like you were completely skipping over the issue altogether. James doesn’t seem to mind though, if his response is any indication. 

4:32 a.m hmm history i think. ive always liked ww2 4 some reason

4:33 a.m well you’ve got AP european history girl right here. 1 of only 11 in the whole senior class to take it. 

4:34 a.m well, smartypants i get 2 q’s bc u asked 2 

You feel that you handled that effectively, and you were already beginning to formulate a plan in your head while he thought about his questions. 

See, you know next to nothing about the military or what it’s all about except that it is for valiant people who want to serve their country. You can respect that, but you want—nay, need—to learn more. Convincing yourself that it’s purely for research purposes and not for anything else.

Regardless, you need to know more. It’s probably better to get it from someone who has been through it rather than from some cold, impersonal online source. And besides, you just so happen to know someone who was in the military. Someone who, in fact, lost a limb in the line of duty: Bucky Barnes. 

As far as you know, Bucky lost his left arm in the military. You’d asked him before how he lost it and he hadn’t answered you, opting instead to change the subject to Steve and his new (at the time) art studio. It had been suspicious, but you understand that it must not be easy to speak about something like that. 

You’ll have to go talk to Steve tomorrow morning to get Bucky’s number, but you think that maybe you’ll treat him to lunch in exchange for him giving you some details about the whole military thing. At the company, you get an hour off for lunch, which is just enough time to go out, interrogate a friend (respectfully, of course), and head back before the hour is up. 

The plan was formed and you had your head already set on it. By the time James’ reply comes in, you’ve tuckered yourself out thinking that whole plan out. It is really late—er, early—after all. 

4:41 a.m 1 how was ur day 2 how r u likely to spend a friday night

4:43 a.m I feel like I’m taking a Buzzfeed quiz

You yawn again and type out your answers.

4:44 a.m my day’s just begun. it’s four a.m. And probably reading or something

You put your phone down, thinking that you’ll just leave it there and wait for his reply, but you end up turning over and falling asleep. 

In the morning, you turn your phone on silent again while you get ready for work, playing some music while you apply some light make-up. 

It turned out that James hadn’t answered you anyway, so you would have been up waiting for a text that wasn’t going to come. Good thing you passed out. 

Glancing at the clock, you notice that it’s 7:02 a.m and that Steve should be up. You don’t have to be at work until 8 and it’s not a long bus ride to get to work so you figure you can spare half an hour to haggle your best friend into giving up Bucky’s phone number. You wonder why you haven’t thought to get it sooner, figuring that you just never needed it. 

You and Bucky only ever hung out with Steve or the rest of the gang. He was a friend of yours, but the two of you had never been too close in the two years of knowing each other. That said, you had heard a lot about each other even before meeting from Steve, and Bucky had expressed in the past how annoying he found it when Steve was constantly mentioning you in casual conversation. 

It was the same with Bucky for you. Steve had been talking about his best friend Bucky ever since you had met him. It was in that way that you and Bucky had gotten to know each other sort of inadvertently. 

Heading out the door and across the hall, you knock on Steve’s door lightly a few times. He’s a light sleeper anyways, and you don’t want to wake the whole hall with loud knocking. You only opt for knocking this time in case he’s not decent or something. Otherwise, you would have used your key.

Sure enough, Steve answers the door within a few minutes, clad in flannel pajama pants, a white V-neck, and holding a steaming cup of coffee. It smells amazing, and you realize then that in your rush you’d forgotten to make yourself some. 

“Got another one of those and half an hour?”

Steve raises an eyebrow but steps aside to let you in. He’s a morning person, so you were sure on your way over here that you wouldn’t receive any resistance. 

“What do you need?” he asks you, pouring you a cup of coffee not unlike how he’d done it the night before. He pours in a generous amount of milk and some sugar before stirring it and handing it to you, just the way you like it. 

Blow, sip—“Mm,” you hum. “I need Bucky’s phone number.” You say it as nonchalantly as you can manage so as not to raise any flags to Steve, but by his surprised expression you can tell that you’ve raised them all. 

“Bucky? Why?”

You shrug like it’s no big deal. “He has some info that I need.” It sounds so covert and cheesy that you almost giggle, but you manage to keep your composure while sipping your coffee again. 

Steve tilts his head to the side almost imperceptibly, leaning his back against the counter across from you as you sit at a stool by his island. Said island juts out from a wall to half-enclose the kitchen area like a wrap-around ‘J’ with the island as the tail. 

After a few moments of silence, it becomes clear that Steve is waiting for you to elaborate, and when you don’t indulge, he sighs, setting his cup down and crossing his arms. 

“Okay, but don’t call him now,” Steve says, already ruffling in a drawer for a pen and paper. “He—he has trouble sleeping, and he needs as much of it as he can get before he has to work. And he’s taking Friday off so he has to log in more hours to make up the difference.” Steve hands you a piece of paper with numbers scribbled on it. 

“Got it,” you said, taking the paper and sticking it in your bag. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he smiles at you. “No problem.”

