#Frenchie looked at this man and swore to follow him to the ends of the earth

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Sun in eyes

BONUS COMIC REVIEW: 

Issue 17 mini comic: Marc Spector - The Worship of False Idols

You guys. You guys have no idea. This is it. This is the reason I fell utterly in love with Moon Knight. I'm so excited.

When I found Moon Knight (I'll get to that discovery in a later review) I just had to know who he was. I stayed up all night downloading and reading everything. 

When I got to this piece it must have been 3am and this is what made me obsessed. 

What's hilarious is that this mini comic comes at the end of a really dramatic Marc Spector heavy issue in which he's dark and angsty and violent. 

And then...You get this. This delightful idiot man that's just doing his best. 

Let's get into it! 

I wonder if this image of Marc might be what inspired Doctor Grant from the show. 

We open with Marc holding a machete and making his way through a jungle in South America. 

Narration: Long before there was a Moon Knight, there was Marc Spector. Though he wore but a single name, he operated under many guises... Soldier of fortune, treasure seeker, courier, mercenary, were a few of those guises. 

He was a man whom Moon Knight can now look back on with only slender pride - A strong man, yes, and thoroughly determined, but often a ruthless man, one who braved danger only for money. This is one of his stories." 

Such lovely narration. Painting a picture of a gruff killer for hire out for a buck and not afraid to get dirty for it. 

We see him hacking his way through a jungle and complaining the whole time. 

"Must've hacked my way through thirty miles of this green hell..." 

He had previously met with a drunken archeologist (probably at a bar) who told him about a beautiful ugly idol made of solid gold. 

He finds a clearing and there sits the idol 

He doesn't find this suspicious at all. 

There's going to be a lot of screenshots in this review. 

(flat in the dirt again.) 

The dog apparently belongs to an archeologist nearby. His wife comes out of the tent, remarking that he's probably out drinking again. (Marc's info source). 

She looks around and notices the Idol is missing. She shrugs and goes back to the tent. 

She has a busy day tomorrow if she's to keep looking for a big discovery that she thinks is very near. 

Marc wakes in a dark underground cavern. 

Now we get to watch this poor man try to think this through. 

"But I can't carry any more than I've already got.

Maybe I should substitute-take something else-something better...

No-The archaeologist in the bar said this idol is the choice one--the one that'll command the highest price from collectors and museums--worth far more than its weight in gold.

But if I leave now, I'll never find this place again. Not before those archaeologists do--and by then they'll have armed guards swarming this place... 

Got to decide now-cuz I won't be able to change my mind later..." 

Marc decides to keep the one he already has. 

He follows a draft and finds himself in a bat cave with Guano up to his calves. 

Oh Marc…Oh no…

Oh no.

Oh no

Marc no…

Marc no…stop…

Buddy…pal….Beloved hero of my heart…

I mean…He saves them. Marc isn’t as heartless as he thinks he is. Just cause he��s having a bad day doesn’t mean they have to have one too. 

And now… I give you my hero. The light of my life. My obsession. My sweet cheese. My good time boy.

Damn Marc, that’s a nice leg. 

Marc makes it back to the town. 

He staggers towards where he's staying, looking forwards to a week in bed and then cashing in his idol for the sweet sweet dough (get that bread Marc). 

Suddenly, his thoughts of rest are interrupted by someone shouting "Three Dollars American!" 

He looks over to see the archeologist and his wife talking. 

She admonishes him for taking so long to get back to the newly discovered temple....then asks him why he keeps guying the cheap plaster idols. 

Marc looks over to a stand with a man selling "Genuine Inca idols straight from the temple of the sun!"

This is Marc Spector everyone. Mercenary dark and tormented and angry and violent killing machine Marc Spector. 

The man that can’t forgive himself and that no one loves easily. A man that is hated and feared. 

I don’t read Moon Knight for the dark action. I read Moon Knight for moments like this. 

This is what made me fall in love. Not the white cape, the mental health, the DID, the religiously tortured soul, the hero that needs saving…

This man that is having the worst time and still he stumbles into the sunset because DAMN IT he worked hard to get there and he’s going to get something out of it… But at the end of the day, he’s no further along than the rest of us. 

He probably had a drink and went to bed after this. Maybe laughing to himself. Maybe laughing about all the close calls. Maybe crying a little. 

But he didn’t go back to rob the excavation site. He said “Not today. Not this time.” and went on with his life. 

And he told no one of this, because he’s Marc fucking Spector and he has a reputation. 

So I leave you with this. The best image of Marc Spector I’ve ever seen. The true meaning and mood of Moon Knight I’ve ever seen. 

This pretty much just sums up his life: 

(And somewhere, Khonshu looked at this mess and said “That’s the one. That’s the one for me. My son!”)

[dw-writes]

Would you do 31 with Billy Buthcher please? Thank you, and I hope you feel better!! Sending an internet hug ♡♡

(bangs pots and pans together GOD BLESS THIS ASK FUCK ALSO THIS ENDED UP VERY VERY LONG AND IM ONLY KINDA SORRY FOR THAT

fuck i hope this is okay)

In awe, the first time you realised it

The first time you had told Billy that you loved him, you were more than a little drunk and hanging off his shoulder, one hand in his hair and the other stretching out for Becca, who he was delivering you to. “Becs,” you said with a sly smile, wrapping your arms around your best friend’s neck for support and affection. She wrapped her arms firmly around your back and rocked you from side to side, earning a giggle. “I? I love your husband.” You widened your eyes as you said, “Soooooo much.”

“Oh, you do?” she asked, shaking her head with a sigh of your name. “You are trashed.”

“Yes,” you said, though you didn’t say what you were agreeing to. You leaned against her shoulder and turned to Billy, who was already calling a cab for the three of you with an amused grin. “He’s so sweet? And smart? And that accent.” You lifted a hand give her a thumbs up and almost fell over.

Becca held onto you with a laugh and slightly inebriated sway of her own. “Oh, shi—Billy, help, we’re gonna fall!”

