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[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU part 10

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 11 is here!

You dont know why you're crying.

No.

You do know why you're crying. You dont understand why you're crying for that reason.

You've been sitting out on the balcony after Mehmed confessed to you, crying like a child who'd been yelled at by their favourite teacher- quietly and shamefully.

"Y/n?" You quickly wipe your tears away as you hear him.

Ibrahim tilts his head as he walks in front of you, his concern growing as he sees your teary eyes on your veiled face. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

You sniffle, shaking your head.

"Then?" He notices your mismatched niqaab, the red color reminding him of the torn shirt of Mehmed he saw earlier. "Did something happen with Mehmed?"

You freeze, then nod.

He takes a deep breath before sitting beside you, keeping a respectable distance between you two.

"I know you might be thinking that he's a prince so he wont get in trouble for what he did, but I'm the grand vizir and the sultan's closest friend." He looks at you. "I can help you if you tell me what he did to make you cry."

"I... I am not crying because of Mehmed." You pause. "Mehmed confessed his love for me."

"And you're overwhelmed? Or do you not want his love?" Ibrahim asked cautiously.

"Of course I dont want his love, its just- it reminded me of someone." You close your eyes and immediately those blue orbs flash to your mind. "Someone from... the past."

"Did you love him?" Your eyes snapped open.

"What?"

"This person you talk of... did you love him?" Ibrahim asked.

"I..." Did you? Did you really love him? Even after what he did to you, did you still love him?

"I used to." You sniffled. "You dont love him anymore? Then why are you crying?"

Yeah. Why am I crying if I dont love him anymore?

"I guess... I just miss him. And the memories we made, the way he made me feel." You whisper.

Ibrahim looked ahead at the dark sky, clear and filled with stars. "Go to him then."

You shake your head, frowning. "I cant." You wipe the tears from your eyes. "Pasha, how do I... how do I stop Mehmed? I cant, I cant be with him. In any capacity."

"I'm working on finding a way out for you, Y/n. I promised I'd keep you safe, didnt I?" Ibrahim's determined face put you at ease somewhat.

"Just tell me."

"In due time." He looked back at the sky. "The weather is nice tonight, not humid like yesterday."

You follow his gaze to the sky. "It rained earlier." You take a deep breath, trying to inhale the sweet earthy smell of rain.

There's a word for it. Petrichor.

You looked at the man beside you when you felt movement. Ibrahim had removed his turban and loosened the collar of his kaftan. He ran a hand through his thick hair with his eyes closed as a breeze of air passed, and you saw his shoulders relax.

The wind blew your niqaab as well, lifting it just long enough for you to smell the cool air.

"You should feel air as well." He said with his eyes closed. "It'll relax your mind."

He was referring to your veil and hijab. "You have the privilege to do that. Dont show off." You smiled.

He opened his eyes and stared at you. "I'm all relaxed now. You can enjoy the privilege now." He wore his turban back and fixed his collar. "Go ahead. I'll keep a look out." He stood up before smiling down at you with... warmth. Kindness.

"Enjoy these moments when you can, Y/n. They're rare."

You watched Ibrahim walk away and true to his word, he turned away from you and kept guard while you cautiously removed your niqaab first, and then loosened your headscarf.

You closed your eyes as the cool air hit you gently. You couldnt help the sigh that escaped you when you felt it on your neck, cooling it. And how long had it been since you felt the air breeze in your hair?

Too long.

After a few more moments in silence, you finally stood up after wearing your hijab and veil and turned to him.

Ibrahim turned around when he felt your presence behind him.

"Feeling better?" You nod. "Significantly. Thank you, pasha."

He gave you a courteous smile with a slight bow of his head.

Ibrahim escorted you back to your room and bid you good night before returning to the balcony.

He sat down on the same bench as the cold wind breezed, and he closed his eyes, your face haunting his mind.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the dark clouds in the sky. A few moments later, it began raining again.

Ibrahim raised his hands to make a prayer, after all- it is said in hadith that supplication made during rain is not rejected.

With sincere intention, he made a silent prayer in his heart.

"Oh Allah, make space in Y/n's heart for me.

I would like to reside eternally in my home country.

Amen."

-

The next two weeks went by... not uneventful. You tried your best to avoid the royals, but with Mihirmah bringing in Mehmed everytime you came to teach her, and Mustafa bringing you more broaches (which Mihirmah took from you everytime) because he thought they suited you (you're pretty sure this is his way of staking his claim on you, there's no way he doesnt know Mihirmah is the one taking them when she openly flaunts them in his face.)

Baris has been as annoying as ever, pestering you for gossip and to tell him "which prince you like more so that he can win the bets".

"So what exactly did you say when sehzade Mehmed said "I love you?" Baris asked as he looked through your closet.

You were looking out the window. "Thank you."

"Thank you? You said "thank you?" God, how dumb are you?" He shook his head while you smiled, looking outside but your mind was somewhere else, somewhere behind in time.

"I love you." He repeated, eyes still twinkling at how you continued to become flustered.

You opened your mouth and then closed it like an idiot, not knowing how to reply.

"Thank you." You finally said, looking anywhere but at him. He burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh god- I tell you- I love you and you say "thank you"? You really are something out of this world!" Baldwin teased you, making you huff.

"Y/n!" Your head whipped around the annoyed eunuch. "What?"

"We have to go to the harem." "Harem? Whatever for?"

"To make you learn a sensual dance for the princes- what do you think?! Its Friday! The sultan and sehzade have gone to the mosque for the Friday prayer- they'll be coming back soon and we have to welcome them." You scowled but followed him outside before halting.

"Both of the sehzade are gone?" Baris nodded.

Oh good. "Baris, you go ahead. I'll join you later." You turned around to leave but he grabbed your forearm.

"Absolutely not! Where are you going? What are you upto?" He gave you a pointed look.

You tried to pull your arm away. "Baris please-"

"No." He tightened his grip. "You might as well tell me because I'm not letting you go alone."

Your shoulders slumped.

"I have to find something." He raised a brow. "Do you remember that room where you found me and sehzade Mustafa? The one where his loot from his last conquest was present?" He nodded.

"Well, I need to go there again." "Why, exactly?" You resisted the urge to inhale as you told him your excuse.

"Because... I have to look for a present for Mustafa."

"What?" His grip on your arm loosened.

You shrugged. "You were right. I like Mustafa and if I plan on marrying him one day, I need to find something to impress him. So if I were to look at his loot, perhaps I'd be able to find what he likes."

Baris studied your face for a few moments before grinning. "I knew you were a just keeping this pious woman charade for personal gain." You frowned at his statement. "Fine. But I'm coming along."

"No, you dont need-"

"I wasnt asking." He began walking ahead of you. "Besides, the loot was moved from that room."

You followed behind him. "Moved where?"

The corner of his lips quirked up. "To sehzade Mustafa's room." He turned to look at your drained expression, and waved you off. "Its fine. I'm with you, arent I? The guards will let us pass through and everyone in the family is busy getting ready to welcome the sultan. No one will catch us."

True to his word, none of the guards or servants stopped you two from entering the Mustafa's wing of the palace. They all seemed to either respect Baris a lot to let you two breeze past them, or they feared him. And knowing Baris and his knowing eyes that probably have dirt on everyone, you knew the latter was true.

"Baris." You stopped him from following you inside Mustafa's room. "You stand here and keep watch. I'll go check."

"Keep watch? What are you- trying to steal his undergarments-" You slapped a hand on his mouth. "Do you ever shut up?" You snapped at his amused eyes. "Stand here and keep watch." You ordered before entering the room.

It was true that you did indeed need Baris to keep a look out for anyone walking in on you, as it has happened way too many times now, but you also needed him out of sight when you got rid of the stupid portrait.

Ah yes, your portrait that Baldwin had so lovingly commissioned and had managed to survive over 400 years and you needed to get rid of before it became a part of history permanently.

You looked around his large room, spotting a cloth covered pile in the corner. You marched to it and lifted the pile, recognising the loot. However, you didnt find your portrait in it.

Where is it?

You turned around to leave, only to freeze at the sight of the person standing there.

Mahidevran sultana.

All the other times you'd been caught, by Suleiman, by Mustafa- you always dropped your head into a courtesy. But now, with Mahidevran standing there with no expression on her face yet the daunting aura coming off her in waves- it had you frozen in spot.

You opened your mouth. Then closed it.

What do you say when you're caught red handed in a prince's chambers?

Mahidevran took a deep breath.

"Have you stolen it?"

You blinked.

"S-sultana?" Stolen what?

She raised an eyebrow, clasping her hands as she continued to put you under her sharp gaze.

"Have you stolen what you came for? What exactly were you looking for? Mustafa's gold? His jewels?" She tilted her head. "Dont try to deny that you didnt come here for nothing-"

"I did." Your throat went dry as her eyes narrowed. "I did come here for something. But I'm not stealing anything. I... am trying to earn it."

"And what exactly would be that?"

"Sehzade Mustafa's respect." God, where do I come up with such bull-

It was Mahidevran's turn to blink. Earn Mustafa's respect?

"I... dont know if I love the sehzade, but I do admire him. A lot. He has been very kind to me, very civil to me and... he's gifted me a lot. Not just with his expensive jewels, but also with his company. I just thought- I just wanted to return the favour. And I came here to learn more about him- to find out about his likes and dislikes."

At the end of your explanation, a small smile formed on Mahidevran lips.

"Then you should've just come to me." She walked upto you, her eyes much gentler than the hostility they held just moments ago. "Who would know him better than his own mother?"

You could only offer her a courteous smile and nod in agreement.

"Come now. I will teach you everything there is to know about Mustafa. I know him better than I know myself." She beckoned you to follow her, her heart beaming with pride at you finally making a real effort to pursue her son. Soon everything will fall into place, Mustafa will marry you and you'll give him his heirs and Suleiman will make him the next sultan and then finally, Mustafa will kill his brothers and Hurrem's reign will end.

As you walked out of his chambers, you saw Baris smirking and you knew instantly he didnt alert you about Mahidevran's arrival on purpose. He set you up. Just like Isabella, he will betray you every chance he gets.

But... where did the portrait go?

-

"Would you like to go out today?" Mustafa had decided to take you out of the palace, after Mahidevran told him to spend more time with you. He knew taking you out would make you happy, at least you dont seem to be so tense with him. With his father's permission, who was more than happy to accompany Mustafa to his province- Manisa for a few days. After all, you did deserve a short break from teaching his little sister.

And with Mehmet gone on a conquest, it was hard for Mihirmah alone to stop either of you from leaving and spending time together.

You happily agreed, at least this would give you more freedom to explore escape routes and fix your time machine?

Once again in disguises, Mustafa gave you a small tour of his province and you had to admit, he did a fantastic job managing Manisa all by himself. You definitely saw his administrative skills, how he improved the economy and even prepared the province for any future disasters.

After handling some official matters, Mustafa was surprised to see you waiting for him at the stables.

"Would you like to go hunting?" You asked, brushing the horses's mane.

Hunting? As a woman?

"You know how to hunt?"

"No."

"Then...?"

"I may not know how to hunt, but you do. So... shall we?" You asked patting the horse.

Mustafa helped you up on the horse. "Are you sure? Its not season yet, so it'll be hard to find any animals to hunt."

"Who said anything about animals?" You chuckle before galloping away.

It took him a few moments to shake out of the shock to understand your challenge. And then he mounted his horse and sped off after you.

Mustafa had never chased after anyone, much less a woman, but he had to admit- this was fun. And more than that, he was actually surprised at how good you were at riding. Your head leaned down into a straight line with your back, your calculated decisions when to stand and when to sit, you were far ahead of him. And he understood it wasnt your first time on a horse either.

Fortunately for you, you had both practical knowledge of physics and streamlining, as well as hours- DAYS of horseback riding from your time in Jerusalem. Just about four centuries ago?

However, Mustafa was still more skilled in horse riding and after finally catching upto you, he all but brought you to a halt when he blocked your path.

You both stared at each other, heaving and trying to catch your breath before breaking out into a laughter.

Thats how the two spent most of your time, riding and hunting small animals, Mustafa being in his element when he taught you archery, holding you close yet not uncomfortably, as he helped you aim bullseye. And somehow, you would soon hit the bullseye in his heart.

"And then, Qasim took the blame for me!" Mustafa laughed as you told him about your shenanigans from your childhood. You two were having dinner and after spending so much time together, making conversation had become so much easier.

"He took care of you, didnt he?" You nodded, smiling fondly at the mention of Qasim.

"As all elder brothers do, he was the best." Noticing the sadness in your eyes, Mustafa carefully asked you.

"So, you have no family left?" You shake your head. "No, they were all killed by some bad people. I only narrowly escaped them and found refuge with my grandparents before... before the Janissaries came and took me from them. And... here I am now."

Mustafa's heart wrench slightly. He knows the importance of family.

"I could take you to see them." He offered, but his expression turned puzzled when you turned him down.

"I appreciate that but... no. I cant meet them again, it'll be too much for them. The wound is still fresh, Mustafa. And if they were to see me again only to be taken away from them, accompanied by the Janissaries- they wouldnt recover. I wont hurt them again." You whispered the last part, looking off into the distance as you remembered the old couple who helped you.

"Maybe... maybe when we return home, we can go to the market again. Maybe I'll see them there, just from a distance?" Mustafa nodded at your request. How could he say no to such an innocent ask?

"How do you like Manisa?" Mustafa changed the subject.

You nodded in approval. "I had heard about how well you've done here, but when I saw the city... I must say I am very impressed, sehzade."

"You sound surprised. Did you not think I would be a good governor?" He teased as he poured you some tea. You chuckled.

"I am not surprised. I am proud." He froze. "It definitely takes a lot to run a province properly, especially when you have a lot of pressure on you, not just from the sultan but from the very people you're responsible for. And while you have managed the finances as well as put a stop to all revolts, crushed the rebels- all amazing feats, but what really stands out for me is that you've earned the love."

"Love?" "Mmhm. Its very easy to be in a position of power and make people fear you. But its much harder to have their love. And... I'm very pleased to tell you that I have not heard one word, not a single person who had anything except praises for sehzade Mustafa."

"I am very proud of you, Mustafa." You stated, your eyes smiling from your veil.

Mustafa felt as if time had stopped.

I am very proud of you, Mustafa.

Those words, that praise... isnt that what he's yearned for all his life? Sure, Mahidevran may have said those words to him many times, but she's his mother. She always sings his praises.

I am very proud of you, Mustafa.

His father has never said it to him, but he's heard Suleiman say it to Mehmed.

With his younger brother, Mehmed, Mustafa understands that Suleiman may love him just a bit more than him. Truly, Mustafa loves Mehmed too. Its natural for him to feel affection for his younger brother.

But... doesnt he deserve to be praised by his father too? Doesnt he have the right to get a pat on his shoulder for a job well done? Or is it just "his duty as a prince" everytime he works hard? Or is it that no matter what he does, how well he does it, he'll never earn Suleiman's priority over Mehmed because his father loves Hurrem more than Mahidevran? Because of his mother? Still, she is his first wife. And still, he is Suleiman's first born. Doesnt he ever deserve to even delude himself that he has a chance at being the next sultan? At being chosen?

"Mustafa?" Your soft voice breaks him out of his trance.

"Sorry, you were saying?" He tried to smile, his mind still plagued by his previous thoughts.

You point at the box you had place in front of him. "I got you a small present, for all the times I um- lost your brooches." You coughed and he chuckled, shaking his head.

"I know Mihirmah was the one taking them from you. You dont have to lie to me, Y/n." Amusement twinkled in his eyes as he picked up your box.

You smiled sheepishly. Hey, you're glad that he isnt mad at you for that spoilt brat stealing his gifts off you.

Upon opening the box, Mustafa's grin widened as a small chuckle escaped him.

Its a small crocheted rose, a pin dangling for him to attach it to his collar.

"I know its useless next to your precious jewelled brooches and even though your mom was more than happy to give me some jewels, I wanted to give you something different. You dont have to wear it-"

"Will you place it on me?" Mustafa cut you off. You nodded as you moved closer to him and took the rose from him. "Where should I put it? Turban? Collar? Chest?"

"Wherever it'll be the most prominent." He smiled gently. You leaned closer as you carefully pinned the rose to his chest.

Mustafa held his breath as he stared at your focused eyes, and he doesnt remember the last time he was so attentive to studying someones eyes. He never realised how long your lashes were, or the crease in your eyelid, or the different shades in your eye, or the way his heart skipped a beat when you looked up at him, or the way his heart warmed when your pupils dilated and he was ready to give you the world if you asked for it.

"Perfect." He whispered as you finished placing the rose on him, but his eyes never left yours.

He finally broke out of the trance when you moved away, averting your eyes and he figured he must've been too obvious.

"Thank you." He cleared his throat before looking down at his rose. "How did you learn to... embroidery?" He changed the subject once more.

"This isnt embroidery. Its crochet." You explain to him that you learned it from your mother, which is true. Your mother, who despite having a degree in STEM, had to work as a seamstress when she moved back to your hometown to make ends meet. Only thing you left out was that your mother hated crocheting, and she only did it when she was mad, so anytime you spotted a crocheted sweater or scarf or anything, you knew your mom was having a bad day. It was ironic at how something so cute could come out of such a negative emotion, but perhaps thats what she was trying to teach you. She wanted you to channel out your negative energy into something beautiful and to be honest, crocheting did relax you because of how long it took and how repetitive it was. By the time you were done crocheting, you had processed your emotions and kept yourself in check AND now had an adorable, soft product to play with.

