#he's obsessed with them AND he covets their power

[neyafromfrance95]

there is nothing inherently sexist about galadriel being surrounded by the male characters. context matters and it centers galadriel in these dynamics.

galadriel is a protagonist and the male characters in her story have the similar roles that the female characters often have in the male protagonists' stories.

while all of these male characters are the leads in their own right, when paired up with galadriel, they serve a subservient purpose to her character development.

even when she is captured by adar, she is in the spotlight and adar takes on a role of the one who warns her about being too self-assured. once celebrimnor is with her, the whole "i wanted what he offered" becomes about her.

she is a stubborn lead doing things her own way while elrond and gil-galad take on the "concerned friends/family" role.

now, sauron and galadriel are both the focus when they are together, neither is sidelined (while usually, the other characters become "sidekicks" for galadriel and for sauron in their respective relationships. this also highlights them being the show's main protagonist and antagonist respectively.)

for sauron, galadriel is the most significant connection he has. she is the one he mirrors, worships, covets... subtextually, it's all about her for him - being bound to her being is the feeling he desperately and obsessively tries to recapture.

as for galadriel, her relationship with sauron is an exploration of her own relationship with power. sauron represents her own darkness, her individualism, pride and greed. her desire for sauron represents her ambition.

and through her relationship with sauron, we explore her emotional and existential complexity, crisis and development, and even needs.

it is very rare to have a dynamic like this as it's often the male characters whose inner worlds are represented by their female lovers. but in this case, the gender roles are reversed.

sauron is a lover who represents her darkness/power while finrod is an older familiar male figure who represents her light/wisdom (this role might be undertaken by galadalf later on, though).

sauron is the temptation trying to pull her under as he fulfills her romantic needs and her desire to be worshiped, bathing her in an ocean of color. and elrond is trying to shine his light upon her, representing her home and community. both support her emotional needs but in the opposite ways.

i agree that s2 shortened galadriel's screentime and it was a mistake, but her having relationships with the male characters is not an issue, in fact, it's a refreshing subversion of the typical gender dynamics.

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Astarion: Finally, we're catching up on our puppet master. And the hunt ends at Moonrise Towers.

screaming crying throwing up over this line with durge and romanced astarion on my duo run. they both start as puppets, then are free enough of their former masters to make their own choices, then they both have a choice: chain themself to their master or be free.

with durge that's either resist or become bhaal's chosen. If they resist, they're marking to certain death. To be free of Bhaal is to die, and I think they're acutely aware of that. To become his Chosen is to extend the amount of time they live, but they know it won't truly be living, if they live their life in service to another.

with astarion it's to break the cycle of abuse and be more than what nearly 200 years of empathy-breaking hell - Sisyphus pushing up the boulder but make it seducing people, eating rats and insects, night after night, knowing everyone you touch is doomed to die - made him OR unchain himself to everything Cazador did by killing Cazador without ascending, allowing him the safety of his abuser being gone so he can finally start feeling and healing without the ever-present threat of becoming a slave to Cazador again.

Their romanced "bad" endings all require someone to become the other's puppet. If Durge becomes Bhaal's Chosen, they force Astarion back into servitude and make him no more than a puppet after taking over the Absolute to start slaughtering the world in Bhaal's name. If Astarion Ascends, Durge either agrees to the loss of their independence and personhood by becoming a spawn OR the relationship falls apart.

I don't have anything else to say I'm just screaming about this lmao

[cheekylittlepupp]

You all know A Astarion's epilogue outfit, but have you ever wondered whether it's bats or dragons? Me and @egooppidum were wondering that today and we came to the conclusion that it's 100% dragons. The symbolism is SUPERB. Hats off to Larian for this.

Brace yourselves this might be a bit long ~

"Red dragons are covetous, evil creatures, interested only in their own well-being, vanity and the extension of their treasure hoards. They are supremely confident of their own abilities."

"Rarely, red dragons would adopt a protective yet patronizing manner towards creatures they saw as inferior that lived within their self-imposed borders" - Oh you precious dark consort, how lucky you are to have the greatest vampire lord as your master, for him to bless you with his eternal gift, turn you into his spawn, his right hand.

"Red dragons believed that if a being was not strong enough to protect what it had, then it did not deserve to keep it. This applied not just to treasure, but to life. They despised weakness among their own kind." Literally ANY line from him when he talks about his former 'weak and pathetic self'.

Him being obssessed with power and how that's the only important thing in this world. This would be huge if I added all of those lines tbh.

"Red dragons were known for their swift and fiery tempers—if angered, they would explode into a destructive rage and become even more impulsive and vengeful" - Practically his entire dialogue when you break up with him after the ascension or declining to become his spawn. Even subtly threatening you

"Such rages were in part due to their fragile pride and feeling that any loss, insult, or defeat meant a loss of status if not addressed—causing chaos and destruction assuaged wounded pride and mitigated lost status" - He sees himself as the best version of himself right now and the fact that you reject him, in any kind of way wounds him greatly. This is why he starts hurling insults at you, to hurt you back, to try and cover up the fact that you just shattered his ego

"They were the most avaricious and were constantly looking to expand their hoards with treasure, they were the most obsessive collectors." Recall how he calls you his treasure and how you’ll be together forever, he will have you forever. He is in fact obsessed with wealth. He would also like to sequester you in a deep chamber in his lair, I mean palace and keep you all to himself.

"They would also boast about their magnificent hoards." Him at the epilogue party. ESPECIALLY in the non romanced version.

"Preferring their own company and engaging with others only when it had purpose, they were solitary creatures and cared little for news of other types of dragons, though they did look for news of other red dragons in their area and of affairs in the world in general. They used other charmed creatures as messengers, informants, and spies to bring them information"

"And of course they were recognized by their scarlet and crimson scaled hides" self explanatory really ~

"The vanity of red dragons was often revealed in their prideful postures and the looks of disdain with which they regarded all others"

"To have is nothing, to keep is all."

"In fact, in many ways, they were most like hoursecats" I had to add this, it's too funny

Okay I'm stopping here because This will be massive if I don't shut up. We can replace "red dragons" with Astarion and it would fit perfectly. I'm leaving you guys the link for the red dragon wiki, have fun with it ~

https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Red_dragon

[mayullla]

Title: Obsessive Passion

Character(s): Witch's Apprentice (Unnamed character/original work)

Summary: You didn't know how much jealousy and hatred he had in his heart and you didn't know how desperate his love was too. He was greedy and was even willing to break you so that you would love him back. Tags/Warnings: male!yandere, fem!reader, apprentice!yandere x witch!reader, both are adults, general yandere themes, brainwash/hypno, drugging, manipulation, dubious consent, 3.4k words

You were a famous witch in the kingdom. Many sought you out for your spells and potions, and the things created by your hand were highly coveted. You were a woman who had reached fame for her talents in magic, knowledge, and powers at a young age. Many sought you out, including the royal family. However, instead of seeking more fame and money, you chose to leave the public eye and live a quiet life away from the capital. Only a few trusted friends and acquaintances knew where you were. You still made many potions and helped whenever the situation required it, but for the most part, you wanted to make time for yourself. You wanted to research and create spells and potions of your interest instead of what was requested and demanded.

With you, you took your apprentice, a man who had talents similar to yours, yet not as fully developed. Many said that he would not be able to achieve what you have due to his lack of mana, but you believed that he would be able to do more, even with that weakness. You knew he was smart, smart enough to figure out how to overcome that hurdle.

But maybe you should have been more careful with him.

You didn't know of the crazed love he had for you, a lust mixed in with unchecked jealousy and hunger. He loved you, he was so madly in love with you that sometimes he felt that it was driving him insane.

You were, in a sense, his savior, someone who took him out of a dark hole and showered him with positive love and attention. You were the one who saw his potential even with his lack of magic when others tossed him aside due to his limits.

It was an innocent crush at first, his heart beating faster when you got close to him as you helped him figure out a new spell that he was trying to create. He was deeply touched when he found out that you created a spell to move your mana to him when he started to run out, effectively stopping him from making progress in a lot of his work and studies.

To him, whenever you poured your energy onto him, he could not help but feel a shiver down his spine. His face flushed into a dark shade of red, perverted thoughts in his mind. All you needed was skin-to-skin contact, holding each other's hand, or you should hold his shoulder. But to him, it was more than that, more than a hug, more than a kiss. It was far more intimate than that when he felt your magic coiling with his, mixing together in his body. It was addicting.

It was difficult for him to hold himself, some days when you saw him panting so heavily after it, he had to make an excuse of some sort.

However, he also had too much anger and too much pride. He resented those who looked down on him, their judgmental eyes ranking his worth in their minds. You were the only one who looked at him in a different light.

You always told him to think of the good for the kingdom, that even when they looked down on him, he could show them what he could do and then their thoughts would change. You were always too kind and so positive.

You weren't naive. If you were, you would have long become a mere pawn of someone malicious, working endless hours for something empty, rather than being free to do whatever you want. But he had always been the more sly one.

That was what he loved about you but also hated. He hated how talented you were compared to him. He hated that you were more powerful than him, that he was in a sense below you. Because you were gifted, you had access to all kinds of magic spell books, even those that belonged to the royal library, while he was not even allowed into the room. He hated your magic because you had so much, unlike him.

He hated your pity.

You did know of his anger, anger towards the world and around him, but you never knew the extent of it. While you also believed that he could do more, you didn't realize what he could already do.

It was just headaches at first when you woke up. Headaches that would never go away no matter what you did. No potion or spell would cast away the pain in your head. Some days it was a numb pain that you could still function throughout the day, but with a few momentary breaks here and there. Sometimes you could go through your day like normal with a very light headache. Sometimes you could do nothing but sit in one place the whole day, unable to think because of the painful throbbing that almost felt like your skull was cracking.

Moments like those always made you mentally note to create another seal for your mind so that you could avoid these sorts of headaches in the future. But by then, it would be too late.

Your apprentice had taken care of most things while you had those serious headaches, giving him work that he could do when you weren't able to do them.

But while doing those tasks, he always took time to take care of you too, handing you tea that was supposed to soothe headaches. While it didn't work for the most part, you appreciated his gesture. Maybe if you were a little more aware and less in pain, you would notice something about the tea that he gave you.

Deep in your sleep, you would never notice how your apprentice would loom over you, having a smile on his lips, cheeks flushed as he played with your mind.

Being famous, you had always been careful of hidden threats and placed many seals in your body to protect yourself. One was on your mind, a seal that you had placed to protect you from any mind magic and dark magic. Much to your apprentice's amusement, he found it very cute that you were that cautious when dark or mind magic had become so rare.

It was taboo and illegal to dabble in such magic after all. Many who were found to be able to do so were mostly killed and burned on torture stakes. It had been years since someone could use such magic. Most magic of that sort was inherited after all, yet when they continued to kill most who could, there was no heir for such magic.

But it wasn't like all dark magic was gone.

He could not help but laugh when he thought of it, how you were so overly cautious of such magic yet took in an apprentice who could use dark magic. This was something you did not know, nor did you know much of. This was what he had over you.

Your seal, while effective if magic was used suddenly to get in your mind, was weak if it was something gradual, slowly chipped away. You would never notice it, not when your headaches started to worsen and worsen the more he chipped your little seal.

It felt like your mind was ripping apart, yet you could not wake up, a sleep potion that paralyzed you, keeping you in deep slumber no matter what he did to you. The torturous pain would be nothing but a nightmare the moment you wake up. He could not help but pity you a little, yet also find a certain thrill to it. A certain satisfaction that he could make you like this.

That he held power over you.

Your body reacted greatly to the broken seal, stiffening as sounds left your mouth, no matter how much he tried to minimize the pain. When it was forcibly broken, there was bound to be some backlash. Yet just as quickly, the sleep potions dragged you back to sleep, unable to react to the shattered seal, unable to see him right above you.

He could not help but laugh, holding it back as he covered his mouth with his hands. His lovely teacher, the teacher who trusted him so much, now at his mercy. He would finally watch you fall from your little stage right under his arms, weak and nothing like the powerful witch you were.

It was a complicated seal that he created just for you, drawn with magic above your head. It was made just for you, like the spell that you had created for him. It would replace the seal that he had broken, and you would be none the wiser. Even if you checked the seal, you would see and feel that same seal that he had broken still there.

One by one, he would change your thoughts, amusing himself in your confusion as he continued to slowly change your mind to his liking, doing things for his pleasure, yet none the wiser.

It took a while, but when you woke up, the headache you had for weeks was suddenly gone.

It was surprising when you realized that you didn't feel like someone was hitting you constantly with a hard, dull hammer every time you even blinked. You were suspicious of the change, but you also felt nothing more than relief. Even when you checked the seals that you placed in your body, nothing was strange.

Yet you just could not help but feel that something was off. That something was not right, but you just could not place a finger on it. You checked the potions and cabinets in the house to see if you misplaced something or if something was stolen, but it wasn't the case. Your apprentice took care of most of the cleaning and potion making while you were resting in bed. Anyone who visited your apprentice had given them the requested items and potions without any problem, but something just felt off.

"Is something the matter?"

You were startled by his voice, jumping a little as if you were caught doing something you shouldn't do. Turning to him, you could not help but frown. "It is nothing, I am just a little confused right now. I can't help but feel like I am missing something."

