#apprentice insert

[gnomorbida]

shits'n giggles (luchito my beloved)

if u decipher what i wrote meant, u get a stinky drawing or whatever

[julian-devoraks-husband]

thinking....... about coming back.... maybe posting a tiny backlog of arcana art on my art blog soon...., we'll see. here's a current WIP i'm a little lightheaded about <3

[slasherflicks999]

erm what is slashers relationship with the other creepypastas :3c

before we begin im so sorry this took me legitimately SOOOO disgustingly long to answer holy SHART 💔💔💔 i needed to solidify some of his relationships ngl and i didn’t wanna give a half baked answer :,33 but now that it’s finally hereee…..

slasher room reveal GASP yes he’s sitting at his little computer answering this for u personally :3 i wanted to make it more fun hehe plus background practice…… thank u the sims 4…,,.,,

but anyway THE LITTLE CHIBI THINGS OF THEM WERE SO FUN TO DRAW and also nina with glasses canon i don’t make the rules sorry she’s just too cute with them :,,o

i haven’t been active much at all lately unfortunately BUTTTT more slasher content is soon to come..,.😈😈 TRUSTTTT i shan’t abandon thee tumblr my beloved :333🫶🏻

[iceagebaby]

let's say this is a celebration between Crowley Angst Day and the beginning of the pride month. As is of the cannon, Crowley is 7 years older than Halt. And in medieval times, lives were much more fragile, life spans shorter. — Halt doesn’t look like much at first. skinny, half-feral, beard already coming in despite being barely into adulthood. Crowley teases him from the start, and Halt bites back every time. It's immediate, electric, dangerous. They're on missions together and they’re bickering like an old married couple after a week. Neither of them is thinking about the far future. Why would they? They’ve got blades on their hips, arrows at the ready, and the certainty that they might not make it until tomorrow.

Crowley becomes commandant at 27. Too young, too burdened. Halt never says it, but he sees how the role chews at him. And even in their earlier years, before the burden, Crowley was always up before dawn, reading dispatches, writing reports, worrying about everything. It was natural for him to take this role, despite how much weight it was for one man.

Halt started going grey before he hit 30, which was ironic because Crowley, despite the years separating them, still had all his damn hair and it hadn’t gone even a bit silver yet. Halt grumbled about it but honestly? it suited him.

“You looked forty when you were twenty,” Crowley would tease him. But then Crowley starts aging for real, and it wasn't so funny anymore.

Crowley turns 45, and for the first time, he needs help up from the ground after sparring. It’s subtle, blink and you’d miss it. Halt didn’t. Crowley started to age hard and fast after 50. The job wore him down. Constant travel, constant conflict, constant stress. His mind remained as sharp as ever but his body started failing him, slowly, creeping in. His joints hated the cold, he got tired faster. Halt noticed him rubbing his knees after a longer travel. The jokes completely stopped by then. They only serve now as a cruel reminder. They were no longer funny. Not when Halt began to feel the time speed up. The years slipping like sand between his fingers. It was watching the person you loved age faster than you. It was knowing the ending long before you were ready to see it, and you were helpless to stop it. The years passed and Halt was still strong. Still deadly. The grey in his beard might've been white now, sure, but his hands were steady, his aim as flawless as ever.

And Crowley? Crowley was tired. When Crowley turned 60, Halt brought him a bottle of something sharp and expensive, and they sat by the fire in silence for hours. That uncharacteristical, unsettling silence from Crowly. They didn’t toast. They didn’t make speeches. Just at one point, Crowley said, almost offhand, “Never thought I’d get this far.”

Halt didn’t answer. He just reached over, poured them both another glass. —

It wasn’t fair.

After everything. The wars, the battles, the betrayals, the years of danger, it doesn't happen with a sword, not a fight, not even a fall. It happened quietly.

Crowley, in bed, blanket pulled up. eyes open. a faint smile on his face. Like he just remembered something funny and was about to tell Halt.

He just... stopped breathing. Gone. Just like that. The man Halt had loved for over forty years - forty, they’d marked that milestone just last year, sitting beside a fire, when for one brief moment Halt had dared to whisper, “I’m glad we made it.” The man he’d fought beside, lived for, bled for, let himself need, was gone. And all Halt could think was: he didn’t say goodbye. There was no hand squeeze, no final word, no look. Suddenly they ran out of time. Halt sat beside him for hours, didn’t touch the body. Just stared at him, because part of him, some stubborn, foolish, childish part, was still waiting.

Waiting for Crowley to blink, to twitch, to laugh and say, “I got you, didn’t I?”

But he didn't. He never would again.

Halt just sat there for hours. Hands still. heart pounding in his ears like war drums.

And the only thing, the only damn thought he had left in his mind was:

You’re alone now.