The second time had been when Rebecca was missing, and Billy was spiraling, pacing their – his – apartment with scowl on his face and a bottle of bourbon in his hands. He swore and hurled the bottle at an empty wall. It smashed upon impact, a sound that made you jump and grip your glass of water a little tighter. You set it down and stepped gingerly over the shards on the ground, making your way to the man who now leaned back against the couch, his hands buried in his hair. You pulled them away and looped your arms around his shoulders. His arms fell low around your hips and he squeezed you against him, burying his face into your shoulder as he started to tremble.

“We’re gonna find her,” you mumbled against his hair. His hold on you tightened. You pressed a kiss against his scalp and squished your cheek against his head. “We will,” you whispered. You gently pushed your fingers through his hair and sighed. You kissed his head again and murmured, “Love you, B,” when earned you a hum and a squeeze that made your back pop. You eased your hands down his arms and coaxed him into letting you go. “Let’s get that glass cleaned up and open another bottle. Okay?” He nodded. “Okay.”

The third time you said that you loved Billy was when you sat around a bonfire with Billy and Frenchie and M.M. and Mallory. You nursed a beer, one that you couldn’t even stand the taste of, and found yourself laughing at a story that Frenchie shared. He stumbled over his words, his tongue tied by alcohol, and swore and stomped as he finished with a large wave of his hands.

“I think that means we should call it a night,” M.M. said with a groan, pushing himself up from his camp chair. “I gotta make sure Janine gets to bed. Read to her. You know.”

“Oh, yes, you gotta tuck the tike, make sure she doesn’t roll away in the night,” Billy mumbled. You kicked his boot, which earned you a grin.

M.M. drained his beer and tossed the glass next to the fire, then said, “You know man, one of these days, you’ll have something you love that and it’ll me tellin’ you shit like that.”

Billy clicked his tongue and flung the beer in his hand half-heartedly at his friend, missing the larger M.M. by a mile and sending you in a fit of laughter. You reached up and swatted M.M.’s arm with a grin. “I love him enough for two people, M&Ms, so don’t you worry.”

Billy scoffed and muttered a dark, “Fuck off,” as a smile worked its way across his face. He suddenly frowned and sat up. “Oi, why does he get some cutesy fuck nickname?”

M.M. leaned down and cupped your face between his hands to plant a loud kiss against your forehead. “Because I’m nice as shit and you’re a fuckin’ asshole, Butcher,” he replied.

Frenchie finally – finally – started to laugh after devolving into a fit of silent giggles early into the conversation. You grinned and drew your feet onto the camping chair, shooting a look a Mallory, who just drank from her tin cup and shook her head. “Last time I tried giving you a nickname, you weren’t happy with it.”

“Billiam is not a nickname!” Billy shouted. Frenchie’s laughter pitched higher and his chair tipped backwards into the dry grass and the leaves. “Fuck off!” he snapped.

You started to laugh. You stood and held out a hand to Billy, wiggling your fingers until he finally took your hand and you hauled him out of his seat. You were a little hesitant to let go, finding the warmth of his palm much more comforting than the cold of the autumn night. You scratched your temple and turned to Mallory. “Do you need help cleaning this up?” you asked.

She waved her hands. “The kids’ll come down when they get home,” she murmured, “Wanna roast marshmallows.” She jerked her head towards Frenchie. “Take him with you, though.”

Billy was already following M.M.’s fading form when you finally got Frenchie to his feet.

You thought about those times as you collapsed onto the couch in the hideout, kicking your feet up onto Billy’s lap with a groan. Hughie sat at the opposite end, his head bowed towards Annie, who sat between his legs on the floor. Billy dropped his arm over your legs and tugged them close, until his fingers traced a pattern against the side of your knee. Annie looked back over her shoulder with a bright smile, and Hughie pulled his fingers through her hair as she returned her attention to the movie playing on the television. You leaned your cheek on your fist and looked over the back of the couch to take in the hideout. Kimiko and Frenchie spoke softly, their heads close together as they leaned over the stove in the small kitchen. M.M. held the phone to his ear and was smiling, turning away when you caught his eye so you couldn’t read his lips.

Billy whispered your name to regain your attention. You looked up with a soft hum, dropping your fist the short distance to his hair. His eyes narrowed just a bit, his mouth turning down in a small frown, little things that had him asking if you were okay. Your fingers brushed the hair from his forehead and lingered at his temple. The longer you stared, the louder your heart started to pound in your ears. His frowned deepened and he repeated your name a little louder, a little more concerned. He squeezed your knee.

You curled your fingers away from his temple and said in a voice so fragile and small you thought it didn’t exist at all, “I just realized something.”

“What’s that, love?” he murmured back.

You tucked your arms against your chest and sank into the couch, into his side, staring at nothing, at him, at everything, and replied, “That I love you.”

He arched an eyebrow and tilted his head towards yours. “Oh, is that all?” he teased. You shoved your knee against his chest and rolled your eyes. His hand dropped into your lap, his fingers upturned, and he stretched them up into your sweaty palm. Without a word, he settled back into the cushions, gently pushing his fingers between yours.

You smiled. That was all you needed to hear.

[samwrights]

I Don’t Care - Punk!AU [Kuroo]

Me: *hits a milestone* I should give back to my community by fulfilling requests *posts an Elixir chapter instead*

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for your kind words and patience regarding my abrupt hiatus last week. I’m gonna be on a slow roll for awhile with Grandpa Frenchy’s passing and me resuming my normal-ish life as work goes back to regular hours and school will be resuming in less than two months. But I’m gonna do my best to feed y’all when I can.

Remember that if you’re confused with what’s going on, that’s probably because this is the second installment of Kuroo’s Elixir route and need to read the first part which can be found here. Also, artwork is not mine so if we can find the artist, please let me know so that they can be properly credited!

Lyrics that are bolded are sung by Kuroo, while lyrics that are italicized are sung by you and if they are both, they are harmonized.

WARNINGS: Language, implied nsfw, mentions of nicotine and marijuana.

Word count: ~2.9k

Song used: I Don’t Care if You’re Contagious by Pierce the Veil

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

The ball was in your court. That was what Kuroo had said to you last night. What that didn’t entail was the two of you christening every room in your little one bedroom apartment into the early hours in the morning. It shouldn’t have surprised you at all that Kuroo had a quick recovery time; after all he was a cocky little shit and apparently for good reason.

