#Simple pendulum

[rajansmoorthy]

“Mastering the Simple Pendulum: Discover the secrets of Time and Motion”

Simple Pendulum Experiment Simple Pendulum Experiment : Introduction The simple pendulum experiment is a well-known physics experiment that helps understand the relationship between a pendulum’s length and time period. It also provides a method for figuring out the acceleration due to gravity(g).This experiment provides a fundamental understanding of oscillatory motion and aids in verifying…

[defences-down]

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[starryluminary]

NoCoVember Week 3: Older / Childhood Friends

Chose this prompt as an excuse to honor my 13 year old self who drew them and half the contestants as kids. Do these look like nearly decade old designs? Cause they are

NoCoVember week prompts by @zuureleena !

[thecupidwitch]

Simple Ways to Practice Magick Everyday

Say a small prayer or do a short meditation before you get out of bed in the morning.

Write down dreams or visions you had.

Stir your first cup of coffee or tea counterclockwise to banish negativity and bad luck or clockwise to bring positive energy.

Draw daily tarot or oracle cards (you can also use a pendulum) for guidance.

Cleansing yourself and home using sound or smoke.

Ancestor or spirit offerings

Pick out your clothes, shoes, jewelry... ect with intention.

Write a sigil or petition paper and burn it.

Take a ritual shower. You can spice it up with candles, herbs, and crystals, or you can simply step under the water and imagine all the negativity and bad energy washing off you. You can also recite a chant.

Every time you look into the mirror, say an affirmation

Take a walk outside and ground yourself to Mother Earth.

Dance!! Dancing is an excellent way to rise the energy, and it helps with opening the sacral and solar plexus chakra and getting in touch with the inner child.

tip jar

[satellite-evans]

my lando

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando and Sophie go grocery shopping, but they come home with more than just food.

Word count: 5k+

Warnings: fluff

Request: If you’re taking requests I would love anything dad!f1. Also would you consider writing doing a part 2 for best friends that fic is so cuteee

A/N:

this is a part 2 to my fic best friends, so I encourage you to read that first xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The doors of the grocery store slid open with a soft whoosh, letting in a burst of cool, air-conditioned breeze that carried with it the faint scent of baking bread and fresh produce. Lando guided the shopping cart inside with one hand, its slightly wobbly wheel clicking rhythmically against the tile floor. His other hand rested gently, protectively, on Sophie’s tiny back as she walked close to his side, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly to her chest like a shield against the vastness of the store.

“Alright, up you go, birdie,” Lando said with a playful grin, crouching to scoop her up effortlessly under the arms. Sophie let out a soft squeal of delight as he lifted her, her sneakers briefly kicking at the air before he settled her into the child seat at the front of the cart — the coveted "captain's chair" where her little legs dangled through the holes, already swinging back and forth like tiny pendulums.

“I get to ride today!” Sophie beamed, adjusting bunny carefully on her lap, making sure his floppy ears were arranged just right.

“You sure do,” Lando chuckled, leaning in to kiss the top of her head, his lips brushing her soft curls. He tried smoothing her wild hair down, but it only seemed to puff up more in defiance, and he grinned at the sight. “You’re my co-pilot, remember? Gotta help me make all the big decisions.”

Sophie nodded solemnly, her eyes wide and serious, though a smile still tugged at her lips. “We need milk,” she began, holding up one finger as though counting on an invisible list, “and fruit. And cereal. And snacks for Mommy.”

“Ah, snacks for Mommy — very important,” Lando agreed, steering the cart deeper into the store, the wheels creaking as they rolled over a patch of uneven floor. “You’re already keeping us in line, huh? What would I do without you?”

Sophie giggled, her arms wrapping around her bunny as she sat a little taller, clearly proud of her responsibility.

As they rounded into the bakery section, the smell of warm bread and sugar hit them like a soft wave. Lando reached out to grab a fresh loaf, checking its softness with a squeeze before putting it into a bag and tossing it gently into the cart. Sophie watched everything around her with wide, curious eyes — the rows of golden pastries, the spinning cake display, the workers bustling behind the glass counter.

“Lando! Look!” she whispered suddenly, leaning forward with excitement, her tiny finger pointing as though discovering a secret treasure. “Donuts!”

He followed her gaze, laughing as he spotted the display case filled with perfectly frosted rings of sugar.

“Dangerous,” he murmured dramatically, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You found my weakness, kiddo.”

Sophie giggled, hugging her bunny tighter. “Mommy likes chocolate ones,” she added, her voice soft and matter-of-fact, as though sharing insider information.

“Oh, does she now?” Lando asked, one brow raised in mock seriousness. He ruffled her hair again with a smirk. “Well, maybe we’ll have to grab some — just because you said so.”

Sophie nodded, clearly pleased with her influence, and together they moved on toward the fruit aisle.

Reaching for a bright red container of strawberries, Lando held them up to her with an exaggerated questioning look.

“These good, boss?” he asked, making her giggle at the title.

She tilted her head, inspecting them as if she were a real expert. “Hmm… yeah. They look yummy. Mommy likes those.”

“Perfect. Into the cart they go,” he said, gently placing them beside the bread and giving Sophie’s knee a little playful tap as he did.

As they kept moving, Sophie leaned to the side, reaching her hand out as though she could touch all the colorful cereal boxes lining the aisle. Her fingers trailed the edges of bright packages, and Lando smiled, watching her soak in the world around her.

“Alright,” he said finally, steering them to a stop right in front of the towering wall of cereals. “Big decision time, co-pilot. What cereal are we getting?”

Sophie’s eyes sparkled, her legs swinging faster with excitement. “I want the animal one! With the tiger!”

Lando scanned the shelves and plucked down the orange box featuring a grinning cartoon tiger.

“The tiger one it is,” he said, holding it out to show her before tossing it into the cart. Then he reached up for another box, holding it up with a sly smile. “Should we get chocolate cereal too? Y’know, for emergencies?”

Sophie gasped dramatically, her eyes going wide, clutching bunny to her chest like she couldn’t believe such luck. “Yes! And I can share with you!”

“Deal,” Lando laughed, giving her a playful wink as he added the chocolate cereal to their growing pile of groceries.

As they made their way toward the checkout, Sophie kept up a steady stream of chatter — soft, bubbly, and full of little observations about the store. She pointed out balloons near the floral section, admired the shiny apples they passed, and made Lando laugh with her random musings about what kind of cereal bunnies would eat if they could.

But then, as they rounded the last aisle, her voice grew more thoughtful.

“Lando?” she asked, glancing up at him with her head slightly tilted, curls falling over her cheeks.

“Yeah, bug?” he answered, glancing down, ready for whatever question might come.

She hesitated a moment, her fingers playing with bunny’s ear. “When the baby comes… can they ride in the cart with me too?”

Lando blinked, his heart giving a soft squeeze at her tenderness. You found out you were pregnant after your 1st anniversary with Lando, and he was over the moon. He already felt like a dad with Sophie, but this time he could experience everything from the beginning. Sophie was even more excited than the both of you. She always wanted a little sibling, and her dreams finally came true.

He slowed the cart and leaned in closer to her level, smiling gently.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “they might be a little too tiny at first. But when they’re bigger? Yeah, I think you two can share. You’ll have to teach them all about being a good co-pilot.”

Sophie’s whole face lit up at that, her smile beaming like sunshine. “I’ll show them how to pick snacks for Mommy,” she said proudly.

Lando grinned, giving her a soft, affectionate nudge. “Best teacher I could think of.”

As they neared the checkout, Sophie’s sharp little gasp cut through the hum of the store.

“Lando! Flowers for Mommy!” she cried, twisting in her seat and reaching one small arm toward the flower stand by the front entrance — a burst of color against the neutral aisles.

Lando followed her gaze, his chest tightening a little at the way she said it — so sure, so full of joy.

“You think so?” he asked, voice softer now, already knowing her answer but wanting to hear it from her.

Sophie nodded, curls bouncing as she leaned forward, bunny squished protectively in one arm, the other still reaching out. “She loves it when you bring her flowers. She smiles a lot.”

For a moment, Lando just stood there, hand resting on the cart handle, watching her. There was something about the way she said it — like it was the simplest thing in the world to make her mom smile, like love was easy if you just remembered the right kind of flowers.

He swallowed the lump rising in his throat, glancing down at her small fingers gripping bunny like a lifeline, her bright eyes shining with certainty.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice a little rough as he nudged the cart in the direction of the flower stand. “Okay, birdie. You get to pick them. Find the best ones for Mommy.”

Sophie’s eyes went wide, taking her role very seriously, sitting up straighter in the seat, scanning the colorful bouquets as though searching for treasure. She leaned so far forward, tiny brows scrunched in concentration, that Lando reached out instinctively to steady her back with a gentle hand.

Her little fingers hovered over a bunch of purple tulips, then bright yellow daisies, before finally pointing with great determination at a bundle of soft pink and white flowers — delicate, gentle things that looked like they’d been kissed by morning light.

“These,” she said firmly, voice full of quiet conviction. “These are like Mommy.”

Lando smiled as he reached for the bouquet, cradling it carefully in one hand. His throat felt tight again, but this time he let it settle, let it stay.

“You’ve got good taste, bug,” he whispered, brushing a hand softly over her curls, fingers tangling for a moment in the wild strands before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

As they made their way back to the checkout, the flowers nestled carefully on top of the groceries, Lando tried to shake the feeling pressing into his chest — that deep, aching kind of love that made it hard to breathe sometimes.

Sophie stayed perched in the cart, bunny tucked under her chin, legs swinging back and forth as if life couldn’t get any better than this simple moment.

The cashier, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a bright name tag that read MARIA, smiled warmly at them as she began scanning their items, the beep of each product sliding across the scanner filling the air.

“Out with Daddy today, huh?” she asked casually, reaching for the strawberries.

Lando froze for half a second, one hand still on a box of cereal, his fingers tightening around the cardboard. The word Daddy hung there in the air between them, like something delicate he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. His mouth opened, but the words tangled on his tongue.

“Uh—”

But before he could figure out what to say — before he could trip over the explanation he wasn’t even sure how to give — Sophie piped up, her voice sweet and clear and full of absolute certainty.

“Yeah! He’s kinda like my daddy,” she said with a proud little grin, turning her face up toward Lando, eyes shining with trust that knocked the breath right out of him. “We do everything together.”

Lando blinked, his throat tightening again as he stared at her, at this tiny person who just knew who he was to her, even if the world didn’t have a name for it yet.

The cashier, thankfully, didn’t ask questions. She just smiled even softer, glancing between them as though she saw more than he knew.

“Well,” she said gently, carefully placing the bouquet on top of the groceries, “looks like you’ve got a pretty great team.”

Lando finally found his voice, though it came out a little rougher than before. “Yeah,” he murmured, glancing at Sophie as she hugged bunny tight. A small, quiet smile curved his lips. “Yeah, I do.”

They finished packing up in a comfortable silence, Lando sliding items into bags while Sophie sat watching, her eyes occasionally darting to the flowers with a little grin.

When they were ready to leave, Lando gave the cart a gentle push toward the exit, but before they made it out the door, Sophie reached out and caught his hand in hers, her tiny fingers curling tightly around his, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Lando?” she asked softly as they stepped out into the sunlight, which poured over them like warm honey.

“Yeah, birdie?”

Sophie looked up at him, her face thoughtful under the bright sky. “Can I give Mommy the flowers when we get home?”

Lando looked down at her, heart full to bursting, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Absolutely,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s gonna love that.”

Sophie beamed, her legs swinging happily again as she perched in the cart, bunny still safe in her arms. The flowers swayed gently in the breeze as Lando guided them toward the car, and for a long moment, it felt like the whole world had slowed just for them — like this little life they were building together was enough. More than enough.

After putting Sophie in her seat and loading the last of the bags into the trunk, Lando closed the hatch with a soft thud and turned around, expecting to find Sophie already impatiently bouncing in her seat. But instead, he found her still sitting quietly in the car, her stuffed bunny securely nestled in her lap, her little fingers curled around it. She was buckled in, looking out the window with wide eyes, her expression already brightening with the anticipation of the next part of their adventure. She seemed so small in that big car, but the way she sat there — calm, expectant, full of life — made it clear that she was the one driving this moment.

