Carlos Sainz In 2013 On The Red Bull Junior Team Competing On The GP3 And Racing With A Car With The

"The moon"

ok ya'll! I know I said I'm doing another chapter of this is me trying (and I am) buttttt I read @i-cant-sing's time traveler AU and I could not stop thinking about it. I'm muslim and it's Ramadan and I realized I have free will to write whatever I want, SO i present to you a platonic yandere story set in the Ottoman Empire. kinda based on real people and events, but a lot of things are just my imagination! I am NOT a history buff, I just enjoy historical things, if something is wrong, feel free to politely correct me. The main character is a female and does have a name (Esmira) and face type BUT i try not to go into her too much so you can imagine what you like. Credits to @i-cant-sing, it was their writing that inspired me! check out their works, they're really talented! I DO NOT SPEAK TURKISH, ALL MY KNOWLEDGE IS GOOGLED AND SURFACE LEVEL.

Ottoman Empire, Istanbul

Year 1524

I was my father’s moon.

"Benim ayım."

He called me that when I nestled against his side, his arms encircling me as he listened to my childish recitation of the Qur’an, my voice small yet steady. “My little moon,” he would murmur, pressing a kiss to my forehead when I finished. “No one recites as beautifully as my Esmira.”

To me, he was not Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent. The Lawgiver, the formidable warlord. To me, he was my beloved Baba.

I would giggle, curling my fingers into the folds of his kaftan. I never sat apart from him, never kept a polite distance. When we dined, I ate off his plate, tearing bread from his own hands, dipping it into his soup the way I had since I was old enough to chew.

"You will spoil her, Hünkârım," my mother, Medriveh, would say from across the room, watching as my father lifted me onto his lap, letting me pick the ripest dates from his tray.

"She is already spoiled," he would reply, laughter deep in his chest. And he would not send me away. He never sent me away.

I prayed with him, every dawn and every dusk, my small voice whispering after his as we kneeled on the prayer rugs. When my hands trembled in the cold, he would clasp them in his own, warming them against his palms.

"When you are older, you will have a place beside me," he had told me once, his thumb tracing circles over my knuckles. "Even when I go to war, my moon will stay in my sky."

I believed him.

When he rode through the palace gates on his great black stallion, I was the only one out of my siblings- Mustafa, Selmin, Mehmed, and Layla- he lifted onto the saddle before him. I would press my cheek to his chest, feeling his laughter rumble beneath my ear as he held the reins in one hand, keeping me close with the other.

I thought it would always be like that. I thought nothing could take me from him.

I was wrong.

My mother never hit me.

She did not need to.

Her weapons were sharper than any blade, her words precise and cruel, cutting deep where no one could see.

"You embarrass me, Esmira," she would sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose whenever I stumbled in my lessons or tripped over my skirts. "Must you always follow your brothers like a stray dog? They have no use for you."

"I just want to be with them."

"They do not want to be with you."

Her disappointment weighed heavier than any slap.

I had always adored Mustafa, Selmin, and Mehmed. I ran after them in the gardens, trailed them through the halls, sat at their feet as they practiced swordplay.

I wanted to be part of their world, to belong with them as I had once belonged with my father.

But they were always too fast, too sharp, too indifferent.

"Go away, Esmira." Selmin’s voice was rough, barely sparing me a glance as he wiped sweat from his brow, his sword resting against his shoulder. "We are not playing games."

"I can learn too!"

"You are not a soldier." Mustafa did not even look at me, already turning back to his sparring partner. "You are not even useful."

Mehmed was the only one who pretended to care, giving me his easy, careless smile.

"Little sister, you should be with the women," he said, flicking my forehead with two fingers. "We are busy."

"I just want to be near you."

"Then sit quietly. Do not make a fuss."

So I did. I sat in the dirt, in the sun, in the cold. I waited for them to acknowledge me.

They never did.