[julesriseling]

a master study of jean-honoré fragonard’s “the happy lovers” with me and lucio for lucio's 2021 birthday 🌾🕊

[skywalkerandmarvelfan]

Everything Will Be Fine (Platonic Yandere Darth Vader with Starkiller's Twin Sister Reader)

A/N: This is a small work I thought of, but didn't want to put on my AO3 account, so I thought of putting it here. I rarely see platonic yandere Vader content, so I made some, even if it's short.

Vader placed your body into a becta tank that was in his Fortress on Mustarfar. You weren't in good condition, far from it, but he would make sure you got well.

After he made sure your vitals were stable and fixed himself up from the fight with your brother, Vader would make sure Palpatine thought you were dead. It was essential that the Emperor thought you were and continued to think so. If he suspected you were alive, he would have you killed. The Rule of Two allowed only two Siths, and not only that but you might also be viewed as a weakness of Vader’s. Vader made sure you were in this condition and if he wanted you dead you would’ve been, and Palpatine would know this as well.

There were a few times Vader thought of killing you and one time he almost did. When he found you and your brother as children, he thought of only taking Starkiller and doing away with you, but there was a chance you were stronger within the force, so you were taken as well. When it was shown Starkiller was the stronger one Vader planned on killing you, but when he was about to you gave him a fearful look as if you knew something bad was going to happen. It normally wouldn’t sway him, but the look you gave resembled the one Padmé gave on Mustafar, and when you whispered a frightened ‘master’, Vader couldn’t continue with his plan, seeing Padmé in you. 

As you grew older you showed traits of Padmé and him when he was Anakin. Vader wished you just had traits of Padmé, but that wasn't his luck. You could be reckless and at times rebellious. However, Vader quickly learned that threatening your brother got you back in line. You had a strong relationship with Starkiller and he returned that bond. The two of you were a fierce duo when you went on missions together, but it could also hurt the goal of the mission if one of you got into a life-threatening position. Neither of you wanted to lose the other so the mission was practically on hold if either of you were in such a situation.

This was why it was critical to keep you sedated until Vader was repaired and could deal with you better. Once you knew your brother was dead it would undoubtedly cause you to rebel and seek revenge against Vader and the Emperor as soon as you could. If you got too wild the Emperor would discover you and would want to kill you himself to make sure you were dead. Vader couldn't have you dead, no matter how much he would try to deny it.

He would never admit this to anyone, but you had become like a daughter to him. When Vader began seeing you as his child he didn't know, maybe it was when he saw traits of Padmé and himself in you, maybe it was the time he was about to kill you, or the time you got seriously injured. It really didn’t matter when, all that mattered now was that he does, and he refused to lose another child.

Vader wouldn’t lose you, not to death, not to the newly formed Rebellion, not to anything. You would stay by his side whether you liked it or not, and if anything threatened to take you, Vader would destroy it. He would tear the galaxy apart if he had to. Palpatine was no exception to this either, Vader would find a way to kill Palpatine in order to protect you and keep you by him. 

You were his daughter, which meant it was Vader’s duty to protect you. He failed to protect his biological child, but he would right that wrong by not failing you.

“You will be fine youngling.” Vader said, more to himself than to you, though he hoped you heard him so you would know things were fine. That it didn’t matter if your twin was dead, because you had him, and even if he was going to punish you for betraying him in order to join Starkiller in trying to free the Rebel leaders and kill him and the Emperor, everything would be fine in the end.

Everything would be fine, Vader would make sure everything would be fine, no matter what he had to do to achieve it.

[paperstarwriters]

Sleep

Muriel x Reader

Warnings: Sleepy reader, a kiss is used to shut the reader up. Muriel manhandles reader a bit

Summary: It's late. You're tired, and Muriel is too. All he wants to do is bring you to bed.

[A/N]: Reader is currently me rn. I should really head to bed lol. Also, if this looks familiar, this is the file "A bed and a book" from that WIP Wednesday I did a while ago. (I'll link it tomorrow lol. I need to sleep...)

Masterlist | The Arcana Masterlist

Word count: 2,021

─────── ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 ───────

Muriel watches you amidst the growing cold of the hut.

He watches you tremble and shiver, as you work, too focused to notice your own quaking limbs, or too busy to give it any attention. The fire dies in the fireplace, and though there was plenty of firewood that he could easily restock the fire with, a roaring fire with no one to watch over it only ever spelled trouble.

Usually he didn't even let the fire keep going this late at night, but you needed it while you worked.

You also, however, needed sleep.

"It's late."

You hum, continuing to scribble as you mutter something about a fleeting idea before you respond.

"I know. Just let me finish this."

Muriel huffs. That's not the first time you've said that and he knows full well that it won't be the last either. He pulls himself from the warmth of the bed, where he had been waiting for you, and plants his feet on the cold floor. The feeling makes him flinch for a moment, and he decides with a sigh, that he would give you one more chance.