(Deep down you knew she was worried from how many times you had decided to use your brain to come up with elaborate pranks to get back at people. So, as mom would say- "crochet your anger away, Y/n.")

Mustafa smiled at your memories.

"I would like to give you something as well, Y/n. Ask for anything." You tried to refuse but upon his insistence, you finally sighed exaggeratively, as if this wasnt exactly what you wanted.

"Do you remember that portrait? The one in your loot when we first met?"

Mustafa nodded. "I do. But unfortunately, I had given it away to a Roman diplomat as goodwill." He watched your shoulders drop.

"Ask me for something else." He offered again but you waved him off, saying you dont want anything else at the moment.

By the time you two left Manisa, Mustafa had decided that he was going to marry you.

He likes you, he doesnt know if you love him but he does know for sure that you respect. And he respects you.

Respect. Isnt it more important than love? Not all relationships, not all marriages are out of love, Mustafa knows that. But any good marriage can only work if both parties respect each other, if they trust each other.

His father loves Mahidevran, some part of him still does love her despite marrying Hurrem. And he's sure that a small part of him loved every concubine his father slept with, but... not everyone had his respect.

No, Suleiman only loved AND respected Hurrem. He loved Mahidevran, but he didnt respect her. If he did, he wouldnt have humiliated her by marrying Hurrem, a slave, He wouldnt have humiliated her by having five kids with the same woman while neglecting his mother. He wouldnt have humiliated Mustafa by favouring Mehmed over him at every chance.

Mustafa doesnt have Suleiman's respect.

But he has yours. And his mother's. And of the people of Manisa. And that is enough for him.

Thumbing the crocheted rose, he could only hope you dont mind that he lied to you about the portrait. Its in his chambers, here in Manisa. For him to stare at, to clear his mind as he peered into those eyes above the paint smudges, that looked eerily similar to yours.

-

On returning to Constantinople (present day known as Istanbul), Mustafa had allowed you two first stop at the market as per your request of buying some souvenirs for the family, but he knew that was just an excuse for you to see your grandfather.

He watched you spot the old man in the market as you stood by the blacksmith, buying a dagger for Mihirmah despite your eyes being trained on the sad man who was busy buying vegetables. You two were still in disguises, with the guards undercover as well, when there was a commotion.

Your grandfather was being harassed by the same merchant who had given him money and Mustafa would like to think that he interfered because it was his duty as a Muslim and as a sehzade to stop evil, but deep down, he knows he only stepped in to impress you.

Mustafa and a couple of the Janissaries, all disguised as civilians, walked upto the merchant and pushed him off the old man. Before the merchant could start heckling, Mustafa threw a pouch of gold coins and told him that the debt is paid. Period.

He didnt have to say out loud the outcome if he bothered your old man again.

By the time Mustafa returned by your side, standing tall as you looked at him gratefully.

I am proud of you, Mustafa.

"Thank you." You tell him, and Mustafa's heart soars at your validation.

You respect him.

Mustafa looked to the side, the tip of his ears turning pink. "Did you get a present for Mihirmah?"

You nodded, showing him the dagger you bought (with the money Suleiman had been paying you for teaching). He approved it, and you two returned to Topkapi palace, not knowing about the shit storm that was about to come.

-

Mehmet watched from the balcony as you returned to the palace with Mustafa beside you, laughing openly as his elder brother looked at you in a way that he never wanted anyone besides him to look at you.

Mustafa would've liked to walked you to your room but after he was called by his mother, you assured him you'll make it to your room just fine.

What you werent expecting was to find Mehmed standing in the hallway, waiting for you to be alone. He wasnt supposed to return so early from his province, but after Mihirmah wrote to him about you fleeing away with Mustafa to Manisa, he wrapped up his work there and came home straight away. He thought he made it clear what his intentions were with you, but it seems like sweet talking didnt make a dent on you.

"Sehzade-" You stopped your greeting when you saw him march towards you, and you involuntarily took a step back. His body language was not friendly at the moment.

"What were you doing with Mustafa?" He seethed, his arms behind his back as if holding himself back from lashing out.

"I- I went out to get a present for Mihirmah-" You began showing him the dagger but he cut you off.

"Why?"

"Why?" You didnt understand his question. "Why what? I was away in Manisa-"

"Why?"

You frowned this time. What was he asking?

"Because sehzade Mustafa invited me-"

"Why?"

You couldnt help but glare at him annoyed. Why what?

"Because I wanted to get out of the palace-"

"Why?"

"What do you want me to say?" You finally asked. Mehmet glare intensified at your question. "You're clearly accusing me of something, so say it."

"Why did you leave the palace?"

"I told you, I went to Manisa on sehzade's invitation." You paused, trying to piece together the reason for his behaviour. Jealousy? "I couldnt have turned sehzade Mustafa's invitation, it wouldve been rude-"

"This isnt about Mustafa!" He snapped. "You shouldnt have left the palace in the first place!"

"And why not? I'm not a slave who is bound to these walls." You reminded him gently, but his patience seemed to have worn thin.

"And neither is my mother, nor Mihirmah but they still stay here, only leaving when the sultan takes them along."

You looked at him in confusion. What was he getting at?

Mehmed seemed to get even more angry at your bewilderment. "There's a reason women stay in their homes. Its not safe for them out there."

"I appreciate your concern, but I doubt anyone would want to hurt me. I am not a princess or a part of royalty. My status is far too low for anyone to even bat an eye my way-"

He laughed humourlessly. "Status? You think I'm talking about protecting you from enemies of the empire?" Mehmed neared you as you took another step back. "You're in danger from the world. You're in danger from those very men that see you everytime you walk out of these palace walls. You're a walking temptation for these men and their disgusting, vile thoughts."

You blinked at him. Is he- did he just say you tempt men?

"How can I tempt men when I'm covered from head to toe?" You point at your niqaab and your chaddar.

"YOU'RE A WOMAN! THAT ALONE IS TEMPTATION ENOUGH FOR LINGERING EYES!" He yelled as an angry vein pops up in his temple. "It doesnt matter that not an inch of your skin is visible, but the moment these men know that you're a woman, you're meat for them. You attract their attention when you leave the palace walls, you attract their eyes when they see your feminine shadow, you attract their ears when they hear your soft voice, you attract their nose when you pass by them with your sweet scent. Even if they cant see your face, your existence alone is enough to plague their minds!" He points at your niqaab. "This veil that you seem so proud of? That you think protects you from male gaze? It only makes men to want to rip it off you more!"

You're staring at him in utter disbelief. Aint no way- no way this man is accusing you of tempting men, all while insulting your niqaab.

"I dont know what men you're talking about, but you're wrong if you think I'm using my veil, my covered body to invite men to stare at me." Your tone barely suppresses your anger. "I am surprised to hear you say such things. How can you pass such comments when your own mother and sister are-"

"I can pass such comments because my mother and sister stay within the damn palace! They dont go around sauntering like you, provoking men!" He yelled, his arms no longer behind his back, hands balled up into fists.

"Do you hear yourself? You're not making any sense-"

"I AM THE NEXT SULTAN! I AM UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO MAKE SENSE TO YOU!" He spat.

"How can I provoke men when my face is covered?!" You snapped back, reaching your wits.

Hearing your voice get loud, Mehmed's fury reached new levels as he backed you upto the wall, your eyes wide as he closed the distance between you. "You think you're safe?" He whispered harshly, his eyes boring holes into you. His hand reached up and grabbed your niqaab, threatening to yank it off you. "You think this piece of cloth can protect you? What can you- what can you possibly do if I were to rip this off you? Do you think you can stop me from making your worst nightmares come to life?"

Mehmed did not relish the fear in your eyes, nor did he enjoy the tear that escaped them. But like a child who needs admonishing to keep them from harms way, he found it necessary to reprimand you.

"Dont leave the palace again, Y/n." He said, his tone softening but still stern. "I dont want anyone, man or woman to see you. I dont trust anyone around you. Understand?" He patted your cheek to make you nod, and he finally backed away and left you alone in the hall.

Well, you're never truly alone in the palace. Especially when you have enemies. And who is your enemy, Y/n?

Everyone who is envious.

-

Word of your heated moment reached Mahidevran through the servants whispers, about how close you and Mehmed were, how he had pushed you upto the wall, a raunchy scene for anyone to walk in on, how Mehmed had lifted up your veil and traced your skin.

And of course, Mahidevran is inclined to believe these spicy rumors. She's experienced first hand what power hungry women can do when they put their mind to it. And her blood boils at how you're playing both princes, as if Mehmed could ever compete with her precious Mustafa!

Mahidevran all but screams at the maids to bring you to her, her hands shaking at the thought of you cheating on Mustafa- that too just moments earlier Mustafa was telling her how much he liked you and was ready to marry you.

You. You're ruining the plan. The plan to have Mustafa become the next sultan. Because- because you've been put to it by Hurrem, havent you? Isnt that why you're trying to make her son go after you while you pursue Mehmed? You want Mustafa to lose- you want Mahidevran to lose!

When you enter her chambers, Mahidevran all but sees red at the sight of you. You'r thrown to the ground and it doesnt register at first the hard smack she delivered to your face. But as soon as you look up at her, she lunges at you and continues to slap you over and over again, hurling curses at you, calling you all sorts of derogatory names, all while you try to save your face from her assaults because even if you could fight back, you couldnt hurt a sultan's wife.

"HOW CAN YOU CHEAT ON MY MUSTAFA?! MY LION! YOU FUCKING WHORE-!" She shrieked as she continued to slap you, her nails embedding into your skin and scratching it. Your face had gone numb from her slaps, and you couldnt verbalise a response even if you tried, her hands cutting you off everytime you tried to speak, leaving you to just cry and scream.

The guards and servants heard both your cries and Mahidevrans screams, but they didnt dare interfere. How could they? The sultana could easily have their heads chopped off for interrupting her punishment.

Mahidevran's own hands had gone numb from her thrashing, but her anger overtook any sense of self preservation as she continued to beat you to a pulp. Neither of you knows how long it had been until she was pulled off you.

"Mahidevran!" You watched bleary eyed as a red head came into the view. "Have you lost your mind?!" She admonished the queen.

Hurrem turned to look at you, grimacing at your bloodied face.

"Baris." She nodded at him to help you.

Baris immediately picked you up in his arms and carried you out of there.

You watched through tired eyes at Baris's concerned face as he looked down at you.

"Shit- sorry for taking so long to save you." He whispered, watching you slip in and out of consciousness.

You dont remember how, but the next moment you opened your eyes, you were in Hurrem's chambers with Baris tending to your wounds and Hurrem sitting on the ottoman watching you with a steady gaze.

You wince as Baris placed ointment on your busted lip.

"Careful, Baris." Hurrem warned, standing up and walking upto you. "She looks worse enough as it is. We dont need her falling unconscious in front of the sultan because you treated her injuries too harshly. He'll have your head chopped off." She joked though neither you nor Baris laughed; after all her words did hold some truth.

Wait- sultan?

"S-sultan?" You croaked, and Baris quickly helped you drink some water. "Why- why is the sultan coming?"

Hurrem looked at you in confusion. "Why? So that Suleiman could see what Mahideravn did to you and finally get rid of her. After all, Suleiman did warn anyone to not harm you. So, we can finally get rid of that thorn for once and for all." She sighed dreamily before looking at you. "All you have to do is cry in front of him and tell him how cruel Mahidevran is-"

"N-no." Baris's hand that was tending to you scratched cheek halted at your interruption.

"Excuse me?" Hurrem's sharp tone sent shivers down your spine.

"No. I wont say Mahidevran did this to me." In actual history, Mahidevran despite being exiled, outlives Suleiman, Hurrem and all their children. If you were to confess to what Mahidevran did, it would run the risk of Suleiman punishing her to the dungeons or worse, either way putting her life at risk and ruining the timeline.

"But she did do this to you." Hurrem stated, frowning at your attempt at denial. Or was it defense? "Ah, is it because you love Mustafa? You dont want to put his mother in trouble?"

"No. Mahidevran may have hurt me, but sehzade Mehmed was the reason. Your son did this and if you force me to confess, then that is what I will say- Mehmed did this to me." You replied, voice unwavering despite your heart beating loudly against your chest.

"Are you threatening me?" Hurrem glared at your audacity. Baris could sense the impending doom, and he feared you were at the receiving end of it this time.

"No." You swallowed. "I am merely stating at how this will play out. I suggest you dont have the sultan come and see me, better yet- throw me out of this palace altogether."

Hurrem stared at your bruised face and then she saw the determination in your eyes. She shot a look to Baris that had him scurrying you out of the room to give you two privacy.

"Even if you dont rat out Mahidevran, I can."

"You could. And then I will tell the sultan that it didnt happen, and you'll end up looking like a jealous second wife pinning the blame on the first wife." You tell her, watching as her face turned red with fury. "You could always let me go."

"Let you go? Why should I help you leave? And dont try to use Mehmed's behaviour with you as an excuse."

"Behaviour? He ordered me that I dont leave the palace walls ever because he thinks that I seem to invite men to leer at me." You tattled on him. "It may seem hard to believe sultana, but I dont wish to marry any of the princes, nor do I wish to stay within this palace. You know that the only reason I'm still here is because I couldnt say no to the sultan. But if you were to help me escape-"

You were silenced as Mahidevran burst through the door, her eyes zeroing in on Hurrem standing next to you.

"You-! You set me up! Both of you!" She shrieked as she stomped over to you two but Baris walked in with Mustafa, Mehmed and Mihirmah, all looking at the state of your injured face. They all stared at you, but it was Mehmed's eyes that pricked you and you quickly grabbed your veil, tying it around your face to cover it.

Mihirmah rushed to your side, grabbing you by the shoulders. "Y/n! Who did this to you?!"

You didnt bother looking at Hurrem or Mahidevran when you replied.

"I dont know."

Mihirmah's brows knitted together. "You... dont know? It was a blind attack? Did you not see who was attacking you? Or did you just not recognise the attacker?"

You took a deep breath.

"I dont know."

Mehmed stepped forward, eyes narrowing at your answer. "What do you mean-"

He stopped talking when the doors opened again and in walked Suleiman and Ibrahim, the sultan's eyes scanning the room before falling on you.

You had stood up to bow to him and you kept your head down for as long as you could to not draw attention.

But Mihirmah had other plans in mind.

"Dad! Y/n was attacked again! So much worse this time!" She cried, clinging onto your shoulder.

Suleiman's concern grew as he looked you up and down, reading your body language: head down, shoulders tense, hands fumbling.

You were afraid.

"Y/n?" He gently called your name as you hesitantly looked up. Its hard enough to lie to sultan, but lying when you look him dead in the eyes is a whole another thing.

"Show me." He commanded, and you had no choice but to comply, as your slowly removed your veil.

Suleiman's eyes widened at the state of your face- bruised, bloodied and swollen. He walked closer, eyes watching you in disbelief. Who could have done this to you, that too in his palace?

"Who did this to you?"

You averted your eyes, lest they betrayed you. "I- I dont know."

"You didnt see them?" Suleiman was as confused as Mihirmah. "Did they attack you from behind? No- they scarred your face, they attacked you from the front. You should've seen them. Did you recognise them?"

You kept your head down. Shit. What are you supposed to say now?

"Y/n?" You looked up at him. Suleiman saw fear. "Dont be scared. Tell me- who did this to you?"

You swallowed thickly. "I dont know."

"Did you see their face?"

"I- yes." There was no point in lying about it when he already presented logic.

"Then? Who was it?"

"I dont know- I dont remember." You whispered.

Mustafa was trying to make sense of your statement when he glanced at his mother. Mahidevran was shifting on her feet nervously, clasping her hands tightly as she glared at you.

No. No, she couldnt have.

Suleiman's gaze hardened at your words. Who were you protecting? Or did you really not recognise who it was?

"Ibrahim." The vizir stepped forward. "Find out who did this to Y/n." Suleiman ordered as he stood up, turning around to leave when his eyes fell on Mahidevran, who was looking at him with a tight lipped smile.

"Are you alright, Mahidevran?" He asked his first wife, who nodded eagerly.

"Y-yes. Of course, my sultan! I'm just- I'm just worried for Y/n." Suleiman studied her for a few more moments before he turned his attention to Hurrem.

"You did right by informing me about this, Hurrem." He praised his second wife, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. "I trust you to take care of Y/n, hm?"

Hurrem bowed her head and feigned a smile. "Of course, Suleiman." However, the sultan spotted her smile faltering and for a second, he saw her glancing at Mahidevran before averting her gaze.

Something was wrong. Suleiman's sixth sense was keeping him unsettled.

He looked at Mahidevran again, this time more closely as he studied her from top to bottom and thats when he saw it-

Her hands hiding under her sleeves.

Suleiman walked to Mahidevran and before anyone could react, he grabbed her hands and pulled.

Mahidevran's knuckles were bruised, her nails stained with your blood, her palms red.