You were going to need to send apology baskets to your neighbors at some point when this was all said and done.

The ball was in your court, he said, and that somehow brought you to the following afternoon with you and Kuroo laying naked in your bed. Both of you were awake, you knew that, yet neither of you wanted to say anything to break the silence. Neither of you needed to—you were both finally home. Nestling yourself further into Kuroo’s blackened chest is what pulled the guitarist from his wandering thoughts, coercing him to look down at your shifting body. “Not comfy anymore?” His voice is thick with sleep still, and probably raw from dehydration.

“Trust me, I am. But we should probably go get ready.”

“Ugh,” the raven haired man groans, “right, we have a show.”

“Yes, honey, we have a show. Time to go make all twelve of our fans happy for thirty minutes.” He laughs heartily at the jab before pulling you on top of him in the most platonic way. Well, as platonic as you could be when you both were completely naked. You take the opportunity to look at him fully. Though his eyes were darkened from the lack of sleep, Tetsurō Kuroo was every bit as pretty as he was the day you’d met him ten years ago—even if his skin was now covered from neck to toe in black and white and bold-colored works of art and you could fit a single digit through the stretch of his earlobes. If anything, it added to his charm in your eyes.

Subconsciously, your fingers travel down his throat, just grazing over the three traditional style roses that cover it, before dancing over the skulls on his chest. As they trace over one of his pierced nipples, he lets out a grumble that’s a mixture of pleased and in warning. “You start playing with me, I’m not gonna stop.” And after last night, you knew that he wasn’t kidding.

“Fine, fine.” You concede, retreating in the form of resting your head on his chest. Silence fills the two of you again, allowing you to recount yesterday’s events that didn’t involve Kuroo impaling you. “You broke up with Nanami.” It wasn’t a question, but he answers it as if it were.

“I did,” there’s suspicion and trepidation in his voice, as if he’s weary of the direction this conversation is going. “What about it?” Searching for reassurance, he winds his arms around your waist, simultaneously goading you into continuing your statement.

“Nothing, I just...” you aren’t even sure what you’re trying to say at this point. “I just feel like a lot has happened in the last twenty four hours and I still need to process everything.”

“I can help if you need me to jog your memory about anything,” Kuroo’s tone is polite—sweet, even—and entirely contradictory with the thrust of his bare hips into yours.

“Tetsu, I’m being serious.” You deadpan, pretending that you didn’t feel that tiny spark in your core from the movement. Last night he may have been able to coerce you with touch, and even more in the long hours into the morning, but you weren’t going to be fooled again. At least not right now.

“I am too.” He adjusts himself slightly again so that he’s cradling you, eerily similar to last night, with you pulled over his lap. Despite the lack of clothing, there’s no humor or deviancy on his face—he’s completely calm and self-assured. “I know this situation isn’t ideal and this definitely isn’t the way I ever pictured us being together,” the sentence doesn’t go over your head—you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t bring some sort of pleasure to you, “but all that matters to me is that you want this as much as I do.”

You knew what this was. Kuroo was giving you the chance to back out—to move forward without him if you so desired.

But what was the point of living life without your best friend? Lacking a cohesive thought, you rested you head on Kuroo’s chest once again, letting the guitarist’s steady heartbeat bring ease to you. Maybe you were going about this all wrong. For the last ten years, it had taken everything in you try to mute the feelings that you had for Kuroo, or attempt to pass them off as a deep respect for your guys’ friendship. But that wasn’t what this was anymore; this was your guys’ relationship. “It’s a learning curve,” you start slowly, “but I’m willing to try and make this work if you are.”

“That’s all I’m asking for, babe.”

The two of you move about your day in a way that’s exploratory for the two of you—like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other. In a sense, that was an accurate depiction. Your guitarist makes it a point to make the both of you the first meal of the day, complete with setting the table and even doing the dishes. Showering together for the first time was odd, to say the least. It was an intimate form of learning and exploration that neither of you had ever thought the two of you would be able to bask in. After having lunch and getting ready for the show tonight, to which you learned that Kuroo had brought clothes with him in the event he did end up staying over, the two of you took his car over to Terushima’s house.

“No fucking way,” Terushima balks at the sight of you two briefly sharing a kiss as he holds the passenger door open for you while your other two bandmates are loading up the van. “He finally confessed! Makki!” The drummer calls for his best friend who’s walking out the door with two guitar cases in his hand. Without needing much context, the bassist quirks a brow in yours and Kuroo’s direction.

“You finally told her?” Is all he asks.

“You all fucking knew about this? Man, fuck you guys.” The incredulity in your voice earns a chorus of laughter from your bandmates.

“Dude, I don’t know how you didn’t figure it out sooner. The way he used to talk to you at work wasn’t a dead giveaway?” Makki is laughing, grinning even, despite his usual deadpan attitude. You try to think back to any particular instance, but nothing was as obvious as the rest of Elixir was making it seem. Sure, Kuroo was rather touchy and there was more than one case of his fingers touching your waist from behind while you took orders or made drinks. But there isn’t anything that he said that would necessarily incriminate him—

Oh.

“Now she remembers.” Kuroo jokes. He’d left your side at some point, when you weren’t entirely sure, to help the boys finish loading up. “Told ya, [name], I’m gonna marry you someday.”

“Gross, you guys are so cute, it makes me sick.” A roll of Teru’s bronze eyes are accompanied with the slamming of the back of the shoddy vehicle. Knowing it was going to probably be a minute or two, the drummer flitted off with Makki to do god knows what, probably off to go kill a blunt if you were being honest, in preparation for the evening, leaving you to curiously gaze at the cracks in the concrete driveway with a cigarette between your fingers.

“There’s no way you meant that back then.” Your voice isn’t accusatory or judgmental—merely flabbergasted as your guitarist leaned on his car right next to you.

“I did and I still do,” is his response, pulling his own Marlboro Red between his thin lips, “I’ve been saying it since day one and I never stopped saying it for ten years.” His bulky arm comes to wrap around your shoulders, nearly swallowing you due to the difference in stature. Yet, despite his sweet words, something wasn’t adding up.

