Mimiiiiiiiiisstuff - MimiNeverShutsUp

"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.

I love the new mafia au but pls finish the bet on losing dogs

no don’t worry i will!! it’s just the i wrote 2 chapters and they got deleted i literally got so angry. l could not force myself to write anything for it bc of how mad i was 😭😭😭

Daemon is Aemond's crush or a person who he's inspired by, and you can't convince me otherwise! If they weren't enemies, they would be an unstoppable duo. I believe Aemond would be Daemon's favorite nephew.

All the pics are from Pinterest.

I honestly want to know what Alfred thinks about reader and Tiffany. In the prologue, he seems to believe Tiffany.

Honestly, it would be nice to have a yandere neglect fic where Alfred also doesn't care that much. He is always portrayed as the only one who notices the reader but him also ignoring them would be quite interesting.

the dynamic between Alfred and reader is complex. on one hand Alfred sees Bruce in reader and was the only adult/ parental figure that reader had in her life but he's old and tends to forget about her. he definitely cares the most about reader and will try to attend her performances and events but he will never put her above Bruce. Bruce was his first kid and while he might love reader, he loves Bruce more and will always prioritize him. that being said, reader is definitely his favorite out of the kids before Tiffany comes in.

I keep rereading "This is me trying" and I have a questions.

Did the Family set the dinner up as a test? At least, once Reader was late getting to the dinner. They had assumed she would run, not fight, and then they'd have an excuse to get rid of her permanently.

Or, on the other hand, the one time Reader isn't watching over the maid kitchen is the time the Family gets attacked? Perhaps Reader was, accidentally, guarding the one entrance no one expected. Maybe even the one entrance that was guarded? But the Family doesn't believe in coincidence. So they put together 'evidence' of Reader protecting them. (Reader asking why a maid was being shady. Closing the door when one purposely left it open. Or any other thing that Reader views as common sense that the Bat Family sees as directly protecting them, especially if outside cameras of the same timestamps show mobilized groups.)

(Hell, maybe the maids waited until Reader was obviously not showing up because they like her?)

I also am wondering if Bruce immediately tried to change Reader's school, or if he forgets he never enrolled her in Gotham Academy?

It'd be kinda funny for Duke or Damian's to search their school for Reader, only to realize she was never there. They just thought she had been good at hiding for years. The two question it, but don't say anything to Bruc. And then they see her as the captain of the cheer team of a rival school they're going against. Gotham Academy loses to Gotham Public and everyone goes wild.

But Duke and Damian, and anyone of the Family that came to watch with them, notice how the Football team acts towards Reader. When they try to confront Reader about it, Reader laughs at them.

Or maybe, when Bruce does try to enroll them and give Reader the Wayne name, and the Reader gets told, she rushes to get re-enrolled in her school? She scrubs the Wayne off her name and goes on like usual. Which gets her dragged in front of Bruce by Tim.

When confronted, Reader tells Bruce, "You said I earned the name Wayne. Because I showed loyalty and a willingness to protect you at all costs to myself. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Why would I want the Wayne name?"

"Excuse you?" Tim interjects incredulously.

"None of you have ever shown loyalty towards me. I haven't even been living in the Manor. Most of my stuff has been moved out since I was 11. I only come back because I hoped that I could have a family in any of you. I hate coming back. I hate staying here. I rarely ever do, unless I'm called back by Alfred for one of your parties that I'm not even allowed to show my face at. It's the one time that I don't 'sit guard' in the maid's kitchen that all of you got attacked. I could have left you to yourselves. I was tempted."

"So." Bruce leaned back in his chair, fingers digging into the arms of his seat. "Why didn't you?"

"Because, I didn't want you to die. I may not trust you. But I am loyal to you, even if it's only to the extent of caring whether you live or die. Something you've never directed towards me. Why would I take the Wayne name when you've never done anything to win my loyalty? You already know I'm loyal. But I'm not loyal to you the way I could be if I considered you family."

"You'd kill for us. You'd sacrifice your life and die for us. But you do not consider us family?"

"I didn't come to your gala to begin with because I was with people I consider family. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, after all. The bonds I've forged with others will always be stronger than the ones I carry out of obligation. I'm not even on your insurance. I've been getting medical care from back alley clinics or through the people who decided I was worth caring about. For now, I'm an easily disposable tool to you. As a tool, I don't want your name. It'll only cause more issues."

"Issues? What issues could you possibly have being called a Wayne?" Tim cut in again.

"A lone and very disposable Wayne, with no support system, no underlings, no money, and very little power. One would think this is you trying to get me killed or trafficked. A mutt in a den of wolves."

"Alone and disposable. That's quiet the statement, (Y/N). What makes you think that?"

"Years of me being loyal. Of trying my best. Of desperation to simply be looked at as more than a burden or the daughter of a whore, as you all love to call my mother. You have shown, time and again, that I am not worth any amount of loyalty. Why should I trust you? I know you don't you trust me. You only trust I'd die for you. Kill for you. Why would I live for you? You have never earned it."

And goes to walk out like a badass. Only to pause at the door, as Bruce and Tim are staring at her in stunned silence. "My name is (Y/N) (L/N). And until you can earn more than my loyalty, I refuse to bear yours."

Reader's face breaks from being just as stone cold as Bruce's, revealing a soft smile.

"When I first came to the Manor, I wanted to be a Wayne. Not for money or power. But because I loved my father, on the principle that that was what he was. My father. When I finally realized you'd never see me as a daughter, I stopped seeing you as anything more than a sperm donor. Earn being my father, or stop pretending you want me to have your name."

Ho is you a mind reader?

No they definitely didn't do it as a test, Bruce would never willingly put himself in a position where he's vulnerable and have his family 'rely' on Reader, even if it's just a test.

Ok so, for the maid thing, ur on the right track!! I don't wanna spoil too much so i'm not gonna say anything!!!!

Also Bruce kinda just forgot about reader going to school period, and you're so right about the WHOLE school thing!! it's like you took it right out my drafts LMAO!!!

You predicted a lot of future chapter plot points ngl but with the whole Bruce and Reader confrontation, you wrote it really good but thats more IBLD reader vibes! This reader is more scared of Bruce, she won't outright challenge or disobey him, she knows better. This version of Batfamily is darker and crueler than IBLD bc they're not heroes. Also, reader is 15, she's not gonna talk to the Godfather of the American mob like that, father or not! This was beautifully written though!! Thank you so much ily <3333

Imagine the reader from bet on losing dogs fic meets Tony stark and adopts him as their new dad and then they meet peter✨❤️

broooo another AU i was thinking of writing!! its so so so good but it's not the direction I have planedddddd <3

My vibe about ships since forever tbh

I mean.... If we are talking about daddy issues she would def go for clark kent himself

FINALLY SOMEONE SAID ITTTT.

ngl i've been scared to talk abt that or my HOT TO GO headcannon bc some of the hate i've been getting is centered around that.

but if reader interacts with clark it'll be onnnnn. Imagine Jon has a crush on reader and she starts flirting with his DAD???

also imagine Bruce's reaction LMAO

Damien: * stops sending pictures of him and Tiffany having “family time” together to reader*

reader: LMAO guess he finally found out!

nah fr LMAO