#immortal marco

[meramera-writes]

sexy bastard wip -

could genuinely look at his eyes all day every day

[06ari-ari]

[wwprice1]

Awesome covers coming from Marvel in December!

[quinloki]

Detective Marco figure came today right when I was leaving for work so I didn’t get time to reunite him with Ace but >>

Hehe he’s so cute

I’m starting to have too many Marcos I need to stop

The figure makes my brain go brrr and it was annoying to get but he’s worth it

I know it's detective Marco, I know, but honestly it really looks like Lowkey Steam Punk Magic Academy Professor Marco to me.

He's very "plain" compared to his colleagues. No mechanisms and engines, no odd experiments and multi-layers monocles with different strengths and shades of glass. He's old school, from just before the whole steam punk concept took root and became more of the norm.

He has nothing against it, but what magic he teaches, and what he uses, was perfected a long time ago.

A *long* time ago.

Some of the students think he's a dragon with the way he talks about history, like he was there, walking through it. Some say he can't be a dragon, he ages, there's pictures and proof, and some other professors talk about him being young and it's not stilted or forced.

Marco doesn't talk about the Life/Death cycle of a Phoenix, none of his kind would, but he has to admit he's found pleasure in being a teacher for this lifetime.

And maybe, depending on how dinner goes that night, and possibly many nights after, he might actually have found someone to ride The Cycle with him. It's been enough life cycles, certainly he could begin to risk something as unpredictable as love.

[princepotatosack]

What If Choices' Race-customizable LIs Had Surnames Reflective Of Their Ethnicity?: An Experiment Just For Fun (Part 2/3)

Info in Part 1

Part 3

HOT COUTURE

Marco Diallo

This face option is described in the asset files as "Black". I did a cursory research and learned that there is a significant Black Italian community of immigrants from Cameroon, so that's my headcanon for him and his family. I chose the Fulani surname Diallo because it starts with a Di like Di Vincenzo.

Marco Diệp

This face option is described in the asset files as "Asian". The most significant Asian Italian community is Chinese Italians, but I didn't find a Chinese surname starting with the sound Di that sounded right to me. So I went with the Vietnamese Diệp.

HOT SHOT

Casey Jamil

These face options are described in the asset files as "Middle Eastern". The Arabic surname Jamil was a spelling match for Jameson, and this spelling appears to be common in Syria and Iraq. So if they had this surname they could be Syrian or Iraqi.

IMMORTAL DESIRES

Cassius Han / Cassandra Han

These face options are described in the asset files as "Asian". The Japanese surname Harada is a spelling match for Harlow but I already used Harada for the LI of Guarded. Also, I keep seeing people comparing the masc face to this one Kpop singer, I forget who, so it gave me the headcanon that these faces are Korean. The Korean surname Han seemed like a pretty solid match for Harlow, and it's also a Chinese surname too so they could be Chinese with this surname. Also I know fem Cas's full name is canonically Cassie but like many others on this internet website I am a Cassandra Harlow truther because I think it sounds better.

Gabriel Almánzar / Gabriela Almánzar

These face options are described in the asset files as "Latinx". Couldn't find any Spanish or Portuguese language surnames that start with "Ad" so I went with a Spanish surname that starts with "A" and retains the "A-al-ar" sounds from Adalhard.

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

Gabe Ryu

This face option is described in the asset files as "Asian". Almost went with the Korean surname Rhee but I already chose it for TPS LI and also I think the Korean surname Ryu looks cooler on a law firm plaque. lol

MS. MATCH

Jack Mansour / Jacqueline Mansour

These face options are described in the asset files as "Arabic". Mansour was a close Arabic-language sound match to Monroe. This spelling seems to be common across all of North Africa and the Middle East. So I guess they could be from any of those places with that surname.

MY TWO FIRST LOVES

Noah Higuchi

This face option is descrbed in the asset files as "Asian". Another LI with a surname starting with "Har" which can correspond with the Japanese surname Harada but I already used that and also "Noah Harada" has too many open "A" sounds in a row for my liking. So I just chose a cool sounding Japanese name starting with the letter H because this face option looks Japanese to me.

Ava Lozano

This face option is described in the asset files as "Hispanic". Lozano was the closest Spanish-language surname I could find to Lawrence. The Spanish form of the first name Lawrence is Lorenzo, but it doesn't appear to be used as a surname like Lawrence is in English-speaking countries.

Mason Jiménez

This face option is described in the asset files as "Hispanic". Couldn't find Spanish-language surnames that start with the same sound as Jennings. If my memory is correct I don't think Spanish has that sound? Jiménez has a lot of the same letters though so? That should work?

THE NANNY AFFAIR

Sam Delgado / Samantha Delgado

These face options are described in the asset files as "Hispanic". I considered the Spanish surname de la Torre because it retained the D-L-T-O sounds from Dalton but I thought Delgado sounded cooler……?

THE PHANTOM AGENT

Karan Gill / Sameera Gill

These face options are described in the files as "Indian". I considered the surnames Giri (broadly Indian, common in Nepal I think?) and Ghauri (common in Pakistan as far as I can tell?) for sound matches for Gray but Gill (Punjabi) sounded cooler. Also there was nothing necessarily wrong with the names Callum and Samara other than I don't like them. So I assigned them new Indian names…….

Part 1

Part 3

[xamaxenta]

Sabo and Marco bundled up together, curled around each other doing their own little thing, Sabo skimming reports and trying so hard not to doze off against Marco’s truly incredible chest and Marco leafing through a book he forgot where he left off though

Sabo recognises the cover and reminds him, its page 117 and Marco flips to it with a smile because Sabo never forgets any detail at all, how he keeps it all in his head is a true mystery

Its only after two chapters that Marco realises Sabo has stopped talking, moving and when he glances down sees him fast asleep, completely relaxed, head lolled back and to the side

Ace clatters into the room and Marco holds a finger up to his lips when Ace looks over at them briefly

Ace hesitates, almost trips one boot halfway off, normally he’d kick them off but he notices Sabo and he sets his foot down slowly

Quietly creeps over to observe Sabo with a fascination Marco doesnt get to see often on his face, Ace then makes a soft noise in his throat

“Cute.” Marco agrees and Ace nods

“dont let him hear you say that.”

