#such a shame because the one RIGHT before him had cross poison LMAO

[whenthelightisrunninglow]

here comes a special boy! here comes a special boy!

encountered at a search rating of 102! very lucky

[duskholland]

The Fame Game (Prologue) | Tom Holland

Summary ↠ There’s just something about Tom Holland that makes your blood boil. He walks around like he owns the world, always with an unhelpful quip or irritating smirk on hand. You can’t stand him, and your feud has burned hard and bright for three years. Everything changes following an explosive evening at the Oscars, when a questionable encounter with the paparazzi lands you in some hot water with PR... fake dating au; enemies to lovers; actor!y/n.

Word count ↠ 4.6k

Warnings ↠ Alcohol, paparazzi, swearing, discussions of misogyny and the corruption of fame, Tom and Y/N are both very petty, dramatic assholes.

A/N ↠ Ahhh it’s here! I was really shocked by how many people responded to the announcement post for the series -- I hope so much that this doesn’t disappoint anyone lol. This series is my baby, and I’m very excited to share it with you all. Before we dive into the fake dating, we must first explore a very critical evening for Tom and Y/N... hahahah. This was a lot of fun to write. Please let me know if you’ve got any thoughts! :D 

(Tom’s in the FFH premiere outfit because I’m still in love with that fit, and the jury’s out for whether or not the actual Tom needs glasses to see; this version of him just uses them as a fashion statement lmao)

((The biggest thank you ever to V, mischiefandi, for being this series’ no.1 supporter and proofing this -- love you mate))

Series masterpost

ZERO: The Oscars (Y)

The atmosphere at Vanity Fair’s Oscars after-party is electric.

The soft boom of the latest pop tunes seeps into the air, mixing with the warm lights and the sounds of clinking champagne flutes. The room holds Hollywood’s best, and it seems no matter which direction you tilt your head, your eyes find themselves settling over a familiar face. You’re walking amongst legends tonight, and as you throw back your third glass of champagne of the evening, you let a small smile unfurl across your lips. 

It isn’t your first time attending the Oscars, but it is the first time you haven’t felt utterly out of your depth surrounded by people of this calibre. When you’d first started in the acting industry, you’d found it incredibly unsettling to enter a room full of Oscar-winners. Even now you remember how your hands had felt slick with sweat as you’d nervously been introduced to Meryl Streep and Viola Davis, and how you’d felt imposter syndrome on a scale you’d never imagined possible. Time and experience have brought you many things, but most importantly, they have gifted you confidence. You’re 24 now, and the string of achievements and nominations tied to your belt is so impressive that they deem you no longer an outsider at the Oscars; instead, it’s as if you’ve been accepted into the fold. 

But for all the enjoyment of the lavish after-party, you can’t stop your mood from plummeting. It’s all fun and games until your eyes sweep the room and settle on a smirking figure standing in the corner: 

Tom Holland. 

Just the sight of him makes your nostrils flare. 

You think it must be true what they say: once you start to dislike someone, it’s as if every single thing they do irritates you. This is how you feel with Tom. Even the smallest, most insignificant details about him somehow manage to annoy you. You cannot stand the smell of his hair gel, and you detest the way he stubbornly refuses to mend his phone screen. Your teeth grit together every time you see that smug smirking grin hanging from his lips, and you get worked up by the way he always seems to swagger around as if he owns the room. The grievances fall into several categories: his aesthetic choices, his generally smug demeanour, and his irritating personality, and it all fosters your deep, unyielding disapproval of the man.

Tom infuriates you beyond belief - beyond words. And he’s standing across the room right now, staring at you over the rim of his wine glass with a teasing smirk hanging from his stupid lips. 

You try to ignore him at first. You lick your lips and return your attention to a conversation with some of your co-stars. You know better than to try and approach anyone else tonight. Your reputation, as your PR team likes to put it, is ‘fragile’ at the moment. A string of uncomplimentary ex-lovers and a few disgruntled directors have shattered your pristine public image, making you regarded as both a rising talent and loose cannon by the media. There’s been a common trend recently of news outlets dragging your name through the mud, and the desperate words of PR as they’d begged you not to cause a scene tonight drift through your mind as you contemplate wandering over to Tom. 

You know it isn’t in your best interests to engage with the man - no matter the occasion, your conversations always end explosively - but Tom is just standing there, staring at you persistently, and you just can’t help it.

Your tongue flicks out across your lower lip as you feel his hot gaze trailing around your made-up cheek. His eyes are intense - holding power over you, to the point where you have you excuse yourself from your conversation. An exasperated sigh slips past your lips as you turn around, preparing yourself for your encounter. Your stare finds him, and it follows Tom as he strides across the party towards you, one hand hanging easily from his trouser pocket as the other clasps an intricately engraved wine glass.

The frown on your lips deepens the nearer Tom gets, and as more details of his figure draw into focus. He’s got his chestnut waves slicked back tonight, with a few stray strands hanging out across his forehead. It makes him look dishevelled, but in a devilishly handsome sort of way - which makes sense, given you’re reasonably sure he must have some kind of relationship with Lucifer himself. Stretched across the wide expanse of his shoulders is a deep burgundy suit, and it cages him in tightly, leaving little to the imagination. Your lips curl into a poisonous grimace as your eyes finally fall on the glasses perched on his nose; you’re sure Tom doesn’t even need glasses, and it riles you up to see him parading the frames as a fashion statement. 

But perhaps the thing about his ensemble that annoys you the most is the fact that you can’t look away. No matter how hard you beg yourself, you can’t drag your gaze away from Tom’s swagger, or the tight hold he has on the stem of the glass, or the way his eyes dance with a dark, mischievous glint as he falls to a stop in front of you. Tom is many things to you, but it’s undeniable that you find him attractive, and that fact often keeps you seething well into the early hours of the morning. 

“Y/N,” Tom greets, his voice dripping charm. “Lovely to see you again.” His thin pink lips twist up into a smirk, and you find yourself clenching your fingers into fists around the tender stem of your champagne flute.

“Tom.” You step forwards, and your lips catch at his cheek as you press a firm, unwavering greeting to his face. You feel his warm hand slip from his pocket, and it grazes across your hip as Tom holds you closer. “You look to be enjoying yourself.”

When you pull back, you linger near him, allowing Tom to return the gesture by pressing his hot mouth to your cheek. He smells of rich, overpowering cologne, and you scrunch your nose up as his lips burn against your skin.

“It’s quite the party tonight,” he returns, stepping back. Tom’s beady little brown eyes run across your figure, taking in the long designer gown and the decadent sparkly necklace hanging from your neck. He graces you with an approving nod. “Are you having a nice time?”

“I was.” You pause to take a long sip of champagne, finding comfort in the way the bubbles pop against your tongue. You hope the alcohol will help to take the edge off the way your heart has started to pound against your ribs. “It’s a shame you had to come over here and ruin my mood.”

“Couldn’t help but notice you were staring at me, love,” he says, “Thought maybe you had something you’d like to say to me.”

You feel a hot spike of irritation as his lips curve effortlessly around the word love. Tom has always been a fan of pet names. The ease in which they roll from his tongue in that smooth, accented voice never fails to charm the room, and though you like to think you’re immune to his allure, you can feel the word spinning around your head like a broken record.

“Not really,” you return coolly, maintaining your composure with the poise and precision of a seasoned actress. You even manage to flash him an apologetic smile. “No big award for you tonight, though? Must be heartbreaking.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “Are you really still caught up on the BAFTA?” He asks, his voice lower and harder. 

The mood between you dips, and instinctively you find yourself moving away into a quieter corner of the room. As you drift away from the hordes of celebrities guzzling champagne, it’s as if the facade between you breaks down. Your smirk becomes harder, your eyes less forgiving - and in return, Tom’s smile sours into a grimace, and he holds himself straighter. The masks you wear come off, leaving you both bare and exposed. 

“No,” you respond darkly. You’re tucked away in the corner of the party, with your back almost against the wall as Tom lingers in front of you. Both of you have discarded your drinks glasses. “I couldn’t care less that you won the BAFTA, Tom. If the jury decided you were worthy, then you were worthy. I would have to be very unreasonable to disagree with the committee.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Y/N.” Tom tilts his head to the side, flashing the tips of his shiny white teeth as his mouth loosens into a wild smile. 

“Fine.” You give him an excessive sigh, and you let your eyes drift towards his mouth. “I don’t buy it, Tom.”

Tom’s suit jacket breaks out into wrinkles as he crosses his arms across his chest. “You don’t buy what?”

“This act.”

Tom almost rolls his eyes again. “And which act are you referring to, Y/N?”

“The Mr Nice Guy Act, Thomas.” The way he flexes his jaw makes you lean nearer and smirk. “Everyone here thinks you’re such a wonderful man, but I see right through it.”

It’s hard to know precisely when your feelings towards Tom became so hostile, but you like to pinpoint the night of the BAFTAs in 2017 as the day you surpassed the point of no return. You were younger then - both of you - and things quickly got out of hand. You know Tom likes to pinpoint your ‘jealousy’ following his win and your snub at the awards show as the catalyst for your tumultuous relationship, but both of you know that night was the product of several cumulative events.

Your best friend had worked with Tom’s mate Harrison, all those years ago in 2016. You knew Harrison through her, and you got on well enough with him, so when the BAFTA academy had nominated both you and Tom as contenders for Rising Star, Harrison had orchestrated an exchange of phone numbers. However, given your packed schedule and press engagements, you had failed to respond to all of Tom’s attempts to contact you. 

One thing led to another. Tom assumed you were dodging his texts and started bad-mouthing you to Harrison. Word travelled to you that this guy - the competition - was throwing shade to your name, and so you might have made a few choice remarks about him on Ellen and suggested that Tobey Maguire was the best Spider-Man. Whatever. It was all so petty and childish, and it’d escalated to boiling point on the night of the BAFTAs when Tom hadn’t been able to shut up and thrust his win right into your face - quite literally. You can still remember the way he’d clutched the trophy as he’d shown it off in all its grandeur.

Ever since then, your relationship has been poisonous. A case of miscommunication and petty jealousy turned hostile, and now you’re in far too deep to even think about mending the fractured dynamic. 

“I am a nice guy,” Tom tells you. His eyes skim across your face, and you don’t miss the way they drag across the curve of your lower lip.

“As if.” You ponder which anecdote you should fall back on to prove your point, and it takes a while to select one: the pool of Tom’s past mistakes and moves against you is vast and wide. “Would a nice guy conveniently forget to invite me to Harrison’s birthday party?”

Tom winces, and something almost like regret flickers out across his face before he meets your eyes and hardens up his gaze. “I’ve already told you that was a case of miscommunication,” he says slowly, patronising. “I doubt you would have enjoyed it anyway, Y/N. Wasn’t exactly your type of party.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Your hand finds your waist, gripping firmly at your flesh to stop your fingers from shaking. The way Tom looks at you so intensely makes you feel strung-out and bare, and it’s almost as if he can see straight through you.

“It was a small, intimate gathering. From what I’ve been hearing, you’re a fan of the larger, more explosive parties, aren’t you?”

You could throttle him. You could really, truly throttle him. You know with certainty that Tom’s referring to the latest smear the media had run against you, which had placed you at an illegal rave in Downtown LA and cost you a role in a film you were passionate about. 

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids, Tom.” 

“Maybe not.” Tom’s closer to you now. You find your back brushing up against the wall as he steps nearer yet again, his shiny leather shoes sparkling beneath the light curving out from the chandeliers. “I’d like to think I know you quite well, though, Y/N. We have known each other for several years.”

“I’d use the word ‘known’ very loosely if I were you. I think it’s more like, ‘been plagued by’, but you do you, Tom.” 

He laughs, and this time the noise is lighter. You feel a little woozy from the champagne - or maybe it’s his cologne - and you let your hand wander up to rest on the top of Tom’s suit. You drag your fingers across the smooth material, marvelling at how soft the designer garb is to touch.

“Do you like my suit?” Tom asks, his voice lower than before. There’s a strange charge to the air between you, and you find yourself nodding.

“I disagree with the glasses, but your suit is decent. I have to admit that this colour looks flattering on you.” The bold burgundy tones bring out the warmth in his eyes, even if the stupid thin frames of his glasses obscure them. You watch as his pupils widen and feel the warmth of Tom’s breath as he inches in closer. 

“Thanks,” he says. Tom’s hand winds around your waist. “Your dress is very nice.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly feeling dry. You briefly wish that you had another glass of champagne to keep you occupied because you find your other hand joining the first and finding purchase on Tom’s shoulder. He’s very close to you, and there’s nowhere left to move because you’d backed up against the wall. Fleetingly you wonder what it must look like, to be hidden away at the back of the party and caged in like this, but you decide that the flurry of heated emotions passing through his eyes and the way his thumb pads over your waist is worth it.

Neither of you says a word, but you watch through wide eyes as Tom’s gaze flickers out across your lower lip. He inches in closer, almost painfully slowly, his demeanour radiating a shaky confidence as he tilts the angle of his head. You watch the hard lines of his mouth dissolve, and his smirk melts away into something like a smile as his eyes flutter shut. Now Tom is very close - so, so close - and the gap between your mouths narrows by the second.

He’s going to kiss you. You know he’s going to kiss you. Why is he going to kiss you? Why are you going to let him kiss you-

“Y/N! Hey, congrats on the film. I saw it last week with my wife, and she loved it-”

Tom springs back. You gasp a short breath of air as your eyes widen, and the film of scattered emotions that had temporarily disarmed you shatters. Tom’s cheeks are bright red, and he doesn’t seem to know where to look or what to do as he jams his hands into his trouser pockets and stares at the floor.