You honestly replied to your apprentice, wondering and maybe hoping that he had the answer why you were like this. "I am not sure," he answered, having a worried look on his face, wondering if he had made a mistake while you were resting. "Did I make a mistake of some sort?"

Looking at his thinking face, probably trying to calculate expenses or thinking where stuff in where, you shook your head, raising your hand to stop him. "No, it is fine. Thank you for taking care of everything." Seeing that soft smile on his lips, you decided to give your worries a rest.

Yet it always lingered in the back of your mind. As days passed, you started to pay more attention to your apprentice. When you were in the middle of your own research, your mind sometimes thought of him unconsciously, wondering what he was doing and where he was. If he was in the room, you became overly conscious of him. Your eyes could not help but look at him some days, falling into a daze until you snapped out of it with him calling you with a worried look on his face.

It wasn't like you ignored him in the past; you tried to teach him when you were not caught up with your own research. In fact, you were able to give more time to him after you moved to the village, having more time to do whatever you wished. You invested more time into helping him train and learn.

However, this was different.

Your mind just could not think straight sometimes, finding it hard to concentrate when your mind kept thinking of him. He was your apprentice, and while not really far in age, sometimes you thought of him more as an assistant. He was mature and helped you a lot too back then when you had so much work to do. Even now, when he followed you to the countryside, he continued to help you when you needed it. He was reliable.

It wasn't on purpose when you unconsciously started to look over him more often, seeing and checking what he was doing. You took even more time away from your own research to help him learn more about magic and his own research. A quick learner, you always thought, when he picked up a lot of the things you taught him. He was faster… way faster than you when you studied magic around his level.

As more days passed, you started to think that he was better than you, clearly way more talented than you. More often than before, you would compliment him. You complimented him a lot before too, yet you started to do it more and more often. And every compliment seemed to remind you that he was far better than you, that he was better than you.

But it never changed the fact that, unlike you, his magic reserves were smaller than yours. You frowned at the predicament. You were still researching how to help your apprentice's problem, yet you still didn't find a way to fix it. One's own limits were decided the day they were born, and not much could change to make it larger or smaller. The only way you could help your apprentice was to give him your own.

A light touch on his hand or arms, you concentrated on moving your own magic to him. Yet even that took a long time.

Pushing all your other research away, you started trying to find a way to make the transfer quicker and more clean, as there were moments when magic would just leak out and largely go to waste. You were fine with it, to be fair, born with large reserves that it was difficult to use them all in one day anyway, yet you just could not forget your apprentice's face, the jealousy in his eyes when he looked at you.

"Good job. You are doing so well." Compliments continued to leave your lips. Yet as soon as it did, darkness coiled in your stomach as you patted his head. He… he was better than you… Far, far better than you.

You looked down at his sitting form, a smile on his lips, your hand still on his hair as you zoned out deep in thought. "You should really stop patting my head," he told you in a cheery voice, "I am not like some elementary kid who should be rewarded with head pats." You thought for a moment. Looking at him, you could not help but think that it was true, he was far too old for such a thing, but just that you had a habit of doing so.

As soon as you thought that, you tried to take your hand away from his hair, unconsciously wondering if you offended your apprentice or not, yet your hand was stopped by a larger hand. "Ah, I didn't mean it like that!" he said, looking almost surprised when his teacher suddenly started to avoid him. "It is fine to touch my hair, you know… I don't mind," he told you a flush on his face, looking else ever as he tried to hide his cheeks with one hand, "I always know that you like touching my hair, don't you? What I mean to say is that you can touch it whenever... but I am not a kid."

Yes… nothing was wrong… Nothing was wrong at all.

From there, it spiraled again. You were able to function in your daily life, but there were just moments when your memories blanked, and you barely remembered anything. At one point, you thought it was the tea that you were drinking, the one that your apprentice would always make for you.

You were suspicious of the liquid inside your cup, pausing as you stared at it with narrowed eyes. "Is something the matter, teacher?" You looked up at your apprentice, who was looking at you in wonder, an eyebrow raised as he tilted his head. "Do you not like the tea? I made it as you have always liked."

"It is nothing," you said, moving the tea closer to your lips. The smell hit your nose, the same fragrance that you were always familiar with. For a moment, you hesitated, but when you were watched by your student, you chose to take a drink of the tea…

"It is adorable how cautious my teacher is." Your eyes were glazed over as you blankly stared at the floor. Your fingers that were holding the teacup lost their strength, letting the glass fall to the floor and shatter. "Clumsy. Clumsy~" Your apprentice had a mocking tone as he looked at your sitting form. There was no recognition in your eyes, whatever sliver of it was quickly dragged back into the haze. "What would you do without me?"

Moving in front of you, he spelled the glass teacup to rise from the floor and mend itself. When it was placed onto the table, it looked as if it was never broken from the start.

Looking at you, he moved his hands to gently grab your face, forcing you to look at him. "But then again, I always loved my teacher. So much so that it drives me insane sometimes." Your unfocused eyes stared back at him, making him feel chills that he was the one who caused this. That he was the one who made you like this.

He could not help but burst out laughing.

My precious teacher… my precious, precious teacher!" He kept on chanting, in the middle of a quiet forest where there was nothing to hide. His eyes were red with lust and lovesickness.

"My cautious little teacher, slowly you will fall into my arms, and when I finally have you all to myself, I will chain you to me so that you will never be able to leave me. I will make you think of me just as much as I think of you." One by one, he told you all the things he would do to you when you finally could not think for yourself. When your mind breaks and shatters, he will never mend it; instead, he will accept it into his heart.

Then he will create a piece with it that is submissive to him, that yearns for him, that begs for him. One that places him in a high stage that demands others' attention, yet he will give none to them when his eyes are on you, just as he had forced yours to his. You will tell others that he is your heir and that you will be fully retiring.

He will be the one to take care of you, he will take all your magic from your body, greedily taking everything, leaving you unable to even sit up from the bed. He will take care of your body, telling you how well you have done, letting you rest as he fulfills orders for potions and creates spells without limit, looking for you again and again when he runs out.

He will make you sign a contract to become forever his, he will make you sign your name into something that will relinquish everything that belongs to you and give it to him. He will make you give up your talents, your knowledge, your wisdom. He will take everything and gobble it up, as you scream in pain and anguish he will comfort you in his arms and hushed loving words.

You will be his and nobody will be the wiser. Nobody will notice how broken you become as you can do nothing but follow his orders, when you will tell others that he has now inherited your shop and that you will instead become something of a sort of helper. Nobody will know that it is hard for you to make simple potions as he teaches you how to make an easy potion, when you barely even have enough magic to use for yourself as he continues to steal from you.

He will make you clingy, he will make you feel useless and desperate just as he had felt as he looked at you in the past.

You made him insane, and he will show you what it was like as you drowned in his love.

[lexsssu]

Again (Uchiha Sasuke)

TAGS: Sasuke/F!reader, yandere, obsession, dirty thoughts, breeding kink, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

“Kaa-chan told me to remind you to eat and to give you this! She said it’s your favorite.”

Gingerly taking the bento being offered to him, something flickered within Sasuke’s lone visible eye which disappeared almost as soon as it appeared. Even without opening it, he was already sure of its contents. 

You were the one who made it after all.

“Please give her my thanks when you get home. I’ll drop this off myself once I’ve cleaned it,” the Uchiha makes sure to use his left hand as he receives the lunch box, a small shiver running down his spine as a brief image of you happily preparing this meal for him appears in his mind’s eye.

“Will do, Oji-san! And thank you again for today’s training session. Please come visit us at home whenever you can. Kaa-san always looks forward to your visits. She always says you don’t visit enough,” Shinachiku’s soft laughter reminds Sasuke of how much he takes after you than Naruto.

From the shade of green in his eyes, to the way his smiles aren’t as blinding as Naruto’s and yet exudes the same strength and softness yours does. Shinachiku Uzumaki is his father’s son, but no one can ever deny that he is also his mother’s child.

He could’ve been your child.

All of them could have been yours.

If only you hadn’t been so weak.

If you simply had the power…then perhaps she’d have been yours.

Not Naruto’s…YOURS!!!

When both he and the young genin separate for the night, him to his lively home filled with the happiness and laughter of family, Sasuke on the other hand retreats to the lonely Uchiha compound. He is all too used to the dreary atmosphere of the place he once called home, his steps never faltering as he entered the main house’s kitchen and sat himself at the dining table.

Inside the 3-layer bento were several onigiri with various fillings, namely umeboshi, salmon, and bonito flakes. A tomato salad that definitely was one of your own homegrown ones (because he has never seen, smelled, and tasted any tomatoes more delicious than yours). The tomato soup was still warm and felt even warmer as he ate it as slowly as he could, savoring the myriad of flavors contained in such a seemingly simple dish. 

Though he wasn’t fond of sweets, the avenger couldn’t ignore the slice of strawberry shortcake you packed for him. The first bite of cake reminded him of the sweetness of the youth he spent with you despite his hyperfixation on killing his own brother at the time.

If he’d known the truth that early on then perhaps he wouldn’t have wasted all his time chasing after Itachi.

Naruto wouldn’t have had the chance to take you for himself if Sasuke understood that you were worth much more than his misguided revenge. 

Even though Naruto left for training with Jiraiya, the blonde was more than happy to regale him with tales of how the two of you would do your best to send each other letters despite how they constantly went from place to place. Somehow, you always found yourself to him, and he to you.

It made Sasuke sick.

Don’t even get him started on all the flies that buzzed around you while he and Naruto were gone.

Despite most of the original rookies having settled down, the Uchiha was very much aware of how these same men gravitate towards you before Naruto went and made his formal claim. 

That know-it-all Nara, the arrogant Hyuga, even Gaara of the Sand were almost always seen around you.

Hell, even that damned swordsman from Kiri who’s now currently its Mizukage was too close to you. Don’t even get him started on Haku who’d more or less become your guard dog ever since you saved both him and Zabuza all those years ago during that mission in Wave. 

As much as he despised their attentions on you, he knew deep inside of him that all of them saw the very same thing in you that drew them all in like moths to a flame. 

And he HATED it.

Hated that they all coveted you when none of them deserved to have you.

Sasuke’s last thought as he closed his eyes was that of you.

Always YOU.

The Sakura blooms you gifted him smelled so nice…It was a good thing he placed them on his bedside table, because he could close his eyes and pretend that it is the scent of your hair. 

He could pretend that it is his hands that run across the soft pink strands as you sleep.

He could pretend that he is the one who feasts upon your delicious cunt each night. His cock forcing your soft and pliant walls open again and again as your nails drag across his back, leaving angry red lines that serve as proof of how much he pleasured you. That it is his potent seed that fills your womb to the brim, globs of semen dripping from your pussy as he makes sure to pour loads and loads of his love within you.

Wouldn’t that be perfect?

Not only will he revive the Uchiha clan, but knowing that you carried his seed and nurtured them within you…he could burst from happiness just from the mere thought of it.

Sasuke falls into a deep sleep, soothed by the images of a reality that could have been.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Even though Sensei told us not to have breakfast, I still think the last thing we should do is train on an empty stomach. So I made us all some breakfast and even lunch!” 

Sasuke is once again presented with a bento filled with onigiri, but this time the hands holding onto the container were more slender as slim digits softly yet firmly gripped the lunch box. 

“I’m not sure which filling you prefer, but I have different fillings with me so you can choose which one you like best,” ever the thoughtful person you were, you selflessly offered the last Uchiha the food despite how antisocial he’d been towards you despite the time you’d spend together as classmates at the academy.

In his first life, Sasuke simply scoffed at your attempts of kindness towards him. Batting you off at every opportunity as he believed himself above such camaraderie when his only goal in life was to enact his revenge.

Not anymore.

Without saying anything, the raven-haired preteen grabbed the Okaka rice ball just before Naruto could take it.

“Hey, what’s the big idea, teme?! I was gonna get that one!”

“...Tch. Then you should’ve been quicker, dobe.”

“Why you little…!”

The sound of your tinkling laughter and Naruto’s disgruntled mumbling was music to his Sasuke’s ears.

He may have managed to get you the first time around, but not this time.

Uchiha Sasuke didn’t know who or what had flung him back into the past, but Indra knows he won’t ever make the same mistakes he did before.