You stand and head to the door, plan in motion and feeling good about it. Then you remember something and turn as you’re walking toward the door. 


He lifts his head from where he’s still standing in the kitchen sipping his coffee. You realize you’ve left yours there, but decide that it’s okay. You’ll survive. Somehow. 


“Mom is bringing over pasta around two, but I won’t be home,” you can already see his eyes lighting up. “I told her to make extra and that you should be back by then. Can you—”

“—keep it here until you get home?” He knows you so well, it’s scary. “Yeah, but don’t expect me not to try some of it first.”

You fix him with a warning finger. “I’ll be over at seven and I will expect there to be enough for dinner and lunch tomorrow.”

He holds his hands up. “Hey, we all know my metabolism requires a lot of calories per day, and two is just in time for a late lunch.”

“Steve,” you warn. 

“Alright,” he laughs. “I’ll leave some of your mother’s pasta for you for dinner.”

“That’s all I ask.” 

You walk back over, kiss his cheek, take one more sip of your coffee, and then leave. 

You tap your foot on the ground impatiently as you wait at your desk for the clock to turn from 11:29 to 11:30 so you can head for a bathroom break to call Bucky and find out if he’s busy for lunch. 

James hadn’t texted you all day, but you figure that’s okay. He doesn’t always have to text you. He has a life. You push him mostly out of your head, or you try to. You fail miserably. 

He’s the reason you’re meeting with Bucky anyways. As much as you don’t want to admit it, that’s the truth. Of course, you can’t tell Bucky that. You’ll just sound stupid. And then Bucky will tell Steve and Steve will have some sort of “talking to strangers is bad” intervention with you. You definitely don’t want to endure that. 

11:30 hits and it’s officially been half an hour since your actual bathroom break. You don’t want to call attention to yourself in the office that you share with a whole bunch of other people in too-tightly-packed cubicles. You grab the slip of paper Steve had given you and head to the elevator. 

By the time you make it to the downstairs bathroom, you realize that you forgot your phone upstairs on your desk. Great. Now what are you going to do? If you go back up to get it, you’ll look suspicious. Of course, you shouldn’t really care what your coworkers think of you, but you do. Everybody says they don’t care about peer acceptance but most actually do. 

It’s human nature.

You sigh angrily and look around. The lobby is all marble floors and a little shop where they sell overpriced snacks and drinks. There’s a desk to the left of the elevator bank with one woman sitting in a black wheelie chair making and taking phone calls.

Can you just ask her to borrow one of her phones? There’s an empty seat next to her. Maybe you can explain your situation and just ask this woman if you can borrow the phone. 

The only thing is that you don’t know this woman. Your supers rented the office space with the endless rows of cubicles  from the people who owned the building. This woman obviously works for the building management, and not for anyone you know. 

You decide it’s better that she doesn’t know you. It’s less personal. You can call Bucky, discuss details, and be done with it. 

You sidle over and lean on the high desk. Its polished marble top is so high that you have to lean over it a little to see the woman. She’s plump, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a squished face. She looks the opposite of friendly. She’s wearing a black headset that you realize is some sort of Bluetooth. 

You wait until she is done speaking to talk to her. 

“Um, hello?”

She doesn’t look at you for a moment, reaching up instinctively as if she thinks you’re in her headset before she realizes she’s speaking to a real person. She eyes you. 


You were right to guess she wasn’t very friendly. 

“I was wondering if I could borrow your phone,” you say kindly. “I have to call someone and I accidentally left my phone upstairs.”

She looks bored and eyes you for another second before looking back at her computer screen. “Just go up and get it.”

“It’s urgent,” you lie. Man, this is going to be awkward after you make the call right in front of her and she finds out its personal.

She eyes you again. “You have five minutes.”

You smile at her. “I’ll only need three.”

You wait as she plops one of the black phones on top of the counter, and it’s so high that you have to go up on your tiptoes to see the number pad. 

“Type extension 382 first, then the number.”

With that, she gets back to her work and you pull the phone from the receiver. You flatten the paper on the desk and do as she instructed. 

You wonder if he’ll even pick up. This will be an unknown number to him, and you know that if it were you, you wouldn’t answer. 

It rings three times before a familiar, gruff voice answers.


“Bucky? It’s Y/N.”

He sounds surprised. “Y/N?” There’s a pause, a honking noise, and then he sounds as if he’s realized something. “Steve gave you my number.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I had to call you from a work phone, though.”

You catch the woman looking up at you briefly and can tell she’s annoyed that this is a personal call. You’re sure this call needs to be as short as you can possibly make it or else you’re afraid she’ll just cut it herself. 


“Listen, are you busy for lunch in, like, half an hour?”

Bucky thinks for a moment on the other line and the lady looks at you again, her gaze becoming more venomous. You’re pretty sure that once she looks at you a third time she’s going to end your call for you. 

Just as you’re about to scold him for an answer, Bucky speaks up. 

“Yeah, I’m—”

You feel bad, but you have to cut him off. 

“Okay, great. Meet me at the Deli down the street from Steve’s studio at 12 sharp. My treat.”