“-Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something?”

Your throat tickles as you shake your head, looking up to see Mark Ruffalo standing there, his expression relaxed but growing in confusion as he drinks in the awkward tension rippling between you and Tom.

“No,” you say immediately, a bite to your voice. You refuse to look at Tom. “You weren’t interrupting anything.”

Mark releases a breath of relief and launches back into his speech, complimenting you profusely on your performance. You become distracted as you listen to him, but not enough to forget about the way Tom had leaned closer and brushed his thumb across your side almost gently. After a few moments of conversation, you can’t stop yourself from glancing over towards Tom, only to notice that he’s slunk away elsewhere. His absence makes your heart twist.

Another hour slips away, and you find yourself returning to the Moët for release. You can feel your composure gliding away from you with each fateful sip. Tom seems to have vanished, and you find yourself questioning if he’s so embarrassed by your moment in the corner that he had to leave. You wonder if that would be better than him staying.

But eventually, your eyes seek him out, as they always seem to do. And you catch him chatting with a woman, his arm around her shoulders and his lips brushed against her ear. Tom seems to feel your gaze on him, and his deep brown eyes meet with yours. He raises his eyebrows and whispers something into the woman’s ear that makes her laugh, and it sends something whipping down your spine.

It isn’t just jealousy - it goes deeper than that. It’s the realisation that you could never get away with this behaviour. You know that if the roles were reversed and it was you who had been seen getting close to two men in one night, you would be assigned a whole host of derogatory names. The double standards that exist in this artificial world of cameras and headlines make you feel sick to your stomach. You are not jealous of the woman beneath Tom’s arm, though you will admit it makes you feel uneasy - it’s the hypocrisy of it all that makes you seethe. 

“Excuse me,” you mutter to no one in particular. Tom’s eyes slip away from yours as you put down your empty glass and turn, heading in the direction of an exit. You wander the vast, glittering ballroom for a few moments before spying a door embedded in the back wall that leads out into a dark alleyway.

When you step out onto the street, the cold February air seems to bring your tipsiness to the forefront of your mind. You giggle softly to yourself and wrap your arms around your chest, your fingers rubbing rapid fiery circles across your exposed flesh as you try to drum up a heat.

You lean back against the wall and stare up at the vacant sky. LA is too polluted to see the stars, but you like to imagine they’re staring down back at you. In the distance, you can hear the sounds of laughter coming out from the hall, and out at the end of the alley you can see the street, cloaked in dark paparazzi vans and dim amber street-lamps, but tucked away up here alone, you feel at peace. 

“Cinderella runs away from the ball, yet again.”

You scowl. Your eyes move away from the dark blanket of clouds to see Tom. He’s ditched the glasses, but you can see the legs sticking out from the pocket sewn to the top of his suit.

“Joined by her ugly pumpkin.” You screw up your nose at your own words, cursing your fizzled mind for messing up the tale. “That’s not right, is it?”

Tom approaches you, his cheeks full of a rosy tipsiness. “Dunno,” he murmurs. “Think I like it better than being called your ugly sister, though.”

“Ew.”

You share a loud, unruly laugh with Tom, your voices mixing almost melodically. When you sigh, you lean further against the wall. 

“I hate it in there,” you find yourself admitting. “So many people were talking about me behind my back. It’s like they think I can’t tell that they’ve just been discussing me when I walk over and the conversation falls silent.” You slot your fingers together and play around with your thumbs. “Everything is so fake. It’s like a game to them.”

A cool breeze floats down the alley, and you find yourself shivering.

“It is a game,” Tom says slowly, all whilst slipping off his suit jacket. He holds it out to you, raising an eyebrow when you shake your head. “It’s cold, Y/N. I know you’re stubborn, but neither of us wants you to freeze out here.”

The mood between you feels tender, and you let yourself accept his warm jacket. You throw it across your shoulders and feel the warm embrace of his suit, and the husky traces of cologne nestled to the fabric, but Tom’s looking at you with an intense gaze, and the sight of his golden browns draws you back to the scenes from inside the party. 

“Saw you chatting with a woman inside,” you say, words a little sharper. “Trying to see how many times you have to try it on before someone bites?”

Tom flinches. The air fills with the sound of him clicking his tongue as he rubs his hands together. “You are so fucking petty, Y/N.”

You raise an eyebrow, responding to his clipped voice with surprise. “Hit a nerve, have I?”

He groans softly. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I shouldn’t swear at you. You just get under my bloody skin.”

You shrug. “You’ve said worse.”

“So have you.”

“Only because you deserve it.”

Tom’s bearing in on you again, but this time you feel more at ease. The scent of his cologne mixes with the sweet champagne that lays fresh across your palette, and it makes you feel delirious. You can’t stop yourself from reaching up and draping your hands across his shoulders, bringing him nearer.

“You drive me crazy,” Tom admits. His voice is husky, his eyes dark and intense. In the slight breeze, strands of his hair waft across his forehead.

“I can’t stand you,” you return. Your heart beats wildly in your chest as his hands dig into your waist. The rough render on the building behind you digs into your back as you loop your arms around Tom’s neck and bring him in closer.

“Neither can I, darling.”

It’s like magnetism - some sort of invisible force pulling you in before you can even fathom it. One moment you’re staring at Tom, scepticism in your eyes and anxiety thick in your chest, the next he’s surged forwards and captured your lips in a messy, sensational kiss. You gasp into his mouth, and your fingers tighten against the short hair at the nape of his neck as you kiss him back harshly. Your noses bump and your teeth collide as Tom grabs at your sides with fervour, and having him clutching at you is so hot that it takes your breath away. The kiss is messy and hurried, and it seems to melt down all the built-up tension and frustration you’ve been nurturing for years. It makes your head hurt, and all you can focus on is how crazy it is that you are kissing Tom Holland - and, horrifyingly, how much you don’t seem to hate it. 

It comes crashing down when there’s a round of flashes, and you hear the telltale sound of paparazzi photographs.

“Shit!” You push Tom away from you immediately, your breath hitching as your head snaps down to the end of the alley. Unbeknownst to either of you, you’ve been spotted by the men with those large, invasive lenses. The flashes continue, and you turn away, your actions almost in slow motion as you feel a wave of nausea travel across your chest.

“Y/N!”

“Tom, Tom!”

“Are you dating?”

“Having a bit of fun tonight, Y/N?”

A chorus of cataclysmic yells come racing down the alley and the howls of the paparazzi mix with the loud sound of camera shutters.

“Fuck.” Tom grabs your arm, and he pulls you away from them, bringing you both back into the party. There’s a tightness in your chest as you gasp for breath, walking in dizzying strides as you card your fingers through your hair anxiously. 

“No, no, no,” you mutter to yourself. You can hear the calls of the paparazzi ringing in your ears, and you dig your fingers into your temples for relief as you snap your head to glare at Tom. “Why did you just kiss me? What’s wrong with you?”

Tom looks pale, and his eyes are round with shock, but he still manages to stare at you incredulously. “You kissed me too?”

You bury your head in your hands. “This is it - this is the last straw. They’re going to have a field day with this.” You peek out at Tom through gaps in your fingers, laughing humourlessly. Your chest burns as you take in his disarmed expression and his deep chocolate eyes. “This is the end.”

“It… It was just one kiss.”

You shake your head furiously. “They’ll run with it. They’ll make a spectacle of us.” Your nails dig into the soft palms of your hands. “You are such an asshole.”

Tom’s mouth, a little red and puffy, twists into something of a snarl. “You kissed me! Why is this my fault?”

“It’s always your fault.” You pause and shake your head. You can’t help but fall back on the naive thought that this truly is all Tom’s fault. You’d been fine before him. You’d been looking into the starless sky. You’d been at peace. He’d just had to waltz on out and trick you into his lips. “Well, I hope you enjoy the end of your career.”

He raises a thin eyebrow. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ve been associated with me, which is the equivalent of getting a big black line scored right across your name.” You reach up and jerk his jacket from your shoulders, and roughly shove it back into Tom’s hands.

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“Really?” Your gaze hardens. “This is all just a game, Tom, don’t you see? We don’t get to decide who stays on top.” You laugh humourlessly, your tongue tasting sourly of champagne. “We have fucked up.”

Tom sets his jaw. One by one, he stuffs his arms through his suit jacket and tugs it back around his body, sinking into it forcibly. He pulls his glasses from the pocket and places them back on the bridge of his nose, balancing them crookedly.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Tom remarks, his voice cold and sharp. You briefly wonder if he understands the magnitude of the situation, and as he sweeps away without so much as a kiss on the cheek goodbye, you realise he probably does.

Without yet wholly understanding it, one drunken kiss has sealed your fate. As you stand there, twiddling with your thumbs in the back corner of the Vanity Fair party, your mind races. You know with absolute certainty that things will never be the same again, but not even your wildest dreams could compare to what is about to come.

buckle up bc I’m about to take us on a ride and a half. may as well have ended this with an ellipsis lmao.

↠  next part

any thoughts?! I am actually dying to know what you’re thinking lmao!! my askbox is open :D

taglist can be found in the series masterpost, which is the pinned post at the top of my blog

masterlist linked in my description 

[milfisolde]

under read more bc i put too much effort into my ocs and there is A Lot. tw for violent stuff

this will be updated every time i think of something for him!

deviantart link

Rollick

“The Ravenous” ? idk I suck at titles

no accessories

Size reference

why does he have anime hair if hes a fish? because he’s my oc and i say so

I MADE ICONS FOR THE LOCATIONS AND CLASS AND OTHER CHAMPIONS’ ABILITIES AND TUMBLR WONT’T LET ME ADD THEM WITHOUT FUCKING THE WHOLE POST UP

Short crappy bio

A young shark-like Vastaya. Born in Ionia, west of the island Sudaro. He was captured as a child by  Bilgewater pirates after straying too close to the surface and being found. Was then put to work on the Slaughter Docks, and trained to hunt in the traditional Serpent Isles manner: “launching themselves at their targets to secure tow-hooks with their bare hands, and beginning to butcher the creatures while they yet lived.”.

I need to update myself on League lore, but I would like him 2 be acquaintances with Nami and Fizz. Also, Rollick would have heard stories about Pyke and would find him really cool. Ideally, he would have Johnny Yong Bosch as his voice actor because I love how he voiced Kung Jin in Mortal Kombat X, but I don’t know how he’d do with a pirate accent lmao.

Kit

Would be classed as a Fighter with the sub-class Diver. At least I think he would.  

His kit is basically just a mash-up of multiple champions with extra ingredients. Riot do it themselves, so I'm allowed to, too. Pirate lingo used for most of his abilities and voice lines b/c I'm not creative for naming things.

 Passive "Blow the Man Down." : A mash-up of Rengar and Darius' but more complicated. Auto-attacking 3 times in a row, or using abilities, gives his unused abilities 3 different tiers of empowerment. (Like, if you auto-attack 3 times, use W, then Q, his E will have tier 3 empowerment.). Tiers 2 and 3 gives the target bleed when hit by abilities, applying "Blood in the Water."  Applying the bleed multiple times makes it stack, tier 2 stacks like two stacks of tier 1 bleed, tier 3 stacks like two stacks of tier 2 bleed. How many times can it stack? Idk. 5? 7? 10?? ok probably not 10 that would be stupid.

2nd passive "Clipper." : Rollick moves faster in the river; this move speed scales with his normal move speed.

Q "Feed the Fish." : Tier 1 is a swipe in an AOE cone with his claws. Tier 2 is a small lunge in a targeted direction with two swipes, one with each hand. Tier 3 is a longer distance lunge with a bite. If tier 3 lands on a moving target (examples: scuttlecrab when it dashes, Ezreal using his E), it will follow the target like Warwick Q/Evelynn E. The bite will also heal him for a small amount.

W "Hook, Line, Sinker." : is like Rengar's Bola Strike with a wider but shorter range for tiers 1 and 2, but he leaps in the targeted direction at tier 3 and if he hits something, covers it with his net and stays on top of them for a short amount of time. Tier 2 spins the target around from they way Rollick throws his net and will turn the opposite direction of the way the target was originally standing. If you're facing Rollick and the tier 2 net hits you, your back is now turned to Rollick.

E "Chase." : Warwick Blood Hunt but either less or more annoying. Cooldown is shorter in duration, but so is its active. The passive part of it only shows paths to champions affected with a bleed, burn or poison DOT effect. (Includes: Rollick's "Blood in the Water", Darius'  "Hemorrhage", Brand's  "Blaze", Gangplank's  "Trial by Fire", Lillia's  "Dream Dust", Cassiopeia's  "Noxious Poison" and  "Debilitating Poison", Twitch's "Deadly Venom", Teemo's  "Toxic Shot" and  "Noxious Trap", Singed's  "Poison Trail", the  "Scorch" rune,  "Ignite" summoner spell,  "Challenging Smite" summoner spell, "Azakana Gaze" from  Demonic Embrace, and "Torment" from  Liandry's Anguish.