“He’d probably maul me.”

“Would.” Ace corrects bemusedly and then he flops down beside them jostling Sabo into a brief period of waking, the blonde whines through his nose as Ace gets comfy. Shoving his hands under Sabos pits and hauling him in close, sandwiching him between Marcos chest and his own

“Shh. you dont get to complain about this.” Ace mutters, sticking his nose into blonde curls and inhaling deeply.

Marco reclines a little further back to give them some more room.

“Hot.” Sabo voices his complaints anyway

“You love it.” Ace grumbles, swearing when Sabo’s icy feet brush against his thigh

“Noh.” Sabo says but hes already half asleep.

Marco has never wished more than now that if only he had made a habit of keeping a snail close by, just to take self indulgent photos of Sabo and Ace taking a nap

He settles for ignoring his book and committing to memory the way they feel against him, their warmth, their scent, the sound of their breathing, a memory would mean so much more than a photo in the end

[damnprecious]

do you ever have a fic idea that you have absolutely no idea how to execute?

I keep thinking about Brook and Marco and their devil fruits and whether or not it'd be possible for them to die from natural causes

and I keep coming back to this one scene in which Brook sits on some cliff overlooking the ocean after years and years and years have passed

his nakama is long since gone, fallen in battle, through a challenger's blade, age or sickness

maybe some of them had kids and grandkids and the kid are gone and the grandkids are either gone or on their way out

there's no more Laboon

so the skeleton sits on the cliff and watches on as the sun slowly sink into the sea

and he picks up his violin and starts to pluck the strings and plays a familiar tune

but the version isn't the bright and jovial tune we're used to

it's quiet and slow and full of memories

and then from the sky above a bright trill of a phoenix joins in, circling above the violinist

until the sun vanishes and only the bird's azure flames illuminate the sky

two relics of a bygone era finding a moment of solace in each other's company

[stealth-black-leg]

You have the best character tags. Just thought I'd let you know

Thanks 😂 I tried my best

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What I was wondering in particular about Percy Jackson is- on paper, it seems like it would have the same sort of seriousness as Animorphs going for it. Heroes die during battles. They fight and kill humans. The overarching conflict is morally grey. But Animorphs somehow *feels* darker, *feels* more real, and I can’t put my finger on why, and I was hoping you had insight.

One word: consequences.

Many words: In Percy Jackson, killing a monster momentarily inconveniences that monster - it'll be back in a few months. In Animorphs, killing a monster means killing a person with friends and family who will now miss that person who is gone forever - oh, and every time you kill a monster, you also kill an innocent prisoner of war.

Percy Jackson has a major plot hinging on Luke betraying his friends for reasons that are sympathetic as well as selfish, but when Luke chooses to die to save his species, it's implied that Luke has earned Elysium. Animorphs has a major plot hinging on David betraying his friends for reasons that are sympathetic as well as selfish, and this leaves his friends with no choice but to trap him in eternal body horror until such time as Rachel is implied to have killed him. It's canon that on death, Animorphs - including Rachel - "dissolve into nothing." Percy has to choose between letting Annabeth die and letting Kronos take Earth, but finds a third way out where no one dies. Marco has to choose between letting his mom die and letting Visser One take Earth - and then murders his mom. The Animorphs are tortured by the assumption they won't live to adulthood; Percy is tortured by the question of how to use immortality responsibly. So on.

[raayllum]

She Must Pay the Price, or A Drop of Mercy :: A Rayla and Leola Meta

Quick:

You're a young elven girl, and you show mercy and compassion to a human that you definitely weren't supposed to. When it's found out, you're punished, with elves even calling for your execution (6x09, book 1 novelization). Your father does what he can, but there's only so much. You're put on trial. You're found guilty regardless of intent, and only by association. You die for this; you die for them. You're a star. A guiding light. There's even a Great Fall off a precipice (though only one of you hits the ground).

Your name is Leola, or Rayla.

You're the beginning and the end, respectively.

So let's talk about it.

Tests of Love

For years, I had wondered where Aaravos' assessment of "Those who fail tests of love are simple animals. They deserve to be motivated by fear" (2x09) came from, cause you don't drop in a line like that if it's not going somewhere. It's quite a statement and worldview, after all. Now, with Leola's trial, it seems we know.

We can see, then, perhaps that Leola's gift giving was the first test of love — are you willing to break the Natural Law, the Natural Order of things? — to help another? To show another a source of power in order to share, to be compassionate, and in Rayla's case, to be merciful (though we'll get more to that in a minute).

We also know that the love Leola had was powerful and all encompassing:

She didn't care to follow the order set in the stars. Though she was born an immortal being from the Heavens, she loved this world... and all its flaws. Her heart was warm and open.

And she befriended mortals. Animals, elves... and humans.

ETHARI: Who I love, where I love, what I love, are all specific. But to Runaan and those like your parents... love is rooted in all families, all creatures. Souls like that feel called to protect everyone as fiercely as those they hold close. (Bloodmoon Huntress)

Okay, so Leola and Rayla both have big compassionate hearts and befriend creatures from all over the place. So what? So do Callum, Ezran, Soren, and most of our other main good guy characters. Even Claudia to a degree (though she could work on not using magical creatures for spell parts).