Bucky chuckled on the other end. “Your treat? What do you need from me?”

You smile despite the situation. “Just your brain.”

“Sure you don’t want Banner or Stark for that one?”

“I’m sure,” the woman was giving you her last angry glare. You had to go. “See you then, Buck.”

“Looking forward to having my brain probed. Bye, Y/N.”

You hang up, thank the lady, and make your way back upstairs as fast as you can. 12:00 can’t come quick enough. 

Bucky wonders what you want to talk to him about as he drives a company truck to the deli and parallel parks a couple blocks down. The flatbed of the truck is filled with mismatched pieces of junk, from broken computers to the plastic from the top of a printer. It’s all stuff that can be broken down and reprocessed at a plant. 

The city is taking down an old building and putting a new office building up in its place. It’s Bucky’s job as the assistant to take all the not-so-useless junk and dispose of it somewhere where it can be reused. 

He doesn’t have to be at the plant until two, and he finished loading everything up early, so he has about two hours or so to spare. 

Walking into the Deli, he’s hit with a wave of merciful heat and he immediately pulls his coat off. The deli is small with few patrons a small line for take-out. One woman is sipping an iced coffee through a straw while she types madly on a computer. Two men are sitting at a table wearing yellow vests and eating huge subs. Bucky wonders if he would have ended up as one of them, working for the DPW if he hadn’t begun working with the demolition company. 

It takes him barely a moment of looking around to find Y/N sitting in a corner flanked by two windows with an empty seat across from her. There’s a wrapped sandwich and a water sitting on the table in front of the other seat. 

She’s smoothing out the wrapper of her own sandwich as if the creases in the paper wrapping are offending and should not be allowed to exist. 

“Hey,” he says, walking over and taking a seat in front of her. 

She looks up at him and smiles. “Hey,” she shoots back, and then nods to the sandwich. “Got you a BLT.”

Bucky’s suspicions are steadily growing. He pulls the paper from around the sandwich and lays it on the table as Y/N had done, though he couldn’t care less about the creases. He looks between the sandwich and the girl, eyeing both with the suspicion of someone who thinks he’s being played. 

“What’s this about?” he asks. 

She swallows and puts her sandwich down, looking like she’s about to ask him a ground-breaking, life-changing question. Her eyes quickly flick over to his arm and he’s suddenly very sure he knows what this is about. 

But that’s strange. Yesterday—or really early this morning—he was talking to Y/M/N about him having been in the military. Now Y/N is eyeing his arm like she really wants to ask what happened but she doesn’t want to sound impolite. 

Then there’s the fact that they’re both editors. That’s weird. And how Y/N reminds him of Y/M/N. 

He’s an apopheniac, he has to be. He’s seeing coincidences where there really aren’t any. It’s his brain playing tricks on him. In truth, maybe he just wants this strange girl to be Y/N. Though, probably not. Then again, maybe this whole time he thought he was jealous of Y/N for being so close to Steve, he was really jealous of Steve for being so close to Y/N. 

That thought derails him so fast that he doesn’t hear it when Y/N actually asks her question. 

She lets out a breath as if it’s a load-off to finally ask him, and he’s struck with the realization that if he says he didn’t hear her, she probably won’t take it well. He waits for her to say something else, but when she doesn’t he takes a leap of faith based on her glance at his arm. 

“You want to know how I lost my arm,” he says, rather than asks. If her expression of shock and discomfort is any indication, he’s screwed up. 

Big time.


“I mean,” she straightens in her chair. “I guess—it’s sorta part of it? Yeah.”

She sounds so lost and he feels so bad. 

He still has no idea what her original question was though. ‘Part of it.’ His thoughts drift back to his earlier conversation with the girl he’s been talking to over text. The military. Could that be what Y/N wants to know about?

No, it’s just too weird. There’s no way. But he has to know. 

“The military? You want to know about the military?”

She nods, looking slightly guilty. “Yeah,” he tries not to let his breath of relief show, “I—uh, fact-checking. I’m fact-checking an article.”

Bucky nods slowly, sandwich forgotten. She’s a terribly liar. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Sitting back as if she’s been punched in the gut, she blinks once, twice, three times—“I’m not lying.”

“Your body language gives you away.”

“Is that something you learned in the military?”

Bucky chuckles. “That’s something I learned from a whole lot of spy movies. Seriously, why do you want to know?”

She takes a bite of her sandwich and speaks around it. Altogether, not the most sexy, but that’s okay. 

“Research,” she says slowly.

Bucky creases his eyebrows. “For?”

“For a project?”

“If you’re going to lie, at least lie with conviction,” Bucky says. “One of these days, I’m going to teach you how to lie the right way.”

Laughing, she pulls her chair in a little more and sits forward. The picture of seriousness, she says, “Alright, if I tell you, you need to promise me you won’t tell Steve.” She sounds reluctant to tell him at all. This must not have been her plan. 

Bucky draws a cross over his heart with his index finger. “Cross my heart or hope to die.”