"You did this to her?" He asked in disbelief. His Mahidevran? He knew she was a little unhinged at times, lost control of her emotions but... was she really capable of such violence?

"Suleiman I- she-"

"You're not denying." His grip tightened around her hands. "Mahidevran, have you lost your mind?!"

"Suleiman-"

"SILENCE!" He pushed her away, eyes blown wide in rage. Mahidevran trembled at the sight. "Have you completely lost it?! Why would you do this to her?! She's just a child! What is wrong with you?!"

Mahidevran fell to her knees, begging him for forgiveness. "Suleiman, I'm sorry-"

"Sorry? You're sorry?! LOOK AT HER! LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO HER!" He pointed at your face. "Why did you do this? What could she have possibly done to you to deserve this?"

"Suleiman, I only-" She stopped. What reason could she give? She cant tell him about you cheating on Mustafa with Mehmed, nor would it do her any good to pin the blame on Hurrem now. It would only weaken her position and cause Mustafa trouble.

Mustafa. She has to do this for him, to save his throne.

She mustered up all her courage, casting her ego aside as she looked at you.

"I'm sorry, Y/n."

Your heart dropped. No. Mahidevran just admitted to her crime. Suleiman will punish her. She will die- no, no no-

"Its okay, sultana. It was an accident." Everyone was looking at you now.

"An accident?" Mihirmah asked.

You nodded. "I- I entered her chambers while she was asleep. I startled the sultana, she thought I was an intruder- that I came to attack her. The room was dark- she couldnt have recognised me- it was all an accident."

Everyone knew it was big fat lie, but then again, no one was willing to refute your claims. On what grounds? With no proof, they were all inclined to take your word, even if they didnt believe it.

Suleiman looked back at Mahidevran. "You still didnt have any right to beat her that badly. You've truly lost it, Mahidevran. If you werent Mustafa's mother, I would've-" He took a breath to calm himself down. "You cant stay here anymore. I exile you to Manisa." And with that Suleiman walked out of the room.

-

Mustafa had left your room to see off his mother. He came to you after to thank you for trying to cover for Mahidevran, despite his father still banishing her.

Then again, exile was the least painful punishment for what she did to you.

He held his mother's hands as the servants packed her belongings. He wanted to go to Manisa with her, but she refused to let him accompany her.

"You must stay here, Mustafa." She cupped his cheek. "You need to protect Y/n. All this time, I thought she was cheating on you but Hurrem set her and me up. She wanted this to happen, for me to hurt Y/n! You must stay here and protect Y/n from Hurrem and Mehmed. Do you understand?" Mahidevran's habit of blaming everyone but herself for her actions prevailed over logic as usual.

He nodded, kissing the palm of her hand. "The next time we meet, I will bring her to you as my wife."

A bright smile graced her face as she quickly took off her own ring and gave it to him.

"I will pray for you, my lion." She kissed his forehead. Mustafa smiled, pulling her in for a hug.

"Dont worry about Mehmed, hm? He wont be a hurdle." She whispered to him.

Mustafa didnt understand what she meant about Mehmed, his own mind occupied by you. He saw how angry his father was when it came to you, almost as protective as he was of Mihirmah, how quick he was to have his mother- a queen on her knees, for you. He knew his dad never respected Mahidevran, but his actions were also ruled over by his concern for you.

Mustafa now understands how dire the situation is. He now understands why his mother wanted him to marry you. You- you are the key to having the throne, the key to ruling the empire, the key to everything.

-

While Hurrem was busy "calming" Suleiman down, which in fact was really just her getting praised for being a good wife, queen and most importantly now- "a mother figure to Y/n", for how quickly she took action and saved you from Mahidevran, how she tended to your wounds and brought you to her chambers rather than "risking Mahidevran attacking you by leaving you in the infirmary", her eldest was in your room.

Baris had just helped you sit on the sofa and was tending to your wounds when Mehmed, the sehzade who had just moments ago seen Mustafa leave your room, had his blood boiling at the sight of your face uncovered as Baris applied healing balms to your wounds.

"Get out." He ordered Baris, who looked at you before leaving the room.

Mehmed sat down beside you, picking up the healing balm and was about to apply it to your skin when you turned your face away.

"I can do it myself, sehzade-"

"Mehmed." He corrected you before turning your face to him harshly. "If you can do it yourself, then why let Baris do it? Do you enjoy his touch?" His tone was accusatory and full of jealousy, and you were getting real tired of it.

"I'm sorry, I was far too disoriented to notice it was a man who was tending to my wounds." Your sarcasm made his eyes narrow at you, as he continued to apply the ointment.

"Baris is not a man, he's a eunuch." And yet he's jealous of him. "And its not about a man touching you, i dont want anyone touching my wife-to-be."

"I dont remember agreeing to a proposal-"

"Then let me refresh your memory." He cut you off. "When I said "I love you", I meant we were to be married. As for a proposal, there never was one and there never will be one because I am a sehzade, and the next sultan. You dont get to say no to me. Do I make myself clear?"

If you had the means to get out of this era, you would've slapped the egoistical, chauvinistic, toxic man in front of you.

"Yes." You replied.

Mehmed stood up, but before he left, he looked at your veil.

"If you have to remove your veil to let your injuries heal, you better make sure you're alone."

Asshole.

-

A few weeks later, you were once again standing in the harem with the rest of the royals. Today, the sultan had to leave to go on a conquest. Ibrahim was also leaving, which unnerved you because you dont want to stay in a place without the only sane person who had your back.

Sure, Baris saved you but you knew better than to trust that piece of shit because his loyalty could be easily bought. Just like how you knew Hurrem did indeed was paying him to follow you, let you get beat up, and then fetch her to be your "saviour". And you knew that the only reason Baris would help you ever again, was because he had his own agenda on being your personal servant if you were to marry one of the princes.

Suleiman and Ibrahim entered the harem, ready to receive farewell from his family.

Hurrem was the first in line, kissing his hand and then him, before Suleiman pulled her in his embrace.

"I trust you to take care of the palace in my absence." He said to her, patting her cheek affectionately.

"Of course. I pray for your victory, Suleiman. May Allah sharpen your sword and defeat the enemy." She wished him well.

Suleiman then went down the queue, hugging his sons, daughters, favourite women of the harem, and then you.

"You will be safe here, Y/n." He watched you kiss his ring before bringing his hand to your forehead. With your head bowed, he kissed your the top of your head. "When I return, I have something important I'd like to discuss with you."

Your heart dropped. Discuss something important? Like what?

"Your marriage to his son, girl!" You heard Baris's voice in the back of your head.

Ibrahim only hugged Suleiman's sons, the royal women offering him words of support and prayers. When he reached you, you gave him a quick courtesy and a small prayer, but your eyes- they screamed for help.

Ibrahim! Dont leave me!

And Ibrahim got your message, but with everyone watching, he could do nothing but nod and move on.

As soon Suleiman left with his troops, you quickly made your way to return to your chambers to hide away until they returned. After your incident with Mahidevran, you had taken some precautions from being mauled again because really- who can you trust around here?

Mihirmah would come to your room to get her lessons, which now with her father gone, you doubt she will come to get them. Fine by you really, she's still a brat who finds glee in flipping you over your back.

Mehmed was much harder to avoid, he insisted on having lunch with you (because Hurrem wanted all her kids together with her at dinner). And these lunches were quiet stiff, because Mehmed may not be threatening you or showing off his jealousy, you still havent forgotten his remarks and you didnt really talk besides giving him curt replies, which he doesnt notice because his head is so far up his-

Mustafa was the normal one among them, and while he did offer you to take you out to the market or even the gardens, you didnt. Not because you were scared of Mehmed finding out, no. It was because- well, what happened to Mahidevran. Mustafa may have come to you and thanked you for trying to cover up for her, but no matter what way you see it- his mother was thrown out of the palace because of you.

And he has to hold some grudge against you for it. No matter how much he smiles, how many gifts he gives you, you just cannot risk him taking you the gardens or the market where there are no witnesses when "someone" ambushes you.

You've used most of your time holed up in your room with your time machine because the last time you went out with Mustafa to the market, you were able to get some tools and metals from the blacksmith while Mustafa was busy saving your "grandfather".

-

Its been 2 weeks since Suleiman left. Two weeks since you've been on high alert around this mad house, two weeks since you started losing sleep from all the stress and tension of being around Mehmed and Mustafa. Sure, Ibrahim gave you a entourage of maids and guards to keep you safe before he left, but how could that put you at ease when your entourage could fall with the flick of the wrist from these royals.

You've been able to repair your time machine as much as you could, but it still hasnt worked. You dont understand what you need to do, you've even tried smashing it against the ground like the last time you transported, but no. It didnt help.

You sat on the bench on the balcony, the same one when Ibrahim was here with you. You came here to get some fresh air, and you hoped Baris doesnt run into you because you just have it in you to hear him make a comment about the bags under your eyes.

The sky was filled with dark clouds again, the wind chilly and you smiled under your veil.

It was going to rain today.

Your mind flashed back to the last time you were here with Ibrahim. Just like now, you were worried and tense then. But he was there to calm you down, to put your mind to ease.

"You should feel air as well." He said with his eyes closed. "It'll relax your mind."

You closed your eyes as his voice came to mind.

"Enjoy these moments when you can, Y/n. They're rare."

You glanced behind you, at your entourage. The guards had their back to you, looking away from you and the maids. The maids all stood behind you, giving you space. They could see your stress.

A gentle breeze hit your face, and it was enough to push you.

You quietly removed your veil, setting it beside you before loosening up your headscarf.

A sigh escaped your lips as the gentle breeze cooled your neck, your tense shoulders dropping at the earthy scent of rain. You closed your eyes, trying to imagine yourself back in your time, back when you were a child, carefree and stress-free.

Home. I want to go home.

"Y/N!" Your respite was cut short by Mehmed's angry scream, who looked at you like he'd just witnessed the greatest crime you could ever commit: sitting unveiled, with part of your hair exposed along with your neck.

"What the hell are you doing?!" You quickly grabbed your niqaab and tied it around your head as you saw storm towards you, his guards following behind him.

"Mehmed- I-"

"You what?! You were sitting here EXPOSED! With the servants to watch!" He yelled at you, grabbing your arm painfully as he yanked you from your seat. "Didnt I explicitly tell you to fucking stay covered! Do you like putting on a show for-"

"ENOUGH!" Something in you snapped. "I wont have you accuse me over and over again! I was not putting on a show, Mehmed! I was just getting some air! Do I not deserve it?! As for putting on a show- the guards had their backs turned, they werent staring at me! Only the maids were behind me, and they too werent able to see my face! Now, let go!"

Mehmed's grip on your arm only tightened, and you almost yelped in pain if you werent so busy glaring at him. "Just because you think they didnt see you face, doesnt mean its alright for you to sit naked!" He yanked you closer as he bared his teeth at you. "I told you not to to ever remove your niqaab in front of others. You disobeyed me- my command! And now you will pay the price! As will they!" He yelled at his guards to arrest you entire entourage and throw them to the dungeons.

"Mehmed, stop-" "Shut up!" He yelled as he began dragging you away and towards his own room, throwing you inside.

He stalked towards you. "Since you seem to have no sense of preservation for your modesty, I suppose I will have to help you out as your husband-to-be. You will stay here until I return and if you try to escape, I swear to God, Y/n! I will fucking break your legs!"

You watched in horror as he left the room, locking it from outside and you dont doubt he had guards outside not to let anyone in or out.

I cant stay here any longer- I cant rely on Ibrahim any longer. Mehmed has fucking lost it, and I need to get out of here right now.

You fumble out your time machine, trying to turn it on to any time period really- you cant stay here anymore.

"Fuck!" You throw it against the wall, crying into your hands out of frustration. Why the fuck wont it work? A few moments later, you finally pick it up, pocketing it back in your clothes.

Hours passes by as you sat on the floor, crying at your demise, waiting for Mehmed to return and do whatever his insane self pleases.

The room had darkened, and you suspected it was night now. You look down and find the bracelet on your hand, the one Suleiman gave you and an idea popped in your head.

Bribery.

You knocked at the door.

"Hello? Whoever is out there- please- just open the door! I'll give you my jewels! Anything you need, I'm willing to pay!" You plead for a few minutes before slamming your hands against the wood, falling to your knees as you sobbed. "Please! I'm begging you! Help me-!" You stumbled back as the doors swung open.

"Well, if this is how quickly you resort to going on your knees, I have failed as a teacher." Baris grinned at you from above.

"B-baris?" You sniffled as he helped you stand up. "What are you-"

"I'm saving your ass. Duh." He pulled you out of the room, looking out both ways before taking the path on the left. You spot two guards lying on the ground.

"How did you-" You point at the them but he drags you along.

"I'm not just a pretty face, Y/n. You seriously underestimate me." He comments, his eyes scanning for anymore people. "Now we must make haste. Otherwise, your lover boy may take a break from the dungeons to torture us instead-" He stopped talking when he looked at you.

"Torture? Baris, what did Mehmed do to them?" Your entourage was thrown into the dungeons. Baris avoided your eyes. "Baris." You insisted.

"He's having their eyes stitched up for staring at you."

You face paled. Mehmed is insane. He's fucking insane. Baris took your hand and dragged your shellshocked body.

The two of you soon made it out of the palace undetected. 4 horses and 5 women waited for you two there. You recognised them- they were from the harem.

"Baris, what are you- why are they here?" You whispered harshly. If the palace finds out there are concubines missing, it'll only cause more trouble for you and him.

"Relax, they're here to help us." He waves at them, making them giggle before he looks back at you. "We will all get on the horses and take different paths to throw the Janissaries off long enough for you to escape."

"Escape to where?"

"Wherever you want to go. I would suggest going West and leaving the empire altogether, maybe go to the Romans. Keep a low profile and try not to seduce any more unhinged men." He pokes fun at you, despite the situation you're in.

You chuckle, tears of gratefulness in your eyes. "Thank you, Baris." You sniffle, taking off your bracelet. "Here. You can have this. Its the least I can do-"

"Girl, you need it more than I do." Baris pushes the bracelet back to you. "Besides, I've already been compensated generously."

"By who?" You ask and he gives you a knowing look. "Ibrahim?" He nods.

"He had been paying me since the moment you set foot in the palace to keep you safe. You think I just stuck around you because I like you so much?" You slapped his shoulder, making him laugh. "Okay, you werent all that bad. But wherever you go, I'm sure Ibrahim pasha will find you."

"And why is that?"

"Well, he was going to marry you." "What?" Baris looked at you confused. "You dont know? Ibrahim pasha talked to Sultan Suleiman about this. The sultan gave his blessing, but he wanted to ask for your consent as well. But then they went to war-"

So thats what Suleiman wanted to discuss with you.

"Anyways, Ibrahim pasha had given me permission to do whatever is necessary to keep you safe, even if it meant taking you out of the palace- or- well staging your kidnapping. When the time comes, Ibrahim pasha will find you and I will be long gone by then." Baris explained.

"You're willing to leave the palace behind? For me? I thought you liked it here." You were touched at his willingness to help you, even if he was taking money.

Baris shrugged, looking at Topkapi palace longingly. "I've had my fun here. Its time for me to go somewhere else. Have a fresh start, where I'm no longer a slave."

You smiled, nodding understandingly. "And them? Are they willing to risk it all for me as well?"

"Oh no. They're in love with me. And when they heard I was leaving, they decided to come along. Just cant get enough of me." You shot him a look. "We might start a brothel. You should come visit with Ibrahim pasha someday."

"Why the fuck would I go to a brothel-" He broke into laughter at your reaction.

"I'm just joking! But do visit me, hm?" He took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. He helped you up on the horse before mounting his with a girl behind him, the others mounting the other horses.

"Thank you, Baris. For everything." Baris gave you a nod. You suddenly heard yells from behind you.

"Time to go!" Baris yelled.

-

You were galloping through the woods, the same forrest where you had first landed here. It was raining dogs and cats, making it hard for you to see ahead of you and even harder for the horse to run through the wet ground.

Your mind wandered back to Ibrahim. All this time, you thought he'd abandoned you and yet he was the one who had your back.

Was he really going to marry you?

You doubt he would've. Or even if he did, the question was- would you have said yes?

Maybe. He is the sane one of the ottomans, and apparently the only one who is willing to help you. You're sure he wouldnt have done anything unbecoming of a man even if you married him. And why would you not marry him? It buys you time to work on your machine and get out of this era, AND it protects you from the royals, especially Mehmed.

Mehmed. Your heart wrenched at the thought of him punishing those poor servants. Did he really have their eyes stitched up? What would he have done to you on returning? More importantly, what would he have done if he caught you escaping.

"I'll break your fucking legs!"

You shuddered at his threat, leaning down to speed through the woods.

Maybe God finally cut you a break- how else could you explain all this? Baris being the one to break you out, despite you being sure he'd betray you the first chance he gets. Ibrahim pasha having your back all this time. You escaping the palace without the Janissaries or anyone hot on your tail. Maybe your time machine will finally work too. Maybe you'll finally make it out of here. Maybe you just lucked out-

You heard the clouds above you roar loudly and in the next moment, you heard yourself scream as you were blinded by a white flash, throwing you off your horse.

You laid on the ground, pain radiating throughout your body, vision blurry, palpitations in your ear as you tried to make sense of what had happened.