"No. It's really, really late."

"You don't have to wait up for me."

In another moment, in another context, Muriel might have blushed at being caught caring for you. At being caught waiting or anticipating your return to his side. Currently however, a streak of frustration, fleeting but hot, burns in his chest. He "doesn't have to"? If he didn't wait up for you, you'd waste yourself away working on your projects. If he didn't wait up for you, he'd have to fall asleep and wake up to empty arms as you sit there just within reach and yet so far away. If he didn't wait up for you, would you ever sleep at all?

Muriel scoffs, and he wonders if you can hear it through your work. He wonders if you can hear him stand from the bed, and stride over towards you. Hearing you gasp as he wraps his arms around you, he figures you didn't, which only serves to target the selfish and greedy part of him—the part that makes his frustration flare all the more at the absence of your attention, the absence of your body pressed against his own.

The look you give him, wide eyed and filled with a startled awe, serves to soothe him for a moment, easing that need for attention, but it brings back to his focus the dark circles under your eyes, and the tremble of your hands hovering over your paper. It's a horrible combination really. The selfish and greedy need for your attention, for your skin against his, made virtuous through his concern for your health and your desperate need for sleep. It made it all the more hard to tell the line where he was being greedy, and where he was being concerned. Yet, if he wanted you to be happy and healthy by his side, could that even really be called greed?

As shock melts into confusion, Muriel can feel your trembling body melt against his, relaxing into the offer of sleep and rest that you continue to deprive yourself of. Greed, Muriel decides, is a kind and necessary thing to indulge in if it means you get to rest.

"It's late," he reiterates.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you glance around the room, clearly not believing time to have slipped past you so quickly. Knowing you’re delirious with exhaustion, he doesn't trust you to realize that he had stocked the fireplace earlier that day to burn late into the night, and that no, he did not do anything that may speed up the burning process in any way.

Instead, he drags his hand down to your own, trembling as you grip your pen as if you feared it might be ripped away from you in any given moment. Though the temptation to do so is there, he knows full well how ineffective that would be. Instead, he trails his hand down your forearm. The rest of your arm is still pinned down by his in a half hug, but he doesn't even need to exert much pressure to keep you in place—your exhaustion doing most of that work for him.

Fresh from the confines of the bed, his hand and body still cling to the remains of warmth, a sharp contrast to your own, left night-chilled in the absence of the fireplace. It's clear, with the trail of goosebumps and shivers that appear in the wake of his touch, that you're freezing right now, and in desperate need of blankets and warm, warm cuddles.

His hand makes his way down to yours eventually, and he can see the twitch of your fingers as you're tempted to drop the pen to take his hand into your own. Pressing his thumb to the seam of your wrist and your palm,  Muriel feeds the temptation, massaging the tender skin as best he can manage despite his calloused fingers. He’s careful not to seem too desperate for you to relax and drop your work to follow him back into the warm embrace of the bed. Up and down, he works his thumb from the centre of your palm to your pulse on your wrist. Little by little your hand sags in his hold, your pen drooping and slipping from loosened fingers, until it finally falls and leaves a splatter of ink on the wood of the table.

Your eyes dart down and your hand tenses up prepared to apologize and clean up your little mess, but Muriel refuses to let you fuss over something so trivial when your own health is at risk. His face dips into the crook of your neck, his lips spattering kisses against your skin luring you further into his embrace until your eyes flutter closed and your head bobs against his shoulder, fighting a futile battle against the urge to sleep.

Letting go of your hand, and slipping his hand instead beneath your legs to scoop you from your seat, Muriel realizes that he too must be a little delirious with sleep. Blush grows against his face, while he continues to press kisses against your skin, but he doesn't have much energy left to care about how embarrassing his affections may be. Instead, he sighs his lips still pressed against your skin as he pulls you into bed.

"Next time, I'm dragging you to bed the moment the sun goes down," he blurts, uncaring for any embarrassing connotations you might derive from his words. Instead, he focused on holding you close against him, in his arms where you belonged as you wormed your own arms around him, finally settling into his embrace.

At least, he thought you were settling into his embrace.

Despite how your body was nearly a puddle of boneless goop in his arms, exhausted and ready for sleep, you try to turn looking back to the table where your pen and papers lay.

"my pen—" you try to argue.

"it's fine," he mutters, his voice a bit gruff with his own exhaustion. "Go to sleep"

"But the ink—"

"it's fine," he grumbles again, squeezing you tighter in case you tried to slip free. "Go to sleep"

"But—"

Muriel sighs again, loud and irritated and tired, before he leans in and seals your lips with his own. He knows that tomorrow, if he thinks to long about the events of last night, he'll burn himself with how hard he'd blush, but today, all he wants is for you to go to sleep and get some well deserved rest. He's willing to sacrifice a little embarrassment if it means you sleep.