She shakes her head. “Gotta be stronger than that. You have to pinkie promise.”

He gasps dramatically. “Not a pinkie promise. This must really be serious.”

Reaching over, she swats his arm. “Buck, I’m serious.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, holding up his pinkie. She links hers with his and he’s momentarily struck by how soft her skin is. Then it’s over. “Tell me.”

She steels herself, he can see it. Jeez, it must really be something serious or she wouldn’t be swearing him to secrecy using childish, yet efficient tactics. It strikes him that she tells Steve everything, same as him, so for her to say she doesn’t want him to know must mean it’s not necessarily something good.

He lets himself think for a moment that she might be about to confess that she’s the mystery girl he’s been texting. It’s much more likely, though, that she’s about to tell him she’s got feelings for Steve or something. 

Steeling himself as well, he waits as she takes a deep breath. 

“I may or may not—”

“You may,” he corrects. She glares at him. 

“—have answered a text from a guy who was trying to text someone else—” 

This is where Bucky stops listening and his internal monologue becomes one word: 


anonymous asked:

Can I have some advice? I was recently called out on being racist for saying that AOS demoted Nyota from an strong, intelligent, independent character to Spock's love interest. I just at want to know, was she right? feel absolutely terrible if I was promoting racism, but as a member of the LGBT community I feel robbed of a couple that's been icons to sci fi loving members of the LGBT community like myself. Her argument was that she went Scotty's (a side characters)love interest to Spock's.

No, you are not racist.

Originally posted by gfycat

The pairing was forced.

F. O. R. C. E. D.


It was implied earlier in the first movie that Jim had a liking to her. And she didn’t seem interested in him as seen. AND SHE DIDN’T BLINK WHEN GAILIA WAS NAKED. Which means she is not straight. And sorry for not replying earlier I was watching I wish for Jeanie tv show. Anyway, Star Trek promotes diversity and independence. These insulting fans do not promote this.  Turning  Nyota into a love interest for Spock made her feel like she was only there for his emotions and yanking them out WHEN NO, JIM WAS MADE FOR THAT. He takes them out, safely, without doing it forcefully and those light touches. He doesn’t smog Spock in a kiss right after he lost his damn planet. Which is insulting BECAUSE HE SHOULD SPEND IT IN A HUG NOT A KISS. Spock deserves time alone with a loss like that in the first 24 hours without people demanding that he express grief. Everyone grieves differently, Spock included. Jim carefully extracts them around Spock when he intends not to extract emotions. McCoy is the one who is all “HEY, POINTY EARED COMPUTER, CATCH THIS FRISBEE!” And Spock getting hit by it and not emoting. Spock either amused or flattered.

Which is a hilarious scenario with poor Spock.

NYOTA UHURA IS A STRONG, INTELLIGENT, INDEPENDENT WOMAN NOT MADE JUST FOR THE SAKE OF A MAN’S CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. IT’S THE OPPOSITE OF WHY SHE WAS MADE AND A DISGRACE TO HER CHARACTER. She was essentially robbed of being her own independent character for 2 movies with scenes that didn’t revolve AROUND SPOCK OF ALL PEOPLE.  Until Pegg wrote her right (god bless Pegg and Jones). Until that movie, she was only known as Spock’s girlfriend in those two movies. If they could accurately write a relationship between  Spock and Uhura without turning her into “Spock;s development” then I will be perfectly fine. Racism is saying “No, you can’t do that because you are colored” I don’t know why everyone thinks being racist is splitting apart a disgusting, horrible betrayal of both LGBT+ icons and putting them to their rightful pairing. Jim and Spock are not white people, SPOCK IS GREEN and JIM IS WHITE.


Does anyone not realize how humans in star trek were probably racist as fuck toward Vulcans before the united federation of planets were established? How Vulcans were treated by bigots, racists, bipobic, homophic, and people of all kind until they were brought together by space? And got over their differences? I have to admit, in star trek there are still likely some xenophobic people who do not represent humanity because THESE XENOPHOBIC people are the minority. Consider how T’Pol and Tripp dealt with becoming a couple on Earth, holding hands, and the stares they probably got onN Earth. I had to bring this argument up because they are both two different colors. Humans are pink/white. Vulcans are green. Do you see my analogy? Spock is not green in AOS for some stupid reason that I don’t know why. Now to the next pairing that is interacial relationship!

Nyota Uhura and Christine Chapel share a interracial W/W relationship. Christine Chapel appeared in the first star trek aos movie in the background as does Geoffrey M’Benga. They are a canon couple according to star trek tos episodes. Nyota values beauty over male attraction. She also kissed Christine on the lips. She also called T’Pring lovely. AND OH, NEED I SAY THE LOOK SHE GAVE JANICE IN CHARLIE X EPISODE?