[shima-draws]

Okay so a few things about the ending to the DLC. Spoilers below obviously

-Really REALLY disappointed they didn’t go with the whole toxic possession arc thing with Kieran and the new mythical (Pecharunt?) TO BE FAIR that was more of a fan theory than anything but it was one that made a lot of sense and had a lot of evidence to back it up. I guess I got too attached to the idea and was inevitably let down when the game didn’t go in that direction. Still it would have made more sense to give that extra edge as to why Kieran’s treating everyone so awfully,, and having him finally break free of that control during the final fight VS Terapagos would have been SO sick. Either that or before we even get to Terapagos Carmine calls Kieran out and that’s when he finally fucking explodes and rages and vents about his inferiority complex—and THAT is what summons Pecharunt, those negative feelings that it probably feeds off of or smth idk. Then we’d get a split second of Kieran finally being back in control and begging for help. And then Carmine realizing her brother has been under the influence of this Pokemon the entire time and. Okay I’m getting off track into AU territory now lmao sorry moving on

-Switching back to the Terapagos fight, I really enjoyed it! It wasn’t too long of a fight to be drawn out, but it was just long enough that it didn’t feel anticlimactic (also the MUSIC? STELLAR. Pun intended). ALSO ARGHFHH the five stages of grief Kieran goes through in that fight to finally accepting that he’s been going about this the wrong way and has been an awful friend and the way the LIGHT COMES BACK INTO HIS EYES I ALMOST CRIED. This is 10000x more emotional and powerful if you choose to bring Ogerpon with you and fight with her bc that really just. Hammers in the fact that despite all the bad blood and bitterness, Kieran still chooses to fight alongside you and the Pokemon he coveted so much…AND he even processes things enough to fully let go of all his hatred and anger and allows you to catch Terapagos because he KNOWS you’ll take good care of it and after all this time he still trusts you even though he’d probably hate to admit it. #GOOD WRITING

-Something really scary I realized. Kieran brought a Master Ball with him to catch Terapagos. 1. Where did homie even get that. 2. The fact that he was READY and didn’t even give Terapagos a chance to react, that he was essentially catching it against its will (which probably led to its power going out of control), that he was enforcing his own twisted desires and beliefs onto it and not considering its feelings (sound familiar? Looks at Ogerpon). BOY. 3. We’ve only ever seen ONE other person use Master Balls in SV. The AI Professor. I don’t know if this is significant in any way but if the Pecharunt theory WAS true that would make them so so similar and that’s eerie to me. Two characters controlled by something greater than them that they can’t fight…can you imagine how INSANE the dynamics would be listen to me

-Another thing I was kinda disappointed about was Briar? I guess I was just picking up on the vibes that she was actually a villain and would try to steal Terapagos from the player, but I probably gave Nintendo too much credit on that one lol. I do like that she’s not inherently evil, she’s just too absorbed and obsessed with her research to really pay attention to what’s going on around her. BUT. They should have pushed that WAY further. Either commit and do the full villain arc where she snatches Terapagos from Kieran right after he catches it to use it for her own purposes, or pressure him into Terastallizing it so much that it makes him uncomfortable. I want to see Lusamine levels of unhinged obsession. What she had was just a little bit too excited about Area Zero, not a full blown unhealthy and dangerous thing that puts everyone around her in danger.

-Following up on that. Drayton. I kept expecting him to also go villain arc IDK LOL I guess I want everyone to be gay do crime in this DLC 😂 But I seriously kept thinking he was just using the player to knock Kieran off his throne so he could take it right back from us. But no he actually genuinely cared about Kieran and kept pressuring us to beat the Elite Four so WE could knock some sense into him since Drayton wasn’t strong enough to do it himself. Which is a very sweet sentiment, I think :’) But am I the only one who was like bro calm down right after the fight where he was getting up in Kieran’s face and calling him ex-champion…..either he’s way too honest and doesn’t realize he was being cruel OR he was doing it on purpose to be a silly goober (but everyone else was like DUDE. LOW blow.)

-I still have questions. HELLO. HELLO. The notes in Area Zero mentioned the professor meeting a child with a white(?) book? Is that the Scarlet/Violet book? We still don’t know how the whole time travel paradox happened and why Heath talked about meeting Paradox Pokemon DECADES before the professor even brought them to Area Zero through the time machine? What is with the weird ass crystal tree sitting in the middle of a lake in the depths? Is there any significance to the Crystal Pool in Kitakami being connected to terastallizing and Area Zero? I’M JUST. AGHHH. I’m fairly certain we’re getting more content, maybe an epilogue to the DLCs but I’m going CRAZY I NEED TO KNOW NOWWW

-Also isn’t Area Zero like. Top secret hush hush. Why did Geeta let Briar publish a whole ass book about the HIDDEN SECRET of Area Zero that was miles under a closed off SECRET lab. I thought they were denying Briar access to Area Zero for YEARS, probably because they didn’t want her blabbing to the public. Idk. Maybe my memory is fuzzy on that one. Just feels very contradictory fhhdd

-The small little subtleties of Kieran regaining his regular personality as we went down….I ADORED that. His little smiles and him unable to contain his childish excitement and Carmine smiling at him with a knowing look bc after all this time her brother is FINALLY acting more like himself. And Kieran trying to brush it off like “wh-whatever” like he’s some sort of edgy teenager pretending he doesn’t care. GAHHHH it was so cute I wanted to cry 😭

ALL IN ALL it didn’t QUITE meet my expectations but it was still really good, especially considering this was all DLC content. Nothing will ever EVER top the main story of SV but the entirety of TTM and TID came pretty darn close. Kieran my sweet baby boy my blorbo I’m so glad you got your redemption arc and that you finally came to terms with your perception of strength and how it affects others. Baller DLC Nintendo do it again 👏

[enaelyork]

Howdy!

I just discovered your blog and I am excited to read your Cooper Howard stuff.

I have a (18+) request for Cooper Howard as The Ghoul. Could I have him, the reader, and Lucy, traveling to New Vegas together and the reader and Cooper can't get a moment alone togther. Like Lucy accidently keeps interrupting or won't take the hint to leave, so Cooper at one point just says to her to leave so he can fuck the reader. Lucy feels so bad and leaves, and then the reader and Cooper go at it lol.

No worries if you can't do the request, I just want to say your an awesome writer!

Thanks❤️

Hey Anon ! Thx you so much for this request !

I reeeaaaaalllllly like this awkward plot. Here we go ! You u enjoy it.

Pls be cool, english is not my first langage.

+ 18 DNI / Cooper Howard/ The Ghoul x Reader / P in V/ Fingering/ Piece of violence/ Unprotect sex.

Banners by @saradika

Word : +/-2.6 k

My ask for Cooper Howard is Open

You wanted him.

There was nothing consistent with this need. Firstly because your first altercation wasn't anything like a love affair (unless hand-to-hand combat fell into that category), then because...Damn, he's more irradiated than a hundred power plants nuclear weapons combined.

But it was eating you up.

Eating away at every bit of your mind and reason. Every movement he made, every word that escaped his mouth made your stomach twist. It seduced you in all its horror, in all its brutality and you loved to consume yourself in this deep obsession.

And him too.

Oh yes. Him too.

You didn’t immediately notice what was happening until that evening. At the end of a grueling journey through the wastelands, you decided to take a break to spend the night in a less dangerous place. And through the flames of the pyre lit in the center of the small makeshift camp, you had seen his eyes. The look he gave you struck you to the core. You had not given in to his gaze, to the devouring glow that it contained in the shadow of his hat. He abused you psychologically, so much so that his mere presence next to you tortured you. The fascination that he skillfully distilled in your veins was no longer enough to contain the attraction you felt for him, and he played on it. As for who would be trapped first in these torments, you had no intention of giving up ground easily.

- There's a reserve there. You say, pointing to the cabin on the top of the hill. I'm going to look for something to burn.

No one had refuted the idea, not even Lucy who sat on a stone cuddling Dogmeat without even seeing what was happening before her eyes. This child was so innocent that she did not recognize a predator when he cohabited with her, much less the issues that were taking place under her nose. The shelter had provided a rare moment of peace during which you allowed yourself to breathe. On the table you were facing was a pile of old paper and some dry wooden rulers, enough to burn. It was a bargain to grab and you quickly put the whole thing together in your hands.

-I want to hear it.

The cold of his breath caressed your neck and made what you were carrying fall at arm's length. Without turning around, your eyes rolled towards the shadow that towered over you in all its height. He was so close to you that one movement would have been enough for him to grab you by the hip and flip you onto the table and, damn, that idea was more interesting than it should be.

Him. There. Behind you. Probably way too close.

-Hear what ?

- What you want. I want to hear you beg me to do it.

The laughter that left your mouth spread throughout the room, surprising even you with its brutality. It was the smartest thing to do, the healthiest reaction, and probably the best option you had left to not give in to him. Without a word, you turned around to lock your eyes with his, your hands firmly anchored in the old wood of this crumbling table to keep them at a safe distance from what they coveted.

-I never do that. To beg. Yet your eyes screamed otherwise and you sincerely hoped he was too blinded by his pride to understand it. Your irises lowered to scan it up and down as if it were an impregnable vestige.

-You can use your guns, a rope, or even your teeth. You will never hear me do such a thing, especially to you. I know how much pleasure it gives you.

- Oh, believe me, there are a lot of things that would give me pleasure right now.

There was nothing worse than this precise moment, suspended in the storm that has been brewing above you for too long. The storm swirled with your every glance, every moment his body was near yours, but nothing had yet managed to trigger the lightning.

Leave.

Your instincts proclaimed. Leave before you die in his arms. And probably that was what you wanted most in the world.

- Only in fairy tales do monsters and princesses love each other. And this world is not one.

However, your arms were already too close to his neck, his radiating your hips and pulling you to him without you putting up the slightest resistance.

It wasn't a fairy tale.

His burning scent consumed your nostrils and your heart was about to give in for good.

- In this world, monsters like to destroy pretty things.

A nervous laugh escaped your lips which you tried to keep away from his, but your butt was already hitting the wood of the table behind you when, suddenly, a noise made you jump.

- You are there ?

-Holy shit! He cursed, leaping away from you before propelling himself towards the door, a bloodthirsty impulse waving his hands as he opened the door to reveal your traveling companion.

Lucy.

Her eyes were full of innocence from long years in a shelter. Her smile and the sigh of relief she heaved when she discovered you in the shed made you want to laugh. She had no idea what had just happened.

- Oh damn! I was terribly afraid of never finding you again.

She exclaimed, putting an end to any possible attempt at approach. While Cooper nervously contained his desire to strangle her, you advanced towards him, a perfidious smile on your lips.

- I never liked spectators…

This is how the little game began.

-------------------

There are worse things than fear. Worse than impatience There is frustration. The one that itches, that annoys, the one that deflates the ardor that takes hold of you as the days pass. A frustration answering to the sweet name of Lucy. It is difficult for you to express to your friend the desire to see her leave. Not forever. Just a few moments, the space that would allow you to put an end to this duel between him and you.

To the looks. To provocations.

And his growing rage for your teammate. You were angry with him, with the way he spoke to her, his resentment which constantly burned his lips whenever he spoke to her. Lucy had taken the team's instructions literally without giving anyone a break.

She had only followed an order that came from him. But in a sense, this charade amused you, allowed you to understand that you were not the only one to be a slave to your impulses. He wasn't so scary after all. So weak in his humanity, at least in what remained of it. In a way, this fact reassured you that you were attracted, and it was pure madness. Then came this famous day. The route had taken an unexpected turn. An ambush set up in a ruined housing estate had seriously delayed you. Worse, while trying to hide, you had fallen into a hole, scraping your neck and abs against an iron rod.

- Are you injured? Oh, god, you're hurt !

Lucy had torn a section of her suit to quickly wrap the bleeding wound on her neck before arriving to safety. Once away from the danger zone and inside a building whose structure had reasonably withstood the disaster, she invited you to sit down as if you were about to die.

- I'm fine, I assure you.

- I really have to check.

Cooper hadn't said a word. It was a silence heavier than the chaos itself. A heavy silence, from which one could expect to see the worst horrors ensue. He had taken the chair away from the one you were sitting in and hadn't even laid eyes on you. An unpleasant tingling was felt in your neck when Lucy applied a treatment there, then tied the fabric again at the height of the wound. Tearing you away from the strange worry that was emerging within you. - You need to take off your top.

He was there. He had done nothing, not even for a moment had he tried to watch over you.

But that’s what a team does, right? Cannon fodder and fuck fodder, that's all you meant to him. And now that he had to slow down, that he had to take care of you, he seemed immersed in deep thought, probably looking for a way to get rid of you.

- There is nothing. I assure you.

- Do not joke. Do what I tell you. The space between those few seconds seemed eternal.

Not with him. Not when he's in this room.

This is what you should have answered, instead you saw yourself witnessing disaster. Your hands tugging at your t-shirt before taking it off, letting it fall to the floor, eyes focused on him.

Free fall.

A few seconds, his eyes on yours, his gaze wandering over your bare skin, the tingling of the scratch on your stomach blending into something else entirely. And a shot fired into the void, startling Lucy.

- Do you see that gun, Mclane? Lucy nodded, lips quivering.

- If you don't leave this room immediately, the next bul' that comes out of his barrel will end up in your skull.

- But…but…I didn’t… She paused for a moment, glancing over at you before turning back to Cooper, horrified.

- Don't worry about that, I'll take care of it.

- Oh my God. Oh my God, I,.. I,…

- Come out now, Lucy, please hurry up.

There was no need to give the blush time to flood her cheeks. She was too pure, too carefree to witness this. Because war was declared now, and nothing would stop it.

A second later, his hand closed around your aching neck, pushing you against the table.

- Say it.

- Bastard.

His burning hands ran over your skin, incandescent, they transformed your blood into magma. It was pure madness, but nothing was delicious than the violence with which he held you in this position, his hips firmly fitted to your ass.

- Oh, stop, someone had to tell her, right?

- I almost died.

-And whoever tried to do that ended up with their skull exploded. This is how it works and if you want to know… You could feel his breath on his neck, his hand searching for the opening of your pants. You could have easily pushed him away, but it was just to contradict him. Because you wanted him, almost as much as he did and for far too long.

- I wouldn't have hesitated to shoot her, too, if she had continued to bother us.

- Liar.

