#even though i still marvel at the fact that they now exist why did i do this?! xd

[wandaslovey]

𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎

➺ mom’s bsf!wanda x fem!reader

wc ~ 2.7k

a/n: this was the fic most voted for from my poll like two weeks ago :,) hope y’all enjoy!<3

a/n: i’m also currently writing a super dark/toxic wanda fic, so stay tuned for that loves 😙

*not proofread*

cw: established relationship, fluffy fluff, a (slightly) embarrassing conversation, shy/embarrassed reader but she still has a bit of a ‘tude

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

you hear the faint sound of birds chirping, some of the morning sunlight showing behind your closed eyelids, indicating you had slept in a bit. you hum sleepily, still feeling groggy from your “long night.”

it was a long night in the best way. tangled limbs, whispered words of affection and uninhibited love took place between you and wanda over the course of the evening and throughout the night. it was the first time the two of you had ever been in a setting where there was no need to look over your shoulder to see if someone would find the two of you out. there was no need to be rushed, quiet or secretive. it was simply just the two of you existing in your own little blissful bubble.

you rub the remaining sleep from your eyes, sitting up in bed just as you notice wanda entering the bedroom, two mugs of coffee in hand.

“good morning, sunshine,�� she greets you with a warm smile—one you’ve only seen her give you specifically. she walks over to the bed and sits at the edge, handing you your mug. you sit up and take it from her, your two hands holding it carefully as to not spill on the white sheets.

“thank you, wands” you smile gratefully, eagerly tipping the mug towards your lips to take a sip. your coffee always tasted better when she made it and you had no idea why since she made it the same way you did.

“how’d you sleep, honey?” she scoots a little closer to you, affectionately running her hand down your arm. she rests it on your knee which you then rest your hand atop of hers, interlacing your fingers together. you were both so addicted to the others’ touch—wanting to constantly be connected in some way.

“really good. i don’t think i’ve slept so peacefully in a long time,” you reach over and set your mug down on the nightstand next to the bed.

you take note of the fact that there was just a simple lamp and a coaster on the nightstand. just like you, wanda was more of a minimalist and you could see evidence of that fact everywhere you looked in this cozy cabin of hers. it was quite spacious, decorated tastefully with little personal touches of her here and there.

as you marvel at the space of the bedroom for the first time (you hadn’t been paying much attention when you’d first arrived), your eyes fall back to wanda again. she was already looking at you, seeming to have been watching you glance around the room.

“i love this place. it’s so homey and warm,” you smile as you tell her, your eyes wandering around the room again.

“i love it here too. i’ve been renting it out to people for awhile now. i was worried at first that having strangers track in and out of here would come back to bite me, but it’s still in near perfect condition.” you nod your head thoughtfully as she speaks, a short bout of silence falling over the two of you before she speaks again.

“y/n?” the way she says your name has your attention immediately, her tone indicative of a change in the subject.

“yeah?” you look at her a little warily, though you could still sense the lighthearted energy in the air. you knew the topic wouldn’t be so serious yet you found that butterflies started fluttering in your tummy in anticipation.

“i want to talk about something that happened last night.” the expression on her face gave little away as just a hint of a smile touched the corner of her lips, her green eyes dancing with something indiscernible behind them.

you remain silent as she pauses, wanting her to continue without interruption.

“it was something you said. something you said quite a few times actually..” she continues to be vague, but you could see the growing roguish expression on her face. immediately you wrack your brain for what you might have said last night. there wasn’t much talking at all that you remember. after arriving early in the evening to the cabin, you were practically falling into bed as soon as you were both through the door. the two of you had been equally eager to love each other without the nosy presence of your mom, friends or neighbors. it certainly wasn’t the first time the two of you had sex, but it was the first time where it wasn’t so secretive.

your brow furrows as you think harder. did you say something when your mind was fogged up in a lust filled haze?

suddenly, the butterflies that had been in your stomach went from fluttering to swarming. your heart beat faster in your chest as it dawned on you what you might have said while you were in a fuzzy headspace.

wanda watches the realization bloom on your face, the color on your cheeks now a lovely pink shade. it didn’t go unnoticed by her that you stopped breathing for a moment.

you weren’t sure what to say—what to do. was she disgusted? disturbed? weirded out?

she breaks you out of your own thoughts, her hand tucking some hair behind your ear and her thumb stroking across your cheekbone. you only blush harder under her affection, the uneasy feeling in your stomach still not settled as she had yet to speak another word.

“you know what i’m talking about, don’t you baby?” she didn’t need to ask the question—your face was answer enough, but she couldn’t help herself. she loved getting you all flustered and you usually made it so easy. you begin to fidget with your hands, twisting one of your rings around your finger. you clear your throat, preparing to face the music.

“umm… did i.. did i call you… mommy?” you cringe lightly as you speak the last word—not because it disgusted you, but because you worried it disgusted her. you were avoiding her gaze like the plague, your eyes fixated on your hands that were in your lap.

wanda reaches out, gently grasping your chin with her thumb and forefinger to tilt your head up. her gaze made your cheeks burn impossibly hotter, but you found that there was no trace of disgust on her face. “you did,” she states simply, a touch of an amused smile on her lips.

“is that something you’re into? some sort of mommy kink?” she gently prods, wanting to fully understand the inner workings of your mind.

you wanted to tell wanda everything. the two of you had grown so close over the last year. you had been attracted to your mother’s best friend for years. you never dreamed she would return your affections until one day she finally boldly proclaimed how she felt about you. from then on, things hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing, but your forbidden relationship still blossomed. you confided in each other about everything. well—everything but this.

your eyes flick back and forth between her eyes, and you can see the sincerity of her curiosity. you knew she wouldn’t judge you, so you decided it was silly to keep it a secret any longer.

“yes. i mean, i’ve always had a thing for older women… hot older women.” you joke lightly, your eyes dancing with amusement before you continue. “it’s just, well, you know my mom. she’s not exactly maternal. she’s great in her own way, but i just crave being coddled and loved - two things she was never great at doing. while my mom instilled the necessity of being independent and strong, i never had a space to be vulnerable or depend on somebody. she never really gave me rules, so there was little i couldn’t do. because of that, now i crave structure and discipline where i never had it growing up. having a mommy kink can mean a lot of different things to different people, but the way i look at it… the way i look at you, i see a nurturing, confident, beautiful woman who does love and coddle me—quite a bit, i might add.” you laugh lightly at your half-hearted jab and then continue.

“so yes, to me, you perfectly encapsulate someone whom i’d wanna call mommy—to obey, love and cherish.”

as soon as you start talking, explaining what this all meant to you, you couldn’t stop. you yearned to have her understand and to grasp onto this concept that you saw her as the safest space in the whole world.

you watch her take everything in, her expression always thoughtful. a warm smile grew on her face, a light growing within her eyes. “oh, sweetheart, come here.” she reaches her arm across your body, pulling you into her. you straddle her, easily settling into the comforting space of her lap. she wraps her arms tightly around your smaller frame, resting her cheek against your head as you nuzzle your face into her neck.

“you’re so precious, you know that? my precious girl.” she hums into your ear before kissing your hair. she rocks the both of you gently from side to side as you embrace, her perfume with hints of pears, fig leaves and sap filling your nose.

“you know something, baby?” she loosens her hold on you, gently grasping your hips to pull you back so she can look into your pretty eyes. “i like it when you call me mommy,” her voice drops an octave, her eyes twinkling, and she smirks at your reaction. your cheeks flush and you smile a bit bashfully, your head tilting into your shoulder. “you do?” you ask, suddenly feeling a little shy again under her intense gaze.

“mhmm, i do honey love. mmmm, you’re just too damn cute for your own good.” her hands come up to cradle your face, as she leans closer to you. you think she means to kiss you, but instead she tilts your head up, her lips kissing along your jaw in search of a certain spot on your neck. wanda knew your body like the back of her hand. she knew what spots drove you crazy and which ones made you yearn for more.

“wanda.. quit that!” you whine softly, catching on to her drift. there were certain spots on your neck that if she kissed or nipped just right, it tickled more than anything else.

wanda hums against your skin, licking at the spot as you try half heartedly to push her away. her arms wrap around you again, holding you firmly in place. “no, i don’t think i will,” she purrs and then chuckles darkly next to your ear as she feels you struggling more earnestly. deciding to up the ante, one of her hands starts to dig into your side, your ticklish ribs falling victim to her game. you squeak and squirm against her, attempting to slide off her lap but she’s having none of it. in one swift movement, she all but swings you around until your back hits the mattress. she quickly climbs atop of you, her legs straddling your hips. “you can make this all stop now you know, if you say something for me..” her voice was taunting as she wiggles her fingers just above your body.

“what??” you demand, hoping to halt this attack before it really begins. you were really ticklish. your nerves were already alight with anticipation as you watch her hands ever so slowly slip under your sleep shirt. your belly clenches as her fingernails lightly scratch their way up your torso.

“give me a minute to think of something, hmm? you’re just so cute all pliant and eager to appease me right now,” she bites her lip, unsuccessfully masking her grin. she spiders her fingers down your sides and you arch your back, a soft squeal sounding in the back of your throat. you refused to give her the reaction she was looking for. her persistence in trying to get you to squirm and giggle under her only brought out your stubborn attitude. you press your lips together, trying to will the ticklishness out of your body. her eyes burn into yours as she senses your obstinance. her eyes crinkle as she smiles, excited at the mere aspect of trying to get you to crack a small laugh.

she traces one finger down your stomach before she gathers both of your wrists in her one hand, holding them above your head. given your unwillingness to let her see that she was getting to you, you allow her to entrap your hands without struggle. she hums as her finger traces down the slope of your nose and past your lips. you snap at her, your teeth clacking and she chuckles warmly at the action.

“c’mon, you know you wanna laugh for me… just the tiniest little snicker or a small tittle..” her voice was warm like honey, which would have been comforting if you were in a different situation. one of her hands tickles at your tummy, her other one digging into your ribs. unable to contain your reaction now, you giggle gleefully. the light sound was satisfying as it hit wanda’s ears. you looked so adorable, all squirmy and helpless under her.

“oh my, that looks like it really tickles.” she laughs with you, her body moving around with yours as you attempt to shake and buck her off.

your brain was becoming a scrambled, fuzzy mess the more your body struggled against her. your desperation grew with each ticking second. no matter how you thrashed or wriggled around, it didn’t help your predicament. wanda knew just where to get you, spurred on by your reactions.

“wand-mommy! please! stop! stop!” you yelp, your wrists rubbing together and twisting in her grasp as you try in vain to pull your arms down.

wanda gasps playfully, her fingers slowing down. “what was that? i couldn’t hear you..” you groan, the feeling of helplessness continuing to wash over you in waves. “please..please stop!” you whine, quieter more reluctant giggles falling in between your words.

“oh darling, you know i can’t understand you when you giggle so much. say that again?” her grin was sinfully amused. you wished you could smack the smug expression right off her perfect face. “mommy please-please stop!” you try again, figuring she wanted you to pull the mommy card once more.

she hums again, sounding pleased. she could see your face starting to turn red from all the laughter and so she decided to show you some mercy, her hands finally halting their ticklish actions. “okay, okay, i’m done malysh.” she murmurs, her hand that was imprisoning your wrists loosening. she leans down, placing sweet kisses along your face. you clutch at her shirt, your legs wrapping around her body, wanting to feel closer to her. she smiles to herself at your clinginess, her lips pausing as they place one final kiss against your jaw.

“i’m sorry dorogoya.. i knew you were ticklish but i didn’t know you were that ticklish,” she muses, tucking some hair behind your ear. your cheeks heat in delicate embarrassment and you take advantage of your freed hands now by smacking her arm.

“hey, be nice to your mommy. you know if you act up, i’ll just have to punish you..” you gasp softly, the prospect of her punishing you instantly sets a flame in your lower belly. she leans closer to you, pecking your lips. “hmm you like that idea, don’t you?” you feel her grin against your lips. you nod, your eager eyes set on hers. she takes mental note of your reaction, finding that she herself was excited at the idea of punishing you.

“something tells me you’ll have earned a punishment or two before our little weekend is over,” she purrs, imagining the various ways you may choose to act up in the next couple of days. “i have to admit, mommy’s a little excited to find out just how bratty you can be.”

you raise your eyebrows, a small smirk forming on your lips. “you’re probably gonna wish you didn’t just say that…”

[jarofstyles]

Cocoon- Best Friend's Dadrry

hello my loves, here is part 6 of the best friend's dadrry series!! I hope you enjoy

Patreon

Previous part

Warnings- age gap relationship, hints of smut, fluffy and angsty

WC- 2.9k

-----------

“Fuck me.” Harry muttered, looking down at his phone.

It was a day in-office for him, one of the few ones that he still did just to keep order of it. Having his own company had a lot of perks, which were thoroughly enjoyed by the man with taking trips and spending money and living lavishly. One of the best so far, though, had been being able to be home when Y/N had days off. The pretty girl that stayed on his mind 25/8, the one he was still trying to gauge how she felt. 

Today had been scheduled before she had been given the day off. The man had mourned the loss of a later morning, snuggled between her legs with her thighs keeping his cheeks warm. He loved having breakfast in bed, languid licks at her sensitive cunt while she stroked his hair and squirmed under him with soft little sleepy moans. His ultimate best morning routine, tarnished by the fact he had to leave at 6 in the damn morning. He’d kissed her pouty lips goodbye and driven to the city, grumpy and under caffeinated as he sat down at his office chair. 

He’d been in the middle of a conference call when he had opened up the messages sent from Y/N. One in particular had him cursing under his breath. 

It was her in his bed. His shirt on her body, lifted up by her hand to expose her naked torso and the curve of her hips. Her beautiful, beautiful body that he had dragged himself away from this morning, albeit mournfully. His eyes took in the faded marks of his fingers on her hips and the very fresh love bite he had left on the swell of her breast. He could remember the exact moment he had given it to her, too. Her body laid out under him on the couch, vibrator he had snuck downstairs pressed firmly to her clit as she whined for him. He’d worshiped her breasts, sucking on the nipples until they swelled and made her shiver when he blew on them, kissing and licking every available inch of skin just because he could. Because Harry wanted to own her, and she loved to be owned by him. 

That one spot in particular had made her squeal, so he had latched on. Sucking rough, feeling her hips roll and her poor clit be slightly abused as she came and he kept it pressed there for another time around. Harry had become increasingly greedy with her and her body, her time. He wanted all of it. Making her orgasm was an addiction, feeling her nails dig into his arms as she weighed in his arms and telling him ‘enough’ but knowing she wasn’t safe wording out? He went feral on that. 

Their sexual chemistry was a modern marvel. He’d wondered many times how it was. Why it was. It had to be his daughter’s best friend who had finally unlocked the side of him that he had thought never existed. Passion and lust and the need to please had engulfed him like a wall of flames as soon as they kissed, achy hands gripping soft flesh and pulling her closer and closer so he could get her scent on his skin. Her taste on his lips. His orgasms before were barely considered now that he had came inside of her.