“Kuroo, you never said anything to me besides that one time you told a regular that I was your future wife.” He shakes his head slightly, a laugh rumbling audibly in his chest as he rolls up the jersey fabric of his long sleeves. Pressing his knuckles together so you can see them clear as day, he responds with,

“Homesick was for you, because you always said how being together felt like home.” And suddenly, you feel like time was regressing as he begins to point out the subtleties you never noticed previously. “All of the roses are for every time I swore I was going to confess,” you knew for a fact that Kuroo had seven roses littered along his skin: three on his throat, one on each hand, and one on each of his pecs. “the lipstick marks are from ‘Contagious’ because I wrote it for you. I’ve been saying it since day one, [name].” 

“Wait, you wrote ‘Contagious’ for me?!” At that admission, you weren’t sure whether or not you should have been pleased or disturbed. There were themes hidden in the song that could be viewed as romantic, but overall the song was quite morose and not to be considered a love song at first glance. Maybe that was the point.

“Oh, baby, you’re so dense it hurts.”

“So how’s everyone doing tonight? We feelin’ good? Feelin’ the love?” You ask into your microphone after the four of you had completed the one fully acoustic song, “A Part of Me”. Who knew that Hanamaki had such a romantic side to him? It was cute, considering the lax man typically didn’t show much emotion except when he was performing. “So, we’re gonna keep the love theme going—“ your eyes dart over to your guitarist who is grinning like an idiot. It seemed that the pieces were finally coming together in the sense that you knew.

You knew that he was dead set on making good on every promise he’d ever made to you and Kuroo was going to make this known to every fan in the rather large audience tonight as he interrupts your spiel. “I wrote this one a few years ago for someone I’d been pining after for years so if you’re in the same boat that I was in, make sure you tell them you love them.” The guitarist chimes in, his goofy, wicked grin only growing wider. “Love you, [name].” The proclamation does not go amiss by you, your bandmates, nor your audience that housed familiar faces that swore up and down they wouldn’t be in attendance tonight. But neither you nor Kuroo noticed the aforementioned stranger—only noticing the sly, subtle grin the two of you exchanged before the guitarist gave a shrill whine of his instrument that started the song.

Even before realizing this song was...written? Dedicated? However you viewed it, this song was for you and before that knowledge had even been made known to you, you’d always found it to be a strange, enticing verbal dance between you and the guitarist. You and Kuroo often teetered back and forth like a seesaw, bouncing between lines as he intended when he wrote it. It only charged the chemical static between the two of you further now that you understood who it was written about.

Bury me in the bedroom where I I can sing you to sleep all night

Considering the nature of the song, Kuroo and you had your eyes locked on each other’s to make sure the two of you were keeping time and tempo with the other. Or at least, that was what you were supposed to be doing. But with the way the guitarist’s hazel eyes were dancing with amusement and comfort like he was aware of some joke you had no idea existed.

I’d rather kill the one responsible for falling stars at night

It amused you, to some degree, just how all over the place this song was. And while you had known that back when it came to fruition, the air was different now. It was wild and fun and laced with underlying feelings that left you feeling alive much like the last twenty four hours had. Though the hesitance that first presented itself yesterday was no longer there—you believed everything Kuroo had said. The years of pining, the futile attempt to move on, even the way he marred his skin as a physical representation of his dedication to you—you believed it all.

Last night she recited every reason she’s fine

In a way, it made you feel a little silly. Silly in the way that you had felt you hadn’t been able to trust your best friend after all these years, like you couldn’t tell him you had been homesick for him. Keeping up a facade for all those years had only served to hurt and distance the two of you for no reason. Now, the two of you were going to heal, going to focus on rebuilding that home as soon as this show was over.

You sing while I drive

Not once did it go amiss, the way Kuroo glanced at you, hazel eyes flickering back between you and towards the barricade in the audience to your right. At first, it seemed nonchalant; like it was an attempt to engage with the crowd as he typically did. But Kuroo was always meticulous and calculating with his actions, and that lead you to glance in the same direction while you sang your respective lines in the second verse.

I would rather spend my life Vacations in bed with you like drunken summer kites

So that’s why he was looking over there. Funny, considering Nanami had explicitly said that she was unable to make it to the show because of some piss poor excuse of her fabricated brother coming back into town. Under normal circumstances, this would have been an awkward situation. But it wasn’t your fault she had been caught in a lie, nor was it your fault that Kuroo had decided to break up with her last night. Well, okay, maybe it was a little. But it wasn’t your fault she felt the need to grace the audience with her present after saying she wasn’t going to show up. It wasn’t your fault she was red in the face as she glanced at the on-stage chemistry between you and her now ex-boyfriend.

To live in life and die

None of that even mattered anymore, and Kuroo made sure to reassure you of that by the silly way he’s grinning slyly as the end of the song nears. For a moment, you look at each of your bandmates to see if they were watching, paying attention to the telepathic messages going on between the four of you.

I don’t care if you’re sick

Hanamaki, though he’s wearing his typical glassed out look, is reciprocating a languid smile—one you were all too familiar with. Makki was the kinda that had your back regardless of the situation, and he made sure his expression reflected it often.

I don’t care if you’re contagious

Looking back at Terushima, you can see the snark and the itch to fight underneath his sweaty, glistening skin. As if he knew what the hidden glances between you and Kuroo meant; as if he knew some shit was about to go down and he was all over it.

I would kiss you even if you were dead

And finally, you glance back at Kuroo as the two of you harmonized the final bridge. Calm and cocky as ever, with red lighting serving to be nearly ominous. Though, it only made the reds of the roses on his skin shine more and serve as a reminder—they were for you. All seven roses from his neck, to his chest peeking from underneath his black tank, from his shoulder to his hand.

So if we’re heading there together you can sing all night

It served as a reminder that no matter what was to come after the show, the two of you would face it together. Even if that meant confronting the entire awkward Nanami situation that you knew was coming. Not that you minded—you were ready to defend Kuroo and yourself from any impending onslaught.

I’m gonna tear out the thread one by one from your skin ‘Til your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention

As Kuroo belted out his favorite stanza, he locked eyes with you, turning his body to face you entirely. Amusement danced in his eyes, not that it ever left, but this one was painted with something more. Painted with love, painted with lust, painted with home. The guitarist took slow, steady steps matching the rhythm of his words and letting the bass and drums overtake the sound as he grabbed his mic off his stand—an action you mirrored with your own microphone in hand until the two of you were face to face with the reverberation of his last played note floating in the air.