Well, specifically, it's because of how they intersect currently more with anyone else on the concept of

Mercy

KOSMO: Daughter of the Moon, yours is a wondrous heart. In a moment of mercy, you sent ripples out into the ocean of time. Ripples that have not yet stilled. (6x05)

Rayla sparing Marcos, as noted in multiple interviews by the creators and by myself in previous metas, is ultimately the inciting incident / lynchpin of the entire series. Without it, there would've been no soulfang proposal or Ez running away to find the egg or any of the number of other elements that had to come together to make achieving peace possible.

While we still have details to discover regarding Aaravos' Fall and development of dark magic, we know that a lack of mercy was ultimately what sent him on his path of vengeance. Leola was not shown mercy, and while it seems there were already "flaws" for an imperfect world, things were (probably) better than they currently are in Xadia in a variety of ways. Then, to kick off the entire Saga, we have Rayla sparing Marcos in a soundtrack literally titled "Mercy" and have Kosmo, seasons and seasons later, spell out directly what a big deal this was for well, the ocean of time.

None of this is to say Rayla can't act out of revenge — she did ("when I first came here, I was on a mission for revenge") and she has ("but I became so obsessed with revenge"), much like Aaravos ("he isn't doing anything out of love, he's doing it for revenge") — but that her general compassion and love for others has always been stronger than her grief or rage, and that even when she had every social and personal reason to, she was and is fundamentally unable to hurt someone innocent.

Even when she's shamed or punished for it by herself or by others. RAYLA: The human looked up at me, and I saw the fear in his eyes. RUNAAN: Of course he was afraid, but you a job to do! (1x01)

EZRAN: Yeah, but then you saw he was scared, and you knew he was a person, just like you. RAYLA: That shouldn't have mattered. I had a job to do. (1x08)

The Cosmic Council — and to a degree, the Silvergrove — say that the reasonings or motivations, the intentions, behind Leola and Rayla's actions do not and should not matter when it comes out to doling 'Justice'. So Leola faces her justice, being literally killed in the one manner that can kill a Startouch elf, and so does Rayla, being metaphorically Ghosted / 'murdered' by her community, regardless.

Neither are enough to ultimately quell their light or their love/power, however.

A Star

RAYLA: That beautiful shining star you just pointed out? We call it Leola's Last Wish. (5x02)

So both Leola and Rayla are stars in season 6, literally and metaphorically respectively. Leola's is more self-explanatory, whereas Rayla's is mostly about the role she has in Callum's life as a guiding light and star. I don't think it's a coincidence, though, that just as Rayla placed Callum on his path of being a primal mage, though, that Leola did the same for humanity. I also don't think it's a coincidence that Callum's love for Rayla restores Callum's own light and agency amid Leola giving humanity the same through light and fire.

It happened long ago, when humans had only just learned to hold fire in their hands without burning. They nurtured their precious primal flames secretly—in the dark of night, beneath shadows and shrouds—as cultivating its glow drew the eyes and ire of monsters. Eventually, for the audacity of their fire, they were hunted, and—though they looked to the stars for salvation—the stars, too, looked down upon them with disdain. Humanity had been given something it was never meant to have. (TDP shorts, Ripples)

In this way, we see the manifestation of a repeating parallel of Rayla representing Leola, a gift giver of life, magic, light, unjustly punished/killed, and Callum representing humanity, looking to the kindest brightest star for guidance, magic, restoration, and salvation if he's just given the chance to grasp it. After all, presumably, Leola's last wish would have something to do with primal magic and humanity, and who represents that better than Callum, with two arcana under his belt and possibly more on the way? With that in mind, I want to return to another quote from earlier but with a different focus on

Ripples

Daughter of the Moon, yours is a wondrous heart. In a moment of mercy, you sent ripples out into the ocean of time. Ripples that have not yet stilled.

The wisest of the humans looked upon the water. His own reflection smiled back at him, and he dared to imagine what such power would feel like in his own hands, should he be allowed to hold it. Imagine, he thought, if I were more than what I am. With a trembling hand he touched the surface of the water. Ripples spread from his fingertips. [...] I hope the stars were watching. I hope they saw it: the moment their perfect reflections turned warped and ruined, churned to chaos by the touch of a single human hand. In this, the humans taught me another lesson. And so I touch the surface of the water. I watch the ripples spread.

Water in TDP is a strange beast, symbolically speaking. There are some more straight forward motifs (reflections, "don't try to control where the river [of life] goes, there's one thing you can know and control: yourself"). For Aaravos, it's connected to deep loss but also his own sense of patience in playing and winning his game, as illustrated above. For Rayla, it's linked to shame, self-reflection, bravery, and loss. Aaravos weeps and creates a sea upon losing Leola; Rayla says goodbye to her family by the lotus pond times three.

We don't know what water represents for Leola. Not distinctly, anyway. The best we can figure though, is that by following the through line of the Rayla and Leola parallels, that the ripples Leola wanted to send out or did send out — not the distortions caused by her father and his grief — are ones that Rayla received, and then continued.

Rayla has always been a foil to Aaravos, and this hasn't changed. She is the one who set Callum on the path initially of being a mage, which put him in Aaravos' machinations as prey; she retrieved his Key; and she's the reason Callum's done dark magic, twice. At the same time, much like the moon, Rayla carries Leola's light as much as she shoulders Aaravos' dark. She literally represents light in Callum's life, helps lead him through the darkness, and him being a primal mage and it's possible growth to other humans is the best possible thing that could've ever happened to Xadia.

Sol Regem says that "no one can save" Xadia or fix what is deeply broken. The Cosmic Council said that Leola had broken the Cosmic order and had to pay the price. Rayla has repeatedly been willing to pay the price for both hers and other's actions in hopes of making things right, of sparing others' pain. Sometimes to her detriment, but—if Rayla as Callum's one Truth could fix the darkness within him, if she's the lynchpin for breaking the Cycle, for bringing back Runaan and fixing her family's souls, in opposing and presenting mercy amid the Council's lack of mercy, in the face of Xadia's violence—

Then Rayla's act of mercy in 1x01, and potentially beyond in S7 with Callum, will be what fixes Xadia.