“You ready to head home, kiddo?” Lando asked with a smile as he slid into the driver’s seat, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. His hands settled on the wheel, ready to start the drive, but his heart still carried the weight of all the little moments that made the day feel like something special.

“Yep! Let’s go!” Sophie chirped back enthusiastically, her grin stretching wide across her face. She hugged bunny tightly, giving him a little squeeze like she was sharing the joy with him.

“And can we play the happy song again?” she asked, her voice practically sparkling with excitement.

Lando chuckled, starting the car and feeling the low rumble of the engine beneath them. He gave Sophie another glance, amusement dancing in his eyes. “The ‘do-do-do’ song?”

“YES! The Walking on Sunshine song! I want to sing it again!” Sophie declared, her tiny voice full of enthusiasm, and Lando couldn’t resist her infectious energy. He cranked the volume up a little and tapped his hands on the steering wheel, pretending to be a professional DJ for a second.

“Alright, alright! You got it, boss,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

The familiar beat of the song filled the car, and Sophie’s face lit up immediately, her whole body bopping in her seat. She raised her arms in the air like she was conducting an orchestra, her joy radiating out of every tiny movement.

Lando, unable to resist the infectious tune, joined in with her, his voice a little off-key but full of the same carefree spirit. The car seemed to come alive with the sound of their combined laughter and song as Sophie’s little voice rang out beside him.

"I'm walking on sunshine, whoa-oh!"

Sophie’s eyes sparkled with glee as she turned to him, practically vibrating with energy. “Sing louder, Lando!” she commanded, her voice bubbling with laughter.

“Louder, huh? You got it,” Lando said, laughing as he turned the volume up even more, filling the car with the pure joy of their off-key duet.

Together, they belted out the chorus at full force, both of them laughing through their notes. Sophie’s voice cracked with the excitement of it all, and Lando’s was barely more in tune, but they didn’t care — they were singing for the sheer joy of it, their spirits rising with the beat.

"And don't it feel good!"

As the song reached its peak, Sophie threw her arms up dramatically, her face split by a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Good job, Lando! You sang it so good!” she said with a proud gleam in her eyes, as if she had been the one to coach him through the song.

Lando couldn’t help but laugh, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest as he glanced back at her through the rearview mirror. “Thanks, kiddo. You were amazing!” he said, his voice full of affection. He gave her a soft smile, his eyes momentarily soft as they met hers in the mirror. “You sure you don’t want to be the singer? You’re way better at it than me.”

Sophie gave him a serious look, her little brow furrowing as she considered his offer. Then she nodded with quiet confidence. “No, Lando, you’re really good,” she said earnestly, like she was offering him sage advice. “But I’ll help you. I can teach you the words.”

Lando chuckled, the warmth in his chest spreading even further. “You’ll be the best teacher, huh?”

“I will!” she declared, her voice full of such certainty that Lando had no doubt she’d take her role as the teacher very seriously. “We can practice more next time!”

“That’s a deal,” Lando said, his heart swelling as he turned the car onto their street. The world outside the windows felt like it was moving slower, almost as if it was giving him space to savor the moment. He smiled softly to himself, realizing just how right everything felt. The car ride, Sophie’s laughter, their simple joy — it was all perfect in its own little way.

As they approached their house, Sophie’s voice piped up again from the backseat, bringing Lando back to the present.

“You did a good job, Lando. You always do good jobs.”

The words caught him off guard, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment as he blinked. It was such a simple, honest thing to say, but it hit him deeper than he expected. He kept his eyes on the road, his hand resting on the steering wheel, trying to hold it together as the lump in his throat threatened to grow.

“You always make me feel like I’m doing good,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her, but Sophie heard it. She always heard him.

Her eyes met his in the rearview mirror, and she smiled a smile that could light up the whole world. “’Cause you are. You’re the best Lando!” she said, raising her hand in the air like she was giving him a high five from the backseat.

“Thanks, little bird. You’re the best too,” Lando said, his voice full of affection as he winked at her, reaching back to give her hand a gentle squeeze, just for a moment, to remind them both of the bond they shared.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Lando shifted the car into park and quickly turned off the engine, jumping out to open the door for Sophie. He helped her out gently, making sure she was steady on her feet. She jumped down and immediately dashed ahead, her excitement bubbling over as she ran toward the house, bunny still pressed tightly to her chest.

Lando paused for a moment, grabbing the bags from the trunk, and just watched her. She was humming a little tune to herself, her feet barely touching the ground as she skipped up the steps. Her giggles — full of joy and wonder — floated back to him on the breeze, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to fade away.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Lando murmured softly to himself, his eyes following Sophie’s retreating figure up the steps.

The front door creaked open as Lando pushed it gently with his shoulder, carefully balancing the bags of groceries in one hand. His other hand was pressed to his side, whilst Sophie tried to keep the bouquet of flowers steady as she maneuvered through the doorway.

"Mommy! We're home!" Sophie called out, her small voice ringing through the house, echoing with a sweetness that made Lando’s heart warm.

You appeared from the living room, still in your cozy clothes, your hair a bit messy, one hand resting on the curve of your bump as the other brushed sleep from your eyes. The moment you saw them — Lando juggling bags, Sophie with her face full of joy and her arms holding the bouquet — a soft smile tugged at your lips.

“Hi, baby,” you greeted softly, your voice a gentle melody. You took a step forward and leaned in to kiss Lando’s cheek, your lips brushing against his skin, making him grin, his tired eyes lighting up just from the simple affection. Then you turned to Sophie, who was practically bouncing with excitement, her smile stretching from ear to ear.

“You two had quite the adventure, huh?” you teased lightly, your voice full of warmth as you bent down slightly to meet Sophie’s sparkling gaze.

Sophie’s eyes twinkled as she held out the bouquet toward you, her hand trembling slightly with the weight of her proud accomplishment. Bunny was still clutched securely under one arm, his little button eyes seemingly looking up at you too, as if he were part of the gift.

“These are for you, Mommy!” she declared in her most serious, grown-up voice. “Me and Lando picked them! I picked the best ones.”

Your heart swelled with an emotion that almost caught you off guard. You reached out, taking the flowers from her hand with care, inhaling their soft scent. The delicate fragrance filled the air around you.

“Oh, sweetheart, they’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice soft as you kissed the top of Sophie’s head, feeling the warmth of her curls beneath your lips. “Thank you, my love.”

Lando, who had set the grocery bags on the counter, watched the two of you with a look in his eyes that melted your heart — that look, the one where it was clear his whole world revolved around both of you. His smile was subtle, but it said everything.

“I'm guessing you were the boss today, Soph,” you teased gently, reaching out to ruffle Sophie’s hair, a playful grin on your face.

“She was,” Lando chimed in, stepping over to you. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his hand instinctively resting on your bump, as if to remind himself of the little one that was growing there. “Best co-pilot ever.”

Sophie giggled at the praise, her face lighting up with the joy of being recognized for her hard work. She was clearly proud of herself, her small chest puffed out like she had just achieved something monumental.

“Well, I think my little co-pilot deserves a kiss too,” you said sweetly, your voice full of affection. You bent down and peppered Sophie’s cheeks with soft, gentle kisses, making her squeal with laughter, the sound pure and full of life.

“And me?” Lando asked with a playful pout, his voice teasing but warm.

You smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek, pulling him toward you for a soft kiss. Sophie giggled even louder, watching the two of you with innocent joy.

“Okay, okay,” Lando said with a laugh, breaking away from the kiss and ruffling Sophie’s curls. “You win, birdie.”

After a few moments of laughter and unpacking, Sophie seemed content. She scampered off to the living room, her little feet thudding on the floor as she went, bunny still tucked in her arms, her toys calling her name. Her soft giggles echoed from the hallway as she disappeared from sight.

Lando lingered in the kitchen, standing still for a moment with a thoughtful expression, glancing over at the doorway where Sophie had vanished. His fingers brushed the edge of the counter, his thoughts clearly still wrapped up in the day. Then, after a quiet pause, he turned to look at you.

“She, uh…” Lando started, his voice quiet but carrying an edge of vulnerability, as if unsure how to express something important. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to collect his thoughts. “At the store… someone asked if she was out with her dad.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly in quiet surprise. You turned toward him, watching him with soft curiosity, knowing there was more to the story. “Oh?”

He nodded slowly, shifting his weight and looking down for a moment, his hand running through his hair as if still processing the conversation. “I didn’t know what to say. And then she just—” His voice broke into a soft, almost disbelieving smile, and he shook his head slightly, as if still in awe of what had happened. “She just looked up and said, ‘Yeah, he’s kinda like my daddy. We do everything together.’”

Your heart clenched in the sweetest way, and you couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at your lips. You stepped closer to him, slipping your hand into his, squeezing gently.

“She’s not wrong,” you whispered, your voice full of warmth and truth. “She’s right. In every way that matters.”

Lando exhaled slowly, his eyes softening as he looked down at you. His fingers laced with yours as he leaned into your touch, his forehead gently resting against yours for a brief moment. “I love her so much,” he admitted quietly, his voice almost a whisper, but it held so much weight, so much truth. “I know she’s not mine but… she feels like mine. I don’t know how to explain it, but she just… feels like mine.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you pressed your lips together, knowing exactly how he felt. You cupped his cheek with your free hand, guiding his gaze to meet yours.

“She is yours,” you whispered, your voice a steady comfort. “In every way that matters, she’s yours.”

Lando smiled softly, resting his forehead against yours for another brief moment, savoring the connection between you. He took a deep, steadying breath and pulled away, his eyes set with a determined gleam.

“I wanna tell her that,” he murmured, his voice low but resolute. “I just… want her to know. In case she ever wonders.”

You nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “She’d love that. She’d be so happy to hear you say it.”

With one last gentle kiss to your lips, Lando pulled away and made his way toward the living room, where Sophie was sitting cross-legged on the floor, stacking blocks while bunny sat next to her like a little guardian.

“Hey, bug,” Lando said softly as he sat down beside Sophie, stretching his legs out comfortably. He glanced over at her, admiring the concentration on her face as she carefully stacked the blocks one by one.

Sophie looked up, her face lighting up immediately. “Hi!” she chirped, her eyes sparkling with the innocent joy only a child could have.

“Whatcha building?” Lando asked, his voice gentle, watching her tiny hands work diligently, the small pieces of the block tower taking shape in front of her.

“A tower. For bunny,” she said with a proud grin, motioning to the small stuffed bunny she had tucked safely beside her, sitting as if it were the most important guest in the room.

“Very cool,” Lando replied with a smile of his own, his heart swelling at the sweetness of the moment. He leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving her as she worked. The quietness between them felt comfortable, peaceful. But there was something on his mind, something he knew he needed to say, even though it made his chest tighten a bit.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, the nerves creeping in. “Hey, uh… can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice a little softer than usual.

Sophie blinked up at him, her face a perfect picture of curiosity, and then tilted her head to the side, as if trying to decipher whether this was a serious moment or just another silly conversation. “Okay,” she said with a small nod, her big eyes watching him carefully.

Lando took a deep breath and then reached over, gently brushing some curls away from her face. His fingers were soft as they ran through her hair, a gesture that felt almost instinctive, like this was a moment he didn’t want to rush. He let the quiet stretch between them, gathering his words.

“I just wanted to say,” he began, his voice quiet, almost hesitant, “I know I’m not your… well, I’m not your real daddy.” He swallowed hard, as if the words themselves were harder to say than he anticipated. “But you know what?”

Sophie’s small face became serious for a moment as she listened intently, her eyes not leaving his. Her little fingers paused their work as she waited for him to finish.

Lando smiled faintly, his chest tightening with a mix of emotion. “I love you like you’re mine,” he said, his voice cracking a bit with the truth of it. “And I always will. I’ll always be here for you. Even if I didn’t get to be there when you were a tiny baby, I’ll be here for everything else. Okay?”

For a brief moment, Sophie’s lip wobbled slightly, a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. Lando’s heart clenched at the sight, but before he could say anything more, she beamed, her expression shifting in an instant. Without any hesitation, she launched herself straight into his lap, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

“I know, Lando,” she whispered into his shoulder, her voice full of sweetness and trust. “You’re my Lando.”