Kiss me while I drive

The song ended with a pronounced yell coming from Hanamaki and yourself before Kuroo places his microphone back on his stand; all but rushing over to you and choking your face in his large, tattooed hands and slatting his lips over yours. In front of everyone—in front your band, your fans, in front of Nanami. He’d made his proclamation in front of everyone and nothing had ever felt more right.

[ Besitos « I Don’t Care » Misery Business ]

Need to start from the beginning? You can check out the prologue [ here ]

Haikyuu!! Tag List

@hihiq​  @tamcitrus​ @yourlocalmemedumpster​ @90s-belladonna​​ @basicallyberry​​

[jinxthequeergirl]

Better in the end

Billy butcher x supe!reader

Summary: you get mixed up in this whole mess and kill people on accident by using your ablilitys Billy then comforts you the best he can.

Warning: swearing,death, also so there is a part kinda like the bath scene from umbrella academy

THIS IS BAADDD

~~~~~~~~~

You stood frozen facing the spot where a man once stood In front of you. But now him and two other men where blown to a million pieces spread across the floor, wall's and ceiling.

brought your hands up to your face dragging them across it trying to process everything In front of you.

You froze once you realized there wasn't the same friction there usually was, but instead they slid down your face quickly.

You pulled them from your face to look at them and let out a horrified screech reconizing the blood smeared across them.

You fell to your knees collapsing into more blood. "Y/n..." you felt someone's hand on your shoulder causing you to jump away. "Y/n, alright calm down relax..."

"NO! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" You slid back, away from butcher as He attempted to calm you down. "Y/n, you need to relax!"

Your hands went to your hair grabbing fist fulls. You could feel even your hair was sticky and matted to your head from blood, but you didn't care enough to freak out about that too.

Butcher was knelt down In front of you grabbing your forarms. "Stop!...stop it!.." tears started slipping down your face as you broke out into a sob attempting to pull away from him. He continued and placed blue hospital gloves over your hands.

"Take it easy...easy...Mm grab the stuff." he slipped the other glove on and you instantly wrapped your arms around his neck still sobbing.

"I know....we're going home now...Just breath. " he scooped you up in his arms and followed Mm from the hospital room.

You went all the way back to your little hide out with out a word, with out any movment. And when you showed no sign of leaveing the vehical butcher once again scooped you up and carried you inside.

"Wow what the hell happened to her?"

You tensed up in butchers arms and tightened your grip around his neck hearing Frenchie ask his question.

"Oi! Lay off will ya!..." he carried you to the back where he set you down on a mattres that lied on the floor. With out another word he got rid of his jacket And entered the bathroom.

In those moments that he was gone and you where alone, the water starting up in the background. You couldn't help but think about how abso-fucking-loutley stupid you where for getting your self mixed up with butcher and his "stop the supe's." dream team, you could help but thing about the last time you actually used your "superpowers." You should have minded your own bussnies but no, you just had to help.

Suddenly the water was off and butcher had reappered. "Ok I want you to go have a bath, wash this all off of ya." he took your hand, but you yanked it away anxiously.

"You ain't gonna hurt me just go...I'll get some fresh clothes for you..ok? I'll just be outside." you stood up and ruffles into the bathroom shutting the door.

You climbed in gingerly. You just say there, you pulled your knees up to your chest and placed your chin on top of them.

You looked down into the water which had changes to a light pink color from the blood washing off of your arms and legs. There was a knock at the door before it creeked open.

Butcher stepped in with a hand over his eyes. "I brough you some clothes...I'm Just going to set them down, right here...and I'll be out of your hair."

He set the stack down on the counter. "The last time I did something like that I killed my moms boyfriend..." you mumbled. Butcher froze and turned his back to you, pulling his hand from his face.

"He...he Was yelling at my mom...she...she didn't...she didn't even know why..." Suddenly butcher was taking a seat his back against the tub.

"I was seven...maybe eight...I ran out to him and tugged his arm and yelled. "Quit yelling at my mom you jerk!" and suddenly he just blew up! Blood....and little....little pieces of him flung back against me and my mom...she Was fucking pissed..." You dig your fingers into your legs as you continued and shut your eyes.

"she yelled and cried at me for weeks refused to let me go outside or...or touch anything...she bought me gloves...to make sure it never happened again, and told me I was a monster...because of something out of my controle!....I swore I'd never let this happen again...So I wear my gloves all the time just incase..." your voice started cracking and tears brimmed your eyes.

He didn't say anything He just got up grabbed something from under the sink, on top of the counter and sat back down but this time facing you.

You still sat currled up in a ball but moved your head slowly to face him. He stuck a rat in the water behind you and started wiping the blood from your face.

After That he took a cup and dunked it into the water before dumping it over your head washing the blood out , he did that a few more times before the water was completely red.

"You aren't a monster...So don't fucking think, or tell yourself that.And I think your old lady was a fucking bitch and made you scared of something neither of you understood...and still don't."

You looked down at your hand that was still wrapped around your legs and saw his free one on top of it. You moved and slid up to the rim of the tub and took his face in your hands slowly.

And to your surprise he was the first to make a move taking a hand behind your head and bringing you close so he could kiss you. You broke free for a moment before chasing his lips and kissing him again.

"They're probably wondering-"

"I'm sure Mm has it under control..." You muttered before placing another quick gentle kiss on his lips again. He moved away from you momentarily to grab his spare shirt He had on the counter for you and wrapped it around your shoulders.

You smiled. "Thanks..."

"We can finish this later, love...her dressed." He leaned down and kissed your nose. Before leaving you alone again.

Then at some point you woke up the next morning curled up against butcher. "Hello, love." you laughed lightly and looked up at him. "Hello to you too." You reached up and kissed him. "We should stay here all day." you mumbled into his lips and he smiled.

"We have things to do today.."