Even if he'd find himself embarrassed tomorrow, he hopes that it'll be washed out with the pride he feels in the moment, burning bright and making his chest tight, as he feels you sag in his arms. You’re melting from his kiss alone and that makes his heart soar. The effect he has just from kissing you is wonderful sure, but it's the evidence that he knows you that makes him feel the warmest. He knows how to get you to relax. He knows how to make you feel comfortable enough to finally go to sleep. Pulling back, he settles himself back into the crook of your neck, grinning from accomplishments, as he feels you finally seem to drift of to sleep.

Of course, seem is the word of focus here. Since, moments later, Muriel can feel you once again trying to squirm free from his embrace. Though he keeps his eyes closed amidst your little struggle, he holds you tighter, muttering in a sleep raged voice for what seems like the hundredth time.

“Go to sleep.”

You fall limp at his request, though he's more than awake enough to realize what you're trying to do. Waiting and biding your time for him to fall asleep before you. He sighs at the notion, and changes tactics.

"What's wrong?"

You're silent for a moment, still feigning sleep even if he can feel your heartbeat's staccato rhythm from where you're pressed against his chest. He doesn't push though, almost hoping that you'd fall asleep while pretending to do so, but he still waits for your reply, whether it comes or not.

"I just... I have an idea I want to write down."

"You can write it down tomorrow."

"But what if I forget?"

Muriel pauses. The temptation to wave away your concerns with a simple argument like, "if it's important you'll remember tomorrow," sits on his tongue, but he can't help but reflect an answer onto himself. Perhaps it was the constant wash of affection that you'd give him, or how you were often so eager to denounce whatever quiet self-deprecating thoughts he might voice aloud, or maybe it was just how often he was spending time outside of himself, and with you, or Asra, or the others. He doesn't know what exactly caused it, but he knows how it affects him now. He's important, and yet he was forgotten. To you, this project is the same.

This matters to you. Denying its importance will get him nowhere he wants to be.

"You can tell me," he offers, "I'll remember it."

"You're already half asleep."

Muriel cracks an eye open, "you are too."

Your attempt to refute his statement falls short when you yawn, which makes him yawn as well, though his is half muffled around his smile.

"alright, fine," you mutter eventually, tucking your face against his chest. Your arms squirm from their place trapped beneath his own, this time though, rather than escaping, you wrap your arms around him as you finally settle in his embrace for good.

He listens as long as he can, to you talk about the solutions to the puzzle you have noted down in your book, but you're mostly talking to yourself, thinking through the issue, refuting your own claims as you drift off, voice growing weaker and weaker before you finally sag against him, and Muriel can finally settle in against you, able to fall asleep now that you're in his arms, and he is in yours.

Before he settles however, he takes a moment to appreciate his reward, pressing a kiss against your eyelids, before he leans back and appreciates your relaxed and sleeping expression, whispering. You deserve rest like this. You deserve to relax. You've been so busy lately, he doesn't want to see you in pain.

When he finally tucks himself by your side and presses his cheek against your skin, Muriel can't help but chuckle at the chance to just fall asleep just like that. He knows it clings to him now. That falling asleep would be just as easy as that, but it hadn't always been. Sitting up forced to deal with swirling thoughts alone had once been the bane of his existence, but now, curled up with you by his side, he could talk if he needed to, just like you needed to earlier.

Now, falling asleep is as easy as one... two...

....

In the dying moments of his consciousness, Muriel continues to stare at you, pressing another kiss against your sleeping face, as he whispers precious words, fully aware you can't hear him. It doesn't really matter anyways. He'll tell you them all again tomorrow night. And if you can't hear it then, he'll tell you the next day, then the day after that, and the day after that.

"I love you," he mutters. "Goodnight."

[samtheplatypus]

Mermay Delian

I've had this for like a month, and hey I can post it know, and just in time for Vesuvia Weekly, who would have thought XD

I just post about the ship lol

I'll try to mix things up (just try)

[zxro-404]

Cute things bc im incredibly depressed

[sweetmariihs2]

Finally more (oc) Aurora x Cedric art

I don't do comics very often. Kinda liked this one. It's good to explore characters' dynamics, behaviors and experiences.

