#more than life more than jewels

[anghraine]

Hi! Can you explain what really the power of foresight was with Faramir? I read the books earlier this year and I don't really quite understand it. He could predict the future? Like he would see it in his dreams? But how did he found out from Gollum that he was taking frodo and sam to cirith ungol and that he had committed murder before?

No problem, it's one of my favorite topics!

The concise explanation: I think Faramir's foresight/aftersight in terms of visions is a largely separate "power" from his ability to bring his strength of mind and will to bear on other people and animals, and to resist outside influence. The visions seem more a matter of broad sensitivity, something Faramir doesn't appear to have much if any control over. The second power is (in our terms) essentially a form of direct telepathy, limited in some ways but still very powerful, and I think this second ability is what Faramir is using with Gollum.

The really long version:

In my opinion, Faramir (or Denethor, Aragorn, etc) doesn't necessarily read thoughts like a book, particularly not with a mind as resistant as Gollum's. Faramir describes Gollum's mind in particular as dark and closed, it seems unusually so—

"There are locked doors and closed windows in your mind, and dark rooms behind them," said Faramir.

Still, Gollum is unable to entirely block Faramir's abilities. In LOTR, it does not seem that Gollum can fully block powerful mental abilities such as Faramir's, though his toughness and hostility does limit what Faramir can see. (Unfinished Tales, incidentally, suggests iirc that Denethor's combination of "great mental powers" and his right to use the Anor-stone allowed him to telepathically get the better of Saruman through their palantíri, a similar but greater feat.) I imagine that this is roughly similar to, but scaled down from, Galadriel's telepathic inquiries of even someone as reluctant to have her in his mind as Boromir, given that Faramir is able to still see some things in Gollum's mind, if with more difficulty than usual.

(WRT Boromir ... ngl, if I was the human buffer between Denethor and Faramir, I would also not be thrilled about sudden telepathic intrusions from basically anyone, much less someone I had little reason to trust.)

Disclaimer: a few years after LOTR's publication, Tolkien tried to systematize how this vague mystical telepathy stuff really works. One idea he had among many, iirc, was that no unwilling person's mind could be "read" the ways that Gollum's is throughout LOTR. IMO that can't really be reconciled w/ numerous significant interactions in LOTR where resistance to mental intrusion or domination is clearly variable between individuals and affected by personal qualities like strength of will, basic resilience, the effort put into opposition, supernatural powers, etc. And these attempts at resistance are unsuccessful or only partially successful on many occasions in LOTR (the Mouth of Sauron, for one example, is a Númenórean sorcerer in the book who can't really contend with Aragorn on a telepathic level). So I, personally, tend to avoid using the terminology and rationales from that later systematized explanation when discussing LOTR. And in general, I think Tolkien's later attempts to convert the mystical, mysterious wonder of Middle-earth into something more "hard magic" or even scientific was a failed idea on a par with Teleporno. Others differ!

In any case, when Gollum "unwillingly" looks at Faramir while being questioned, the creepy light drains from his eyes and he shrinks back while Faramir concludes he's being honest on that specific occasion. Gollum experiences physical pain when he does try to lie to Faramir—

"It is called Cirith Ungol." Gollum hissed sharply and began muttering to himself. "Is not that its name?" said Faramir turning to him. "No!" said Gollum, and then he squealed, as if something had stabbed him.

I don't think this is a deliberate punishment from Faramir—that wouldn't be like him at all—and I don't think it's the Ring, but simply a natural consequence of what Faramir is. Later, Gandalf says of Faramir's father:

"He can perceive, if he bends his will thither, much of what is passing in the minds of men ... It is difficult to deceive him, and dangerous to try."

So, IMO, Faramir's quick realization that Gollum is a murderer doesn't come from any vision of the future or past involving Gollum—that is, it's not a deduction from some event he's seen. Faramir does not literally foresee Gollum's trick at Cirith Ungol. His warning would be more specific in that case, I think. What he sees seems to be less detailed but more direct and, well, mystical. Faramir likely doesn't know who exactly Gollum murdered or why or what any of the circumstances were. Rather, Gollum's murderousness and malice are visible conditions of his soul to Faramir's sight. Faramir doesn't foresee the particulars of Gollum's betrayal—but he can see in Gollum's mind that he is keeping something back. Faramir says of Gollum:

"I do not think you are holden to go to Cirith Ungol, of which he has told you less than he knows. That much I perceived clearly in his mind."