"They can wait an hour or two." he laughed and kissed your forehead. "A little while longer I suppose."

[theewrites-tf2]

Two Fathers, A Frenchman and a Baby

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12622712

Word Count: 3740 (Uh, yeah, holy shit, this is a big one)

Chapters: 1/1

Publish Date: Nov. 3 2017

Plot: There are two fathers, one Frenchman, and a baby in one room, at about one in the morning.

Warnings: Cuteness, slight language warnings, Scout being a smartass, more cuteness, the author used Google Translate for the French, author doesn’t completely, know how you operate babies, there is barely an attempt at accents, a dash or two of angst, and Spy is still low-key a smartass. Also, Dad!Spy feels. Your welcome.

Also, LONG A.N. at end of chapter. Sorry, but not sorry.

Enjoy!

Two Fathers, A Frenchman and a Baby

Jeremy pretended to stay asleep for at least three minutes… three minutes, did that really make him a bad guy? He winced as he felt the body beside him shift, a exhausted grumble sounding. The Boston native sighed, “I got ‘em.” He muttered, sitting up and leaving a quick kiss on their cheek, before rolling out of bed and creeping out of the room, letting out a curse when he walked straight into the wall on his way out of the bedroom, towards the muffled sound of crying down the hall.

As he slowly made his way down the hall, Jeremy felt a chill as he moved down the hall, and no, it wasn’t just because of his white t-shirt and boxers being his only apparel. Instinct and years being employed as a mercenary made him pause beside an innocent looking vase, until he reached into the vase and silently pulled out a simple, but effective handgun, already loaded. He pressed his back to the wall, all exhaustion leaving his mind as he silently made his way to the final door at the end of the hall, where that feeling of uneasiness originated from. Putting his hand over the doorknob, he slowly opened the door, grey-blue eyes scanning the room.

Once he deemed it safe, he swiftly made his way through the nursery to his wailing son, quickly picking up the four month old from his cradle. “Hey, kiddo…” Jeremy murmured, smiling down at his infant son as he rearranged his grip securely, keeping the pistol in the hand not holding the little one. “Rough night too, eh? Pretty sure I was awake before ya started crying for us…” His eyes carefully scanned the dark nursery, before he slowly made his way to the window, smiling down softly at the small baby he held securely. “Ya know, you usually cry MUCH louder, when there’s no body around… ya seem to have the talent down, when you KNOW there’s someone just two good steps away, so you don’t have to yell as loud.” Jeremy raised his pistol, eyes snapping when the barrel came in contact with a invisible figures chin. “Someone like a no-good, creepin’ Spy.”

For a moment, there was dead silence, before a sigh as Spy dropped his cloak, glaring distastefully at the gun. “I see domestic lifestyle hasn’t dulled your… quirks.” Spy raised a glowing cigarette to his mouth, eyes watching Scout lazily. “Are you going to shoot me?”

“Thought I told you not to smoke with the kid around.”

“This is the first time you’ve caught me coming in here.”

“…Oh. Then I guess I forgot. Anyway, smoke out, now.”

Spy sighed dramatically, smoothly clicking open the window and flicking his prized cigarette away. Jeremy watched for a moment, before lowering the gun and stepping away from the Frenchman, carrying his son away.

Spy noticed he had not put down the pistol, but followed him anyway.

“So, you always break into kids bedrooms, Spook?” Scout asked, flicking on the lamp before sitting down in a rather cushy armchair, setting the pistol on one of the arm, just within reach. Spy glanced around the room, half-hoping there was a second chair. When there wasn’t, he have scout a glare, leaning against the wall. “I simply wanted to see what all the fuss was about that one.” Spy retorted, nodding to the raven-haired child the young father had began to rock in an attempt to calm the boy down.

“Spy. I know this isn’t your first time breaking in here.” Jeremy said, narrowing his eyes slightly. “This is the first time I’ve caught ya, sure, but this, what? Third, forth..?”

“Eighth, actually,” Spy said calmly, eyes roaming around the small nursery, a place he already memorized the first time he popped in. “I’ve been meaning to ask, who gave you the Yeti mobile?”

“Saxton Hale, said he wanted the kid to dream about beating the snot out of living things at an early age…” His partner didn’t like it, but their son had giggled at the ridiculous sight, so Scout somehow got it to stay. “Don’t change the subject, Spy. Why do you feel the need to sneak around, Instead of usin’ a door like a normal freakin’ person.” Jeremy paused after his miniature rant when he was interrupted by a small whine from his son, and he looked up at the older man. “Hey, mind grabbing his bottle from the fridge?”

“Hm. One door down, to the right?”

“Yep.”

“His red bottle or that horrid baseball themed you got him?”

“Just for that comment, the baseball one.”

“Lovely.”

After Spy walked away, the Boston looked down at the baby in his arms, frowning. “Seriously, how many times had this guy been here, and ya didn’t say anything?” He asked, dead serious, and his son merely blinked back up at him, identical grey-blue eyes wide and innocent. Jeremy sighed, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. “You better not be giving him that cutesy, innocent look. Save it for the ladies, little man.” Spy returned to the room, handing off the bottle to Jeremy. “I took on the generous task of heating up its formula, your welcome.”

Jeremy looked down at the bottle, then back at Spy, looking suspicious. WIthout a word, he screwed off the lid and stuck his finger into the formula, quickly giving it a taste while Spy rolled his eyes. “Scout, it’s not poisoned.” Scout stuck out his tongue at the older man, “Hey, with you, everythin’ is a mystery.” He paused, then gave the Frenchman a sheepish grin, “Plus, some of guys left some of their, uh…supplies ‘round here. Don’t want Jackie here accidently drink some gunpowder or whateva.”

Scout leaned back, letting his kid latch onto the bottle to drink greedily. “It’s a bit… Small.” Spy said, walking around to look at assorted childs toys. Scout rolled his eyes, “It’s a he, first off. Second, he arrived earlier than expected.” The young father sounded a tad defensive on the last bit, going quiet before saying, determined, “Ma said I was a bit small too. Made me faster, easier to get into small places, an’ if this kid is anything like me, he’ll be the exact same.” Spy remained silent as the man ranted, looking distastefully at, what he assumed was, a stuffed bear… However, the crudely sown eyepatch and the (hopefully) deactivated sticky bomb in the bears hand, gave little doubt on which Scottish merc made this. Spy was content with ignoring the Bostonian behind him, until he asked a question that made him stop dead in his tracks.