(I'm like humans when they discovered fire except everyone had already discovered fire earlier than me)

If you want me to yap about and dissect this whole thing for you to understand every single aspect of their traumas, choice of words and hidden language in this just tell me lmao

Edit: the 2nd Cedric (the angry one) looks absolutely beautiful

Edit 2: this song is theirs

Edit 3: here is the link of me yapping

[urmultideadfandomperson]

After nine days, I finally finished V's masquerade outfit! It was quite difficult to draw the desired dress, I eventually got what I wanted! Overall, it was really fun to draw this, especially the mask and the kerchief :DD

I used a color palette in Pinterest for this since I'm not very good with colors and all that... credits to Pinterest ;w;

Anyway, the animal I used for The Fool is a deer! Vianne is a kind person but also independent. However, because of her kindness, it makes V a naive person. I surfed the internet to find the perfect animal that suits this personality, and the result was a deer!

The kerchief on her shoulders is inspired by the Baro't Saya, a traditional dress for women in the Philippines. I'm Filipino myself, so it was a good idea to add this touch :3c

For now, this will be the official appearance of Vianne Dela Torre. Her casual outfit will arrive soon when I have the time to draw the clothes. Since our preliminary examinations are coming up, I won't get to post much.

I'll see you all soon! I hope you'll look forward more of V! <3333

(Bonus: Vianne Dela Torre w/o her masquerade mask)

[mashup-writing]

The Arcana; Masterlist

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

A = angst, F = fluff, H = humor, HC = Hurt & Comfort, S = smut, UE = Upright Ending, RE = Reverse Ending

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

Main 6 Headcanons:

M6 Gift giving & thought process [F] [UE]

Nadia Satrinava:

Across my Memories (F) (UE)

Asra Alnazar:

Nothing Yet!

Julian Devorak:

Nothing Yet!

Muriel:

Nothing Yet!

Portia Devorak:

Nothing Yet!

Lucio Morgasson:

Nothing Yet!

----------------------٩(◕‿◕｡)۶-----------------------

[passiveechobox]

Under Your Skin CH.2

The next day was more of the same - cleaning. Over and over again until your head buzzed and your hands smelled permanently of disinfectant. You were starting to think the fumes might be killing brain cells. Levi didn’t let up either. If he saw you miss a corner, he made you do the whole damn station again. Not messy enough to be scolded, just... not perfect. And with him, apparently, it had to be.

Eventually, finally, he let you move on to what you were actually there for, practice.

You were working line work today, basic shapes and crisp lines on fake skin taped to a saddle stand. It wasn’t glamorous. Your back already ached from hunching over but you weren’t about to complain. You’d tattoo the soles of your own feet if it meant getting better.

Levi was busier than the day before, mid-way through a full back piece on some gym rat who spent ten full minutes hyping himself up before even taking his shirt off. Now he was face-down on the table, occasionally letting out muffled grunts like he was dying inside but trying to sound tough about it. To his credit, he hadn’t tapped out. Yet.

Even with Levi elbow-deep in that dude’s spine, you still heard his voice bark from across the room.

“Your wrist is too stiff.”

You blinked, pausing. Looked around. How did he even see that?

Another correction came not five minutes later. “Watch your spacing. Bottom left.”

You turned, giving him a slightly wide-eyed, incredulous look. He didn’t even glance up from what he was doing. Just jerked his chin toward something behind you.

You turned.

There was a mirror. A huge, wall-mounted thing behind your station. Perfect view of your entire setup from where he was sitting.

He wasn’t magic, he was just watching… Constantly. Your stomach flipped a little, not unpleasantly. You turned back to your lines and adjusted your wrist angle.

You didn’t hear him correct you after that.

At some point, Levi pulled back from the guy’s back and cleared his throat. Just once. Sharp enough to snap the guy out of his pain trance. The dude groaned, lifting his head like it weighed forty pounds, then slowly pushed himself up on his elbows to look over his shoulder at the mirror.

His eyes lit up. “Yo! That looks sick, man!”

He grinned, wide and a little delirious, eyes flicking between the mirror and Levi like he’d just won a medal.

Levi just raised one brow. “That’s just the outline.”

There was a beat of silence. You could see the exact second that registered.

“Oh.”

Levi didn’t elaborate. Just turned to his tray and held out a juice pouch like this happened every day. Which it probably did. The guy took it with both hands like it was a holy relic, already looking a little green around the edges. He sipped it gingerly, trying very hard not to cry, shoulders hunched and legs slightly shaking as Levi went back to prepping the next round of ink.

You couldn’t help it, you were watching the whole thing unfold with a kind of morbid fascination. Then Levi’s eyes slid to yours, deadpan.

He didn’t say anything, just jerked his head toward your station.

A silent get back to work.

You jumped a little and turned immediately, hunching back over your fake skin like it owed you money. Linework, focus, no distractions. Even still, you smiled to yourself, Levi was intense, kinda scary. But he paid attention. More than most.

Once the shading was done, the guy left, walking gingerly, like his spine had been replaced with glass. He looked pleased, though, tender and sore but happy. Levi gave a noncommittal nod as the door closed behind him, already peeling off his gloves. Then he came over.