Your words died in a hot breath, his fingers already making their way through your panties, sliding along your warm pussy. You guessed the smile that distorted his mouth as you discovered the extent of what he provoked in you.

- I need to fuck you. He whispers in a harsh, trembling voice into the crook of your neck. I only think about this. Only you and it messes up my priorities.

- Do it, then.

- Before, I want you to be at my mercy.

You giggled. It was out of the question to give him anything, yet his fingers caressing you made you less certain of your convictions. Your hips rocked to his rhythm and he was heavily satisfied with what he felt.

- So wet. So impatient. How long has it been, huh? How many times have you been touched while waiting for this moment.

- Too much.

Your hands moved to your back, reaching for the buckle of his belt, stroking the obvious erection in the seat of his pants. He wasn't going to bring you to your knees, at his mercy, without paying the consequences. You needed it, anyway.

Need to feel him inside you. Need it to make you forget the horror of the world in which you were moving. Because you didn't like reality, it was unbearable for you to think about the future that this disgusting world had in store for you. The waves his fingers sent through your body were so violent that you looked for support to stay upright. But he didn't see it that way: you had no right to stop petting him without asking his opinion. So, holding you firmly with one hand, he grabbed the second to invite you to continue.

-You can't just collapse like that, sugar. Not now, not after what you promise me.

The orgasm he provoked in you tore your soul apart. There was no way Lucy could have missed the sound of your voice, no matter where she had taken refuge to escape it. She heard it and it would probably haunt her for the rest of her life.

For a brief moment, he pulled away from you to turn you around to face him, taking off your pants, probably tearing a few sections of them in the process. Then, lifting you up to allow you to wrap your feverish legs around his waist, he pinned you firmly against the table.

His mouth crashed onto yours, devouring all of the air that tried to escape your lips. You bit him almost to blood, desperately, greedily. It was like your life depended on his mouth and what he was going to do to you. He devours you without respite, crushing my lips in a destructive kiss, then kissing your face, your neck, your jaw and your closed eyelids. His erect penis tickled the entrance to your vagina and this sensation made you lose the little reason you had left.

- Please. Please…

- Please what? He slowly rocked his hips to let his cock slide down the length of your sex.

-Please fuck me.

He laughed nervously. He had managed to get what he wanted. Like always. He had you and all your passion. You had never had to beg anyone in your life, but the world had changed and you had met Cooper Howard, two parameters which alone had transformed you greatly.

- I won't be delicate.

- Go ahead, I won't be the one begging you to spare me.

You felt dizzy because your body was calling for it. His hand came to rest against your throat as he stood up in front of you, dominant and impatient. You knew this was going to be exactly how you both wanted it to be, like animals, in a dingy old shed while some poor girl waited for you outside. Your bodies finally collided with rare violence, extracting a grunt of satisfaction and pain from you. His hips pounded against yours like his life depended on it, his fingers still firmly placed on your clit.

It was too much, too much.

Him, his gaze which never stopped contemplating your pleasure.

What he provoked in you. The expression he wore. You could no longer contain the slightest sound emanating from your mouth, so as if to save what was left of you, you brought a fist to your lips, muffling every cry that tried to escape you. But that wasn't how he saw things. Still pounding into you, he removed his fingers to grab your wrist, pulling it away from your mouth to pin it firmly to the table.

- Let it be heard. I want her to understand that she must never interfere between us again, understand?

You no longer had enough strength to speak, but your head was bobbing up and down frantically. You didn't care anymore if she heard anything, at this point in the situation the desire that was swelling throughout was so depraved that you were ready for him to fuck you in front of his eyes.

He was close, you could feel it in the way his hips met yours. It was painful and delicious at the same time, but there was no way you were going to cum without him. Not without seeing the orgasm distort the features of his face. And he didn't resist much longer, exploding in a deep, throaty pleasure, propelling you with him away from all this mess.

Then silence.

A moment of floating in which you slowly let yourself be drawn into. He had gotten what he wanted.

You too.

He stepped aside, giving you the chance to stand up before adjusting his hat on his head again. You glance at each other before guessing the satisfied smile that appears on his lips, the situation made you want to laugh.

Nothing was less certain than the fact that Lucy was still able to look you in the eyes now.

[bbqhooligan]

GSNK characters are so insane. This girl becomes an unpaid artist on the manga of her crush, this guy starts dating a horrible girl cuz he wants to protect other men from her, this guy becomes psychosexually obsessed with his job cuz hes in a position of power over the one person he covets, adores, admires, loves, hates, respects, dislikes and so he also works at the Unpaid Labor Factory Manga to pay for her plays. all of them are so in love it makes them look stupid

[randomfoggytiger]

Disproving CSM's Conjecture in En Ami

CSM postulates that Scully and Mulder aren't together because she doesn't fully trust him; that, although she's drawn to powerful men, she is afraid to open herself up to them.

"You'd die for Mulder, but you won't allow yourself to love him."

The problem is, he's wrong.

Because CSM mixed up her fatal flaw with Mulder's.

Self-Denial and Self-Sacrifice

CSM's theory: Scully rules herself by denial, and Mulder offers himself up as the sacrificial lamb. How is he wrong?

Scully's flaw is self-sacrifice, putting everything she covets from life on hold to join Mulder on his quest (comedically summed up in Bad Blood's "I do it all for you, Mulder! All for you!") The Starbuck-Ahab complex she harbored since childhood-- expressing her love through devotion-- kept her in the car the first year; but the Truth soon became as much about her losses as it did Mulder's tragedies. Unlike Mulder, however, Scully strives to have a life uncomplicated by mess and trauma and the constant grind. So, she sits in the car, year after year, waiting for her partner to adapt to their changing dynamic (which he did not do for almost six of those years.) Her own fears and insecurities are placed under the bootheel of the work; but when life becomes too complicated or emotionally clouded, Scully strikes out in confused rebellion (e.g. Never Again, Milagro, and All Things.) Moreover, Scully is the one who sacrificed what she held dear-- stability, a family, something other than 24/7 monsters and conspiracies-- to bear the cross of Mulder's quest, not the other way 'round. (Her realization-- that she does want this life-- and shift does not occur until All Things, a few episodes after En Ami.)

Mulder's fatal flaw is self-denial (and self-punishment): he set aside a normal life out of a determination to find or avenge his sister. If Mulder was self-sacrificial, he would have let Scully walk out of his life a thousand times over and born that heartbreak silently, alone; instead, he stormed out after her and broke down his walls to convince her to stay. Furthermore, his self-denial is ever present even in tender moments, drawing away from emotional vulnerability once danger is past and shying away even faster if Scully draws attention to the present moment. Mulder is the one to deny himself love and a life with Scully (Home, Detour, Dreamland I, Arcadia, etc.), not the one who sacrificed everything he wanted to stay on his quest-- this is what he wants. (The change from obsessive pursuit to measured search begins in The Unnatural, changes wholly in Amor Fati and Millennium, and reaches its conclusion in Closure.)

CSM's Observations

The reality that CSM observed both agents for years and years and came to the exact opposite conclusion is baffling.

He concluded that Mulder sacrificed normalcy for the Almighty Mission, projecting his own Messiah complex onto his 'protege' and patting himself on the back whenever Mulder was, yet again, tossed to the jaws of Death for the "greater good." He also concluded that Scully stayed in the basement because of the raw power she smelled on Mulder, keeping a cold yet lustful distance because she was afraid to risk her womanly love on the all-consuming passion of his might.

How very dime store novel of Old Smokey.

Both assumptions are, of course, very wrong.

Mulder Dreaded "More" While Scully Hoped for It

Scully gave many unsubtle hints through the series that she was ready for more with Mulder: her willingness to go down with him in Tooms, her overt jealousy in Syzygy, her pointed inquiry about his family genetics in Home, her displacement and hurt in The Field Where I Died and Never Again and The End and The Beginning and One Son, her "we just keep driving" in Dreamland I, her unspoken 'secret' that was practically ripped from her chest in Milagro, her flirting in The Unnatural, her IVF request, and on and on.

Scully is by nature reticent with her emotions, fearful to fully open up lest she be hurt or become a burden; but in Mulder's case, she's reiterated over and over (Irresistible and Elegy) that their relationship falls into the latter, not former, category. In Emily she is, once again, "alone"; however, the context to her statement is vitally important. In the hospital, she hoped for Mulder to claim a place by her and her daughter's side as co-parent; but when he uncomfortably withdrew instead, it proved that he still wasn't ready for "more." Scully was alone in places Mulder couldn't fill; and so, she said goodbye to that hope, alone; then to her daughter, alone; and bore the little girl's death, alone. The burden of her fully opened heart was too heavy, she assumed, for Mulder... and in a way, she was right-- not until Fight the Future, when forced to confront "them", did Mulder finally acknowledge it. Until then, sacrificially tucking her heart back inside her chest-- for both their sakes-- was what Scully deemed the best course of action. She sticks around for her own reasons, as she says in Memento Mori; but those don't exclude the hope that Mulder will someday "settle down, live something approaching a normal life." (Her plans change in All Things-- but she's not there, yet.)

All those years, it was Mulder who was more emotionally distant. He was content with his life, happy to spin tires down the tarmac forever with his partner. Mulder was willing to deny himself into eternity if it meant not having to sacrifice an aspect of the life or career he was comfortable with and nervous to change for 'more.' It's why he was so afraid in Fight the Future and so proud of himself in The Unnatural (the warmup), Amor Fati (the big swing), and Millennium (the victorious homerun.) Scully is the only one-in-five billion he has: in the past, he could tease about passing genetic muster, about his boyish agility, about so much more, but to act on it? It took him four years to initiate a hug (post here) and seven years to approach a label of sorts for their relationship. Mulder's an overly cautious man, more pessimistic than optimistic when it comes to people sticking around; and any traditional, long-term relationship he'd witnessed had broken down or was held together by deadened respect and a few bratty kids.

Now it's Season 7, he's learned his lessons, and they're here, together.

Or were, until Scully dipped on a sketchy roadtrip with their enemy.

Conclusion

The most unrealistic part of this episode (amid a host of several others) was that Scully, despite hearing the drivel CSM peddled the entire drive, decided that he had anything worthwhile to say.

Thank you for reading~.

Enjoy!

[coffee-430]

I saw your event. Congrats on your 100 followers! Can I request for prompt 11 with a Zhongli and xiao(separate). Reader is female and uh— this is embarrassing but can it please be smut?

Thank you and have a nice day/evening.

—100 Followers Event!

No. 11: "You were my first, so you shall be my last." With Yandere Zhongli and Yandere Xiao

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao (separate)

Warnings: yandere themes, non-consensual touching, obsessive behaviour, double penetration (Zhongli), rape, kidnapping, mentions of blood

Note: Reader is fem as requested.

— Zhongli

Life with the Geo Archon was luxurious— as one would say— his feats and earned riches was something everyone envies and wishes to covet.

But not you.

You have always been on the minimalist side, opting to spend your time more in the outdoors of your home and sitting upon the quiet meadows— underneath a tree.

A soft tune of a bird was enough to humour you, as well as the sight of a few faunas dallying around was enough to entertain you.

You weren't interested in any gold or whatever riches were there that existed.

But sadly, one day, you fell in love with the brutish and power seeking God of the Rock.

He caught your eye just as you caught his.

His lifestyle was very much the opposite from yours and that intrigued you to the core. From peeping behind a tree to watch him train— to eventually talking to him and becoming acquainted with each other.

You caught his eye, just as he caught yours.

Every moment spent with him was always filled with a mixture of fear and thrill on seeing him do his daily conquest on territories he had set his eyes on.

Disgusts also fill you, but it would always quickly go away just as it came whenever he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear with a bloody hand.

His piercing amber eyes were always so dominating and intimidating to what unfortunate figure it would land its sights. But it was always the opposite with you.

Instead of a cold and calculating gaze— he was soft. His eyes turned soft the moment he saw you. Offering you a simple gift that you would always gratefully take from his bloody hands.

Despite feeling uncomfortable being with him, you push through. Because no matter how violent and terrifying he was, his physical behaviour was always different with you.

So different that even Guizhong noticed it and the teasing words would always make you blush and deny such assumptions.

But, from mere acquaintance to friends, soon— you two became something more.

It was like being in cloud nine every single day.

His touches were gentle, his words were sweeter than honey. He asked you to move in with him— live with him and reside within the comfortable warmth of his grand abode.

He treated you with such care it was tooth achingly sweet.

Every moment spent with him— every kiss, every hug, every passionate night with him was something every woman wished to have.

Until,

The day came.

Where you saw just how maddeningly sweet he was, that it was beginning to make you understand why your whole being itches for you to leave.

And you should've listened from the start.

You should've never signed that contract.

His touches were still gentle, but they had a tinge of possessiveness in them. His words were sweeter than honey but they had a tinge of disturbing meaning to them.

Every kiss, every hug, every passionate night, every moment with him was once so wholesome— now turned possessive and controlling. He applied his brutish and cold behaviour into your relationship and that made you feel suffocated.

Eventually, things got worse.

Your every movement was monitored, you weren't allowed to take even a small step outside, and your interaction with anyone turned from limited to no contact at all. Unless it was him.

Life with the Geo Archon was luxurious— as one would say— his feats and earned riches was something everyone envies and wishes to covet.