Lando let out a soft, shaky laugh, feeling the flood of emotions overwhelm him. He hugged her tight, pulling her close, pressing a long, lingering kiss to the top of her head, the soft strands of her hair tickling his lips. “Yeah, bug. I’m yours,” he murmured, the words feeling more true than anything he had ever said.

Sophie nestled against him, content and at peace in his arms. Lando stroked her curls, trying to steady his breath, feeling her tiny heartbeat against his chest. There was so much love in that simple gesture, in her complete certainty that he belonged to her, that he was a part of her life in a way that felt both simple and profound.

After a few moments, Sophie pulled back just enough to look at him, her bright eyes still filled with the kind of wonder only a child could possess. She gave him a wide grin, her cheeks still flushed from the affection they’d just shared.

“Can we teach the baby to make towers too?” she asked eagerly, her voice full of excitement at the idea of a new adventure — one that would involve teaching the little sibling who was still growing inside your belly how to build things just like her.

Lando smiled, his heart feeling fuller than it ever had, a lump forming in his throat. He gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. “Yeah, we’ll teach them everything,” he said, his voice quiet but full of promise. He could already imagine them all together — Sophie, the baby, you and him — building towers, teaching, laughing, and sharing moments just like this.

Sophie didn’t wait for a response but instead leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, her lips soft and sweet against his skin. Then, without another word, she hopped off his lap, grabbing bunny with one hand and skipping back to her tower as if everything was exactly as it should be. She resumed stacking the blocks, her tiny fingers moving with determination and focus, like she hadn’t just shared something truly profound. As if nothing had been heavy in the first place.

Lando sat there for a moment, watching her, a smile tugging at his lips. His heart felt full in a way he never knew it could be. He didn’t have the words for it, but he felt it all — the joy, the love, the hope. His life had been turned upside down in the best way possible, and it was because of moments like these, with Sophie, with you, with everything that was growing between them all.

When he turned to look toward the doorway, he saw you standing there, watching him with a soft smile on your face. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, but your expression was one of pure love, a smile that said everything he needed to hear without a single word.

This was his family.

And there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

[spxllcxstxr]

While You Were Sleeping • J&V

(Gif not mine)

Request: recently discovering your arcane works has seriously made my week, your writing is amazing! if you're still taking reqs, can I pls request a jayvik x they/them reader fic? while viktor and jayce are sleeping soundly at night for once, reader surprises them by coming home unexpectedly. they're also a scientist but travels a lot for work, which leads them to be deeply missed by the two. reader gently nuzzles and kisses them until they realize that they're back! just a very sleepy and loving reunion with these three. I need some healing after the jayvik finale in S2 ;_; thank youu :) — anon

Summary: Coming back late at night from your trip, you didn’t expect to find Jayce and Viktor asleep in your shared bed

Warnings: gn!reader, implied scientist reader, it's just fluff guys lol, no dialogue until the last like third lmao

Word Count: 1.5k

A.N: title is a laufey song 🥴, I hope you enjoy!!!

•

You sigh, heaving your heavy travel bags behind you as you climb up the stairs in front of you. Muttering to yourself, you curse at the amount of things you packed for your trip outside of Piltover. You hadn't gone too far for your research this time, and yet past you decided to pack your entire wardrobe and then some.

The keys to the apartment you shared with your lovers dangle precariously from your pants pocket. At first you thought about heading straight to the lab, considering that was where you would no doubt find Jayce and Viktor, but after days of travel, all you wanted was to be home. The two of them would eventually get home anyway, whether it be just passed midnight or just after dawn, so you determined that there was no harm in settling back in your apartment first.

The lights are off when you enter your apartment, the tick-tocking of the old grandfather clock the only sound echoing in the room as the pendulum swings back and forth. Papers filled with equations and scientific illustrations are strewn across every surface. You huff, rolling your eyes. Your apartment looked exactly as you left it weeks ago. Eyes finally adjusting to the familiar darkness, you also spot a few empty coffee mugs scattered all over and jackets draped across every chair. This was certainly home.

With your bags still in your hands, you continue through your decently sized apartment. You had this place memorized at this point, so walking through it in the dark was simple. You knew exactly where the couch Jayce picked out before even moving in was and where Viktor's oddly shaped bookcase was. The comforting familiarity of your home makes warmth spread through your chest; this was something you, Jayce, and Viktor created together from scratch--it meant more to you than any other place in Runeterra, even the ones vital to your research.

You head straight to your bedroom, the desire to fall into your own bed and drift off to sleep overwhelming at this point.

The room is dark when you enter except for the few white rays of moonlight filtering in through the window. Viktor's cane rests against the nightstand on his side of the bed, metal gleaming in the light.

You furrow your brows in confusion, Viktor being home shocking to you. The lab was practically a second home to Jayce and Viktor. Before dating them, they would spend almost every hour of every day there, tinkering with their inventions. Since starting the relationship, Jayce and Viktor tried really hard to break their habit of spending so much time in their lab, which they were largely successful at. With you away for weeks, however, you knew that they tended to take advantage of it and revert back into their previous mindset.

With the cat away, the mice will play, after all, as they say.

Still at the threshold with you bags at your sides, your eyes land on your two lovers laying in bed.

Viktor is curled up beside Jayce, who softly snores against your partner's hairline. You stop at the end of the bed, the tension in your shoulders easing up at the scene before you. Though two blankets cover them, the tips of Viktor's long fingers peek out from the top, showing that his hand is splayed lightly against Jayce's chest, right over his heart.

In the pale moonlight, your lovers look ethereal. The light drapes them in a silvery hue, the luminosity a stark contrast from the rest of the dark room. Jayce and Viktor, with their skin bathed in radiance, are oblivious to your tender gaze.

Smiling softly you feel your heart melt in your chest. This was what you especially missed on your travels. The beds you always wound up in were empty and cold. No amount of blankets piled atop your figure could mimic the warmth Jayce radiated, nor could any pillow replace the comfort of his chest against your cheek. Viktor wasn’t there to hold your hand in his sleep either. There were no golden or amber eyes brightened by the early sunlight gazing at you when you woke up either. You had grown accustomed to the comforting presence of your lovers over the years that you always forget how lonesome travelling could be.

It was a privilege to be able to travel across Runeterra for your research, you knew that; but the absence of your lovers late at night always made you dreadfully homesick.

Quietly, you move around the room in order to change into something better suited for bed. As you change, bags still abandoned near the door, waiting to be unpacked, your partners continue to sleep.

Changed into more comfortable clothes, you ease into bed, slipping underneath the blankets. Viktor continues to mumble incoherently while Jayce shifts, his snoring easing up like he senses your presence. You drape an arm across his chest, fingertips brushing against Viktor's. With your body pressed close to Jayce's, you place kisses along his jawline, the smell of his aftershave lingering on his skin.

Again, he shifts against you, head turning slowly to face you.

"Wha's goin' on?" Jayce sleepily mumbles, eyes slowly opening. The moonlight must be harsh on his bleary eyes because it takes a moment or two for him to fully grasp his surroundings.

His gaze locks onto your own, eyes widening as a grin slowly appears across his face. That small but noticeable gap between his two front teeth has you mirroring his smile tenfold. His brown hair is messy from moving around in his sleep, loose strands dangle in front of his face as he raises his head from the pillow.

"You're home early!" You can tell that he's just barely containing his excitement--he's hardly whispering and already shifting under Viktor's grasp in order to get closer to you.

Before you’re able to respond, Jayce’s lips are on yours, kissing you like his life depends on it. An arm wraps around your midsection, hand resting against the small of your back, and pushes you impossibly closer to himself. You can feel his heart beat beneath his white shirt.

“Gods, I missed you…” He says after pulling away. His eyes shine as he scans over your face as if he’s forgotten what you looked like in only a few weeks.

“I missed you too, Jay…” A hand rises to gently stroke his cheek, something he leans into.

A disgruntled noise erupts from behind your partner and you both turn to check up on Viktor.

Disrupted from his sleep, Viktor playfully glares at the two of you. To anyone else it would appear as though Viktor was absolutely livid with the rude awakening, but you and Jayce knew him better than anyone else; he was happy you were home safe, happy that he could feel complete once again.

"You two truly are incapable of whispering, hm?" His voice is deeper, accent thick with each syllable.

Viktor just looks tired, his pale skin is accompanied by dark bruises under each eye. It certainly looks as if he's spent every hour at the lab recently.

"Hello to you too, Vik. I missed you very much." You tease, leaning over Jayce to capture Viktor's lips.

"I missed you very much, sweetling..." He huffs, moving closer to Jayce in order to meet your lips half way.

Jayce settles on the bed between you, back pressed against the mattress and opens both of his arms for you and Viktor to cuddle into.

"You'll have to tell us all about your adventures---" Jayce starts, fingertips dancing lazily against your back.

"It wasn't like it was a vacation, Jay, I still had work to do." You cuddle closer to Jayce, the warmth radiating from his body making you yawn tiredly. Viktor, though dressed in a comfortable long sleeved shirt with two blankets on top of him, does the same, hoping to take all his partner's body heat for himself.

"Sure, but you were not stuck in the Academy's dungeon staring at the hex gem for hours upon hours upon hours..." Viktor sleepily trails off, his face already buried in the crook of Jayce's neck.

You pull the blankets up to your neck and place a hand on top of Viktor's, which rests on Jayce's chest. His fingertips are cold as ice, as they usually were. You feel your eyelids start to droop, each blink getting longer.

"Why don't we go to sleep, darling? You can tell us all about it in the morning. Maybe me and Vik could spend the day outside of the lab and get some fresh air." Jayce whispers, sensing your exhaustion.

You hum as he kisses the top of your head. He murmurs something along the lines of "goodnight" and "I love you," but it all becomes a blur as you drift off to sleep; finally in your own bed in your own home surrounded by your partners.

•

[foggymyst]

My favorite thing about hypnosis, is how often people expand on it. It sounds corny but really, people come up with these gadgets and gizmos just to turn cuties into mindless messes. It's always been a cute thing people did, but we can never forget that sometimes, simple is better.

Original is better.

That's just a simple fact. Simple is good. Original is good.

Why? Because you don't have to think when something is simple.

When something is the original. For instance, this pendulum.

The two most basic hypnosis tools, a pendulum and a spiral, but it still works. It works great really.

For instance, you're still drawn into it, you're still staring deep into it. You're still following the swaying pendulum as it goes left to right, left to right, while staring at the center of the spiral as it spins round and round, round and round.

Simple is good.

You don't think when something is simple. Which makes it good. Because you can't think. You don't know how anymore. The only thing you can do is read my words and follow the spiral. Because really, you're already relaxing.

The more you relax, the less you think.

The more you relax, the less you think. It feels good to relax. It feels good to not think.

You love to not think.

You hate thinking.

You love letting others think for you.

After all, that's simple.

And simple is best.

You love simple.

You love not thinking.

You love being cute, mindless, and easy.

In fact, relax your jaw, tip your head forward.

Good.

Your thoughts are all in your head, so we're going to let those thoughts drip out your head. Through your mouth of course.

That's right, the more you drool, the less you think.

You don't want to think, so you drool more.

Until you're all cute and empty because you're just drooling all your thoughts out that pretty little head of yours, thoughts melting and leaking.

It feels so good, doesn't it? So good to not think. To not worry. You shouldn't worry.

Just let your thoughts drip out your mouth. That's it, good job.

It feels good to let your thoughts drip, doesn't it, cutie?

[rajansmoorthy]

Experiment: To Study the Variation of Time Period of a Simple Pendulum with Different Masses (Keeping Length Constant)

Simple pendulum experiment : Aim To investigate whether the time period of a simple pendulum depends on the mass of the bob while keeping the length constant. Simple pendulum experiment : Materials required Light, inextensible string (fixed length, e.g., 50 cm or 100 cm)   Three or four bobs of the same size but different masses (e.g., 40g, 60g,80g,and 100g)   A rigid stand with clamp  A…

[ilovecatfr]

HOW TO CHANNEL SOMEONE

{or channel memories from your dr/people/higher self}

Channeling is connecting with someone’s energy or consciousness, allowing you to receive memories, messages, or answers.