Y/N had woken up a part of him that he had thought had died a long time ago. The adventurous sex and excitement, he felt like a boy discovering love and intimacy all over again. It was terrifying and exhilarating and he wanted to hoard all of these moments with her for himself. He had considered it a potential midlife crisis when the topic had been broached, but quickly dismissed that. The things he felt for her were real. The sweaty palms and the need to please and the shot of butterflies shot into his stomach when she fucking smiled at him. He had been in a few relationships in the past and it was similar, but Y/N just seemed to understand a part of him.Unspoken, perhaps, but it seemed like she didn’t even have to try to make him happy. Her simple being an natural instincts leaned towards his preferences.  

“What?” One of the voices on the call had responded. 

Fuck.

“Sorry, I spilled coffee on myself.” He tried to save it. “I apologize for the unprofessionalism, it just burned me.” He hadn’t realized he said it out loud. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s awful. Are you alright?” Another voice asked, the concern making him smile to himself. 

“Yes, I’m fine. We can continue.” 

His eyes went back to the photo, making sure to mute himself this time as his thumbs typed out a text to her. 

H: What are you trying to do? 

H: You know I’m in a meeting right now. 

💋: I know 😇

💋: thought you’d like some motivation. 

H: The only things it’s motivating me to do is mark your ass up with my hand when I get home. 

💋: say it again, Daddy. I’m close. 

H: Y/N….

💋: Daddy H…. 

H: You’re lucky you’re cute. 

💋: ooo, what else am I? 

H: Trouble. 

💋: hm, maybe a little bit. 

💋: what else? 💋💋

H: One of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen. Incredibly intelligent. Kind. Strong willed. 

💋: … damn. I was teasing but you’re making me blush. 

💋: you’ve earned a blowie when you come home. 

H: I’m only stating the truth.

His smile grew as he realized that she called his place home. 

H: You’ll still be there when I get home?

💋: Mhm. I was going to run errands but the bed… it’s too comfortable. 

💋: I think you should bring home take out and eat it with me in bed. Be lazy with me. We can watch the documentary you wanted to see.

H: I won’t complain about coming home to my pretty girl in bed. 

In fact, it would make him giddy all day. She wanted to spend time with him like that?  Yes, they’d done it a lot before but it felt way better now. More real. Domestic. 

💋: I’d hope not. 

💋: not opposed to a pizza and some wine. Just putting it out there. 

H: Anything for you, darling. 

💋: if you keep saying that you won’t be able to get rid of me. 

H: I wouldn’t dream of it. 

He never wanted to. He wanted to keep her. That was part of the problem. 

—-

Harry came home with two pizza boxes in hand and the requested wine in the other. The house was quiet, tranquil. The string lights she had asked to hang up on the deck were on and the sun was almost set, casting s glow into the kitchen as he walked through it. His home had felt so empty when his daughter had left for college, even more so when she’d actually moved out- but having Y/N here was a remedy. A blessing. He wanted to come home every night to her shoes in the entryway. Her mug in the sink. She made it feel like a home again.  

His briefcase was set down in the office, his work phone left too so he didn’t have it and grabbed two glasses from the kitchen before he basically zoomed up the stairs, opening his bedroom door to see- a lump. 

A Y/N sized lump under the covers. Hair piled up on top of her head peeked out of his duvet that was clutched close to her face, which was smushed slightly against his pillow. She was sleeping on his pillow on her side of the bed. His heart tingled, a slight smile rising on his face as he placed the pizza boxes down on the dresser and the wine following. 

He took a moment to observe her. He’d done it plenty of times before as she slept. Creepy? Perhaps. But there was something so sweet about her when she fell asleep. Staying curled in his bed, no walls up, she let go of any defenses and felt safe enough with him to snooze in his bed- with or without him home. Her gentle breathing was all he could hear besides the low buzz of the tv playing some show he couldn’t place, the peaceful look on her face one he wished he could memorize. 

Fingers couldn’t stop the urge, reaching out and brushing the hair from her face. The baby hair that had been fussed with and fallen out in her sleep, her warm skin igniting his fingertips. She was so goddamn beautiful, it made his heart ache a little bit in his chest. He knew she was younger than him, but she was a woman. She was a sweet woman, strong and full of life and vigor. Y/N was hilarious and feisty but above all else, she was kind. She had a good heart. Perhaps there were flaws- ones he knew about, like her stubbornness, and some others that were more than likely hidden under a layer of heavily guarded fluff- but he thinks that they all add together to make her Y/N. And that in and of itself was fucking beautiful.

His chest squeezed when she leaned into his touch, falling deeper into the pillows with a soft noise. His touch calmed her, even in her sleep had her gravitating towards him. His heart felt like it was in his throat as he realized that it wasn't something he could talk himself out of. There were real feelings here. It wasn’t just an illicit affair anymore. Not just two people indulging in the taboo. It was a relationship, even without the label. 

He stroked over the apples of her cheeks, petting her heated skin as he saw her eyes flutter. One sleepily popped open, looking up at the man in confusion for a second before the most gut wrenchingly sweet smile tipped on her sleepy lips. A slow hand grabbed his hand keeping it where it was as she turned her face so her lips met his palm. Something that had become a habit for them both, her smooth, soft lips pressing chaste against the slightly tough skin of his hand. 

Wordlessly, her hand weakly tugged at him before she opened up the blankets. 

She wanted him in. 

Harry wasn’t going to tell her no. Especially not after how raw his heart felt at his revelation just mere seconds ago. He shrugged off his jacket and his belt, letting them fall to the floor so they wouldn’t irritate her while she scooted more towards the middle of the bed, allowing him space. His brain was whirling around, full of thoughts and things to say, but he couldn’t get them to organize themselves. All he could do is indulge in her request, crawling into the bed with her and laughing under her breath as she dove for his neck, tucking her face into the crook of it. 

God. He was so, so fucked. 

“Hi.” Out of everything he could have said, it was what escaped his lips. Arm wrapping underneath her body while the other moved to stroke her exceptionally warm back, he felt her snuggle into him. Melting into his body like it was a second piece to his own. Her breath was warm as he felt a single peck to the thin and sensitive skin of his throat, her nose running over it as she clutched his work shirt.

“Hi.” Was the peep back, her voice raspy with the sleep she had just gotten. Y/N was a nap fiend, always excusing herself for a bit of shut eye, but this had to be one of his new favorites. Sleepy Y/N in his bed, desperate for a cuddle when he got home. There was no semblance of hesitation, she was simply doing what she wanted and it made him feel full knowing that this was the choice.  

“Sleep well when I was gone, darling?” His voice was hushed, not wanting to break the intimate moment. This was the type of thing that Harry had been exceptionally greedy for lately. The tenderness, the sweet heart of this girl showing itself to him front and center. He could tell that sometimes it was intimidating for her to do such a thing, but she had been making him so, so happy. 

“Mhm.” The soft hum was met with her hand slipping under his work shirt, resting on his chest. He’d unbuttoned it and lost the tie on the way in, but he knew now that he needed to thank whatever gave him the idea to do that. Her little warm hand smoother over his skin, brushing over the light hair on his chest with another hum before she settled it there. “Missed you, though.” The admission had him smiling to himself, unable to see her face but knowing it was a little bit shy. His hand found a similar position, slipping under her tank top and splaying across her smooth, warm back. “Yeah? Missed you too. Always do.” He decided to reward her with some of his own vulnerability. It was a team effort. She should know he felt just as fond. “Don’t like goin’ into the office. S’not as nice as working from home.. And I can see more of you.” Lips brushed the crown of her head, inhaling deeply as he pressed a kiss to it. Her shampoo smelled so good, it was just essential Y/N, and it was all over his bed. He would seek it out when she inevitably, unfortunately, would have to return to her flat. 

Y/N waited for a second before raising her head from his neck, pecking his jaw and looking at him with those pretty, hazy with sleep eyes that he utterly adored. She took a moment to stare at him, his pulse going a bit harder when she didn’t reply right away- but he was rewarded. Her lips found his, her nimble fingers tangling in his silver necklace. Ever so gentle, her lips closed around his and she arched into him, letting it linger for a few seconds before Harry returned it, pecking her lips with a few light pecks. The sound of them made her smile, peeling her eyes back open to look at him. 

“I like when you stay here with me, too. I’m a little greedy with your time…” She joked, a tiny smile showing the humor. It wasn’t really a joke, though. Y/N had found it hard to stay away from the man. It was a culmination of things. What she had always intended to be hot, whirlwind sex before she settled and searched for a good job had turned into a mess. One that was starting to mean more to her than most other things. 

“I like it when you’re greedy.” there was a double meaning there but the tone was showing he meant it in the pure way. “I like spending time with you. Y’know that, yeah?” He mumbled, pulling her body in to snuggle against him. The softness of her limbs and heat of her nap soaked him to his bones, the covers pulled up around them to keep the cocoon of warmth steadily baking around them. “Love sex with you, but… This is nice too. Or goin’ out to the pool with you. Cooking with you. It’s made my days lately.” 

Y/N’s heart felt like it was a bit too full, a shy smile painting her lips. It was difficult to look him in the eye when he said sweet things like this when her brain hadn’t even fully broken out of the nap and kiss haze. The older man cradled her like she was precious- she felt precious- and he always made her feel appreciated. It had been the last thing she expected when this had started but she couldn’t deny how good it felt to know that she wasn’t just a body for him to fuck. He enjoyed spending time with her. 

“Me too.” She peeped, hiding her face back in his neck as she resumed her clinging to him. His cologne had faded a bit, leaving the last bits of it mixed with a tiny bit of coffee and his telltale soap smell of his skin soothing her down. “I’m happy. We can keep doing it, right?” 

He knew she had a bit of a shy streak when it came to softer things. A fierce and demanding girl when it came to sex, but real vulnerability had her cowering away a bit. Not to the point where he felt her pulling away from him, but showing that it still intimidated her. He nearly melted as she asked if they could continue it. As if he would ever be the one to tell her to stay away, as if he would ever be the one to break it off. As if he wasn’t completely and utterly obsessed with the girl in his arms. 

As if he wasn’t falling in love.

“As long as you’ll let me, darling, I’ll be here every day.”

[suzukiblu]

WIP guessing game: help

"I know about Billy, Marvel," Batman says, and Billy . . . blinks.

"You know?!" he sputters. Okay, so apparently his secret identity was just . . . literally never a secret at all, then. Which, well–Batman, so that just figures, really. So actually this is kind of a relief and might even mean that he's fine with–

"Yes," Batman confirms with a nod. "So I understand your current reservations about parenthood."

. . . wait what.

"Huh?" Billy says, blinking stupidly at him.

"I don't know how much of you is still C.C. Batson or what you do or don't remember about being him," Batman says. "But the resemblance is undeniable, if nothing else. Certainly your and your wife's deaths were . . . well, suspicious. And you're hardly the first archeologists to dig up a god or six."

Oh, okay. Well.

This is apparently what Billy gets for his personal mental image of a "hero" being his dad, then, isn't it.

Crap.

"To be honest I've been looking for Billy for a while now, I just didn't want to bring it up before I found him," Batman admits, looking dissatisfied with himself. "My most recent reliable intel puts him in Fawcett City, but I assume you're aware of that, given your evident attachment to the place."

"You're looking for Billy?" Billy asks incredulously. "Why?"

"Because he's your son," Batman says. "And because he's a homeless child who's been abused and neglected and needs help. I honestly don't know where you go when you're not being Captain Marvel–frankly I'm not sure if you even exist when you're not being Captain Marvel, given what little I actually know about your powers and your death and your role as the Champion of Magic and just how damn impossible you are to find when you're off-duty–but I'm assuming that wherever it happens to be is not necessarily conducive to providing a stable home environment and being legally dead certainly can't be helping with that, so my original intention was to find the boy and help you arrange some manner of care for and visitation with him. And given the revelation of your relation to Robin, well . . . I'd like to take Billy in myself, if you'd both be comfortable with that. It seems . . . appropriate, under the circumstances."

"You want to foster Billy because I'm Robin's soulmate?" Billy says, absolutely positive that he's misunderstood literally every single word that just came out of Batman's mouth. There is no possible way that he did not.

"It's not exactly out of my wheelhouse," Batman replies wryly. "Although I'll be keeping this one out of the tights, ideally. Though I make no long-term promises about that because quite frankly at this point I'm spoiled for soulmates who insist on wearing capes and I wouldn't really be surprised to turn up another one, especially given that Robin is yours and your own involvement in the superhero community."

Billy stares at him.

"Wait, are all the Gotham vigilantes your soulkids?" he blurts unthinkingly.

"Not all," Batman says. "But, well . . . probably more of them than you'd expect."

"Oh my god," Billy says in disbelief. "And you're just telling me that?! You don't tell people things, you're Batman!"

"I haven't always been the father I should have been," Batman says, and then he pulls down his cowl. Billy chokes, and then chokes again because apparently Batman is Bruce freaking Wayne and his brain just . . . just needs a moment to process that fact, like there is literally any way whatsoever that he could ever actually process that fact. He would've been less surprised to see a Kardashian under that mask, he's pretty sure. At least they've got athletes in the family, technically! "So I'm not going to make things difficult for you with Robin. Clearly he needs more than I'm capable of providing, and I'm perfectly willing to be transparent and to co-parent with you as much as possible. I want Robin to be safe and content and grow up well, and frankly put, Batson, you've proven yourself to be a good man time and again and I trust you to do what's best by our son."

Okay, well, now Billy just feels like dirt.

"You do know what happened to Billy, don't you?" he asks just a little bit desperately, because there is literally no way that this conversation is a real and actual thing that's really and actually happening. "Like, just–everything that happened there? There's a reason he's not in school or the system or with a relative or anything like that."

"What happened to Billy wasn't your fault," Batman tells him, meeting his eyes all quiet and intent and sincere. "And I will do everything in my power to help you make it right."

"Oh no, you're actually like . . . just genuinely a really good person, aren't you," Billy says despairingly, staring at him all over again and really, really wishing he could swear right now.

Maybe he'll just go throw himself into the sun. Maybe that's what he'll just go and do.

The corner of Batman's mouth quirks up wryly. His eyes even crinkle a little, which Billy can see on account of his total lack of cowl right now, oh god.

Billy despairs.

"I mean it," Batman says gently. "It wasn't your fault, and it doesn't mean you can't be a good father now."

"I need to talk to Robin," Billy says, because he definitely, definitely needs to talk to Robin. Batman inclines his head in an accepting nod, because Batman is probably under the impression that Billy wants to go give Robin a good ol' traditional "I know I'm not your biodad but I'm here for you, champ!" kind of speech, and Billy just . . . really cannot explain the real situation to him right now. Or ever.

Can he just lie to Batman for the rest of their lives, maybe? He can just pretend to be his own dad for the Justice League and keep dodging whatever Bat-surveillance happens to be in Fawcett and parent his older-than-he-is soulmate, right? That's a thing that he can do?

That's probably not a thing that he can do.

Although he might be willing to try, at this point.

[kalims]

Oh my goddess, orders are open! Ahem, ANYWAYS— I wonder if I could have an Idia with a fem or gn s/o who is introverted and generally closed-faced, being a sweetheart and even shy with him, pretty please?