R "Cleave 'Em to the Brisket!" : Similar to Skarner's "Impale". Rollick takes the hooked blade he has on his belt and lunges at the target, stabbing into the enemy champion's chest with his chest to their back, and drags them away. "Cleave 'Em to the Brisket!" can only be used on a champion that has their back turned towards Rollick. It applies a tier 3 "Blood in the Water." upon use. It can yank champions out of  Displacement Immunity, but doesn't suppress the target champion entirely, they are still able to use dash and blink abilities, use Thresh's  "Dark Passage", recast  "Death Sentence" , and use most movement summoner spells ( Flash, Hexflash, Mark/Dash), but if they do, half of their current HP is taken away from the hooked knife being dragged/yanked out of them. If you are 30% HP and you use one of the movement abilities mentioned, you will leave with 15% HP and two stacks of tier 3 bleed. For 5 seconds after using his ult, Rollick uses his knife to attack, gaining increased auto-attack range and his autos apply a tier 1 bleed stack per hit. The enhanced auto-attacks drag his targets towards him because of the hook part in his knife getting caught on them.

Animation ideas

(I used google to find every gif/picture, save for the “dance” one. they have tumblr links bc when writing this tumblr shit itself when i wanted to save it as a draft and i kept it open in a different tab and copy/pasted everything. im sorry some of the gifs are weird aslkfjdjf)

Walking animation is him using his arms and tail to "crawl". imagine the gif has a tail instead of legs

Running animation is the same concept, just with much more effort put into making himself move faster. Moving in the river looks more like he’s swimming rather than crawling. Slowed animation is him dragging himself slowly with his head facing the ground, putting weight on his elbows instead of using his arms completely. Like an army crawl but in pain.

Idle animation is him crossing his arms and resting on his elbows, then looking around and inspecting his claws.

If left in idle animation for more than 15 seconds, he drops down completely and puts his head in his arms and dozes off. Moving after the sleep idle will have him shake his head awake when starting to move.

Death animation is him trying to crawl, being unable to, then collapsing on his side and flopping onto his back.

Taunt animation is him straightening himself then lashing out with his hands and baring his teeth before "biting" the air in the direction he’s standing, voice lines coming out before the bite part.

Joke animation is him chasing his own tail? Maybe he gets tangled in his net after doing it for a second and just struggles there until the animation is interrupted.

Dance is uh. He straightens up and does knife tricks. He doesn’t have legs, doesn’t have a staff like Nami, and just wouldn’t dance like Cassiopeia.

I made the gif using footage from here.

His laugh animation would be him laughing and flopping onto his back, then turning back onto his stomach. All but one of his laughs would be loud and hearty, the one that isn’t would sound like Kung Jin’s laugh.

Voice line ideas

First encounters:

Bilgewater/Bilgewater themed champion:

"Ahoy!" "Ahoy, bucko!" "Ahoy, scallywag."

Multiple champions simultaneously/champions who have a visible partner/partners with them (examples: Kindred, Sejuani, Lulu with Pix, Elise with her Spiderlings, Azir with his Sand Soldiers):

"Ahoy, me hearties."

Pyke:

"Pyke?! I’ve heard stories of you! Though… You’re smaller than I had imagined..." "Hey there, old salt! " "Ahoy, seadog! "

Nami:

"Good to see a friendly face! Shame it’s on the wrong side." "Oh! Little lass! Have you found your stone yet? "

Fizz:

"Little trickster! Where’s your big friend? "

Illaoi:

“Test? Gonna get myself an A-plus-plus! …That’s the good grade, right?

Taunts:

Any champion:

"Scurvy dog! " "AAARRRRGGGGHHHH! "

Bird/bird themed/winged champion:

"Polly want a cracker? "

Tahm Kench:

“The only creature with an appetite bigger than mine” “You put me to shame with that maw of yours! You could fit me in it!”

Abilities/eliminations:

Tier 3 "Feed the Fish.":

(after used on champion wearing armour/with tough skin)

"Ouch… I think I broke a tooth. Good thing I got more. "

(after used on champion with fur/feathers/long hair)

" (violent spitting-out-fluff noises) Blegh! "

Tier 1 and 2 "Hook, Line, Sinker. ":

"Catch! " "Avast, ye! "

Tier 2 "Hook, Line, Sinker. " after turning someone around:

"Bring a spring upon ‘er! " "Broadside! "

Using "Chase. " with a DOT’d champion in range:

"Chum in the water…" " (deep inhale, then a rumbling growl) "

Using "Chase. " with affected champion visible:

"Lookin’ a bit squiffy there…" " (laughter) Yesss… "

Eliminate champion:

"Take a caulk. "

Eliminate champion while using "Cleave ‘Em to the Brisket!" or the enhanced auto-attacks after:

"Hah, keelhauled! " “Taste me steel n’ may the devil take ye!”

“PENTAKILL!”:

"Dead men tell no tales…"

Respawn:

"What a flogging…" "Alright, I’ve fed the fish… Now it’s their turn. "

Pings:

(Danger!):

"Heave to! " "Avast ye! "

(Assist me!):

"All hand hoy! " "All hands on deck! "

(Assist me!) followed up by (On my way!), or vice versa:

"Weigh anchor and hoist the mizzen! "

(Area is warded.):

"They’ve got a lookout. "

(Target champion):

"Thar she blows! " "Sail, ho! " "Savvy? " "Hang ‘em from the Yardarm! "

Miscellaneous:

Allied champion drinks potion or gets healed by another ally when Rollick has missing HP:

"Splice the mainbrace! Please?"

Alone with low HP, no potions or actives available, or sells all items:

"Looks like I’m marooned…"

Healed by ally:

"Feeling shipshape!" "Much obliged." "I’m in your debt." "Thank you!" "Thanks!"

Receives shutdown gold:

"Ha-ha! Plundered! " “Bounty taken.”

Flashing away from enemy:

"Blimey! " "Gah!” "Sink me! " " (girly shriek) "

[strangebrews]

tea for two

Summary:  After nearly two hours of preparation, Alfie was finally ready. The table was set, the tea was brewed, and the poison watched at the end of the counter. That was Alfie’s source of entertainment. // Alfie engages in tea party Russian roulette that he himself organized. Tommy, eventually, reacts.

Notes: i had a tiny idea regarding alfie organizing lethal tea parties for funsies a while back, and it became this. also thank you to @sholomons + @those-peakyboys for reading bits of this as a sanity check <3

Warnings: Suicidal Ideation/Suicide Scare/Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms/ - those are the main ones, but if you think there should be more let me know. The rest of them can be found on the AO3 post. I promise this isn’t some devastating ending though, lmao, technically is supposed to be //romantic// in a twisted Tommy Shelby way.

On AO3

------------

Alfie indulged in the art of organizing tea parties later in life, once the crime became routine and uninspiring.

The idea came to him one afternoon, while thumbing through the day’s post. He was struck by a revelation, of sorts, “yeah, because when I went to pick up my cup, right,” he had described the moment to Tommy in detail, “I noticed that there, at the very bottom where the tea leaves floated—there was a message.” His eyes had narrowed, voice low, fingers motioning in the air trying to conjure up the image, “and you know what they were saying to me, those leaves, Tommy—they were saying Alfie, you have got to stop hanging around that Shelby—his witchcraft and madness are starting to rub off on you ” he’d cackled then, which meant the origins would remain unexplained. 

Alfie did, however, commit himself to the task. 

He decided the event would take place in his dining room, using the hand-carved table featured there. Tommy watched him prepare from afar the day of the first tea party. He did not endorse the fucking behavior, but he was curious—it was rare to see Solomons fuss over plate placements.

A frilly tablecloth was dug out from the back of a cupboard, and freshly picked flowers decorated the middle. Alfie used his best porcelain set—the one he claimed was the last heirloom still in his possession from the mother’s side of his family. That bit was a lie, he had admitted to Tommy one day. Instead, he had Ollie scavenge it from some shop window with a sock over his head and tears in his eyes—but that tale was far less interesting. And the foundational role of any host, Alfie knew, was to entertain his esteemed guests.

Tiny silver spoons—ones which nearly disappeared in Alfie’s hand—lay atop carefully folded napkins. He drew the shades, and arranged the biscuits, lips pursed in concentration. The scene looked quite pretty, actually. Meticulously organized—an unexpected detail coming from Alfie Solomons. 

And after nearly two hours of preparation, Alfie was finally ready. The table was set, the tea was brewed, and the poison watched at the end of the counter. 

That was Alfie’s source of entertainment. 

  +++

  His guests were an array of different people. Old friends, new enemies, long standing members of his payroll, a few of the fanciest individuals he knew—each person with some form of stain on their record, at some point having wronged him. Alfie was not entirely cruel. 

“It’ll be a shame,” he had said, “but everyone dies at some point, yeah?”

The trick about the poison was that it took a while to pollute the veins. Alfie had considered this detail as thoughtfully as he had the decorations—determined to avoid frothing mouths from ruining the appeal of his parties. The winners would appear fine until the next morning, so the poison was untraceable in both taste and source. 

For a while, at least. Though even if the pieces were eventually slotted together—who would be brave enough to accuse an aging man of serving tea?

“It just might be genius, Tommy.” Alfie had lifted the vial towards him, eyes glazed over with self-admiration. Going after him would look ridiculous, Alfie knew this. Tommy knew this, and he smiled besides himself. Perhaps it was.

And as any good host, Alfie partook in the activity himself—an equal player in the game. A few clear drops coated the bottom of a cup, the cups were mixed up, the location was forgotten.

The fact that Alfie had grown desensitized towards his own death was no shock—he and Tommy shared the same indifference. Though what Tommy struggled to understand was his sudden interest in openly pursuing it. 

Though, didn’t they do that already? Alfie had asked. Their years brimmed with pacts, vindictive partners, with mouthing off to men whose fingers trembled against triggers. They had never run in the opposite direction of death, rather alongside it—the place where their paths would converge had always been just along the horizon. Alfie’s behavior was nothing but a variation of that.

“More creative.” he had claimed—better than being killed by a gun or a knife, “Or by a blade sewn into a fucking hat. Imagine that.” he smirked. It was only funny because they were past killing each other now—Alfie had beaten Tommy to the initiative.

+++

  Of course, the cordial invitation had been extended to Tommy Shelby as well.

“And how have I wronged you?” Tommy had asked. Alfie laughed, promising it would be a clean cup, but Tommy refused regardless. The whole matter was much too dramatic for his taste.

He would stay the night of the tea party, though—was due for a fuck, anyway. 

-

In truth, Tommy had been staying the night more frequently. 

It was Alfie who had initially offered to move the location of their meetings . The official reason he’d cited was for more security, but Tommy had seen him holding his back in pain each time he’d stepped out of the office. 

Fucking in a bed, as opposed to on a desk, toed the line with an intimacy Tommy was cautious about crossing, but the suggestion was too enticing to refuse—aging had not been doing either of them any favors. And because it was Alfie who had made the proposal, Tommy still had room to cut himself free of any strings attached.

The routine had continued as usual at first—business, fuck, leave. Tommy would gather his clothes frantically afterwards, hopping out the door with only one sock on. He was terrified of the implications staying longer would have—the consequences it could bring.

Though that chaos eventually transitioned into a slower collection of his belongings—fatigue and the haze of his orgasm tethering him to the bed. He stayed for longer, counted the cracks in Alfie’s ceiling and the number of stripes on his sheets. These extra moments seemed progressively less threatening. 

“Are you truly that desperate to return to that lonely fucking castle of yours, mate?” The question came months later, while Tommy sat on the side of the bed, rubbing the stiffness from his legs. He was startled by the voice—Alfie tended to slip into a slumber nearly immediately after they’d pulled away from each other. 

Lonely castle. It sounded worse when phrased that way. A kingdom crafted at the expense of everyone around him. Pitiful.

Tommy had not entertained Alfie with an answer, but still chose to lay back down—comforted by the idea of a few more hours of sleep. He left the next day wordlessly, and sleeping over became routine. The castle would still be standing in the morning.

Yet that change didn’t mean anything, Tommy reasoned. Whether he permitted himself to stay or not, it was still just fucking —nothing more complicated than that. 

So perhaps it’d be a shame if Alfie finally won one of his rounds, Tommy thought the evening of that first tea party—his business would be missed. But he remained, on the whole, unbothered by it.

Everyone died at some point.

+++

  Each chair was occupied with an esteemed guest the first time. They were all impressed by the sudden burst of hospitality—thankful for Alfie’s unspoken forgiveness of their past transgressions against him. 

Assumption was quite lethal. 

Meaningless chatter swelled the air in the room, shrill laughter echoing off of the walls. Alfie floated from place to place, offering stories and more food, savoring each one of his sips.  He chuckled often, rolled his eyes on cue, and held his pinky up.

It was a performance, yet no one in attendance was aware they were a part of the show. 

He caught their attention in particular with a story from before the war. Something to do with a stray dog, an appalled mother and a wet carpet—certain elements of which were exaggerated. “Oh Alfie!” he’d felt a small pat on his shoulder, a gesture which in any other circumstances would have earned the person a cut on the cheek, but Alfie simply smiled and patted back. It could be you . 

Alfie found excitement in it all—an ironic strengthening of the energy which had been slowly draining from his body. 

It was nearly enough to forget about the cancer.

-

Cancer could have been considered a motive—it was the letter from the doctor speculating about his expiration date which had sparked the inspiration for the tea party business. Though Alfie didn’t like to dwell on that coincidence. Much rather preferred to keep the reason as Alfie’s sudden burst of twisted thrill-seeking . Not that anyone would know about the sickness, regardless—Thomas Shelby included. He fully intended to live out these days undisturbed by sympathy.