Layla was everything I was not. Four years older than me, and stunning. The true daughter of a Sultan

She was graceful where I was clumsy, beautiful where I was plain, loved where I was ignored.

"Your sister was never like this," my mother would say as she brushed my hair, her touch firm and impersonal. "She knew how to behave, how to walk, how to be wanted."

Layla was desired by all who saw her. Even the women in the harem whispered about her, about her elegance, her cruelty, her charm.

"You are fat, Esmira," she told me one afternoon, watching as I struggled to fit into the new silk kaftan our mother had gifted me. "And slow. And foolish."

"You are my sister," I whispered. "You should love me."

She only smiled.

"Love is earned, little one. And you have done nothing to earn it."

Then, one day, a week after my tenth birthday everything changed. I was going to my father, to try and capture his attention again when I heard her. My mother.

"She is useless, Hünkârım. If you will not marry her off, then send her away."

I pressed my back against the lattice screen, breath trapped in my chest. I was too young to marry. Baba always said he would wait till I was eighteen. That he would keep me forever if I wanted.

"To where?" He replied sharply.

"To the Greeks," my mother said smoothly, as if my fate was nothing more than a chess piece being moved across the board. "The Basileus of Morea wishes for an Ottoman princess as a ward. A peace offering."

"She is only a child, Mehdrivan."

"She is a disgrace."

Silence. A silence so deep it felt like the air itself had stopped moving.

Then, finally, the words that destroyed me.

"Fine."

The world blurred around me. My heart slammed against my ribs, a desperate, caged thing trying to claw its way out. I waited till my mother had left, till i could no longer hear her cruelty.

No. No, no, no.

I did not think. I ran.

I burst into my father’s chamber, barefoot, breathless, trembling.

He stood near the window, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing down at the courtyard below. The glow of the setting sun burned against his silhouette, making him seem even larger, more untouchable.

I was eight again, running to him after falling in the gardens, scraped knees and teary eyes, knowing he would pick me up, soothe me, call me his moon.

But I was not eight. And he did not turn.

"Baba!" I cried, voice breaking.

Slowly, he turned to me.

For a moment, just a moment, his face softened. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the unreadable mask of a ruler, not a father.

"Esmira," he said, his voice even, measured. Distant.

I did not hesitate—I threw myself at his feet.

"Baba, please!" I clutched at the hem of his kaftan, my nails digging into the silk as if I could physically hold myself to him. "I will be good—I will do better! I don’t want to go! I don’t know their language, their God—they will kill me! Let me stay! I love you, Baba! I will stay by your side forever!"

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Stand up, Esmira."

"No!" I sobbed into the fabric of his robes, shaking my head, pressing my forehead to his knee like a beggar at the steps of a mosque. "Please, please, please, I will do anything! I will stop following my brothers, I will stop embarrassing you, I will be what you want, just don’t send me away!"

Nothing.

Not a touch. Not a word.

I felt his silence like a blade slicing through me.

"I do not care about peace!" I cried, hands fisting against him. "I only care about you!"

Finally, finally, he spoke.

"You must go, Esmira. It is for the good of the empire."

Something deep inside me cracked—so violently I swore I heard it echo in the vast, empty space of the chamber.

I recoiled from him, stumbling back.

"You are my father!" My breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. "I am your daughter! I am not a pawn for your empire!"

He did not move. He did not reach for me.

"You are a princess of the Ottoman Empire." His voice was hard, cold. A warlord’s voice, not a father’s. "You will do your duty."

I shook my head, tears burning like acid down my cheeks.

"If you send me away, I will never love you again."

Something flickered in his eyes.

"Esmira—"

"I swear to God, Baba!" My voice rose in fury, in anguish, in something too deep to name. "I swear by Allah Himself, if you listen to my mother, if you send me away, I will never forgive you! Never! You will not be my father anymore!"

His nostrils flared. His lips pressed into a thin line.

"You will not speak to me that way."

"You are not listening to me!"