• Remember to drink water and take care of yourself correctly, kisses <3

– Mel 🌙🩵✨

dress,

premise.

idia forever thought his cause of death would be the permanent termination of his end game account—which in theory, is now proven wrong at the existence of a brand new thing that just might obliterate his heart.

note. thank you mel <3 you too. i, for one will gladly accept kisses from u and idia (he's downbad here LOL)

idia is having a strangely, familiar sensation.

for example—the fact that his heart is palpitating so fast is making him afraid that he'll get the same sense of doom he frequently gets whenever this happens. like when he's the one that the professor chooses to answer a question up front. just his luck cause it absolutely sucks in real life just as much as his chances of winning that rare character.

but no, there isn't an impending sense of doom that sends him to the edge. no cold sweat forming on the skin of his neck, nor does it protrude from his clammy hands. it's weird, he feels warm rather than the cold it usually accompanies.

he needs to visit a doctor.

he gulps thickly. sending a lightning fast glance at your direction then averting it even faster. oh my god, your hand just brushed against his.. was it intentional? no, no—it mustn't be. you wouldn't waste your time doing that.

but you might even look more tenser than he is.

despite the attempt at flushing down the tightness in his throat, his words still break off into a croaky stammer that just sends his face into a grimace because, did he sound like that? "I'm.. I'm really sorry, you didn't have to do this," he says, looking away with those eyes that just screams a mixture of 'I hate it all.' and 'I'm so scared.'

his eyes in comparison to yours, dull significantly in terms of greatness. cause as rare as it is for your eyes to meet, he'll always marvel at the lush hue your eyes are colored with—and god, your lashes. so pretty, so, so pretty.

he sulks. he doesn't deserve this.

"it's alright," you answer in response, voice quiet but it's the only thing he ever hears despite the myriad of people quite nearly squishing the both of you. the crowd is large, and noisy. so he isn't sure why he's suddenly the greatest listener when you speak. "I'm glad you thought of... inviting me along, I know you're quite passionate about it."

passionate is not a strong enough word, it could be an incorrect word to use even. he supposes it's just a nice feeling to excel—be good at something.

but with how hot his heart is probably burning, maybe passionate really is the right word.

for you that is.

most likely idia's ideal type of player two <3 someone he can keep up with, not too fast and certainly not too slow. but either way, he’s probably having a heart attack at whatever you do. literally just sleeping? his heart… playing with him? please match avatars at once or he will combust. (and yes, he is hinting even though you already match everywhere else. had a house in a game, got married in a game.)

don’t even pull out the fact he buys you the currency to match and you feel bad cause he thinks it’s too cute. you need to stop or else he will buy you more.

speaking of more in game terms, he surprisingly garners a lot of attention online maybe because he’s endgame in every single account he’s made and many people like money so… there are many attempts at ‘rizzing’ him up but in the end he’s provoking them to screenshot it and report them as online daters.

^ says THE online dater.

still reports people if they flirt with you, but compared to his. not only is it a file for online dating he somehow dug up the dirt, the monstrous things they did like… 3 years ago and now they’re gonna get suspended. It’s concerning since he was talking with you animatedly during it and he somehow also exposed them all in 10 minutes.

did the see you again trend in secrecy cause he would rather leap down a hole to hell than let people see it. In any case… if it isn’t obvious he’s the lala, you the okok.

deluded himself, is convinced that he’s actually the nonchalant, ‘cool’ one but all he is, is a literal puddle. is still solid when standing but will be putty in your hands in SECONDS.

idia is secretly really proud of himself whilst being like: how did i even pull them. cause when he looks at your face when you’re talking to other people. he’s actually kind of scared cause it’s a really wondrous thing you never once looked at him like that… (please save his mind too. he’s trying to convince himself that you must be like this, soft person he knows to other people too and not just him because that’s just crazy right haha.. hahahaha…)

the type to tell you to stand back during raids, challenges, boss fights, etc…  that all you need to do is be there, and that he’ll solo it for you and you can claim your rewards even though he gave you the rarest, strongest equipment in respective games which won’t be much use at this point cause he insists he do it for you, and sulks all day if you don’t let him.

stay at home couple >>>

will order every single thing you crave during those times he’s too shy to consider date nights, and you too so it’s like an unspoken thing. he honestly plays better when you’re inside his room, even if it’s just laying on his messy bed scrolling on your phone or munching on something.

it’s just complete, comfortable silence.

except for the time one of you accidentally makes an indirect flirty comment and now the room could be considered a sauna from the literal steam only two people emitted. 

really, really, really, REALLY, likes it when your head is on his shoulder.

“─ean.. no one really asked for it, the nerf was completely unnecessary and─” the words poured out of his mouth, something uncontrollable that he couldn’t stop. there is something about you that just kicks down the layer of anxiety on him. comfortable might be the right word, even if you don’t talk that much (which is surprising cause he ends up being the talkative one and you always assure him that you like to listen.) somehow the thought: am i too annoying? doesn’t really pop up like usual.

in fact, he’s excited to ramble all about it. excited to hear your thoughtful hums, excited to see your attentive eyes on him since the first word he’s said─but it isn’t. because he looks up and you’re blinking haphazardly, thrice in a second and before he panics to shut his mouth he feels the soft slump of your head against the curve of his shoulder.

oh my god, oh my god, oh my g─

if idia had half of his mind he would scream instinctively at the weight he isn’t really accustomed to feel. actually, even if he did have his entire brain connected, and his thoughts coherent he still would. but he bites the inside of his cheek cause despite the chaos that just erupted in his mind which is somehow simultaneously blank, and swirling.

and he remembers midst his confusion that you are,

asleep.

you’re asleep on his shoulder

you’re asleep.

asleep on his shoulder.

on. his. shoulder.

he resorts to the screech in his head.

his shoulder─is so terribly stiff right now to the point where he thinks that sleeping on a hard, wooden surface would be surely more comfortable rather than where your head lays. he makes an effort to relax his muscles, tell himself that it’s only you and that there’s nothing wrong but there is something wrong because it’s you! idia dares to sneak a peek at you and your closed lids only confirm your unconscious state.

and careful with each nudge his movement makes sends to your head. idia can’t resist the hands that creep up his face and bury it, to hope all the embarrassment and whatever he’s feeling right now absorbs it right out of his face because god. he knows he looks like he just ate 10 bowls of lilia’s cooking.

he would scream, he really would. a second thought but you’re on his shoulder!

you, who rarely touches him too much.

on him.

him, who gets too flustered to be touched by you.

so he feels pretty obligated to just suck it up cause he’s enjoying the moment even if you aren’t conscious right now and he sure as hell is going to, for as long as he can.

idia releases a deep sigh, long and wistful because he’s gonna die before you even wake up.

[y-rhywbeth2]

So what Jergal does, I'm pretty sure, is what happens with Sarevok in ToB. He's dead and, while there's a very brief window of time before the body dissolves and the soul goes to the Throne of Blood where you can resurrect them, the rule is that Bhaalspawn do not come back once they're gone. Eternal damnation suffering Father's wrath, no escape. An exception is made when Bhaal himself wills them to return by restoring their soul/divine essence to them - or another being wielding Bhaal's divine essence does so. Which means that a Bhaalspawn can surrender a portion of their own divine soul (made of Bhaal's essence) unto a sibling, enough to restore their physical form, although stripping them of most divine power (but still leaving them partially divine).

Which has side effects, as seen if Imoen is the donor:

Imoen: 'So... Sarevok. You've had an itty-bitty piece of my soul in there for quite a while now. What's it been like?' Sarevok: *sigh* 'Well, other than a slight obsession with my weight and the resurgence of a few pimples, it's been simply grand. Now leave me be, girl.' Imoen: 'No, I'm serious. Does the fact that you've got a piece of me inside you make any difference at all? Tell me... you owe me that much.' Sarevok: 'What do you wish to know, girl? What are you curious about? Perhaps you would be interested to know that I can feel the knives of Irenicus, slicing into my skin, torturing me. I can feel his hands and his breath, I *know* what he did to you, girl...' Imoen: 'All—all right, stop... I wasn't really serious...' Sarevok: 'How about the agony you felt as your soul was ripped from you? The despair at being left only with the cold voices of your tainted heart, discovering what was inside you all along? How about the hurt you keep deep down within, wondering if you weren't good enough for Gorion? Wondering why you're a Bhaalspawn? How about the loneliness... the unrequited longing you—' Imoen: 'Stop! Enough... I won't bother you, Sarevok, just—'

Bhaal's divine essence is basically Jergal's, so he's a donor match for this godly organ donation, I suppose. I imagine any god would do though. I'd love to know what impulses and memories you can get from the incredibly ancient original god of Tyranny, Strife, Death, and the Dead.

Of course, as I said a while back, there are consequences to the impossible resurrection, which is unlike the regular fare, rendering them something of an aberration (Came Back Wrong). Not alive, not undead - outside of life and death altogether.

Nalia: 'Keep your eyes off me, Sarevok. I don't know what you are, but I don't want you near me.' Sarevok: 'Ahh... So the sorceress can sense the difference in me, can she? Do I alarm you, girl?' Nalia: 'I know that you're not truly alive, and not undead. You're flesh, but not truly alive no matter what [Charname] did to you. So keep away.'

Jaheira: 'You *exist*; you do not *live*. You will miss the Great Mother's embrace in time. You are nothing.'

Cernd: 'I... I apologize, Sarevok. I know that there are reasons for your presence amongst us, but... you seem so unnatural to me that I cannot help but be repelled. ' Sarevok: 'You have encountered many things far more unnatural than me. How about the mortal spawn of an evil god... does that not strike you as unnatural in any way?' Cernd: 'At... at least it is still birth and life, Sarevok. It is part of the natural cycle. Even a Bhaalspawn dies in a natural manner. You are a dead thing that has risen again.' Sarevok: 'The same would be true for any undead creature.' Cernd: 'But you are not undead. You are as the tree stump, sprouted again into a full oak. A marvel, perhaps... but also living denial of the natural cycle. I just find it... disturbing, is all.'

And it does nothing to get rid of the homicidal impulses:

Sarevok: 'In the cold nether realm, while I waited to be reborn, I sorely missed the crimson spray and the hot tang of death on my tongue.'

Sarevok: 'Even after my resurrection, violent rage pollutes my tainted blood. As [Charname] can surely attest, it is a constant struggle to keep our bloodlust in check.'

You've still got Bhaal's divine essence as a fundamental piece of yourself, he just doesn't live in the back of your head the same way (probably?). In Durge's case you've now got the divine essence of two gods competing for your instincts (Jergal probably overrides Bhaal).

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Need to talk a bit about how important Bangel was as a ship to me when I was a tween. Because even though I prefer Spuffy and Fuffy now, and find Angel's early character to be a little dull and flat, theirs was still the first ship I remember being truly feral over. I recorded my first viewing of Becoming Pt 2 and wore the VHS out rewatching that episode.

And I think a huge part of that hyperfix, despite me not really being attracted to "boys" without fully understanding why at the time, was how much Angel was a part of the whole "flipped gender roles" the show was going for. Because back in the 90s, or hell even nowadays, the only male characters who were constantly needing to be rescued were scrawny nerd guys or fragile old men. And if a woman was a hero she was mostly rescuing either other, usually more petite, women - or kids. Angel was a very feared and powerful vampire, but the show brilliantly laid out the reason for why he's not the hero of the show in the first episode.

"Because I'm afraid."

Courage is typically seen as a "masculine" trait, particularly in the context of battle, yet it's Buffy - the sixteen year old cheerleader - who is braver than the two hundred year old vampire. To quote my favorite Doctor; "Courage isn't a matter of not being frightened. It's being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway." Buffy is still afraid but she doesn't let that fear hold her back like Angel does. Also I think the fact Angel is humble enough to admit this to someone who is still a stranger at this point is pretty damn attractive. Hell, just the fact that he never complains about feeling emasculated or sidelined by Buffy constantly rescuing him or taking the lead in fights is Very Sexy, and I say that as a lesbian. It's one thing him and Spike have in common, these two are both proud simps for their queen (Spike probably a little more) and to this day I still don't see enough of Strong Man Saved By Even Stronger Girlfriend than I would like and why mlw ships rarely do anything for me because this show altered my brain chemistry so much. I will never not swoon at Buffy saying "No one hurts my boyfriend!" in What's My Line. Seriously, how often do you get to see the girl be the Protective Alpha in a mlw ship?! Not enough. Also I think it's telling how the least popular Buffy ships were involving the guys who did seem to take issue with the whole "not being man enough to be her equal" thing....*clears throat*

But as well as the fact he's the one being saved, he also owes most of his growth to her. When people say "Angel couldn't have existed without Buffy" it's true in both the meta sense but also who Angel was between S1 and S3. He starts off as someone too crippled by fear and guilt to act and cleaves to Buffy as his chance of redemption, starts to get more involved with the Scoobies only to eventually be trapped in his own body (and then Hell), then ends basically flying the coop to his own adventures. Even though Angel starts off as a mysterious guide and support role, in a way he ends up being her protégé because he learns how to be a hero from watching her. I truly believe she's what inspires him to stop lurking in the shadows and Do Something, which eventually leads to him getting his own show where he can be a more traditional hero (sometimes to the level of missing the whole point about gender roles of the OG show but we'll leave that for another rant).

Honestly imagine the reactions if they made a show like Buffy today, considering the vitriol haters have for something like the Barbie movie, or any female Marvel / Star Wars character just existing.

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Remembering Gülbahar, part 2/2 - Wooing

Description: Continuation of my version of Mahidevran's backstory. Now an oops all Mahidevran x Süleyman fic. TW: what might be implied SA?

***

   Around half a year after Süleyman’s arrival, he came to Istanbul once again, if only for a short visit – his younger sister Şahuban was to be marry Lütfi pasha. Of course, Ayşe Hafsa was to attended the wedding as well, and surprised Gülruh and Mahidevran were chosen as part of her entourage, which otherwise only included four slave girls, the other two being much older and more experienced. While at the time she was baffled by the great honor she’s been bestowed with, now Mahidevran suspected Ayşe Hafsa always had ulterior motives with Zahide hanim’s girls. Even back then, she might’ve figured it out sooner if such a thought wasn’t an act of immense hubris under the circumstances. As if Ayşe Hafsa would consider lowly Mahidevran hatun good enough for the possition of a concubine!

   As it was, Mahidevran was filled with happiness as she marveled at the size and beauty of the then still in construction Topkapi palace, secure in her mistress‘ confidence in her as never before. This was especially important, because Ayşe Hafsa never sought to build a close relationship with her servants, aside from of Daye, and if she noticed them at all outside of giving them orders, she tended to treat them as a nuisance. Unlike Hürrem, who quite open and proud of the origin of her name, Mahidevran rarely talked about it, hoping people she met never heard of her as Gülbahar, because it was almost embarassing – Ayşe Hafsa often mixed up the names of her, Gülruh and Gülfem, to her own chagrin. In the end, she proclaimed that Gülruh was to be named Hüsnimelek and Gülbahar Mahidevran, and didn’t even bother to explain to anyone why did she chose those two names. Mahidevran, though humiliated by said careless name change, soon adjusted to it, simply because she did like her new name better, and it eventually helped her erase this period of her life from the memory of everyone else. Untill Gabriela’s audacious request, Mahidevran liked to pretend everything that came before that sunny, unusually dry autumn simply did not exist.