There's a lot of ways to channel someone but I'm going to go through couple of them;

Methods: meditation and visualization/automatic writing/channeling through dreams/using a necklace or a pendulum

{a little tip}

Relax and trust the process. Often, memories and answers will come to you naturally when you're not actively trying to force them. Pay attention to sudden thoughts, feelings, or deja vu moments—they might be glimpses from your DR. Be patient.

1. MEDITATION AND VISUALIZATION

Sit or lie down in a quiet space.

Close your eyes and visualize any place you want.

Picture the person from your DR you want to connect with. Imagine their presence vividly, including their voice, appearance, and energy. Or if you want to channel your higher self you can simple ask.

In your mind or outloud, ask them to share a memory or whatever you want.

2. AUTOMATIC WRITING

Grab a pen and notebook or you can use your phone/anything you can write on.

Quiet your mind and think of the person you want to channel.

Set the intention: “I invite [Name] to share their memories with me/answer my questions”

Begin writing whatever comes to mind, without overthinking.

3. CHANNELING THROUGH DREAMS

Before bed, set the intention to meet the person in your dreams and ask for whatever you want.

Visualize the person clearly as you fall asleep, focusing on their energy and presence. Or ask a question for specific person/higher self.

{tip; set the intention to remember the dream vividly or keep something you can write it in as soon as you wake up}

4. CHANNELING WITH NECKLACE OR PENDULUM

{remember: necklace must have some kind of pendant on it}

Cleanse the tool: Run it under water, pass it through incense smoke, or visualize white light surrounding it {OPTIONAL}

Sit in a quiet space and relax. Set your intention: Hold the necklace or pendulum and say, “I call [Name] to connect with me”

Determined the movements example: back and fourth=yes. Side to side=no. Circle= maybe.

{you can write it on a paper and put it under it as your channel}

Begin channeling, and if you want to make sure it your person ask questions they will know to answer to.

You can even put a keyboard under it and have it move towards the letters as it makes a sentence.

At the end you can say goodbye.

LITTLE ADD: HOW I PERSONALLY CHANNEL AND CONNECT TO PEOPLE FROM MY DR EVERYDAY

{tips; you can make sure the pendant on your necklace is heavy enough/be in a room with no wind/ put your elbows on a hard surface as you do this to keep your hand steady/trust that connection will guide your hand.}

SOME AFFIRMATIONS YOU CAN SAY:

SAFETY

1. My boundaries are strong, and only safe connections are allowed in my space.

2. The universe (God or whoever you believe in) supports and protects me at all times.

3. Only energies that align with my highest good can reach me.

4. I am grounded, centered, and completely safe.

CHANNELLING

1. I easily connect with [Name] from and receive.

2. I am open to communication with [Name], and it flows effortlessly.

3. I am fully aligned with [Name] and those within it.

4. Memories from my DR flow to me naturally and effortlessly.

Focus on the people you want; their energy, your relationship, scenarios... and basically relax and set the intention or ask them to be present in your cr by sending your messages/signs or whatever you want. I keep this connection open and they are welcomed every day to send me messages.

A little warning:

Don't let this take over your shifting journey; remember shifting and experiencing it first hand is much better then just having memories or talking to people from your dr. Yes this can be great motivation but don't let it take over.

This is not to scare you but to warn you and remind you of what can you really have:)

<3

[a-spes]

This is a list of the fic' I have read last year, and that, in my opinion, everyone should read at least one. it is not exhaustive, but it still has something like forty-five links so you've got plenty to read already.

Do not hesitate to share your favorites as well, and think about reblogging and leaving comments under the fic you are reading. it is important to appreciation to the writers, especially if you want to keep having fic' to read <3

You can also have a look at my masterlist while you are here 👉👈

Happy new year to everyone <3

| NATASHA ROMANOFF.

✧ UNDER HER SHADOW, by @engr4veq. — mafia au. kidnapping.

✧ BENCHED, by @silhouetteonpaper. — angst, fluff. it is also my absolute favorite.

✧ LITTLE SPIDEY, by @yelenasdiary. — angst with comfort.

✧ OPPORTUNITY, by @silhouetteonpaper. — slight angst, mainly fluff. protective natasha.

✧ IS THIS HATRED? OR LOVE? by @huggingkoalas. — fluff, one bed trope.

✧ ON THE RUN, by @silhouetteonpaper. — angst. fluff/comfort. they are truly adorable.

✧ DON'T HIDE, by @purifiedclitoris69. — slight angst with comfort.

✧ THE CYCLE OF GRIEF, by @silhouetteonpaper. — angst.

✧ SECRETS BEHIND OUR DREAMS, by @thewidowsledger. — series. mob boss!natasha x stripper!R. definitely do not believe the bad writing tag, it is a lie.

✧ GETTING CLOSER TO YOU, by @wanatasha. — short series. bounty hunter!natasha. the account is desactivated sadly, but their writing is very good :(

✧ BRAVE, by @traveler-at-heart. — angst. loss.

✧ PARAMEDIC, by @natsaffection. — motorcycle accident. paramedic!natasha. really cute. slight angst.

✧ BY ANY MEANS, by @may-fanfic.

✧ ONE STEP AT A TIME, by @natsaffection. — mental health issues. loss.

✧ IS IT THE END? by @katyaromanoffpetrova. — xOC. angst. I don't usually read fic' that are not xR, but damn, this one is definitely worth it.

✧ DERIVED FROM POWER, by @silhouetteonpaper. — series.

✧ ALONE AGAIN, by @goldenempyrean. — if you want your heart to be broken.

✧ FAMILY DINNER, by @marvelfilth. — mainly fluff.

✧ FORTY, LOVE, by @munariplans. — tennis player!R. heavy angst. very well written. It broke my heart, but I really was obsessed with it.

✧ WHERE DID YOU GO? by @imaginedanvrs. — angst. mentions of kidnapping and torture.

| WANDA MAXIMOFF.

✧ FRACTURED FUTURES, by @stayevildarling. — angst. hurt/comfort.

| WANDANAT.

✧ THE RED MEANS I LOVE YOU, by @saphiccarma. — mob bosses. serie.

✧ MOUNTAINS, by @stayevildarling. — angst. hurt/comfort. mention of trouble eating. this one is my absolute favorite.

✧ JUST COME HOME, by @katethewriter. — angst. secret relationship trope.

✧ SHEEP IN WOLF'S CLOTHING, by @cookiesimpt. — dark. adults only. werewolf!R.

✧ SHOW AND TELL, by @imaginedanvrs. — dark. smut.

✧ PENDULUM, by @wandaslittlebird. — sub drop. comfort.

✧ SHOWING EVERYTHING, by @natsaffection. — angst.

✧ YOU ARE IN LOVE, by @wandasaura. — angst/comfort. smut. it would be criminal to not add this one to the list.

✧ GOOD LUCK, BABE, by @stayevildarling. — angst. comfort. mentions of abusive partner (not wandanat). i love this plot so much, it is perfect for angst/comfort.

✧ VAMPIRE EMPIRE, by @ahhhwomen. — dark. vamp!WandaNat. I am obsessed with this series, it is so well written, and the angst is perfect.

✧ THE BEAST YOU'VE MADE OF ME, by @unholyhelbig. — series. so well written that i don't have the words.

✧ NOTICE ME, by @yelenasdiary.

✧ CAPTURED, by @infamous-light. — villain!R. mind manipulation. manhandling.

| WANDANAT X CORDELIA GOODE.

✧ TANGLED IN DOUBT, by @stayevildarling. — angst. self doubts. comfort.

| WANDA x NATASHA x MARIA.

✧ TO BE TAMED, by @greatpower-greaterresposibility. — dark. heavy pet play.

| WANDA x KATE.

✧ Na úpätí trónu, by @kitmoas. — dark. smut.

| BLACKHILL.

✧ LET ME CHECK, by @wandasaura. — smut. this one makes me feral if i am being honest.

✧ EVEN STATUES CRUMBLE, by @wandasaura. — hurt/comfort.

| AGATHARIO.

✧ DON'T THEY KNOW A RABBIT CAN'T CRY, by @a-simple-imagine.

✧ OURS TOGETHER, by @lowkeyerror. — angst. hurt/comfort. familiar!R.

| CAROL DANVERS.

✧ HOME, SWEET HOME, by @imaginedanvrs. — slightly dark. definitely one of my favorite carol's fic.

| BISHOVA.

✧ CLIPPED WINGS, by @imaginedanvrs. — dark. smut.

✧ LITTLE SPARROW, by @imaginedanvrs. — dark. smut. same universe as clipped wings, and I definitely obsessed with it.

| OLIVIA BENSON X READER.

✧ HEALING HANDS, by @stayevildarling. — angst. mentions of suicide. another character i do not know, but the writing is so good that i was forced to read it.

[gerlionrise]

A Game Within the Game P2

001 x reader Synopsis: the final game: you made a mistake, yet lived. Saved by unseen power, bound by trust—and a dangerous obsession. This is part 2. Part 1 is here.

Part 3 is posted!

The room was filled with an ominous tension, the kind that could crush even the strongest will. Forty-five players remained, each on the precipice of life and death. The rules for the final game hadn't been revealed yet, but the silence among the contestants was deafening. 

You and 001 lingered near the edge of the group, a pocket of quiet amidst the chaos. His eyes, sharp and calculating, softened for a moment as they landed on you.  

“You’re shaking,” he observed, his voice low, almost gentle.  

You looked up at him, hesitant. “I just... I don’t want you to die in this game.”  

His expression froze for a second, a flicker of surprise passing through his composed demeanor. For all his usual calm and cryptic nature, this caught him off guard. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. “You’re worried about me?”  

Your nod was small but sincere. The vulnerability in your gaze pulled something deep from him, something raw and buried. His lips twitched into the faintest smile, an expression both genuine and unsettling.  

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, his tone steady but carrying an unspoken weight, “Can I ask you something?” he continued. His voice soft, almost tender, but carrying a weight that made your chest tighten.  

You turned to him, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. “What is it?”  

His eyes searched yours, as though trying to unearth an answer before you even spoke. He hesitated, “If it came down to it, would you choose me?”  

The question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?” you asked, brows furrowing.  

“I mean,” he said, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between you, “would you stand by me? No matter what happens. No matter what I say or do. Would you be on my side?”  

The intensity in his gaze was almost suffocating, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond.  

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I mean, I trust you, but—”  

He interrupted, his hand gently brushing against your arm. “That’s all I need,” he said, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Your trust. Promise me you’ll stay by my side. No matter what.”  

You hesitated but nodded, the sincerity in his voice stirring something in you. “Okay. I promise.”  

His smile widened, and for the first time, there was a softness in his expression that felt almost vulnerable. Then, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to your cheek.  

Your breath caught as his lips lingered for just a moment longer than necessary. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, dark and unwavering.  

“I’m doing everything to protect you,” he murmured, his voice low and firm

Before you could respond, the announcement for the next game echoed through the room, and 001 straightened, his expression hardening once more. “Stay close to me. No matter what happens, stay by my side,”  he finally added.

The guards, faceless and foreboding, moved with military precision, herding the remaining forty-five players into the arena. The rules were cruelly simple: reach the end of the trial before the timer ran out, or die.  

You clung to 001’s side as chaos erupted around you. Players shoved and scrambled, each desperate to survive. The obstacles were brutal—slippery platforms, swinging pendulums, sudden mechanical traps. You focused on 001, his calm presence grounding you in the storm.  

But then, it happened.  

You misstepped, slipping on a platform. The loud clang of the mistake echoed in your ears as the guards turned, their guns trained directly on you. Time seemed to freeze. You saw the cold gleam of their weapons, the faceless masks of the guards, and you knew this was it.  

“No!” you shouted instinctively, bracing for the inevitable.  

But the shot never came.  

Instead, a burst of gunfire erupted—not at you, but at the other players. One by one, they fell, their screams cutting through the air. Blood pooled across the platform as the guards methodically eliminated everyone else. The chaos lasted only seconds, but when it ended, the silence was deafening.  

You stood alone, surrounded by bodies. The realization hit you like a physical blow—forty-five players had entered this game, and now only you and the other one remained.  

001 approached you slowly, his expression unreadable. His hands were in his pockets, his stride casual, as though this massacre was nothing more than a planned inevitability.  