A lightening strike.

You were struck by lightening.

If you werent in so much pain, rapidly losing consciousness, you wouldve laughed at your fortune.

Lucked out?

More like out of luck.

-

Mustafa had walked in on Mehmed screaming and threatening to kill every servant, his sword bloody. Looking behind his younger brother, he spotted two headless guards.

"Mehmed?" He asked cautiously.

"She escaped! She fucking ran!" Mehmed yelled before he could ask what was wrong. He raised his sword to cut off yet another head, but Mustafa stopped him.

"Tell me what happened." Mustafa's strong voice had Mehmed reeling some of his anger back, explaining what had happened.

After listening to him, Mustafa sighed. "We'll find her, Mehmed. Calm down." He looked at his Janissaries and ordered them to close off the city, and the docks. No one leaves.

"She could've already left the city-"

"Its unlikely for her to have managed to do that, that too when its pouring heavily." Mustafa, the cool headed prince, began to think logically.

"Then where is she? The city is still too big! It'd be like finding needle in a haystack." Mehmed sneered, glaring at the servants.

Mustafa closed his eyes, trying to think of where you could possibly ran off to.

He snapped his eyes open. Of course, you'd be there.

"I know where she is." He stood up, Mehmed following behind him.

-

You woke up to someone wiping your cheek. It took a few moments for your vision to clear, your eyes looking around what seemed to be a cottage before landing on the person beside you.

Old lady.

It was the old lady. The one who saved you when you dropped at her doorstep when you entered this era.

"Oh dear, you're finally awake!" She smiled gently, continuing to wipe the mud off your cheek. "You're lucky my husband was out when he spotted you unconscious. You could've drowned in that rain, you know?" She said in a chiding town, as if you chose to lie down in the pouring rain.

The old man walked out of the kitchen with a cup of hot tea in his hands.

"Here you go, hun. Drink this." He handed you the cup before sitting beside his wife.

"Now, where've you been all this time?"

By the time you were finished telling them everything that happened to you, from being kidnapped by the Janissaries to be sold as a slave, to almost dying a few times in the palace, to being set up to marry one of the two princes, to being struck with lightening, the old lady was in tears as she pulled you into her embrace while the old man continued to yell a stream of curses at the Ottomans.

When you tried to leave, they stopped you- telling you its absolutely unsafe for you to go anywhere in this bad weather. And well, hearing the heavy rain and the fact that you were indeed struck by lightening, you couldnt really argue.

"Okay, just for tonight."

While you were having dinner, you were taken back to your memories- memories of your own family. Sure, you were surrounded by family at the palace as well, but they didnt feel like home. They didnt really care for you, not like this cute old couple does. And to be honest, you missed this feeling. From your time in Jerusalem, to your time in the palace, this is the first moment of normalcy you've had in a while.

You looked at them, smiling as they made silly jokes and ate food. They included you in their conversations, they fed you, they made sure you were comfortable when you slept in the guest room- or what you assumed was their daughter's room.

You didnt tell them, you couldnt but you did try finding out what happened to her. Baris told you what did.

Naima. That was their daughter's name.

Naima was brought to the palace by the Janissaries as a concubine, and only a few weeks in- she was chosen to sleep with the sultan.

She killed herself the next day. She had jumped off the roof, but she didnt die instantly. She died as Hurrem watched from her balcony, and she refused to alert anyone to help the poor woman.

You didnt want to take this last bit of hope from the couple- the hope that Naima may still be alive and will come home one day.

-

You were woken up to someone banging on the door.

"BY THE ORDER OF SEHZADE MUSTAFA! OPEN THE DOOR!" Someone yelled from outside. The old man sprung to his feet as he peered through the window.

Janissaries. A whole troop of them and in the very front, sitting on top of their horses were Mustafa and Mehmed.

"Get her out of here." The old man told his wife, who hurried you out of bed and was about to leave through the back door when she saw the Janissaries out there as well.

"Come on." She dragged you up the stairs to the roof, just as you heard the door being broken down and yelling.

Reaching the roof, you looked down only to see the cottage was surrounded by the guards.

"We're surrounded." You whispered. "There is no escape."

"There is." The old lady whispered back to you, ushering you towards the edge of the roof. "Jump."

You looked at her. "What?"

"I wont let them take you back there. Jump, Y/n." She pushed you towards the edge.

"No- I'm not jumping!" You tried to back away but she gripped your arm.

"You have to, Y/n! I wont let them- I wont let any man take advantage of you! I wont let them do to you what they did to my Naima!" She cried, pushing you towards the ledge again, but you resisted against her, causing you to fall onto the ground.

"I'm doing this to save you!" She cried again, straddling you as she wrapped her hands around your throat. "Why wont you understand-"

"STOP!" A voice yelled. You both looked to the side to find Mustafa and Mehmed, the latter holding the old man.

Mustafa raised a hand in surrender. "Let her go. And we wont hurt your husband."

The old lady looked conflicted, as she looked at Mustafa and then at Mehmed who held a sword at the old man's neck, ready to slice it.

"I- I-" She continued to hold your throat as you struggled to breathe.

For a brief moment, the couple made eye contact and the old man smiled at her reassuringly.

"Do it. Save Y/n." He told her, but before anyone could react, Mehmed sliced off the man's head, Mustafa looking at his younger brother in shock as the woman shrieked before she began choking you hard.

With lightening speed, Mustafa pulled her off you and pushed her to the side.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" He crouched beside you, checking on you as you took huge gulps of air before nodding. Mustafa sighed in relief as he helped you stand up, only to turn around to find Mehmed holding the woman over the edge.

"Mehmed, dont!" He yelled, but it was too late. Mehmed kicked her in the back and the old lady fell to the ground. Mustafa left your side to look over the edge, eyes wide as he saw the woman hadnt died. Blood sputtered out of her mouth as she stared up with eyes blown wide.

And then, a sword fell on her neck straight down, finally killing her.

He looked to his side only to find Mehmed looking down disinterested, as if he hadnt just brutally murdered an old woman.

His younger brother.

A monster.

He watched Mehmed whisper threats to you as he dragged you back outside, practically throwing you over his horse. Mustafa let him take you- he wasnt going to fight who gets to ride with you when they were all going home.

Except... not.

Mustafa's brows furrowed in confusion as he watched Mehmed and his Janissaries take a turn and go a completely different path then the one to the Topkapi palace.

Where was he taking you?

Mustafa sped after Mehmed, his troops following behind as he yelled at Mehmed to stop.

But he didnt, not until an abandoned palace came to view.

Mehmed got off his horse, pulling you down before nodding at his men to take you inside.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mustafa asked as he got off his own horse, marching towards you but Mehmed blocked his path.

"What I should've done in the first place- duel."

Mustafa looked at him in disbelief. Duel? "You want to fight me? Have you truly lost it?!"

Mehmed got up in his face. "I've seen the way you look at her. I am not going to stand for it any longer."

"Mehmed-"

"Only one of us can have her, Mustafa. This ends today." Mehmed pushed him as he drew his sword.

Mustafa lips settled into a thin line.

"Fine." He pulled out his sword. "May the better prince win."

-

"Let go of me!" You try pulling yourself free from the guards grasps, but they continue to haul you inside the abandoned castle.

"I said- let go-!"

"Oh good, you're finally here!"

Mihirmah stood in front of you with a grin.

"Mihirmah? What are you doing here?"

She raised a brow. "What am I doing here? I'm here to prepare you!"

"Prepare me?"

"Mmhm! For your wedding to Mehmed!"

"What?"

She shrugged, taking you by the arm as she pulled you inside a room. "Well, when I found out you had run away, I suggested to Mehmed that the only way to make sure you stay by his side is for him to marry you. And I knew my mom would've stopped him from doing that, so I suggested he bring you here! By the time dad returns, you'd already be married to Mehmed and dad will definitely choose him to be the next sultan! Its only a cherry on top that Mustafa came here as well, and when Mehmed kills him- dad will have no choice but to choose Mehmed as his heir!"

You watched in disbelief before trying to make a run for it, but she anticipated it, snapping her fingers for the guards to lock the doors.

"Now, I will send the maids inside to get you ready. I need to go check on the sheikh who has to marry you two off." She smiled before leaving you alone.

She could care less about the sheikh, right now- she wanted a seat upfront to the showdown! Mehmed was going to win and she needed to be there to witness it.

-

Mustafa dodged Mehmed's attack again. Despite agreeing to the duel earlier, Mustafa had been taking on the defensive. Mehmed was his younger brother, he was still family even if he incredibly insane.

He cant bring himself to hurt him-

"Why arent you fighting?" Mehmed growled as he swiped at him again. "Are you that afraid of dying? Fight me like a man!"

"I dont want to fight you at all." Mustafa jumped back as he striked again. "You're my brother-"

"Like hell we are! One way or another, I'm killing you Mustafa! Be it today, or tomorrow when I'm finally sultan, because you know your mother screwed up any chance you had to be chosen! She fucked up and now you will pay for it!" Mehmed yelled, finally hitting a nerve with Mustafa.

My mother. They dont respect her.

Mustafa raised his sword as he struck over and over again, Mehmed barely able to escape the blade as it sliced his skin many times.

My own brother wants to kill me. And if I die, then so will my mother,

Mehmed groaned as Mustafa suddenly sliced the skin on his arm, the younger prince rolling onto the ground to avoid getting his arm cut off clean. But Mustafa was faster, kicking him in the stomach as Mehmed dropped onto the ground in pain.

"I am the better son." Mustafa said with a kick to his stomach.

"I am the better ruler." Another kick.

"I am the better choice." Another kick.

"I am better than you. In every way." Mustafa raised his sword to drop it on Mehmed's neck, just as cruelly he had done to that old woman.

Mehmed raised his hand in surrender as he coughed up blood.

"Please, Mustafa- d-dont. I'm your brother!" Mehmed begged for his life.

And in that moment, Mustafa saw his younger brother, the small child he promised to always protect.

Mustafa closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before stepping away.

"I. Win." He stated, turning around to leave. He was the bigger man. Once again, his mercy overtook his- no his love for his brother overtook his logic. He knows Mehmed wont back down, he will fight with him again. But that will be for another day-

"M-Mustafa." He looked back at him, his heart dropping at the sight.

Mehmed was coughing up blood, his face looked pale- and then he puked.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And the moment his mouth started foaming, Mustafa remembered his mother's words.

"Dont worry about Mehmed, hm? He wont be a hurdle."

Mahidevran may have been exiled, but she still had a few people loyal to her. People who wanted Mustafa as the next sultan, not any of Hurrem's sons. People who more than willingly began microdosing Mehmed with poison.

-

You were trying to break a window to escape when the doors swung open. Mihirmah had returned, tears running down her cheeks.

"Mihirmah-" She hugged you before you could beg her to let you go.

"You look beautiful." She whispered as she pulled back, admiring the maid's work. "Mehmed always did adore the color red on you." She said in a trance.

"Mihirmah, please let me go." You plead and she gives you a broken smile.

"Thats what I came here to do." She whisperd, cupping your cheek. "I'm letting you go, Y/n. Mehmed's dead."

Oh. Thats why she's crying. But with Mehmed dead, you get to leave.

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said, watching her stumble back towards the door.

"I'm going to miss you, Y/n." She nodded, grabbing the fire torch off the wall. "Tell Mehmed I love him."

What?

Mihirmah dropped the torch onto the ground, setting the wooden floor ablaze instantly.

"Mihirmah-!" She left the room, closing the doors before you could make your escape.

"Mihirmah! Open the door!" You slammed your fists as the room began catching on fire.

Mihirmah locked the door from outside, wiping her tears away as she walked away.

You are Mehmed's bride. You belong to him, in life and now... in death.

Goodbye Mehmed. She closed her eyes. You wont be alone now.

She watched from the balcony as the Janissaries- her and Mehmed's troops, cornered Mustafa and pushed him to the ground like an animal for slaughter.

The guard looked at her.

She gave a nod.

The next moment, Mustafa's head was chopped off.

-

Fucking Mihirmah!

You slammed your fists against the door one last time before falling down to the ground, fire spreading around the room.

Fire. Why the fuck does it always have to be fire? Why is everyone so hell bent upon burning you to crisp? First in the desert with Salauddin, then those concubines in the harem, now this. If you didnt have a phobia before, you sure do have one now!

You pulled out your time machine hopelessly. Piece of crap wont even turn on-

Its on.

Your eyes widened at the screen illuminating.

Its working.

But how-

The lightning strike! It mustve charged it! That or maybe it could sense every single time you're near death and decides to fucking work.

"Oh fuck!" You curse as flames begin to close in on you. Now is not the time.

With trembling hands you try to change the date and location, but the screen is still broken and it wont budge.

You groan in frustration as you slam the button, your surrounding blurring as you begin to travel. Whatever time you land in, it'll be better than the one where you almost burn to death.

Right?

So, thoughts?? How did you like this chapter? What will happen next?

I also sorta blacked out a few times while editing this chapter, so ignore any mistakes.

PART 11 is here!

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ 'that funny feeling' - logan x gn!reader

summary: no matter how hard he tries, logan can't escape one simple fact. he's falling in love with you. (900 words) tags: fluffy, cutesy, short but sweet, feelings realisation, a lil angsty for logan thoughts, for the 'love' prompt for logan promptober.

logan finds you on his mind more than he'd like to admit. you've taken root inside his brain, infuriatingly made your home there, nestled between every thought and daydream. but he doesn't have the heart to evict you.

a heart, the dangerous thing, something logan thought he'd lost a long time ago. withered away, dying, fulfilling nothing more than its designed purpose - to keep him alive, without really having anything to live for.

until you. and he finds it's always you. you're the reason for so many things these days, he realises. how you've so sneakily, cheekily and annoyingly invaded every part of his life, slipped right under his finely tuned nose.

he doesn't mind cream in his coffee anymore, not since you introduced him, and he finds himself. . . humming? softly. tunes you listen to on your phone while in the shower or while driving. and for a moment you'd believe he's stopped surviving, and almost, just almost, started living.

yes, you're the reason for so many things these days.

logan didn't have a favourite colour before you. it wasn't something that concerned him. why would a two-hundred-year-old man need a favourite colour? it wasn't until the third time he met you, dressed all in yellow, that he realised he may have a favourite colour after all. and in yellow, every sunflower, every marigold, in the sun, he'd see you. and he'd smile.

in bed late at night, separated by distance, he thinks of you. he scolds himself for craving your touch, for growing accustomed to your presence in his life, knowing how easy it would be to lose you. . . but he can't help himself. you're too special, too important, no matter how much it frustrates him to think so.

what's happening to him? perhaps he's sick, maybe this is finally it. it's long overdue. that would explain the fevers, the sweaty palms, the aching in his chest. right? totally. he's just. . . sick.

but sickness doesn't explain his thoughts of you, the way he behaves with you versus all others. his rough, calloused hands trace tenderly across your skin. his eyes, sharp and focused, now soft and vulnerable as they commit every one of your features to memory.

sickness doesn't explain it, so what does?

it's frustrating, you're frustrating. and annoying. and persistent. and gentle. and kind. and sweet. and beautiful. and-

fuck.

this doesn't have to be more than it is, he thinks to himself. logan can keep it simple, as if he's ever had the capacity to keep anything simple in his long, long life. if he just distances himself. . .

no.

he can't. the thought fills him with fear. he couldn't.

what is it about you that has him on his knees, worshipping you, craving you? he wishes he knew, almost wishes he could forget you so he can be free from the worry that he'll have to watch you walk away one day. you'd walk away and he'd never get to tell you that-

he loves you.

what?

fuck.

no!

wait, he loves you? logan sits up in bed, heart racing. no, he can't possibly love you. he'd sworn off that disgusting feeling decades ago. it wasn't worth it, he'd said. no, you're irritating, the way you smile in the face of adversity. you're frustrating, in how you insist he takes care of himself. you're aggravating, because you're everything he's not.

so, why does he feel this way?

it's love. it always has been love. no matter how hard logan has tried and dodged and weaved to avoid that sickly sweet feeling, you're there with a bullet aimed straight at his heart - struck him, dead aim, no mercy.

he's in love.

of course he loves you, how could he not? visions of you flash in his mind and he finds himself smiling, on his bike, in the grocery store picking up that one wine you like, watching your name light up on his phone. you're. . . suddenly everything, everything he wants, everything he didn't know he needed.

it's you, it's always been you. no matter how hard he's tried to suppress it, to push it away, to kill it, strangle those feelings with his bare, tired hands, it always emerges stronger than ever.

he loves you.

god he loves you, so much so that it's overwhelming. it's pouring out of his chest, making a mess of his life, of everything he thought he knew. logan had sworn it off, everything he touches turns to shit. he's a poison, and you're. . . you're the sun.

and yet, you hold him like he's fragile, like he's not the monster he believes himself to be. you know the violence that lies beneath his calloused knuckles, but instead of running, you tenderly place a kiss to his weathered skin. you pull him closer. you welcome the monster into your life with open arms and a smile that brings the monster to his knees.

he really loves you.

logan is tired, tired of running from the feeling, of running from you. with every bone in his body, he loves you, all of you. and you him, monster and all.

yes, logan loves you. and he'll die before someone takes that feeling from him. the fire in his heart beats steady, steadfast, for you. he's alive, for the first time in a long time, he feels alive.

because of the love he feels for you.