He came to bed that night with cheeks flushed and things to say. Granted, Alfie always had a mouth full of words, but they were stories this time—things he’d seen and heard. Tommy had propped himself up against the headrest, pulling on cigarette after cigarette, feigning disinterest. 

A cousin of the Sabini’s had brought Alfie a bottle of wine, he learned. There had been a bit of tea spilling on the carpet sometime in the middle, though it had occurred after a refill, Alfie reassured. Nearly everyone offered some comment about the design on the porcelain, sniffed the flowers, and claimed they had enjoyed themselves in the doorway.

“Silly little puppets, yeah—every last one.” Alfie had laughed and blown the candle on the nightstand out. It was nice, actually, being able to share this bit of secrecy with Tommy. An outlet, of sorts, and it helped that Alfie did not have to truly explain himself to him. 

It was the first night Tommy stayed which did not involve fucking.

+++

Tommy continued accepting the invitations to be an invisible guest. 

Unsurprisingly, one party had not been enough to satiate Alfie’s newfound appetite for this version of Russian roulette and finger sandwiches, so he kept organizing them. It tended to be the same crowd each time, with a few new faces here and there—replacements for any vacant seats. 

Alfie gradually grew fancier—a nicer tablecloth, more biscuits, a larger array of tea. He had different stories to tell, new rings to show off and even Ollie had grown quite fond of the flower picking aspect of his job, asking a few days in advance if he had any preferences. 

Alfie collapsed beside Tommy after the fifth party, exhausted and unwilling to relay the night’s events. It wasn’t necessarily healthy for his back, Tommy had mused—all those hours of wandering around the room, hunched over chairs—but his mouth stayed shut, and they fell asleep in silence. 

-

Even after nights when his insomnia had been generous, Tommy woke first. 

Alfie breathed beside him.

It was a relief, Tommy admitted—spared him the dramatics of having to drag Alfie out from between the sheets himself. He’d imagined that scenario once or twice while waiting on Alfie to stop his entertaining, considering what exactly he would do with Alfie’s body just—laying there. Notify the staff most likely, but he wasn’t quite sure what beyond that. Perhaps shake his hand, or pay his respects through a whispered congratulations , yet Alfie always managed to interrupt that train of thought before anything concrete was decided on. 

He was hesitant to leave the morning after the fifth night, oddly disappointed that Alfie had not shared any stories. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but he decided to wait until Alfie woke. There was time to spare, Tommy argued with himself, it was the weekend—as if that meant anything in this line of business. 

Idling in bed until the moment arrived was out of the question. Roaming his halls also seemed inappropriate—and risky, in case Ollie had let himself in. So Tommy settled on visiting the kitchen to eat. Attempt to, at least.

Preparing food provided only momentary relief from the fact that staying had been an absolutely idiotic idea. Tommy brewed some tea—for the irony, if anything else—and made toast. Some for him, some for Alfie, though he winced at the choice and threw Alfie’s portion in the bin. Too much.

He opened the morning paper. Squirmed in his chair. Checked the time. Returned to reading. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Alfie eventually joined him in the kitchen, sleep still settled on his limbs. His hair was sticking up in uneven tufts, beard flattened on the side he’d been lying on. Nothing indicated he was surprised that Tommy had remained in the house.

“So you’re still here then, eh?” Tommy said, eyes on the news, but desperate to fill the silence.

Alfie only ran a heavy palm across his face. “Yeah, still fucking here.”

+++

  The parties remained successful and Alfie’s enthusiasm persisted. Guests streamed in week after week—whether out of fear or curiousity was unclear. It was quite unusual to be in Alfie Solomon’s presence within an unthreatening environment, but they seemed to appreciate his change in character. 

And the tea was always delicious. 

It was Tommy who suffered the change in opinion, pacing the bedroom with a clenched jaw.  He had certain ideas—to make an appearance, peek through keyholes or press his ear to the door, to somehow interfere—but he cast them all aside.

Time alone had never been healthy for him. Funny, for a man who ensured his own abandonment.

-

 Nervous. The word finally rose above all of the other thoughts at one point and settled bitterly on his tongue. Tommy was nervous. 

“Aren’t you fucking bored of this yet, Alfie?” he asked as casually as possible, in between pulls of his cigarette, but Alfie had shook his head.

“I should have done this sooner.” he claimed, eyes dancing, and for some reason the sentence felt like a slap to the face.

Tommy did not fight back. 

+++

Alfie retired earlier than usual one night, reasoned it was due to a headache. Tommy bit down on his lip to prevent any visible reaction.

He slipped under the covers, hand searching for the band of Tommy’s pants —ar ousal had always reigned above pain for Alfie —but Tommy swatted it away, ignoring the slight tenting. “Not today, Alfie.”

Alfie grunted. It was not necessarily unusual for Tommy to refuse him, though Tommy’s face was flushed, teeth gnawing at the inner flesh of his cheek. There was still potential in the moment.

“But Tommy,” he whispered, sliding up against him, lips grazing Tommy’s neck and fingers playing at his hip. “I may be dead tomorrow.” and he placed a firm kiss to his Adam’s apple. It was only meant to be a teasing remark —nothing more than Alfie’s greedy attempt at extracting a fuck out of the other man—but the words wrapped themselves around Tommy’s throat.

Tommy snatched Alfie by the hair, tearing him away from his skin. Their eyes met, Alfie squirming besides himself under the cold stare. “You might be dead tomorrow.” Tommy repeated, nodding in agreement. Out of reach . 

And he kissed him.

Once. Twice. Grip slowly loosening, hips finally shifting into Alfie’s touch. His hand remained in the hair, the other one snaking around Alfie’s waist, clothes being peeled off feverishly. Alfie’s efforts proved successful.

They fucked that night to the brink of exhaustion, wrapped in the darkness, spent and gasping for air, and when Alfie pulled away, Tommy choked on a please echoing in his throat. 

It was a hollow plea—for something he was too terrified to admit.

+ ++

The following morning after he woke, Tommy lingered in bed.

Alfie snored facing him, rested on top of his left arm. Sleep softened him, Tommy noted—hid the pain behind his eyelids, smoothed the creases from his forehead. He reached out hesitantly to run the backs of his fingers across Alfie’s shoulder, along the shell of his ear, his jaw, tugging down the covers to find his thighs. It was a peaceful moment—rare and terminal—and Tommy was suddenly gripped by an urge to memorize it. Drink in every detail. 

Tommy took advantage of the safety unconsciousness had provided him and settled back down, shifting closer to Alfie’s body—close enough so that the tips of their noses were brushing against one another. He lay still, soaking in the warmth of Alfie’s exhales, and tried to align their breathing. 

The task proved to be more challenging than expected. Tommy stumbled over his own inhales, yet Alfie continued to be one breath ahead of him. Inhale. Exhale . Out of sync. And it was a silly effort, naive and trivial, but Tommy’s heart still hammered at his ribcage in frustration. Because there had to be something there , in the alignment. Some kind of meaning, a mutual understanding shared between their bodies. A form of reassurance. A sign of togetherness —that Tommy was not fucking mad for wanting to share these breaths with Alfie for longer than the bastard had planned for himself.

But each attempt sputtered and failed.

He slammed his fist into the mattress and rolled off the bed, waking Alfie in the process.

-

The toast was burnt that morning. 

No tea— fuck tea. 

Alfie walked into the kitchen, rubbed a palm across his face instinctively. The regular question never arrived, but he answered its ghost regardless. “Still here.”

Yes , Tommy thought, miraculous . 

He left for Birmingham immediately after breakfast, and abandoned his tendency of visiting Alfie in between the special occasions. He would know when the next party would be—the invitation would arrive in the post a few days before it.

+++

A week later, there were only 16 people in attendance, two couples were missing. Whether they had grown suspicious or were dead was left unclarified—Alfie was only interested in one outcome. 

The event proceeded as usual: eat, laugh, sip, Alfie refilling his cup more frequently than usual. Nobody questioned the absence. It was normal.  

And then it was not, because Tommy Shelby walked into the room — eyes bloodshot, scanning the scene. 

There was a 1 in 16 chance that Alfie poisoned himself today, Tommy noted, but he had endured this night after night and he found he’d grown quite bored of the adrenaline. The uncertainty. So he took a stand at the head of the table this time around, his hand hidden behind his coat.

It was meant to be a distraction, perhaps a form of confession —anything to get Alfie to stop these fucking games. Whispers swept the room, mouths parted in surprise—it was a rare occurrence, seeing Tommy Shelby in attendance—and Alfie sighed, because he knew, he fucking knew that Thomas was here to spoil the fun. 

The gun pointed to Tommy’s head, and Tommy’s head pointed towards Alfie.

“One,” 15 pairs of alarmed eyes stared at Tommy’s finger on the trigger. Only 1 pair glared back into his own. Alfie refused to set the teacup down.

“Have you gone fucking mad, mate?” Tommy had actually heard they called this love . 

“Two.” The guests were moving, tripping over chairs, rugs, each other, searching frantically for the exit. The taboo of witnessing a potential suicide outweighed their curiousity, it seemed. So easy to clear a room.  

The doors slammed shut, silence replacing the sound. It was empty now. Just him, and Alfie, and the gun, and the poison laughing out from one of the cups. 

“Three.” Bang.

Tommy’s body crumpled to the floor.

-

He was lying half underneath the table when Alfie finally walked over. His eyes were wide open. Unscathed.

Alfie snatched the gun from his hand, clicked open the cylinder. “Tommy, you know, you’re not fucking invited to the next one, yeah?” the first shot had been a blank, but there was a single bullet inside. “Right—on account of the fucking mess you’ve made here today.” 

“I’m well aware, Alfie.” he was tracing the pattern of the table’s wood with a shaky finger. Alfie grunted and tossed the gun aside. He collapsed awkwardly beside him, taking Tommy’s hand into his own. It would weather his joints even further, lying down here on the floor, Alfie was well aware, but this was the only act of affirmation which seemed appropriate. 

He did not ask about the bullet. He knew why it was there. Kept as a precaution—in case Alfie had decided to drink anyway. 

They breathed together. 

[hood-ex]

For the post about plot bunnies for short fic about Dick and Jason! 1) Dick and Jason going train-surfing before his death and after his return. 2) 1st time one of them got the other a birthday gift. 3) Jason finding out that Dick was the one who finally took down the memorial case in the Batcave and realizing his brother hated that thing as much as he did. 4) Bonding over ranting about Dad. 5) Jason lowkey trying to get Dick and Kory back together cuz he shipped them hard when he was younger.

@bigskydreaming​ These are all great prompts! I decided to take a whack at #2. I might write for some of the other prompts though. Anyways, hope what I wrote is somewhat satisfying lmao. 

Link to read on AO3

Jason’s so glad the 250 pound goon he was fighting earlier decided to leave him with a brand new spankin’ set of bruised ribs. Really, truly, he shouldn’t have given Jason such a nice gift for his birthday. The goon should’ve been embarrassed though. Giving Jason the same gift his dad used to give him? Tsk, tsk. Tactless.

Jason sucks in air through his teeth, mentally preparing himself for the pain, and then tries to sit up. He barely raises himself up three inches before sharp pain shoots up his torso and forces him to thunk back against the rooftop floor. Yeah, okay, he really doesn’t want to try that again.

This is just great.

He sighs. There’s nothing that says happy birthday quite like staring up at the smog that keeps him from seeing any of the stars he’d normally wish on or the fact that he’s probably lying on heaps of bird shit. Alfie is definitely going to give him the stink eye for the latter.

A shadow crosses over the corner of the rooftop. It doesn’t look distinctly Batman shaped.

Jason tenses and reaches for the smoke pellet in his belt. Normally he chooses fight over flight, but he doesn’t want to take any chances with his ribs this time. Creating a distraction and then using whatever adrenaline he can muster to get the hell away is probably the smartest decision. That’s what Batman would say, anyways.

Whoever is creeping around is being way too quiet. Goons don’t usually bother being quiet around Jason. They just see him as a small kid in a costume. An easy target. The whole Robin getup is good for creating that kind of misconception.

“Hey, shorty,” a somewhat familiar voice drawls right before a guy in a blue costume flips into Jason’s view.

Black hair. Plunging neckline. A collar somewhat akin to the cone of shame.

Nightwing.

Jason relaxes his muscles, relieved, and stares at Dick in surprise.

Dick’s got a big stupid grin on his face. The niceness of it is what throws Jason off. He’s still not used to people smiling at him and shit. He’s used to grins that are meant for mocking or that are sleazy and spell trouble. Dick Grayson’s grin is none of those things. His is all playful and good-intentioned. Something about it feels safe, and safe’s not something Jason feels a lot outside of the manor.

“Hey, Old-Timer,” Jason says, “fancy seeing you here.”

He suddenly remembers how much his ribs hurt when he tries to sit up again to see Dick better. He can’t help the small sound of pain he lets out as he settles back into his original position. God, bruised ribs are such a bitch.

Jason can’t see Dick’s eyes because of his mask, but he just knows Dick is looking him over from head to toe, mind probably tripping over itself to analyze Jason’s situation.

“You good?” Dick asks, already kneeling by Jason’s side.

“Oh, totally,” Jason says. He tries to adjust his position without hurting himself more. “Sometimes I just come up here by myself to stare at the smog. Just contemplating the rampant amount of pollution in the city—ow fuck. I don’t know if Bruce told you, but I’m an environmentalist first and Robin second. I’ve always been that way. Since the womb.”