“You ever held the kid? Or… A kid?”

“… No. And I do not plan t-”

Suddenly, a four month old was placed on one arm, its bottle in his other hand, and Scout was halfway out the door, calling over his shoulder nonchalantly, “You support the head, when he’s done drinkin’, you gotta pat him on the back for burpin’ and if you drop him or ditch him in his crib and try to escape, I will personally send you to respawn before you can say ‘oui-oui baguette.’ See ya in a minute, Frenchie.” With that, the Boston walked out of the nursery and taking his pistol away and out of the room with him, leaving Spy to frantically his name after him, clearly distressed. “Scout, SCOUT,” The Frenchman whisper/shouted after him, because he had no idea what to do. After no response, Spy swore violently in French, warily looked down at the baby in his arms, which was now staring up at him, equally wary of this new development, with…

…

“Mon dieu.”

Spy only just realized, as he stared down at those eerily familiar blue eyes, that all three of them had the exact same shade of blue-grey irises.

At this realization, Spy sighed, criticizing himself for not seeing the similarities sooner. He was a Spy, detecting the details was his job, how he missed this was beyond him. The first time he had snuck in to see the brats son, the child had still been in the hospital. Spy didn’t stick around long, but he stayed long enough to see that Scout… Jeremy, hadn’t left the room where his son was being cared for, and had taken up to sleeping in that cold hospital room on a chair beside the incubator. Spy had taken one look at the scene, before he strode right on out of the hospital room.

Spy would swear til his dying day, that the jacket Jeremy had found over his shoulders the next morning was NOT his own.

He didn’t return to see the newborn, until it had been released from the hospital, and the visits had been short, fleeting. Just a quick peek into the child’s nursery… Small visits, to satisfy his natural, overbearing curiosity over this babys existance.

After a moment, Spy sighed deeply through his nose, shifting his grip on the baby slightly, attempting to mimic the hold he had seen the chatterbox Bostonian use. The child’s bottom lip wavered for a terrifying minute, and Spy commanded, “Don’t,” Although it sounded more like desperation than an actual order for the infant to follow. The baby, miraculously, followed his command, and Spy went to work on feeding the little one, eyes glaring angrily as he looked out the room, waiting for the brat to return.

“Je vais tordre le cou de poulet maigre,” The Frenchman swore, unaware that little Jack had pulled away from his bottle, watching the older man curiously. “Avant que je pousser cette chauve-souris à droite dans son-” A small giggle broke his rant, and he quickly looked down at the child, suddenly worried he had broken it somehow. The baby was smiling up at him, toothless and completely unaware of the threats the masked man had been saying, but smiling all the same at the funny noises the man had been making. Spy sighed, but offered a small smile it return, placing the boys bottle down to hold him in both arms, offering him more support. “Ah, mon petit corbeau noir…” He murmured, running a gloved hand through the child’s black hair, one of the few qualities he didn’t inherit from his father’s side of the family. “Quand vous êtes un peu plus vieux, peut-être je peux vous enseigner le français … Vous semblez apprécier la langue,” He said thoughtfully, smiling as the child laughed again.

“Ya moron, he’s not laughing at your gibberish,” Scout said loudly, carrying in the child’s diaper bag over his shoulder. “He probably just made a mess in his diaper. Give ‘im here.” Spy grimaced in disgust and hurriedly handed the child back to his father, who smirked at his succession of the ruining the little moment. “Also, if you try to teach him French when i’m not lookin’, ‘m gonna teach him how to swear when he’s older, and make him to practice all his cuss words on you.” Spy snorted at the threat, walking away as Jeremy started working on the soiled diaper. “It will still be worth it, when his first word is not in any variation of English.” He said smugly, already picturing Scouts stunned and crestfallen face, should the child pick up Spy’s mother tongue prior to learning English. Scout tossed a glare over his shoulder, “I could toss this diaper at you, so don’t go thinkin’ up any ideas about turning my kid into your little French fry.” He warned, and Spy raised his hand in surrender, saving his plots for later.

“Out of curiosity, when do you plan on returning to the base?” Spy asked casually, keeping his distance as Jeremy cleaned up. The Scout shrugged, thinking it over for a second, “I think… Yeah, I think we move over there in ‘bout two weeks. Inks gotta dry on the papers before Ma and Jackie can move in.” Spy paused, not sure if he heard the boy correctly. “… Did you say…Your mother and…” Jeremy turned around, his child back in his arms with a raised brow. “Uh, yeah? Ma and Jack are gonna live in an apartment in Teufort, until the kiddo is going to kindergarten.” Scout walked past the stunned looking Frenchman, still talking about his plan. “After that, Ma will move back to Boston, i’ll move permanently off-base with Jackie, and we’ll live happily ever after, until my contract runs out…IF it ever does. Still got about six years on my current one, and It may be renewed when it runs out. Ya never know.” As Scout started rearranging the baby’s crib, Spy stared at him. “That… sounded very mature.” Spy said, stunned that the fast-talking, cowardly boy in front of him could already be thinking so far into the future, all for the sake of that child.

It was almost impressive, but something nagged at Spy about the plan…

“What about his mother?” Spy asked, and Jeremy froze instantly, his back to Spy. For a long moment, there was dead silence. Then the Scout, picking his words carefully, slowly said, “Jackie’s Ma… wants to stay here in the East… Get her degree. She’ll… probably come down to Teufort in a year or two.”

Months later, Spy would think back to this very conversation, when Jeremy received the legal papers from Jack’s mother… The papers that were to grant Scout full-custody and parental rights of their son. Scouts face was crestfallen, but amazingly, he confided and admitted to Spy that he had a feeling this would happen. Jeremy told Spy that, though they tried to keep the relationship going, it was never that serious to begin with… Spy also had the sneaking suspicion, that the woman herself did not want the child in the first place. Jeremy would never confirm or admit, that he had been the one to convince Jack’s mother to keep the baby. And after the legal papers were signed, Jack’s mother was practically impossible to contact to find out the truth, after she voluntarily terminated all her parental rights.

But, that would be months from now, and Spy only took Scouts words in carefully, before turning away from the subject.