You tried not to tense up, tried to stay cool as he approached your little corner, but the way your fingers fumbled slightly with the stencil in your hand said otherwise. You’d been setting it down just as he stopped beside you, watching. And, maybe because of that or maybe because you rushed it, you peeled it off too fast. The stencil reveleaed was patchy, uneven and faint at the top edge, like it got stage fright.

Levi tilted his head, not unkindly, just observant, sharp as always.

“Leave it on longer next time,” he said. “And take it off slower. You act like you’re trying to give them a wax.”

You laughed under your breath, sheepish. “Right. Got it.”

You grabbed the stencil spray and started wiping it off, careful not to look at him too much. He was still standing there. Still watching. You placed a fresh stencil, slower this time, letting it sit properly before removing it with more care. He didn’t say anything right away. Just looked over your lines again, his eyes skimming the fake skin. You suddenly became very aware of every tiny wobble, every place the line dipped just a little, especially that one section where he’d corrected your wrist. It was like every flaw lit up under his gaze.

He hummed.

Then finally, “You’ve got some good weight control.”

You blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

“But,” he continued, tapping a finger near one of the lines, “keep an eye on your wrist. On curves you stiffen up a bit.” Your eyes followed his gesture, sure enough there was a little break. Barely noticeable, but yeah, it was there.

“And make sure you’re stretching the skin properly,” he added, pointing out another spot where the line had gone a little uneven. “Or this’ll happen everywhere.”

You nodded quickly. “Oh, yeah. I thought I was, but it keeps happening.”

“It's mostly a practice issue.” He shrugged, then reached past you to grab one of the practice sheets you hadn’t used yet. “Forget the stencil stuff for now. It’s all well and good to practice placement, but get the basics down first.”

“Right,” you said again, quieter this time. “Got it.”

He gave a brief nod, something almost approving, and turned away just as quickly, back to sorting his station like he hadn’t just pointed out your weak spots with surgical precision. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and leaned back over the skin.

Back to basics, again.

Still, that “good weight control” was going to sit with you for the rest of the day like a trophy.

For the rest of the day, Levi works on smaller tattoos for different people, and you start to notice a pattern, he gets a lot of attention. Not just for the tattoos, though those are flawless. It's him, too. His face. His whole… thing. People flirt, or at least they try. They lean in, laugh a little too hard, ask dumb questions just to keep him talking.

Levi doesn’t care.

Doesn’t smile, doesn’t play along, barely even makes eye contact once the stencil’s on. He finishes the tattoo, wraps them up, and gets them out like he’s allergic to lingering.

You’re adjusting your grip again, finally starting to get the hang of stretching the skin just right, when the shop’s front door creaks open. You glance up and immediately feel the air shift. A woman walks in, she's tall, blonde. Her hair is so dirty it’s actually caked flat against her scalp, and even from across the room, she’s setting off your internal alarms. She heads straight for the reception desk where Petra is taking stock, clipboard in hand. You can’t hear all of it, but the tone is obvious. She’s asking for a walk-in. Petra’s being polite, patient, telling her that walk-ins aren’t done here. The woman doesn’t seem interested in listening. After a minute, she just pushes right past the desk like Petra’s invisible.

Levi straightens up before she even reaches him. His hands go behind his back like he’s just casually standing, but you see it. The tightness in his shoulders, the way his jaw tenses. He’s bracing.

She stops in front of him. He barely comes up to her shoulder, but somehow still looks taller.

“I want something under my arm,” she says, already starting to lift it like she’s about to flash the placement. Levi stops her with a single raised hand.

“I won’t be tattooing you today.”

She freezes, arm half-raised, then slowly crosses them instead.

“And why is that?” she asks, unimpressed. Like she’s waiting for him to backtrack. He doesn’t.

“You don’t have an appointment, you’ve been disrespectful to my staff, and you do not have the necessary hygiene for me to safely give you a tattoo.” He pauses, then adds, without a flicker of hesitation, “I also don’t want to.”

The woman lets out a loud, incredulous guffaw like she can’t believe what she’s hearing. Honestly, neither can you, you’re still trying to figure out if this is really happening. A few more heated words get tossed around, sharp and petty, before she finally storms toward the door, shouting that she’ll never return and they’ve lost a valuable customer. Levi doesn’t dignify it with a response.

He just watches her go, arms crossed, shoulders squared, calm in that unnerving way that makes it clear nothing she said touched him at all. Your eyes catch on the set of his posture, the stretch of muscle across his back under the black cotton of his shirt, and you have to blink yourself out of it before you get caught staring.

But the buzz of your machine dies, paused without you even realizing it.

He notices, because of course he does. Turns just enough to side-eye you, one brow twitching like a silent get back to work.