Dick frowns and presses his fingers against Jason’s pulse point. “Have you been drugged?”

Jason smacks Dick’s hand away. “No, I haven’t been drugged! I got my ribs busted by some Hulk Hogan wannabe.”

“Ouch,” Dick winces in sympathy. “Been there, felt that.”

“Yeah, well, how about you give me a hand so I can stop rolling around in bird shit.”

The worried furrow in Dick’s brow melts away and is replaced by an amused grin. God, Jason needs to learn how to become immune to Dick’s stupidly genuine face. It’s stuff like that that makes it easy for Jason to see why Bruce has such a hard time letting Dick go. And if he’s honest with himself, he’s a little bit jealous that Dick can warm people over so easily. If Dick is the gooey middle of a s’more then Jason is the hard-coated graham cracker that takes a little time to chew through.

“I’m going to lift you up a bit and then I’m going to come under your arm so you can stand up, capeesh?” Dick says, moving just beside Jason’s right shoulder.

“Capeesh?” Jason grunts in pain as Dick levers him upwards. “Who are you? Uncle Jesse?”

While Jason’s torso is off the ground, Dick positions himself under Jason’s right arm and then quickly, but gently, helps Jason onto his feet. Jason squeezes his eyes shut and takes a few deep breaths while he waits for the pain to calm down.

“You’re alright, you’re alright,” Dick assures him softly, draping his arm over Jason’s shoulders.

If anyone asks, Jason totally does not lean into Dick for support, he does not. He just. Trips. Into Dick’s side. Yup. That’s what happens. The bird shit is witness to it.

“Would this be a bad time to tell you that I got you a birthday present?” Dick asks suddenly, taking Jason off guard.

“Birthday present? What birthday present? How did you know today’s my birthday?” Jason demands, leaning closer to Dick’s face so he can stare into Dick’s… eyelets.

Dick places a finger on Jason’s forehead and gently shoves him backward.

“O ye of little faith. Give me some credit. You think your big bro doesn’t know when your birthday is?”

Jason stares at him with a knowing look.

“Alfie told you, didn’t he?”

Even though he meant it lightheartedly, he’s a little surprised to see how Dick’s mouth tightens into a frown.

“B sure as hell didn’t,” Dick grouches in a tone Jason’s come to associate with Dick and Bruce’s yelling matches.

“Yeah,” Jason drawls, “I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole.”

Dick’s expression levels back into a neutral look. “Right, yeah.” He gives Jason’s shoulder a squeeze as a silent apology. “So do you want your gift or not?”

Thank God for Dick’s ability to smoothly change the subject.

“You know you’re not supposed to ask stupid questions in the field,” Jason says in mock horror. Dick makes a bitch face at him and Jason cackles. “Too bad Poison Ivy isn’t around to give you some aloe for that sick burn!”

Dick stares at him before walking towards the edge of the roof.

“Wait!” Jason says, quickly snagging Dick by the wrist. His ribs only scream a little bit, but honestly, who’s paying attention to that kind of thing when the person with his present is about to disappear into the night. “Fine, fine, fine. I’ll stop being a brat. Although, for the record, you’re an asshole for even pretending to leave me all alone with my busted ribs.”

Dick’s stupid grin makes a reappearance.

“An asshole and a brat walk into a bar—”

“Shut up,” Jason says, shoving Dick away from him. “Are you going to make me stand up here for eternity or can we get to the whole gift-giving thing.”

Jason’s not sure what he expects the gift to be. From what he knows, Dick’s not exactly rolling in money, so he doesn’t expect it to be something as extravagant as what he received earlier in the day. Alfred gave him six new books and also made him a buffet of breakfast food. Then Bruce had given him a new bookcase for his room, an insanely gaudy watch Jason doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do with, and an entire set of baseball equipment for him to play with in the yard.

Compared to his other birthdays, the gifts he got this year are almost too much to comprehend. Hell, the price of the watch alone will probably be enough to put him through college. The gifts are nice but… overwhelming. Honestly, Jason doesn’t think he deserves shit that nice. It’s not like he can refuse them, though. It’ll make him sound like an ungrateful little snot, and Jason doesn’t want to give Bruce that impression at all.

“I’ve only been in your room once,” Dick says as he pops open a compartment on his glove, “and I saw a Poison Idea poster over your bed. So—” he brandishes two blue rectangular pieces of paper in front of Jason.

Eyes wide, Jason snatches them from Dick’s hand. “Holy shit—”

“I got you two tickets to their concert,” Dick finishes with a smile.

Jason stares at the tickets and reads the print on them over and over again. Hands shaking, he throws his arms above his head, ignoring the sharp pain it causes.

“Shut the fuck up! No way! No waaay, dude!” he chatters. He grabs onto Dick’s arm and shakes it in excitement. “You’re not allowed to be this cool! Dude, what? Are these real?”

Dick’s sudden laughter only fuels more excitement in Jason’s chest. He shoves at Dick again.

“Don’t even tell me these are good seats, dude. Like. These are nosebleed seats or something, right?”

“Nosebleed?” Dick squawks indignantly. “These are VIP tickets! You get access to the venue before general admission and you get to meet the band backstage.”

“What!” Jason yells, genuinely shaking now. “Di—Nightwing! Are you serious?”

Dick laughs again and grabs onto Jason’s shoulders to squeeze them. “Yes, I am completely serious.”

There’s a feeling in Jason’s chest that he’s not sure how to describe. It’s a weird mixture of excitement and gratitude and… awe. It’s something he only feels rarely. Kind of like the first time he went out as Robin or like the time he got to work with the Titans. Special moments like that.

Jason reads the print on the tickets one last time, unwilling to vocalize just how touched he is that Dick’s given him such a personalized gift. He didn’t expect to get anything from Dick at all. Hell, he didn’t even expect a phone call, knowing how busy Dick is. And now that Dick’s given him one of his favorite gifts he’s ever gotten, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Doesn’t know how to act.

All he can think of is to extend his fist and to blurt out a quick, “Thanks.”

Luckily for him, Dick’s had a lot of time to adapt to emotionally inept people. Dick extends his own fist and bumps it against Jason’s.

“No problem. Happy birthday, Little Wing.”

Notes:

I don’t know if any of you have ever hurt your ribs before, but I’ve bruised mine, and trying to move was a bitch. My mom had to help me sit up because it was too painful to bend my torso. I don’t know why in fics people constantly break the batfam’s ribs and then have them running around like it’s no big deal. So that’s why Jason is like I’ve Fallen and I Can’t Get Up.

In comics, Robin Jason called Dick “Old-Timer” and Dick called Jason “shorty” and “Little Wing”. So I incorporated that into the story.

Jason referring to Dick as Uncle Jesse is a reference to the TV show Full House. On the show, Uncle Jesse asks “capeesh?” a lot when he’s talking to his nieces or sons.

Poison Idea is an actual band that Jason used to like when he was Robin. In comics, he had a Poison Idea poster on his wall and I thiiink he might of also had a shirt with their name on it. So yeah. Jason is a punk rock bitch.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Guilt - Bucky x Reader

A/N: Here we are - the last chapter. I hope you like the ending! (:

Thank you guys for your love and support! Feel free to request any time! ❤︎

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Summary: You really hoped your anniversary would go a bit different than that.

Warnings: Violence. Near-death-experience. Self-loathing. Mild cussing. Constant change between Angst and Fluff. End gets fluffy af.

Words: 6005 Wait what?! Okay I’m supposed to do homework so I’m procrastinating lmao.

“Mission failed. The Agent is malfunctioning.”

One of HYDRA’s agents gave a status report to his superiors. Function. Like he’s a damn tool. But because of this, they were seriously considering just letting it be. A broken weapon needs to be thrown away as soon as it’s become beyond the point of repair.

You could just hope they’d really give up on him and not trying to get rid of either him or you...

“Oh, guess I’m still alive” you joked as you woke up, just to be met with a frowning Bucky.

A ray of sunlight hit his face, and the deep circles under his eyes were proof that he didn’t have any sleep. He sat on the bed, knees pulled to his chest. His brows were furrowed together and he seemed to be buried in thought.

“Bucky?”

No reaction.

Looks like it was still the Winter Soldier. “Ah, whatever” you thought, head still being a little fuzzy.

“I should not hurt you” he grunted, clenching his jaw. His voice was unsure at first, but his next words were more firm. “I won’t.”

“That’s sweet, darling” Your face split into a beautiful smile, cupping his cheek with both your hands to make him look at you. “Now give me a smile, would you?”

The Winter Soldier needed to remind himself to breath as you watched him expectingly, with those bright, beautiful eyes. When he watched you sleep the night before, he thought you must be what people call an angel.

Your boisterous laughter at him made his heart sink into his chest.

“I’m sorry” you chuckled, peppering small kisses among his face. “I’m sorry, it’s just...you looked so weird right now.” God, him awkwardly trying to smile was just more cutness than you could handle. It looked like a failed attempt to bare his teeth and snarl.

His eyes flickered from your eyes to your mouth - and before you could even say something, hips lips were on yours as he pulled you into his arms. A whimper escaped your mouth, but you shuffled closer to him to signalize that you’re okay.

“That was...not bad” you gasped, trying to catch your breath from the kiss that felt like it lasted forever - and still not long enough. Bucky on the other hand finally managed to position his mouth in the form of a smile, being proud of your praise.

When you shoved the covers aside and jumped out of the bed, you realized Bucky wanted to follow you.

Was it really good to leave him alone? Well, it was the Stark Tower - so what’s the worst that can happen? Tony is a control freak, so this place was heavier guarded than the Pentagon.

“Please, wait here” you odered your Soldier, gently putting your hand on his chest and feeling his muscles tense. “I’ll be back soon! Just a few minutes.”

“Morning, Y/N!”

You heared Tony’s obnoxious voice from behind you and were instantly reminded that you weren’t alone in the kitchen. Sure, you loved every single one of your teammates - but you’d give everything for S.H.I.E.L.D. to finally set Bucky free so you can live a normal life somewhere far away.

That would be a real way to start anew. He already told them about every plan, every single weapon HYDRA possessed - so it should be up to him when to retire.

“Hi” you muttered under your breath, a grumpy expression written on your face as you stepped into the kitchen bare-footed.

“Where’s the Tin Man?” he teased, giving you a questioning look. Usually, Bucky would follow you everywhere he could, just like a dog. You never minded it, though. “Relationship problems?”

“He’s not feeling so well, so I told him to stay at his room.” Gosh, you really weren’t in the mood to talk right now. So you’d just open the fridge and get something to eat, so you could return to your lover as soon as possible.

“He’s what?!” Oh no, Steve was here, too. You were so focused on Bucky you didn’t pay attention to who sat at the breakfast table.

“No need to worry, Rogers. I can watch your bestie on my own” you gnarled, making the others rise their eyebrows. It wasn’t like you to be so passive-agressive. Of course, you could become really sharp-tongued when it came to defending Bucky, but why are you being like that right now?

“You sure everything is alright?” Wanda asked with her usual, caring tone.

Instead of remaining cool, you buried your face into your hands. “Yeah, he’s really fine. If not, I’m going to call a doctor. Please just let him rest a little.”

Even though you already walked towards the door, but you still felt their piercing glares upon you.

Don’t let them notice something. They can’t see him right now.

You needed to protect him. At all cost!

“I’m back!” you cheered as you entered your shared room - just to find Bucky, still standing at his original position without having moved an inch. You were pretty sure he didn’t even shift his weight from one foot to another.

“You don’t need to take orders so literally...” Letting out a deep sigh, you took his hand into yours - and this time he was slightly squeezing it, making hum approvingly. “Let’s sit down! I’ve brought your favourite!”

The plates on the desk held a piece of plum pie with cream, together with a cup of fresh coffee. You were hoping that his favourite dish might help regaining a memory or two - but he didn’t seem to cooperate. Bucky sat down, mistrustful eyeing the contents of the cup he held in his hands.

Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you began to pout. “C’mon, Bucky! I’ve learned how to make this pie just for you! Don’t you dare to think it’s poisoned or something.”

He wordlessly hung his head and took a bite of the pie, and soon his frown turned into a more relaxed expression.

“Does it taste good? It’s leftovers from yesterday but I stood at the stove for hours just for you!”

“Yes” he mumbled, still a serious tone in his voice. He was simply confused. Why would a nice person like you make this much of an effort for someone like him?

The Winter Soldier didn’t need comfort - he didn’t deserve it. That’s what they told him, all those years. And it was still stuck to his mind like a tumor.

You sipped on your own coffee and placed a hand on his knee. “It’s okay, Bucky. I never knew what it’s like to experience such horrible things. But it must’ve been so hard. And I’ll make the rest of your life as enjoyable as humanly possible! I promise you!”

“I don’t deserve this.” The look he was giving you reminded you of one night, where you sat on the rooftop and talked about simply anything that ran through your heads. Out of a whim, you asked the all-brave soldier what’s his biggest fear - and his simple answer was “You.”

When you asked him to elaborate, he told something that still captures your heart until this day:

“I’m scared that one day, you’ll look at yourself in the mirror and see yourself as I see you. You’ll realize just how amazing you are, and that you deserve way better than me...I’m terrified that you’ll leave me alone.”

All the torture he’s been through, and this is the one thing he picks to say he’s afraid of?

You’d sacrifice everything to make him understand that you needed him just as much as he needed you.

That your life was incomplete when he wasn’t there.

To make him see himself as the wonderful, involuntary fallen angel he is.