So wonderfully gay. <3

Scotty and Uhura, in TOS movie, were brought together because they are sweet and I think Shatner probably forgot about Christine or–wait, he does not ever watch anything with him inside in it so there is a good chance he didn’t watch TOS and went off his memory. It was the logical thing to do on his part. But either way, they were cute and they were relatable. Dedicated to their job. They were married to their job. They represent people who were in the same career who gradually fell in love over decades. I consider that timeline with Uhotty as something that happens in the canonically TNG prime timeline due to Tryla Scott. Nyota and Christine probably raised Tryla’s grandparent when Scotty was stuck in the transporter. Scotty and Uhura started out as friends. One pairing is not interested in the captain and loves the ship but also cares too much about his friend Nyota. Nyota cares about her teddy bear engineer, very, very much. She is bisexual in that timeline. The other pairing, captained by James T. Kirk, is highly in love with Spock and the ship.  And is pansexual.

If I sound insulting, please tell me because I do not mean to. 



Ok no hate to anyone lol just a few thoughts i have for certain points in s4

1. Idk why john seems so ‘’obsessed’’ with the idea of sherlock and irene being a thing like??? He has seen irene drugging and beating sherlock in front of his eyes. As he said, she is dangerous and a lunatic ect ect. Why would john want sherlock to end up with someone like this? John literally says that romantic  entanglement would complete sherlock as human being ect ect and the whole point was that sherlock would be a better person if he was in a relationship with a nice woman -thats the part where i laugh- but if irene is dangerous and has nothing to give to sherlock mentally, because their characters are literally the same, then how on earth would their relationship complete sherlock? I mean, John could easily ‘’push’’ Sherlock to Molly. She is not dangerous, sherlock trusts her and everyone knows she has feelings for him. But for some reason John never mentioned her in the entire dialogue. Not even as an ‘’’’’’option’’’’’’ which could be logical in this situation. Why? Could it be because John was actually talking about he and Sherlock and not Sherlock and Irene?? And every word in that part is a fricking mirror?!

2. The lying detective is literally some kind of ‘’mirror’’ for the reichenbach fall. All these -tw- mentions of suicide, a man literally drives sherlock mad -the whole culverton smith thing, mary’s video which could be some parallel of moriarty’s  ‘Sir Boast-a-lot’, how sherlock is literally ready to die for john. At the end of trf we have Ella saying to john that there was stuff he wanted to say ect ect and john cannot say it now. Is The-Before- Hug part a parallel of john’s scene with Ella.’’ The stuff he always wanted to say but he didn’t. And his chance didn’t last forever because it was gone before he knew it’’. I can really explain it but i think you get me.

3.  At Rosie’s christening Molly asks Sherlock if he has seen John’s texts to him. Sherlock says -what a fucking ass tbh- that he deletes every text which starts with ‘hi’. So, john wasn’t texting Sherlock because he wanted something. But because he just wanted to… approach him, to talk with him. A single 'Hi’. When john meets Elizabeth-Eurus, he starts texting with her and all. But… BUT if Sherlock answered his texts, would he still text her?? Or would he just flirt with Sherlock instead. John was feeling left out. Sherlock was always with Mary, and he was pretty much ignored and we even saw that our dear Sherlock was ignoring him although john would just probably try to flirt with him because.. he was feeling bored as fuck in his marriage. But if Sherlock wasn’t a lil bitch, and actually responded to John’s texts… then what would happen?! And remember in TLD when john said 'But i wanted more. I still want more’ WAS HE ACTUALLY TALKING ABOUT HOW HE WANTED TO HAVE SEX WITH THAT WOMAN OR A RELATIONSHIP OR SOMETHING?! OR THAT HE WANTED MORE THAN HER?! -aka Sherlock- Idk but thinking about the whole situation and how john was always being left out in TST, it would be possible for john to use Elizabeth-Eurus to 'replace’ Sherlock to him. She was his sister after all. And they look alike. But john wanted more. And he still wants more. And he literally told to himself to 'Get the hell on with it’. So why didn’t he try to meet her and hook up with her after that? Why didn’t we see him texting her? Because the 'more’ he wanted and still wants was Sherlock.

4.  *OK NO OFFENSE WITH THIS ONE OKAY* You know, some shippers say at this point that the music that was playing behind that moment was the from the same scene in Casino Royale when James Bond comforts Vesper and this means Molly is the only woman Sherlock ever fell in love with ok so…No! At this point Sherlock wasn’t playing the role of 'James Bond’ but the role of 'Vesper’. The music is not about Molly being the only woman Sherlock ever truly loved but it is about SHERLOCK BEING THE ONLY MAN MOLLY EVER TRULY LOVED. In the film, Vesper is emotionally frustrated as she has seen men getting killed in front of her eyes and shit. The same emotions Sherlock has. He saw like 5 ?? people getting killed in front of him a few minutes ago and he thought that another person -Molly- would almost get killed in front of him. Him breaking the coffin and then sitting there exhausted, feeling tortured, can be seen as a mirror for Vesper, when Bond found her under the shower, fully clothed with a broken wine bottle and the cold water hitting her, shivering and feeling frustration after she witnessed these horrible things and saying ’ It’s like there is blood on my hands. It’s not coming off’ meaning that she feels kind responsible for what happened. The same way Sherlock smashes the coffin, because he feels responsible for Molly’s position, how close she was to death and how he made her feel and he is angry and emotionally traumatized. But who is 'James Bond’ in that moment, who will find Sherlock mentally tired and feeling guilty, and will give him strength?? I think he is the number one James Bond fan in the series, Johnathan.