Meanwhile, in a letter written shortly before the publication of LOTR, Tolkien said of Faramir's ancestors:

They became thus in appearance, and even in powers of mind, hardly distinguishable from the Elves

So these abilities aren't that strange in that context. Faramir by chance (or "chance") is, like his father, almost purely an ancient Númenórean type despite living millennia after the destruction of Númenor (that destruction is the main reason "Númenóreanness" is fading throughout the age Faramir lives in). Even less ultra-Númenórean members of Denethor's family are still consistently inheriting characteristics from their distant ancestor Elros, Elrond's brother, while Faramir and Denethor independently strike Sam and Pippin as peculiarly akin to Gandalf, a literal Maia like their ancestress Melian:

“Ah well, sir,” said Sam, “you [Faramir] said my master had an elvish air; and that was good and true. But I can say this: you have an air too, sir, that reminds me of, of—well, Gandalf, of wizards.”

He [Denethor] turned his dark eyes on Gandalf, and now Pippin saw a likeness between the two, and he felt the strain between them, almost as if he saw a line of smouldering fire drawn from eye to eye, that might suddenly burst into flame.

Meanwhile, Faramir's mother's family is believed to be part Elvish, a belief immediately confirmed when Legolas meets Faramir's maternal uncle:

At length they came to the Prince Imrahil, and Legolas looked at him and bowed low; for he saw that here indeed was one who had elven-blood in his veins. "Hail, lord!" he [Legolas] said. "It is long since the people of Nimrodel left the woodlands of Lórien, and yet still one may see that not all sailed from Amroth’s haven west over water."

In addition to that, Faramir's men believe he's under some specific personal blessing or charm as well as the Númenórean/Elvish/Maia throwback qualities. It's also mentioned by different groups of soldiers that Faramir can exercise some power of command over animals as well as people. Beregond describes Faramir getting his horse to run towards five Nazgûl in real time:

"They will make the Gate. No! the horses are running mad. Look! the men are thrown; they are running on foot. No, one is still up, but he rides back to the others. That will be the Captain [Faramir]: he can master both beasts and men."

Then, during the later retreat of Faramir's men across the Pelennor:

At last, less than a mile from the City, a more ordered mass of men came into view, marching not running, still holding together. The watchers held their breath. "Faramir must be there," they said. "He can govern man and beast."

Tolkien said of the ancient Númenóreans:

But nearly all women could ride horses, treating them honourably, and housing them more nobly than any other of their domestic animals. The stables of a great man were often as large and as fair to look upon as his own house. Both men and women rode horses for pleasure … and in ceremony of state both men and women of rank, even queens, would ride, on horseback amid their escorts or retinues … The Númenóreans trained their horses to hear and understand calls (by voice or whistling) from great distances; and also, where there was great love between men or women and their favorite steeds, they could (or so it is said in ancient tales) summon them at need by their thought alone. So it was also with their dogs.

Likely the same Númenórean abilities were used for evil by Queen Berúthiel against her cats. In an interview with Daphne Castell, Tolkien said:

She [Berúthiel] was one of these people who loathe cats, but cats will jump on them and follow them about—you know how sometimes they pursue people who hate them? I have a friend like that. I’m afraid she took to torturing them for amusement, but she kept some and used them—trained them to go on evil errands by night, to spy on her enemies or terrify them.

The more formal version of the Berúthiel lore recurs in Unfinished Tales:

She had nine black cats and one white, her slaves, with whom she conversed, or read their memories, setting them to discover all the dark secrets of Gondor, so that she knew those things "that men wish most to keep hidden," setting the white cat to spy upon the black, and tormenting them.

Faramir, by contrast, has a strong aversion to harming/killing animals for any reason other than genuine need, but apparently quite similar basic abilities. He typically uses these abilities to try to compassionately understand other people or gather necessary information, rather than for domination or provoking fear. Even so, Faramir does seem to use his mental powers pretty much all the time with no attempt to conceal what he's doing—he says some pretty outlandish things to Frodo and Sam as if they're very ordinary, but it doesn't seem that most people he knows can do all these things. This stuff is ordinary to him because it flows out of his fundamental being, not because it's common.

