marcos-simp

[marcos-simp]

kinda a role reversal au but obi-wan hasn’t made an appearance yet

[marcos-simp]

quiobi present for angie! parabéns rainha 💋

[marcos-simp]

Sketch comm!

[marcos-simp]

[marcos-simp]

A n O b s e s s i o n

[marcos-simp]

the whole “all the sith are in love with obi-wan” is my FAVOURITE gag i love it!!!

anakin in his journal for private thoughts: i am surrounded by jedi who for some reason do not want to fuck obi-wan kenobi and i feel isolated and alone in my desire??

anakin the second he becomes vader and joins all the group chats for the sith: omg ive found my people

[marcos-simp]

... but can we blame him?

[marcos-simp]

In another universe, in another life, when the greatest worry is Mace Windu walking in on them…

(I love my OT3 ‘kay. More Qui-Gon x Obi-Wan x Anakin please. And Obi-Wan being happy in general).

Extra:

Turns out, the person who has to act decoy when Mace Windu almost does walk in on them isn’t very amused. Ha ha, very cute, go get a fuckin’ room…

[marcos-simp]

Carry my burdens

(I seem to really enjoy the discovery of Marco as a person from the perspective of other people lmfao) (trigger warning gore)

The first time Ace remembers feeling his soulmate's pain is just after Garp's dumped him with the bandits. It blooms over his cheekbone, feeling like a crack and a shift inside his face, and he flinches hard. He rubs the spot, tears welling up, and then it's gone under a flash of warmth like a rag that was dipped in hot water dragged over the spot.

Dadan huffs and tells him that his soulmate probably got slapped. Ace isn't so sure. Years later, when some adult who hates Roger breaks his cheekbone, he remembers that moment and knows suddenly it wasn't a slap. But it makes him wonder why it disappeared so quickly.

It happens the same way every time. Sometimes sharp, sometimes dull; always hard and fast and bone-breaking, and enough to make Ace flinch and want to cry or scream with it. Ace's tolerance for his own pain grows, but even his own wounds are nothing in comparison to the stuff his soulmate experiences. His only consolation is that his soulmate's pain never lasts longer than a few seconds or a minute at most. Sabo and Luffy timed him, once, when he felt something pierce his chest that sent him to the ground in a hysterical fit. Like a hot lance through his ribs and heart and out his back, he screamed for a solid 45 seconds before it disappeared, once again, under a rush of warmth.

He thought, for a time, that he might hate his soulmate. While it didn't last long, it was always intense and horrifyingly hard. Why was it always like this? What were they doing that they were hurt in such terrible ways? How did they make it go away so quickly?

He thought he'd never have an answer until Whitebeard. Until after he took the mark. Until his first real fight on Pops' crew.

A rival crew from the North Blue challenging for territory. A man with a shotgun, blunt and mean looking. Ace had been only a few feet away and the resulting spray of horrible buckshot went painlessly through his fire.

It did not painlessly pass through Marco. Half of Marco's skull disappeared in a messy riot of giblets, strings of flesh and bits of bone bouncing off the deck. Marco's shoulder and arm and torso were instantly shredded like they'd been fed into a grinder. Pain, so similar and yet unlike anything he'd experienced before, exploded over Ace's side, arm, shoulder, and face.

His scream stopped everything dead in it's tracks. He didn't know he'd collapsed until the pain stopped-the warmth that always came gentling it away. When he could open his eyes again, Marco was a vision of blue wings and a golden beak bathed in red. The man with the shotgun was in pieces and somewhere in the world that man's soulmate learned what happens to people when their soulmate dies.

When the fighting was over, nobody believed him when he insisted he was fine. That was he felt wasn't his own pain, it was fine, he was fire anyway nobody was going to be able to hurt him while he was on the ground.

Marco locked them into his office, looking haunted and tired in a way Ace had never seen him before. He sagged into his chair, rubbed his hands over his face, and said

"I'm sorry-yoi. I never meant to do any of this to you."

[marcos-simp]

How brilliant and beautiful

Dreams Shared

that au where you share dreamscapes with your soulmate(s)

Marco lives to 22 never sharing his dreams. When he ate his fruit and his need for rest diminished to barely an hour a night he didn't think it would be a problem. He didn't have a soulmate, his dreams were a black void of restful nothing that feels like laying in a warm bed of feathers and didn't seem in a state to change when he was 14.

Then only a scant two months after his 22nd birthday, everything changes. He falls asleep knowing he'll be up and active again in two hours and instead of the dark, familiar nothing he gets...something else. Riots of sound and color, voices that make his ears bleed saying things he can't understand, sensation whirring in patterns he's never known before. A presence, confused and distant but resting all the same as Marco is, is there waiting for him.