But not you.

You hated every single bit of it.

Every kiss, every hug, every passionate night, every moment with him was once so wholesome— now turned forced and abusive.

He applied his brutish and cold behaviour into your relationship and that made you feel hysterical.

Every night in your room was spent with his forceful behaviour. What was once such a passionate lover's dance turned into a torturous and nightmarish cycle.

And it got worse when the heavens above showed signs of a full blown war approaching.

Your screams were left unanswered and no one bats an eye, simply prefering to appease the Geo Archon to avoid getting themselves kneeling at the end of his spear.

He became more cruel, more strict, more greedy.

Forcing you to muster up the courage to finally run away. And never looking back.

How did you do it? You couldn't recall and didn't care. You were far too busy to flee away and into your new profound freedom.

All hell breaks loose the day you went missing. That it was considered too brutal to even write down in history.

And he has never been happy since then. He made a vow to be much more firm with you once he catches you back.

Holding a grudge with irritation and frustration that you dared to break your contract with him.

A grudge that he still carries with him till the present time.

And that would mean now.

Currently, you were walking in disguise. Living amongst the mortals that dwelled most of the land, interacting with them as if you were one of them.

It was another normal day for you— except, it wasn't. You happen to meet a curious fellow on your way to your usual market, and he strikes up a rather interesting conversation between the both of you.

Aether was his name.

Funnily, you thought his name was something you had heard before but had forgotten where.

Perhaps you were just imagining things.

Yes.

Lately, you have been feeling odd. As if your guts were telling that something big was about to come. Though, you merely brush it off and thought nothing of it.

Such a foolish move, no?

"The usual please." You smiled, handing over the precise amount of mora towards the merchant in front you.

She smiled in return and gave you what you bought. "Thank you for your purchase, please come visit again, (Y/n)."

"I will." You waved her off and went on on your way. Thinking of what to do for the day as you walked—

"I knew it."

"—?"

As if a wave of coldness struck you hard, you froze in your spot.

That voice— "For centuries I have searched for you," That oh-so familiar voice...

"For centuries I had left no stone unturned, for centuries I walked the land through every nook and cranny,"

Your eyes widened, feeling a gloved hand being brought down onto your shoulder. And it almost made you drop everything you were holding.

—!?

"But after all that," The voice was close. Close next to your ear.

"I have finally found you, (Y/n)."

You screamed when the man threw you on to the hard cold floor.

It all happened so fast. You were frozen in fear the moment you realised who you had encountered, and that encounter led you being dragged against your will and being thrown inside his humble abode.

He didn't waste anymore time as he got on top of you. "Years all gone to waste in search of you." Zhongli hissed, gripping both your wrist and making you unable to move despite all your struggles.

"But now, I have finally got you back." Slowly, he leaned closer to your ear. "And this time, I'll be sure to tighten my hold. I'll never let you go again."

"Argh!" You screamed in pain and tried kicking him away, but he was far too strong for you.

"Please, let me go! I don't want to go back!" Yelling at the top of your lungs was useless, and it also hurt. But what else could you do? Other than struggling there pathetically and pleading with him with eyes full of tears.

The sounds of clothes ripping of both yours and his filled the ambience of the room. Your desperate cries and his sounds of emotions being released after years of bottling it up— pretending to be a simple minded man who blended with the mortals— now turned into a beast unhinged released from its cage.

"P-Please not this— I don't want this!" You've done this before, and nothing worked. So why still do it?

The brunette growled and his amber coloured eyes stared down at you with such a piercing gaze. "You were not meant to leave me. You broke our contract."

"Ah—!!" A pained scream burst out from your lips, tears violently ran down your face as he began violating you like before. Your bare body was once again tainted by his dragon-like hands, and his cocks ravaged you like there's no tomorrow.

"You were my first, so you shall be my last." He whispered, moving his hip like a wild animal as you wailed there, taking it involuntary.

"And I intend that you see through it."

The moment you signed that contract was the day you had sealed your fate. It was your own fault. The signs were there, but stupid you ignored it as you silently prayed it was simply a trick of your own imagination.

But now you are beginning to beg to differ, aren't you?

Zhongli came and forced you to take his seed from within. You reached your own climax too— against your will, and your vision began to be blurry.

You don't know how many times he has filled you with his disgusting substance but you were certain you passed out from exhaustion, and he was still going.

You concluded that there was no escaping, and this was your punishment. The punishment for leaving and for being so naïve. Now you face the consequence, as you suffer the wrath of the rock.

— Xiao

You wept as you were pinned down by force on the bed.

An unhinged demon growled on top of you, grinding your thigh between his legs. You whimpered and shook with fear.

This wasn't how you planned your night to go.

You promised yourself you would simply be ending things on good terms with your lover— but everything suddenly went downhill the moment you mentioned leaving him.

You cried as Xiao growled above you.

"You dare think about leaving me?" He spat. "After all the trouble you went through just to have my heart— you now wish to throw it all away?"

The Yaksha exclaimed, tightening his grip on you. You cried and tried to plead with him.

Achieving Xiao was one of the biggest achievements you have ever earned, and loving him was a bonus. He was everything you had dreamed of, except for his cold side personality that he often gives off— but you managed.

All was swell really, until you accidentally found out about karmic debt he had been struggling to get away from for years. And in secret, you did your research and found out more about it.

Since then, you have become more distant— more cautious around his person. Fearing what he'll do if whatever curse that he was avoiding gets to him.

And he noticed it too.

Your silly little head forgets that he was no human, and such a creature as he possessed eyes that of a hawk.

He saw how you were more aloof with him, in comparison to your human friends. Xiao began to overthink things that maybe perhaps you had finally regretted ever being with him. But you had placed so much effort into being acquainted with him, and you were just to throw it all away in just a snap?

How stupid of you.

"X-Xiao please, let me expl—"

"Silence!"

"Ah!"

You yelped in pain, as he seethed in anger. "You spent all those times chasing me deliberately no matter how many times I pushed you away,"

He neared your ear, "And now that I have reciprocate your feelings, you dare to leave me?"

Your heart beat thumped so fast in your chest, that you fear you would die with your heart bursting out before Xiao could have his way with you.

"After I finally decided to love you, you want to end it all...?"

Now, you just feel guilty because of what he said. But you knew it within you that you had every right to break everything up.

"Was everything just a joke to you?"

Xiao's eyes glinted with an unsettling intensity as he clutched on your wrists, using his body weight to prevent you from getting away.

"You can't leave me, (Y/n). We were meant to be together, forever."

The atmosphere thickened with tension as your plea echoed, "Please, Xiao, let go." But in Xiao's distorted reality, love had become an unrelenting grip, refusing to release its hold.

Suddenly, your clothes were ripped to bits. With one hand, he held you steady while the other forced you to reveal yourself bare in front of him.

With eyes widening, you shouted, "Wha— Wait no! This is t-too far!"

You stared at him, but all you could see was an unsettling determination in his eyes hinted at a perilous obsession that refused to release its grip.

Your desperate scream echoed through the room, "Let go, Xiao! Stop!" But Xiao, blinded by obsession, remained steadfast, his love morphing into a disturbing possession.

The room filled with a heavy disturbing tension as you struggled to free yourself, fear etched across your face.

Ignoring your plea, he continued to obsessively profess his undying love, leaving an eerie chill in the air, a stark reminder of a relationship unravelling into unsettling territory.

"Let me engrave it into your mind." He whispered, "You were my first, so you shall be my last."

In a dimly lit room, a place where no one could hear you nor disturb you from where you were, Xiao— your once beloved Yaksha— violated you against your will.

"..ah...ngh..." The demon grunted as he kept on pushing himself inside you. "Ha..so..tight.."

While you were weakly sobbing and taking it forcefully. You had no more energy left, and even if you did, there was no way you could push off a very strong non-human creature on top of you.

Tears streamed down your face as you trembled in the dimly lit room. The air was heavy with tension, suffocating your senses. "Please, just let me go," you pleaded again— knowing it was hopeless, your voice quivering.

He continued to touch you, in ways that only a genuine lover could. But he was no longer genuine, not anymore.

His thrusts were that of an animal. His pants and grunts fill the room, along with your pained sighs and cries. A mixture of both pain and the involuntary wave of pleasure, crashing upon both of you like a tidal wave.

You did everything you could to rebel against his movements, but none seemed to work, and defying him was only hurting you more. But you were determined to try despite the excruciating pain.

"Ah— ah..." Tears that could fill a river made your sight blurry, but he didn't care. He'll only bother to wipe them once he is done with you, but that will have to wait.

"Mm~ this..." He pants. "This is for your own good, ngh...~" Or so he says, clearly he was deep into his delusions.

"This would've been much more pleasurable had you not come to spoil what was on between us."

And he was pointing fingers at you, as if blaming you for the things that were happening to you.

Eventually, his thrusts began to lose its rhythm for a bit— indicating that he was close. And the moment you fear what'll he do next was about to come true.

Your sobs grew louder, a desperate symphony of fear and resignation. You knew, deep down, that escape from his delusional grasp seemed impossible.

A whimper escapes past your lips, trying to squirm away from him for the last time. "Please— ugh...ah— fu—" You cried, "Not i-inside....."

"Quiet." He snapped, "Mh, fuck..." He was close to reaching his climax, and sad to say, so were you.

"Bear everything I gave you, it's the least you could do for attempting such a foolish move of leaving me." Grunting, Xiao held you steady and pushed his cock deep inside your cunt.

Your body moved against your will and you hated every bit of it.

"Stop, I don't want—"

"You don't have a say in this."

He came with one last harsh thrust, making you arch your back as you cried out in forced ecstasy.

He spilled everything inside of you, tainting you with his torment from the inside.

You caused so much trouble in being with him, and his love was what you wanted right? So why are you crying like a pathetic child when he has given exactly what you wanted.

In the distorted realm of his twisted affection, you knew that freedom was an illusion, and the only certainty was the perpetual torment of a love gone horribly wrong.

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: raphael (bg3) x archdevil male reader

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: puppy eyes are a very valid/viable form of manipulation

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1,277

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: long exposition for short scenario, devils, pacts, some brief description of violence, underlying manipulation, i love you's

ᴍᴀʏʙ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: in honor of killing raphael for the second time (ily gale) the inspo

☾⋆☆⋆☽

To be an archdevil of the hells, you have to have a certain charm, per say; a devil's tongue, able to make both pacts with lowly, pathetic mortals, and other devils that covet your position, plus everyone in between.

A horrid task is making a pact, really, to ask for a treasure in exchange for something so slight, especially when they could hardly see the imbalance in the transaction.

When the supplicant who wished for power because he was so tired of rolling over for nobles died, you smiled with his soul in your grasp; he had managed to make a name for himself, and now you had a hero in your hall. When the devil sworn to you broke his pact and thus turned his fire immunity into a vulnerability, you enjoyed watching his skin char when he dove into his favorite lava bath.

Perhaps it wasn't so horrid after all, actually. With the many souls that now stomped your halls, you had an infinite supply of jesters. Watching a most old soul fade away into nothingness is always fun, too.

Most archdevils agree that suffering brings them satisfaction, but that is often the most lively thing about them. Zariel, for one, is always focused with her blood war, and Mephistopheles is in love with his vaults, and each only want more souls or artifacts to feed their obsession. Neither one even thinks to branch out! They're all so boring.

Mephistopheles's darling son, though, he's different. Narcissistic as any other devil, perhaps, but to a higher, more interesting degree; and boastingly ambitious, too. Always planning. It's lovely to see him in thought, despite how scarcely he lets himself be seen in the vulnerable process of thought.

And he knows you watch him, has, since the first time you laid eyes on him, but he lets you.

As Mephistopheles's boy, certain things are expected of him, the most daunting of all being that the son will never surpass the father. Cambions can be stronger than their fathers, but for Raphael to beat the ancientness that is the Archdevil Mephistopheles? Hardly perceivable.

Perhaps—no, that is why he is so interesting to you. So ambitious, to want the hells for himself, even when you know he will never be able to surpass the power of his own father.

You love watching him try.

Raphael, however, has always goaded you into helping him. Since you believe he won't win, you know that whatever you do to aid him will bring him nothing except disappointment and you, at best a slap on the wrist from Mephistopheles, at worst death when you visit the Material Plane.

In the beginning days of his plot, your help had always been both miniscule and hard-earned: a heap of souls for a sliver of your power in a pact baring similarity to a warlock's. Though, as time went on, Raphael's keen eye caught onto what made you concede, or the more amusing mortal word, fold, and oh was it foolishly simple.

It was always apparent between the two of you that the entirety of his life, his thousands, is only a shadow to your ten thousands. Its what made him so pathetically small in your eyes. He was still young, to you.

Oh, and his human form! It was so little and so mortal.

"A living mortal in my hall in the hells? Oh, it is only you, my dearest!" The cage of brown-red bone that protected your ever-ardent veins still protruded from beneath your flesh in the form of spikes, through your bumpy, fire-scarred flesh; but you were careful in kneeling before your favored, human form of Raphael.

You were still taller than him, kneeling, and Raphael looked most exquisite looking up at you. The cambion didn't need to dress up his words with a mouth-watering glaze. He already had you in his grasp. "My love, I've come to ask something of you."

"Again?" You click your tongue, shaking your head and nearly hitting him with your thick, wild horns. "You must learn to be independent one of these days."