It's not clear how much fine control he has, interestingly. This is more headcanon perhaps, but I don't feel like it's completely under his control, even while it's much more controlled than things like Faramir's vision of Boromir's funeral boat, his frequent, repeated dreams of Númenor's destruction, the Ring riddle dream he received multiple times, or even his suspiciously specific "guess" of what passed between Galadriel and Boromir in Lothlórien. Yet his more everyday mental powers do seem to involve some measure of deliberate effort in a lot of the instances we see, given the differing degrees of difficulty and strain we see with the powers he and Denethor exhibit more frequently and consistently.

This is is also interesting wrt Éowyn, because Tolkien describes Faramir's perception of her as "clear sight" (which I suspect is just Tolkien's preferred parlance for "clairvoyance"). Faramir perceives a lot more of what's going on with Éowyn than I think he had materially observable evidence for—but does not see everything that's going on with her by any means. He seems to understand basically everything about her feelings for Aragorn, more than Éowyn herself does, but does not know if she loves him [Faramir].

I'm guessing that it's more difficult to "see" this way when it's directly personal (one of the tragedies of his and Denethor's relationship is that their shared mental powers do not enable either to realize how much they love each other). But it also doesn't seem like he's trying to overcome Éowyn's mental resistance the way he was with Gollum, and possibly Frodo and Sam—he does handle it a bit differently when it's not a matter of critical military urgency. With Éowyn, he sees what his abilities make clear to him, is interested enough to seek out Merry (and also perceive more than Merry says, because Faramir has never been a normal person one day in his life) but doesn't seem to really push either of them.

So I tend to imagine that with someone like Faramir, Denethor, Aragorn etc, we're usually seeing a relatively passive, natural form of low-grade telepathy that simply derives from their fundamental nature and personalities (as we see in Faramir with Éowyn, possibly Faramir with Aragorn). That can be kicked up to more powerful, forceful telepathy via active exertion of the will (as described by Gandalf wrt Denethor's ability to "bend[] his will thither" to see what passes in others' minds, and seen with Faramir vs Gollum, Aragorn vs the Mouth of Sauron, more subtly Faramir vs Denethor). At a high point of strain this can be done very aggressively or defensively (Denethor vs Gandalf, Denethor vs Saruman, Denethor vs Sauron seriously is there a Maia that man won't fight, Faramir vs the Black Breath given his completely unique symptoms that Aragorn attributes to his "staunch will", possibly Aragorn vs the Black Breath in a healing capacity...).

Anyway, I hope these massive walls of text are helpful or interesting! Thanks for the ask :)

[imogenkol]

KINCADE PACK 🐺 (original works) — “The name goes back centuries, and all Miranda cares about is making sure it lasts for many more”

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[group-dynamic]

Rings of Power Spoilers for Season 2 Episode 8. (Also, predictions based on book knowledge. Beware!)

So very much to talk about in this finale which I loved, but three takeaways for now:

What a testament to Charlie Vickers' performance all season that Sauron's tears after Celebrimbor's death feel so utterly layered and genuine and entirely grotesque. The immediate image that was conjured for me was a cat that's just killed the mouse they were playing with. That look you see in a cat when they touch the dead mouse with their paw a few times despondently because they're now genuinely upset and sore and sorry for themself because the mouse won't "play" with them anymore. The self deception of those tears, unwitnessed, and thus genuine, but also entirely unearned due to him being the sole arbiter of that death. Horrifying! (And Charlie revealed in his recent interview with Nerd of the Rings that he's fully aware that early draft Sauron was essentially a cat so we keep winning on this metaphor, haha)

2. The absolutely beautiful little moment we got with Theo and Isildur made me even more certain that Theo will grow up to be the king who betrays his oath and doesn't show up to fight against Sauron in the last alliance, leading to him being cursed by Isildur. And it's absolutely going to shatter my heart. Theo, the son of a healer and thus, as Aragorn will one day express, perfectly aligned with the role of a king. Theo whose father is unknown in a country looking for the king they were promised. Theo who is theoretically (no pun intended lol) not blessed with long life like the Numenoreans--which means Isildur would see him grow up and pass him in visual age and grow into his role. The deeply personal nature of a curse between old friends. I will not survive it if that is Theo's destiny. These are my sons.