When he wakes up, disoriented and disturbed, he tells Pops immediately. Pops' expression becomes thoughtfully grave and serious. He tells Marco to give it time. A few months, maybe things will become clearer.

They don't.

Instead, just a few weeks into the strange new routine, a second presence appears. The riot of color and sound and confusion only intensifies. Marco can barely sense anything through the cacophonous atmosphere, let alone where these two strangers might be in relation to himself in it all. Their collective overstimulating dreamscape leaves Marco shaken and tired upon waking.

Pops eventually gives him the nudge. If he can't reach them, then he must allow them to come to him. He must assert his will the way he had previously-create his restful, warm, feathery nothing once again and wait them out.

It takes years.

And then, all at once, he can see-hear-perceive them--and he wishes he didn't.

[marcos-simp]

Modern MAS Musician Au ]

this has been poking my brain, will I ever write it who knows?

Ace Punk Rock; Machine gun Kelly- very mainstream and adored for his music

Sabo alternative punk; YUNGBLUD - less mainstream but very popular in the UK and with lgbt/marginalized groups

Now Ace and Sabo have collaborated and have some.. feelings but that ain't gonna be looked at too closely cause both of them are focused on their careers. Anyway they end up getting contacted by Whitebeard records (a huge deal, Edward newgate was known as the father of rock for a reason)

SO they come in and are met by Newgate himself, Basically the deal is they are to collaborate in a album to re-launch Di-Angels Return.

Now for those who don't Know Di-angel or for those who were fans Marci Diangelo was a HUGE deal back in the day. Like Joan Jett mixed with Lady gaga. The woman was the beginning of the punk rock scene, aggressively making out with both genders for paparazzi and generally being an absolute menace. Ace and Sabo of course say yes, (Sabo was inspired to start his own music career by her and Ace just thinks she's neat.)

Anyway the day comes where they are supposed to meet Her, Di- Angel, Marci and of course Sabo is kinda fanboying and Ace may or may not be very jealous cause come on, she was hot back in the day but she's in her 40s now. Instead of the busty blonde who once screamed into the microphone about flying away. They are met with a blonde man in a leather jacket.

"Uhm, excuse me?" Ace wants to be irritated but damn the guy is smokin hot. "We were supposed to be meeting Di-angel here."

The man blinks sleepy blue eyes, "yeah, I know."

Sabo bites his lip eye twitching, "You- Marci, we are meeting with Marci Diangelo, the singer."

The blonde man sticks a cig in his mouth, the corner quirking up. "Just said, I know. But you obviously are a bit behind the times." The man stands towering over both of them, "I go by Marco now, call me Marci again and I'll send you both through the door got it?"

Oh shit, fuck yeah, this is GOOD SHIT right here raccooon.

Ever since Pops suggested relaunching Di-Angel, Marco's been nothing but a roll of anxiety in human skin. While their family was fairly accepting, and the punk-rock community as a whole generaly was too, the larger scene is...well. Not quite the same. With most of the people of Marco's generation reacting across the entire spectrum from acceptance to hard rejection, Marco honestly didn't think it would be a good idea.

Yes, his voice and range dropped by a few octaves. Yes his old favorite dresses didn't fit the same any more (not that he wanted to put on most of them any more, just the shiny leather number but he had to get it tailored for the new dimension of his chest and hips). Yes, he's different now and that difference is something that he's gotten shit for from people he thought were friends and something that people he thought hated him were supportive of. It's been a roller coaster of strangeness and that was before Pops suggested relaunching his music career.

He left music because he knew the reactions would be. Mixed. once things got off the ground for his transition. Music never left him-Pops has multiple videos of him humming melodies and tapping beats from doctors' offices and one in a hospital bed-but the scene? He assumed the scene left him well behind.

Then Pops came to him with this insane idea and told him that these two young pups, rising stars and rough diamonds the both of them, were jumping and chomping at the bit. Marco didn't know what to think. He told Pops he'd reserve judgement until they met, but even then the hotcold churning in his stomach of anxiety was steadily eating his confidence of this whole thing working.

Then he meets them and despite the fact that neither of them knew who he was now, they were adorably eager just as Pops said. And, just as Pops said, they're talented if a bit raw. Unrefined, somehow. Both have a similar feel-rough voices in a slightly high medium range, but what really grabs Marco's attention is that they both actually play. Something that's fallen out of fashion in newer bands, that their lead vocalists know what to do with a guitar in hand, they both pick up an axe during the experimental jam session and they aren't too bad either. They know classic riffs and stings, whole lead lines from classic and punk rock staples.

Then something of a miracle happens. Ace picks up a bass and smacks out a fairly simple beat on 5, jumping octaves, and Sabo picks up Marco's old stage piece and. Oh.