[spitdrunken]

Adami (Homicipher MC) x Reader, vaguely implied Scarletella x Reader (but don’t read it for that, lol, it’s very minor), lore and ending spoilers. Notes: Headcanon-heavy, post-maingame story, canon-typical horror themes, temporary character death, implied gore.

The Other World takes after its master.

That doesn’t mean their temperament becomes law in the ever-changing maze of rooms and hallways. It’s only a suggestion, a push that will transform certain inclinations into preferences. If one has desires strong enough in an opposite direction, they can still do whatever they want. But while Mr. Scarletella ruled and influenced the Other World, consent was a surprisingly important factor in the world’s dealings. Being told ‘no’ was enough to send away a good chunk of its inhabitants, though they might turn pushy or become disgruntled.

All of this related to the way Mr. Scarletella himself functioned as an apparition. He could only take someone’s soul, could only hurt someone, if they gave him their name. Agreement was key and this rippled into other aspects of the Other World.

But now, Adami is the one who, after having turned Mr. Scarletella into her servant, is the one most in control of the realm. The changes aren’t as noticeable at first. However, as she loses more and more of her humanity, more and more of her memories, she begins to act solely bashed on her whims, her violent impulses shining through on more than one occasion. She’s not violent all the time. There are moments, though, flashes of utter loss of contact with the world around her where she destroys everything in her path. All the while, her crimson companion only aids her.

In turn, the inhabitants of the Other World grow more volatile, too. They’ve gained the capacity to lie and a stronger inclination towards direct violence. Simply taking what they want becomes the norm, although it doesn’t mean that everyone acts in this manner. Mr. Crawling, who frequently accompanies Adami as well, is someone who remains mild-mannered in the vast majority of situations. Where they’d once been terrifying and unfamiliar to her, the monsters there now either listen to or avoid her like the plague. She never has to fear, can walk around without ever needing to hide. The Other World, once dangerous at every turn, has become her home.

To you, an unsuspecting human dragged in by her grief, all of these machinations and baselines of the past are of no consequence. When you first encounter Adami (Or ‘Ms. Crowbar’, as you call her) does not seem all that different from the other monsters you’ve encountered. She’s unnerving, but not exactly scary.

Ms. Crowbar wears a simple raincoat, suspiciously clean, with strands of silver hair poking past the hood pulled over her head. Gloves hide her hands, though her legs are blotchy in colour like one giant dark-tinged bruise. Her face is as white as the raincoat she’s wearing, an entirely unnatural shade. Her eyes are slightly too big for her face, her lips practically melting into the white of her face. More than anything, her appearance veers into the uncanny valley. And, of course, she’s always carrying her crowbar around with her, either held upright or dragged carelessly behind her, metal scraping over concrete and banging into every loose rock it can find.

During your first meetings, it’s perhaps Mr. Scarletella who puts you more on edge. His aura is definitely the more imposing one of the two. He towers over you, the deadest gaze you’ve ever seen pinning you into place. Absentmindedly, he smiles at nothing at all. That isn’t even mentioning the way he colours the whole world around him. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before down here. The natural conclusion is that he must be someone especially powerful, a monster to look out for. But, as you quickly discover, he’s always looking at Ms. Crowbar. His eyes only move when she moves, his feet only take another step as soon as she does. He never reaches out without her command. Whether by choice or through force, he is entirely her puppet. She is the one you need to look out for.

As for how that first meeting went… Perhaps you’d been chased by something. What exactly it had been, you’d had no idea. It would’ve been too large of a risk to look over your shoulder when you were certainly running for your life. One moment, you had been in a quiet room. The next, the quick pounding of footsteps was catching up to you, and you’d dashed through door after door on pure survival instinct. With burning lungs and aching muscles, you’d slammed a door and shoved a lock into place. Resting your sweaty back against it, you slid down to your knees. If this isn’t enough to stop them, you’d be as good as dead. You can’t run anymore. You squeeze your eyes shut, cupping your hands over your mouth to muffle the noises of your desperate gasps for air. You await the worst, but nothing happens.

When you finally do open your eyes, that’s when you see the pair of them. Ms. Crowbar looks at you with an unreadable expression and a slight tilt of her head. Her crimson pupils seem to glow in the dark. Besides her, Mr. Scarletella, still and unmoving as a corpse. You have no idea what to think. She takes a step towards you. The first one is slow, though she speeds up afterwards. The woman leans forward and holds out her hand for you to take.

Maybe… She’s actually nice? Or, maybe, she’ll just bash your skull in with the crowbar she’s holding in her other hand. Either way, something about the whole situation makes your skin crawl. Her eyes narrow at your hesitation. She is already retracting her hand when you make up your mind, and grab it while forcing a wobbly smile on your features. You mumble out a ‘thank you’ with your parched throat. Her cold fingers intertwine with yours.

Ms. Crowbar pulls you up with a truly surprising amount of strength for her small stature. You’re yanked to your feet with such force that you’re practically lifted off the ground and barrel into her, eliciting a yelp from the woman. Without thinking, and in order to prevent yourself from falling, you wrap both of your arms around her, one of your legs hooked around hers. It’s like you’re clinging on to her for dear life. Well, not like. You are. Mr. Scarletella’s eyes are burning holes into the side of your head. The hairs at the back of your neck as static, rapidly increasing in volume, creeps at the edges of your hearing.

As you loosen your grip and move to pull away, sputtering out a long string of apologies in every language you can think of, she laughs. It’s a high-pitched giggle, the kind that’s straight out of a horror movie. Her crowbar falls to the ground with a clatter. In a flash, you’re pulled against her even tighter as she pulls you against her body, returning your ‘hug’. You swear you can hear your ribs creaking. Your eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of your head, and you can hardly breathe. The static quiets down. Even after patting her back a couple of times, she holds on for a good few seconds longer. You don’t know whether you should be uncomfortable or entirely relieved.

When she releases her grip on you, you drop back down to the floor. She’d held you so tightly your feet hadn’t been touching concrete anymore. Ms. Crowbar is still smiling. Her entire body sways slightly back and forth. The crowbar is back in her hand.

“Human cute,” she says, though you don’t have the knowledge to understand her garbled language yet. To you, it sounds like nonsense noise. “Me teach you language. Not lots. Little.” She’d grow bored and lose track of things before managing to teach you a lot, anyway.

Much like others had once done for her, she teaches you some basic vocabulary. To be completely honest, she lists everything slightly too fast for you to remember all of it once. Regardless, she teaches you the words for ‘you’ and ‘human’ and ‘me’, as well as pointing at the walls and the floor. After that, she plops down next to you and makes Mr. Scarletella act as, essentially, a mannequin for the next segment. In accordance with her commands, he’ll lower her his head, stick out an arm or a leg, or spread his fingers, all in order to teach you more of the language. His face contorts into all different kinds of expressions, too. The look in his eyes does not once change and he follows all of her instructions without any hesitation. Rather than just focusing on Ms. Crowbar, his eyes occasionally dart to you too as you copy and sound out the words.

It ends as quickly as it all started. She decided to help you on impulse, and it’s also on impulse that she leaves. Your head is left spinning with the new amount of knowledge you’ve been taught, though the prospect of wandering treacherous halls alone after having found some company is even worse. …You’ll try to look for an exit. What else can you do? Being able to make yourself understandable, limited as your means might be, is at least an improvement. You don’t see Ms. Crowbar often. Occasionally, she’ll pop up and you exchange a few words. You’re eager to show your improvement in the language, thanks to some others who did not immediately try to kill you.

(One time, you’d cracked open a door and peered in. Every entrance requires a degree of caution, you think. Ms. Crowbar and Mr. Scarletella had been there, their backs turned towards you. Her crowbar had been raised. Then, she lowered it and hit the crumpled mass on the floor in front of her again, and again, and again, and again. The sickening crunch of every impact made bile rise in your throat. Just as you’d let the door fall shut as quietly as possible, Mr. Scarletella had turned to face you. But they hadn’t followed.)

It takes a while for you to see her again, after that. Bit by bit you make progress through the confusing world, though sheer luck doesn’t seem capable of protecting you much longer. Eventually, you’re cornered, already mentally speaking your last words, when a familiar crimson sheen falls over the world around you. Ms. Crowbar’s weapon connects with the monster’s skull, and it falls to the side. Though the sound isn’t any less disgusting, you can’t help the relief that floods your body.

For a moment, she simply stares at you, red eyes slightly too wide and crowbar raised. The moment passes and she relaxes. She lowers the blood-stained weapon. “Hello,” she says, smiling at you once again. “Other attack. Me kill. Not attack me… Lots time.”

If there are any words in the Other World’s language you know how to say, it’s these. “Thank you!” You exclaim. The smile on your face is nowhere near as forced as when you’d first encountered her. Ms. Crowbar is unnerving. She’s violent, too, clearly. But that isn’t all she is. She’s never been anything but nice to you.

She opens her arms. It takes you second to register that she probably wants a hug. On still-trembling legs, you do exactly that. Ms. Crowbar hums happily before her crowbar taps on your back then drags down along your spine, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. You move to let her go, but she takes hold of your wrist.

“Me teach you language. Me teach you attack.” She turns her head around to look at Mr. Scarletella, ever the silent observer around you, and they exchange a wordless look. Then, she releases you.

A weapon materialises in your hands, appearing out of thin air. You don’t know what to call it. It’s long and blade-liked, allowing you to keep your distance while still being able to attack. Slowly, painfully slowly, Ms. Crowbar lifts her crowbar above her head and lowers it in your general direction. It clicks. As soon as you lift your blade up and block the movement with a dull clang, she grins. The words that pass her lips, although you don’t know what they mean, are spoken in a cloying, slightly demeaning, tone that indicates praise.

Rinse and repeat. Her movements grow faster and more varied as she tries to surprise you. It doesn’t take long before you can’t keep up at all anymore, though you’re eager to learn how to defend yourself even a little. You grow used to the weight of the weapon in your hand. Although you definitely have a few bruises blossoming on your skin, you don’t think you’re completely helpless, either.

(You don’t think either of them agree, though. You’re a cute little plaything to them, perhaps. At some point, Ms. Crowbar had pointed at Mr. Scarletella and ordered you to attack. You’d hesitated. His smile had widened, just a little. He’d disappeared and reappeared right in front of you. A clear invitation. …You hadn’t expected your blade to slice clean through him. The force of your swing sends you nearly topping to the ground and her laughter rings out in the empty room. Your face burns with embarrassment. The only thing that had prevented you from falling flat on your face had been Mr. Scarletella’s umbrella, its inflexible form hooking around you.)

Eventually, Ms. Crowbar grows bored of your training. While you’re panting, she isn’t winded at all. In front of your face, she holds up three fingers.

“Me attack. You run.” She tells you. But you haven’t been taught the word for ‘run’. Why would you assume that this would be any different than what you’ve been doing for a while now? Maybe she’s just telling you to prepare for a particularly strong blow. You ready yourself. When she’s only holding up a single finger, she smiles in a way that exposes teeth. “You want attack? I see. Funny.”

You didn’t stand a chance. You didn’t even see her hand drop to her side before her crowbar had effortlessly smashed into your skull, the world around you exploding into a maddening array of pure agony. Your body flies halfway across the room. Vaguely, you wonder how you’re still breathing. You can’t see anything out of your right eye. Something wet and warm slides down your neck. Ms. Crowbar stands over you, weapon raised. Static fills your ears as your vision flickers out.

As soon as you regain consciousness, you wish you’d never come to again. Your head is pounding, your vision is blurry. Your lips are cracked and your tongue is sticking to the roof of your mouth. Your arms ache. Dried blood covers the side of your face and neck. Your eyes are struggling to focus and, as soon as you get up, you nearly fall right back down again. Your skin looks blotchy. To put it simply, you feel and look like shit. You can’t even remember how you’ve ended up like this. But you grab your weapon, try to remember and trudge onwards. You can’t remember what you are moving towards.

It takes you a little while to stumble across Ms. Crowbar again, though you have no idea how long it’s exactly taken. Everything has become so… Difficult. You hate being here, hate being alone. You don’t know what’s going on anymore. You can hardly recall your own name, much less why seeing her is tying your stomach up in knots. Hasn’t she always been nice to you? When she opens her arms for you, as she usually does, your arms tremble when you return the hug and tears drip down your face. Over shoulder, you make eye-contact with Mr. Scarletella.

“Sad?” He asks, voice too even to sound truly concerned. But you don’t think you’ve ever heard him speak before. Ms. Crowbar wriggles against you, staring at your face for a moment as she catches sight of your tears. She extends her arm, hand dropping on the top of your head as she pets your hair. A little too roughly, for your liking. She leans forward, lips brushing against yours in a quick peck. With a short burst of static, Mr. Scarletella is leaning over the both of you, too. When he reaches out, you feel nothing touching you except for a vague tingling sensation.

“You weak. You cute.” Ms. Crowbar says, every word clearly and slowly enunciated as if she’s speaking to a child. You sniffle. “Me help you. You not worry.” Her cold hand closes around your wrist. “Go with, go with.” She tugs you along, deeper into the maze, her companion walking right besides you. You have no idea where you’re going. But, you suppose, when you were walking alone, you hadn’t either.

[wilwheaton]

fuck you pat robertson

Pat Robertson walks past thousands of souls, smugly and full of pride, and cuts to the front of the line at the velvet rope in outside the entrance to his version of Heaven.

The bouncer looks up from their clipboard, observing Robertson with thousands of eyes in a swirling cascade of light.

"Pat Robertson," they say. "We've been expecting you."

Pat Robertson silently congratulates himself. He swells with joy. All those people who died from AIDS, natural disasters, even 9/11 ... they all deserved it. They were sinners!

The bouncer speaks into their headset. "He's here." They listen. "Yep. At the front of the line."

The bouncer turns most of its gaze back to Pat Robertson. "Just wait here for one moment, please."

Pat Robertson steps to one side and waits.

After one thousand years, he begins to wonder if there was a miscommunication.

"Excuse me," he says to the bouncer, "I am Pat --"

"Robertson. Yes. We know. We're just getting everything in order for you. It will just be one more moment."

Tens of thousands of victims of gun violence walk past him and enter Heaven. The population of an entire village, lost in a typhoon that was intensified by climate change, is welcomed. And still he waits.

They file past him, all the people he looked down on. All the people he hurt, directly and indirectly, don't even notice him as they pass. It's like he isn't even there.

Another thousand years pass. Pat Robertson realizes he hasn't had a thing to eat since he died and he is so very hungry.

"Hey!" He shouts at the bouncer. "What's the problem? Don't you know who I am?"

The bouncer rolls half a million eyes at once. "We know exactly who you are."

"Well, alright, then!" Pat Robertson spits out, exasperated, "if you aren't going to help me, get someone here who will!"

The bouncer speaks into its headset again. "We're ready."

A gibbering mass of what is mostly human flesh -- or was, once -- slithers / rolls / flops into Pat Robertson's view. It is covered with mouths that bleed and weep and click their teeth together. Enormous open sores swirl and burst and close and reopen and drip pus and viscera across blistering skin. The faint memory of a smell surrounds it, something like very old cigar smoke and very expensive liquor.

Pat Robertson tries to scream. Arm-like stalks extend from the quivering shape. One resembles a hand at the end of an arm, dripping viscera.

In a flash, it grabs Pat Robertson's hand and shakes it. Something hot and acidic splashes up on his arm, blinds him in one eye. He feels weak. Afraid. Alone. Confused.

Hundreds of mouths try to speak. Dozens of them vomit acrid bile that splashes across his chest. Dozens more silently spit out the lies they've been cursed to repeat for eternity to an audience who will never hear them again.

One mouth speaks clearly. So clearly, it's inside Pat Robertson's head and everywhere else all at once. "I'm Rush Limbaugh," it says. "I'm your new roommate. Come with me."

And that's when Pat Robertson knows. That's when it all hits him, all at once. He's getting everything he deserves.

The line to get into Heaven does not see or hear or notice him, or the Limbeast. They can't hurt anyone, anymore.

The cancerous mass of hate wraps its arm around his shoulder and just like that Pat Robertson finds himself in a vast parody of a cathedral. It's built of bones and flesh and lies. The walls writhe, and he sees that they are not bricks and lathe but bodies wrapped in confederate flags and wearing red hats.

The pews are filled to capacity with the souls of people who followed him in life, hated who he told them to hate. Only their hate is now focused on him, hot and unforgiving. Relentless.

Pat Robertson looks for his companion, but it has vanished. It has left him alone to suffer.

A sermon rises in his chest and pushes against his throat. Pat Robertson is compelled to speak, and as he does each word tears through him like broken glass. He spews his hate and his lies, just as he did in life. Only in this place, he doesn't feel the glee and the satisfaction he always did. No, he feels the pain and the suffering and the agony of every human being who he deliberately hurt. He. Feels. All. Of. It. He tries to stop speaking. Of course, he can not. He can not ever stop.

And Pat Robertson's eternity begins.