Leola's gift of magic is what 'broke' Xadia, and her execution is what literally did so, leading to the division of the continent. She wrongly paid the price in the absence of mercy and love. Rayla is therefore her thematic successor — welcomed this time as Light and Truth — as the carrier of Mercy and Love, and she will 'fix' Xadia through her ripples and dynamics. She will mend them back together. There will, at last, be no price to pay.

Misc. Thoughts / Predictions

One thing I was always curious about going forward into future seasons was the prospect of a 'trial' or reunification of the Silvergrove. It felt like a no-brainer the Silvergrove would have to change in order to reflect Runaan's character arc, much the way we see Katolis and the Sunfire elves change to better accommodate the new, more compassionate world order. Pre-S4 a trial felt a little strange as an idea, though post-S4 the parallels it could provide to the Lucia tribunal made more sense about why include either (or both).

However, Leola's trial seemed to hammer home the almost necessity (as this is still a prediction, after all, that may not happen) of Rayla and/or Runaan saying their peace to the Silvergrove leaders. This would be a great opportunity to provide a contrast to the Cosmic Council, reaffirming that Xadia is ultimately better than them because the Moonshadow elves and everyone else can change, and the Cosmic Council seemingly cannot or will not. But I guess we'll have to wait for S7 or beyond (#GiveUsTheSaga) to find out if this'll come to fruition or not.

I also wanted to touch on what we see with Leola ("I'm so scared!") and the repeated emphasis on "recognizing fear as a moment of empathy and personhood" and the horror that can come if you don't have that moment of recognition. This is something I've touched on before most notably as a striking difference between S1 Rayla and S5 Claudia, but I thought it was worth mentioning as S6 added to it specifically with Viren towards Soren and Lissa. This is another point in the "Rayla is an inversion of the Council's lack of mercy" column, as Leola's — a child's fear, and Aaravos willing to pay the price and take her place — earns her no mercy. Rayla, meanwhile, sees someone innocent that she has 'every right' to execute is afraid of her, and that strays her hand; it steadies her sword, and she spares him. Because if someone is afraid of you, it's worth asking yourself why, and what you might want to do instead.

Last but not least I wanted to talk about Leola's parallels to Callum and Ezran as well, since they are very much there (though yet not perhaps to the same extent).

Ezran has Leola's friendliness to animals and soft heart. He too is a child whose death is called for as a means of Justice, and he is granted mercy through Rayla and the discovery of the egg, able to live and grow and help usher in peace. He is, I think, what Leola might've been allowed to be if she'd lived in different times. Callum, meanwhile, carries the gift giving motif through his cube, staff, and tokens he both gives to (moon-phoenix bracelet) and receives (the moon opal necklace) from Rayla, and previous 'human-Leola' magic dynamic. Callum being able to break free fully from Aaravos' and dark magic's control in S7 and turn his eye instead to primal magic will be what helps bring true justice to Leola and hope for humanity / Xadia in righting the Cosmic Council's fundamental wrongdoing. Hopefully, anyway.

Conclusion

I hope you enjoyed this deep dive into some parallels and potential narrative goings-on between Leola and Rayla as characters. TDP loves its historical and ironic layers in TDP (Ez and the Orphan Queen, Viren's arc from S1 to S6) and I think this layered thematic dynamic between the two merciful young girls was a good, brilliant choice by the creative team. I'm excited to see where this thematic thread goes in the future and how it may continue to be woven into the story. As always, thank you for reading, and I'll see you in the next one.

[transgenderer]

The mango cult (Standard Chinese: 芒果崇拜) was the veneration or worship of mangoes in Mainland China during the Cultural Revolution period.[1][2][3] On August 5, 1968, Mao Zedong gave a box of Sindhri mangoes, given to him by the Pakistani Foreign Minister Mian Arshad Hussain, to the Worker-Peasant Mao Zedong Thought Propaganda Team stationed at Tsinghua University.[4]

Mao gave them to the workers stationed at Tsinghua University. His refusal to eat the fruit himself was seen as a personal sacrifice for the benefit of the workers. The workers believed that the mangoes were symbolic of Mao's gratefulness. The gift of the fruits coincided with the transfer of the Cultural Revolution’s stewardship from China's intelligentsia to the working class.[5]

Very few people in that region of China at the time knew what mangoes were, leading to many people being in awe of the fruit, and comparing them to the Peaches of Immortality from Chinese mythology.[7]

The original mangoes were preserved using chemicals such as formaldehyde and were displayed in various Chinese colleges.[6] Workers soon began to venerate wax models of mangoes and parade them around the country, punishing anyone who disrespected them as counterrevolutionaries. One dentist from Fulin, Dr. Han, saw the mango and said it was nothing special and looked just like sweet potato. He was put on trial for malicious slander, found guilty, paraded publicly throughout the town, and then executed with one shot to the head.[8][5]

After more than a year, the cult of the mango had declined significantly, and some people even began using wax mangoes as candles when the power went out.[1][7]

In 1974, when the First Lady of the PhilippinesImelda Marcos visited China with a box of mangoes as a gift, Mao's wife Jiang Qing tried to reignite the veneration of mangoes by giving the box to the workers once again.[7] Jiang Qing later directed a propaganda film called The Song of Mangoes.[1] However, before the film was finished, Mao Zedong died, representing the loss of the revolutionary figurehead of the Cultural Revolution. Within a week of the film's release, Jiang Qing was arrested, and The Song of Mangoes was taken out of circulation. This marked the end of the mango cult.[7]

man the cultural revolution was crazy huh

[thescrapbookingscientist]

[cherry-romper]

When They're Injured

+ Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Marco, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Levi, Erwin, Hange, Reiner, Bertholdt, Annie, Porco, Pieck, Zeke

Eren; • He either pretends to be fine or cries like a baby, there's no in-between. • Most of the time he doesn't even acknowledge your presence in the room. He thinks it's a waste of time watching over him. • Tells you to grow up if he sees you crying over him. • "I have the power of the titans, I'll be fine. Just stop your crying already, it's making me uncomfortable." • Still thanks you for caring though, in his own little way - probably by asking you to be his sparing partner instead of actually saying thank you.