6. ‘’get the hell on with it’’, ‘’ Forgive me, but you are doing yourself a disservice. I have known many people in this world but made few friends, and I can safely say … ‘’ ????!!!!!!!!!!!!????????????!!!!!!!!!!!


The Kindness of Strangers - A Dan Howell fic

A mixture of excitement and nerves bubbled in her stomach as she jumped onto the mid-morning train to London.  She quickly slipped into the free four-seater space in her carriage, glad that she could sit down and ready herself for the day ahead. She settled down, placing her scripting on the table in front of her and began to stare aimlessly out of  the window, which she thought would continue for the 2 hour journey she was anticipating.

You see it was the day of her audition. Today she was heading up to London for her first round audition to drama school and the nerves were getting to her. She was well aware that there were more of these auditions to come as she had applied to more than one drama school and was looking forward to a life of auditions for actually acting jobs, yet she couldn’t help dwelling on the horror stories she had heard about past drama school auditions where they had forced the newbie acting student to humiliate themselves or otherwise perform mind bending tasks mid auditions. She shuddered at the thought. Determined to keep calm she decided to listen to some music and look over her scripting one more time.

About an hour into the journey, absentmindedly staring out of the window, someone shuffled into the seat opposite her. She turned to look at them and give them a small smile to show that she wasn’t going to be the crazy lady on the train when she realised that it wasn’t a random stranger sat opposite her, but Dan Howell.

A number of thoughts ran quickly through her head; should I introduce myself? Should I leave him alone? I don’t want to come across like a stalker! But before she could say anything she couldn’t help but notice that he looked extremely pale. Dan let out a large sigh and began rubbing his temple as he gradually sank into his seat. So without thinking she blurted out  “Wow, you look like you’ve had a shit day?”

Dan made eye contact with her, brow furrowed in confusion at his neighbours sudden outburst. She claps her hands to her mouth in utter embarrassment.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I meant to say ‘Are you okay?’. It’s just that you don’t seem your normal self, it just came out wrong!.” Her face burned red and she stared down at her lap, cringing internally. But Dan laughed quietly.

“That was almost as awkward as something I would do”. He smiled sheepishly at her and she lifted her gaze to meet his eyes.

“Okay, let me try again.” She laughed slightly breathlessly. “Are you okay? You seemed stressed or upset or something?” Dan straightened in his chair slightly to face her and sighed.  

“Well thanks for asking, I’m actually just hugely jet lagged and I fucked up timing for my train and missed a connection and Phil was waiting for me and now he’s pissed off…” Dan trails of and begins rubbing his forehead again.

“Shit that sucks. Look I’ve got some paracetamol here if you have a headache or…” She offers politely, rooting around in her bag.

“Oh my god yes please” Dan says gratefully accepting.

“Don’t worry I’m not trying to drug you.” She says, laughing.  

Dan chuckles and replies a quick “I’m not sure I believe you” before taking a couple pills.

“Anyway” he continued “I’m Dan, I’m guessing you’re a subscriber?” he smiled kindly, but was obviously still tired.

“Well yes. I love your videos, it’s really great to meet you!” She says sheepishly.

“Yeah, I guess I don’t look that great but if you want a picture or something…” Dan started in a slightly resigned tone.

“…Oh, no. Don’t worry about it you’re super tired I don’t want to bother you.” Just as she spoke the food trolley began to rattle down the carriage, and Dan’s face lit up for a second.

“I would kill for a coffee right now, and I’m so hungry because I had to skip breakfast…” he awkwardly pulled his wallet out of his skinny jeans to pay, but his face fell when he saw he had no change. “Fuck my life.” said Dan as he defeatedly lent his head against the window, closing his eyes in frustration. At this moment the food trolley rattled passed and, taking pity on him, she signaled for it to stop.

“Two coffees, please. A bacon sandwich and an orange juice.” She smiles politely at the server. Dan, however, quickly sat up from his defeated slouch.

“No, you can’t pay for my coffee… I don’t know you and I don’t want to give you the wrong impression but..” He starts off quickly but she buts in.

“Dan you don’t owe me anything. I would have done this for anyone who is as tired as you. Don’t get worked up about it.” She pays the fare and then pushes the food over. “Seriously I don’t want to be mean but you look like shit. Drink the orange juice, the vitamin C will make you feel better and stop you from getting ill after being over tired.” Dan resists slightly and then his face dissolves into a weak smile and he mutters a ‘thanks’ before ripping open the seal on the sandwich and taking the biggest bite he could manage. She laughs slightly at his obvious hunger and he stifles a laugh too, realising what he must look like.  Unfortunately the laughing makes him choke a little on the huge amount of bread he just stuffed in his mouth,  thus making you both laugh more. Dan was now making a horrendous half laughing, half  choking sound that had her in hysterics. People on the train begin to turn around and you both end up in a fit of silent laughter as Dan attempts to regain composure by hiding his face with a napkin. You both have tears streaming down your face before Dan manages to stutter out;

“Oh my God I’m so sorry that was really gross. I’m so awkward, I want to die.”  He peers out from behind his hand which he was using to cover his face in embarrassment.