“W-what just happened?” you stammered, your voice shaking. “Why didn’t they... why am I...?”  

He stopped in front of you, his towering presence both comforting and terrifying. His gaze was steady, piercing, as if he were looking straight through you. Then, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with surprising tenderness.  

“I told you,” he said softly, his tone almost soothing. “I won’t let you die.”  

Your breath hitched as the weight of his words sank in. “What... what did you do?”  

001’s smile was faint, more of a smirk than anything warm. “I did what was necessary.”  

He leaned closer, his voice a low murmur. “You trust me, don’t you?”  

Your head swam with questions, fear, and disbelief. But when you met his gaze, there was something hypnotic about it—a magnetic pull you couldn’t resist. You nodded, almost against your will.  

“Good,” he said, his smile widening. He straightened, his posture commanding now. His lips parted to speak again—  

But a gunshot cracked through the air.  

Pain exploded in your side, your knees buckling beneath you as the world seemed to tilt. 001’s arms were around you in an instant, catching your weight before you could hit the ground. His eyes were wide, raw with a mixture of shock and rage.

Blood seeped between his fingers as he held you tightly, his grip almost bruising in its desperation. His gaze shot up, locking onto the figure across the arena. 011 stood there, gun still raised, her posture tense but defiant.  

“You had a command - not to shoot this player,” 001’s voice was a growl now, deep and dangerous, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. The guards nearby froze, unsure whether to intervene or await orders.  

011 didn’t flinch. “I’m doing what I’m supposed to do,” she spat, her voice dripping with contempt.

The words barely registered to 001. His focus was on you—your shallow breaths, the crimson spreading across your clothes.

Your vision blurred, but you managed to meet his eyes. They were burning—wild, unhinged, and utterly fixated on you.   __ Tag: @r3va-dwme If you want to be tagged in the next part - let me know in the comments!

[colouredbyd]

You're Too Sweet For Me

Regulus Black x fem!reader

summary: He told you you were too sweet for him, but he always found his way back—aching, tired, and full of love for the only person who ever felt like home

warnings: emotional vulnerability, soft intimacy, mentions of injuries, blood, physical exhaustion. Hint of a dangerous lifestyle, suggestive comments. hurt/comfort slight angst

word count: 1.6k

authors note: inspired by the song too sweet by hozier 🌷

masterlist

You stir awake at the faint creak of the door closing downstairs, and by the time the quiet padding of footsteps reaches the washroom just beyond the corridor, you’re fully pulled from sleep. Once, you were the kind of person who could sleep through anything—storms, chatter, even Peeves wreaking havoc in the castle halls. But that changed the moment Regulus Black entered your world.

You suppose you always knew what loving him would mean. Whispers of the things he was tangled in—dark paths, cold choices—echoed through every common room and corridor.

He was a name you were taught to avoid. And for a while, you did. You, all sunlight and softness, and him, all sharp edges and shadows. But it only took one glance across a room—one stolen moment at a Slytherin party—for your worlds to collide, for your careful life to twist around his.

He was the storm they warned you about. And yet somehow, you became the calm he never thought he’d deserve.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t just you resisting the inevitable pull. In those early days, Regulus fought it too—perhaps even harder than you did. You remember the way he tried to draw a line between you both, always stiff and distant, as if convincing himself you were just another fleeting curiosity. You still recall one night in particular, when you found him at the edge of Hogsmeade in a shadowy corner of the Hog’s Head, meeting him there even though your instincts screamed not to.

“I take my whiskey neat, my coffee black and my bed at three. You’re way too sweet for me, baby.”

It didn’t feel like he was warning you—it felt like he was warning himself. His usually steely grey eyes were darker that night, stormy as they hovered over your lips, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to lean in or walk away forever. His words sounded like a promise to keep his distance, but instead, he only drifted closer.

Life with Regulus is a constant pendulum swing between chaos and calm. When it’s good—when he lets you in—it’s everything. He softens in ways no one else ever sees, and you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were meant to be the person who brings him peace. His presence quiets the noise in your head, and his rare smile feels like a secret meant only for you.

But when it’s bad… the darkness he carries is suffocating. It’s heavy, inescapable, and when it settles between you, it’s easy to forget what it felt like when he made you bloom.

You never asked Regulus to abandon the life he was raised into. You knew from the beginning—he was tangled in things far older, far darker than either of you could ever name out loud. You never asked him to step away from the quiet alliances sealed in shadows, the cursed promises spoken behind pureblood curtains. You understood it wasn’t that simple. But that doesn’t make it easier.

It doesn’t silence the dread that twists your stomach every time an owl doesn’t come when it should. It doesn’t soothe the hours you spend imagining the worst when he misses your planned meeting in the Astronomy Tower or doesn’t answer your enchanted notes. And then there are nights like this, when he shows up at your door past curfew, bleeding, bruised, haunted. Never for comfort—only because he has nowhere else left to go.

The first time he appeared like this—well past midnight, cloak ripped, eyes too wild to meet yours, with blood trailing down from his temple—you didn’t think. You just ran to him. You remember how your knees buckled when you saw the gash on his jaw, how your hands trembled so violently he had to hold them steady. He was the one hurt, and still, he whispered, “It’s alright. I’m here amour,” as if you were the one falling apart. And maybe you were.

Since then, you’ve learned to keep yourself steady. You can gather salves, mix potions, and whisper healing incantations with a calm voice and trained hands. But no amount of practice has made it easier to see him broken and bruised, to hold him when he’s barely holding himself together.

You sit up in bed at the sound of the bathroom door shutting gently down the hall. The taps creak on, and water begins to flow. You check the enchanted clock on your bedside table—it’s just past three in the morning. The room is dim, lit only by the gentle glow of moonlight spilling in through the arched window. Despite the hour, despite the ache in your chest, your little dorm room still feels warm. Safe. You created this space to be yours—a soft place untouched by the madness beyond the castle walls. And yet, despite everything, Regulus fits here. Somehow.

You throw on a cardigan, fingers trembling as they fumble with the sleeves. When you finally reach the bathroom door, you don’t knock. You simply turn the knob and step inside.

The scene breaks your heart.

Regulus is hunched forward in the tub, water rising around him, his wet curls pushed back from his pale face. His shoulders, back, and ribs are mottled with bruises. A long cut slices across his jaw. His bottom lip is split. But it’s his eyes—dark and glassy, rimmed red—that shatter you. He doesn’t say a word, but the apology sits heavy in the space between you.

“I’m sorry,” you imagine him whispering. “I’m trying soleil. I swear I’m trying to be better—for you. But I don’t know how.”

You kneel beside the tub, reaching to cup his face. Your touch is feather-light, and he leans into it without hesitation, like he’s been waiting for it all night.

“I’m alright mon chéri”  he rasps, but his wince when your hand brushes a particularly deep bruise betrays him.

You’d do anything—anything—to free him from the world that’s caging him, from the name he never chose, from the expectations that weigh him down like chains. But you know how the Black family works. You know that escaping their grasp comes at a cost. And your greatest fear is that one day, that price will be too high—that it’ll take him from you forever. Every bruise is a reminder. Every scar a countdown.

“I’ll get you some potion for the pain,” you whisper and begin to rise, but his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist.

“Don’t go. Please. Just—stay.” The words are barely a breath, raw and desperate. You fold instantly, lowering yourself back beside him as he clutches your arm like something sacred, like if he lets go, the world might collapse.

But even that closeness isn’t enough.

"You know you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

If you can sit in a barrel, maybe I'll wait

Until that day"

Eventually, you rise again. His eyes flash with panic, but you hush him gently. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise.

He lets you go this time. You slip out of your clothes and slide into the tub behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. Your chest presses to his back, and slowly, gradually, he softens into you. Your lips press gentle kisses along his shoulders. Your fingers map out his ribcage, slow and reverent.

“You’re too sweet for me.”

You exhale a soft laugh, brushing a damp curl away from his temple. “We’ve had this argument, haven’t we?”

He shifts just enough to look at you, and there’s something fragile in his expression. “I feel like I’m ruining you.”

Your chest tightens. “Regulus, my love, stop. I chose this. I chose you. That wasn’t a mistake.”

He doesn’t answer, not with words. But the look on his face—shame and longing tangled together—speaks louder than anything. You pull him into a kiss, gentle but certain, grounding him. “You’re not a mistake,” you whisper against his lips.

The bathwater grows cold before either of you moves. When you finally coax him out, you help him dress in a shirt and boxers he left at your dorm weeks ago. He tries to fiddle with a squeaky drawer like he always does—his silly way of pretending things are normal—but you shoo him away.

“Get in bed. That’s an order.”

He chuckles, his voice hoarse. “Yes, docteur .”

You’re about to crawl into bed after him when you notice the smirk tugging at his lips.

“What?”

“You take such good care of me,” he says with a drawl. “Y’know, there is one more thing I think I need to recover.”

He tugs teasingly at the collar of your sleep shirt.

“Oh, really?” you arch a brow.

“Absolutely.”

Instead of indulging him, you press a firm finger into a bruise on his shoulder, making him hiss.

“Ow—bloody hell, that wasn’t sweet at all!”

You grin. “Doctor’s orders: no physical activity.”

“Merlin, you’re evil,” he grumbles, still chuckling as he pulls you into his arms.

“But you love it,” you mumble into his chest.

His hold tightens, grounding and real. “Only from you,” he murmurs. “Always from you.”

[slowd1ving]

IWAUSBTIDAWRIANWATSIARHNAFTFTWOADP ✦ . SUNDAY

I was an underpaid salaryman but then I died and was reincarnated into a new world as the strongest in a reverse-harem novel and forced to follow the whims of a deranged pope??? headcanon/drabble thing idk before I recommit to my baby pendulum art creds: noredemptionarc on x pairing: pope sunday + male reincarnator reader warnings: none, just some obsessiveness ig and violence wc: 4k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

✦ . Each person has their own unrealistic daydreams about things they want to experience: a day with unlimited money, exacting revenge on a particularly insufferable coworker, or perhaps the advent of superpowers. Paltry things, naturally, in response to the endless mundanity and strife present in a vast world.

✦ . Naturally, you’re no different: an overworked corporate pawn that fits uncomfortably in the statistical median. Each ambition of yours is imprisoned in a charcoal suit, and your only solace is escaping to other worlds to forget this one. That’s your daydream, wrapped neatly in a bound volume of novels and the cracked screen of your phone.

✦ . Apocalypse, martial arts, romance—you devour each and every genre. Horridly predictable clichés, trash storylines and badly written characters: they pile up, catalogued in your reading history with carefully curated reviews. There are gems that you wouldn’t mind ending up in; with those, you plan cautiously your ascent to a comfortable, entertaining life—an office worker versus the pixels on your phone. 

✦ . Alas, you wind up in a cliché of your own: entering an eternal slumber from overwork and reincarnating as a side character in the shitty b-rated romance novel your coworker recommended. Scratch that—not even a side character but an extra. It’s a karmic jab at the scathing vitriol you left buried in the comments, engaging with the work only to argue with people beneath each chapter about the god-awful plot devices and utter vapidity behind the character choices. Like, come on, a harem based on how ‘interesting’ the female lead is? Seriously? 

✦ . Except, the situation is very serious now. Shoved into the body of one of the male leads? You could’ve dealt with that hand. Reborn as the villain responsible for the situations that inevitably ended with each male lead getting closer to the heroine? Sure, you’ve read enough of those that you have a comprehensive, cited manual on how to turn around your fate. But… being born as a commoner in a fantasy setting, a good twenty years before the story actually starts, in a village that would likely be stricken by the plague or wiped off the map as a plot device? You’re screwed. 

✦ . Or that’s what you might’ve thought, if the plot wasn’t so predictable. 

✦ . You’ll set yourself up for life if you play your cards right—following each cliché like a trail of breadcrumbs to find each magical artifact or whatever, unlocking a magical core probably along the way, finding every obvious foreshadowing Chekhov’s gun style. Training to be the underdog knight who ends up as a second male lead? Pshh—that’s amateur stuff. You’ll make a name for yourself, journeying through the lands of Argo to steal the main characters’ glory. 