Mikasa; • Unfazed by her own injuries and cares more about you taking care of yourself. • Stays in bed for a day before she's back working out and doing chores, no matter how bad her injury is. You have to physically restrain her and put her back to bed (it never goes well). • Asks if you've eaten and slept well before you get the chance to ask her. • She's grateful for everything you do while she's recovering. • She picks you some flowers afterwards to say thank you. She even cooks you food.

Armin; • Upset. You console and reassure him a lot because he keeps crying about being weak. • You read to him though, and even play chess while he recovers. • You promise to train him some more when he's able bodied so that he feels better prepared next time. • You bring him food but he refuses to eat it. You end up doing the "here comes the train" thing with him to force him to eat out of embarrassment. • You brought him flowers and he loved the gesture so much that he now uses one of the dried flowers as a book mark.

Marco; • Grateful to be alive. • He sometimes panics and has nightmares that he's back on the field where he was injured and you have to calm him down. • He sometimes gets annoyed at you for always being beside him because he knows you're not looking after yourself properly. • Forces you to leave so you'll finally wash and eat. • Jean also visits often and you all share stories about your childhoods. The duo never fail to make you laugh.

Jean; • Dramatic. Does the whole "don't look at me, I'm hideous" thing, and refuses to let you into the room. • You have to physically stop him from covering his face and reassure him that he's just as beautiful as before. • He switched up real fast after that and pretended he wasn't even injured to try and impress you. He went from being a cry baby to trying to work out with a broken arm. • You gave up trying to stop him because he wouldn't listen to anything. • Cries when he's alone because he doesn't think he's strong enough.

Connie; • Doesn't change a thing. He's still just as idiotic as before. • Laughs it off. He keeps telling jokes so he won't think about it and if he's laughing then he's happy. • Wants you by his side always, and get upset when you need to leave. •"Y/N, I'm telling you, I'm immortal." • He doesn't really cry, he had a few tear when he was alone, but he's more focused on training when he's better so it doesn't happen again. • Secretly likes being injured because you're particularly nice to him.

Sasha; • Dramatic. She thinks the worlds is going to end. Gathers you, Jean and Connie around as she says her "last goodbyes". • It only takes you waving some meat in her face for her to snap out of it and start acting normal again. • Sobs into your arm. She's more worried about if she'll be able to eat and hunt again than her actually injuries. • Food works better than medicine.

Levi; • Sleeps it off. He'll be fine the next morning. • Hates when you baby him. Even if you're just being nice, like bringing him food, he'll think you're being condescending and gets pissed off. • It really doesn't take long for him to recover, but Erwin orders him to take time off to be sure - you're happy Levi will always have Erwin looking out for him. • You leave him little notes instead of actually staying with him. He smiles to himself when he sees them, he adore the little things.

Hange; • Refuses to stay in bed. Levi knocks them out to force them into bed. • They get bored very easy. Erwin doesn't let them work while they recover, so most days they just sit and stare at the ceiling. • Gets a little dramatic and starts crying because they can't visit their titans. So you visit them yourself and draw them for Hange - even if you're bad at drawing, they are overjoyed. • Cries when you bring them flowers.

Erwin; • He's appears fine externally, has a strong mentality and is sure he'll heal in no time. • No matter what he's still working, you have to physically pry the papers from his hands so he'll actually rest for once. • He gets kind of annoyed at the babying. He just wants you to see that he's okay to work, but you have none of it. • You buy him flowers and other little trinkets - like a little girl was selling knitted teddy bears, so you bought him one. He got emotional after that because he realised how much you meant to him.

Reiner; • Goes through a crisis. He's used to being injured, but not this badly. • It takes him a lot of willpower to not just heal it in front of you. • Spends most night debating if it would be easier to just die. • Some days he doesn't know who he is and acts like a soldier and others Bertholdt has to remind him that there are bigger things out there and he has to pull through so they can go home. • On they days where he's a warrior, he pushes you away, only letting Bertholdt and Annie in the room with him.

Bertholdt; • Pushes everyone away, aside from Reiner - not even Annie can see him like that. • Gets unnecessarily angry. Debates just turning and finishing the mission right then and there, and he was about to when you turned up. You made his whole world stop and he just stared at you. • He cried into your arms that night, and most nights after. He'd never felt so vulnerable. He thought you were the one who came to save him. • You knew he was feeling better when he went back to his "synchronised sleeping," as you called it, and you'd find him with his head nearly on the floor.

Annie; • Stoic, as per usual. • Hates when you make a fuss. • "It will heal. Please, give me some space." • Doesn't push people away, just kind of distances herself. For example, she doesn't spar with people when she's feeling better, she uses a training dummy instead. • Only happy when you're with her. She wouldn't admit it though. • She wants you to stay, but would never go out of her way to ask you too.

Porco; • He gets dismissive. Uses the word "whatever" like it's going out of fashion. • You try to reassure him but he just gets defensive. "Stop it. You're acting like I'm going to die. I'll just heal overnight. You're so dramatic." • Secretly enjoys the attention. He's not used to people willingly caring for him. He normally bullies people into following him around, but you do it out of the kindness of your heart. • You praise him for being so brave and it makes him blush.

Pieck; • She loves that you stay with her. She thanks you everyday. • Holds your hand a lot. • You talk about whatever but most of the time there's just a comfortable silence. • For some reason, she thinks the best when she's injured. Meaning she still attends strategy meetings, but asks you to go with her for support.