3. I truly loved how well everything wove beautifully into the thematic threads of this story. I was deeply moved all episode. Except. . . okay, was anyone else really baffled by the imagery in the last moments? It was so clear that Galadriel's arc and the story as a whole was coming to a close on this idea of choosing to act as a shield (protect, defend, don't use your children as warriors to seek revenge, choose togetherness and healing, not singular acts, don't make war heedlessly, gather strength together). I mean, Galadriel has been fighting over giving up her sword (dagger) and all it represents for ages, and in that last moment in future Rivendell of all places, a place of healing and rest, with a battered collection of wounded veterans and refugees and non-combatants and children, Gil Galad raises his sword??? and the gathered elves also raise any weapons they have??? And they're making battle cries??? I . . . was . . . confused, lol. Was I interpreting this incorrectly? I mean, of course the free peoples of Middle Earth should fight back against a powerful enemy, no matter how small they are or how impossible the odds seem (i.e. Durin v. Balrog), but. . . . I felt like that was a little out of sync with every other piece of imagery and message that the elves were working through this season. . . This was their moment to realize the rings were not a weapon in their hands but a shield and instead it bordered on disturbing for me. . . that's how jarring that last shot felt. . It didn't ruin the episode for me or anything, but I was . . . ????

(I think Galadriel being a visual light for the elves works. I think Gil Galad and the gang drawing swords together to make a promise to defend the vulnerable would have worked, but this felt like a real mix of metaphors here. Maybe there was some debate on set about which way to go and they compromised on a mix of imagery. )

[devilatelier]

ok so... onigumo.

i differentiate him from naraku because i believe they're different beings coexisting in one patchwork body. at least that's how i headcanon it. but.

i kinda... wanted to humanize him a bit more. i do think he was still a diabolical criminal, and overall horrible person. but i like the idea that he actually did love kikyo, if only because she was the only closest thing to kindness he ever experienced. she saved his life, and he absolutely idolized her and put her on a pedestal. so much so that he was willing to trade his soul to be with her.

[wynandcore]

The team Dark family dynamic got to me okay

[vampiresuns]

having a tav that's a Lloth-sworn life domain cleric of a noble background who before getting yeeted into the nautiloid was a sacrificial priestess (gn) during one of the cycles of Drow society and had their own altar and temple under their care, means Solune would have the most insane however many minutes they spent interacting with Minthara and I am obsessed about it. As far as I'm conceptualising it, I'm thinking of Lloth as extremely Ungoliant-like. Goddess of hunger, goddess of wanting and consumption, goddess of excess and exuberance, goddess who unmasked the hypocritical gods of starvation, guilt and purity into a society that cherishes a certain kind of clarity about the double standard they impose. For Drow are evil for their wars and their wanting and their taking, but those other people with their other gods kill, warmonger and enslave with no regard and no self-awareness, calling the indignation about receiving scraps from a bunch of silent, unrepentant gods, "guilt and shame". There is violence in denial and her Children will not suffer it.

In the season of Life, they do not sacrifice the unwilling. It is taboo. The only sacrifice that matters is the desire to be devoured and destroyed by the things you love the most.

And Solune sees Minthara and is like fucking finally, someone rational enough to get what I'm going through, that they're losing their mind that their life was taken from them and if they become this other thing, if they transform, if they do not remain Luxe Solune Mizzmyrra, Life Knife of Lloth, they're never going to be able to be reintegrated into that life. They will die away from home, from their temple, from their (first) spouse, from their mother and their siblings and there won't be the day when they too succumb to the knife, when it is time, when the day they no longer feel hunger comes.

And then the parasite gives them an in into Minthara thinking she was raised from the darkness into a FALSE GOD? One thing you do not do is steal from Lady Lloth, and oh my god, there could've been a time, a chance that existed only in ignorance, of Solune lending a hand to Minthara but this to them is unforgivable because Solune is genuinely a good friend to their friends, but if you keep peeking into whatever mindset nobility and religious authority has given them it's like realising your friend is a cesspool of "what the actual and everliving fuck", and when the knife of the morningstar priestess comes down on Minthara it won't be with love but with absolute rage, grief and disgust and I will be thinking about this for evermore. Thanks, I'm not well

[pocket-gems]

perhaps a weird idea but what about shells as a group. the wildly different shapes could make for some wide array of creative freedom.

Shells could be categorized depending on the animal they come from and bivalves alone have +15.000 species.

Shells in jewelry are a thing, per example Mother of Pearl, Abalone... Shells have no real way or having a subgroup and as I don't really wanna draw +5.000 of shapes just for a specific ask. If you want a jewel shell, sure! But I got a limit 😭

[errantgoat]

IT'S DONE. I'M DONE.