“Hahaha I wish I had taken a picture of your face, it was so funny.” She wipes her eyes and tries to slow her breathing.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t rub it in.” Dan mutters in fake annoyance. “At least I made you laugh, even if you were laughing at my pain!”

“Meh, haven’t you kind of made a career out of that though!” She replies lightly, smirking at Dan’s cynicism.

“Touche” replied Dan. “But anyway, what do you do for a job?” he slipped a little from his drink as he waited for an answer.  

“Well actually I want to be an actor.” She said slightly shyly. “Today is my audition for drama school training which is why I’m heading to London.”

“That’s such a cool job! I wish I was an actor sometimes!” Dan interjected enthusiastically.”I’m a movie nerd as it is.”.

“Well you’re part of the reason I decided this was definitely for me!” Dan raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “You see as I was going through the whole process of deciding on career paths in school, you dropped out of uni and I just thought I was being pushed in the same direction you had been and…well..I just knew that acting was the best choice for me and…well I dunno…” She trialed of shyly, thinking that perhaps she had comes across a bit too intensely.

“Wow, thanks.” said Dan, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “I didn’t know I was inspiring the next generation of actors!” He added jokingly doing and over-the-top smug face.

“It wasn’t all you, you idiot!” She said, regaining her confidence. “I would probably have done it anyway. You just helped me make my decision! Can’t have you getting big headed now can we.” She laughs again and Dan pouts his lip.

“And there was I think I was all influential..” He says shaking his head and tutting. They both took a sip of their coffee and smile on their faces. “So what have you got in front of you?” He asks, gesturing the the paper scripting lying between the both of them of the table.

“Ah these are my monologues for today… I have Anne Boleyn, two Shakespeares, and a couple of backups.” Dan picks them up and begins to read. She couldn’t help but notice how peaceful he looked when he was reading, his head tilting slightly to the side when he didn’t understand one of Shakespeare’s phrases or a slight smile crossing his face when he understood a joke. Se gently sipped her coffee and tried not to stare. His brow furrowed when he reached the Anne Boleyn speech.

“What the actual fuck is this one about?” he asks slightly bemused, looking up and catching her eye. She lets out a small laugh.

“Yeah, thats a modern 2010 adaption and in that scene she’s carrying her own decapitated head and haunting James I…pretty much all modern plays are crazy and kind of dark so I wouldn’t trouble yourself with it!” Dan gave a confused and horrified expression and gently laid the piece of paper down. She chuckled again at him and just nodded in agreement to his reaction.

“Anyway, good luck with your audition today I’m sure you’ll be great.” He smiled gently, his face genuinely encouraging, small, delightful wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. Suddenly the butterflies filled her stomach again as she remembered the full extent of the upcoming audition. “God, are you okay you just went white!” he laughed slightly. “Look, we’ve swapped roles. Here have some orange juice it will magically make you feel better!” he jokingly proffers the orange juice and she looks up from the scripting to make eye contact with him.

“Thanks” she says, returning the smile, “actually I just got nervous again” The smile got slightly weaker as the nerves grew. “you see you distracted me earlier from feeling nervous and now I’ve remembered and I want to die.”. She made a caricatured frowny face  in his direction and he laughed softly.

“Naw, don’t worry you’ll be fine. Where are you going next, we might be walking the same way? Dan says, gesturing out of the window. The train is at Waterloo station already and the nerves doubled in her stomach. The last hour had flown so fast as well. THey both begin to gather their things and stand up.

“Well I’m getting the tube to the Barbican because it’s a 5 minute walk from there.” She says, swinging her bag onto her shoulder.

“Oh cool, I’m on the same line so we can go most of the way together.” He says smiling a swinging his bag onto his shoulder.

“If you don’t mind, I’m a newbie here. You don’t have to stick around on principle, he can go if you’d like.” She didn’t want to seem like she was obsessed with him or anything, although she was really quite a big fan.

“It’s seriously no problem, you just brought me breakfast and I was having a shit day so I owe you one.” He smiled down at her as they shuffled their way to the carriage door and stepped out onto the platform. “okay, so you ut your ticket into the machine and the gates open for you…” he begins in a patronising tone.

“Yeah okay, I’m not that much of a newbie I know how a ticket barrier works you twat.” She chides back at him, eliciting a laugh from Dan. She doesn’t want to hold up the flow of people though so quickly puts her ticket in a steps through the barrier before she could cause a crowd to form. Taking a few steps forward she turns around to see Dan doing an appreciative face and nodding at her.