That's the lead and bass of "I Feel Fine" and Marco's nothing if not a perfectionist for the classics. He grabs the mic they rigged up for his studio, coughs to clear his throat, and-

Ace does something to the bass beat, a lick or two to change things juuuuust a little and Sabo slips a few 16th and 32nd notes here and there, little twangs to change the key down a half step and suddenly its not The Beatles any more, it's something a little rougher, a little less refined, it's something from the back alleys of a queer bar that Marco used to dress butch for where he got called a good man for the first time. It's like being in love, if love were a dirty suckerpunch and a cigarette after-if love was two men who might not always be men-if love was a little less straight.

That ends up being the second song on the album a year later, a fucking Beatles cover that rockets them right to the top of the charts in multiple countries and forces Marco back into the spotlight no matter how much he tries pushing the younger stars forward and blames them for the majority of their sound. Three vocalists who trade off is definitely strange, especially since Marco is....well, not 'Marci' any more.

But it works, somehow Pops' insane idea doesn't explode in their faces, and if there's maybe a little charged something that happens in the limo ride home from their first awards show, something that's been building for months and months over heated eye contact and falling asleep on each other in the studio and appreciative whistling during the set and costume set-up of music videos, well.

That's their business and nobody else's. And if that charged something results in Ace stumbling down into Marco's kitchen in the middle of the night only to scream at Thatch who's in the tradition of making Marco breakfast after award shoes (started before Di-Angel and 'Marci' ever got big), who then screams right back at him which draws both Sabo and Marco down to see what the goddamn noise is about. Well.

That's also their business and nobody else's. (yes Thatch even you, get the fuck out of my kitchen, goddamn-yoi)

[marcos-simp]

Dem tiddies

[marcos-simp]

/a monster calls//

[marcos-simp]

when ao3 is back up i want all of you to leave comments on the fics you were interrupted from reading, the fics you were looking to find, the fics you were thinking about re-reading, and the fics left open in your tabs for months now.

when ao3 is back up, i want you all to show some love to your favourite writers, favourite fics, or even just the 600 word one-shot that brought a smile to your face that tuesday three weeks ago.

when ao3 is back up i want you all to remember that comments and explicitly voiced appreciation are what keep writers going.

[marcos-simp]

feral marco thoughts (thanks xam and that one anon)

-probably territorial in the way that birds of prey are: smaller "birds" are annoying and not worth the time to chase off (birds are minor enemies, the grunts the goons the guys with forgettable faces and names not worth knowing)

-the moby is the nest and his crew is *his*, not necessarily his children but definitely his to the point that anyone who looks at a crew member funny gets a face full of beak and talon, or they get beat to shit by wings reinforced with haki (how does he have enough control to use haki when he's half mad feral? nobody knows but he crushed some skulls+caved in some rib cages and nobody can look at swans the same way again)

-bigger threats, captains of enemy crews or higher ranked marines, get a stare down. he goes still, wings flaring out and flaring, he looks bigger than he is and his birdsong call sounds less like a song and more like screamingwarningthreats that invite people to fuck off or die. He never blinks and he never looks away.

-if the bigger threat refuses to leave, he'll make them. if they resist talon and wings and riptearshredding, the beak is put to use. they can't do shit if they don't have a brain inside their pecked-open skull or eyes in their conveniently placed and wide open-for-the-taking sockets.

-he likes his meat raw and he likes his treasures to be either on fire or shiny. when ace presents both (shiny bracelets, the sheath of his knife, the buckle of his belt, the glossy beads on his hat and his necklace, his fire calling out-), he doesn't try to resist he just fucking lands on him, pins him in place, and refuses to let him leave or move. "This is mine now" right up until ace has to eat and then he has a bird the size of a horse right up on his back every step of the way, neck curving over his should to steal bites from the plate and talons stepping on his boots

[marcos-simp]

Lies we (don't) tell

That AU where you can't lie to your soulmate.

Ace has heard the stories about soulmates. Everyone has. Makino used to tell them with a starry look in her eyes. Shanks laughed when he told his own version, though the entire time he talked Benn looked about two seconds away from shooting him. Even Deuce had a tale he couldn't remember where he'd heard it from.

You can't lie to them. Lies strangle in your throat, the words die, and you can say nothing but the truth when directly speaking to the person you're meant for. No lies, no secrets, everything laid bare. The idea terrified him.

He pitied his soulmate for the longest time. Some poor bastard tied to the worst that the seas had to offer: a cursed demon child that likely wouldn't make it to 30 before the World Government found him and murdered him.

Then came Whitebeard. Then came Marco, and suddenly Ace couldn't lie if he was looking in the man's direction. I love living, I'm fine, There's nothing wrong with me, My father isn't important all dissolved into choked wheezing gasps when Marco was around.