[sanatomis]

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇.

the collection of megumi’s childhood memories. gathered and cherished by none other than gojo satoru and his darling wife.

content. slice of life, canon divergence, female!reader, established relationship with satoru, domestic fluff, some angst here and there (but always with a happy ending).

notes. sign up for the taglist here ! note that updates will be slow. i am a full-time uni student with a part-time job. please, remember that—thank you !

ELEMENTARY ESCAPADES [6 - 12] !

࣪ᥫ᭡ — midnight solace. it’s 3am, and six year old megumi fushiguro just woke up from a nightmare. the thing he wants to do most? seek comfort in your arms.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — a flash of remembrance. a child is bound to feel neglected when they discover no one bothered to show up for their science fair, especially when all their peers have someone to dote on them. it seems fushiguro megumi is no exception.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — DIY-dad. it’s career day, and megumi has to bring his dad to school so he can tell the class about his job. the problem? he only has a 20-year-old sorcerer-guardian who has the brain capacity of a walnut.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — how to comfort 101.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — a whispered promise.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — chicken noodle soup.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — when in distress.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — the best of friends.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — a haunted estate.

MIDDLE SCHOOL MAYHAM [12–15] !

࣪ᥫ᭡ — oh, the birdies.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — to be loved. . .

࣪ᥫ᭡ — to fret, to fuss, to soothe.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — down on one knee.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — infinite stupidity.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — a new life, how frightening.

HIGH SCHOOL HIJINKS [15–18] !

࣪ᥫ᭡ — . . .is to be remembered.

࣪ᥫ᭡ — so, this is love?

࣪ᥫ᭡ — i thought you were japanese.

ADOLESCENT ANTICS [18 & UP] !

࣪ᥫ᭡ — a sense of duty.

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works. reblogs, however, are appreciated <3

[bluerthanvelvet444]

ᯓ★⋆˚🅰🅿🆁🅸🅲🅸🆃🆈⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

(Peter Maximoff x fem!reader)

tags: smut with plot and a bit of fluff in the end.

warnings: subby!Peter, restraints, handjob, fingering, riding, p in v, denied orgasm, praise, mentions of abuse, mentions of alcohol, mentions of fight, swearing.

summary: Peter gets captured by the villains. This fic takes place after x-men apocalypse and before x-men dark phoenix.

character count: 19k.

full fic under the cut ↓

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Memoir. What’s its provenance? What is it?

According to scientists, memories are “formed as a result of connections between neurons in the brain”. The poet Sylvia Plath, instead, “sardonically embraced the most horrific and vulgar fragments from the storehouse of collective memory”. The great philosopher Aristotle believed that “memory is like a writing that remains etched in wax, and whose inscriptions remain more or less durable”.

Although you continually researched and seeked in books for the perfect depiction, you weren’t able to find anything that could comply with your personal belief. You were staunch that memories are, in fact, the mirror of our being. Disgraceful memories, glorious ones…they’re both needed to construct the way we act, the way we think, and the way we are. You had always been involved in memoir personally, because of your quirk. You had the marvelous capacity of intruding into one’s memories. You couldn’t directly change or interact with them, instead, you could see, reproduce, assimilate and mimic them. Phenomenal, isn’t it? You may think it is but, your biggest gift to you was, in fact, your biggest ruin. Your life started its downgrade the exact moment you found out about it. You remembered it all.

You were standing small in front of your mother, who had either fallen asleep or passed out. The bottle of cheap tequila in her hands made both answers valid. You were just a kid but you knew it wasn’t easy. Your father had left when you were just a fetus in your mother’s womb. Since then, she had never been the same. All the bills, the rent, expenses were on her. Her job exhausted her and the little time she had left, she spent drowning her worries in alcohol. She didn’t need any more problems, so you never told her about that awkward energy growing inside of you. That particular day you felt it bigger than ever, the need to find out what it led to even stronger. So you put your tiny fingers on her temples, as the little voice in your head told you to, and you started seeing. All of your mother's life was flashing in front of your eyes quickly. You stopped at one particular memory, you inspected it. Your mother stood pregnant in front of a man that kept yelling at her. You put the pieces of the puzzles together. It was clear, and the new knowledge of the situation triggered something inside of you, inside of your power. You kept replaying and replaying the scene, tears in your eyes, as the man’s words dissolved from the memory and came directly out of your mouth. That woke your mother up, she was holding her head as the same image kept banging in her mind, and as the man’s voice spit those known words harshly from your little mouth. She yelled for you to stop, and you lowkey wish you never did. As soon as you stopped, she grabbed you and threw you inside of-what you playfully called-the dark room, your basement.

“I-I’m sorry…I can’t-you’re him…I-I see him-” Her words came out broken from her mouth, her sobs stopping her mid-sentence as she locked you inside.

That became a habit since then. You grew up in the “dark room”, hardly ever going outside if not to eat and respond to natural calls. Your main activity was watching TV and day-dreaming about the outside world. You knew it was better than what you were living, it had to be. Especially because you found out that you weren’t crazy or evil but that you simply belonged to a different species. They called them mutants.And apparently, there was a school for kids just like you, the interviews of the famous Charles Xavier were the ones you liked watching the most on TV. As the years went by, your urge to run away grew more and more, and so you did. One day in the early 70s, you grabbed all of your things and left, taking advantage of your mom’s blackout. You took different taxis and avoided the questions about your young age, and you were finally standing in front of Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. Although, it seemed different from what you saw on TV: it looked abandoned, the plate with the name on it rusty and absentmindedly resting on the ground, and the gates closed. You tried peeking inside, before being startled by an unfamiliar voice behind you.

“Don’t waste your time. They can’t help you anymore, but we can.”

This is how you found yourself with a group of mutants who had the exact same hopes you had, before they were broken by the closure of the school. You were guided by The Captain-that is how he wanted to be called-that was trying to create a new safe place for young mutants. And his plan seemed to work, kid mutants were actually starting to come…before Xavier’s school opened again. At this point, your group desperately found itself in front of the school’s gate again. You were dismissed,though, by a blue beast mutant.

“We’re sorry, the school only accepts young kids between 5 and 17-” He told you before turning his back.

“You can try and talk to Charles though, I’m sure he will find some space for y-'' He stopped seeing you had all left.

This is why The Captain’s plan was ever created in the first place. He believed that Charles Xavier was a man only drawn by his personal needs, and that he only used the young mutants to gain popularity and be idolized by the US government.

“This is why we were rejected. Our powers aren’t conventionally pleasing. No human kid would ever desire our powers. So if he believes our gifts can’t be used for good, we won’t use them for good.” He spoke firmly to you all.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Your flow of memories was interrupted by The Captain.

“We’ve captured one. You will watch him while we take care of the others. Do your thing on him and find out his weakness.” He spoke with a deep voice.

You nodded and began making your way downstairs before he gripped your wrist.

“Don’t disappoint me, Y/N.” You felt his piercing gaze in your eyes.

“I won’t.” You gulped and quickly left the room.

When you opened the door you scanned your surroundings. The room was all white, with petty furniture. No windows, a table, a chair, a small closet, and a bed which had a figure laying down on it. You inched closer and scanned the boy. His eyes closed, he was probably knocked out, a few bruises on his skin, his hands and legs restrained by the strong collars around them… he looked your age, his hair was silver with some goggles resting on them. He had a pleasant face to look at, if the circumstances had been different you could’ve even admitted that he was pretty attractive. He was wearing a black protective suit, probably X-men’s equipment, you guessed. The more you observed him, the more you were confused. You expected them to capture the great Mystique, the glorious Magneto…not a newbie. You sighed and started walking towards the desk, ramaging in your bag for a sleeping pill so that you could do your magic without being interrupted.

Peter slowly opened his eyes, he could feel his body sore from the previous fight. He started to panic as he didn’t recognize his surroundings. He tilted his head forwards, noticing the person standing in front of the desk.

“H-hey…! Ppsttttt…Lady! Yes! You! Lady!” You heard his desperate calls.

You walked towards him and stopped at the side of the bed.

“Hi! So there’s a bunch of bad people who captured me and probably want to beat my ass-” You stopped him mid-sentence.

“I know.” You replied with a monotone voice.

“You-you know?! Don’t tell me you’re one of ‘em- oh shit! You’re one of ‘em! C’mon you have to be kiddin’ me…you’re too pretty to be mean! Hey! C’mon help me!” He rushed, his hands and legs squirming at high speeds against the restraints. You didn’t budge at his compliment, instead, you were focused on his movements.

“A speedster, huh.” You mumbled.

“A speed…A speedster?! Babe I'm not a speedster- I’m the speedster! Quicksilver! Peter Maximoff! The one and only!” He replied cockily, almost as if he was offended by your lack of knowledge. You raised your eyebrow, clearly having no clue of who he was.

“Aah babe you’ve got to be kiddin’ me! I’m Quicksilver! The one who beated Apocalypse’s ass! I did it all myself heh- I’m basically a hero, everyone loves me. Don’t ya watch TV or what?” Even though you had no idea who this guy was and what he did to be part of the X-men, you could sense the exaggeration in his words.

“I prefer books.” You shrugged before turning your back and making your way to the desk again.

“Hey! Hey! Where ya goin’?! Are ya a mutant too? Hey, yer not gonna hurt me aren’t ya?! What’s your power? C’mon tell me…What’s your power? Whaddaya do?!”

You rolled your eyes as his continuous questions started to annoy you.

“Will you shut up and let me do what I need to do?!” You snapped while holding between your thumb and index the sleeping pill. His pupils dilated.

“Whoa-whoa…let’s chill down a bit, yea? No need to use that, babe. Ya just gotta ask and I'll do whatever you want me to do.” He said with a smirk forming on his face. You sighed.

“Close your eyes and stay still.” You began pressing your fingers against his temples.

“...Will it hurt?” He said with a nervous smile, big brown eyes looking up at you.

“It doesn’t have to.”

Just like that you were thrown into Peter’s memories. You saw his child self, his mom, his sister…his first time using his powers…Magneto…many memories about Magneto, weird. You decided to dig a little deeper. You replayed the memory where he found out that…

“Magneto is your father?!” You exclaimed, visibly surprised.

“Hehe, I guess…so that’s your power?” He said with a tiny chuckle.

You kept thinking about what you just saw. You never saw a direct contact between Peter and Magneto, so you supposed he didn’t know about his son. That could’ve easily been used against him, you had to tell The Captain. You walked towards the table and gathered your bag.

“That’s a cool power…I’ve never heard ‘bout it. Actually, I’ve never heard ‘bout ya either…do ya have a supervillain name? Why didn’t ya fight with the others?” The words fell rapidly out of his lips. You gulped.

“Just Y/N. I don’t fight with the others. My powers weren’t made for physical combat.” That’s true, they hardly ever let you come with them on missions. You were useless for superheroes as much as you were for supervillains.

“Pffffttt…that’s bullshit! Ya can do those cool things with yer mind! Ya totally have to meet Charles, he’s gott-”

“Charles? Charles’s a selfish man who puts his needs first. I don’t want anything from him.” You scoffed.

“Wha-what? Are ya out of yer mind? Have ya ever even met Charles? He’s the coolest. I was literally a loser who lived in his mom’s basement before meeting him. Always been cool though.” His words made your blood boil, hearing that he didn’t hesitate to help him but discarded you immediately. You told Peter your story, how you truly believed Charles was gonna save you but ended up breaking your inner child’s heart. Your eyes started to water as memories flooded in front of your eyes.

“Hey-I-I’m sorry that happened to ya but- hey- if I get outta here alive, I promise I will take you to the school. The professor will help ya, he always does.” You looked at him, a tiny glimmer of hope appearing in your eyes even though you knew that you couldn’t leave.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You spent all your day talking to him. He was funny, you had to admit. The nicest company you had ever had. He told you about his family, how he joined the X-men, everything. And before you knew it, the night came.

“Oh uhm. You should get some sleep, you’re probably exhausted.” You said while getting up, ready to leave.

“Wait- uhhh…I can’t really sleep with this armor thingy on. It’s uncomfy.” He complained.

“Oh. Right, I can bring you some clothes. But I…can’t untie you. It’s the rules.” You shrugged.

“No need to. I usually sleep naked.” He winked at you.

“...” You contorted your face, not really knowing how to respond.

“HA! Gotcha. Just kidding. I sleep in my boxers.” He said with a proud grin on his lips.

“...I’ll bring you clothes.” You said before being interrupted again.

“No! Seriously, I just need to take my clothes off.”

You raised your eyebrow.

“...Not because I’m a creep. Simply because my speed speeds my body’s functions, and by speeding it highs my temperature so I get hot.” He spoke as if it was obvious.

“...Right.” You sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

“How does this thing open?”

“W-whoa whoa…you-are you gonn- wait-” He stuttered as his cheeks slightly reddened.

“You said you wanted your clothes off, and I’m not gonna risk getting scolded by The Captain by freeing you.” You sighed. He gulped and pointed where his zipper was.

C’mon Peter…ya can do this, buddy. Ya just need to focus, yea? Don’t let a fine chick undressing ya speed yer speedy hormones, mh? Peter thought to himself. Your hands gripped the zipper and started pulling it down. Stay focused soldier. His broad chest was revealed as you slowly undressed him. You stopped at his abs to hop on the bed and take his shoes off. As you leaned to pull his boots, your arm slightly brushed his crotch. Holy fucking mother of all the fucking mutants, fuck. She barely touched ya and yer already growing hard, Peter? Must be tha speedy genes, yea, has to be. Totally not has nothing to do with ya being a virgin in your 20s. Nuh-uh. Goddamn you, Peter!

You threw his shoes on the floor, and started pulling his suit down again. You let your gaze linger as he was half-naked in front of you. He was wearing boxers with lightning bolts on them, a tiny chuckle escaped your mouth at that.

“Someone’s excited.” You said with a playful grin on your lips as you pointed at the prominent bulge in his boxers.

“Hey! Not my fault ya got all handsy- how did ya expect me to react?” He said with a tiny blush on his cheeks, he was so cute.

“...And it’s the speedster genes, by tha way. They call me Quickie for a reason.” He replied, annoyed because of how embarrassed he got.

“Do you need help?” You suggested. It may have been wrong, since you were “enemies” and you barely knew each other but…when are you gonna have another cute speedster all for you again?

“DoIneedawhat-” He blurted out, not believing what he just heard.

Your lips curled up in a smirk, and before he could process anything, your fingers grazed his crotch through his underwear.

“Oh- fuck- yea…yes-” He moaned, you giggled.

“So eager, mh?” You teased him by pulling his waistband up and then leaving it smack against his skin. He groaned and nodded, he was so worked up by nothing. You undressed him of his boxers too, his shaft springing free against his stomach, leaving him naked on the bed. His hips bucked up in search of friction. You grinned and gently took his dick in your hand, slowly pumping it.

“Aaah…f-f-yes…please…faster…” He whined.

You giggled and leaned in to kiss his lips gently, muffling his pleas. You started speeding your movements, and he deepened the kiss as his moans rolled off his tongue. As you made out, you could hear the sound of his hands desperately squirming against the restraints.

“Please…let me touch you…” He whimpered, big puppy eyes gazing up at you.

“Mh…sorry, can’t do, baby. It’s the rules.” You smirked and leaned in to peck his lips again. You stopped and sat up to pull off your shirt. He groaned at the sight. You took him in your hands again and fasted your pace even more.

“O-oh..f-fuck...gonna…gonna cum babe…c-cant hold it in…ahh..” You giggled and sped up even more, your mouth working hungrily against his, eating up his moans. He came with a loud groan, muffled by your lips. He kept whining after that.

“Pleasepleaseplease…wanna please ya too…lemme…I’m good at it- I promise…I’m basically a human vibrator-long lasting rose toy- please…” You giggled and nodded, pecking his lips. You took off your pants, before untying one of his hands. He groaned and immediately pulled you closer, his hand making its way under your panties. He suppressed a moan by biting his lip as he felt your slick with his fingers. He gently started circling your clit, and after he heard a few moans of confirmation from you, he began buzzing his fingers against it.

“Ooh…f-fuck…just like that, baby, don’t stop…” You moaned, he answered with a cute whine. He looked up at you, his middle finger gently pushing at your entrance, not fully sliding in. You nodded and bit your lip to suppress any more unholy sound coming out of you as his fingers started to fuck you slowly.

“F-fuck…” You threw your head back. He was gazing up at you with parted lips, as if he had never seen something so breathtaking. He kept picking up the pace, until you stopped his wrist and tied it up again.

“Wha-Wait-Why..? Y-you didn’t like it?” He said with his silver brows furrowed, he was lost and scared of what your answer could’ve been.

“Oh, it was fucking awesome, baby. But I wanna use something else to come, yea? Will you let me do that?” You said in a cooing voice, clearly driving his mind crazy.

“Mhm…yesplease…” He nodded, his gaze not daring to leave your body.

You undid your bra, his eyes widening, and straddled his hips. Your entrance just above his cock. He groaned at the sight, his shaft fully hardening again. You smiled and slowly sinked in, until your hips met his.

“Aaah…w-warm…so warm n’tight…mppph…” He moaned loudly.

You grinned and started slowly sliding your hips up and down repeatedly, reaching a stable pace. You moaned as you started speeding up, yet it wasn’t enough to satisfy you fully.

“Mhh…baby…mind helping me a little?” You said looking down at him.