535 hours across 5 complete playthroughs, dear BG3 you are going on the shelf until I can look at you again. xDD

the last run was super fun, the tactician difficulty definitely made me more involved/finally got me using scrolls and various potions and elixirs instead of hoarding them till (and past) the very end

i even managed to accomplish the most difficult thing in the whole game and saved all the gondians (if you know, you know)

maybe I'll attempt an honor run one day, but this is not the day

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

I just really like how this looks because they're looking at each other.

That is, in fact, why I always select them for this event in this exact order.

I may also really like the way Claude's hand is out in his artwork for this alt, so in this pic it looks like he's holding his hand out to Dimi (which is how AM should've gone in the first place cough AHEM).

[kirbyddd]

i forgot ocarina of time is just. so. gooood

like i sat down feeling miserable thinking id just try a bit of the deku tree, ended up playing like an hour and a half all the way through meeting zelda, the longest ive been able to play anything in weeks

it's gotta remind you every time why it defined a generation

[gender-euphowrya]

there was this report on tv about how most of the things surrounding us these days both in our homes & outside are white grey or black and it actually sucks because bright colors help keep us in a good mood and they interviewed people on the street about like what color their clothes or their cars are and nearly Everyone's response was "oh just standard white/black i don't want to stand out haha" and it was fucking heartbreaking if i'm being honest

[olixxxxx]

summer depression and overthinking has started.

[brotherslayer]

I wonder if Goewin had decided to pull a Morgause on Lleu and usurp him who Medraut would side with

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Villain!Ghost x Pregnant!Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Your husband wants your company..

A/n: GUYS OMG, I know it's been 1 month and a little more since my last official work. I've been procrastinating on this for so long since I only have less than a week till school again.. Also everyone I love on this app is just disappearing, like @ghost-cyphera just deleted her account 4 days ago and I got the notif but didn't see it in time, I didn't even get to say goodbye. Just wanted to apologize to you guys after being gone for so long as well. Also, another villain!Ghost drabble? 👀

Finding it difficult to walk was one of the least things you've suspected you'd be concerned of upon conceiving, always needing your handmaiden's help in such a mundane task was shameful to say the least but your husband insisted.

If it hadn't been the hand maiden then it would've been him instead, you couldn't keep him from his duties from the kingdom as he carried even yours. Wanting you to turn your attention to the health of the babe growing in you and especially yourself..

"My lady.." you were pulled out of your thoughts by the voice of your handmaiden. You took in a breath from the cool air that blew on your face as you stood by the stone railing..

"Yes, Leticia?" You turned to her..

"The prince consort has requested your company.." Leticia announced, you nod as you removed your hand from the cold stone. You glanced once more to the people of your kingdom, going about their day and life before gently lifting yourself off from leaning on the stone.

Leticia offered you her arm to help you walk more efficiently..

...

"You sent for me..?" You asked your husband, he was sat and signing another set of documents and scrolls. You closed the door, palms gently pushing till you heard it click.

"No, I told them to announce my arrival to you. How dare they exert my wife by giving her false instructions.." he huffed to which you laughed. He wouldn't do anything violent about it, as he so usually does with staff that don't comply but he knew it'd upset you if anything gory were to happen to them.

"I am quite alright, I need to move around too. It's proven to be good for our child." You said, sitting next to the graciously comfortable chair next to his working desk that he had someone make for you.

You felt relief from the pressure previously on your back, hand on the bump of your stomach and with that a sigh came from your lips. Peacefully watching your husband, the sound of the satisfying scratching of the quill on the crisp papers.

You felt his hand grasp yours, he pulled it, lips resting on the back. His affection made your heart beat faster and he felt it, the pad of his index finger on your wrist. The thumping made him chuckle as you smiled and leaned your head on his shoulder.

"You should rest for a while, my love. You'd work yourself to sickness at this point." You kiss his cheek softly. He put his quill down, "If that's my wife wants.." he said.

He wrapped his arm around you, the other hand placed on your baby bump. His thumb gently rubbing, you jolted a bit feeling a strong kick..

It made you groan, how restless the rascal is. Your husband adjusted his hand to feel the next kick.. he'd swear it was a girl, not that he'd care for that sort of thing. He'd kill for them either way, especially for you. He could stare at you all day, swollen with his child.