You fumble, hunch back over your fake skin like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him grabbing the mop and a spray bottle. He moves to the exact spot the woman had been standing, running the mop across it with slow, purposeful strokes. Like he’s scrubbing away a stain only he can see.

It’s weirdly impressive, how seriously he takes it. How he backed Petra up without even blinking. You glance at her, she’s behind the counter, watching him with her chin in her hand, the softest expression on her face. Honestly, if you weren’t terrified of being caught slacking again, you’d probably be watching her watch him.

Instead, you pick up your machine and try to focus. And fail a little.

Just a little.

[julesriseling]

this was for @lovealwayszine! me and lucio with our loved pets, doing what we do best: napping

[skywalkerandmarvelfan]

Favorite (Platonic Yandere Darth Vader with Starkiller's Twin Sister Reader ~~ Chapter 1)

A/n: This story isn't connected to my one short: Everything Will Be Fine (Platonic Yandere Darth Vader with Starkiller's Twin Sister Reader).

Chapter summary: After finding two Force-sensitive children Vader takes them both and plans to train the stronger one as his apprentice and kill the weaker one. When it is discovered, you were the weaker twin Vader goes to kill you.

Vader lifted the rogue Jedi up in the air in a Force choke. “I sense someone far more powerful nearby. Where is your master?”

“The Dark Side has clouded your mind; you killed my master years ago.”

“Then now you will share his fate.” Vader said, but before he could strike the Jedi down his lightsaber flew from his hand. Shocked, Vader turned to see what took his weapon, only to see a young boy holding it, a girl the same age as him standing beside him. “Children?”

"Run!" The Jedi yelled before his neck was snapped with the Force.

You and Galen flinched seeing your father’s now lifeless body being dropped.

Vader took a cautious step to you two, not wanting Galen to potentially use his lightsaber against him. When Vader reached a handout Galen stepped in front of you then pointed the lightsaber at Vader. He gave the saber a small swing trying to protect you when Vader took another cautious step forward. Galen doubted he would be able to do anything to Vader, but wanted to try to protect you, even if it was futile in the end.

"Lord Vader," an officer said, running to the Sith, three Stormtroopers following close behind.

The three Stormtroopers raised their blasters at you and your brother.

Vader looked at his troops then at you and Galen. You were both strong and untrained in the Force; it would be a shame if you were both killed when Vader could easily take one of you to train as an apprentice.

Vader turned his attention back to the troopers then quickly retrieved his lightsaber with the Force, and deflected the blaster bolts back at the Stormtroopers and Imperial Officer.

You gasped and grabbed your twin’s shoulder at the loud sounds of blaster bolts, a ‘vhoom’ of a lightsaber and painful grunts of men as they were killed. You wanted to look away from the gruesome sight and run like your father said, but found yourself frozen in fear. You tightened your grip on Galen when the bulky, tall, figure of Vader walked up to you and your brother. Galen tried to guard you with his body by straightening himself and spreading out his arms.

Vader found the actions of Galen trying to protect you humorous. Anything the young boy could do to save you would be useless in the end. If Vader wanted you dead, you would be dead.

Vader was going to kill you like he did your father, but there was a chance you were stronger in the Force. He couldn’t pinpoint which one of you was the stronger one, as the Force emitted from both of you in waves, and your Force presence appeared to merge with each other. If Vader wanted the stronger child as his apprentice he would have to take you both then kill the one who was weaker.

Finding out who was stronger took longer than Vader thought. Both of you picked up the Force easily, and when you decided to alter your combat technique to a long range or Jar'Kai style instead of charging and overpowering an opponent, you were both good in combat. However, you tended to be more stubborn in certain aspects and at times lost focus during meditation, making Galen the more appealing candidate for Vader’s apprentice. As more time passed with each of you having more one-on-one training with Vader, Galen proved to be the more powerful twin.

This outcome pleased Vader greatly. Galen was more focused, and you were far too caring with Galen, always warned him to be careful, hugged him to show comfort, tried to patch him up, and tried to calm him when he was angered. Caring wasn't a Dark Side trait, and it was these traits that added to your weakness as well as weakening Galen. Vader also liked Galen more, Vader was more distant to him than with you. Whenever your caring side showed for your brother, it reminded Vader of when Padmé would care for other people, and at rare moments Vader found himself going easier on you or spending more time on you than he should. Vader didn't know the gender of the child he would've had with Padmé, but believed the child would be a girl, and it was these two things that had Vader less distant to you. He disliked the fact he was closer to you and how you reminded him of Padmé, so it was best if you were the one to be disposed of.