I was screaming now, screaming as if the force of my voice alone could bring him back to me.

"I will hate you for the rest of my life!"

And then—he struck me.

The first slap sent me reeling. The second tore the breath from my lungs.

My ears rang. My vision blurred.

I staggered back, stunned, unable to process what had just happened.

He had never hit me before.

Never.

Not once in my entire life.

His sons had felt his hand before—when they disobeyed, when they failed, when they acted recklessly. But not me.

Never me.

I stared up at him, at the man who had once held me in his arms, who had once called me his moon.

I did not recognize him.

He was no longer my Baba—he was Sultan Suleiman, the Great Turk, the Shadow of God on Earth, the warlord who crushed enemies beneath his heel and ruled an empire with an iron fist.

And now, I was afraid of him.

His expression shifted. Regret flickered in his gaze. His hands trembled as he reached for me.

"Esmira—"

I flinched.

I flinched away from him.

For the first time in my life, I feared my own father.

The moment stretched between us, heavy, suffocating.

I saw the realization dawn on him—saw the way his chest rose sharply, saw the way his hands fell to his sides, saw the guilt carve into his face like stone.

But I did not give him the chance to take it back.

I turned and ran.

I did not stop running.

Not when I reached the halls. Not when the guards called after me. Not when my mother’s voice echoed in the distance.

I ran until my lungs burned, until the cold air cut through my thin silk dress, until the world blurred into nothing but streaks of gold and blue and white.

The moon above me was full and bright, casting silver light across the palace gardens.

I pressed my forehead to the earth, fingers digging into the soil.

"I will come back."

The words left my lips like a prayer.

"I swear it."

"And when I do, I will never love you again."

OKKK YA'LL??? WHAT DO YA'LL THINK??? YOU LIKE??? I TRIED SO HARD ON THIS SO PLS BE NICE! I'M KINDA SCARED TO PUT THIS OUT BC ITS NOT MY USUAL CONTENT AND I CHANGED MY WRITING STYLE A BIT, BUT I HOPE IT INTERESTS PEOPLE!! Likes, comments, asks and reblongs are always appreciated, also the platonic yanderes in this story are Sultan Suleiman, Sultana Medrivah, Sehzade Mehmed, Mustafa, and Selmin!

also, yk ur writings good when u got ppl in ur dms and asks telling u its AI. Like bitch please, I spend HOURS thinking of plots and dialougue only to have some random anon saying its AI????? like be fr.

Hi! Just wanted to ask if you're experiencing some hate comments lately. Been seeing it a lot. Just wanted to ask if you are ok❤️

awwww thank you my love <3333 you're so sweet actually! and yes i have but im getting over them!

In the new chapter I see a little bit of parallels between reader and Bruce's persona. Also got reminded of Tyler the creator Like him.

DO I LOOK LIKE HIM!

Anyway amazing chapter like always and always catch me in a choke hold💗💗😋💕😘😘😘

YUPPP BRUCE AND READER ARE SO “like him”CODED ITS INSANE!!! and i’m glad you can see it! thank you 💕🫶

guys hear me out

readers love interest like coming over to hang out with reader and ends up meeting the family

tiffany sees this and wants to get wit love interest

maybe she just wants to piss her off ? maybe she just actually wants love interest ? who knows !

tiffany tries to flirt with love interest only to get pushed away, friendzoned, ect

anyways tiffany tries to frame reader for bulling only to get caught by love interest

"reader was bulling me and telling me i didnt belong here :("

"omg when was this ??"

"yesterday at 5 pm :(("

"..me and reader were in theater rehersal...."

"did i say yesterday ? i meant 2 days ago sorry !"

"...we were at our band practicing for our concert."

