#txt; marcus

[lexyscross]

CRAZY how the Volturi are like, "We have to keep the existence of vampires secret," and then they walked around dressed like the most stereotypical God damn vampires you have ever seen in your life! CRAZY! Insane to me!

[emahriel]

father tomas ortega

[ptanalo]

mwah mwah mwah kiss kiss kiss

[codecan]

Asexual Aiden Pearce⁉️⁉️⁉️

Aceflux Marcus Holloway⁉️⁉️⁉️

(I’m just projecting .. prid monf)

[arctiidaes]

Can anybody hear me. Do you see my vision.

[empydoc]

SOUL EATER AU marcus & asset

check out the masterpost here!

welcome to a redacted soul eater au post! here is where i try and discover what it'd be like if you merged the soul eater world and mechanics within the redactedverse. this is the twelfth post in the series! we've got marcus & asset on the menu today. enjoy!

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asset — soul type: n/a weapon type: flexible / any compatible with: all* under the premise that one is a meister

asset is, as they are in canon, an android. however, not only are they an android, but they're the result of an experiment dedicated to the creation of a weapon-type without a soul nor a compatibility indicator. asset is still willed to fill out their original purpose, but as time grew and new possibilities arose, the "suits" wanted to see if they could try out something they'd never seen before.

considering asset doesn't have a physical soul, they do not have a wavelength, either. this makes them exempt from issues like compatibility and usage, however it also means they're unable to perform wavelength attacks or abilities.

during the "obsession code arc", something became an issue. suddenly, nobody could wield asset unless they were marcus or allowed to by marcus. this wasn't an intended trait of the code, but it was certainly part of marcus's downfall in the end.

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marcus —  soul type: meister strongest meister ability: ? compatible with: n/a

marcus is a typical meister. he has no mentioned abilities or strengths, but if he's hiding a skill or two, nobody knows about it. his involvement in the progression of asset became his typical downfall, but it came and went much quicker than it does in canon, purely because it becomes more and more obvious during their time that asset only 'wants' to be 'compatible' with marcus.

to add a little backstory to him- i like to think marcus has never felt compatible with anyone. he's never had a weapon partner to call his own. this is why, as the idea of making asset an artificial weapon came about, he was so enthusiastic about it that he volunteered to do all the heavy lifting. and, as a result, he got what he wanted, but only for a short moment of guilty glory.

lite backstory: for every post i make for the characters, i'll add some au backstory to really fill in some details you may be curious about!

at first it was subtle. the "obsession" was more of an "infatuation" with the way marcus worked. he knew everything when it came to weapon and meister compatibility- and yet whenever asset asked, he'd answer the unfortunate and lonely response of never having experienced it first hand.

to many's demise, that's where they had their own idea.

when james, personally, found out what was happening, he was furious. more so than we've known him to be. he kept his cool as much as he could, however, because the fact that asset themselves had curated their own code to mimic human compatibility with someone was new and interesting, and they needed to see how far it could go.

in a way, nobody's innocent. but, in a way, there's always the worse of two evils.

[t4tstarvingdog]

stream.

[jedinightsister]

Happy birthday to our Marcus! 🤍

Possible book spoiler thoughts under the cut

YOOO THE CAPTION. Am I reading too much into this??? Are we getting Marcus in S5??? Considering what happens to him in book 4...... Like. Yoooooo. Book people hmu

[glados]

hey this fight Sucked this fight Really Sucked Bad

[harlowhockeystick]

stay tuned. writing a pedro pascal/marys acacius fic

[ptanalo]

thought I should post these wips here lol

[caracello]

if i see that fucking twink in marcus's tag one more time.

[arctiidaes]

i said this during my first w359 listen 3 years ago and I still stand by it

[alchemylive]

list of people that i have lightly offended my mom by assuming she isn't familiar with: lionel boyce, harry du bois

[usersukuna]

but anyway.

thank fuck fanfics exist and god bless all the fanfic writers.

[wraithprint]

—DEGREES OF SEPARATION

You start to wonder if Sweet Tooth always has his "showtime face" on, or if there's something else (or someone else) lurking underneath.

Contains: Nothing but character ramblings. Established companionship, one (1) obvious pun.

—

As it turns out, Sweet Tooth can turn it off.

Not completely, not like Marilyn Monroe could - if you saw Needles Kane in the supermarket, you'd know, but... the more time Sweet Tooth spends around you, the less he seems obliged to fill the silence with jokes and banter.

It's the opposite of what you expected, really. Your afternoons thus far had been caught in the teeth of his biting wit - but you suppose he must be testing the taste of companionable quiet. Expanding his pal-ate, so to speak.

It's here, in the lazy summer mornings passed chasing sunbeams like cats, that you see the degrees of separation between Sweet Tooth and Needles Kane. One day, he stops scanning your face for some hint of a lie each time he asks your opinion. He doesn't follow up, doesn't ask if you really mean it, he just...takes you at your word.

(You wonder, briefly, what you'd have to do to get him to take you at your word, before realizing his wordplay might be etched in your mind forever.)

Needles exists in the moments before the stage lights harness the sun and wash the stage in light; riding the quiet susurrus of the audience that hangs over the room like a fog rolling over a street in the nighttime. He watches you with keen eyes, contemplative not unlike a housecat. He stalks the gaps in conversation like a lion, predatory and cunning and wholly capable of divorcing you from your spine, but his attempts at self-expression read more like testing his great yawning jaw against your throat rather than actively devouring you.

And you, well, you've always been something of a cat person. You don't make a show of it when he throws his weight down beside you. No, you just keep your hand outstretched and Needles eventually leans in to meet your palm, and it goes on like this until he tips his chin up for you without prompting and you finally get the nerve to ask about the name you saw in the Casino.

The one on the Blackfield uniform, stretched over the pool table.

"That name on the uniform..." You ask without preamble. The air tightens before you even finish your question. "Was it yours?"

Sweet Tooth--No, Needles--looks at you.

By now, he's told you about the dog (you aren't allowed to say his name). About Blackfield, about his mother, but not about the uniform. The part of you less keen on testing your fingers on the lion's teeth wants to believe it's the last effects of an old cellmate, but deep down, you know.

"You're going to have to use some proper nouns, sweetheart. Got a lotta names to keep track of these days." He says, and the air feels sparse in your throat at the edge in his tone, sharp as a machete.

"You know, the one on the pool table." You swallow. Hard. "Marcus Kane."

You dare to meet his eyes when you say it and he dares to hold the moment long enough for you to almost regret having asked. Almost. He tests his thumb against the silence like a thumb against a chipped knife, but doesn't draw blood. You draw breath, he draws a conclusion, but everyone's blood remains where it ought to be. Needles Kane sits upright to properly look down at you, still prone on the sofa, and something about that makes your gut clench.

"You want to meet him? Is that why you're asking?"

And from this angle, you swear the mask feels a little further off his face--maybe the furthest it's ever been. Your eyes go wide, straining to find the delineation between Sweet Tooth and Needles, Needles and Marcus. You get the impression his place must be behind that suffocating red veil of velvet, illuminated only by the single stripe of light bleeding through from the other side. Marcus waits there, you think, free from script and structure, rhyme or regalia. What beast crouches behind the curtain, you wonder?

And most importantly: did you want to know its shape?

The answer comes out of you in a single sound:

"Yes."

Marcus tuts, and it's a mocking, cruel sound.

"You poor thing."