"Oh," When he's rid of the interjection of exasperation, his bottom lip draws over his top lip; a pout. "I know, my dearest, but you must understand!"

"What must I understand?" You leave your hands in fists over your hips, leaning back straighter to look at him with the most stern expression your monstrous face muscles can offer.

Even with your knowledge of him being, well, a devil, you are still so careful to touch him, especially so in your ascended fiend form. Raphael steps closer, between your kneeling legs, placing his hands over your fists. "I really do need your help this time. I cannot do this without you."

You huff, your fists breaking to hold his hands properly. "Tell me, my love, what do you need of me?"

"My father has a new relic in his collection. Oh, it is so precious!" He emphasizes his point with the bounce of his heels, "Extremely powerful, as I'm sure you've heard, my darling; the mortals have lost their magic recently, yes? The foolish mortal Karsus and his foolish ambitions, but his crown is very much real, and very much powerful, especially for a human."

"So I've heard, sweetheart. What are you saying?" If you had any eyebrows, they would've furrowed.

"I need it. I need it, for myself, it'll be the most splendid gift!"

Your head draws back, and for a moment, your skin burns hotter, in such a way that even he can feel its temperature raise, that it must be so potent and high a change that a flame-retardant lover can feel it. Had this been the first time Raphael has asked for something of such great power from you, he'd have thought his plan was over.

"Mephistopheles would kill me, Raphael, shove me in a portal to the Material Plane, or the Ethereal Plane, or even the Godly Plane just to see me die the most gruesome death." You do not exaggerate, he has seen it first hand more than a handful of times.

"Oh, but my love, my dearest..." Raphael doesn't follow up his most adorable pet names, like one normally would. He doesn't plead his case, doesn't beg for it. Instead, he widens his eyes, and he stares, and there's just something about the way the glare of the candelabra glints in his eye that—

Oh...

Gods, he's just adorable, isn't he? So much better than a hellhound begging for a scrap of your meal, its head on your thigh, because this is your dearest Raphael.

Devils have delicious red eyes, but Raphael's human form has this just sweet pair of brown eyes, what is it, chocolate? They're gorgeous.

And his head can barely crane up high enough to look you in the eye, even when you're kneeling for him.

You huff, look away from him, but it's already too late. For the love of Tyr, Mystra, Ilmater, and the gods you'll never praise, why must he look so exquisite? With a deep sigh, you turn back to him, forgetting his delicateness as you place your wide palm over his tempting face. "Fine. Fine, my love, I will ask."

Raphael kisses your palm, lifting it off his face, and he smiles so nicely as he continues to pepper kisses along your burning knuckles. "Thank you," He says, spewing word upon word of his gratitude, "thank you, my love, I love you so much."

"Yeah, I know." You sigh once more, but you fold, leaning your head down to encase his head between your horns. "I love you too, my dear."

[neyafromfrance95]

"if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."

oh and gaze back into her he does.

when the abyss she has gazed into with hatred for so long gazes back into her with love, what does that say about the complex depths of her own identity and feelings?

galadriel basically wills sauron into life after she turns her back on heaven for him, and then she calls for him to bind himself to her.

and bind her to himself he does. over and over again. just like she has devoted herself to slaying the darkness of him, he now covets to own the light of hers he worships. her obsession became his yearning. they were already bound cosmically, by the sea and by nenya, by connection they share. but it was not enough, he intended to merge their beings, to become intrinsic parts of each other. so he binds her by the blood in an act that is disturbingly erotic, a symbolically sexual act, as it is consummated through violent penetration. he opens her up and slithers in, consuming her.

and there are dimensions to this. sauron still wants her to give herself to him willingly when he asks for nenya. this is his ultimate goal, he is desperate for her to let him "heal" her, to the point he is brought to tears. pain -> reward is his love language, and i'd say he hates hurting her while she refuses his gifts, and yet he still gives them to her in the form of binding her to himself, his darkness, and most likely to her greatest desire - power.

galadriel is metaphorically ravished and reborn, she is both killed by sauron and birthed by him into something new, his mirror, drowned witch thirsty for power. the symbol of their bond both on her finger and just above her heart - his eye, always with her, perceiving her.

now they are bound for all eternity, and those indeed are the seeds galadriel herself has planted.

all of this is of course a metaphor, a narrative device. as sexual subtext is an effective tool of storytelling, a tangible way of showing galadriel's complex relationship with the darkness, ambition and power. and on a more metaphysical scale, a metaphor for an eternal push and pull of the dark and the light, for the intertwined nature of these concepts.

[nshtn]

Obviously I'm new to your blog and your writing etc. so for the uroboros headcanon request - what's your own personal favorite hc you have for Uroboros Wesker? Anything special that diverges from canon or where you take liberties? Do you consider one of your hcs to be unique to your interpretation? //chinhands

[ Albert Wesker AU info & HCs ]

[ psychological / behavioral, personal, silly ]

They are so derivative of the canon that at this point the canon is merely a cloth to unravel and make yarn to sew into what I perceive, loosely framing events around how my Wesker approaches things differently. It's not his biggest canon events that change, but much of the perceived filler and the ways in which he processes them.

I'm going to use this post to make a grander explanation and debut! Please, feel free to send follow-up questions for clarification. I adore writing for him and want to flesh him out <3.

ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; [Mood Music]

| ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ |

| ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯ |

TW for childhood trauma/C-PTSD, mentions of murder (and canon-typical violence), medical trauma...

Psychological:

He has alexithymia, learned sociopathy & psychopathy, raging C-PTSD from "familial" trauma, and an obsessive personality disorder with strong roots in maintaining unity and control.

Alexithymia: He struggles to identify positive emotions within himself that aren't crackling and popping. He prefers to drift in a none-too-powerful neutrality and sterilized apathy that feels safe because it's known. Emotions he is capable of easily slotting into, explaining, and approaching include confusion and interest, boredom and focus, confidence, anger and disgust. Emotions he most often forces down, struggles to identify (and thus properly express) or cuts away near-automatically include being ecstatic, fear, sadness and grief, empathetic compassion or sympathy, embarrassment and any kind of romance.

Sociopathy & Psychopathy: Wesker was not born as these things, he was made into them - manufactured. He has been spared no forge or flame, and has the deeply honed ability to cease feeling emotions that cause him to lose sight of his goals or disrupt his focus. This comes at the expense of fueling homicidal thoughts that rebound with the intensity of that repression. The only emotion he cannot bury to its' hilt is interest, which always springs back up later, a cockroach he can swat but cannot crush. Early into his career as a bio-weapons virologist, he is high-functioning. By the events of Resident Evil 5, he has degraded into manic and low-functioning.

C-PTSD: Growing up under Spencer's Umbrella indoctrination was nothing short of physical and psychological torture highlighted with the lingering current of medical trauma and social deprivation. Beatings would continue until morale improved, and food, water, and entertainment were privileges. Handlers, not parents, cared for him, and were routinely, purposefully cycled. Being angry or academically successful was the only thing that came with it no coattail of the hot iron of punishment. As a result, Wesker is socially maladjusted, icy, goal-married and purpose-driven, hair-splittingly sharp, pessimistic and sardonic - by many metrics, Project W's goal of fitting his initial hyperempathetic square of a personality into their round, clean-shaven peg of purpose was successful. However, not by all metrics...

Obsessive Disorder: Wesker was always genetically shackled to obsession. He has high glutamate and GABA - like many savants - and has all of the neurochemical changes associated with obsessive-compulsive behavior. Having obsession rewarded has led him to covet it and view it as a boon, allowing him to expend unhealthy focus on his goals. It, however, also plays into his inability to suppress interest and ultimately causes him to naturally slot into a compulsive need for control over even the most mundane aspects of life.

Despite this, he is not terribly violent nor does he spit forth the expected volley of constant rage. He does not enjoy the messy, frantic planning of execution and disposal; he prefers to approach situations with multiple level-headed plans of action, each plan more drastic than the last, until it reaches the point at which no other possible solution exists but utmost violence.

When he is forced to solve his problems with violence, though, he does not shy from dirty tactics and has no codex for honor in death. He will employ any tactic necessary to secure his unyielding success, whether that be causing global catastrophe, mass murder, planting spies, the violation of the geneva conventions, or any other long list of canon-typical violence native to the ultimate chase of his ideals.

There is only one thing that Wesker does not directly involve himself in when the need arises, though he is willing to do so indirectly: the involvement of children. He is not Spencer. (In fact, when in direct contact with children, he is rendered docile.)

Personal, unsorted:

He refutes a perfectly white labcoat and his choice of dress is intentionally obstinate and spiteful.

Wearing a full white labcoat fills him with inescapable dread and a feeling of childlike vulnerability that he avoids at all costs. Even in his early Umbrella days, he finds a way to get his hands on a light blue one, yellow, anything...

His later, freely-made choice of full black attire is a presentation of his internal doom-and-gloom and a psychosexual liberty - his tacticool skintight choices are intentful, he very much likes both the look and feel of tight, restrictive attire and the shine of latex and leather.

Wesker has suspicious scars. He hides them.

'Experimentation' on his form as a child as a form of punishment for rebellion has left his hands and the tender veins of his wrists compromised by ugly, threatening pockmarks. Thus, gloves.

He has had his appendix pre-emptively removed by Spencer to reduce the chance of downtime later.

He was sterilized early to reduce the chance of straying from the path of Project W, but it did not hold. This is, however, a point of insecurity for him irregardless.

His relation to Spencer was never terribly positive, the man's control over him less so, but following the reveal of Project W he has an unmatched, broiling, tossing-turning-spitting-boiling hatred.

He murders Spencer in a much more personal, slow and torturous way than his canon counterpart.

He goes into a manic depressive state that ultimately leads to the creation of Uroboros and his downfall as a result of this, though he was already veering towards a similar path because of his nurture as an imperfect man-made monster.

I am a Wesker Sweet Tooth truther, sorry (though he is picky as a result of a rebellion against childhood's near-Soylenting).

He exerts an unhealthy calorie-counting control over his diet, but depressions and S.T.A.R.S-era forward see him progressively loosen this to account for the occasional sweetie.

Big into anything that takes absurd skill to make, like Petit Fours, Macarons, Baked Alaska and Crepe Cakes (minis!) Ordered, scantly made; the time cannot be found to practice this, but in another life he might have been a profound baker.

Secretly appreciative of funnel cake and You Tiao, but they're a once-a-year thing, if at all.

Tried dehydrated ice cream from an MRE once. Chasing the mouth-feel stim ever since, he's experimented and found a hidden cache of joy in the fiber-rich bland sweet'n'salty of sprouted young coconut.

He personally makes Springerle around Christmas and carves out time to do so, then packs one or two into his diet to come as they soften. They are sweet and dense, satisfying his urge for a biscuit and a sweet in one in the initial four to six months following, and they're advantageous to make.

Likes spicy to kick him awake in the morning. Strong chai tea is a nicety. Loose-leaf pilled and snooty.

Wesker's relation with William Birkin was one of admiration, equality, intellectual debate and, eventually, feelings of great interest.

His feelings were not fully returned out of an abundance of fear and caution, but they were occasionally entertained and experimented with before the arrival of Annette. It was simply infeasible.

Birkin was an intellectual equal, if not a superior. He has fantasized of the duo they could have been had he dosed Birkin with Uroboros. Birkin was one of few willing to debate virology with him and tone-match his icy arguments, even capable of winning.

He never stopped admiring Birkin, leading to the incorporation of G into Uroboros. It is an incorporation that finds its' roots sleeping with subconscious grief, what-ifs and could-have-beens he cannot afford to acknowledge with neither time nor the sanity to grapple them.

Wesker's relation with Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine were initially sour and resentful of their normalcy and outward, unlimited expressions, but quietly bloomed forth from this into crestfallen admiration, friendship, and ultimately, deathly obsession (for Chris, this also included love). [When not pairing him with a reader, of course].

Team Alpha were his piggies. His toys to break, his toys to play with, mind and mold and mentor. The Mansion Incident was easy enough to sleep Team Bravo, but the most uncommon emotion was fished from his depths and chained to his demeanor with Team Alpha: empathy, compassion.

Chris was his favorite, though. Physically equal, matching his sardonic wit in a natural easy charm as cool as he was cold. Chris' planning and teamwork skill eventually superseded Marini's, and then it grew to crux even his own. The curiosity sparked and ignited furiously at the idea that his intellect alone could not amass the sheer unity and control Chris could command signed with love and feeling.

Spencer's gift of infection is Prototype Leech Progenitor, and holds the name Progenitor 0067, which is why it is printed out as PG67A/W [Progenitor 0067 Albert/Wesker.]

It's startlingly stable, but it begins to unravel as time drags on. It is made unstable by emotion in a manner not entirely dissimilar to T-Phobos, both enhanced and injured by rage and subconscious desire; mutation increases laterally with low dopamine, high norepinephrine, and an uptick in cortisol and cholecystokinin. It is inevitably bound to cause negative side-effects as negative mutations begin to fester unchecked.

Its' primary symptom of infection includes thermochromic bioluminescence of the iris and keratinous growths. The iris' melanocytes are invaded by the virus and begin to respond to nerve endings' temperature signalling with aptly-named luciferase and rapid uncomplicated hypervascularization, leading to a red-yellow appearance.