   Mahidevran was at time so swept up in the pomp of the celebrations and beauty of the bright, rich colours autumn leaves gained in the persistent sunlight that she barely even noticed the wedding was actually a rather somber occasion. In fact, upon reflection, she certainly perceived the similarities between weddings of Şah sultan and Mihrimah sultan, even if the former wasn’t nearly as ostentatious as the latter. Şah’s unhappiness had rubbed on Süleyman, who expressed scepticism about the match quite often, much to his father’s irritation, but ultimately was powerless (and possibly unwilling) to stop the wedding. He tried his best to support his sister troughout this miserable ordeal, but ultimately, Süleyman seemed more bored and annoyed than anything. Despite their best efforts, the royal family gave off the impression that none of them wants to be there, and şehzade Süleyman was no exception. This must’ve strenghtened the resolve of Ayşe Hafsa to put in motion a plan she most likely had in mind for a while.

   On the first morning of the seven-day celebrations, she sent all of them away besides Hüsnimelek and Mahidevran. This immediately made Mahidevran’s heart beat faster, as she wondered whether they earned some kind of punishment, reward, or perhaps an important task. It turned out that depending on one’s perspective, it might’ve been all three. „My son has been in a foul mood lately, and I wish to please him, but he isn’t very receptive towards the charms of harem girls these days. I haven’t been able to change his mind on this, but mayhaps such beguiling young creatures as you might. Thus, I wish to declare a contest between you two. Whichever one of you manages to obtain even the most miniscule expression of favor from our şehzade, even if it isn’t outright purple handkerchief, will earn a prize; and if by any chance you are called upon halvet, you shall be my most favoured of the concubines. If you do not succeed despite your best efforts, I won’t begrudge you, but should I notice you not trying at all, your disobedience shall not go unpunished. Understood?“ When they nodded their heads, trying desperately to hide their excitement, she moved her hand in a lazy gesture. „Off you go, then. And good luck!“

   As soon as they left their mistress‘ apartments, Mahidevran collapsed to the floor, shaking and on the verge of crying. Frightened Hüsnimelek sat on her heels next to her. „Mahidevran?“

Mahidevran wiped away the wetness slowly clouding her gaze with her sleeve and managed to stop more of it from coming to the surface of her eyes. „Why must she torment us like this?! Does she not see...“ She didn’t even finish that silly thought. Of course she does not. What should Ayşe Hafsa, daughter of the Crimean khan and wife of the mighty sultan Selim, care for the banale friendships of slave girls?

„I don’t think it would help much even if she did. Now, get up, god forbid someone important sees you like this – sitting in the hallway crying...“ she said gently, extending a hand towards her.

Mahidevran hesitantly took it. „I am not crying.“ she proclaimed in a somewhat shaky voice, trying desperately to sound proud, even imperious. When she was finally standing on her own two feet, she looked into Hüsnimelek’s face and realized her friend isn’t calm, as she initially asumed, but tired and somewhat upset.

   She awkwardly slipped around Hüsnimelek and resolved to leave her vicinity as quickly as possible, preferably for good, only for her friend to exclaim in an irritated tone. „Are we not going to talk about this?!“

„What is there to say?! Her Majesty wants us to not be friends, so what can we do?!“

„She didn’t say anything like that, Mahidevran.“

„But if we want to fulfill the task she has given us...“

Hüsnimelek stuck out her lip defiantly. „We’ll find a way around it, I am sure! If only we work together... Reach some sort of agreement...“

„What kind of agreement?! Her Majesty’s instructions were clear – we are supposed to be rivals in this contest...“

„A contest where there is nothing to lose.“ Hüsnimelek spat out contemptously. „So what if one of us becomes the prince’s favourite? The other one will still be in the service of Her Majesty, and either gets a good husband, or a the possition of a kalfa. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t be offended if you were blessed with the purple handkerchief – on the contrary, I would be happy for you! Wouldn’t you be happy for me too, Mahidevran?“

Mahidevran pursed her lips together, imagining the scenario. „I hope I would, because I already know I won’t win. How could he notice me over you, the most beautiful woman in this entire harem, who is also so clever and cheerful and lively...“

„Oh, that’s lovely. I am glad to hear that if you had to give away that godforsaken handkerchief, you would’ve chosen me.“ Hüsnimelek laughed. „But you don’t, şehzade does. And we can’t know which one of us he’d fancy if he noticed us, because he hasn’t yet.“

Mahidevran felt her mouth form into a small smile, and decided not to say anything. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became she cannot possibly compare to Hüsnimelek with her waist-lenght hair the colour of a fresh hazelnut shell, round face with full pink cheeks, soft features and big aquamarine eyes with long lashes. And while her body was mostly slim just like Mahidevran’s, it was also graceful and had at least some curves, whereas Mahidevran was just thin and flat. No, she should not stand in Hüsnimelek’s way now. If everything goes well, she will be the mother of şehzade’s next child; if not, well... When Süleyman rejects someone like Hüsnimelek, what are the odds of Mahidevran catching his eye?!

   It didn’t help that Mahidevran wasn’t very inventive. While she took Ayşe Hafsa’s instructions seriously despite the seeming hopelessness of her mission, she racked her brain for several days trying to think of how to catch Süleyman’s eye. Meanwhile, Hüsnimelek attacked with full force of her finest weapons from the very first day. That night, celebrations in the harem provided them with a good opportunity for a first strike – and while Mahidevran simply put on her best dress, did her best with the limited supply of beauty products she owned (Gülşah helped her with this and was helped by Mahidevran in turn, as was the custom between lower-ranking girls) and tried to dance as gracefully and seductively as possible (with mixed results), Hüsnimelek’s plan was much more sophisticated. After dancing as close to Süleyman’s line of sight as possible (somewhat foolishly, since he barely glanced at the slave girls having fun in front of him), she turned towards Ayşe Hafsa and acted as if she was trying to return to her side. However, on the way there, she very obviously faked slipping on a carpet and falling right into Süleyman, her stunning figure on full display to him as he just barely caught her before she could crash into his face. She then stared at him a little too long before she backed away and turned her gaze down. But Hüsnimelek didn’t even manage to appologize before Süleyman started acting as if nothing happened, jovialy continuing a conversation with one of his aunts present at the festivities. As Hüsnimelek‘s appologies went ignored, Ayşe Hafsa told her to not waste her breath and leave the room, which she did on the verge of tears. However, when she saw worried Mahidevran follow her out of the room, she quickly adjusted herself and went to the common sleeping area poised and calm-looking.

   While this first unsuccesful attempt left Hüsnimelek sad and disappointed for a night, the very next morning she was already plotting another one. This time, she wrote a love poem, which she then left in prince’s apartments, hoping he would inquire who wrote it. He likely didn’t, and Daye spoke to the entire harem that afternoon, scolding the poem’s anonymous author for bothering the prince. That was an even harsher blow towards Hüsnimelek’s pride than the previous night, no matter how fervently Mahidevran swore her poem was one of the best she’s ever read. She wasn’t even lying; of course, what Mahidevran didn’t tell her friend was the way she was dying of jealousy reading it, knowing that she herself would never be able to create anything so awe-inspiring. At the same time, she felt guilty for this jealousy and had her opinion of şehzade Süleyman sour somewhat. How can he not see the literary genius on display, how can he, who prided himself so on his culturedness, dismiss such a talent right in front of him?! Is it just because the poem’s author is likely a mere slave?

   Nevertheless, after a day of sulking, Hüsnimelek managed to muster up courage for yet another attempt. Her voice, while by no means spectacullar, was pleasant enough, and she reasoned that if she chose a right song, she could make şehzade notice her by simply singing in his vicinity often enough. She tried enlisting Daye’s help in getting closer to him, even offering her a bribe, but no luck; the old woman knew about their mission, but was unwilling to help them, likely on Ayşe Hafsa’s instruction. At the same time, sultana kept Hüsnimelek busy the entire day, so she didn’t get the opportunity to execute her plan.

   Mahidevran meanwhile made a half-hearted attempt to run into şehzade during her time off that afternoon, hoping he won’t take the collision too harshly – and that it will be witnessed by Ayşe Hafsa, then walking the gardens with him, so that her mistress cannot accuse Mahidevran of not doing what she was told. Indeed, she found şehzade Süleyman and his mother and managed to find a way to walk opposite them right as they turned the corner, so that it didn’t seem suspicious that she didn’t immediately stop and bow in their presence. Of course, she nonetheless bowed right after the collision, appologizing impassionately, which sultana and her son seemed to ignore at first (except for what Mahidevran would swear was a single angry stare from Ayşe Hafsa). However, as they walked past Mahidevran, she heard Süleyman casually ask his mother. „Isn’t that the girl who ran after that annoying one?“

„Yes, that is her. Why?“

„Do they know each other?“

„How should I know?! Do you think I keep an eye on which slaves are friends? Bah! Don’t be...“

„Well, they are your personal servants, aren’t they?“

„Still.“

„Oh, she’s still here!“

„Bismillah, she is listening in on us! I am going to...!“

„Please, calm down, mother. Hey, you!“

Mahidevran turned towards them, her hands shaking. She bowed deeply, eyes firmly pinned to the ground. „My prince?“

„Do you know that girl who fell on me a few days ago, during those celebrations?“

„Yes, sir. She is in fact a friend of mine.“

„Tell her, then, that her talents are wasted on vain attempts to gain my attention. Her poetry is magnificent, but I can already tell she could be quite persistent if she puts her mind to it, and I do not wish to be bothered by her my entire stay in Istanbul. I do not desire her, and she should get the thought of convincing me otherwise out of her head.“

   What happened next could be chalked up entirely to Mahidevran’s tendency to act before she thinks, especially prominent in her youth. Against all rules, she lifted her gaze and let out a surprised. „Why?“

Süleyman raised his eyebrows. „Why what?“

Ayşe Hafsa seemed outraged. „How dare you question our şehzade?! Get out of my sight, you insolent...“

„Not before she answers my question, mother.“ said Süleyman coldly.

Mahidevran dropped her gaze to the ground once again. „I meant... Şehzade forgive me, I didn’t...“

„What did you mean by „why“, hatun?“ he asked impatiently.

Mahidevran thought she could die of shame. „I just... I... If you liked Hüsnimelek’s poetry so much... And since she’s also one of the most beautiful women there... Why are you so disinterested in her?“ She then added, hoping to lessen the blow. „I wondered. I shouldn’t have done so. Please, forgive me my insolence...“

Süleyman’s voice was half-annoyed, half-amused. „Stop appologizing. I wasn’t angry at your impulsive question, but if you keep appologizing for it, I might get angry yet.“

Mahidevran lifted her gaze in surprised, but then remembered herself and looked down again.

She bowed once more and was ready to leave, when Süleyman spoke once again. „I did not give you a leave, Mahidevran.“

Süleyman’s voice was deep and soft and to hear her own name from his lips felt like a caress. At that moment, Mahidevran felt a light shiver all over her body. She was affraid to do or say anything out of fear of yet another scolding, but at the same time even this kind of miniscule, somewhat indifferent interest in her from him felt like the highest honor Mahidevran has been given in her entire life.

„Will you relate my message to her, then, in those exact words?“

„Yes, my prince.“

„Alright, then. Lift your head up, I want to see your face when I’m talking to you.“

   But he didn’t actually talk to her. When their eyes met, he didn’t say anything, instead looking at her intently for a while before nodding her head. „You may go.“ he said quietly, turning away as Mahidevran gave him her final bow. She didn’t leave, instead trying to listen in on them, but she only heard Ayşe Hafsa’s annoyed questioning of her son and Süleyman’s only response – laughter.

   When Mahidevran returned inside, she felt a strange clenching in her stomach and her heart still beating faster than normal. While she managed to collect herself in time to return to her duties, she was somewhat absent-minded the entire rest of the day, at all times either remembering Süleyman’s words and thinking how best to relay them to Hüsnimelek, or daydreaming about his beautiful eyes and voice. She was sane enough to realize how silly it is, to think Süleyman would remember her as anything other than a servant he gave an order to, but a part of her could not possibly give up hope, especially since Hüsnimelek had already lost their little competition. Or such was one interpretation of what happened – really, when it came to Süleyman, was being thought of somewhat badly worse than not being thought of at all? Then again, Hüsnimelek’s loss could’ve been a catastrophe to Mahidevran, who in her own eyes simply could not compare to her rival. If she had no chance, Mahidevran had twice as little.

   She talked to Hüsnimelek as they went to sleep in the common area. „I met şehzade in the gardens. The good news is, he read your poem and liked it. But... He is still asking you to stop pursuing him.“

Hüsnimelek’s expression was a mix of befuddlement and profound dissapointment such as Mahidevran had never seen before. „Allah, I knew it. I was too conspicuous, wasn’t I?“

„I suppose?“

„That’s what I get for desiring sultana’s attention more than şehzade’s. I wanted her to see that I am doing something so badly that I forgot what my mission was in the first place.“ After a little silence, she lifted her blanket to climb under it, but then stopped to talk to Mahidevran. „Was he angry at me? Do you think it’s completely hopeless?“

„I don’t think he was angry, but he definitely meant „stop trying to gain my attention“ as an order.“ When she saw her friend’s defeated face, she quickly added. „But I don’t think our mistress would want you to give up. At any rate, we should at least ask her...“

„I would rather not.“ Hüsnimelek sighed. „She saw that I’ve done everything in my power, and should understand that it wasn’t enough. Shouldn’t she?“

Mahidevran didn’t answer. She wasn’t in a mood to argue, and knew her friend felt the same, even if they both knew Ayşe Hafsa enough to doubt Hüsnimelek’s hopefulness.

   Next morning, Hüsnimelek confessed to Mahidevran that she was giving up her pursuit of şehzade Süleyman for good. Mahidevran herself considered doing the same, although she didn’t voice it in front of her friend. Then again, perhaps she should show at least some token effort, to assuade the wrath of their mistress. She gained the golden opportunity to do so when Ayşe Hafsa sent her to bring şehzade snacks – that afternoon, one of his former tutors taught him matrak, and Süleyman allegedly only ate a small amount from his lunch, surely he’ll be exhausted if he engages in such a heavy excercise on an empty stomach...? Mahidevran thought that sultana must’ve been at least partly sincere (mothers are the same everywhere – she herself worried about Mustafa’s diet and other minor inconveniences that might befall him quite often), but at the same time, surely Ayşe Hafsa expected more of her than that...

   Upon seeing Süleyman, what she was struck by first was the redness of his cheeks, heavy breathing and sweat glistening all over his face. He looked more alive than ever before, and the raw beauty of his visage made Mahidevran herself blush. When he walked up towards her, she bowed as deep and kept her eyes on the grass below as intently as never before.

„You’re Mahidevran, aren’t you? The friend of that clumsy girl who writes poems?“

„Yes, sir.“

He suddenly grabbed her chin and lifted her face to look into his, frankly, quite annoyed expression. Still, that touch made her shiver. „Am I truly so hideous that you’d rather stare at the ground when you’re talking to me?“

„Forgive me, şehzade!“ Mahidevran said in a somewhat higher and more nervous voice than usual.