“That’s not true and you know that. We’ve had this talk so many times before, even if you can’t remember. But I love you so much and I want you to have everything you desire!”

“I want you.”

His answer made you smile. It was a sad and small one, but still a smile nontheless. “Idiot. You already have me! I’m not going to go anywhere!”

Bucky carefully pressed you against his chest and you could feel him shake a little as he mumbled a sole word: “Mine.”

You chuckled as you interwined your fingers with his and looked him deeply into the eyes. “Yes. All yours. Happy Anniversary, Bucky!” you whispered, and as soon as the last syllable escaped your lips, he found himself interlocked in a passionate kiss. The tender way of you holding his face into your hands made Bucky feel like everything will be okay.

“Anniversary?” The interrogation in his eyes made clear he had no idea what you were talking about.

“Yes! Our anniversary! We’re together for four years now. Too bad you can’t remember...”

His head went to a shade of crimson due to the shame of not remembering.

“Did you really never ask yourself who I am to you?” You rose one eyebrow, but continued smiling softly.

“My handler” he gritted, looking down to the floor in embarassment.

“Oh dear god, never!” you blurted out with a shy chuckle. “Bucky, I am your girlfriend! I could never be one of those horrible people!”

“Don’t tell me he doesn’t know what a girlfriend is” you thought. But still, Bucky faced the ground.

“Dear” you cooed as you continued, “I’m in love with you. I want to be close to you and make you happy. I want to spend my life with you!”

“Why me?”

You grabbed on the fabric of your shirt, as if you were experiencing a heart attack. “Why you? Oh, Bucky! It has to be you! Because you’re simply the most wonderful man I know!”

“I’m not. I’m a bad person.”

You put your index finger under his chin to lift his gaze. “You don’t know just how wholesome you are. Those past years, I couldn’t have been any happier - because of you! And that fact won’t change, Bucky.”

Bucky bit his lip. He bit it so hard that it began to bleed again, until your voice  told him to stop.

Suddenly, he grabbed your shoulders. He seemed to have remembered something. An important matter he didn’t accomplished yet, but wanted to so soon. So he looked at you with genuine determination before asking:

“Then...Can I stay with you forever?”

Your moment got interrupted as your door suddenly sprung open and the Avengers bursted in.

“Bucky!!” they all yelled in unity, making him jump and pull out his hunting knife. Damn, you forgot even in casual wear he was still armed with some hidden weapons.

“What the hell, Barnes” Sam asked, giving a sniff at Bucky’s weird reaction. Not even with his usual PTSD he’d get so high-alerted.

You held your breath. Obviously the whole Avengers Crew were his targets. You asked him about the details of his mission last night. It was easy to trust him that he wouldn’t hurt you - but what about the others?

Seeing them made the image of his mission reappear clearly before his eyes. But they were all gathered here, and he was supposed to kill them one after another. Even though he already did take them on back at the UN, thee risk was too high.

“Sorry for bursting in” Natasha tried to defend them all, “We were just worried and wanted to pay him a visit.”

“Bucky, put that knife away” you said, and the Winter Soldier followed your order without questioning it, giving it into your hands. “Thank you, sweetheart” you cooed, raking your hands through his hair.

His eyes were startled, furious and loving - all at the same time.

“Y/N...what’s going on?” Wanda asked - but as she tried to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, Bucky caught her wrist with his metal hand. He started cracking and twisting it, making her double over in pain.

“Bucky, no!!!” you yelled as you tried to free your friend’s hand from his grasp. “She’s a friend, it’s okay! Please!!!”

Your begging tone was enough to make him stop already. He was worried that Wanda might’ve intended to hurt you, and he didn’t want anyone else to touch you without permission. He was unaware of how physical contact works between people who like each other.

But one thing he did know. Right now, you were afraid of him. He recognized the look on your face immediately. Your fastened breath, the volume of your voice, as well as your trembling limbs.

Just like  all of his victims were - before he killed them.

Soon, he found himself to be surrounded by heavy armed heroes - and you unable to know what to do.

“Please, just leave already. Guys, I’m begging you! Wanda, I’m sorry, but-”

“Y/N, go away from him. He’s dangerous.” Hearing those words coming out of  Bucky’s best friend’s mouth made your heart split in two.

“No, he isn’t!” you yelled as you pulled his head onto your chest, in an attempt to keep him calm. “He is nice and gentle and just afraid, and you just have to leave!”

Still, your heartbeat was fastened. Bucky thought it might as well just break out of your ribcage, that’s how loud it was hammering against his ear.

Actually, it was just your fear of him getting hurt.

But he thought that right now, you see him as the monster he is.

How naive to think that HYDRA might’ve lied - they were right all the time. He was an unloveable abomination that was only good for bringing agony over everyone he’s affected with.

Right now, the void in his heart became bigger than ever before.

The small ember of hope you placed inside of him was crumbled down by a wave of guilt and self-loathing. 

He should just die.

Why not right now, by the hands of the Avengers?

Doesn’t make any difference if he takes down on or two of them. They made you happy and a strange sensation came up in him that he couldn’t quite decipher: It was jealousy. Of them having what he can never have: Being able to be close to you without hurting you.

As he freed himself from your hug, you could see his desparation written clearly on his face.

“I’m sorry.”

The first one he’d send flying was Steve, who caused the wall he flew into to crumble until only a giant hole was left.

The other’s instantly reacted, with Nat jumping onto him, her legs wrapped around his neck, just like back at the UN. Why did she think the trick that didn’t work the first time would help now?

It was easy for Bucky to destroy the main piece of Tony’s emergency suit, leaving him unable to fight. Steve was still unconscious by the blow that went directly for his head. Nat was also knocked out by him having choked her - until Sam kicked his jaw before he could break her neck. Only a brief moment later, you saw Sam lying on the ground too - covered by blood.

Screaming so distraught that you thought the whole tower could hear, you begged both parties to stop.

But no one would listen. And you couldn’t do anything to help.

You were weak. Too weak to save the only person you ever loved, even though he was standing right in front of you.

But there was another problem: Clint didn’t have his weapons with them, and neither any protection wear. When Bucky was done with the others, he turned to face the Hawkeye and approached him with firm steps. You knew that in close combat, Clint had a major disatvantage.

A yell made it’s way to his ears and finally also into his mind. “Bucky, STOP!!!”

But it was too late.

His cybernetic arm went straight towards Clint’s chest, meaning to break his ribcage and destroy his heart. The swung was so powerful, he couldn’t pull back now. The metal in his arm was too heavy to do so.

The last thing you felt was the way of a strong, dull pain hitting the side of your chest. No matter how hard Bucky tried to back off when he saw you going between Clint and himself, he couldn’t prevent the tragedy that was about to happen.

The last thing you heared was the sobbing of the others as you fell to the ground. Before your head hit the floor, someone catched you, screaming in agony - it was Bucky. Your Bucky.

And then, everything went black.

“Welcome back, Y/N.”

The voice was Natasha’s, and as you opened your eyes you realized to be in the medical facility of the Stark Tower. Nat was sitting next to your hospital bed and was reading a book, waiting for you to regain your senses.

“I could hit you so hard right now...” she grumbled, putting the book aside. You wanted to sit up, but even the slightest bit of moving was just too much for you. It was so painful. And even more painful was the fact that you didn’t wake up to see Bucky being here.

“Do you know how much you worried us?!” Nat continued. “You can’t stay so naive forever!”

“How are the others?”

“No major injuries. Just a few bruises and Steve’s jaw is broken.” Her glare was piercing holes into your very being. This was how mad she was about your behaviour. “You should’ve told us the very second you realized it was the Winter Soldier.”

“You’d just have locked him away!” you yelled, but your voice cracked already. "I...I was sure he’d never hurt me...” you mumbled. “It was an accident. He didn’t want to do this.”

“How many times do you want to defend him, Y/N?! He’s a good ally, but you can’t be too close to him!” Tears ran down her face. That’s very unusual for a person so restrained and collected as Natasha was one.

And you knew why.

She was still madly in love with Bruce, alias the ‘Hulk’. But they could never be together - or at least he was thinking like that. Just like Bucky, he thought of himself as a dangerous being that wasn’t meant to find love.

And then, there was you - being happy with the Winter Soldier. Even controlling his murderous side to a certain extend. And it drew her crazy. That was just too much for her - to bear to look at you having what she couldn’t have. And like that, your friend distanced herself from you further and further.

Her excuse was always that she didn’t feel comfortable around Bucky, because he shot her back then. Oh god, how bad Bucky felt for leaving her with that scar.

But you knew it was a lie. Yet you never confronted her about that. What a bad friend you had become.

“Natasha, you always understood my feelings better than anyone. Would you stay away from Bruce if he wanted you to be together?”

You hit a weak spot there. Right in the bull’s eye.

“That’s just irrational! Y/N, you almost died! Stop talking about my issues, think about yourself! It can’t go on like this!”

Your voice was so weak and husky, and every breath hurt. What exactly did he do to you?

Looking around, you saw a giant box, and a pipe connecting it to your thorax.

“He broke some ribs and one of them popped your left lung like a balloon. You were still luck, though. He could’ve easily burst your whole chest open. Blood was filling your thorax and compressed your heart, so it stopped beating for a few minutes. That’s what the doctors say, at least. We all cried for you. We thought we were losing you! Do you understand that?!”

“Where is he?” you whimpered, tears rushing down your face.

“Where is Bucky?!”

“He doesn’t want to see you” Natasha said, standing up and shaking her head about how selfless you were. But she kinda liked that part of you, too. She just wanted to protect you.

“He’s talking to no one ever since the accident. But I was meant to tell you...He wants to break up.” She walked towards the door, just like that.. Of course she knew she should be staying with you after delivering such a message. But she just couldn’t. It pained her too much to see you like this.

“Then he should say it to my face” you said, now a blank and emotionless stare. You knew this was just his self-hatred speaking, but it still hurt so bad. Way worse than the physical pain.

All this time, you were giving it your best to keep him at your side. But it seemed he can throw it away without second thought.

“But...Nat?” you said, even managing to get up for a second to face her. The hope of you becoming friends again was still present in your mind. “Thank you.”

“He’ll come back” Your former best friend cracked a knowing smile.

“Bucky can’t live without you.”

He didn’t. No matter how long you’ve waited, he just wouldn’t come back to you.

It has been a few weeks now, and because your healing ability doesn’t work on yourself, you had to rely on modern medicine to do the trick. The giant bruises sure took their time to disappear, but it was alright. Now being single, you had all the time in the entire world anyway

Clint was visiting regulary, still feeling bad for you having saved him. Even though you assured him a thousand times that you would always put your life on the line for a friend. And that you knew he’d do the same.

You all would risk your life for one another. And that’s why you loved your friends so much. No one would talk badly about Bucky, even after he whiped the floor with them.

The others came by occasionally, scolding you for not going to the X-Ray examines or other stuff meant to uplift or control your recovery. It was hard for them to see you in this state, and knowing they provoked the Winter Soldier into doing so.

But you just didn’t felt like it. Without Bucky, you didn’t felt like anything at all. Even if it meant unnecessarily putting your health and even life in danger.

“God, Y/N! How many times do I have to tell you to not leave the medical ward?!” Steve yelled from somewhere behind you. You were lying on the rooftop of the Stark Tower, which was - thanks to you - covered by grass and many flowers. A garden on top of a skyscrapper, watching the sunset - what could be better for your mental health right now?

You didn’t open your eyes at his scolding, simply enjoying the fading but warm sunlight on your skin. The sound of the machine that kept your lung working for as long as it needed to heal was interrupting the peaceful silence.

“Leave me alone, Rogers. Please. Nothing you say can change my mind anyway. So don’t bother.”

“He wouldn’t want you to be so reckless” Steve mumbled as he walked away.

“If he’d care, he’d be here - with me” you whispered, biting your tongue to stop the tears from reappearing. How was he doing right now?

The lack of knowledge about his situation drove you into insanity. Not that he hurt you, but the fact that he could hurt himself.

Little did you know Steve was just on his way to the Winter Soldier’s room, trying to talk some sense into him.

He had mantled the whole room in darkness, and didn’t leave ever since you were injured and he carried you to the medical station. For how many hours did he cry his heart out until they told him you were stable?

At this moment, he was already prepared to lose you - because of his own selfisness. He needed to leave you as long as he was still able to. No matter what this meant for himself.

When Steve entered the room and turned on the lights, he saw that Bucky had destroyed most of the furnance - except for the photos of you. He could clearly see the patterns of his fist having hit the wall on several spots.

Never before he’s seen his friend so devastated. He couldn’t bear to look at the dark circles under his eyes and the hollow cheeks. Bucky was staring into the void, still mentally debating if he should just jump out of the tower to end this farce that’s his life.

“Bucky” Steve said firmly and with sympathy. But he didn’t even do so much as looking at him. Did he even notice someone was there? Didn’t look like it.

And he couldn’t face his friends anyway. He hurt every last one of them. Even though they gave him a second chance and tried to treat him like he wasn’t a homicidal maniac. That was beyond redeemable.

“Y/N is in danger.” He knew this would bring Bucky back and out of the dark corners of his mind. And it succeeded. Bucky looked up, desperation clearly visible in his eyes.

“You’re the only one able to talk sense to her! She’s being careless about her health ever since you’ve left, and we fear she might soon overdo it...or...well, maybe start harming herself. She’s changed without you, man. I’ve never seen her so gloomy. It scares me.”