He moaned and nodded. He started superspeeding his hips to meet yours as you bounced on his cock. The new sensation making you moan loudly.

“Ohhh! Fuck! Just like that, baby…such a good boy…” You groaned as you felt yourself closer. He let out a tiny whimper as he heard your praise and kept speeding up, his wrists and legs straining against the collars, forming tiny red lines.

“Fuckfuckfuck…can i cum? P-please-ah…?” He whined.

“Mhhh...not yet- baby…let me finish first…” You smirked.

He groaned and sped up even more, trying desperately to bring you to the edge. He hissed as he felt that knot in his stomach urging to snap. It didn’t take much for you to come undone. You cried out as you were still jumping up and down at lightning speed. As soon as he felt you clenching around him, he moaned loudly, as he was just about to cum. You quickly pulled him out of you and allowed him to spatter his fluid on your body. He panted heavily, droplets of sweat sinking from his forehead to the mattress. You waited a few moments before grabbing a towel and cleaning you both. You laid down on the bed with him, moving his head on your chest as you ran your fingers in his silver locks, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

“You're my apricity.” You said while caressing his hair and pecking his temple. His eyes were closed, and he was clearly drifting off to sleep.

“Mh?” He mumbled, not moving one single part of his body, still restrained.

“Apricity. I read that in a book.” You chuckled.

“In simpler words?” He mumbled.

“The warmth of the sun in winter.”

“In even simpler words?” He muttered, his voice coming muffled by your chest.

“My life is the winter, you are the warmth.” You admitted. He didn't answer to that. You weren't sure if he actually understood the concept or even just your words, but one thing you were a hundred percent sure of.

He fell asleep smiling.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

taglist: @cxndiedvi0lets @angeldollw @marchsfreakshow @newwavesylviaplath @happy74827 @evpeters87

a/n: raaaahh!!! I'm honestly so proud of this, the fic came out just like i imagined. Anyways, hope you like it, love you all🤍🤍

join my taglist!!

all rights reserved.

[dystopianam]

Tips on how to avoid and reduce the Pink Flashing - "Masterpost"

Look here for other masterposts!

⚠️ THIS IS NOT A COMPLETE ""GUIDE"". I won't be updating this post and I've explained why here. In this post I only wrote some advice, so you won't find an entire research on Pink Flashing. Please read other REAL guides if you are interested in that. Unfortunately, deleting the post wouldn't make sense since the reblogs would remain.

What is the Pink Flashing?

The Pink flashing, also called Pink Soup, is a graphical error that occurs when the game thinks it has reached the limit of its memory capacity to read the game's textures even if your PC is much more powerful and the configurations made to the game itself are very high and can hold much much more.

When this arrives, gradually an object or sim will start flashing pink and purple or even EVERYTHING will start flashing pink.

This type of error can occur both in game and on Bodyshop, and as many people mistakenly think, it is NOT a symptom of corruption. And it's not even a hardware problem of your PC. It's not your PC's fault, it's not dying, it's simply the game that's unstable.

What should I do when this occurs?

First of all, DON'T PANIC, it's nothing serious. The only thing you need to do is save the game before it crashes (because yes, it usually crashes after the pink flashing occurs), close the game and reopen it. When you reboot it, the pink flashing will be gone.

AND don't worry if some previews of your sims remain pink. They will update as you play (the fastest way to update them is to have your sim change clothes or change their appearance in the mirror)

@2fingerswhiskeysims added that another method is to minimize the game, leave the PC to rest for a few hours and then reopen the game. The pink flashing should then go away on its own (I would just recommend saving before doing so, because it's not a method that works for everyone. For example it often crashes immediately after the pink flashing appears or even just minimizing it makes it crash if it's like my game that even if you look to it by mistake it crashes)

Is there a way to increase the graphics capabilities of my game?

Yes, there is, and you should do it regardless of the pink flashing, to make your game more stable. This will NOT eliminate the risk of pink flashing, but will reduce it and make the game crash after hours and hours of play rather than after a few minutes or half an hour as happens to some.

What you need to do is make your own graphic rules that adapt the game to your video card and install the 4GB patch. This guide from Pleasantsim explains how to install both (as well as providing other tips for stability and improving graphics)

Another tip that many give is to use the Sims2RPC Launcher by LazyDuchess, as many say it has made their game more stable, while others say it has increased their Pink Flashing, so I think it's very subjective whether using this launcher is better or worse.

Is there a way to eliminate it or avoid it?

There is no fix for this problem and there is no way to eliminate it, although LazyDuchess is doing some research to see if it can be done. BUT I can give you some advice on how to avoid it for as long as possible (it will still appear after a few hours, but I can tell you what to do to be able to play safely for as long as possible)

From my personal experience, I understand that pink flashing occurs when the game needs to read a lot of thumbnails (of hairs and clothes expecially) and when you visit too many lots in the same game session or you visit a single huge lot full of objects. So, what you need to do is:

Save before changing your sims appearance (whether it's a change of hair or clothes) because the game almost always tends to crash after a long or sometimes even short makeover session. (It depens on how many ccs you have)

Avoid changing your sims hair if you don't have to. One of the causes of pink flashing is reading all the thumbnails of the hair in the game, especially if you have a lot of cc hair and getting to the last page or halfway through is very tiring for you and for your game that have to read all the thumbnails. It doesn't matter if the game already has them cached, pink flashing doesn't care.

Avoid changing your sims clothes if you don't have to change them (so avoid needlessly looking at all the clothes you have, in your wardrobe or in shop mode as if it were your closet at home). Just like with hair, pink flashing is triggered by reading too many thumbnails, especially if you have a lot of cc clothes. As with hair, it doesn't matter if the game has already cached thumbnails of all the clothes you have. Pink Flashing doesn't care. BUT unlike hair, for clothes I found a solution (which I hope is not a coincidence that only works for me). Unfortunately this took away the pleasure of going to the shops to buy clothes, but it avoided crashes and Pink Flashing. Basically, I discovered (and I don't know why) that if I use Pescado Clothing Tool, for some mystical reason the game doesn't crash and doesn't trigger pink flashing (I can even spend hours scrolling through all my many ccs and it doesn't annoys my game at all)

Last but not least, pink flashing can also be caused by reading too many thumbnails in buy mode or visiting too many lots during the same gaming session. Unfortunately there isn't much to do here, my only advice is to save very often when you edit lots, and to avoid visiting different lots too much if you don't need to (don't worry, your sims don't suffer from claustrophobia and can stay in their homes very well). If you have to edit a lot of lots, use a game session ONLY for that, because changing lots and scrolling through the buy mode there will be a lot of pink flashing very soon, at some point. At least you will have the knowledge that it will arrive any moment and you won't have to stress while you are in live mode.

To summarize, pink flashing is triggered by:

Scroll too much hair pages in "edit appearance" mode.

Scroll too much clothes pages in "change clothing" mode.

Scroll too much furnitures in "buy/build mode"

Open/go in many different lots in the same game session.

Use very big lots with a lots of objects.

Apartment lots (these ones are a hell for PF)

AND the snow. Yes, when the terrain change in "snowy" mode, this trigger the PF a lot. You can disable the snow with mods if you want or simply save the game before the terrain changes and hope that it will not happen.

@brandinotbroke added that the shaders trigger Pink Soup. But when it comes to shaders this time it also depends a lot on the hardware capacity of your PC, and it's not just a game problem. Both the game's shaders themselves, additional shaders and default replacement shaders downloaded from the internet could cause problems. If you think this is the problem, the solution is to use the "userShader off" cheat. BUT this doesn't always mean that your computer can't handle that particular shader. Often some shaders need to be downloaded in their version to be compatible with other shaders. So try to differentiate the difference between an unsupported shader and a shader that is not compatible with another, always read the description of the creator's post carefully. (For example: the "Better Night Life" shader conflicts with Voielle's water shaders and for this reason there is a BNL shader compatible with Voielle's water. IF you used the normal shader instead of the compatible one, any object that works with BNL shaders will be affected by Pink Soup.)

@goingsimcrazy added that many hood deco, high quality setting, high DOF and lot impostors can trigger pink flashing. However, this is a mix between "your PC's hardware capabilities" and basically...player luck. Sometimes players with latest generation gaming PCs cannot handle the hood decos and players who play with toasters play surrounded by hood decos, so here isn't very clear how The Sims 2... decides its capacity and compatibility criteria. But anyway, if you think that your hood deco, lot impostors, high graphics qualities and DOF (distance of field) are TOO MUCH and that your PC cannot support them, simply deactivate and lower the graphics settings from the settings!

BUT @goingsimcrazy also pointed out a detail that I wanted to add too but forgot. Basically, deleting the thumbnails cache is of no use, it doesn't solve the pink flashing problem, in fact it makes it worse. I won't give you a computer lesson but in simple terms I'll explain it to you like this: caches are used to store information so that when you open a software, the software takes information from the cache file and speeds up its reading capacity. If you delete the thumbnails cache every two days what you are doing is practically punching yourself, because not only are you slowing down the game, but by doing so you force it to regenerate the thumbnails every single time, thus causing crashes and pink flashing. Delete the thumbnails ONLY if you have changed a huge number of default replacements and need to update the previews OR press CTRL + right click of the mouse on the individual preview you want to refresh.

@fireflowersims also added this, that it's very important, please read!

Small clarification to finish:

Sometimes pink flashing is also caused by very long gaming sessions (so even if you don't do any of the things listed, at some point it will still happen, but I'm talking about more than 4/5 hours of gaming).

Many of the things listed may be stupid and already known, many of you will be reading and thinking "the genius has arrived", but I have seen many people suffer from pink flashing, not understanding what trigghed it and doing A LOT of the things that trigghed it the most. (I watched a lot of gameplay on YouTube where this happened).

So...I hope I helped someone and if someone know other things that trigger PF let me know, I'll add it to this post!

[sophiethewitch1]

A Dramatic Irony

A/n: Trying to combat writer's block so I decided to do this little drabble. Spoilers for the WHB prologue, and also includes my theory that MC will turn out to be God in some form or capacity. Because why the hell else would the angels turn over to our side?

GAME IS 18+ THIS DRABBLE ISN'T, BUT EVEN THE PROLOGUE HAS ADULT CONTENT! MINORS PLEASE BE SENSIBLE!!!

“So, it was you? This whole time?” His lips graze against your throat. He’s warm, of course he is. All that holy light spilling out? He’s so warm it’s almost uncomfortable.

Everything about this is uncomfortable, really. But of course, like always, you’re at the centre of it. Of every situation, from the depths of hell to the cloudy tops of heaven.

“I’m not Him,” you grit out, your body shivering. You don’t dare move. Not with Gabriel, the man who had sworn to kill you, who had chased you over hell with armies of feathered fiends, with his teeth at your jugular.

It doesn’t matter the way he shakes just the same as you. It doesn’t matter that his fingers skim delicately - reverently - across your stomach. It doesn’t matter that those eyes that before looked at you with absolutely nothing inside, now seemed to overflow. With love, obsession.

You know, before all this, you’d been an atheist. Before an unholy angel had crawled out of your computer and a righteous demon had saved you and your best friend’s life, you had thought God couldn’t exist. That the world couldn’t be so cruel if someone like Him truly did exist. That your childhood wouldn’t be mired in tragedy, that you wouldn’t struggle to get out of bed every day. That you wouldn’t have to blink away flashes of the scent of copper and soap.

And of course, then you’d made a deal with the devil. You’d gone to hell. You’d broken countless contracts, and warred against heaven. You’d had to fight for every second of your life, and you’d done it bitterly, angrily.

Angry at this God that had disappeared, and angry at His stupid mistake of making every angel madly in love with him. Angry at how He never thought of the consequences of his actions, of how He never imagined a world He wouldn’t exist in. How just by your birth, you’d been destined to suffer. How your parents would have died no matter what, how you would always have had to walk this thorny path.

How He never seemed to consider what could happen when you created one of the strongest beings in the universe and forgot to give them a fucking moral compass.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, ignoring your words. His too-warm body crowding in too close to yours, as your fists curl against his chest, desperately trying to push him away. It’s no use because no matter what’s in your blood, you aren’t strong enough - what is Solomon’s, and what is His.

Because, apparently, those stupid mistakes you’d cursed God for, were yours.

“I’m not Him,” you repeat, hands moving to claw at his throat. He doesn’t react beyond a small sigh of pleasure, curling into your touch like a cat in the sun. “I’m not Him. I don’t have His memories. I’m not Him.”

“I told you, didn’t I? I didn’t have any negative feelings towards you. I’m sorry, I’ll fix it. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Please, just let me stay by your side?”

It’s such a strange dichotomy. The angel who sees this as a beautiful, miraculous reunion. And you, who sees this a tragedy. One you could never escape. The angel from before, swinging his scythe at your throat, and the one who now presses plush lips against that same skin. It’s too ironic, isn’t it? It just can’t be true. It just doesn’t make any sense.

“I don’t want you by my side,” you sob, but he just shushes you, pressing kisses against your head and across your face. He licks up your tears, groaning at the taste.

It’s too cruel. You have to wonder if the old you, the one you can’t remember, ran from this.

His hands tighten around your waist. It doesn’t really matter what happened before, because you know you won’t be able to run this time.

[yet-another-heathen]

Wick's Whump Drive - I

This is a commissioned piece for @light-me-on-pyre, who was kind enough to participate in my ongoing whump drive for Palestinian aid.

Want in? Donate $5/€5 or more to ANY Palestinian fundraiser, send me the receipt, and I'll write a custom whump drabble for you, too.

Prompt: "How would you write deconditioning?"

[ My lessons on how to write realistic conditioning can be found here. ]

---

TW | realistic whump recovery, emotional whump, brief argument, PTSD, flashbacks, intentional deconditioning attempt, implied past character death (whumper)

It wasn't the word itself this time. It was the way Caretaker said it.

"Kneel."

Whumpee went down hard. The mental cursing began when his knees were about two inches from hitting the ground. Too late to stop the movement. Plenty of time to hate himself for following through.

Where his knees hit, the jarring spike of stacking bruises felt like a punch. Failure.

Another. Fucking. Failure.

Whumpee groaned in frustration, hands balling in his hair. Then he was on his feet again, pacing. "Again."

"Whumpee, I think we've had enough for toni—"

"No! No, I need to try again! I have to get this right just once before I stop." He turned again on his heel, leaving another path in the carpet. "We keep going. I just— I just need to keep going."

Caretaker raised an eyebrow, not moving from where he knelt. With that endless patience that was beginning to grate on Whumpee's nerves, "...we have been at this for an hour. Your nerves are getting more and more frayed by the minute. You said yourself that this works best when you're calm."

"And what if I'm wrong?" Whumpee whirled around on him, tears in his eyes. "I keep failing. I've barely managed to stop myself three times this whole week. Out of what? Four dozen attempts? Five? Every time I quit I end up backsliding more and more. I can't keep giving up. This has to work."

"It will be easier—"

"Are you going to say it or not? You said you would help me!"

Caretaker looked taken aback. And just as quickly, his expression shuttered.

"What do you think I've been doing for the last hour?" he asked. "Don't forget— I still get to say 'no', too."

The reminder hit like a slap. Not because Caretaker was wrong. Because he was right.

It had taken everything Whumpee had just to keep making it through the practice sessions. With how bad things had gotten, he barely had the capacity to take care of himself right now. Let alone worry any of the people around him.

Was that how he'd been acting? Was that what Whumpee was denying him? Even the choice to be a part of this?

After standing there for another far too long moment, Whumpee let out a sigh and came back over to Caretaker. He slipped to the floor beside him, folding his knees up to his chest, back pressed to the couch.

Quieter, rougher, "...Yeah. Yeah, you do." He couldn't bring himself to look at him. "I'm sorry."

Although Caretaker didn't say anything, Whumpee could see the moment the tension in his shoulders let go. The fight passed over them like a distant shadow.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this," Whumpee murmured. He wrapped his arms around his knees, resting his chin on his forearms. "Between the nightmares and the memories... I'm just... I'm so tired." Quieter still, "I can't seem to get that monster out of my head."

"You've not been sleeping." It wasn't a question.

"...I've been trying to. I really have. But I end up just laying there, thinking the same five thoughts on repeat, over and over and over. Things haven't been this bad since—"

A flash of bright light. Wrists rubbed raw. Whumpee was doubled over, arms wrapped around himself. Screaming himself raw with a flood of relief and despair and a hundred other emotions that he could never admit aloud. Blood spreading on the cement floor. Blood that finally, finally wasn't his own.

Whumpee flinched, twisting his face away from the sight. As if this was something he could just look away from. As if the memories weren't printed into his retinas like the afterimage of lightning.

He took a few slow, steadying breaths, shaking on every exhale. Clenched his trembling hands, open and closed. Open and closed. Eventually he managed a raspy, "...since before."

Caretaker watched, worried. But he knew better than to reach for Whumpee without asking first.

"Whumpee... you've been butting up against this same block for weeks now. I've watched you try everything except the most obvious thing there is. You need to rest." Whumpee opened his mouth to say something, but Caretaker cut him off before he could argue. "—I'm not telling you to quit. I know why you can't, and I would never ask it of you. But there's a difference between giving up, and taking enough time to catch your breath before the next sprint."