Zeke; • Refuses to stay in bed, no matter how bad the injury. • He sleeps for about 3 hours, and heals in that time. After that he just walks around like normal, still doing his work like he wasn't floored a few hours ago. • You barely get the time to worry about him. He appreciates the sentiment though. He likes when you worry about him, it makes him finally feel cared about. • He does spend more time with you after that. After seeing your reaction he realised how much he actually likes you, how much he cares for you.

[borealalice]

Valentino finds him crouched against the wall of the motorhome that they share with Honda on the other side, still seething with white hot rage after yelling at Márquez. Screaming at him had done nothing to get the anger out of his system, and then he’d heard Marc telling the press he wasn’t even going to bother discussing Marco’s outburst, and now he’s trying very hard to calm down before he goes to congratulate Pecco. His brother doesn’t deserve that kind of negativity, and right now, Marco wants to kill somebody.

Vale crouches in front of him, one of his big hands finding the curls on the back of Marco’s head. “Ben detto” he murmurs softly. “It’s not your fault, he clearly hasn’t changed at all.”

Marco scrapes his hands over his face, wincing at his nose. “He didn’t even react when I screamed at him. Just stared, and then told someone else to remove me from his motorhome.” His fists clench. “And then he says he’s not going to waste time discussing me! Figlio de puttana!”

Vale ruffles his hair. “I’ve been telling you, he’s a crazy motherfucker. He’ll never learn.”

“Hey!” A voice he doesn’t recognize rings out on the other side of the wall.

“Hey, man, ¿qué pasa?.” That one, he’d know anywhere.

“Classy move out there today, completely sidestepping the questions.” It’s not a driver. Someone from the Honda team, probably.

Márquez snorts. “Bezzecchi is what, 23?” He must be changing out of his leathers. They’ve clearly not realised that there’s someone left on the motorhome next door, because they’re making no effort to lower their voices to avoid being heard through the paper-thin walls.

“24, I think.” Says the other voice. He’s almost 25, actually. He rolls his eyes at Vale. What does it matter that he’s young? He has half a mind to go back in there and yell at him some more. Fuck him. Youth does not mean he’s not legitimate competition, or a good driver.

“Eh, still barely an adult.” Márquez again. “Everybody is a fucking idiot in their twenties, but I’m no longer in my twenties. I know how this circus works now, and what would happen if I said anything personal about him to the press. I don’t mind giving my opinion on what he’s done on the race, or what I think he’s done on the race, but anything beyond that is a no, even if he’s a dickhead.” He pauses. Then adds, softer. “Actually, I don’t think he’s a dickhead. He’s just young, and we have both heard everything he said today before, and we both know they’re not his words. I can’t fault the kid for following a god blindly, I used to do it too.”

The world tilts three degrees on its axis. Valentino’s face goes white as a sheet.

“Look at you. Is this what maturity looks like?”

Márquez’s laugh sounds bitter. “I already said it in my documentary, but I don’t wish what Valentino put me through at 22 on anybody. 22 is a stupid age. You think you’re immortal, but you also think you’ll die if you don’t win this championship. Or not die, but the team will drop you if you stop performing, which is just as bad. There’s always someone behind you waiting to get on your bike, if you can’t stay on it. Your body can recover from almost everything, but the press and the team are already counting down the seconds until it gives out. It's an environment where it’s almost impossible to make good decisions, especially in the middle of a race where you’re going 300km/h, your only thought is that you have to be 1st, and you have 2 milliseconds to see and react to anything.” Something opens on the other side of the wall.

“You must still be angry at him. Especially after everything you heard today.”

There’s no need to clarify who “him” is. It’s clearly not Marco.

Something closes. “I’m not even angry anymore, more like. Disappointed? Disappointed with Valentino, because he was supposed to be my friend but he thought badly enough of me to believe that I’d do all those things he accused me of. Didn’t even let me explain. But also disappointed in myself, because it really is the worst feeling when you are just being yourself and your idol, friend, favourite person” - Marco can’t look at Valentino - “in the world publicly says that makes you a danger for everyone and poison for the sport you have dedicated your life to. And suddenly everybody despises you. You don’t just shrug something like that off, no matter how hard I’ve tried to pretend I have.”

There’s a metallic thunk, like someone dropping a bag on a bench.

“I can only be myself. I’ve never learned to be any other way, and I will never play mind games. I want to keep winning until I physically can’t anymore, and then retire and be done with all of this.”

“Are you going to set up your own training academy?” Suggests the other man, timidly.

There’s a meaningful pause.

“I don’t know if you’ve seen the documentary, but only two drivers came to see me before I got the surgery. A surgery that involved re-breaking my arm on several points and rotating the bone. There was a chance I might never come back to motogp, and most people didn’t care, not even my own teammate. And even younger drivers like Bezzecchi clearly believe everything that has been said of me, after all these years and after riding with me. I don’t think I will have any kind of legacy other than a number of championships and a bad reputation for my riding style. And a lot of scars and metal in my body. I don't think mentoring will ever be a possibility. I don’t think I want to teach anyone how to ride like me, when this is what it gets you.”

Marco can feel his own face drain of blood. There’s no emotion to Márquez's voice. He’s clearly thought this over plenty. It sounds practised, rehearsed, and utterly sincere.

“You still said very nice things about Rossi in a recent video, even after all of this.” 

“I told the truth.” Comes Márquez’s response. “They ask what I think about him as a driver, and that has never changed. He’s the best. Always the best.”

He sounds as certain as anything. The sky is blue, the sun is yellow, and Valentino Rossi is still the best ever MotoGP driver in Marc Márquez’s world.

Valentino’s face is doing something so raw that Marco feels filthy when he hazards a look. He averts his eyes again. 

“As I said, I’m not even mad. I would be happy if he decided to stop hating me one of these days. I still like Valentino. I think what he’s done with the academy is great, the way he’s basically adopted those kids. I try not to think much about him other than that.”