"..oh"

-🍰

ok this is a great prompt butttt by the time reader's love interests start coming around Tiff's out of the picture! maybe I could do a tiny headcannon where reader stays around long enough for this to happen??? but before literally anything I really wanna start working on Chapter 1!!!! Thank you Cake Anon!!! I can't use emoji's bc im on my laptop :(

im gonna be a hater tonight but idc! its a lomg one but i rlly wanted to rant 😔😔

im just gonna go right in and say it: some house of the dragon characters are unoriginal and lazy, and it pisses me tf off. im sick and tired of seeing the same oc regurgitated in this fandom bc istg half of these hotd ocs are literally just daenerys targaryen thrown back in time under a different name.

i usually dont care abt fanfic because its fanfic. nothing i can do, its probably some child having fun, but like i said im just TIRED of looking through hotd fanfics and seeing daenerys pop up as a faceclaim, and then going on to see that half (or all) of dany’s entire character is put into an oc with little to no actual originality if this makes sense.

before i get into this, what the fuck happened to the originality in original character? like genuinely? this is mainly abt one oc i legit just saw like an hour ago off of tiktok bc but still this applies to the daenerys knockoffs i (regularly) see and cry abt like my grown ass should not care but i do!!!!

starting off, the oc’s name is daenera. cool! fine! she’s not a daughter of rhaenyra which is a slay, but is a daughter of alicent and viserys which eh, good enough. we go on to find out that for some reason vizzy t and ali hate her, and at age 16 they decide to ship her off to pentos so she can marry a dothraki warlord. im not even joking. aside from that, she’s in pentos for a year, and comes back with an army of 550k and three dragons. okay hello daenerys! anyways she apparently fights for rhaenyra, but also bangs aemond, daemon, and cregan in the two year timeframe that the dance takes place in.

no one is gonna read this but my ass is mad and idgaf! i need to complain!! but anyways, i am sick and tired of the ocs that are just cheap copies of daenerys because at what point is this an original character? if youre using a faceclaim of daenerys for your character and essentially adding her entire plotline onto your oc, is it even an oc anymore? like i get being inspired to base a character off of her because dany is literally the blueprint, but copy and pasting her entire character and then going off and ignoring grrm’s established lore (yes, its a fanfic, but ive seen too many oc’s claim both cannibal AND vermithor at the same time and i am TIRED) is just lazy and boring.

i wish people did more with their hotd ocs honestly. like theres hundreds of houses and shit and actual ORIGINAL ideas one could use instead of just taking dany’s whole character and just making it their own. i dont even want to start an argument with this but i NEED to see more original characters. like im writing my own two on wattpad rn (one’s a dragonseed whos like schizophrenic idk and the other’s a mormont who slays the day away) but even then i just need more than aemond x his sister or niece or smth idk yk??

im just reiterating points ive made but man its just ughhhh

GOD I WANT TO SEE THEM ALL GROVELL! EVEN DENT! I LOVE IT !

YES I KNOW!! THEY WILL ALLL COME CRAWLING BACK

Learning about brocedes lore is the worst fucking thing to have ever happened to me because why tf am i sobbing over a tiktok?!?! About grown men?!?!? In the middle of the night??!?! They make me sickkkkk

What about the other justice league is like Diana or Arthur mafia too since they are princess and a king

yes!! they are! there’s also other characters in the mafia but that’s next chapter 👀👀

AHHHHHHHHHH!!!! LOVE the new chapter!!! do my eyes deceive me or does the reader have some form of chronic pain because of her abilities👀

THANK YOU FOR UPDATING!!!! i love this story and the spinoff so much and i can’t wait to see how the batfam react!!! also us being a bad bitch is always a welcome sight!!

-🐈‍⬛ anon

GIRL IM SO SORRY I THOUGHT I ANSWERED THIS 😭😭😭😭

Tumblr’s being a bitch so i’m looking thru my ask box and i’m seeing asks i SWEAR i replied to.

yes, Reader does have chronic pain related to her powers! can you guess what makes it better?? it’s kinda obvs but guess anyway!

thank you 🐈‍⬛ anon ily 💕🫶