In order to make it less obvious that he killed you Vader waited a few days after discovering Galen was stronger and went to your chambers during the middle of the night. If you were asleep when he killed you, you wouldn't make a disturbance through the Force and potentially wake Galen with your Force bond. Vader had learned that the two of you had a unique bond in the Force, and were more attuned to each other, having a heightened connection to the other’s feelings, were able to tell if the other was hurt or in danger from miles away, and were able to find the other from miles away just by following the other’s Force presence. Vader was unsure if this connection could wake Galen if you were scared enough or in danger, but he didn’t want to find out. It would be better if Galen didn't know or suspect Vader was the cause of your death, as that could bring problems with the boy's loyalty or behavior.

Unfortunately, when Vader reached your chambers the door swooshed open and you ran into his boot. 

Pain spread throughout your nose after hitting Vader's boot, but the sudden pain was quickly forgotten when the mechanical breathing hit your ears, and you felt a swift change in the Force. You jumped back blood running cold by Vader’s presence and the sharp chill within the Force. Out of the three years of you being trained by Vader, he had never been at your chamber door in the middle of the night, and him being here made you on edge. The worst part about this situation was the Force felt antsy and as if it was poking you with needles of ice, which served to make you more anxious. You had no idea why the Force felt like this and didn’t like it at all.

Part of you wanted to keep staring at Vader’s boots and not look at him, hoping that if you didn’t look at him you would become invisible to the Sith’s gaze. The other part of you wanted to continue heading to Galen’s chambers, hoping if you kept on going like you never ran into Vader this situation would be forgotten as if it never happened, and your nerves from your nightmare, Vader being outside your door, and whatever he planned to do would vanish by your brother’s presence. However, if you kept looking at Vader’s boots or kept walking without acknowledging him, it could be taken as disrespectful, and you’ve learned the hard way that Vader demanded respect.

You gulped down your nerves then slowly looked up, trying to hide your emotions, but doubted you did well in hiding them. You regretted looking up as the cold running blood froze when you actually saw Vader’s helmet pointed down at you. 

"Master," you whispered, mentally cursing with how your voice seemed to abandon you, and how your mouth became dry.

Vader glared at you. You shouldn’t be awake at this hour, you should be asleep, you had to be asleep for the best outcome of his plan to be achieved. You being awake only made him dislike you more, but what made him hate you was how the frightened facial expression resembled the frightened look Padmé gave him on Mustafar, and the frightened whisper of 'master' made him remember when she whispered his name when he Force choked her. Vader knew if he really wanted, he could still kill you if you were awake, but he couldn’t kill you when you resembled Padmé, even if it was just by a facial expression combined with a whisper. He would have to kill you another night.

“Is-is there anything I can do for you?” You asked, voice still quiet.

“Come with me.”

“Yes master.” You said, forcing the words out. “Can I go see Galen first?”

“No.”

“Please, I always go to him after I have a nightmare.”

“No. Now come,” Vader gripped your shoulder then pulled you from the doorway and into the hallway.

“Please master, I must see him. I must see that he is alive.” 

“He is fine. Do you not sense him through the Force?”

“I do, but I have to see him to be sure.” You said, desperate to see him.

If you had any other nightmare you would deal with not going to Galen, not wanting to anger Vader, especially with the Force’s sharp chill, but after the nightmare of him being killed you had to make sure he was still alive. You always checked on Galen whenever you had the dream of him dying. You knew it was a dream, but it never failed to scare you to the very core. It felt so real, regardless if he looked way older than he was now, but you couldn’t get the image of his lifeless body laying on the ground. 

“The Force is enough confirmation,” Vader said. 

“But-” you paused when Vader gave a firm squeeze to your shoulder, a warning you knew, but you couldn’t bring yourself to heed it, “it eases me to see him. If I don’t see him all I can picture and think about is him lying dead on the floor like he does in my dream.” You clasped your hands together. “Please let me check on him, I will be able to focus so much more on whatever you have me do master.”

Vader felt something tightening in his chest at your pleading face, and the knowledge you had a dream of someone you loved dying. The fear you had reminded him of the fear he felt when he had visions of his mother and Padmé dying. The difference though was your fear was from dreams and his were visions. 

At least Vader believed your fear was from a dream. He couldn’t imagine a child like yourself having Force visions of the future. However, you were strong in the Force, even if you weren’t as strong as your brother, and the Force did work in mysterious ways, so it could be possible your dreams of Galen dying were visions. If your dreams were visions Vader felt a sense of sadness that you were experiencing this, knowing how painful it could be.

Vader clenched his fist, angered at how he felt a bit closer to you with the revelation of your dreams of your twin dying. Worse than that he was angered at how you reminded him of himself, and how his first thought was pity, instead of anger and an urge to kill you. 

“No. Use your fear in your training, it will give you power.” Vader said, before dragging you down the hallway by your shoulder.

Vader would give you a harder training session for giving him these feelings and memories of his past.

You gulped, having a feeling you made a mistake, and that you should’ve heeded the warning to stop talking.