He sounds wistful, Marco realises, like part of him wishes he could have been one more of them at the ranch. Like part of him envies that they got that with Vale.

“Except when one of said kids goes to your motorhome to yell at you.”

Marc snorts again. “Hm, maybe he should have taught them better manners, that’s true. But he’s Valentino Rossi. We wouldn’t like him half as much if he had manners.” And with that, the voices finally fade, Márquez clearly done changing. And then it’s just him and Valentino, still crouched on the floor on the other side of the wall.

Valentino looks ill. Properly green, and Marco understands, because he’s feeling queasy himself when he thinks of everything he’d yelled at Marc only hours earlier, everything he has said about him loud enough for everyone to hear. 

Valentino has approximately eight years of that.

God help them both.

[myster-roca]

La Pelle del Diavolo: A Halloween Special

The night air in the hills of Tuscany was thick with the scent of earth and wild herbs, but a chill crept through the wind, slipping from the shadows cast by ancient oaks around the estate. Marco Romano, a seasoned thief, felt the familiar prickle of excitement as he approached the villa.

Dark whispers and superstitions tugged at the edges of his thoughts, but he pushed them aside. Danger was an old friend, and tonight, it had led him to the mysterious Villa Tenebra.

The locals had spoken of the villa’s hidden treasure in hushed tones over dark wine, only daring to mention it in shadowed corners of Florence’s oldest bars. It was a relic of myth, known as the Corpus Noctem, the key to immortal life. Marco had dismissed it as folklore at first, but the lure of such power was impossible to resist.

He had slipped into Villa Tenebra with the help of a map from a cryptic dealer in Florence—a strange man eager to be rid of it. The map was faded and worn, but it revealed something extraordinary: an old smugglers’ passage hidden in the villa’s foundations, built centuries ago to let noblemen move treasures in and out undetected.

The entrance to the passage lay hidden behind a statue in the villa’s overgrown gardens, its base concealing a narrow stone door. With a grunt, Marco pushed it open, revealing a winding staircase descending into the earth. The air was cool and damp, and each step echoed, punctuating the silence with a heavy, ominous beat.

At the bottom, the passage twisted into a dimly lit stone hallway. Shadows flickered on the walls, worn smooth by years of forgotten footsteps. Marco moved forward, his senses sharp, adrenaline building. The air was thick, carrying an old, metallic scent, as though it held memories of things long past.

A few meters down, he found himself in a corridor and saw something he had never encountered—a perfectly sculpted muscle suit that looked like leather, coated in wax, and painted red. The closer he got, the more he felt an odd pull, a magnetic force that made his skin tingle and his pulse intensify.

The suit looked like leather but felt too smooth, too alive. It beckoned to him.

“This is it. The Corpus Noctem. The Flesh of the Night,” he whispered, his voice thick with greed. “The key to youth and eternal life.”

His fingers hovered over the material, and as soon as he touched it, a rush of heat surged through him, like electricity flooding his veins. His fingertips tingled as he traced its sculpted lines. The sensation was intoxicating, almost erotic. His breath quickened, and an unfamiliar hunger stirred deep within him.

With the suit clutched in his arms, he moved quickly down the hall, rounding a corner, his breathing quickening as he felt its warmth intensify. The heat from the suit seemed to throb, mirroring his own pulse, sending waves of anticipation rippling through him.

He knew he couldn’t wait any longer—he needed it on his body, needed to feel it enveloping him.

Setting the suit down, he hurriedly removed his clothes, pulling off his sleek, dark outfit and kicking off his boots. His legs trembled as he reached for the red muscle suit once more, pressing himself against it and feeling heat spread through his body.

He removed his pants, standing completely naked before the suit, savoring the rich red sheen of the leather.

Without hesitation, he began to put it on. The moment it touched his skin, a wave of pleasure and power flooded his senses.

As he slid the suit further up his leg, he felt an incredible tightness around his calf, a strange, thrilling tension as though the suit were pulling at his muscles. And then, to his astonishment, he felt his calf muscle expand, swelling against the material as though infused with newfound strength.

He continued, slipping his other leg in, feeling the suit tighten around his thighs. The same sensation of growth surged through him, his quads and hamstrings expanding, hardening, becoming thicker, stronger.

Marco’s hands trembled as he pulled the suit up over his hips, feeling the snug embrace of the material. He slipped his arms into the sleeves, and as the suit enveloped his torso, a wave of heat exploded through his chest and back.

He watched in awe as his pecs rose, filling out, becoming solid and powerful, each muscle now perfectly defined. His shoulders broadened, the suit tightening around them, forcing them to grow, to harden, until they were as strong as stone.

His arousal surged as he ran his hands down to the calves and then up to the chest, pressing his palm against the sculpted abdomen. It felt perfect—hard, tight, like a muscular man was inside.

Eyes closed, he traced his hands over the biceps and around to the triceps, savoring every sensation.

“You shouldn’t have touched that.”

The thief spun around. An old man stood in the hallway, his silver hair gleaming in the dim light. On his right hand, a tarnished silver ring caught the faint glow, intricate symbols etched into its surface.

His eyes, sharp and full of something the thief couldn’t quite place, bore into him. The air between them crackled with tension.

“This is your treasure, old man?” the thief sneered, masking the tremor in his voice.

The old man stepped forward, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Treasure? No… it’s a curse. You should strip it off and leave while you still can. That suit… The Corpus Noctem… was never meant to be worn by anyone who values their soul.”

The thief chuckled darkly, reveling in the waves of pleasure and power coursing through him as the suit clung tighter, molding to his body like a second skin. “You’re just trying to scare me. It’s mine now.”

But then, something shifted. The warmth he’d felt before began to change, becoming suffocating, as though the suit itself was tightening around him, digging deeper into his flesh.