Bucky’s voice was sore from being underused for weeks, but the words he spoke were still strong and determined.

“Where is she?”

“I told you to leave me alo-”

Your words got stuck in your throat when you realized just who came to your rescue. Sitting on the ground with your feet crisscrossed, you wished the world could just stop right now. Having that talk right now just was too much for you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” This was what he wanted to say - but honestly, he didn’t feel like he’s got the right to intervene with your life any further, in any kind of way. So he just sunk down to the ground next to you, looking at the view of the city at night - together with you.

He thought you’d be furious with him. That you’d beat him and yell at him. Or even worse: That you’d ignore him. Tell him to go away, that you didn’t care and didn’t love him anymore.

“You know” you started, still looking into the distance. “Hospitals are pretty boring. Especially when your supposed boyfriend doesn’t even come to visit.” Turning around to look at him, you saw pain written clearly on his face.

But your own, rock-hard expression dropped the moment you saw tears fill the rim of Bucky’s eyes, as he fought them from spilling down his face.

“I’ve missed you so much, you goddamn asshole!” you said as you tackled him over, repeatingly beating on his chest. “How could you?! How could you leave me alone for so long?!”

“Y/N...I hurt you. I’ve hurt you so bad, how am I ever supposed to look into your eyes again without feeling like the monster I am?!” Bucky lay with his back on the cold floor, keeping himself from the urge to embrace you to ease your pain.

“Didn’t I tell you already that you’re not a-”

“No!” he interrupted you. This was the first time he’s ever raise his voice at you, and you instantly felt all the air being sucked out of your lungs.

“I knew this would happen one day! I knew it, Y/N, yet I still let you persuade me into trying a relationship with you! Now I can’t lie next to you without fearing to crush your body any second! I can’t be around strangers because I have to fear them knowing the words! I can’t touch your skin without seeing that scar and being remembered about what I am! Everything you and the others told me about me being one of the good guys - it’s all bullshit!”

You wanted to protest, to say something. Anything! But your words wouldn’t roll over your tongue as easily as they usually did. So you couldn’t do anything else than just to lie on your former lover’s body, and breaking out in convulsive sobbing as he talked so badly about himself.

“I’m so messed up!” he whimpered, covering his face with his flesh arm. “I can’t even trust my own mind! I’m too dangerous to be with you! And yet, I can’t stay away from you! I’m the most selfish piece of shit!”

“So am I” you finally regained your ability to speak. If it was for Bucky, you could overcome even the most difficult hardships. “I know you feel bad because of me, but you can’t change my mind. I’ll stay with you until my dying breath.”

“You mean your death, which would probably be on my hands” he hissed angrily. Angry of himself.

Still, you pressed your body to his, making it feel as if you could never be separated again. “I need to show you something. Could you help me get to our room?”

Your weak, pleading eyes made it difficult to say no to your wish. And so he did, thinking it would be the last time he’d be together with you. Bucky picked you up and curled you into his muscular arms, while you held the machine with your own ones.

Arriving at the room, you saw what Bucky had done. He mumbled a quiet “Sorry...” as he let you down on the still intact bed. Seems like he just destroyed his own belongings.

“Wait” you mumbled as you searched for something under your bed, then finally grabbing something covered by gift wrap. “Here it is!”

Bucky shot you a quizzing look as you held the present into his face. “It was meant to be for our anniversary, but, well...You know.”

Both of you sat down on the edge of the bed as he carefully unwrapped what you had so beautifully decorated.

It was a giant book. Just his name as the title in a beautiful font. Even his favourite colour. And when he opened it, he gasped:

There were photos not even he knew have been made of him and his former life. From his school to his time in the army, and part of Captain Americs’s special forces. Many old and new newspaper clippings, telling the story of the courageous deeds of Sergeant Barnes, as well as some praising the White Wolf. Reports of him having served his duty in WWII formidably, and so on...Even a copy of his birth certificate. Photos of his parents, which he barely even remembered. Most of the photos and documents were were old and wrecked, but still beautiful - broken, but they still had their own charm. Just like him.”

“What the hell is this?” he whispered in awe, looking through it with eyes as wide as a child’s.

"It’s you” you shrugged with a wide smile on your face, watching every reaction of him closely. “I know it’s cheesy, but I thought...Well, I thought that...You know, very time you’re thinking badly about yourself, or maybe times when the Winter Soldier went on a rampage again. Even just when you’d have another nightmare - you can just open up this book and see you - the real Bucky.”

For a while, Bucky’s glare shifted from the book to your face over and over again, his jaw dropped.

“It was really hard to get some of these” you chuckled. “Most of them were in S.H.I.E.L.D’s or even HYDRA’s databases only. Gosh, good thing some of my favourite spies helped me so well with getting them. Even Nat was willing to assist me. And Cap’s girlfriend send me everything she got from S.H.I.E.L.D, beause she still owed me one for bringing Steve back to her unharmed from that one mission!”

Suddenly, you felt two strong hands - one on your waist, the other on the back of your neck, Bucky’s body was finally close to yours again. “Y/N...” was everything he managed to get out before he cried to his heart’s content. So many times he’d surpress the emotions he held, but right now, he was an open book - literally.

“Hush now, darling” you hummed to soothe him, stroking his messy hair. “I love you so much, it hurts when you’re not at my side. It’s just impossible for me not to be with you. There’s no other choice for us than to be together.”

Both of you needed hours of simply lying in the bed, crying over everything that had happened those past weeks.

It made him remember just how he cherished those quiet moments with you. With you, he wasn’t forced to talk much, or act all happy like he did for Steve’s sake. He could relax, stay silent and enjoy some peace and quiet. It was not bad for him to be sad. And still, you wouldn’t just tiptoe around him because you feared that he was too sensitive. You’d speak your mind at any time, because you trusted he could take it. With you, he felt normal.

He could be himself, and you’d love him for this - for whatever reason. Bucky didn’t know why you did. He was simply glad that you did.

“I’m sorry our Anniversary was such a failure...”

“At least we had some plums” you snickered, his face still on your chest. He could listen to your heartbeat forever. It was prove that he has a reason to continue living - and that this life wouldn’t be a bad one.

Bucky forced a hesistant laughter, before he stuttered “Well, I-, umm, I mean....”

“Don’t you dare to try and break up again, Barnes” you gnarled as you felt him trying to stand up.

“No! It’s just...” he turned around to his nightstand, a small package hidden behind it. “I know it’s not much, but...This was supposed to be my gift for you.”

Suddenly, he jumped out of the bed - and fell on one knee.

“B-Bucky?”

All sense of words stumbled out of his brain, but he tried to pull himself together:

“I-I know I’m demanding much with this step, but...uh, probably not a good way to start, but - my therapist testified that I’m not able to fight any more. He convinced the UN to let me go, and..well, now that I’m finally free...I want to bind myself to the only person I willingly paid loyality to. You.”

He didn’t even end his speech, but you were already on the ground with him too, hugging Bucky so tightly he could think that you wanted to crush him. Your warm tears were wetting the skin on his neck before you started to cover him in kisses.

“That’s not everything! There’s a part two for my gift - I’ve talked to T’Challa, and bought a small farm in Wakanda. We’re safe there, even from HYDRA! I mean, only if you want-”

“Of course I want to, you dumbass!” you whimpered loudly, your eyes swollen from tears but not less captivating for him. You were the only one who’d look at him with those eyes - ones that didn’t see the Winter Soldier, the danger.

And like that, he remembered those past days trapped inside his own mind.

How kind and gentle you were, nevertheless. Every touch you comforted the broken Soldier with was lingering on his skin as he relived the memory. You were never afraid of him.

“Spending my life with you was all I ever wanted!” Your words made the ice around his heart melt in an instant, and all the doubts got washed away with it. Bucky looked at you - his future wife - before asking the question he already knew the answer to.

“Y/N, will you make me the most luckiest man in the galaxy...and marry me?”

If you want to get on the taglist feel free to ask! ♡

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[ramenfallsbutnotudon]

3% Season 1 Episode 1 Re-watch (w/ spoiler commentary)

(by spoiler commentary I mean my stream of consciousness watching and thinking about the entire 2 season series)

·         I didn’t realize how prevalent Marco was in the beginning. We see him walking behind Michele and even leaving his home’s caretaker (?) with the note for his son.

·         Michele seems to have just been waiting for this day. She gratified her walls to keep track of time like a mock calendar, and of course the photo of Andre (her brother).

·         I didn’t notice the wooden-faced man (forgot his name) seen her pass in the window on the way to the procession.

·         Ivana, The wooden faced man, and I’m assuming the other dude (the one who works with Joana in S2) ((Silas??) are in that La Causa meeting – along with another I can’t recognize or remember right now.

·         Joana speaks to Rafael because his registration is fake. We find out hers is as well. Although hers is “official” so to speak, maybe she wanted to see if it worked.

·         Homegirl really did take that kiwi from Rafael’s bloody hand.

·         Rafael was willing to do anything to pass (steal the cube) because he knows this is his only chance after stealing his brother’s registration and failing La Causa the first time. This also seemed to resonate with Joana, since we know why she can’t “go home” and who she’s running from.

·         They think the fruit is too sweet because they have no goddamn fruit everything is on the offshore. Could also be an analogy for the pretty, sweet appearance of the off shore. Like it’s too good to be true.

·         Bruna was shown La Causa’s symbol and asked about her opinions of them. This should be some sort of foreshadowing. Also Bruna’s little sister standing alone with three other girls, and the camera dramatically panning to her leaving up the stairs – going to a place her sister and family can no longer reach. (RIP girl)

·         Did Michele help Fernando because it was a part of her cover, or because she actually wanted to help him? She grabbed that necklace in the beginning and also seen the wooden faced man, so it’s safe to assume the moment she stepped out of her house she was in anarchy mode. If Fernando hadn’t helped her, she would have been eliminated. Interesting the two moles both couldn’t pass the test, but one relied on himself and the other outside help. This mirrors the s2 ending where Rafael is alone trying to help himself and repair things with his girlfriend Elisa, and Michele is asking Fernando for help.

·         Fernando really does hate his father. My first time watching this series, until his dad double crossed him I thought maybe he was exaggerating. But he really does detest him and doesn’t want to be like him. He also mentions something about wanting his mobility back, but we know that’s a lie because he’s comfortable in his wheelchair. Unless, he did feel that way but after his elimination those feelings also went away. Or maybe it was when he was told he could walk again and confided in Michele? Either way, this is something to look out for.

·         Marco really isn’t shit. I knew this my first watch, but seeing him again lie and (seemingly) flirt with the interviewer just re-affirms that. Then bragging about how he is an Alvarez to Agata. Then decided to play “good guy” and breakup the mob that was attacking Rafael. Again, interesting that they have this parallel again but instead Rafael is trying to stop Marco from harming people.

·         Joana is an absolute fucking genius, I mean can we just give it up for her? She was my favorite, along with Rafael and Fernando being a close third.  11 cubes? Seeing through everyone’s bullshit but not getting involved? Catching Ezequiel’s eye early on?

·         Speaking of Ezequiel, during his speech he looked up to where Julia used to stand. He also did some jedi mind fuckery with speaking to certain candidates. Still not sure how he pulled that off.

·         Michele, like Gloria in s2, does not repeat Ezequiel’s mantra the first time he has everyone else repeat it.

·         Vape Goddess™ Aline was serving looks and being sexy as all hell. Even dare I say, a bit intimidating? She really got Ezequiel good about his wife’s suicide, would have loved to have seen the outcome of that before he was interrupted.

·         Of course, Ezequiel enjoys half drowning himself because it reminds him of his dead wife who soothed him with water and sensatory manipulation. His stress triggers him to resort to that.

·         The murder had just taken place where Andre murdered someone after finding out the truth of the founding trio.

·         Also before the process began, we saw some religious founding couple fanatics praying outside. I think Fernando rolled by and gave them dirty looks.

·         I forgot how tiny the offshore really is. 4,000 miles away by submarine.

·         They hyped the hell out of the Alexandre character by showing him, his interview, and his suicide. I thought he was going to be one of the main crew during my first watch, but I see it’s just an early on way to show what the process does to people. And hits at the “coping methods” (i.e. have a fuck ton of kids for our sterile island of passive-aggressive hell). I think he would have passed if he just shut the fuck up when the lady was smiling.

·         Did I already mention that Ezequiel has a hard on for Joana and that he probably knew who Michele was as soon as she was passed and got the mole news?

·         Joana is great.

·         Its funny Ezekiel called Denise in to talk to her and decided to drown her and she thanks him. I know Aline is appalled, and I don’t know if that was some sort of dog and pony show he was putting on – but can we talk about how toxic that water dunk has become? It was initially sensual and calming, but mixed with E’s feelings of grief and his slim grip on shifting power paradigms, it’s turned into something terrifying. Forcibly shutting out the world – silence – but also a sort of sick rebirth for those he manipulates. I think of Michele a lot writing this bullet point and her s2 relationship with water after Joana tells E to go fuck himself and Michele becomes the protégée.

·         “I do this every day to remind myself that what we do is a matter of life and death” so maybe it is also to bury feelings of guilt, shame and inadequacy – the voluntary near death drowning in a glass sink thing.

·         “Thank you for almost drowning me, I loved it. I’ve learned so much, you’re such a great mentor”  “You’re welcome, young grasshopper” as Aline looks on disgusted lmao.

·         I bet Ezequiel is into some really kinky shit since his wife died. Maybe bondage. He seems the type.