„Have you told her what I ordered you to say?“

„Yes, sire.“

„And what did she say to that?“

„She will obey your command, my prince.“

Süleyman smirked. „We’ll see.“

   He then turned away, arousing panic in Mahidevran; she knew she must do something, anything to gain just a little bit of attention, for her own sake and Hüsnimelek’s. In that moment, her tendency to not think before she says or does something struck again. „She told me to say goodbye to you, for now she shall perish of shame and broken heart.“

Süleyman turned back towards her, his eyebrows raised quizically. „Did she? What, is she ill? Or does she by any chance have a penchant for exagarating things?“

„No, my prince, she was completely honest! You see, she is not ill at present, but her constitution is fragile and the next few days, mayhaps even weeks will be very hard for her, even if she manages to survive them.“

Süleyman’s eyes twinkled with mischief. „Keep me informed about her health, then. I would loathe to cause the death of such a lovely girl.“

   At that moment, Mahidevran found herself a go-between to the potential romance of Süleyman and Hüsnimelek – and she realized she didn’t like the thought one bit. Already she was infatuated with Süleyman’s beauty and spirited nature, and the touch of his hand turned her feelings from idle dreaming into darker, more possesive territory. She still wasn’t too optimistic about the possibility of experiencing his touch again, but heavens, she desired it more than anything else and the thought of her own best friend getting to feel much more than a single finger on her face filled Mahidevran with distaste unbecoming of a friend of hers. She thus didn’t inform Hüsnimelek about her encounter with Süleyman, instead lying that he barely noticed her – and surely enough, the next few days her friend held true to her proclamation of defeat, acting in a reserved and overly servile manner around şehzade. Unfortunately, Süleyman himself misunderstood it, as he revealed to her when he once walked out of his mother’s chambers and pulled Mahidevran aside. „She indeed looks quite melancholic. How is she doing? Is she healthy?“

„In perfect health, my prince, just a bit disappointed.“ said Mahidevran quickly.

„A bit?“

„Well, she is not one to speak much, you know? I cannot at present tell exactly...“

But her voice was somewhat shaking, and Süleyman noticed. „Are you lying to me, Mahidevran?“

His question threw Mahidevran out of the loop. „No! Majesty, what do you mean...?“

„You’re contradicting yourself, and even the tone of your voice is... Off. What does Hüsnimelek truly feel, can you tell me?“

Mahidevran blinked fast, startled by his accusations. „My şehzade, I swear, I am not...“

Süleyman looked displeased, making Mahidevran’s heart sink with despair. „Of course you can’t. I must therefore ask her.“

He tried to walk past her, but panicked Mahidevran stopped him. „Majesty, I lied the first time! She holds no strong feelings for you, and only aims to gain your attention because your valide ordered her. The poem wasn’t sincere...“

Süleyman smiled – a mischievious smile, young and heartbreakingly beautiful. „But it was truly moving, wasn’t it?“

He was close, so close, to Mahidevran, and yet also to her losing him forever. She couldn’t help herself. „It is not fair, it truly isn’t! Were I as good in poetry as her, I would’ve written you words a thousand times as moving, for I desire you so much more strongly, but I can’t, so you’ll never know...“

Süleyman let out a surprised laughter. „I certainly do now.“ His expression then changed into a more serious one, as he wondered out loud. „Mayhaps valide did send me the wrong servant of hers.“

Mahidevran felt an overwhelming desire to touch him, or heaven forbid even kiss him, but he only turned away, once again wearing his mischievious smile, and left Mahidevran’s proximity. In desperation, she touched her own lips, and upon imagining his fingers in place of hers, she let out a small sob. She felt like the biggest fool on the face of the Earth, and yet at the same time his comments filled her with more hope than she ever felt before. And the thought of possibly getting to know şehzade Süleyman biblically completely blinded her to everything else.

   But the next few days came and went without anything significant happening on that front. Hüsnimelek continued her attempts to make Süleyman notice her as little as possible, while he didn’t seem to think much of either of them. And so, as the wedding festivities of Şah sultan and Lütfi pasha came to a close and şehzade was getting ready to go home, Mahidevran had grown desperate to arouse şehzade’s interest once again, and after wracking her brain with what she knew about şehzade, she finally arrived at a quite radical solution.

   She got the opportunity to talk to Ibrahim on the last day of their stay at Istanbul. As luck would have it, Ayşe Hafsa sent her to retrieve from him an expensive turban pin Süleyman borrowed him for the festivities, which seemed to enrage her quite a bit. After Ibrahim refused to do so, confident in his assessment that şehzade wouldn’t want him to, Mahidevran decided not to press matter further, since it made her quite uncomfortable anyway. Instead, she bit her lip and quietly said. „I came here for our sultana, but I also need to talk to you.“

Ibrahim raised his eyebrows. „How come?“

„I know I cannot expect you to care for matters of the harem, and that it is not your place...“

Ibrahim smirked. „That is absolutely true... What is your name, anyway?“

„Mahidevran.“

„So, Mahidevran, if you already know all of that, what are you even doing here speaking to me?!“

„Because His Majesty trusts you like noone else, and if you took him to the gardens the morning after we return to Manisa, I would be extremely grateful. While I have little possesions, I would give all of that...“

Ibrahim’s response was sharp. „Do you have me for a common eunuch, girl?! I am not in the business of giving out favours to uppity little slave girls for pennies!“

„Ibrahim agha, you don’t understand! I was sent by Ayşe Hafse herself to persuade şehzade into, uh... More frequent fulfillment of his duties, I mean when it comes to siring an heir... If you helped me with that, you would most certainly earn her gratitude, and she’d forget the whole nonsense with the turban pin.“

„She’d forget that regardless. Knowing her, she soon forgets I exist too. I don’t matter to her any more than you do to me.“

„That’s not at all... Ibrahim agha, she is well aware of your exceptionally close relationship with şehzade Süleyman...“

Ibrahim’s voice suddenly took on a threatening tone. „Are you insinuating something by „close relationship“?“

Mahidevran gasped; she genuinely didn’t realize the possible implications of her words. „Allah, no! I meant... She thinks you are taking his attention away from women, but not in that way. That you are making him dream of anything but romantic avatures, not that you are yourself...“

„I see.“ Ibrahim said with fake thougtfulness. „And that is what our sultana genuinely thinks, not what you yourself assume, or have heard spoken about her alleged opinions from other slave girls, correct?“

„Ibrahim agha, I rarely leave her side, I’ve heard her say something along those those lines with my own two ears, multiple times!“

„But if I understand it correctly, you are revealing it to me out of your own volition, without your mistress knowing this, yes?“

Mahidevran was starting to get tangled in her own lies. „Well, I don’t suppose she would mind...“

Ibrahim raised his voice. „Oh, so you suppose?“ He leaned towards her. „If you truly need help with attracting Süleyman, all I can give you is a piece of advice. I did not strike a friendship with our şehzade by supposing or presuming what he thinks. I suggest you adopt the same attitude.“

   It was then that a not-at-all discreet cough interrupted them. To her horror, Mahidevran saw Süleyman behind her back (the whole time, she was standing in front of Ibrahim’s doorstep). „Mahidevran, what are you doing here?“

While startled Mahidevran was collecting her thoughts, Ibrahim spoke up instead. „She came here to ask me for that godforsaken turban pin on your mother’s behalf, and somehow the conversation turned towards sultana’s opinions of me.“

Süleyman furrowed his brow. „Tell mother it is my wish for Ibrahim to keep the damn thing. If she wants to dispute my decision, she should do so to my face.“

„But, şehzade!“ Ibrahim gasped with a significant undertone of mockery. „This cannot do! Ayşe Hafsa already thinks you favor me too much and that this causes you to completely forget the issue of utmost importance – harem women.“

Süleyman’s mouth opened a bit in shock. „She thinks what now?!“

Mahidevran bowed as low as she could. „Şehzade, Ibrahim is insinuating something that is not true and that I myself told him not to misunderstand sultana’s words as...“

„What did you tell him, then?!“

„Well, Ayşe Hafsa obviously does not believe you and Ibrahim... You know she would not let such a horrible thing stand... But lately you don’t seem to have much interest in women and, perhaps, this might be caused by you seeking out other sources of entertainment... Goodness, not that kind of entertainment...“

Süleyman blinked fast in annoyance. „Mahidevran, what are you talking about?! Are you lying about what other people say or think again?!“

„I don’t believe so.“ said Ibrahim, grinning mischieviously. „She does not lie, merely assume.“

Mahidevran’s eyes filled with tears. „Forgive me, şehzade! It is true that our sultana is concerned about your lack of... Apetites. But she does not think Ibrahim is at fault in any way, at least to my knowledge. I simply wanted to get him on my side by trickery, and only made a fool of myself.“

„Your side? You’d defy your sultana so, Mahidevran? You yourself said she wished for Hüsnimelek to become my concubine.“

„Perhaps I misunderstood your words, then.“

„What words?“

„You... You yourself said... I know it was merely an offhanded comment, but... You said something about a wrong concubine...“

Süleyman laughed out loud in surprise. „Goodness, you’re bad at this.“

Mahidevran started sobbing. „Indeed I am.“

Süleyman’s features softened. „Now, there’s no need to be sad. Or cause ruckus, for that matter. You’re hardly the only slave girl here full of misplaced ambition...“

Words left Mahidevran’s mouth before she could stop them. „That’s not ambition!“

„What?“ said Süleyman flatly.

„I’ve told you. I do not this because I wish to come close to the glory of your blessed mother, or because I would dream about holding a prince in my arms, or even to have an ear of the greatest ruler this empire has ever seen...“

Süleyman smiled in soft mockery of her words. „You think that is what I’ll be, Mahidevran? How do you know? You speak it with such certainty, as if you were the Cumean Sybil herself, when noone but Allah above knows what the future holds. Just you wait, I’ll end up defeated in a battle with some vicious barbarian warlord and locked in a cage like Bayezit Yildirim, and what will you say then?“

Mahidevran realized that what she needs to tell him now is simply the truth. „That cannot happen. I know this, because I know you. I may be a mere slave, but I have eyes and ears, and I saw you every day strive for greatness and show the wisdom and fortitude to achieve it... I know your drive, ambition and fire, and I would follow it even to that cage or whatever, because I adore it, not any advantages they might bring me and you.“

Süleyman looked surprised by her words. „Girl, are sure you wouldn’t be a good poet?“

Mahidevran bowed her head. „I’ve tried to put into a concise poem, my lord, but the result wasn’t worth much.“

He then turned towards Ibrahim with a look of amusement. „Well, then. That’s a lot of words you just said; I’ll need a while to think about all of them. At any rate, you should go back to your mistress. We are leaving very soon.“

   His words filled Mahidevran with anxiety. He was clearly trying to be mysterious, which could point to a wish for further relations. On the other hand, he could’ve just been having fun at the expense of a silly slave girl who thought he’d care about what she thinks of him. She sincerely wished she could discuss any of this with Hüsnimelek, but how would she even begin to explain the web of lies she tried and failed to set up, including at her friend’s expense?! However, Hüsnimelek couldn’t help but notice Mahidevran’s obvious distress, and her refusal to say anything only filled her with more concern. This in turn made Mahidevran prickly and throughout an almost two day journey a clear rift appeared between them. They didn’t have much time to think about it – on the road and just after arrival in Manisa, their duties kept them busy, and as soon as they were ready to settle into their old routines, things irrevocably changed.

   She learned only later that Süleyman discussed their encounter with Ibrahim on the way to Manisa. Süleyman confessed to her (while caressing her pregnant belly) that he had conflicted feelings about his low apetites in amorous matters previously; after all, while noone (at least if their intentions were any good) wanted him to spend all of his free time in harem, he nonetheless needed more than one heir – besides it was somewhat healthy and expected for a man of his age and vitality to parttake in this kind of thing more often and with greater enthusiasm. Otherwise one might suspect that there is something wrong with him, either a hiden illness of the body or corruption of the soul. Mahidevran herself later encountered similar problem with Mustafa, but her son lacked the self-awareness of his father and seemed satisfied with his life of sexual moderation, bordering on deprivation. While Süleyman wasn’t yet ready to share such intimate concerns with Ibrahim (who to his knowledge had no sexual experience at this point anyway), he did confess that he found most encounters with concubines rather dull and technical matters, and that his meeting with Mahidevran filled him with hope that it might be different with her. At the very least, Süleyman took of a liking to her somewhat, which is more than he could say about all of the obedient, duty-bound ladies sent into his bed by Ayşe Hafsa before Mahidevran. To Mahidevran’s surprise, Ibrahim not only supported Süleyman’s decision, but went a step further and aroused romantic fantasies in his master by expressing hope that this new girl might in time become dear enough to him to make her way to his poems. He himself allegedly used to have a few semi-romantic encouters with a lady far above his station, but that relationship had come to naught as she was married to another man and shortly before her wedding, he and said lady had a quarrel anyway. Mahidevran wondered whether Ibrahim’s feelings towards this lady might’ve influenced his advice to Süleyman in some way, but she never learned more than what Süleyman told her then – besides vague rumors surfacing years later that the aforementioned lady was in fact Şah sultan (who furiously denied it).

   At any rate, shortly after their arrival, Mahidevran was given the task of serving Süleyman and Ayşe Hafsa breakfast. The whole time, he was stealing glances at Mahidevran, untill he finally asked his mother if she considers any of her servants indespensible. Sultana cheerfully replied that none besides Daye, and was overcomed with joy when her son asked whether that includes Mahidevran. This made Mahidevran drop glass of water she was putting on a plate, earning a harsh scolding from Ayşe Hafsa – but Süleyman just laughed and requested his mother have her prepared that very night.

   And that was all it took. But as fortunate as Mahidevran knew she was, the suddenness of her luck soon overwhelmed her. Lacking any preparation for the night awaiting her and still thoroughly convinced of her own mediocrity, Mahidevran spent the entire day barely holding it together. Surely, her first halvet cannot but go poorly, and then what? At best, şehzade will never even look at her again – but there’s also the possibility of her doing something so embarassing she will be banished or punished in some other way. In her worst moments, Mahidevran even thought she might displease şehzade so much he’d order her execution; a silly thought, but spoke to her own docility, anxieties and the general disposition of all servant women. Had she let her fear go unchecked then, it would’ve become a self-fulfilling prophecy, but she managed to avert her own doom by speaking with Gülşah (of all people!). While the woman was never known for her intelligence and clarity of judgement, her point of view in this case proved to be remarkably sober. She reminded Mahidevran that she has nothing to fear but fear itself and that if she displeases şehzade, she could at least find companionship in several women from the Manisa harem who seemed to have done the same, most of them trough no fault of their own. Gülşah’s deep disinterest in the matters of the royal chamber was refreshing after a day of stewing in her own anxiety, and eased Mahidevran just enough for her to realize that everything will most certainly go more smoothly if she starts looking forward to the night instead. Surely, in a few hours, she will be kissed. She will be held. She will get an opportunity to look and touch Süleyman, as much as she wants to, the more the better. Or at least that’s how she assumed these matters work, for some reason.

   That evening, they dressed her in all white, in a rather common-looking (if certainly nice) dress, that she nonetheless chose to see as special; that silly thought helped her with anxiety too, since how could her life not change when she’s dressed in such splendor? Daye herself visited her before sending her off to Süleyman’s chambers, but she wasn’t very encouraging, just coldly instructing her on the relevant parts of the etiquette and making sure she knows about the basics of carnal matters. Mahidevran chose to not be bothered by her anyhow, focusing all of her attentions on Süleyman and the joy she’ll surely feel in his presence. Her doubts weren’t completely silenced, but their dillution sufficed to avert disaster.