“Not bad for a country bumpkin in the big city!” he says mockingly over the heads of the crowd around him. You smile as he reaches the gates himself and ends up crashing into them. There is an instant pile up behind him and a lot of impatient businessmen sighing in annoyance. She laughs at Dan as he realises his ticket hasn’t been accepted and has to shamefully work his way against the current of people towards the guard of the other ticket barrier, a look of utter embarrassment on his face. When he is eventually let through the barrier he walks up to where she is standing, waiting and tapping her foot.

“Who’s the newbie Howell?” She says with mocking curiosity biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“shut up, shut up, shut up” mutters Dan as he walks past her, avoiding eye contact and heading for the tube.

It’s only a few stops until she has to get off and the whole way Dan was teased about his inability to use public transport. They both stood on a platform about the head in different directions. They both smiled at each other, both their faces slightly red from laughing on the way there.

“Well good luck today for your audition, I’m not going to lie it sounds terrifying.” Dan says with a smirk.

“Haha thanks for the reassurance. Good luck with handling the rest of the tube on your own since you’re such a newbie.” That earned her a playful grimace from Dan as he shook her shoulders in mock annoyance. They laughed together then Dan pulled her into a hug.

“Despite you turning out be really annoying, it was nice to meet you.” Dan joked, pulling away from the hug and revealing a very dimply smile. “You really have made my day better, you kind stranger.”  

“Ah, well a bacon sandwich is a good ice breaker anywhere.” She giggles back.

“Hey, have my number so we can keep in touch.” said Dan, reaching for his phone. Her smiled broadened in excitement. “wait first, lemme take a selfie!” he added. They both laugh and squish their faces together to take a photo. She tells him her number and he dials it into his phone.

“Okay well I have to go now because I’ve got to catch the next one” she says rushingly pointing to the oncoming tube train.

“Oh right yeah! Goodbye, good luck…!” She waves to him as she scrambles onto the train.

“See you later newbie” she shouts just before the doors close, just in time to see him grimace in annoyance at the nickname. She laughed as the tube sped off. Wow, she thought. What a wonderful man Dan Howell is. She smiled to herself just as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She had a text from an unknown number. It read:

“i think i’ll call my next video ‘the kindness of strangers’

btw thanks for the bacon sarnie

love from newbie x”

anonymous asked:

Do you remember how Harry said he always stood at an arm's length away from Vernon? And Vernon had a habit of throwing things when he got angry (e.g. in GoF when the Weasleys ruin the fireplace). So while I think the Dursleys mostly stuck to verbal/psychological abuse, they probably also sometimes physically abused Harry as well. Harry has anger management issues, difficulty expressing physical affection, etc and the Dursleys are why. Jo's first marriage was abusive so that's pby why it's so raw


I’m going through all the books and keeping track of certain things-one of those things is Harry’s interactions with the Dursleys.

One of the worst things, in terms of bad things that happen to Harry, is the way the Dursleys treated Harry.Your early childhood shapes who you are, most of your base personality is set by age five, and while everyone is capable of change and growth, most people never do.

Petunia-she has, you know, reasons. It doesn’t excuse her behavior-in fact, it makes it worse, but one can at least understand that her relationship is completely tied into the fact that Harry is Lily’s son, her sister, this person with whom she’s had this very painful, complicated relationship. 

Vernon, though, Vernon is a sadistic, dark person. He looks down on everyone, prides himself on being superior, and loves using his position of power over other people. I think the abuse was mostly psychological, verbal, but it definitely got physical on occasion by Vernon, and definitely by Dudley. Vernon, this man who got off on being in charge of people-of yelling at them, making them cower before him-was horrified by magic because he was afraid of it, because it was more powerful than him.

A straight line can be drawn from Harry’s issues, just as you said-management issues, expressing physical affection-to the Dursleys. The fact that Harry was able to overcome it, or kept trying to overcome it, is something I just adore him for, but it will probably be, to an extent, lifelong battles.

They neglected him at best, abused him at worst, and I am so glad that Jo included it, painful as it is. If it had been this little boy who dealt with the greatest wizard and that had been the story, it was only this epic, sweeping story that took place in the magical world, we would love it but it wouldn’t touch us the way it does. What makes Jo such a fantastic author is that she shows struggles we can all relate to-being bullied, being outcast, dealing with idiots in school, dealing with ignorance, dealing with stereotypes, dealing with being sent to prison for 12 years for murders we didn’t commit… Not that last one, but you know what I mean. She includes real struggles and she includes people who get over their struggles, and people who don’t and probably never will.

Dumbledore does many, many great things in the books, but my favorite, the moment when he wins my loyalty, is this:

“‘Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of ocassions, is in even greater danger then the day when I left him on your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents’ murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own.’

Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm, and he gave no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew very slightly closer together.

‘You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting between you.’

Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley sitting between them.

‘Us-mistread Dudders? What d'you-?’ began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his finger for silence, a silcne which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.

‘The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house ‘home.’ However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment Harry turns Seventeen; in other words, the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time.’

None of Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, as though he was still trying to work out when he had ever been mistreated. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however was oddly flushed.”