Whumpee averted his eyes again, throat working against the burn of building tears. But he was listening.

Softer, "You said this was something you'd be working on for the rest of your life. If that's true, then there's time. For just a few days... give yourself some of the softness you went so long without. Take enough time to be gentle with the man you're trying so hard to save."

The words had hit their mark. He watched as Whumpee's face crumpled. His breath hitched once, and he broke into a sob. Then Whumpee finally reached out for him, and Caretaker didn't hesitate to pull him into hug.

He buried his face against Caretaker's chest, everything he'd been holding back falling apart at once. Pain. Despair. Hope. Grief. All of it came pouring out with his voice.

"There. I've got you," Caretaker murmured, closing his eyes. Exhausted, but relieved that something had finally gotten through. "...I've got you."

[incorrecttom]

till the end

tw: angst. spoilers for jjk manga. dad!gojo, death, grief. Uh, neglect? lmk if I miss anything. not edited or beta read. i'm trying to get back in writing, sorry if it is terrible.

summary; in which Satoru Gojo never got to see his child grow

SATORU GOJO, was many things. The strongest sorcerer, the strongest, the first sorcerer to be born with both the Limitless and the Six Eyes in the last four hundred years. A special grade, the honored one.

And yet, here he lay on the ground battered and bruised after the fight. He always knew that he'd never make it out alive from the battle with Sukuna. He never knew death would come so, soon. In the same month as his best friend, just a year apart. Maybe, it's just a cruel mockery. He'd done what he had to, he'd save his students. He knows he can leave it up to them. As his last moments dawned, upon him, the after effects of the fight finally settled in.

He wasn't able to breathe, the lungs failing the capacity to heave out breaths. Life flashed before his eyes.

That's what brought him to the memory of his child, the one who he never got to look after. The chains of the higher ups always prevented him to have a trip back at home. Being the strongest and yet never being able to bond with his child?

It wasn't he couldn't.

It was he can't.

He can remember it vividly, his child staying up till late to study god knows what mumbo jumbo which he never understood. Or trying to go into his shoji only to find him sleeping. Or out of the estate on some mission as usual.

Whenever his child would find him sleeping, they'd simply leave behind the drawing; while it wasn't much, just a few stick figure of him and them on a picnic. Sometimes Megumi included due to how often he'd take care of them.

... now, that his mind was growing hazy with the after effects of the battle. It's slowly shutting down, in a peaceful slumber. He could feel the consciousness slipping past like how water slips past the fingers, leaving drops.

The only thought that enters and registers. The last one is, “I am sorry.”

Sorry not to his students, higher ups, colleagues or so.

But sorry to his child, for they never got the love that they needed. Sorrow for him leaving so soon.

[somebodys-nightmare]

Why Aerith is Actually the Biggest Support of Cloud and Tifa's Relationship

Despite the illusionary red herring of the “love triangle” in disc one of FFVII, when you look at the big picture of the Compilation and the overall story, it becomes evident that Aerith, like Cloud and Tifa’s other friends, supports their romantic relationship and their spiritual bond.

In fact, in Aerith’s case, she not only supports it but actively works to push and keep them together, symbolically blessing their union and ultimately helping guide Cloud toward a life of love and family with the girl he’s loved all along.

The so-called love triangle is a plot device and a vehicle for internal conflicts.

As the last Cetra, Aerith’s role is one of a guide and spiritual protector, a role that becomes fully realized in the Lifestream following her death. In this capacity, part of her purpose is to lead souls to their “Promised Land”.

The conflicts present in the first two games of the Remake trilogy are leading to this actualized version of Aerith, who is already present in the timeless meta of Lifestream.

In Remake, Aerith displays a premonition and almost otherwordly awareness of Cloud and Tifa’s relationship, suggesting that she has insight beyond the present moment. Aerith’s role as a Cetra - primarily through the foresight and memories handed down to her via the White Materia - allows her to perceive connections and destinies.

In the very beginning of Remake, Aerith gives Cloud a yellow lily that is laden with meaning and serves as one of the most striking symbols in FFVII. She explains that lovers give this flower when they reunite, subversively foreshadowing the future reunion of Cloud and Tifa. Depending on the player’s level of resistance during this scene, Aerith even teases Cloud, suggesting that the flower will “make his girlfriend’s day” if he gives it to her.

Sure enough, Cloud later gives the lily to Tifa at Seventh Heaven, foreshadowing both their romantic connection and their eventual reunion in the Lifestream. Unlike the OG, there is no optionality in this scene and the option to give the flower to Marlene is removed, cementing this trajectory as an important part of the main scenario.

The flower's symbolic journey doesn't stop there, though. When Aerith rescues Marlene from Seventh Heaven in Chapter 12, she notices the flower on display in Tifa’s corner of the bar with all of her things, clearly indicating it's a cherished gift she received from Cloud. Upon seeing it, Aeith smilies approvingly, a subtle and silent acknowledgment that Cloud indeed gave the flower to his true love.

In Chapter 8 of Remake, while walking with Aerith after rescuing the kids in Sector 5, Cloud has a memory flash of Tifa, causing him to call out her name. Aerith’s curiosity is piqued, and she asks Cloud if Tifa is his girlfriend. When Cloud denies this, Aerith insists that Tifa is “someone special”, forcing Cloud to admit that his relationship with Tifa is complicated and difficult to explain.

It’s important to note the way that Aerith claspes her hands into her “prayer hands” pose in this scene, emphasizing a spiritual premonition of the knowledge of Cloud and Tifa's bond and its importance.

Not much later, in Chapter 9, upon seeing Tifa and realizing she may be in danger in Wall Market, Aerith not only insists that Cloud go after her, but even teases about their relationship.

In Chapter 12, when Tifa is conflicted about letting Cloud go up to the pillar to fight Shinra without her, Aerith urges Tifa to “follow her heart,” a phrase that is meant not only to encourage her at that moment but hints at her support of their relationship.

During Tifa’s resolution in Remake, the emotional and romantic embrace that Cloud and Tifa share takes place in a deeply symbolic location: Aerith’s garden. Surrounded by reunion flowers and with the Lifestream pulsing in the nearby water, this imagery clearly foreshadows Cloud and Tifa's eventual true reunion, but the choice of this location can also represent Aerith's meta-blessing of Cloud and Tifa’s bond.

This symbolism reflects that Aerith, despite the conflicts inherent in the first disc of the story, supports the love between Cloud and Tifa in the meta of the story.

In Rebirth, Aerith’s actions continue to reflect her role as a Cetra, even as she struggles with her own conflicting emotions regarding Cloud and her longing for Zack. This matter is further complicated by Aerith losing the memories and foresight contained in the White Materia.

Despite her loss of foresight, and despite her complex internal conflict surrounding Cloud and Zack, Aerith remains aware of the bond Cloud and Tifa share and remains on the pathway towards her purpose as a Cetra who is meant as a guide to the promised land, continuously recognizing the importance of Cloud and Tifa’s bond, even when it reminds her of her own loneliness.

In Chapter 2, for example, after Cloud and Tifa’s fight in Kalm, while on the Clocktower Aerith urges Cloud to cherish Tifa, recognizing how special their bond is.

And in Chapter 11, while on the water tower, she manages to get Cloud to admit how he pined for Tifa when he was younger.

This moment stands out as a moment of development for Aerith, as it reinforces her understanding of the true nature of Cloud and Tifa's relationship (especially within the context of her losing her Remake foresight).

Let’s pivot to the OG. In the end after Cloud defeats Sephiroth in the mental realm, we see Aerith reach out to him from the Lifestream, extending her hand as if to guide him. This gesture then transitions to Tifa’s hand in the physical world, as she reaches out to Cloud within the collapsing crater.

This visual connection, bridging the spiritual and physical realms, suggests that Aerith is guiding Cloud home to Tifa, connecting him with his true “Promised Land.”

This is the fully actualized Aerith who understands her role as a Cetra, and uses this power to help Cloud.

In On the Way to a Smile, Cloud believes Aerith led Denzel to him as a form of personal redemption for his failures. While this is simply his assumption and not necessarily the case, let’s assume for the sake of argument that Aerith did indeed lead Denzel to Cloud.

If this is the case, it only makes sense that Aerith did so as a gift to Cloud and Tifa to further bless their relationship.

Tifa seems to agree.

Cloud finds Denzel at Aerith's church and brings him home because Tifa tells him to. Denzel becomes Cloud and Tifa’s adopted son, cementing the family that Cloud builds with Tifa - two people who both lost their entire families and can now find healing in their shared traumas by starting one of their own.

By guiding Denzel into Cloud and Tifa's lives, Aerith brings Cloud closer to his “Promised Land” of family and love, deepening Cloud's connection and purpose with Tifa.

One of the most iconic Cloud and Tifa moments in the entire Compilation takes place in Advent Children in Aerith’s church, where Cloud finds Tifa injured and helpless. He rushes to her side, and in a moment of shared vulnerability, the two collapse together amidst Aerith’s flowers in a yin-yang position that symbolizes balance, harmony, and interconnectedness, reflecting the depth of Cloud and Tifa’s bond as both lovers and soulmates.

The scene once again takes place in a space intrinsically tied to Aerith. The yin-yang pose speaks to Cloud and Tifa’s complementary nature, with Aerith’s flowers surrounding them as a visual reminder of her meta-support of their relationship, much like Tifa’s resolution.

When Cloud nearly dies towards the end of Advent Children, it’s Aerith and Zack who send him back to the living world. Aerith’s words to Cloud suggest that he has more to live for, and this life is with his family and Tifa. By urging him to return, Aerith ensures that Cloud remains with those who need and love him most, fulfilling her purpose as a spiritual guide.

Her decision to send him back also symbolizes her desire to see Cloud happy with the family he’s found in Tifa, the woman he has always loved

While Shinra believes that the Promised Land is some utopia an Ancient can guide them to, we learn from FFVII’s lore throughout the Compilation that the Promised Land (as believed by the Cetra) is really symbolic of each individual person’s place of true happiness, and perhaps eternal rest in the afterlife.

As stated before, as the last Cetra, part of Aerith’s duty is to guide souls to their “Promised Land.” We see this in On The Way to a Smile in Case of Lifestream White, and it’s being foreshadowed heavily in the Remake trilogy.

For Cloud, who is still living, his Promised Land isn’t an ethereal realm but rather a life of love, family, and belonging with Tifa, Denzel, and Marlene.

The Remake trilogy seems to be building on this theme, with Aerith consistently recognizing and supporting Cloud’s bond with Tifa, even in the face of her own complicated affections prior to her death.

I fully expect that we can look forward to part three of the Remake trilogy explicating this in a way that is undeniable, while also bringing about the ultimate reunions the first two games have been setting up for between both Cloud and Tifa and Aerith and Zack.

The flower symbolism with the yellow lily representing reunion foreshadows this dual fulfillment, suggesting that both couples will find their “Promised Lands.

Cloud will reach his “Promised Land” with Tifa and his family, while Aerith will find her place alongside Zack in the Lifestream, each character finding the place they truly belong.

[violetjedisylveon]

Oh I’ve got an idea for your Forgotten Moon au:

Wukong doesn’t actively try to interact with Macaque feeling he doesn’t deserve to after he basically caused Macaque’s death twice, but somehow, someway they always bump into each other.

While Macaque feels a strong urge to connect with Wukong every time they do bump into each other.

Wukong tries his hardest to keep a distance but unfortunately he can’t say no to his moon (after all the pain he caused he can’t stand the idea of making him sad again in any capacity).

It’s these interactions that cause Macaque to gain back his memories, mostly as flashes, sometimes as dreams.

But it’s during the fight with either the camel ridge trio or Xiangliu, that brings Macaque’s full memories back, as he instinctively jumps in front of an attack to protect Wukong, which causes everything to flood back in.

Once Macaque’s memories are back he’s stunned that they could be retrieved and that it was his “unexplained” need to be near Wukong that triggered it (in a way proving to him that he and Wukong were always meant to be in each other’s lives).

And yes as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he appreciates that Wukong respected his wishes, and didn’t try forcibly bringing him back.

Wukong gets all the points for respecting Macaque's autonomy and choices.

He definitely panics with the almost divine level of frequency for bumping into him and is starting to question if someone is messing with him. And it's even more distressing because Macaque is so nice and friendly and he just keeps noping out of there immediately.

Poor Macaque, he just wants to be the cool monkey man's friend and the guy keeps avoiding him, he's making him sad 😢

And I don't know what's funnier, Macaque still vehemently hating Peng and not knowing why, or Macaque having neutral feelings on the bird until they do shitty stuff.

I think his memories would be back probably after the pillar is fixed in season 5

Monkey man does not get trapped and goes with the crew.

Now Wukong can't escape him, and there's a limited number of beds on the truck 😈

Macaque is happy to cuddle with the walking hot pocket monkey, it feels familiar and comforting in the face of the world ending, and Wukong is just blue screening.

The monkeys do get to hold hands! No Snake Boi interference!

I think after his memories came back, macaque plays it normal like nothing is different to see how long it takes for them to realize he's messing with them, he's very refreshed and less cynical after the memories are back too, so pranking his ex mate soon to be mate again is the way to go.

How long do you think he'll be able to keep it up before doubling over laughing?

Thanks for this, it was definitely a mood lifter after writing babies getting murdered, that bummed me out.

[areyoudoingthis]

"So," Ed says while the crew gets the ship ready for Lucius and Pete's matelotage ceremony, shyly swaying his shoulder as he leans towards Stede in what is rapidly becoming Stede's favorite bit of Ed body language. "Zheng's offer."

And Stede hears the question he isn't asking. Hears the plea this time, too. This time he isn't drunk and coming off the high of being worshipped for killing a man to protect his loved ones. The renewed threat on their lives and watching Ed sob brokenly while Izzy died in his arms have sobered him up fast, instilled a new understanding of the way Ed views piracy in him and rearranged his priorities one more time. He thought he had this right when he left Barbados. No matter, he'll keep learning as he goes, keep listening and trying his best to do right by himself and by Ed.

"You wanted to become a fisherman." Ed winces. Stede doesn't hold a drop of resentment towards him, understands how easy it is to panic when faced with something as immense as what they share while the burdens of their pasts still plague them.

"I think I wasn't as well suited to fishing as a I thought," Ed says, ruefully.

"Nonsense. You're great at fishing." He beams at him, knows that Ed is capable of excelling at anything he sets his mind to. But it doesn't have to be fishing, it can be anything they choose. There's a whole world of possibilities open before them now. "What if we explored a different avenue?" he suggests.

Ed's eyes open wide, excited. Stede knows he's on the right track, the way his heart settles in his chest at the look in Ed's eyes tells him he can't go wrong if he follows this instinct for the rest of his days.

"Yeah? Like what?" He sounds impatient to get started.

"I remember you expressing an interest in becoming a restauranter once?"

"Eh, the food industry might be a tad too much work. We'd have to catch the food first, then cook it and serve all the customers..." he looks bashful, like there's something on the tip of his tongue that he's hesitant to speak out loud. "What if-?"

"Yes?" Stede asks, quiet and a little breathless with anticipation. His blood is thrumming, he wants to take this leap with Ed with every fiber of his being, is leagues more eager for this than he was when he first commissioned a ship and set off to sea.

"What about an inn?"

The memory flashes through his mind of Ed gifting a couple of kids on the Republic a bag of gold and a pair of knives, and claiming they weren't pirates but inn owners afterwards. How long has he been thinking about this? How long has this been a dream of his?

"Sounds fun." He smiles, radiant. He's thrilled to join Ed on their next adventure, inn ownership or fishing or bar and grill management. He would go anywhere with him.

"Yeah?" Ed sounds exhilarated too.

"Yes."

And there isn't an ounce of hesitancy in his voice this time around. He knows himself at last, knows the bottomless capacity for loving Ed his heart possesses, doesn't intend to ever let him go again.

Ed leans forward as if he intends to kiss him and Stede's heart starts beating faster, always greedy for Ed. But Ed stops, pauses halfway to Stede and looks doubtful all of a sudden.

"What about this?"

"This?"

"The ship. The crew. Piracy." Stede thinks he means the last one most of all. And god, what a fool he was to almost lose this to a fantasy. What he set out for a lifetime ago wasn't piracy, it was a dream of freedom and a place where he could be himself. He's never more himself than when he's standing next to Ed, looking the future in the eye together. This is his home, where his body and soul belong forever. The ship will continue to house their family and carry them safely across the sea, and they'll come back to visit as much as they want to. He can't wait to see what they get up to, either.

"You're the only adventure I need, Ed."

And Ed melts into his arms and kisses him sweetly.

[sysmedsaresexist]

⚡️ News Flash ⚡️

Dissociation: cognitive capacity or dysfunction?

Michiel B de Ruiter et al. J Trauma Dissociation. 2006.

Nonpathological dissociation is quite common in the general population ... and may reflect a constitutionally determined cognitive style rather than a pathological trait acquired through the experience of adverse life events. ... We review some of our behavioral as well as neural (i.e., fMRI, ERPs) studies, suggesting that high dissociative individuals are characterized by heightened levels of attention, working memory and episodic memory. In nonpathological conditions a person may benefit from these dissociative abilities, although after adverse (e.g., traumatic) events the disposition may develop into dissociative pathology.