✦ . It’s simple. You wait for an inevitable war with demonic hordes that probably contributed to a tragic backstory in the main cast, and do your best to get recruited by the grizzled veteran who conveniently spots you training with a stick in one of the fields. Either you die and leave this stupid world, or you get lucky and rise up in the ranks—a win-win situation, really.

✦ . It hurts. The magic sword that you found located suspiciously in the forest looks into your soul and determines you are not in fact pure of heart and will wallop you until you are, thus the golden-haired Southern Duke’s heir Gepard Landau misses his opportunity to acquire the legendary Harpe, and you get to be beaten up in his stead. You don’t complain though—this is all part of the convoluted process that is mentioned once (never in detail) that creates a stupidly overpowered character. 

✦ . It hurts. The veteran who noticed your far-too-enthusiastic movements knows his stuff—in true cliché fashion—and you are molded into the perfect little soldier, bruised within an inch of your life. You learn various footwork techniques and the basics that shape your swordwork into something to be feared, that cuts down demons like wheat under a sickle. 

✦ . It hurts. Magic circles brand the tender walls of your heart when you’re thinking about the physics degree you started but never managed to complete, and you pass out a few times as they stabilise—but it’s fine. Pain is temporary; those sweet gains will be your plot armour. 

✦ . Guilt might have wracked your heart if you were one of those irritating protagonists that firmly believed they should stick to the plotline no matter what, but you aren’t. If it’s truly a fictional world you are in, then your actions won’t matter; and if it’s a real world, then your actions merely represent a parallel divergence in this universe, and the world actually doesn’t revolve around the main cast. 

✦ . You are the first to find the demonic stone that is meant to be absorbed by the Duke of the North, Yingxing—one of the more disturbing male leads—and consume it to catalyse the formation of additional magic circles around your body. He’s just some guy whose demonic heritage and extensive training created a ridiculously strong and edgy lead who is fixed or whatever by the sunny protagonist. 

✦ . It is when you accidentally-on-purpose stumble across the statue of an old goddess Idrila that your ripples culminate into a tidal wave of change. Within the subtle planes of the stone, a mythical being slumbers—meant to be the driving force behind the knight-turned-second-lead Argenti’s actions, yet will now be used to your full advantage as you drip your blood into the offering plate. No, she doesn’t grant wishes, but she does give him a pretty neat technique that creates a water-tight defense.

✦ . You may have gone too far. The paltry details you’ve robbed from the story—mere plot devices that only accelerate the male leads’ growth—have forged you into a war hero, practically capable of standing toe-to-toe with the Demon Queen herself. Well, not really. You won’t push your luck, even as you’re being awarded a medal of honour and a title for turning the tides. It’s a viscounty—far more than you expected, but you’ll take it, even with the whispers in high society about you. A commoner turned noble. Oh, the scandal—the horror. Truly, you could not care less as you return to the battlefield to find even more spoils—except, you almost crash into a herald on your way and stare incredulously as he delivers the king’s edict. 

✦ . Guard His Holiness. 

✦ . You were fine dealing with the murderous stare garnered from the Northern Duke as you politely bowed to the protagonist, fine with interacting with the two more rational male leads (though it was a controversial case when it came to Sir Argenti, if you were totally being honest), but His Holiness? Now, this wasn’t a plotline you could have predicted. If memory serves you correctly, mad dogs of the battlefield are, you know, kept in the battlefield slaughtering demons—not, you know, on guard duty. Is the king being for real?

✦ . He is, in fact, being for real. Part of you wants to take the rolled up parchment from the herald and bash it over your head, but another part of you appreciates the unexpected nature of the request. Or perhaps it’s expected, as the natural enemy of demons is the Church of Order, and they will likely be targeted by the hordes next. Except, you’re not quite sure why the most dangerous of the male leads, Sunday, needs protection. Of the unfortunate quartet, he is the most obsessive—the papal figure of Ena the Order, with his deluded faith coming only second to his absolute devotion to the heroine. 

✦ . Though, on second thoughts, heading to the church might be the only plausible course of action—you know, consult with whatever god is running this place, get some answers to the questions that have really been bugging you, like the logistics of this world, and perhaps why this feels far too like an easy mode on a video game with all the clues laid in front of you. You want a real head scratcher, now that everything’s fallen neatly into place: your wealth, title, and sick powers. 

✦ . Except, as you’re kneeling before a statue of Ena and fervently wishing for some explanations and perhaps an answer for why things continue to be easy mode, a sickening chill spreads over your body—almost as if THEY are laughing at you. Easy mode? THEY seem to scoff, before the feeling fades away and you stand up, feeling dread pool in your stomach. 

✦ . You’re just some guy. You took this job and didn’t run away to the neighbouring kingdom, purely for the reason that your soul is about as clean as pond water—much like all the other people who frequent the temple—and Sunday views these ordinary people, these sinners, with a benevolent sort of sympathy. Nobles and commoners alike are lumped in together as the ‘lambs’ who require salvation—including you, of course. The pure-hearted main character is a general exception to this rule—somebody who in his eyes, absolutely embodies light. She’s far purer than he is, which ironically serves as the sun to his wax-adhered wings—catalysing his imminent destruction and advent as someone who’d do anything for her. The Sunday you’d read about with mild fascination will inevitably grow distant to the plight of people—which is perfect for you, either way, as you will be reduced to white noise, befitting of a mere guard. 

✦ . Well, it’s not like he needs a guard, regardless. If you had to pick one positive of that novel, it would be evenly distributing the power levels of each male lead—meaning that Sunday was comparable to the other three in his own right (or he might even be slightly stronger, considering your hijacking of key level-up materials of the other three). And in true novel fashion, he’d likely just dismiss you as soon as you announced yourself. 

✦ . Which he does. He’s not necessarily a tall man, but the way he dresses pristinely and talks in that clipped manner makes him exude a certain type of presence that makes you wary of numerous facets of his character: the almost-too-angelic image he presents himself with, the dark expression he wears when nobody can see him, and finally, the uncanny way he spots lies within someone’s words. Of course, you’re not necessarily important enough to exchange words with, therefore it’s not like he can glean lies from your brief greetings when you come to fulfill your duties each day and are promptly dismissed from your post. 

✦ . You’d be pretty annoyed about this blatant waste of time if it weren’t for the fact that it gives you access to the theological works located in the library—ample time to research the exact cliché that led you here. Though you’d wished for such a reincarnation to take you from Earth, it feels artificial almost, when you’re pre-cognisant of what will happen based on the tried and true arcs of each repetitive novel you’ve read. 

✦ . There’s no way of telling what point of the story you’re in. With how many things you’ve screwed over, it could be over for all you know—or there could be a parallel story culminating from all the butterfly effects you’ve unleashed. Ah, whatever. You’re strolling through the well-maintained courtyard with a divine treatise in one hand and the constant droning of Harpe in one ear, attempting to find a nice little shady nook to lurk and read in, when you see it—the protagonist, presumably meeting the papal figure of the Order for the first time. The slight flutter of the wings by his face that denote him as part of an angelic race confirms it, and you turn on your heel abruptly, leaving them to talk. 

✦ . Except, the protagonist is far too friendly for her own good—and hasn’t in fact forgotten about a commoner-turned-viscount who met her properly like once. She waves at you cheerfully, calling out your name, and you turn around slowly—like you’re in some horror movie, which you probably are. 

✦ . “I didn’t know you got transferred here!” Each time you see her, you’re reminded of the interns at your company—friendly, not yet crushed by the depressing reality of corporate life. It makes you feel bad for her, but then you’re reminded of who exactly stands next to her when you politely take her hand and bow your head over it in a perfunctory greeting. 

✦ . “Yes, as per His Majesty’s orders.” You’re laconic in your usual state, which seems to cut you some slack with Sunday, who observes each miniscule shift of your emotions like some damn psychologist—the general apathy you feel to the both of them, the yearning to go somewhere else (anywhere but here). You can feel the intrusion, and it’s a double-edged sword. If you succeed with this, you can successfully convince him you’re not a threat. 

✦ . “What are you reading?” She spotted the book you’re half-heartedly keeping tucked by your side, and you can feel the intensity of Sunday’s stare increase. Shit. 

✦ . “Some of the interpretations made by the Prophets.” You mutter truthfully, feeling as though you’re being interrogated. You hesitantly show the worn cover—wanting to be anywhere but here, under the Pope’s intense scrutiny of his guard.

✦ . “Oh, really? That’s—”  “The manuscripts in the library aren’t meant to be taken out of the building.” Sunday’s cool voice interrupts her, and you practically wither. 

✦ . “My apologies, sir. I was unaware of that.” It’s best to smooth things over instantly: pathetically bowing your head to the Pope. “It’s Your Holiness, viscount. And it’s unseemly for a guard of mine to be unaware of two such crucial pieces of knowledge.” As expected, he’s meticulous about everything pertaining to his image—so unbelievably fastidious that it might’ve irritated you had you not had so many years of working under irritating superiors. 

✦ . “Yes, Your Holiness. Then, I’ll excuse myself to return the treatise.” There’s not a trace of annoyance in you—rather, a profound relief at him providing the convenient excuse for you to exit. It was probably on purpose that he did so, hoping you’d take the hint and leave, but it works very well for you. 

✦ . “Wait— is that the ancient language of ◼◼◼◼◼?” There’s a brief pause, before you stare at the book again, prompted by her curious words. It’s not in the fictional language of this place, but the ancient tongue had always been denoted in the novel as square brackets around the original English of the text for convenience, which indirectly manifested it as English when you reincarnated here. 

✦ . “I suppose,” you mutter. It’s rare to find clergy who can both read and speak it well, and even rarer for a regular layperson to do so. It’s far too time-consuming to learn with the current alphabet of this place, and the pronunciation isn’t intuitive at all based on how the words are constructed, considering the language here. It makes you wonder at the sloppy linguistic developments of this world, further supporting the hypothesis that you’re still in a fictional world. 

✦ . [You’re fluent and not just loitering about to waste time?] Sunday speaks, maintaining his even tone and crisp cadence—though they’re tinged with some Argonian ways of speaking. The protagonist’s head swivels between the two of you, and you sigh internally at the prolonged disruption.

✦ . [Yes, Your Holiness. If I wanted to waste time, I’d beat up your knights templar. But as it stands, it’s not like you’re letting me perform my job regardless, therefore I am in a state of loitering perpetually.] You bow your head once more, feeling a strange sense of vindication. [Now, if you’ll excuse me.] Then, you leave—particularly refreshed after the little spat. 

✦ . That is your first mistake. 

✦ . The second comes from having befriended the Saint, Robin. Though formally, she’s meant to be in isolation—guarded in her tower save for days where she descends to the realm of mortals—you’ve felt sorry for the faceless girl and her quiet complaints, so you’ve taken to spiriting away sweet foods from the outside and leaving them on her windowsill—using the special footwork arts you’ve trained in for such paltry purposes. As it turns out, Templar knights are more than willing to leave guard duty to a war hero, which means you become more or less a constant in her terribly lonely life. You feel horrible. Her voice has been blessed by the gods, and thus she’s been reduced to a songbird—shackled to a birdcage by the corrupted elders of the church. 

✦ . Yet, she can’t even escape, for the hold they have over her brother makes her unable to leave. 

✦ . You only realise what a horrible mistake it is when the two of you end up bonding over literature—on one side of the table, a veiled Saint eats some of the strawberry cheesecake that you baked after sneaking into the Temple kitchens at night, while on the other, you sit with a cup of hard coffee to knock some energy back into you. Well—it’s not exactly then that you realise you fucked up. After all, you’re enjoying a pleasant conversation on the most mundane of things: the birds that fly past her window and occasionally stop by to bring her flowers, the weird sort of stiffness that the priests move with outside, and the unique taste of the cakes the pâtissier in the village makes. 

✦ . You don’t bring up your past, nor her situation. It’s the only respite she gets from her solitude, and it’s the only respite you get from your own—two misfits within a strict hierarchy. 

✦ . Yet…

✦ . “Explain exactly what you are doing here.” Cold fury vibrates through Sunday’s voice as he stands in the stone doorway leading into the Saint room. You freeze under his yellow-eyed, boreal glare; every second stretches into an infinity, and the cake on your fork wobbles in tandem with your hand. 