   After a formal welcome, Süleyman led her to the bed. As they sat, looking into each other’s eyes in silence, Mahidevran was convinced she is going to explode if she won’t relieve at least a bit of the pressure inside of her, and so she let out a loud, nervous giggle – but then almost folded under Süleyman’s quizzical look. Luckily, he then spoke out, saving her from further embarassment. „I see your hands are shaking. Is it out of fear or joy?“

Mahidevran gave him a small smile. „What should I fear when your majesty is with me?“

Süleyman absentminded took a strand of her hair and started winding it up on one of his fingers, slowly tugging on it just enough for her to feel it, but not to the point of pain; a threatening gesture? „Said Majesty, perhaps?“

Mahidevran winced. „Have I displeased you, my şehzade?“

Süleyman smirked. „How could you? You haven’t done anything.“

„And should I?“

Süleyman gave her a somewhat bored look. „I don’t know. Say something clever.“

„Well, then all is truly lost, because I am not terribly clever.“

„I suppose that’s not completely out of the question. If I am not mistaken, you did not even know who Bayezit Yildirim was.“

Mahidevran hanged her head in shame. „No, I did not. But I asked other girls, who payed more attention at the history lessons, about him.“

„And? What did they tell you?“

„That he used to be the ruler of this grand empire when it wasn’t quite so great yet. Before even Constantinople belonged to us. They say he was a man of such immense ambition and hubris that he faced Timur the Lame, the bloodthirty ruler of Samarkand. But pride comes before the fall, and so Timur defeated him in battle, captured him and inflicted all manners of terrible humiliations on him. I don’t even know if it’s all true; to hear them tell it, it sounds more like a legend than anything.“

„Bayezit Yildirim did exist, and was indeed defeated by the terrible Timur. Whether he truly made Bayezit’s wife serve him at the table naked, whether he put Bayezit into a golden cage fashioned into a carriage and led him trough the city streets like a Roman general on a triumph, whether he used the unfortunate sultan as a footstool... That I do not know. What I do know is that us Turks need some good historian, for a civilized nation like ours cannot live off of legends.“

„Well, I suppose that’s one more thing that when sultan Selim...“ Tension, slowly leaving her beforehand, came rushing back as she realized the dangerous territory she was moving on. „Not that I’d wish for such a thing, heavens no, but death comes for us all and hopefully you will be there to take the throne after him. And when that time...“

Süleyman gave her a tired smile. „You don’t even know how often I told myself that, but alas, my father is still alive and the longer he lives, the more things I leave for the time of my ascencion. As it stands, by the time he truly leaves this Earth, it may well be I won’t have enough time myself to do everything I wish I could do.“

Mahidevran gave him a warm smile and took his hand. „That would surely be the most unfortunate not only for you, but for all of the future generations as well.“

Süleyman tugged at her hand and brought it to his lips. „Or, maybe, it would be the opposite, should my ideas turn out to be terrible.“ he said with a devilish smile before kissing her hand.

Mahidevran blushed. „I wish I could help you tell whether that is the case. Alas, I lack the expertise... Whose judgement do you trust so? Your mother‘s? That of you teachers? Or perhaps Ibrahim agha?“

Süleyman snickered. „Mine most of all.“ And planted a deep, passionate, endlessly confident kiss on Mahidevran’s lips.

   She thought the sheer bliss might kill her, or at the very least send her into a fainting spell. She thus grabbed his broad shoulders and squeezed them when he moved on from the lips to her neck. As a response to the squeezing, he wound his arms around her waist and caressed her back, slowly and gently. However, soon they moved forward, on her sides, and from them up, untill his thumbs idly caressed her small breasts. Only then did she realized the gravity of what was about to be done to her, and grew apprehensive. She was affraid that he wouldn’t allow her to pull back, but for once he did, leaving her blushing and appologetic. And so, she moved onto the bed and lied there, hoping it’ll let him do whatever he must – which turned out to be lying on top of her, unbuttoning her kaftan and more kissing, on the mouth, neck, the naked skin in the middle of her breasts, accessible trough a round hole in her dress between her clavicles and sternum. Soon, her impatiently unbuttoned her dress as well, which she then took off herself, along with the shift she wore under them. As she lied under him, blushing profusely, she decided to overcome her shame by helping him undress and touching him just like he did to her. After she took off his shirt, she reveled in the sights opened to her – kissing his broad, hairy chest and strong arms, her shyness slowly discipating as it was replaced by what she would now identify as arousal, but then was just a new, pleasant sensation coarsing trough her lower body. Still, it was quite a shock when he took off his trousers, spread her legs with one swift motion and just as uncompromisingly pushed herself inside her.

   Mahidevran didn’t remember whether she reached the climax. She remembered liking the experience overall, but perhaps she had just forgotten any unpleasantness of that night; at any rate, she certainly cherished the other two times it happened that night more, mostly because she was much more confident and relaxed during. Their subsequent encounters lit such a fire within her young body that eventually, she was becoming too much even for Süleyman, which he seemed to take in stride – better to have a woman that is overeager than overly cold, he said, because a woman’s nature is better suited to deal with overabundance of lust than with its lack. Indeed, quite a lot of women he encountered seemed to suffer with some illness, that denied them natural impulses of this kind, he said. As she grew older and more knowledgeable, Mahidevran realized that his somewhat callous approach to concubines might’ve been to blame; Mahidevran herself could do with little prompting or stimulation, since she was completely smitten with him, but other women might not. (She tried to talk about these matters with Mustafa, but whether he took her advice to heart she did not know.) Either way, Süleyman at least didn’t begrudge his lovers this supposed affliction, mostly because he himself seemed to suffer from it, though meeting Mahidevran helped him greatly.

   Still, while he enjoyed her company, he didn’t seem that attached to her and often sought out other women (which bothered her, but she could do nothing but cry to Gülşah about it), untill a smallpox epidemic hit around a year after he came to Manisa. It took little Murat and several slave girls, including Hüsnimelek, whose illness progressed so quickly Mahidevran didn’t even manage to patch up their friendship and say her final goodbyes. Süleyman thus found in her the ideal person to share his grief with; obviously, her losing a friend could not compare to the death of one’s own child, but she realized it and extended much more sympathy towards him than he did to her. And to his credit, he showed her care and understanding as well, something she’d never expect from a prince. It was only then that she gave her entire heart and soul away to him, and she didn’t manage to get it back for almost two decades.

   Mahidevran wasn’t in a mood to reminescence about those happy couple of years that followed. She recalled them often, to the point that they now seemed like a book she read a few too many times. But this much needs to be said – he loved her, for a brief period, but he nonetheless loved her. He used to write her poems, shower her with gifts and compliments, and even let her bother him with her petty complaints, sometimes, when he was in a mood. For a time, he even eshewed other concubines, though that didn’t last, even before Hürrem came to his life. Perhaps she was foolish to think that this bliss would last forever, but how could she not when even the night before his departure he looked into her eyes with such love she would, at least for a moment, almost believe herself his equal? And for that matter, how was she to know she’d be replaced so suddenly and thoroughly?

   It wasn’t of much importance in the present, anyhow. Mahidevran might have regrets about those days, but there was no denying they charted the course of her future forever, and brought her the arguably best thing in her life – Mustafa. For all of their little quarrels and cold shoulders he gave her sometimes, he truly was the love of her life (in some senses of the word), the one for whom she truly lived and should’ve done so all this time, just like Ayşe Hafsa tried to advise her all those years (though admittedly that was just what she meant, it came out sounding quite different, which is why Mahidevran never managed to listen to her). But such is life. Her old friend Ümmülgülsüm once said that in her country, they have a saying: „Everyone is a general after the battle.“ At least she knows what’s important now.

   The morning after, during breakfast, she turned towards Mustafa with a smile. „It’s such a lovely day. Do you have much work now, my lion? I thought we might go for a walk in the gardens. I want to tell you a story.“

[urnoflilliesandroses]

Static. All my childhood memories blur within the frosty white noise. Everything is blurry white noise. It's all normal for me. Can't remember much of anything.

I still wonder if they're okay after all these years. I know I ran away from home at a young age. I did leave a letter for each of them but, I know they might've not gotten it.

I shouldn't worry about them. Knowing Ashley, she's driving Andrew nuts one way or another. Doubt they miss my ass. Never really been around from what I recall.

"Mors, you here?"

"Yes. Can you hear me now?"

"Of course, ever since I freed you."

"Good good! I'm right behind you in an acceptable form."

It's rare for a demon to speak a human language let alone one of higher power. Even rarer is the fact a higher powered demon chosen a person to possess. One of the perks of theses types is how they can change themselves to look human at will.

"I see. You look marvelous as usual."

Mors bowed, "thank you, mistress."

White hair, pale silk skin, rose red eyes, and a grey tuxedo adorning a brotch of white Ornithogalum, black Roses, pink Gerbera and red Lycoris in a bouquet.

"What brings you here? I haven't summoned you."

"Just wanted to see life out of my realms."

"Do you want anything to eat? Drink?"

"I'm fine. I appreciate the offer."

"So how's life in the other realm?"

"Depends on what you wish for me to say. It's full of demons so I'd say it's chaotic for you but I see it as the usual."

I nod, "Do you need souls? A good time perhaps~"

"I'd decline your second offer though the first one is a requirement."

"I'll see if I can find an interesting one. You love to collect them."

"Not exactly," Mors corrected, "I like to see their stories, thoughts, and emotions."

"Is this why the soul has to experience pain before being taken?"

"Yes," Mors changed is form into a white raven, "I'll go explore the area. I'll soon return."

I watch them fly out into the sky. Such a curious demon. I didn't think they'd exist but I suppose I didn't believe in demons before I ended up freeing Mors in a dream.

(I'll ask them what they see later.)

[spikybanana]

on not going to France

@wolfstarmicrofic - prompt: frog/cheese - to anyone from France, I sincerely apologise in Remus' place masterpost

“You’ve really never thought about it?” Mary leaned towards him, chin in her hands, bright eyes teasing, “You’ve got to have wondered! No one’s ever caught your eyes?”

Remus leaned back, crossed his arms, and marvelled at the wonder that was Mary Macdonald. “Why are you so invested in my sex life to begin with? I’ve never got any reason to look, and it’s not like anyone would look at me and—”

“Oh no Remus you don’t.” 

Remus snorted. 

“You’re a fetching young man, really! It’d be a pity—” 

“The point still stands. I just don’t think I’ve any need for that sort of stuff, you know. It’s all a bit—” he shrugged vaguely. 

Mary tilted her head to the side, blew a fringe away from her face. “I can’t figure you out, Remus Lupin. You’ve got to be hiding some reason. I mean, Sirius makes sense now, unless you…” Mary trailed off, eyes slowly widening.

“No, I, I’m not—” Remus said quickly, “I mean, not really.”

“Oh. Okay.” Mary withdrew a little. “Sorry,” she said, and Remus almost felt bad, but his mind wandered. Sirius didn’t make sense these days, in fact, far from it. He had abruptly stopped disappearing in the middle of the night, and when Remus asked of it, Sirius only shrugged and claimed he got bored of it. He was with them more, but grew quiet around Remus. It made Remus wonder, and such thoughts unsettled him, but it was only in the way that these things always unsettled him. 

“No, it’s just.” Remus shook his head. “It’s like going to France.”

“It’s like what?”

“When I was young, Da thought he’d take me to France. I really, really didn’t like the idea.” Remus emphasises with his arms, letting them fall open to the table,  

“Well that came out of nowhere.” 

“No, you see, he explained how wonderful and how beautiful it would be there, how everyone wanted to go to France, and everyone who went would love it— but I just didn’t trust it.”

“Sceptic from the cradle, I see.” 

Remus smiled weakly in response. “To be fair, all I knew about France was blue cheese and frogs, so, what the hell? But somehow I knew I would hate it, probably because Da was actually trying to find some cure that didn’t exist, but, well.”

Mary frowned at him thoughtfully, nodding slowly in understanding the double meanings. 

“Did you end up going with him?”

“Yes.”

“And you still hated it?”

“Yes,” Remus said emphatically, “He’d take me through all the touristy spots, try and cheer me up with a fancy meal or too, but— I was miserable the whole way, missing home and thinking how pathetic everyone there was—”

“You really make a committed cynic, there.” 

Remus made to continue, but seemingly out of nowhere, Sirius had appeared. He slid by Remus’ shoulder, and sat down next to him. He pretended not to notice the pause he had caused.

“What’s this about, then?”

“Remus hates France, apparently.” 

“I don’t hate France,” Remus mumbled, feeling ridiculous. He really was too aware of Sirius. “I would just rather I didn’t go there.” 

From the edge of his vision, Remus thought he could just catch Sirius’ smile, thoughtful, quirked at the corner. 

“You wouldn’t have known, though, if you’d never been there.”

Remus found his heart sinking a little, at the comment. He had known, he had, he wanted to protest. But when he chanced a glance his way, how Sirius was staring back had him pinned down. 

In the long moments of silence, a whole conversation passed between them. Sirius' brows drooped, the way they did when he's caught off guard. His cheeks were lightly flushed, his eyes almost bashful. Remus thought back to how he’s been watching Sirius— how they’ve been watching each other, and all sorts of scenarios and storylines and possibilities unfurled in his head. There was something gathering between them, that he was even more certain now.

Was France, perhaps, not so bad after all?

[talia-rumlow]

Home Sweet Home (AU Rumlow X Reader) Chapter Four - Here Right Now!

Pairing: Brock Rumlow (Mechanic ex Military Brock) X Reader

Word Count: 1790

Summary: Someone needs to take the first step....

Warnings: Age-Gap, Fluff (no explicit material yet)

DISCLAIMER: This is an AU story. But I still don´t own any of the MARVEL characters, only my original ones.

HAPPY READING!

You don't know what to say to him, or if you should say anything at all. He holds your hand all the way upstairs, he only lets you go when he walks into the guest room, and you walk in to your room. This doesn't feel real. Did you actually kiss Brock?

You take your time changing. You need to think. Does this mean anything, or was it some spur of the moment thing from his side? You don't have enough experience to figure that out. And you sure as hell won't ask him. You're not that desperate. Even if it is Brock. Did he really mean that he shouldn't have kissed you? And if so, why the hell did he? Is it even possible for someone to initiate a relationship of any kind when they're 26 years apart? Even though Brock is kinda childish, he's still 26 years older than you. Oh, yeah, and don't forget that he's also your dad's best friend.

You sit on your bed for a while, contemplating if you should go downstairs or not. Finally you decide to go. You'll never get rid of Brock anyway. He comes over so often that he practically lives here. Probably best to just forget this ever happened. Move on. At least that's something you know how to do. Two times over the last four years, your life got turned upside down, almost over night.