The initial rush of pleasure twisted into something unbearable, a heat that clawed at him from within.

His chest heaved as panic seized him. “What… what is happening?”

The old man’s gaze was steely, his voice soft yet filled with grim satisfaction. “You wanted to own the suit, to wield its power. But now, it owns you.”

The thief’s hands flew to the suit, trying to rip it off, but the material wouldn’t budge. Panic clawed at him as he realized the truth—this wasn’t just a myth or legend. This was real, and he had fallen for its trap.

“The suit was crafted centuries ago,” the old man continued, his voice soft yet laden with dark knowledge. “A coven of sorcerers, desperate for immortality, summoned an ancient demon—the Harrower of Flesh—who bound its essence into the hollow skin of a man, creating the Corpus Noctem. Whoever wore it would gain eternal youth and beauty, but at a cost: for each year they lived, they’d need to drain another’s essence, leaving behind a lifeless skinsuit. To bypass this, the wearer must cloak themselves in the flesh of another soul—only by donning this skin over the Corpus Noctem can one remain whole.”

The thief’s vision blurred as the suit constricted around him, merging deeper into his skin. His body tingled with a sensation that was equal parts pleasure and terror. It felt as if the suit were feeding on him, consuming his very essence.

The old man’s frail form shifted, and with deliberate slowness, he raised his hands to his face. He pulled it off, revealing a lifelike mask, and beneath it, a strikingly youthful, handsome face emerged—features sharp, jawline strong, eyes dark and piercing. Smirking, he removed his clothes piece by piece, casting off the disguise of age.

As the last layer fell, the old, fragile illusion was gone, replaced by a chiseled, muscular figure that looked as if it had been carved from marble. His back straightened, shoulders broad, and every inch of him radiated a powerful, youthful energy.

“You see, I was once like you,” the man said, his voice now rich and powerful. “I, too, was lured by the suit’s promises. But unlike you, I learned its secrets and made it my own. I’ve lived for centuries, wearing this skin, draining life from those foolish enough to fall into its grasp.”

The thief stumbled back, his body no longer his own. The suit tightened again, and he felt his skin loosen, as if separating from his bones, becoming pliable and empty. He was now little more than an outer shell waiting to be filled.

“You’ll be perfect,” the man murmured with a predatory smile. “I’ve been needing a new face. And your body… it will serve me well.”

The man reached down, his fingers trailing over the thief’s hollowed form, savoring the warmth and fresh pliability. He lifted the emptied skin carefully, feeling its readiness to be inhabited. Pausing, he slid a tarnished silver ring from his finger and set it gently on the floor beside him, a faint smile crossing his lips, as if the gesture held private, ritualistic meaning.

With a sigh of satisfaction, he began donning the suit, the thief’s former identity slipping over him like a glove. The skin conformed to him, tightening and sealing with a sensation that sent shivers through him—a seductive merging of flesh and power.

He ran his hands over his new form, relishing the strength beneath his fingers. This body was everything he’d hoped for—youthful, strong, and ready to endure another century. He reached down, rubbing his hands over Marco's abs, feeling the muscles tense beneath his touch. His hands drifted lower, gripping Marco's cock, heat radiating from it. Wrapping his hand around the shaft, he began to stroke.

“Do you like it?” he asked himself with a smile.

He began to laugh as he continued stroking, feeling Marco grow harder. On the verge of climax, he still sensed remnants of Marco's essence, and his smile grew even wider. Reaching up, he massaged his new face.

But he wasn’t done. He turned to the Corpus Noctem, lying on the floor like a crimson shadow. With practiced ease, he slipped it on, layer by layer, feeling it fuse with his stolen body, amplifying his strength, fortifying every fiber. The suit melded seamlessly, completing his transformation.

Reaching down, he retrieved the silver ring from the floor and slid it back onto his finger, a final touch that signified the bond. He looked into the grand mirror, admiring the flawless reflection. Turning sharply, he traced a hand along his new jawline, savoring the unfamiliar yet perfectly familiar contours. The face of a man he had consumed, a youth he had stolen, now belonged to him entirely.

With a slow exhale, he ran his hands over his abs, savoring each hard, sculpted ridge beneath his fingertips. The suit hugged every contour perfectly, every muscle honed, every line exact.

“Magnificent,” he whispered, his voice low with satisfaction, echoing through the empty hall like a dark promise. Only his faint laughter remained, drifting through Villa Tenebra’s silent halls, waiting for the next soul to fall prey to the Corpus Noctem.

--- ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ---

Would you like to expand this dark universe? Follow me to explore more content and updates: https://linktr.ee/mysteroca

[cyborg-franky]

Prompt:  I was wondering if I could please borrow a book for either Robin, Luffy, Marco, Law, Izou and Ace on becoming immortal with their s/o and the interesting ways they find out they are immortal. Angst it up fluff it up how ever you want to take it so long as you’re having fun! 

SFW - GN READER

Repost of mine from libary of ohara

Sadly, he’d been too late to get to you, he saw the impact, the blood, everything happened so fast.

He landed by your body, crying out your name as he scoped you into his wings, looking all over for the impact as you laid in his grasp limply.

“Fucking, ow.” You hissed, waking up and rubbing where you’d been hit.

Marco stared as you lifted your shirt, flawless skin, no marks, no blood.

“Am… am I alive?” you said, eyes wide and looked up at Marco who was sharing the same slow blink of disbelief.

“The devil fruit!” you laughed in unison.

“I can’t die?”

“It appears so, yoi!” Marco turned his wings back into arms and pulled you close.

You felt the zoan cling to you, face buried against your neck, you felt the drip drop off tears falling from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks and against your skin.

You took a second, realising what this meant and how much it would mean to Marco. You brushed back his messy blond hair and kissed behind his ear.

“You won’t ever have to be alone Marco; I’ll always be here for you.” You whispered, feeling his embrace tighten as he nodded silently.