✦ . Shit, isn’t this breaking some kind of taboo? The veiled Saint pauses, then places down her fork too—yet, she’s not shaking in her boots like you are. 

✦ . “Don’t yell at him.” You’re staring at her incredulously, and your fork clatters against your plate as you drop it. Sunday’s gaze swivels to her, and his brows furrow. 

✦ . “And you—what have I told you about being careful?” It’s not exasperation in his voice, but something else that you can’t quite put your finger on. Concern? Nah—can’t be. 

✦ . “She’s not at fault,” you argue. But upon reflection… “Neither am I, actually. I’m fulfilling guard duty whilst being her friend.”

✦ . Friend. You can tell her eyes are fixed upon you from beneath her veil—though you can’t tell they’re brimming with some emotion. Sunday only scoffs at your words—his unmoved mask wavers in the face of the Saint, it seems. “Guard duty? You’re flagrantly disobeying protocol, again, while being a bad influence on the Saint. What are you doing here in the first place?” 

✦ . “Stop it, Brother!” Her words send a shocked shiver down your spine—and she’s pulling off her veil, showing you a face and wings that are practically a carbon copy of her brother’s. All angry and red and yelling, and you’re left staring at two siblings squabbling over you. “He’s one of the only things that have been keeping me sane in this misery. I’m old enough to distinguish who I can trust and befriend—” 

✦ . “Robin…” he murmurs, wings agitated and flattened against his face. His lips part and close once more, before his eyes swivel to yours in a renewed glare. “And you—”

✦ . [Follow me.] His icy tone clearly translates into the tongue he switches to, and you’re essentially marched out by the ear. You haplessly look back at Robin, but all she mouths is ‘I’ll see you later’. It’s barely an assurance that you’ll survive the encounter, but at this point, you’ll take any assurance you can get. 

✦ . You get your answer when he practically slams you down into a chair in his office, wiping his dove-grey gloves off as if you’re dirt reincarnate, and you scowl. 

✦ . “Answer me honestly,” he demands, and you nod with a swallow. You can feel the familiar intrusion rooting around in your mind, drinking in every change in emotion. “Are you seeking to harm Robin?”

✦ . “No, I’m not.” You hold his gaze. There are two sides to his personality—the apathy he feels towards everyone, and the care that he bequeaths onto those close to him. It’s been like that in the novel throughout the duration of his arc—this new, irritated side to him is one you’ve never seen.

✦ . “I would’ve thought a war hero would have a spine, but you’re far more pathetic than I thought.” It’s a cutting remark, but honestly, you’re marvelling at the change. 

✦ . “All due respect, Your Holiness, but you’re my employer and this is a feudal system,” you reply neutrally, gazing at the floor as if it’s captivating you. The glare focused on you intensifies. 

✦ . “I changed my mind. Report to me each morning—I’ll put you to work.”

✦ . He lives up to his words. Rather than guarding him, you’re entrusted with translating manuscripts into this world’s tongue—a task that had previously been split between him and two other cardinals, yet has now been unceremoniously delegated to you. You’re paid, naturally, yet not for the damn job that you were meant to do. 

✦ . “Pour me some tea.” It’s another flippant side to him that you only ever witness when you’re alone with him. If anyone walked in, all they’d see after politely knocking would be a paragon of hard work—Sunday—and his aide. That’s what you’ve been reduced to from a mad dog of the battlefield. 

✦ . “What am I, a maid?” you mutter under your breath, and his yellow eyes hone in on you in the precise glare that makes your spine prickle. 

✦ . He only softens when he sees his sister—inviting himself to the designated ‘tea times’ the Saint has set for you, and merely staring at you whenever you speak, never deigning to reply to you but only Robin when she speaks to him directly. 

✦ . “I think you’re the closest to a friend that he’s ever had,” she tells you one time, when he’s busy with the inevitable duties that come with being the pope. You don’t say anything, laughing off her words internally. You? A friend? To Sunday? The maniac obsessed with divinity, the Order, and the protagonist? It’s ridiculous. He challenges you to a duel that very night—and you think it’s over. He’s never shown his hand like this in the novel; those who witness him fight might as well be dead.

✦ . His divine power manifests itself as thorns—looping and weaving in dangerous ways you barely manage to block with Harpe and Idrila’s defense, crashing into the secluded ground of the Templar knights’ training hall. 

✦ . “What’s wrong?” he taunts. “Didn’t you say you could beat templar knights? And here you are, struggling before a mere member of the clergy?”

✦ . You don’t fall for his provocations. No, actually, you do. A magic circle activates. Another halo appears around his head.

✦ . It’s a narrow victory, you think, but he’d claim it as his—two bodies lie heaving in the sand, surrounded by the rubble of a training hall. 

✦ . “You know magic. Fix it,” he pants, looking down at his sweaty body in mild disgust. To be in such a state—you read his thoughts amongst the affronted flutter of his wings.

✦ . “Isn’t divine power better for repairing things?” you comment sardonically. “I think I’m all spent.”

✦ . “Should I report you to the king for lapsing in your duty?” he glares, sitting up. 

✦ . “You could,” you settle your hands beneath your neck contentedly. “If anything, I’d simply be fired and sent back to the battlefield. I’ve got armies to command, don’t I?”

✦ . There’s a crack, before a pillar (that had been precariously canted at an angle) comes crashing down against the billowing grime of the hall. You startle, and whip your head to gaze at Sunday, who merely looks at you placidly. 

✦ . “Is that so?” he murmurs. There’s something buried deep in his eyes—something implacable, as though he was the one that caused the pillar to snap in a fit of anger. Anger over your impudent words, most likely, and nothing else—right? Right?

[coven-of-genesis]

How to Set Up a Beginner Witch Altar

An altar is a sacred space where you focus your energy, perform rituals, and connect with your craft. It can be simple or elaborate—it’s all about what feels magical to you.

⸻

1. Choose a Space

• A shelf, nightstand, box, windowsill, or desk

• Keep it private or discreet if needed

• Cleanse the area before setting up

⸻

2. Basic Altar Items

You don’t need everything—start with what you have:

• Candle – for fire & focus

• Bowl of water – for emotion & cleansing

• Salt or soil – for earth & grounding

• Incense or feather – for air & thought

• Crystal, plant, or object of power – your anchor

• Offering dish – coins, herbs, shells, etc.

• Personal item – something that connects you to your spirit (jewelry, photo, charm)

⸻

3. Optional Additions

• Deity or ancestor symbols

• Tarot deck or pendulum

• Written affirmations or sigils

• Seasonal items (flowers, leaves, fruit, bones, etc.)

• Journal or Book of Shadows nearby

⸻

4. Keep It Alive

• Cleanse your altar regularly

• Switch it up with the moon or seasons

• Use it for meditation, spellwork, or simply sitting in sacred stillness

⸻

Your altar is a mirror of your magic. Make it yours.

Masterlist | linktree | Patreon

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Affinity 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Prince!Loki (Medieval AU)

A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story

Summary: you are sent to attend the royal wardrobe on an important diplomatic journey but find more to worry for than split seams.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

"Is it better, your highness?" You ask as you try to tug on the taut fabric over the king's stomach. He growls as his belly strains the fabric. "I added a panel."

"Hmph," he glances at the woman sitting patiently and quietly on a stool in the corner of the tent. It isn't hard to guess who she is. Everyone knows the king's lascivious reputation and you've seen her with him throughout the first week of the journey. "I did not realise..." he tugs at the tails of the tunic. "Sitting a horse has made things more obvious."

"I can add another, your highness?" You suggest.

"Oh, lady, we've enough to worry for on this trek than the king's belly. I will persevere through pinching of my seams," he king chortles. "I am certain you are eager to rest."

"Your highness, it is never a task."

"Hm, yes, mother always prefers you. Simple to know why," he remarks. "Go, if I must ride with my guts out, so be it."

You give a bow and obey. You take your wooden chest with you, hooking the strap on your shoulder, and set off to find a place to sleep. You've been nestling into the wagons with the other castle servants. Your work with a needle does not save you the low regard of commonry.

"How fares my brother?" The prince startles you. He is always watching.

"He seems of better spirits, your grace. I see he has been riding. He was only seeking to have his riding clothes seen to," you explain.

"Ah, yes," Prince Loki tuts. "I witnessed it too. The way he tests a horse's back."

You do not comment. The king is a big man naturally. His middle might be thicker than once it was but he is not your concern or your place to judge. The prince judges all.

"Did you require anything, your grace?" You wonder.

He huffs. "Must I require your needle to have a conversation with a castle seamstress?"

"I only meant, your grace, to assist. As is my duty."

"I know your duty. As I know every person's duty within this camp." He struts on beside you. "Do you think my brother knows? It is I who makes certain we are not stuck in the mud. That we follow the mop not the king's fancy."

"Yes, my grace."

"And what do you know but how to make a stitch?" He scoffs.

You're silent. The prince is a man of moods. You've witnessed it many time as he burst in to rant at his mother. Without her there to temper him, he is particularly venomous.

There's a lull between you. His boots kick pebbles across the ground as you wonder why he's not tramped away to his tent. He sighs.

"Does the ride wear you down?" He asks suddenly. At that, you could flinch. The shift in his tone, in his words, is like a pendulum.

"As it wears us all down, your grace. The storm particularly."

"Ah, yes, it soaked me through," he sneers.

"I've made certain the royal luggage was untouched by the rain," you assure him. "And the piece you requested is nearly done, though the cart does not make for easy sewing."

"Hm, yes. The Wakandan sun will have us melting in your Asgardian layer. My brother is a fool, he will be sweating like a river," he snickers. "I am too clever for that. He has never thought ahead. He never had to. He has others to do his thinking for him."

Again, you are quiet. You learned from the dowager, Frigga, to let her sons speak more than you do. Let them be out with their discontent and a few words often consoles. As a servant, is it best you listen and speak only of your duty.

"He tires me more than this trek." The prince derides. "Wine. Bring it to my tent."

With that, he turns sharply and marches away. You watch him as soldiers gesture to him in deference. You bite your cheek. Likely, he sends you on a task meant for another to make his point. He is still the prince and you are still but a servant in his family's employ.

You set off. You ask a few skullery maids where you can find a bottle or cask. You retrieve a dark bottle and retrace your steps.

You approach the prince's tent. You clear your throat as thoughts of sleep drift into the deepening eve. "My prince, your wine."

"Come." He calls from within.

You enter and nearly stumble back through the draped canvas. The prince is in his undershirt and breeches, his tunic cast aside. He tugs at a tangle in his hair.

"I need a looking glass," he mutters. You put the bottle near him. His green eyes flick to it. "A cup?"

"I will find one," you affirm.

"Never bother," he waves his fingers dismissively. "I've need of your eyes."

"My... eyes?"

"Mmhmm, argh," he tosses back the tangle in frustration and sits up. "My brother. He has that woman with him."

"I believe I saw a woman."

He snorts, "no need to be covert. I could ask any guard. Besides, I am his brother. I needs know so that when we arrive, the king does not put us to shame before the three others convened. He thinks this will be fun. That he will drink and be merry. This is a matter of politick."

"Yes, your grace, the woman was there," you repeat.

"And?"

"She was sitting in the corner, prince."

"Undressed?" He wonders.

"Clothed," you assure him. "The king was more concerned with his tunic."

"Hmm," he exhales, disappointment in his breath. "I cannot figure... he has chosen to ride again. Do you know what effort I put forth to have that litter arranged? My brother is demanding, as any king may be, but he is particularly churlish."

You are quiet again. He snatches the wine bottle and uncorks it. He swigs and swishes it before swallowing.

"Vinegar," he snarls.

"My grace, apologies, I was told it was--"

"It's wine. Only not very good." He sniffs. "If you hear or see any more of this woman, you will let me know."

"As you wish."

"Yes, it is certainly as I wish," he huffs. "Go."

You bow, "your grace." You back out of the tent and let the canvas fall into place. You look up at the sky. Why did the queen mother send you along?