Ace learned, in record time, how to talk around the truth. I'm fine became I've been worse (wasn't a lie, the lowest points of his life were far behind him after he took Pops' mark). I love living became I love living here (living on the Moby, being in the Whitebeard crew, were things Ace loved deeply, living on the whole? still up for debate). There's nothing wrong with me turned into....nothing. He couldn't find a good replacement for that one and still stumbled over it. He avoided saying it at all when possible.

It worked for years. Then, somehow, the one that caught him-the one thing that tipped Marco off and changed everything, wasn't even his own lie.

"It's noth-" Marco had started to say, a sword literally sticking out of his chest. The battle raged around them yet somehow the little pocket of space they occupied was still. Marco coughed, the sword jostling and air wheezed noisily through the wound around it.

"You can't fucking lie to me, you birdbrain!" Ace shouted back. Panicked, he reached and grabbed to the sword's hilt tightly.

Marco's eyes were already wide, but the edges twitched like he was trying to expand them wider. He coughed again, a sickly noise, and blue feathers started beading up along his throat-building under skin then bursting out in a flash of distracting color. Blood dripped from his chin. He nodded only once.

Ace yanked the sword free. Blue fire engulfed them both. It was warm, so different from Ace's own, and then it pulled away and grew, thrashing to the sides as Marco's wings flared outwards.

A beak clacked and clicked. The words "See? It's fi-" chocked behind a tongue edged in teeth and under still-wide eyes.

"I told you, you can't lie to me!" Ace snarled back at him, the sword dripping blood onto the deck. Marco flinched back, words choking in his s-curved neck.

After, when the battle is won and everyone's getting drunk on deck with Pops, Marco lets Ace drag him off to a private corner of a hallway. Ace kisses him breathless and in between gasps and roaming hands, he keeps repeating those words like gospel.

You can't lie to me (either).

[marcos-simp]

my heart

Carry my burdens

(I seem to really enjoy the discovery of Marco as a person from the perspective of other people lmfao) (trigger warning gore)

The first time Ace remembers feeling his soulmate's pain is just after Garp's dumped him with the bandits. It blooms over his cheekbone, feeling like a crack and a shift inside his face, and he flinches hard. He rubs the spot, tears welling up, and then it's gone under a flash of warmth like a rag that was dipped in hot water dragged over the spot.

Dadan huffs and tells him that his soulmate probably got slapped. Ace isn't so sure. Years later, when some adult who hates Roger breaks his cheekbone, he remembers that moment and knows suddenly it wasn't a slap. But it makes him wonder why it disappeared so quickly.

It happens the same way every time. Sometimes sharp, sometimes dull; always hard and fast and bone-breaking, and enough to make Ace flinch and want to cry or scream with it. Ace's tolerance for his own pain grows, but even his own wounds are nothing in comparison to the stuff his soulmate experiences. His only consolation is that his soulmate's pain never lasts longer than a few seconds or a minute at most. Sabo and Luffy timed him, once, when he felt something pierce his chest that sent him to the ground in a hysterical fit. Like a hot lance through his ribs and heart and out his back, he screamed for a solid 45 seconds before it disappeared, once again, under a rush of warmth.

He thought, for a time, that he might hate his soulmate. While it didn't last long, it was always intense and horrifyingly hard. Why was it always like this? What were they doing that they were hurt in such terrible ways? How did they make it go away so quickly?

He thought he'd never have an answer until Whitebeard. Until after he took the mark. Until his first real fight on Pops' crew.

A rival crew from the North Blue challenging for territory. A man with a shotgun, blunt and mean looking. Ace had been only a few feet away and the resulting spray of horrible buckshot went painlessly through his fire.

It did not painlessly pass through Marco. Half of Marco's skull disappeared in a messy riot of giblets, strings of flesh and bits of bone bouncing off the deck. Marco's shoulder and arm and torso were instantly shredded like they'd been fed into a grinder. Pain, so similar and yet unlike anything he'd experienced before, exploded over Ace's side, arm, shoulder, and face.

His scream stopped everything dead in it's tracks. He didn't know he'd collapsed until the pain stopped-the warmth that always came gentling it away. When he could open his eyes again, Marco was a vision of blue wings and a golden beak bathed in red. The man with the shotgun was in pieces and somewhere in the world that man's soulmate learned what happens to people when their soulmate dies.

When the fighting was over, nobody believed him when he insisted he was fine. That was he felt wasn't his own pain, it was fine, he was fire anyway nobody was going to be able to hurt him while he was on the ground.

Marco locked them into his office, looking haunted and tired in a way Ace had never seen him before. He sagged into his chair, rubbed his hands over his face, and said

"I'm sorry-yoi. I never meant to do any of this to you."