·         Oh, fuck off Cassia.

·         I love how the snake Michele already knows what’s up when they call her and Bruna away. I could point out that there were other people at that table and Fernando couldn’t have been the only one who was around, but then again he might have been the only one who cared. Although the candidates are a small bunch, they seem to have their own cliques and groups. And Michele and Fernando became friends in the cube test.

·         Michele also mentions that she’s sorry for talking shit about the process and/or a candidate. Does she know that they record everything? They are constantly being surveilled? Or most likely, it is a part of her act.

·         Michele put her head down, got her lies together and started the spin of lies for Bruna. The rare snake Michele is born.

·         “…Bruna, please” I felt like this was more of a “please lie for me/cover for me” and not a “please believe me”.

·         SHE SAID “TRUST ME, OKAY?” before getting her best friend killed. Is that not what she told Fernando at the end of s2? This snake is a work of art. In a bad way.

·         In the Michele flashback where the wooden man is coaching her, it reminds me of the scene when Rafael meets Elisa. The computers didn’t pick up in their personality analysis that Michele was lying. Elisa and Rafael were not compatible. Can the machines only pick up certain personality types and not deviants? Do they rely on honesty? Because Marco lied through his teeth, Michele lied through her teeth, Rafael lied through his teeth…Does this have something to do with the Founding Trio or a modification by the Founding Couple?

·         Of course the old man wisely advises Michele to stay away from his protégé Ezequiel. She should have listened too, we could have been spared the poison catastrophe later on.

·         I think she really is grieving Bruna’s death, but it’s interesting the conversation of “holding back tears” comes to her mind just before her actions. Like this is Michele now, crying and grieving before going back to the snake mole that she is 98% of the rest of her time there.

·         Can we talk about homegirl’s shoes though? Are those suede booties? ·         

Is this what Ezequiel has candidates running around in? lmao

·         Fernando stay away from the snake baby boy, she’s no good for you.

[yesyunniechan]

Detective Conan File 993 [Japanese to English Translation]

Both love and case

Are cut with a blade?!

TN: Ahaha. Pun. Like: Yaiba (blade) as MANGA (Okita) is added to the love (ShinRan and Heizuha) and to the case (Okita is an IDIOT)

[10 minutes before the tournament starts...]

S: The criminal behind Nukitani-san's murder had been hiding in the restroom up until the police arrived...

S: So it must be one of you three...

S: But we can't do much until we figure out where the box cutter that was used to slice Nukitani-san's throat went...

T: Yeah... Looks like this might be a tough one...

S: There's nothing we can do! Could you contact the tournament organizers and tell them to come here so we can explain the situation and tell them to cancel the event?

S: I'd like to know more about how Nukitani-san got here and such...

T: Right!

[Wait! 10 minutes is should be more than enough time...]

[A murder happened at the Kendo Tournament!! Looks like Heiji discovered the truth?!]

T: Eh? 

S: More than enough... Don't tell me you already figured out who did it?

H: Aye... which one of these three did it...

H: And how they killed him!!

O: I've figured it out as well!!

O: Since we can't seem to find the murder weapon, no matter where we look...

O: The criminal is this blind...

O: Ojii-san with a cane!!

TN: LMAO 

Y: Eh?

O: He was lying about the supposed criminal mentioning a box cutter on the phone!

C: Lying?

C: You'd think that even if that was a lie, he wouldn't have just sat on this bench right next to the corpse, but would rather have tried to get out of here...

H: Besides, he can't see... How would he have killed him?

O: Isn't it obvious? That cane contains a sword...

O: Just like Zatouichi, he calculated the distance between him and his target by sensing his presence...

O: And sliced this occhan's neck with a single, sudden draw!!

O: So? I'm right, aren't I?

O: Can you say 'Life is pain'?

C: Oi, Hattori...

C: Is this guy... an idiot?

O: You're supposed ta say that at the end, ya know! <3

H: Sorry... Ignore him...

H: So? Ya learned who the criminal is?

C: Nope, all I know...

C: Is that although the victim's bag contained a drink...

C: Someone must've taken it after he was killed...

C: And the one who took it...

C: Is probably the ex-SDF officer, Sakamori Akane-san...

A: Wha?!

S: Why do you think that?

C: Well, you see, there’s some powdered medical residue left around Nukitani-san’s mouth, yet he doesn't have any water on him!

C: That's why I believe that the warmth that melted the chocolate in Sadamori-san's bag stemmed from a plastic bottle containing a warm drink!

A: A-as I said, the chocolate simply melted in my pocket...

C: Then it should’ve melted evenly! However, since only those closer to the tip melted, something else must have given off its warmth... You probably got it from the vending machine, added the poison, and then kept it in your bag until you got a chance to give it to Nukitani-san, right?

C: And you didn't tell us that you had a warm drink... because you thought that might arouse suspicion if someone finds a plastic bottle cut into little pieces...

S: That's why you were hiding in the restroom... to get rid of the evidence...

A: T-That was not poison, that was a laxative! I just wanted get back at Nukitani-sensei for rejecting my love!!

A: And when I came by to make sure he’s stuck in the restroom... He was dead. So I grabbed the plastic bottle because I knew everyone would get the wrong idea!!

A: I swear I’m telling the truth! Please believe me!!

C: I don’t think she's the culprit! She practiced Kendo in high school for three years, so she’d at least know how to wear a hakama properly...

C: And the culprit appears to have put the hakama on backwards!

T: Then all three of us must be innocent! After all, I practiced kendo too…

C: Did you really practice Kendo back in the day, Yokote-san...? 

C: You didn't even know that victory poses are forbidden at Kendo tournaments...

C: Isn't that right, referee-ojii-san?

N: Y-yeah... As per the guidelines...

N: 'An excessively emotional display of pride following a successful blow is considered unsportsmanlike conduct and will result in the strike being annulled, regardless of whether or not it was previously considered legal.'

S: See... Yet you were bragging to your girlfriend about striking a victory pose after landing a strike...

S: And you got angry when Nukitani-san humiliated you by calling you out on your lie...

Y: Y-Yeah...

Y: I wanted to get back at this ossan by embarrassing him myself...

Y: So I followed him and secretly took pictures! If he'd shown any weakness or shameful habit, I'd have exposed him through the internet!

Y: And when this woman went went for the same restroom he'd gone to....

Y: I figured that they might be having some sort of secret date...

Y: That's all there is to it!!

Y: I wanted to leave ASAP, but then this kid and those guys got here...

Y: Then while I was in the restroom, I deleted all the pictures I'd secretly taken of that ossan!!

T: So that's why it says that you haven't taken any pictures this month?

Y: Y-Yeah...

S: But you're also the only one who doesn't know how to put a hakama on...

S: So you'd have to be the one who killed him.

Y: A, no...

S: Right, Conan-kun?

C: Hmmm...

C: But Yokote-san....

C: Doesn't have a box cutter with him...

S: H-hey, Conan-kun?!

T: R-right! I don't have one with me! And I at least know how to wear hakama, because I practiced kendo a little!

H: Then how 'bout ya put that tare on? Forensics can give ya some gloves...

T: O-okay... I’ve got this!

T: Take this long one... make a cross in the back...

T: Then fasten what's left behind... and ready!

H: Nope! Tare's knot shouldn't be visible, so yer supposed ta lift the maedare* and make a knot under it!

TN: Apron :"D

H: See? After fastenin' it... Ya can see the blood left at the maedare, right?

S: B-but that's...

H: Yep! Anyone who is used ta wearing bougu would wear his hakama backwards on purpose... Ta make it look that it was done by somebody who never did kendo…

H: And the only one who had ta do it must be wearing referee clothes, and thus hold a rank...

H: Only ya, Norimura Nenji-san!!

K: No way?!

K: Ya still haven’t found Heiji?! The match starts in 5 minutes!

K: And Ran-chan and Conan-kun aren’t here either... Maybe they know where Heiji is?

R: A phone call from Kazuha-chan... If she'll learn where Hattori-kun is, she'll head straight over here...

R: But if she gets here before the case is closed...

R: We can’t afford to waste any time...

R: Because Hattori-kun...

R: Has to confess to Kazuha-chan!!!

[B-but.... The criminal used a box cutter as a weapon, right?]

N: I don't have one of those on me...

H: We were wrong about that from the start...

H: The victim, Nukitani-san, was talking to someone on phone...

H: And he said...

H: 'The cutter is stained with blood, I can't cut with it... please bring me the spare one!'

Y: Yeah! Exactly! 

C: I don't see anything wrong with that...

H: In kansai, 'cutter' can refer to a dress shirts! Ya guys just call those "Y-Shirts" instead!

TN: HA! I was right uvu

H: Add to that the fact that Nukitani-san got a nosebleed because of Okita's opponent...

H: And we've got this...

H: 'My Cutter shirt is stained due to my nosebleed, so I can't wear it....

H: Bring me the spare one!'

TN: Kiru = cut, kiru = wear

T: I see! That's why Nukitani-san's wife is coming here with a Y-shirt!

S: So Nukitani-san wanted to change his shirt, and chose this remote restroom by accident?

H: Yeah... 'cause all the other restrooms were taken...

H: That said, even without a nosebleed, if ya stained Nukitani-san's shirt with a hand smeared in ink... He woulda come here anyway, which is just what ya wanted, right?

N: B-but the murder weapon?!

N: I don't have anything sharp with me, right?

H: Ya do!

T: Y-you think I'd slice a throat with a shinai?!

H: It's a modified shinai...

H: If ya'd swung horizontally with a sharpened bamboo tip cut as thin as a katana...

H: The centrifugal force woulda helped ya slice the throat!!

O: Well, even with a simple shinai’s strike... there are ways to slice his throat so that the blood won't stop flowing...

H: Yep... the throat is the most vulnerable part of the human body after all...

H: The sound heard in the restroom was the sound of... Ya trying to dull the edge of yer bamboo sword, which was as sharp as a katana, so ya rubbed it against wall...

H: And the sound that was heard right after the sound of the bougu being thrown out of the restroom window...

H: After ya took off the blood-drenched bougu ya used in yer plan, ya changed into the coat ya prepared earlier, put the murder weapon - yer bamboo sword - inside the shinai bag, and were gonna leave as if nothin' had happened...

H: But then lotsa people arrived, so ya couldn't leave the toilet and realized ya’d have ta do somethin' with that sharpened shinai...

H: So it oughta still be left inside yer shinai bag, right?

H: Nukitani-san's blood!!

S: We’ll check!

N: Yeah... I thought it will show the blood stains... so I washed it in the restroom just in case...

H: My bad, Kudo... I took over at the best part. <3

C: That's kind of frustrating...

S: But why shinai? It'd be easier to cut the throat with something sharp...

N: This shinai...

TN: Was a gift from him on our first date, so I wanted to end his life like that - doing his favorite kendo with the sword he gifted me... I thought about rollercoaster, but meh, this idea is better. What? Wrong case? Oh.

N: Belonged to my son... 

N: Whom Nukitani-san drove to suicide 2 years ago...

S: D-drove to suicide?

N: At the grand finals of this tournament series'  team league, two years ago... My son pulled off a masterful strike in the decisive game... But in the passion of the moment, he struck a victorious pose, and the strike was annulled...

N: My son's high school was eliminated as a result... He felt responsible, and took his own life because he couldn't bare the shame... Nukitani-san was the referee on call for this match...

TN: Oh, I like my idea with the first date better... Poor boy :(

S: But the rules of Kendo are written in stone - there's nothing he could have done about, right?

N: Yes... I thought that Nukitani-san had made the right call, and that my son had been in the wrong...

N: But yesterday, a student from the Kyoto Senshin High School also struck a victory pose after scoring a point during the team league's grand finals...

N: And he flat-out ignored it!!

S: R-really?

N: Yes! And not only did this guy not annull the point, he encouraged this student!

N: He played favorites with him because he was from the kansai area, same as him!!

N: T-that's why I... This prejudiced bastard...

N: With my son's shinai...

O: He probably...

O: Held this charm...

O: The jihou* from the first grade told me 'I want ta win!' and borrowed that charm from me...

TN: Second player

O: This is a charm from the Hachidai shrine, passed in my family fer generations...

O: With this I never lost...

O: After one blow, it showed from under his the dougi, and after noticing it he said 'Kami-san, thank ya' while holding it with teary eyes... 

O: Maybe ya just mistook it for the winning pose? 

N: That’s a lie...

O: It's true! And the referee told them 'never ta show tears during a match'...

N: It's a lie... a lie...

N: A lie!!!

R: Phew...

C: S-strong...

R: What are you doing?! QUICKLY!!!

T: A, wait...

S: Hm? That charm...

R: A, Kazuha-chan!! I brought them!!

K: R-Ran-chan!

K: The match ended...

[Win without playing!]

R Eeh?!

K: What were ya doin'?! Heiji, ya idiot, idiot, idiot!!

M: Well then, let's retreat?

I: You’re not going to meet Hattori-sama?

M: I’d like to wait...

M: For a better opportunity to meet my future husband...

O: This is all ‘cause somebody here took their sweet time solvin’ that mystery, isn’t it?

H: We lost all that time 'cause of yer Zatouichi blabbering!!

K: Mystery... don't tell me ya ran into another case?

K: Those detectives...

C: Life is pain...

[Be sure to watch the ‘Crimson Love Letter’ now in screening!! Starting from the text issue, Magic Kaito returns after 3 years!!]