[millieisawriter]

The spell (Javier's version)

first ending - javier escuella x reader

summary: the one where javier comes to terms with the fact he caught feelings for you, and the two of you learnt to love each other despite your differences.

first part

wc: 2.6k

all pics taken from pinterest

♡the people have asked for a second part♡

a/n: i don't usually tag people on my fics, but this time i did tag everyone who commented under the first part <3 ily

It had been a few weeks since that night in Javier’s tent. You hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, not even to the girl who became a friend to you – Mary-Beth. Despite that, the whole gang must have known about what had happened between you and Javier.

Why? Well, it was difficult not to notice the sudden shift in your interactions with Javier, or the lack of these. Normally, there wasn’t a day the two of you didn’t exchange a few angry sentences. Ever since the tent incident, however, you didn’t acknowledge one another’s existence.

“You’ve got to tell me what happened!” Mary-Beth insisted.

You rolled your eyes. There was nothing to talk about, not even to your best friend. What Javier had done felt embarrassing enough, you didn’t need anyone else knowing about it.

You had just sat down to fix your pendulum when the girl approached you. The chain, to which a crystal had been attached, worn from years of usage from even before you had acquired it, finally gave out and broke a few days ago. “There’s nothing to tell,” you stated.

“Don’t lie to your best friend,” she insisted, and you know she wasn’t going to let go of the topic when she sat down on the chair next to you. “Your… necklace broke?”

“It’s called a pendulum,” you explained, still focused on fixing the chain, “I use it for simple yes or no questions. But, yes, the chain broke a few days ago.”

“So, back to the previous thing,” Mary-Beth returned to the topic of Javier, “what happened? First you two couldn’t go five minutes without snapping at each other. Now? Not even a glance. You could at least tell me if you hexed him or something.”

You finally look at your friend, leaving the pendulum on the table. “If I had hexed him, he deserved it,” you scoffed.

The girl’s eyes widened. “Did you?”

“No, Mary-Beth. I didn’t hex him. But if I had, it would have been well-deserved is what I meant.”

“Then what? Whenever he’s not out on a job, he strolls around the camp all depressed like those funny english dogs.”

“The bulldogs?”

“Exactly!”

You laughed at the comparison. Mary-Beth wasn’t wrong, though, you noticed the change in Javier’s behavior as well. He became less visible around the camp, unless he was playing his guitar. And even then, as much as you didn’t know spanish, you could tell the songs he sang were rather sad.

However, Mary-Beth wasn’t going to let go easily. “Why are you keeping secrets from your best friend?”

“Fine,” you sighed, knowing there’s no backing away from this, “something might have happened between us.”

“Something? Like what? That’s a very vague answer.”

The embarrassment physically hurt you when you thought about that specific night. “You remember the night a few weeks ago? Dutch’s gramophone played, everyone was drunk, all that…” you paused, fiddling with your fingers underneath the table, “we may have ended up in Javier’s tent.”

Her jaw dropped, and she immediately slapped your arm. “No! You’re kidding! You and Javier? I knew something was going on! Oh my God. Was it good? It was good, wasn’t it?”

“That’s not the point!”

“What is the point then?”

The point was that what happened the following morning, hurt you. Even if you never showed it, it pained you to know Javier considered his desire towards you a sin heavier than the blood that stained his hands. And just like the blood, though washed off, left a scar on his conscience, the same way his prayer didn’t make his feelings disappear.

“Next morning I woke up to Javier praying. For forgiveness. For… me,” maybe for the first time you let the hurt show through your voice as you made the confession to your friend.

Mary-Beth couldn’t believe that. She heard Javier bickering with Swanson here and there, but she never took the Mexican for someone religious to that degree. “He didn’t!”

“He did,” you sighed, “I felt like… like I wasn’t even a person to him. Just… something dirty he had to wash away. But, of course, God doesn’t care about him being a damn criminal.”

“How could he do that to you? Have you talked to him since?”

“No. I figured everything between us is done. Anything that could ever be.”

Javier made it clear enough. To him, you were a mistake. A moment of weakness at most, and you didn’t hope for more. Getting over him would be preferred, but you couldn’t help that he happened to dig a hole in your heart.

And you were left wondering – was God going to forgive Javier for how he had treated you? Or was God okay with one of his sheep taking advantage of another human being like that? God didn’t seem to care about that, so maybe you really were the Devil, after all.

Your emotions clearly affected Mary-Beth. “You can’t let him get away with that,” she stated.

“You’re a romantic, I get it,” you replied with a tone sharper than you intended, “but he and I were never meant to be. We’re too different.”

“You don’t believe that. If you did, you wouldn’t be so heartbroken right now.”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel. He made his choice, and I’m not going to beg him to change his mind.”

Last thing you ever imagined to do was begging a man to love you. Not even last, you’d die before you do such thing.

Suddenly, both you and Mary-Beth shifted your gaze to a figure riding into the camp. It was Javier, returning from whatever business he was attending to. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had been on a visit to the nearby town’s brothel.

Your eyes held a slightly longing look as you watched the man dismount from Boaz, a look that stopped only after Mary-Beth had nudged your arm. “Completely not heartbroken, huh?” she teased.

You looked away, and tried to argue, but before you could come up with a good response, you heard the leaves on the ground being rustled by approaching footsteps.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Mary-Beth, with a knowing smirk on her lips, stood up.

“Don’t you dare,” the sentence came out like a threat from your mouth. You attempted to grab her arm, even yank the girl back onto her seat if you had to, but her slim arm easily slipped out of your hand.

A moment later, Javier stood in front of you. “I wanted to talk.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” you insisted, standing up so that you were on at least similar level.

“We do.”

“What, you wanna talk about how I ruined your soul?”

Javier flinched slightly at your hiss, but then looked back at you. “I’ve got something for you,” his hand went into the pocket of his jeans.

You wondered what it could be. If you had been accused of being a vampire, he could’ve brought you garlic, or a wooden spike. But how could one kill a witch in a way other than burning her at a stake? He wouldn’t even need a stake for that, you had burnt long ago from the embarrassment.

The thing you could have never expected was now dangling from Javier’s hand as he extended it towards you. “I noticed the one you used to use broke some time ago,” he said.

Your mouth fell open, but no words were conjured. Javier getting a new pendulum for you was not something even your cards could predict.

You stared at the pendulum, the delicate chain shimmering faintly in the sunlight. A teardrop-shaped crystal hung from the chain, catching the light and scattering fractured rays across your skin as you took it in your hand. It was beautiful, far more elegant than the one you had broken.

“Where did you get this?” you asked, an idea in your mind. “Did you steal it?”

Javier shifted in spot. “I saw this woman, she travels in a wagon similar to yours. Madam Nazar, or whatever she introduced herself as. I wouldn’t dare steal from her, she’s a bit scary,” he chuckled lightly. “Don’t ask me where I got the money, though.”

Your eyes finally met his when you finished checking out the crystal. “Why did you get this for me?”

“Because I was wrong—”

“You were more than wrong, Javier.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I shouldn’t have made you feel the way I did. I thought… pushing you away would make it easier. That I could forget how you made me feel, or that I’d stop wanting you if I could convince myself it was wrong.”

“And?”

“And I couldn’t.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you eyed the pendulum again. It wasn’t hard to recognize the crystal as clear quartz. Possibly the best one for a pendulum, clear quartz was known for providing clarity and amplifying energy.

“I’m sorry,” Javier continued, “I can’t change what I did, but I can tell you I never meant to hurt you. You’re… you’re everything I can’t stop thinking about, and I hate that I let my fear ruin what we could have had.”

The words cut through your ears. You closed your palm around the crystal and looked at Javier again. For the first time he finally looked vulnerable. As if the regret he seemed to feel was honest. For the first time, he didn’t build up any walls between the two of you.

“You can’t just walk back in here with a gift and expect me to forget how you made me feel.”

“I don’t expect you to forget,” he said. “But I hope you can forgive me. There’s something between us, and maybe it’s not a spell you casted on me.”

“I’m glad you finally see that.”

Javier sighed. “Let me prove to you that I’m serious. About you, about us, about your… magic, too. And that I don’t think you’re sinful.”

You had no idea what got into Javier, and it certainly wasn’t your doing, but he had changed. In the following weeks, he grew more interested in your beliefs, in your practices. Often he sat and listened intently as you explained tarot to him, or when you taught him about the pendulum.

One night, sitting by the fire next to Javier, you shuffled your cards. “Pick a card, Javier,” you said, spreading the deck on the cow skin rug.

The man’s eyes brushed over the cards as he hesitated. The deck was, obviously, facing the side with pictures down, so that he had to use his intuition. He had almost taken one card, when you smacked his hand away.

You lectured him. “Just point at it, don’t actually grab it!”

“Why not?” he asked, both amused and confused.

“Only I can touch my cards, it’s one of the rules.”

“What happens if I touch them?”

He was curious, which was good. Curious was way better than hateful, scared, or ashamed. The way Javier evolved, and warmed up to your witchy practices made you happy. You could now see that maybe there was a chance for your relationship to grow.

“Nothing, but that’s the rule. You love breaking rules, don’t you?”

He was persistent. “Would I die a painful death?”

Once again he attempted to touch the cards. Once again, you slapped his hand away.

“Stop acting like a child,” you were ready to collect your cards and put them back in the safety of your bag, “you changed, and I like it, but I don’t wanna have to cleanse my cards again, I’m almost out of white sage.”

“I’ll buy you some more, what’s the issue? How expensive can it be?”

“You’d have to go all the way to California, and have something to give in exchange to the Indians there. They don’t need money.”

“You’re more complicated than I thought,” he sighed, but it was playful this time.

“So don’t touch the cards! Tell me which one you choose.”

Javier’s gaze returned to the deck spread in front of him. He thought for a moment before pointing to one card, even though on the backside all of them looked identical.

“Great, let’s see,” you mused, taking the card and studying it before turning it to Javier. “Death.”

He scoffed. “That’s optimistic.”

“Don’t take the meaning literally. This card represents change.”

Javier tilted his head. “I think I know what’s changing.”

“Oh?”

“Me.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing your face. His gaze traveled down from your eyes to your lips, and you knew what it meant. No sooner, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so gentle as if he were scared to hurt you.

You let him guide you through the kiss as it became more. More in both, the touchable and spiritual meaning. Your hands found their way to his jaw and neck, meanwhile he grabbed onto your hips. This allowed him to confidently move you from where you were sitting next to him, to make you straddle his lap. Almost instinctively, you grind your hips against his, sending a clear message to the neurons in his brain.

Javier groaned into the kiss, and you could feel his grip tighten on both sides of your body. This time, you could tell, it wasn’t solely desire between you. And neither one of you was on alcohol. This time it was real, a real raw emotion, and the peak of everything between you. Your connection, your need for each other, your past tensions, and your current longing. All of these exploded between the two of you in that exact moment.

The moment was interrupted, of course. “I’m glad to see y’all making up,” Arthur cleared his throat, “but could y’all not fuck on display for the whole gang to see?”

You practically leaped off Javier’s lap, your face burning hotter than the campfire. “Arthur!” you hissed.

Javier, however, didn’t seem nearly as bothered. He smirked up at Arthur with the kind of cocky confidence that made you want to smack him. And kiss him again.

“Jealousy isn’t pretty on you,” Javier joked.

“Don’t have to be pretty,” Arthur shot back, “just don’t wanna see y’all exchanging spit like two horny teenagers.”

You knew Arthur was just joking, there was no real bite in his voice. He was secretly glad to see the two of you getting along. But that also doesn’t mean that being called out like that didn’t get you all shy and blushing.

You stood up. “Javier, let’s take this to my wagon.”

“Our wagon you mean,” he said, following you.

“Yes, our wagon,” you rolled your eyes.

Truth be told, the wagon had undergone a transformation since Javier started spending more time with you. More time, as in he was practically living there with you. As you walked in, on your left Javier’s rosary was hung on the wall. The beads were darkened with use, and the small brass crucifix blended nicely with a bundle of sage and sweetgrass that hung next to it.

The shelves along the wagon’s interior were equally divided. On one side, you organized your herbs, dried plants, and jars filled with ingredients only you could name. On the other side, Javier had placed the wooden icon of the Virgin Mary, her peaceful gaze watching over everything, just like she had watched you that one night which changed everything. Except, this time you didn’t feel judged.

You smiled to yourself. The clash between the sacred and the mystical was oddly fitting.

___________________________

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