It does not have the stabilizing matrix of Ebola genes, much to Wesker's chagrin.

It is compatible with Uroboros in a very odd way that no other virus is because of how much of its' gene expression is genetically leech.

He survives the events of RE5.

He mutates into a very large and very feral Uroboros monster with hundreds of whipping appendages, but, notably, his body remains and does not explode into a Mkono or Aheri. Here's a chibi version of his monstrous form.

Feed the feral beast enough biomass and the man's consciousness nestled within will be hooked and fished to the surface.

He requires ~5,000 - ~6,700 calories a day to maintain baseline non-feral consciousness, and far, far more to regain his intellect.

Silly:

He can sing very well.

Very much a shower hummer. Brisk cold showers cannot hold back the tide of humming Don Henley's Inside Job under his breath.

S.T.A.R.S-era saw him purchase a Walkman F15. (In fact, it would not be rare to catch him humming as he slavered over paperwork during this time, nor was he bashful of it).

He likes Jurassic Park as a book and the automatons and quadruped suits in the movies, but does not like the movies' plot portrayal.

He finds it shameful that they stripped most of the allegories and paleontological accuracy to focus on Dinosaur Scary. Absolutely a feathered theory truther who thinks Thomas Henry Huxley had it right.

Those velociraptors were utahraptors to him. No other explanation in his mind, don't try to play him for a fool.

He struggles to read subtext in books and prefers writing that isn't flowery.

He's got the same affliction as Einstein - he's autistic. He was spared any kind of clear, visible regression or failure to thrive of other skills unlike most savants. In fact, all of Project W's prospective pupils are autistic savants. Flowery, emotion-welled text gels with neither his genetics nor his upbringing.

His accent is Umbrella-manufactured and specific to it.

Diphthongs from repeated 'o' are transformed into 'au', like British, but 'r' and 't' are both retained entirely. It has its' roots in British Received Pronunciation, the traditional 'posh upper-class'ccent'.

He actually tamps it down somewhat... it's normally pretty strong. Exposure to S.T.A.R.S also transformed it into its' own filtered beast.

It shines through to a crippling degree the angrier he is. Bile-spitting Wesker sounds like he's going to roast you for your stock holdings and tea choices. (S.T.A.R.S-era Chris and Marini found this hard to take seriously)

He's a yapper level 100. So is Birkin.

You are sooner to die from thirst after receiving a disciplinary monologuing longer than any published TEDTalk (spoken as if it were copied from an official document) than you are to be murdered for simping or being pissy. He entertains debate, but is so debate-minded and source-pilled that you will be verbally beaten into submission if for nothing else than the glorious feeling of academic domination (unless you're Birkin).

He is normally quiet unless provoked into said monologue, with a deep and judgmental inner voice that never ceases.

[marshmellowrio]

Flight of the Night | Chapter 4

A/N: A bigger one, this scene goes on forever, ughh. This hasn't been proofread, like every other chapter I have posted (oops?).

Word count: 3.5K

I watch as Feyre addresses Azriel, “How did you meet?” Azriel turns to look at Cassian, I follow his gaze. Cassian is a way better storyteller than Azriel, that’s fact.

“We all hated each other at first.” A grin ghosts over his lips as he starts, his eyes flickering between the four of us, Illyrians. “We are bastards, you know. Az and I. The Illyrians… We love our people, and our traditions, but they dwell in clans and camps deep in the mountains of the North, and do not like outsiders. Especially High Fae who try to tell them what to do. But they’re just as obsessed with lineage, and have their own princes and lords among them.” He holds my gaze before continuing, pointing a thumb in Azriel’s direction. “Az, was the bastard of one of the local lords. And if you think the bastard son of a lord is hated, then you can’t imagine how hated the bastard is of a war-camp laundress and a warrior she couldn’t or wouldn’t remember.” I see the casual shrug of his shoulders for what it is, a way to dampen the vicious, ancient anger raging through his veins at the thought of his mother. “Az’s father sent him to our camp for training once he and his charming wife realized he was a shadowsinger.”

“Like the daemati,” Rhys says to Feyre, “shadowsingers are rare—coveted by courts and territories across the world for their stealth and predisposition to hear and feel things other can’t.”

Something I have been wary of for centuries. Being secretive around Azriel was a feat not easily accomplished.

Cassian continues, “The camp lord practically shit himself with excitement the day Az was dumped in our camp. But me… once my mother weaned me and I was able to walk, they flew me to a distant camp, and chucked me into the mud to see if I would live or die.”

“They would have been smarter throwing you off a cliff,” Mor snorts.

“Oh, definitely,” Cassian says, his grin sharpening. “Especially because when I was old and strong enough to go back to the camp I’d been born in, I learned those pricks worked my mother until she died.”

A silence falls, simmering anger hanging like a cloud in the air.

“The Illyrians,” Rhys cuts in smoothly, “are unparalleled warriors, and are rich with stories and traditions. But they are also brutal and backward, particularly in regard to how they treat their females.”

Azriel’s vacant eyes lock on mine, my face schooled in a stone-cold expression.

“They’re barbarians,” Amren says and neither of the males object.

I keep silent as Mor nods. “They cripple their females so they can keep them for breeding more flawless warriors.”

Rhys cringes. “My mother was low-born, and worked as a seamstress in one of their many mountain war-camps. When females come of age in the camps—when they have their first bleeding—their wings are… clipped. Just a small incision in the right place, left to improperly heal, can cripple you forever.” I tell myself to keep breathing, keeping the memories at bay and listen to the story. A story I’ve heard countless times, but never becomes easier. “And my mother—she was gentle and wild and loved to fly. So she did everything in her power to keep herself from maturing. She starved herself, gathered illegal herbs—anything to halt the natural course of her body. She turned eighteen and hadn’t yet bled, to the mortification of her parents. But her bleeding finally arrived and all it took was for her to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, before a male scented it on her and told the camp’s lord. She tried to flee—took right to the skies. But she was young, and the warriors were faster, and they dragged her back. They were about to tie her to the posts in the center of camp when my father winnowed in for a meeting with the camp’s lord about readying for the War. He saw my mother trashing and fighting like a wildcat, and… The mating bond between them clicked into place. One look at her, and he knew what she was. He misted the guards holding her.”

“Misted?” Confusion laces her voice. As Cassian chuckles sharply.

Rhys floats a lemon wedge into the air and flicks his finger, turning it into citrus-scented mist. I lean forward to catch the look on Feyre’s face, she takes misting entire beings better than I did the first time. She hasn’t seen him do it yet, but the insinuation of it, was enough to make me still when I realised the extent of Rhys’s powers.

“Through the blood-rain,” Rhys goes on, “my mother looked at him. And the bond fell into place for her. My father took her back to the Night Court that evening and made her his bride. She loved her people, and missed them, but never forgot what they had tried to do to her—what they did to the females among them. She tried for decades to get my father to ban it, but the War was coming, and he wouldn’t risk isolating the Illyrians when he needed them to lead his armies. And to die for him.”

“A real prize, your father,” Mor grumbles. I cast my head down, he never did me wrong. But his methods could be…harsh.

“At least he liked you,” Rhys counters. “my father and mother, despite being mates, were wrong for each other.” I grimace, I sometimes wonder how often a mating bond is set between two beings while they’re not right for each other. “My father was cold and calculating, and could be vicious, as he had been trained to be since birth. My mother was soft and fiery and beloved by everyone she met. She hated him after a time—but never stopped being grateful that he had saved her wings, that he allowed her to fly whenever and wherever she wished. And when I was born, and could summon the Illyrian wings as I pleased… She wanted me to know her people’s culture.”

“She wanted to keep you out of your father’s claws,” Mor says, swirling her wine. Azriel finally looks away from me and I let loose a breath, his memories finally clearing. I have no doubt I was involved in that memory from the way he had stared for the past few minutes.

“That, too,” Rhys adds drily. “When I turned eight, my mother brought me to one of the Illyrian war-camps. To be trained, as all Illyrian males were trained. And like all Illyrian mothers, she shoved me toward the sparring ring on the first day, and walked away without looking back.”

“She abandoned you?” I understand Feyre’s deduction but it still has me narrowing my eyes.

“No—never,” Rhys says, with as much ferocity as I felt for his mother’s memory. “She was staying at the camp as well. But it is considered an embarrassment for a mother to coddle her son when he goes to train.”

Cassian laughs, catching the look on Feyre’s face. “Backward, like he said.”

“I was scared out of my mind,” Rhys admits. “I’d been learning to wield my powers, but Illyrian magic was a mere fraction of it. And it’s rare amongst them—usually possessed only by the most powerful, pure-bred warriors.” His eyes flit to me and I give him a lopsided grin. “I tried to use a Siphon during those years. And shattered about a dozen before I realized it wasn’t compatible—the stones couldn’t hold it. My power flows and is honed in other ways.”

“So difficult, being such a powerful High Lord,” Mor teases.

Rhys rolls his eyes. “The camp-lord banned me from using my magic for all our sakes. But I had no idea how to fight when I set foot into that training ring that day. The other boys in my age group knew it, too. Especially one in particular, who took a look at me, and beat me into a bloody mess.”

“You were so clean,” Cassian says, shaking his head. “The pretty half-breed son of the High Lord—how fancy you were in your new training clothes.” I snort, I can totally imagine young Cassian thinking like that.

“Cassian,” Azriel’s dark voice cuts in, “resorted to getting new clothes over the years by challenging other boys to fights, with the prize being the clothes off their backs.” The flatness in his voice revealed how much he cared for the Illyrian ways.

Cassian chuckles, he had a completely different experience, just as horrifying, but different. “I’d beaten every other boy in our age group twice over already, but then Rhys arrived, in his clean clothes, and he smelled… different. Like a true opponent. So I attacked. We both got three lashings apiece for the fight.”

From my side of the table, I see Feyre flinch.

“They do worse, girl,” Amren cuts in, “in those camps. Three lashings is practically an encouragement to fight again. When they do something truly bad, bones are broken. Repeatedly. Over weeks.”

“Your mother willingly sent you into that?” Feyre asks with a soft voice. She has a lot to learn about Illyrians and their customs, I think to myself.

“My mother didn’t want me to rely on my power,” Rhys says. “She knew from the moment she conceived me that I’d be hunted my entire life. Where one strength failed, she wanted others to save me. My education was another weapon—which was why she went with me; to tutor me after lessons were done for the day. And when she took me home that first night to our new house at the edge of the camp, she made me read by the window. It was there that I saw Cassian trudging through the mud—toward the few ramshackle tents outside of the camp. I asked her where he was going, and she told me that bastards are given nothing: they find their own shelter, own food. If they survive and get picked to be in a war-band, they’ll be bottom-ranking forever, but receive their own tents and supplies. But until then, he’d stay in the cold.”

“Those mountains,” Azriel adds, his hard gaze locking on mine again, “offer some of the harshest conditions you can imagine.” I know he still feels guilty about what happened to me, but I only duck my head not being able to bear his loaded gaze.

“After my lessons,” Rhys ignores the exchanged looks, “my mother cleaned my lashings, and as she did, I realized for the first time what it was to be warm, and safe, and cared for. And it didn’t sit well.”

“Apparently not,” Cassian takes over. “Because in the dead of night, that little prick woke me up in my piss-poor tent and told me to keep my mouth shut and come with him. And maybe the cold made me stupid, but I did. His mother was livid. But I’ll never forget the look on her beautiful face when she saw me and said, ‘There is a bathtub with hot running water. Get in it or you can go back into the cold.’ Being a smart lad, I obeyed. When I got out, she had clean nightclothes and ordered me into bed.” She had done some good for all of us. “I’d spent my life sleeping on the ground—and when I balked, she said she understood because she had felt the same once, and that it would feel as if I was being swallowed up, but the bed was mine for as long as I wanted it.”

“And you were friends after that?”

“No—Cauldron no,” Rhys says. “We hated each other, and only behaved because if one of us got into trouble or provoked the other, then neither of us ate that night. My mother started tutoring Cassian, but it wasn’t until Azriel arrived a year later that we decided to be allies.”

Cassian’s grin stretches as he reaches around Amren to clap Azriel on his shoulder. A sigh falls from the shadowsinger’s lips and I smile fondly at the two of them. “A new bastard in the camp—and an untrained shadowsinger to boot. Not to mention he couldn’t even fly thanks to—”

I clear my throat interrupting him as Mor lazily cuts in, “Stay on track, Cassian.” He looks at the both of us, the apologize clear in his eyes, but he shrugged feigning indifference to Feyre. Mor kept her eyes on Cass as I shifted mine to Azriel, noting the tense shoulders and faraway look in his eyes.

“Rhys and I made his life a living hell, shadowsinger or no. But Rhys’s mother had known Az’s mother, and took him in. As we grew older, and the other males around us did, too, we realized everyone else hated us enough that we had better odds of survival sticking together.” Cassian finishes their story and I turn to Feyre.

“Do you have any gifts? Like—them?” She jerks her chin to Azriel and Rhys.

“A volatile temper doesn’t count,” Mor says and I grin at her, sometimes I wonder if we spent too much time together. Or if it’s Cassian that’s so predictable.