You lived here in Texas your whole life. Both your parents had their families here, both pretty well off. You had all your memories here, all your friends, everything. So when your mom got a new boyfriend, and decided to move to New York, when you were 16, your world crumbled. You remember how you begged to move into your dads house, but your mom wouldn't let you. And your dad, well, he didn't want to start an argument, so he just went with what your mom said. You suspected that your mom did it to get more child support, and your dad, well, he would probably go through hell to avoid talking to your mom. When you come to think about it, the fact that you even exist is a miracle, given the relationship your parents have now, you can't imagine them ever getting close enough to have a child together.

Brock is sitting on the couch when you come down the stairs. He's leaning back, looking up at the ceiling. A green t shirt and stonewashed jeans on, his legs widely parted. You look at him, swallowing. Did he really kiss you? Out there. In the pool. Brock lifts his hands, and are about to put his face into them, when he sees you. He stops, for a second you just look at each other.

- YN...

He finally says. Casual, act casual YN. you think for yourself.

- Who else?

You answer, and walk into the kitchen. You have absolutely no idea what you're doing in there, but you can't walk back into the living room without bringing anything with you. You open the fridge.

- Want anything to drink? Water, soda?

You ask, slowly turning towards the living room. Brock is standing right behind you. You jump.

- Jeez, Brock! Scare me much?

Again his eyes moves down your body, before he looks back up into your eyes.

- I'm sorry, YN!

He says, and you can see the vains on his neck pumping blood like crazy. Is he nervous?

- For what?

You ask, unsure if you'll manage not to cry if he tells you that the kiss was a big mistake.

- This!

He says, before his lips brush over yours. The bottle of water in your hand falls to the floor, when you drop it, to put your hands on Brock. He slips his arms around you again. Still soft and careful. Slowly bringing your bodies closer together. One of his hands glide up on the inside of your shirt, up your back. Slow and careful. You feel like your legs are about to give in under you.

You part your lips, and your tongue finds his again. Your belly clenches when he lifts you up, placing you on the kitchen counter.

- Brock..

You almost gasp his name. He stops right away. Looks at you.

- Don't stop!

You say, grabbing his shirt. His hand moves up to your face, gently cupping it. His eyes looks deeply into yours. You carefully nod your head, to show him that this is OK.

His lips meets yours again, your tongues find each other, swirling around. His hands travel up your back, on the inside of your shirt. You move your body closer to his. His hands are rough, but the way he touches you with them are so soft and tender. Maybe working as a mechanic required you to have both those qualities.

Ever since your dad and Brock took a step back from the military, when you were around five years old, Brock had owned his own garage. The only real one around these parts, back then. Over the years they expanded, and now the Rumlow name was well known also outside of Texas. You remember you thought it was so cool, when you were in high school, that you could spend the afternoon in the Rumlow garage. Brock actually taught you to fix your bike by yourself. A trait you still have, to this day.

And now, now you're sitting on the kitchen counter, kissing him, touching him, feeling his hands on you, his breath. It's almost like you don't believe it, that you're dreaming, and if you are, you never want to wake up.

You slide your hands up his back, under his shirt, you can feel his muscles flexing. His skin is warm. You never want to let him go. You want to stay in this moment forever.

His lips moves down to your neck, his facial hair tickling you a bit, you lean your head back, to give him better access. His lips on your neck sends shivers down your spine, and your belly clenches again. You've never felt anything like this before. You pull him even closer, almost without realising that you do. His lips moves up to your ear, breathing into it.

- We need to stop this, YN!

He whispers. Still breathing heavily, and not moving away from you. It's like he don't want to let you go.

- No, Brock!

You say, turning your head to kiss him again.

- We're not ready to take this any further...

He says, before he kisses you again, and then gives you a long hug.

- But, Brock...

You try. Leaning your head into his upper body. His heart is beating like crazy.

- Not yet, YN. We're not ready.

He says again, lifting you down from the counter. Holding you close. When you finally break apart from each other, he looks at you again.

- I'm not ready!

He says, taking a deep breath.

- Ready for what?

You ask. What is he talking about? None of you were ready for this.

- To lose my clothes with you...

He answers. You don't quite understand. Weren't you almost naked earlier today in the pool, what's the difference?

- Who said we were going to lose our clothes?

You ask. Probably sounding like a naive 20 year old virgin. You get that the second the words leave your mouth. Why isn't your brain to mouth filter working?

Brock smiles.

- It would have happened. We both know that.

He says, looking at you, searching for an answer. Then his expression changes.

- We both know that, right?

He asks, searching your face. You look down, when you understand what he's asking about.

- You don't...

He says, dragging his hand through his hair. Still you don't answer. What can you say?

- You don't!

He says again. You look up at him, shaking your head. You don't manage to say the words out loud. The fact that you're 20 and still a virgin, isn't exactly something you usually broadcast.

- So.. You're a virgin? Oh, fuck! What did I do?

You feel your tears about to burst out from your eyes, and you take a shaking breath. You've lost him for sure now. Brock looks at you, compassionate, before he wraps you in a hug, caressing your hair.

- Hey, YN! It's fine. Totally fine. Just a bit of a shock that's all.

You can't hold your tears back anymore. This is embarrassing, and you're scared. Scared to lose him, scared to have him, scared of everything. This moment, right here, right now. This is the only time in your entire life you wished you weren't.

- I know. I'm a loser, right?

You say through your tears. Brock gently takes your face, kisses you softly.

- You're not a loser, YN! I have deep respect for people like you.

Brock keeps looking at you. You look back. Your tears stops.

- People like me?

You finally ask.

- Yeah, people that waits. People that finds that really special person to be the first. You'll always remember that first one. It's a big deal.

Brock looks into your eyes as he's talking. To show you that he really means what he says. You find him really old fashioned right now. Sex is everywhere these days, you can easily get access to porn online, and even regular movies kept pushing the limits.

- It's just sex...

You say. You know you and Brock grew up at different times, but it can't be THAT different, can it? Porn has been around forever. He must have seen some.

Brock gently lets his hand caress your face, before he gives you another kiss. Smiling at you when he pulls back.

- There's nothing JUST about sex!

He says. His hazel brown eyes, almost drowns you. He means it. Maybe sex is a huge deal for him.

- Come on now, let's go in for landing with a movie before we go to bed!

He roughs up your hair a little bit, before he takes your hand, and walks you into the living room.

Brock sits down on the couch, and you lie down and place your head in his lap, you don't know why, it's not like he asked you to. You just feel like doing it. You can feel him looking down at you, so you turn your head and look back up at him. He gives you a big smile, before he puts his hand in your hair, caressing it.

You get to watch maybe the first ten minutes of the movie before you fall asleep. Brocks hand in your hair makes you relax that much. It's been years since you fell asleep on the couch. And, well, it's been a long and eventful day.

@nekoannie-chan @bat-mar @late-to-the-party-81 @here4thefanfics @rip1009 @there-goes-thefighter @differenttyphoonwerewolf @saiyanprincessswanie @ladysif8

Check out the Home Sweet Home Masterlist HERE!

Check out My Frank Grillo Masterlist HERE!

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

[idkbishsss]

my review of the mandalorian so far (I’ve seen 5 episodes, and got spoilers for ep6 why drafting and this up)

It okay.

I definitely think so lines here and there need work. I’ve definitely liked all the cameos/references, but that’s because I’m just a fuckin’ nerd-

it’s my least favorite season so far, but I don’t think it awful

Don’t take my word for it, because I could watch anything SW related and like it. The power of hyperfixations baby!

I also don’t have the same opinions with most people. My marvel opinions would probably offend a lot of people. I also don’t set high expectations for anything in case they don’t met it.

Going to be honest, they did just throw away a few plot points though. Like the fuck happened to the people in ep3? They lost the plot point.

First two episodes are the best so far. I think episode 3 is the worst. It’s not because I don’t like the episode, but because they did nothing with that plot so far.

Episode 5 also isn’t my favorite, I definitely think they could have done a better job at establishing the pirates a little better. Yet I do still like the action and I think the ending with Bo is good. I think she deserves it, I don’t think Din would want that. As much as people are mad at the fact that she can take hers off and Din can’t.

I just think he would rather not have to bring all the mandos together. I actually wouldn’t mind if next season it’s just him chilling with Grogu as his friends come for aid.

I wish that it was more about Mandos and not the new republic. Yet I think it’s setting up some conflict for the end of the season. I also think that that this could have been the last season and then the just do a Bo-Katan show to show the rest.

But the show is called “The mandalorian”. I think that it’s trying to be about mandalorians as a whole, not just din. (I still think they should add more din)

I LOVE ZEB

I definitely have some theory’s on what’s going to happen.

I definitely love The Armorer and Bo stuff:}} (even if it’s not canon)

And there’s a lot i love, but hate get more traction on the internet.

Now I’m going into what I hate

WHY ARE THEY DOING ALL THIS SHIT FOR US TO LIKE BO KATAN?!?!?

the only people who don’t like her are people who haven’t watched Rebels and the finale season of tcw series. I feel like they setting her character back. Just trying to undoing character development.

I talk about this perversely, BUT WHAT WAS EPISODE 3!?!? I liked that episode when it came out, but all that O U T T H E W I N D O W. They aren’t doing anything with the plot point. Also it’s just a set up for the fall of the new republic! Which would be good, if I didn’t want the sequels UNTOUCHED. Leave them alone, you made mistakes. Run and bury those why you still can!

If it was another show? Yes it work! It’s was working when the had Moff. It was still with the plot, yet didn’t feel forced.

Din feels like he just exists. Add some conflict, make him pissed that he can’t walk both ways or something. Even if I hate that, it’s still something. It can also be explained well. He feels like his entire life he’s respected the way, but he doesn’t like that the rules are different. He had so everything for the way, he was kick out for “disrespecting” it. Make him want to walk both ways at the end of the story because of this!

also i just know they are going to do Paz is the one all pissed. Please add Din to the story again, I beg you.

And, make one episode, centered around Mandos. Without anything else. I don’t care if it’s past. I don’t care if it’s wholesome or not. I don’t care if din doesn’t even show up. Just do an episode for Mandos (I know ep4 exists okay, but I need more then that-)

Also don’t give Bo-Katan the dark saber PLEASE

Like that she went against an empire, and that’s not really easy to beat. I don’t blame her, i think any Mando could fall to that.

But I just think that it should be someone else. Maybe not Din, but definitely not Bo-

-gets spoilers for Ep6-

…IM GOING TO RUN OFF A CLIFF-

What? Why? HOW?

First! JACK FUCKING BLACK ACCORDING TO MOST

SECOND, what did I say? Make it about mandos not the fucking CLONE WARS?!?!

Look I love Bo, BUT GOD NO. NO

well at least according to a few we got dumb ass lovable Din back:) (I’m also sure there’s good things about the episode)

I lied. I hate this show (I’m sure with in a few days I love it again-)

Edit: I saw someone say ep6 just should have been an entire season it’s self. I have a feeling it not bad, just overwhelming.

[pr0duc7ofch40s]

4 years.

so many tears. so many lies. so fucking much emotional energy wasted. so many 11:11s spent wishing that things could go back to how they were in the beginning.

I was so in love with you, I had so much hope that we could find our way back, that I could show you the right way to love... deep down I knew better. ALL ALONG, I knew better. The red flags weren't even flags, they were giant ass flashing neon billboards, and they were there right from day 1. and I just chose to ignore them. I thought there was something different there, something drew me to you, over and over. It felt like our paths were destined to be aligned. But I know better. You can't change another person... I don't know why I thought for even a second this would be any different. You were a masterful magician with your manipulation, slipped your poison right inside my veins before my eyes and had me believing it was love. mind fucked me every day for years, simultaneously praised me while still somehow convincing me there was at the very least, 876 things wrong with me... silently punished and degraded me until I eliminated them one by one. Until I recreated myself exactly how you wanted me to. Recreated myself into a shell of a human being that existed just to please and agree with you. Never any regard for my feelings, let alone respect for the fact that I'm an actual whole ass person with a mind. Not to you. That's not what you wanted. You were only interested in me being a toy for you to play with when you felt like it and toss down when you didn't. I don't even recognize myself anymore. I don't know who I am now that I don't need your permission... You had an opinion or a snide comment or a "joke" about every single aspect of my life, made fun of everything I found joy in, my food choices, absolutely any clothes I chose to wear NO MATTER THE STYLE you always had something to fucking say. Dismissed or just outright ignored any thoughts or opinions I had on anything, invalidated my feelings at every chance- telling me how ridiculous I was for thinking that way... or that I misunderstood, or that I was remembering wrong... even when I had proof. But by far the worst... more painful than the cheating and the passive aggressiveness and the blatant disrespect for boundaries. No, worse than all of that was the dehumanization… the way you marveled in making sure I felt small. How you would intentionally ignore me like I wasn’t even there or pretend you didn’t hear me then repeat exactly what I would say back to me like you just came up with it yourself

[Example-on a drive] Me: *points excitedly* OOH babe look at the eagle!!! ----crickets---- *45 seconds-2 minutes later* Him: *pointing at EXACTLY THE SAME bird I just tried to point out to him* “oh cool, LOOK… an eagle!” Me: “I just sai-“(looks over and realizes he did it on purpose…*screams internally*)

The overshadowing awareness that I meant absolutely nothing to you, and I wanted so fucking desperately to be important, I tried SO hard to be good enough, practically jumping through endless hoops to try and impress you just begging for any little crumbs of attention. You knew it, and it was like that knowledge of my desperation fed the high for you. You loved taking every opportunity to show me how insignificant I was to you, just to watch my reaction. I think you enjoyed how much it hurt me. I eventually figured out the game, but I fell for it every time any ways... because I'm not a soulless fucking monster like you, even though I knew I was getting set up I still felt the rejection just the same. 4 years of dedication. 4 years of whittling me down to a sliver of the person with 0% of the life I had when we met... then you have the audacity to tell me that you deserve better. Because I am "depressing" and "psycho" and need help... Every time I tried have a normal conversation about the issues in the relationship, it got flipped back on me, I was the unstable one, was being overdramatic/ oversensitive/paranoid/trying to start a fight. Never once did you take accountability for anything... even when I caught you in the middle of a sext convo with another girl.

*POV (sitting diagonally across from him, I caught a passing glance of a tits on the phone in his hand that he's been feverishly texting on for the last idk how long) Me: "Jennifer's got a nice rack, but can I ask why she is sending that to you? and why your response says something about tasting them tonight? Him- (glances up from his phone with a dead straight face) huh? Me- *eyeroll* "seriously...? the tits, I'm genuinely curious. Please just be honest" Him- glances back up at me with a bored expression *BIG annoyed sigh* "idk what tits you're talking about, I'm LiT.teR.a.lLy talking to my brother, is that ok with you? or do I need to ask permission next time?" "Idk why you're so controlling, it's like you think you own me or something. FFS I'm allowed to have friends, get over yourself. It's not MY fault no one wants to talk to you, don't take it out on me. Sorry all your friends hate you, maybe you should try being less of a psychotic bitch once in a while”

No. It was never you. You always managed to find a reason that it was my fault. My fault we were fighting, my fault you were cheating, my fault you were depressed, my fault we weren't having sex anymore... my fault my fault MY FAULT. I was never smart enough or thin enough or nice enough, blonde enough... there was always something I wasn't. Or 100 things I was way too much of. And then, as fast as Friday turns to Monday you just flipped the switch, shrugged us off and walked away. completely unphased. like it never even happened. Like the entire relationship was just one long and super fucked up hallucination.