“Well…I’m glad you have that situation all worked out,” Spy said, them smirked. “I’ll be sure to give your mother a personal welcome, upon her arrival at Teufort.” The younger man felt his lower eyelid twitch, but decided to ignore the meaning behind the Frenchmans words. Only a few more weeks, then Scout could send him through respawn as many times as he liked. Jeremy looked down at his kid, who was starting to doze off and smiled down at him warmly, checking to make sure his kid was tucked in, nice and warm. After running his hand over the baby’s soft black hair, Jeremey leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Get some sleep kiddo, okay?” He said softly, waiting until he watched the baby close his eyes firmly. The Scout then turned, and pointed to Spy, then to the door of the nursery, eyes screaming at the Frenchman to keep quiet.

The Spy rolled his eyes, but followed the younger man out the door, pausing a second to look back at the baby within his crib. Spy allowed a small, honestly warm smile to appear on his face, before he silently shut the door behind them and the smile faded away. Spy and Scout both held their breaths for a moment, listening for any signs of a wailing infant, until they sighed in relief simultaneously. Then Jeremy looked up at Spy, eyes narrowed slightly, but not in hostility. “Okay, look. Tonight, you’re using the front door… And, please, just use the front door like a goddamn normal person when you wanna come over, alright?” Spy rolled his eyes, as they quietly walked down the hall towards the front foyer. “Very well, although it goes against many decades of training-” Oh, you actually trained?” Scout mocked, and Spy responded with glare as they reached the front door.

“So, you staying with the guys or something?”

“Or something. I will tell your mother you said Hi.”

“Ha ha…Are you serious?”

Spy smirked, opening the front door silently. “Well, Scout, I cannot say with honesty that I look forward to your return to Teufort, but I can say that it is… an anticipated welcome, both you and your son will recieve when you return.” Jeremy gave him a crooked grin, “Thanks Frenchie. Oh, and before I forget…”

Suddenly, a paper was thrust up into Spy’s face, and Scouts face was cool, a raised brow. “Care to explain what is on this paper?”

It was Spy’s greatest achievement. His best mission, the result of a successful break-in, and, in a way, his legacy. It was also, officially known as baby Jacks birth certificate.

“I don’t see a problem,” Spy said, smirking over ther paper at Jeremy, who pointed at the name that was scrawled carefully onto the document. “Spy. That ain’t my handwritin’.” He said bluntly, before pointing the accusatory finger at the smug Frenchman. “That’s YOURS, aint it?” Scout snapped, eyes irritated and Spy shrugged. “Again, I fail to see the problem with the name printed on the paper.” He say lightly, and Scout only glared back.

“Spy, you literally snuck in, foraged my handwritin’, and you LITERALLY named my kid ‘Jack Rabbit’! Like, seriously… what the fuck?”

“His name is pronounced ‘Jacques Lapin.’ Considering his first name was going to be ‘Jackson,’ there is not much difference.”

Jeremy crossed his arms, fuming silently. “Still! Why’s the name gotta be French?! Jackson was a perfectly fine name.” Spy only smirked, opening the front door, “Well, now little ‘Jacques’ has the perfect excuse to learn French, doesn’t he?” Spy chuckled at the look on Jeremy’s reddening face, before he quickly cloaked and slipped out the door and out of the building, disappearing into the early hours of morning in Boston.

Meanwhile, Jeremy grumbled as he carefully put Jacks birth certificate away in the nursery, before looking over at the sleeping infant in his crib. “Your grandpa is a face AND a name-stealing jerk.” The Scout grumble quietly, before creeping out of the room, for hopefully the last time of the night. He really wanted to catch a few extra hours of sleep, before the sun rose in about five hours.

Jeremy got about halfway to his bedroom, before his son suddenly let out a loud wail from his crib, almost as if he knew that this time, there was no Frenchman in his room who would come pick him up. Jeremy closed his eyes, sent a silent curse up to the Heavens, before he slowly turned and trudged back to his son’s room, about to go though the whole routine all over again.

Ah, the joys of young fatherhood.

A.N. This idea came to me about a month ago, and I fell in love with the plot, as well as lil’ Jackie, who may not be canon in the game or comics, but will always be canon in my heart. It was fun to write Spy and Scout, as just two guys in a room with a baby, but also keeping the undertones of fatherhood within the story. No, I don’t think that canonically, Spy was there to raise a baby Scout, like Scout had dreamed about in comic #3. But, still, it was interesting to write a not-to-angsty story about fatherhood, featuring Spy. He may not have been the best father, but as a grandfather? I personally think, that Lil’ Jack is going to be the most spoiled and protected grandkid in history…

(Also, yes. The other mercs totally spoil and dote on Scouts son. This kid has like, nine dads, and eight of them also double as grandpas… This kid has the best childhood ahead of him, I swear.)

Originally, Jack’s mom was going to have a bigger role, but I decided in the end not to. While I can imagine Scout one day settling down with someone, The character I wrote as Jackie’s mom was not a person I could easily see as his significant other, nor did I see her as a particularly motherly figure to Jack. This isn’t something I would judge her severely about, since I have met people before, bother mothers and fathers, who have willingly given up their parental rights, because they knew that they couldn’t be the parent their children needed. She’s not meant to be written as a bad person, just not meant to be a mother. I also wanted to leave her character, somewhat up to interpretation. Was she Scouts highschool sweetheart? A lengthy one-night stand? I’ll live it up to you, the audience.

Will I return to this little AU I have written? Most definitely, because Jackie has wormed his way into my heart, and I think there’s plenty of material open for me to use with him, in future one-shots or other. If you guys want to REQUEST something in this AU, go ahead! And, if one of you lovely people ever want to, I don’t know, DRAW or create fanart for this oneshot… Message me, so I can publicly declare my love and appreciation for you, because, if I had the drawing and artist talent in me, this one-shot would’ve been a comic, or had plenty of art to go along with the story.

Sadly, or not so sadly, my hands were made for writing and typing stories for my lovely, amazing audience, and not for artwork of any kind. (dammit.)

Thank you so much for your support so far, and here’s to many one-shots in the future! Thanks again, and I hope to see y’all at my future one-shots!