“No. I don’t—not beyond a heaping pile of the killing power. Bastard-born nobody, through and through.” I lean forward at the same time as Rhys, but Cassian continues, “Even so, the other males knew that we were different. And not because we were two bastards and a half-breed. We were stronger, faster—like the Cauldron knew we’d been set apart and wanted us to find each other. Rhys’s mother saw it, too. Especially as we reached the age of maturity, and all we wanted to do was fuck and fight.” I roll my eyes at that.

“Males are horrible creatures, aren’t they?” Amren says.

“Repulsive,” Mor clicks her tongue and I laugh softly.

Cassian only shrugs. “Rhys’s power grew every day—and everyone, even the camp-lords, knew he could mist everyone if he felt like it. And the two of us… we weren’t far behind.” He taps his Siphon with a finger. “A bastard Illyrian had never received one of these. Ever. For Az and me to both be appointed them, albeit begrudgingly, had every warrior in every camp across those mountains sizing us up. Only pure-blood pricks get Siphons—born and bred for the killing power. It still keeps them up at night, puzzling over where the hell we got it from.”

I feel Feyre’s eyes slide to me, probably remembering I am pure-blooded Illyrian. Cassian notes her gazing as well and confirms her suspicions. “ This fucking priss of a lady, as Rhys said, is the only pure-blooded Illyrian out of the four of us.”

“Shouldn’t you let her tell her own story?” I raise an eyebrow at Azriel’s low voice intercepting.

“If you are wondering,” I turn to Feyre properly. “I am not one of those, born and bred for that killing power.”

“You were bred for it.” Cassian intercepts, pointing out the fault in my statement.

I hum lowly, “While that may be true, sadly, for my parents anyway, I was born female. Not the son they wanted. My father is a camp-lord,” I see Feyre mentally note the present tense. “Although I was bred to kill, he wouldn’t allow me to train. He’s very traditional in that sense.”

Feyre’s gaze moves to my wings, trying to see if I bear any clipping marks, not that she’d know what to look for. Her scrutiny makes me tuck them tighter against me, straining the muscles as usual. “I haven’t been clipped.” Her gaze snaps up again to meet mine, my face void of emotion. ‘Rhys’s mother helped me in that matter, got me the illegal herbs she used herself when she was younger, stalling my cylcle. She helped me, along with these three, get away when my first bleeding came.”

“You got away.” It’s not a question. I frown, it doesn’t feel like that.

Cassian says, “Oh, she got away, alright.” Amren shoves his broad shoulder and I’m thankful for her respect for me.

“Something like that.” I respond to Feyre. Rhys and Azriel flinch in unison, I might’ve never actually talked about it, but they know.

Feyre furrows her brows, not able to hide her curiosity as to what went down all those years ago.

I don’t answer her questioning gaze, opting to stare at Rhys instead, I do not want to get into that with her on her first day with us. No matter how open Cassian is with her.

Azriel breaks the silence, taking over another part of the story. “Over a decade later, the War came. And Rhys’s father visited our camp to see how his son had fared after twenty years.”

“My father,” Rhys says, swirling his wine, “saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power, but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned.”

Cassian snickers. “So the prick separated us. He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed, and threw me into a different legion to be a common foot soldier, even when my power outranked any of the war-leaders. Az, he kept for himself as his personal shadowsinger—mostly for spying and his dirty work. Turns out he already had Lyss in his tight quarters so she didn’t pose a threat to him. We only saw each other on battlefields for the seven years the War raged. They’d send around casualty lists among the Illyrians, and I read each one, wondering if I’d see their names on it. But then Rhys was captured—”

“That is a story for another time,” Rhys says sharply, making me lift my brows. We all had our boundaries in sharing past memories. Cass might be the most open one but that doesn’t mean he’ll tell her everything, there are some things even he wouldn’t tell her upon first meeting. “Once I became High Lord, I appointed these five to my Inner Circle, and told the rest of my father’s old court that if they had a problem with my friends, they could leave. They all did. Turns out, having a half-breed High Lord was made worse by his appointment of three females and two Illyrian bastards.”

“What—what happened to them , then?”

Rhys shrugs. “The nobility of the Night Court fall into three categories: those who hated me enough that when Amarantha took over, they joined her court and later found themselves dead; those who hated me enough to try to overthrow me and faced the consequences; and those who hated me, but not enough to be stupid and have since tolerated a half-breed’s rule, especially when it so rarely interferes with their miserable lives.”

“Are they—are they the ones who live beneath the mountain?” Feyre asks.

“In the Hewn City, yes. I gave it to them, for not being fools. They’re happy to stay there, rarely leaving, ruling themselves and being as wicked as they please, for all eternity.”

“The Court of Nightmares,” Mor says as all are faces grow tight, thinking about that horrid place.

“Ans what is this court?” Feyre gestures to all of us, and the darkness clears.

It was Cassian, who answers with bright eyes, “The Court of Dreams.”

Feyre contemplates for a moment. “And you?” She says, and I know it’s directed to us females.

Amren merely says, “Rhys offered to make me his Second. No one had ever asked me before, so I said yes, to see what it might be like. I found I enjoyed it.” Always a person of little words.

Mor leans back in her seat and I focus on her. “I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares,” Mor says, twisting a curl around a finger. “So I got out.” I almost scoff at the simplicity of that statement. Her escape from the Hewn City was as simple as mine from the Illyrian camp.

I take a breath, “My father was camp-lord when those three were in the camp. Cassian was a nuisance, he followed me around everywhere to annoy my father. Even as a five-year-old he knew how to get on someone’s nerves.”

Cassian’s grin only reveals truth as he takes over. “And when Rhys and Az came to the camp, they joined in.” I purse my lips at his statement. “But she had fire, handed our asses to us, multiple times. Her father might’ve not let her train, that didn’t mean she didn’t find a way to do so anyway. Slowly, the annoyance turned into acceptance that we weren’t going to leave her alone as long as it meant pissing off her father.”

“He still seethes whenever we join her in the camp.” Rhys adds.

I smirk, “He still seethes because I outrank him now.” I hold Feyre’s gaze and see she knows there’s more to the story than what we’re telling, so I give her another crumble. “I am Cassian’s Second, Colonel of the Illyrian armies.”

A/N: Let me know what you thought! Maybe any theories on how this story is going to progress? Obviously this is a romance fanfic (I'm sorry if you didn't realise that already), but I wanted to give my character some depth and not just have her exist because of her love interest. Do keep in mind this is a slow-slow-burn. It will be some time before we will be happy go lucky, not to say that there won't be any tension. Because there will be, a lot of it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please leave a comment saying so!

Taglist: @inloveallthetime @mybestfriendmademe

[rey-jake-therapist]

I’m going to put my tin foil hat and just “spitballing” in here. Could Sauron love Galadriel or he’s just obsessed with her in the same way Morgoth/Melkor coveted the Silmarils jewels? First, there are several diferences between the two villains:

(1) Morgoth was a Vala (actual God), Sauron is a Maia (demigod in service of a God). In the lore, Maiar could fall in love with Elves, and they did (Elrond is of Half-Maia descent). So, Mairon, as a Maia of Aulë, could 100% fall in love with Galadriel. He was, however, corrupted by Morgoth.

(2) Morgoth and Sauron plans weren’t the same, at all: Morgoth was a nihilist God who wanted to wreak havoc; destroy the entire world, and bring chaos and darkness everywhere, out of mockery and spite. He also wanted to rule everything, and was pure “chaotic evil”. For Sauron, Morgoth’s chaos and destruction were the means to an end, not his actual goal. Sauron is a control freak, a perfectionist who’s obsessed with order and organization. What’s his plan? He wants a perfect world, a world of order, with no more wars, everlasting peace and unity, where everyone gets along. That’s why he needs the Rings of Power for each race of Middle-earth. However, he’s aware wars and chaos won’t ever stop, and so he has to become a tyrannical dictator to bind everyone to his will to create such a world. Sauron is “lawful evil”: his aim is not to destroy, but to strip everyone of their own free will (but he’s not above using destruction and chaos to achieve his goals).

Morgoth wanted the Silmarils as trophies and out of jealousy. Morgoth is a very envious and petty God; he wants to have the ability to create, but he doesn’t; that’s why he corrupts and/or destroys creation. He stole the Silmarils jewels because they were the most admired objects in all of Aman, the most beautiful things ever created. But Fëanor, their creator, wasn’t a peach either: he believed he, alone, was entitled to them, and also created them because he was obsessed with Galadriel’s hair and couldn’t have her.

Now, while it is possible to draw some parallels here, Sauron was able to create stuff, because he used to be a servant to the Vala of craft and building. Aulë also created life (the Dwarves), but he did it out of desire of teaching and have companions (not the corrupt, like Morgoth did with the Orcs) and was pardoned by Eru. And perhaps that’s why the Maiar of Aulë, Mairon/Sauron and Curumo/Saruman, were both targeted and corrupted by Morgoth.

Sauron didn’t crafted the Rings of Power out of jealousy or envy (and certainly not because he couldn’t own Galadriel) but out of a desire to dominate and control. While Morgoth wanted to destroy creation, Sauron wanted to rule it. Not the entire world, but Middle-earth, which he believed was forsaken by the Valar after the War of Wrath, and was left in ruins. So, Sauron believed it was up to him to intervene, because the Valar wouldn’t. And that’s why he later aspires to become a God himself, and not just a Maia.

Now, how does Galadriel fit in all of this?

In Season 1 of RoP, the showrunners seemed to have taken the “repented Sauron” route in early episodes. In the books, after Morgoth’s defeat, Sauron does repent, mostly out of fear of the Valar. However, he’s too prideful to return to Aman in humiliation, and perhaps too afraid to be judged by the Valar, so he stays on Middle-earth. However, his bounds to Morgoth are too strong and he falls back into evil, and starts his “Rings of Power” project. In the book, this takes centuries, mind you.

His obsession with Galadriel can have several explanations:

(1) As a repented Maia, he could have actually fallen in love with her; and believed her light could help him break free from his bounds to Morgoth, and make sure he remained on the right path;

(2) He saw her power and her potential to rule by his side and help him achieve his goals of domination. Her beauty is legendary and seems to have an effect on everyone who crosses her path, so with Galadriel as his queen, Sauron would be able to reach his goals way faster, and with less bloodshed (he hates frivolous friction, after all);

(3) Like Morgoth with the Silmarils, Sauron wants to own Galadriel’s light out of spite and envy for the Eldar. She’s one of the oldest Elves on Middle-earth, the most beautiful, and she has the light of the Two Trees of Valinor in her eyes and hair. To have her as his queen, would be the ultimate insult to the Elves.

(4) All the above?

Fandom assemble and debate!

Right now I don't have time for a thoughtful answer, but I'd love to read your thoughts about this very interesting subject guys !

[yanderes-galore]

Odahviing (Skyrim), Romantic/Platonic with darling who is just a normal resident of Skyrim close to the Dragonborn but not actually the Dragonborn. Maybe the Dragonborn had to protect them from danger one time and they called upon Odahviing during it, which is when they (Odahviing & Darling) first met and now Odahviing keeps guarding over them. Maybe also include prompts 16 and 17 from Yandere Writing Prompts #2?

Sure! I keep forgetting to link the prompts for these, oof, here it is!

Odahviing says something in Thuum, it's "My Possession".

Yandere Odahviing Prompts 16 + 17

"I will protect you from everything."

"You can always count on me, my love."

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Possessiveness behavior implied, Darling chooses to be oblivious, Dubious companionship.

Being allies with The Dragonborn had its perks. The child of a Jarl you already had some power within your city. Since you befriended The Dragonborn you have had protection from not only them... but real dragons you thought you feared.

One dragon even seemed to be attached to you himself.

Odahviing has redeemed himself with help from The Dragonborn after the death of Alduin. You originally feared him due to all the dragon attacks. However, in order to protect you, The Dragonborn summoned him to watch over your city.

While the order was no longer necessary, you still end up interacting with the dragon regularly.

Your father, the Jarl of the city/town you live in, originally didn't like you interacting with the large draconic beast. However, Odahviing has proven to be loyal to protecting all under The Dragonborn's word. Befriending the dragon has even allowed you to learn more about your former enemies.

Although... you never saw the true feelings the dragon held towards you.

Odahviing protected you like you were a treasure. In a way you were due to your position and bond with The Dragonborn. If anything happened to you, Odahviing would surely be blamed.

But that wasn't the only reason Odahviing liked you.

You provided interesting conversation with the dragon. You expressed interest instead of the fear you once had. When Odahviing saved you he earned your trust...

He even wanted to earn your attention as your guard.

Even if it required burning everyone who stood in his way.

"I will protect you from everything." Odahviing growls towards you in a promise as you walk towards him. "Not just for my lord, but because I've grown fond of you."

"You are my strongest ally, Odahviing." You praise, smiling as the dragon's eyes stare into you intently. "Your efforts will be rewarded with whatever you wish."

"You can always count on me, Dii Piraak." Odahviing says softly. "But there is only one thing I covet."

"What is that?" You ask as the dragon laughs softly. You don't understand his language and can only assume it's a nickname. If only you knew.

"You. All I need is you by my side. For that, I am eternally loyal to you and my lord." Odahviing hums.

"... then that is what you shall receive." You say, choosing to ignore the implications. You choose to see his words as just being your protector.

However... based on the nickname Pirraak, that's most likely not just what he means.