SO.MUCH.INSANITY

It’s been a month. Who even am I anymore? Everything feels backwards and inside out. I feel lighter but also a little bit hollow. There’s a black hole of disbelief that refuses to close, I just can’t wrap my head around it. Who even operates like that?? How is it possible that it was all just an illusion? I feel like I need to go to bed for 11 months. Or pack up and leave town.

[thrown-out-there]

10/15/23

when i was younger I didn't have a relationship with art (art in this case being visual expressions, like photos or sculptures, and the like). this isn't to say i was never exposed to art, but rather that I've never looked at a piece of art and felt something. because of this (for lack of a better term) deficiency in youth, I assumed this would follow me into adulthood. having recently discovered that the world is, in fact, beautiful/marvelous/majestic/incomprehensibly wonderful, i decided to review some of my own views. I went to two art museums, the Oklahoma Museum of Art, and the Oklahoma Museum of Contemporary Art, as they're nearby.

I went contemporary first, as it was a smaller, more secluded museum, and more importantly, the exhibits were supposed to "mean something". I didn't feel anything. the art was good, from an execution standpoint, and the themes of native American issues were real and thoughtful. it did make me think, but it didn't make me feel.

No matter, no problem. Likely I am not the target audience, i moved on to the "regular" museum, where there were three exhibits. an impressionism exhibit discussing the sculptures of Auguste Rodin, who is likely most well known for "the thinker". a "standard" museum exhibit, which was segmented based on the types of art, and was lain out in a way which suggested that it was greatly for learning about art history, which is great. the last was a glass exhibit by Dave Chihuly.

i had asked the lady at the reception which exhibit i should see first, in case i was out of time. i was told to view them in the order of the glass exhibit, the Rodin exhibit, and finally the mixed exhibit. this is the order in which i viewed them.

Glass is an interesting art medium. it takes a lot of skill to be proficient in them, and nothing spoke more to that than the small, delicate looking birds made entirely from one piece of glass, sat atop fragile looking vases. everything seemed fragile, but everything was also still, cast under harsh lights in a dim room. once again, all i really felt was an appreciation for the amount of skill and devotion that it must have taken to create these.

that is, unfortunately the same conclusion i came to from the Rodin exhibit. incredibly detailed bronze creations, detailed faces of joy, anguish, desire, captured forever in a metal prison.

i thought things were probably over after that. i had all but decided that visual art just wasn't for me, couldn't be understood by me. i already knew i couldn't create visual art worth anything, and ive tried many times.

and then i saw the only two paintings in the whole gallery that matter to me. i don't know why they captured me so, but even now i am thinking about them. The images I've found do not do it justice.

most people talk about feeling something from art in a very abstract way, but this painting took me to its subject. as i stood in this quiet, air conditioned room in Central Oklahoma.

I could feel the rocks beneath my feet, even as my boots stood on soft carpet

I could hear the Ocean roar, deafening to me even as my surroundings were still

i could smell the salt air, even though the air was filled with the scents of the other people, the cleaners used by the museum, and the clean, pre-winter Oklahoma Air. The non-existent wind ruffled the collar on my shirt, pressed my slacks into the back of my thighs, as it did not blow hard from the ocean.

and then it was gone. as suddenly as the feeling appeared, it left.

it was incredible, and i wish i could replicate it.

and then i saw the other painting.

maybe this is just a nitpick i have, but this museum lets you get pretty close to the art, and i feel like it does a disservice to some kinds of paintings. do you really need to see each individual brush stroke to have "seen" it?

for me, at least in this instance, i did not.

looking at this painting up close did nothing for me. small, even brush strokes attempting to be evocative of a squall, a short windstorm. it was nice, but it wasnt evocative of anything while i scrutinized it with my dumb ape eyes.

while leaving, i glanced back at the painting, now a good 10-20 feet from it.

I couldn't help but feel immense dread wash over me, as the colors and patterns seemed to swirl together in a deep, ominous way. it tightened my chest, pressed against my heart, my eyes, unable to tear themselves away. and gone again.

ill be going back, in November when the new exhibit is unveiled.

Ill be revisiting the two i saw before, hoping desperately to replicate my experience.

if you read this, i hope it helps you feel something.

-RK

[h1myname1sv]

FIC UPDATE: we're inches apart (and even closer at heart) 3/7

AO3

ff.net

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: none Fandoms: MCU, Avengers, Black Widow, Daredevil, Hawkeye Relationships: Matt Murdock/Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova & Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova & Natasha Romanoff & Alexei Shostakov & Melina Vostokoff, Natasha Romanoff & Tony Stark, Avengers Team & Natasha Romanoff Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Matt Murdock, Yelena Belova, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff, Bucky Barnes, Foggy Nelson, Karen Page, Melina Vostokoff, Alexei Shostakov, Other Marvel Characters Additional Tags: Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, POV Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov-centric, Natasha Romanov Feels, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Angst and Humor, Fluff and Humor, Banter, Dialogue Heavy, Weddings, Secret Relationship, Sappy Ending, Tony Stark Lives, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Family Shenanigans Wordcount: 19k Summary:

"This seems awfully fast, Natasha," Melina says with genuine concern. "You are still so young." Nat blinks. "We've been dating for six years," she says flatly. "Oh, I thought you just found a random guy on the street, thought he was cute, followed him home and decided to marry him," Yelena says. "Do you think I'm that shallow?" Nat asks, and she's about to laugh before she realizes that what Yelena said isn't entirely inaccurate. (Or: Turns out planning your wedding is pretty damn hard when most of your family doesn't know your husband to be even exists.)

Excerpt:

Tony groans. "You didn't propose to him? I believed in you!" Nat snorts. "Did you or Pepper propose?" "Happy did. Anyways, why didn't you?" Nat frowns. "I could've planned something if I hadn't been grieving him for five months prior." Silence, except for the sound of pancake batter sizzling. "Sorry. This announcement was meant to be happier." Bruce shrugs. "I'm really happy for you," he says, which means a lot considering he's known the longest. "Why did you suddenly decide to tell us now?" Pepper asks curiously, reaching down to wipe spit off of Morgan's chin. Morgan smiles happily up at her and clumsily claps her hands together. "I felt it was time," Nat says honestly. "I don't exactly like keeping secrets." "I repeat my earlier question," Sam says. "When do we get to meet this guy? I'm sure he's a pretty good person if you've decided to marry him, and the fact that he got you to agree is impressive in its own right." Nat laughs. "You guys will meet him when I say so. Maybe I'll surprise you one day." "Please invite us to the wedding," Tony begs. Nat mock glares at him for a few seconds. "I'll think about it," she says eventually, even though she's already made the decision to theoretically invite him to her theoretical wedding in her head.

[sowninchrist]

Walk by Faith not by Sight - Part 4🌱🕊️♥️

Sight

We broke down this verse and now this is what we have extended.

We (followers of Christ) walk by (who are submitted and living a life the way He walked channeling through) Faith (in Jesus Christ) not by (a unworthy way of walking through) sight (G1492; implication. G1491;  appearance, fashion, shape, sight.)

The examples that we see in this is how Jesus knows the hearts of His people, He denies His people signs but why?

In John 2:23-25 ESV,

(23)“Jesus was in Jerusalem for the Passover festival. Many people believed in him because they saw the miraculous signs he did.” (24) “But Jesus did not trust them, because he knew how all people think. (25) “He did not need anyone to tell him what a person was like. He already knew.”

Jesus saw their hearts, He already knew that there would be people who wanted to see to believe, but that’s the problem, people want to walk in the sight, Jesus’ was trying to teach His disciples as well to walk by Faith, not by sight.

Matthew 8:24, 26-27 ESV, (24)”And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being swamped by the waves; but he was asleep.” (26)”And he said to them, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” Then he rose and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was a great calm.” (27) “And the men marveled, saying, “What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?”

I love this part of the verse because even though they were walking with Jesus and learning to trust that He had it all under control, they still showed the problem that Jesus was removing their accustom way of their former way of walking, which was by sight.

In the book of Matthew, we also see how the disciples were worried for bread, in Matthew 16:7-8 ESV, (7)“And they began discussing it among themselves, saying, “We brought no bread.” (8) “But Jesus, aware of this, said, “O you of little faith, why are you discussing among yourselves the fact that you have no bread?”

In the following verse Jesus says, “Do you not yet perceive? Do you not remember the five loaves for the five thousand, and how many baskets you gathered?”

Jesus want’s them to perceive of His teachings and this is evident throughout the pharisees. They walked by sight because of their lack of faith.

Matthew 16:11 ESV, “How is it that you fail to understand that I did not speak about bread? Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees.”

And in Matthew 16:12 ESV, “ Then they understood that he did not tell them to beware of the leaven of bread, but of the teaching of the Pharisees and Sadducees.”

I admire the comparison they made of the leaven of bread and the teaching of the pharisees and the sadducees, the leaven bread found in 1 Cor 5:7, “Take out all the old yeast, so that you will be a new batch of dough. You really are bread without yeast” Paul finishes that verse by saying that Jesus has been sacrificed, so now we are a new batch of dough, unleavened bread, Passover bread because now we are fulfilling what Jesus wanted, not to walk like the pharisees but in Faith. 

We must leave the teaching that the pharisees and sadducees were teaching because we are now to live up to what Jesus did for us, why continue to walk in sight when He redeemed us in truth and in Spirit.

Gathering everything up together;

We walk as Jesus walked in Faith not by the unworthy channeling of appearance.

Hebrews 11:1 ERV, “Faith is what makes real the things we hope for. It is proof of what we cannot see.”

Hebrews 11:1 GW, “Faith assures us of things we expect and convinces us of the existence of things we cannot see.”

Hebrews 11:1 AMP, “Now faith is the assurance (title deed, confirmation) of things hoped for (divinely guaranteed), and the evidence of things not seen [the conviction of their reality — faith comprehends as fact what cannot be experienced by the phial sense].

Mark 11: 24 ERV, “So I tell you to ask for what you want in prayer. And if you believe that you have received those things, then they will be yours.”

2 Cor 5:8, “So I say that we have confidence. And we really want to be away from this body and be at home with the Lord.”

[collymore]

Much wiser and certainly far cleverer than the Brits, these French guillotine lovers!

By Stanley Collymore Retain the British monarchy, the serf sycophants avidly proclaim, solely and also allegedly, they ludicrously maintain because of the phenomenally very huge amounts of money evidently which laughably, they themselves and obviously as well their in situ presence always supposedly but in reality not so, magnanimously effectively bring into the country. Nah! Unquestionably, the actual, literally most visited city, across the western world and distinctly so within Europe itself is clearly quite basically and significantly by far crucially not London by a long streak, but unquestionably very obviously, irrefutably Paris. Funnily, though, these French men and women similarly once actually had their own monarchy; but right now, and for the life of me, I presently don't recall, what they basically literally did with it, except that effectively they made absolutely sure that it simply, wouldn’t exist any longer; a most erudite decision of theirs which has in every respect quite specifically using the customary and fallacious, British argument often utilized, in respect of their monarchy, worked marvellously well, in France’s creative favour. Astute people these French men and women summarily getting rid of their actually pointless and unnecessary monarchy!  So why then, I seriously wonder, and literally clearly at variance myself, distinctly on this profound matter discernibly with a surfeit of solely sycophantic British plebeians, who’re quite self- evidently and likewise grotesquely themselves literally endowed with their endemically ingrained, rather pathetic brownnosing; recurrently and utterly adamantly set in spite of France’s transparently obvious and crucially, successful venture; incredulously still obsessed with worshipping the Windsor family? And both ludicrously, and rather inexplicably doing so in what’s a modern 21st Century, quite at variance to their very entrenched Middle Ages mind-set and likewise essentially of place, in its basically sheer obsolescence quite patently and characteristic, as themselves; being characteristically unelected, arrogantly self-entitled, uncaringly similarly disgustingly; specifically, unwarrantedly through no evident discernible work ethic or any truly outstanding or crucially essential skills of their own, just irrefutably and unwarrantedly, literally overly and overtly, irrefutably obscenely privileged and wealthy nobodies. (C) Stanley V. Collymore 16 March 2023. Author's Remarks: It’s a commonly known and similarly also an indisputable fact that the Windsor monarchical family, and specifically very senior members of it, routinely among themselves bring in large amounts of money into Britain, as their sycophantic, brownnosing serfs disingenuously and self-servingly try to dishonestly in their intense lauding of these people obsessively try to persuade the rest of us in the UK, and even elsewhere, as their version of this fact, and then use it as an irrefutable and unchallengeable reason for retaining this unelected, non-democratic, non-meritocratic, non-equality of opportunity and a distinctively racist and white supremacist; discernibly also a totally obsolescent Middle Ages mind-set hereditary family permanently ensconced in their  exceedingly privileged: both societally and financially, unwarrantedly self-entitled and allegedly birth right  positions as the natural national Head of State of the United Kingdom and, moreover, automatically with the sole right to explicitly do so in a supposedly modern 21st Century. Yes, the Windsors, and specifically its very senior members, do bring loads of unaccounted for cash into Britain, purposely and usually officially undeclared in these circumstances, and likewise craftily tucked away in several nondescript carrier bags! Doing so with no requisite checks in respect of these occurrences by the forces of law and order, immigration authorities or the Charity Commission’s nepotistic and cronyism morons, who as a convenient afterthought when these criminal, for that’s what they blatantly are, irregularities become publicly known, asininely and most unconvincingly declare it’s okay, as the cash is for “charities” that are laudable and well known to them. Yeah! You or I – even theoretically – would be scathingly, openly and most hypocritically castigated by these same monarchical fetish serfs quite happy to turn a Nelsonian blind eye to the actions of Charles and other Windsor members – and without contradiction we’d be ourselves doing serious prison time! But that’s Britain’s entrenched monarchic, hereditary elite and supine class system for you; while risibly but highly dangerously passing itself off as our “national culture”. Anyway, those who are profitably benefiting from it – financially, politically or societally – aren’t going to complain with all those, to them, priceless gongs to be had, while the pathetically conditioned serfs are themselves too daft to recognize the overall difference. Tourists don’t and have never come to Britain to see its monarchical family as these visitors rarely, if ever, get the genuine opportunity to do so; and if they idiotically thought they would they’d be instantly and naturally disappointed. For apart from such people and even British residents occasionally allowed to cavort sporadically in front of places like Buckingham Palace for the obvious photogenic effect, the other monarchical residences – privately or state owned – are categorically out of bounds to the general public whether they’re British or visitors, for whatever real reasons, they’re actually within Britain. So it’s a massive delusion that these visitors to the UK all come here specifically because of any distinct wish to see members of the British monarchy and consequently they’re so enormously enamoured by this outstandingly glorious prospect as to then very obviously quite willingly and selflessly buttress the economy of Britain phenomenally by consciously making themselves significantly poorer financially! The situation in France and specifically Paris is very much different. People go there to see the architectural beauty of several buildings that they can actually enter and at leisure pleasantly explore and literally do so without all of this monarchical and quite outright bizarre and pathetic nonsense which automatically characterizes the entirety of the United Kingdom. So please, all your monarchical fawners and discernibly also intellectually challenged morons, just go and honestly so own your own rank stupidity and hypocrisy!