How glowing you looked wrapped in the finest silk and the gold and jewels in your hair and body clicking upon contact with another piece, he wished he could tell you how utterly speechless you'd leave each man by just walking passed them but to him no word is enough to describe you.

At least he could spend these small intimate moments with just you and you alone, free of the world for even just a few minutes as he needed a break from the work he very much was eager to do to be able to receive praise from his wife..

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo @duck-a-doodle

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Perfect Size

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is described as short, name-calling, swearing, Daemon being a horny menace, soft!dom! Daemon, talk of impregnation, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, smut

Summary: It was Daemon’s life mission to remind you of your size difference, in every aspect of your shared lives.

A/N: This is part of the wonderful @targaryen-dynasty 3K celebration, congrats by the way!!!! I had so much fun with this prompt. Enjoy everyone and enjoy the other wonderful and talented writers' fics. 3K Celebration Masterlist

My masterlist

The gods make humans in their image. They make them grow until they see them as perfect. Or so your Septa used to say whenever you were frustrated about your small stature. And it was no help that the greatest rake of the realm, Lord Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince himself, made it his life’s mission to remind you of how small you were.

As children, you had been a bit taller than him. He had a problem with it. The need to be bigger than a stupid girl was great. His growth spurt came and he nearly towered over you, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. “How is the weather down there?” He would often tease. “Just fine.” You would retort back. “I hope your small brain will get enough air up there. A shame if you lost more of it.” Was your sarcastic comeback.

The older the two of you got, the taller he would get and you would only grow a few inches if you even grew at all. First, he was slightly lanky. His muscles had yet to grow. He would remind you of a newborn horse whenever he would stumble over his two long feet as he trained with his sword. Often giggling to his dismay.

“I will cut your head off, and then you will be smaller!” He would shout in anger when he saw you snickering. Daemon’s temper seemed to grow with every inch he gained. You enjoyed it immensely when it would rise because of you.

As young adults, it was fairly certain that you would grow no more. If you stood behind one of the large dinner chairs you could easily hide behind them. Everything seemed to dwarf you.

Daemon prided himself in the knowledge that he was taller than you. Towering over you like the Hightower in Oldtown. And he never passed down the opportunity to remind you. “Shouldn’t you be with your nurse, little one? I think you got the wrong room. The nursery is that way.” Or other things.

You would glare at him. Often kicked his shin when no one was watching. He would yowl in pain. Jump around and hold his leg. “You little pest.” “Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds.” You teased back.

But there were the times he would call you more affectionate words associated with your small stature.

“Why the sour face, my little love?” He mumbled into your ear as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been hiding from his grandmother and her attempts to put boring and plain noblewoman under his nose.

A huff of annoyance escaped your throat. “Mother forced me to wear this ridiculous gown.” You seethed. Your teeth bared like a wolf snarling.

Daemon found your discomfort rather amusing. You looked like a pretty doll all dressed up. Your hair braided into the style of the land you came from. The gown so unmistakably the colours of your house, shining in the light of the candles.

"Oh, no - you're a lady and you have to wear pretty dresses and jewels and oh no, how horrible!" He teased you lightly. He leaned his head on top of yours. A habit he adopted quite recently. Loving the way you fit under him.

You snorted, very un-ladylike. But he was used to your characteristics. You were not one of those up-tied, boring wenches who tried to turn his head. He would rather gauge his eyes out before he gave them a second of his attention.

His attention was only worthy of one woman. And she was right literally under his nose.

He leaned down, just next to your ear. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive shell. “Do you think it would fit?” You could feel the smirk in his voice. You turned to him with a confused look on your pretty face.  It stayed that way until you felt something. You felt it, him. Hard as a rock, pocking you through the fabric of your wedding gown.

Your face grew hotter than the flames of Caraxes. Your body stiffened as you felt him softly rub against your buttocks. He only laughed lowly. His chest vibrates, sending chills up and down your spine. “You scoundrel!” You lowly scoffed. Your heart beating faster.

Not from his antics. Oh no, you were used to them by now. About the whole banquet finding out about Daemon’s little innuendo. “Oh, little love. I am your scoundrel now. It was ordered by the Queen herself.” He chuckled darkly.

She hit his shoulder lightly. “Stop it!” You tried to reprimand him. But your words fell on deaf ears. “Oh, my little love. How funny you will look with my seed growing inside you.” He began to whisper his lewd words. “You probably won’t be able to walk, so large your belly will grow.”

Your body grew hotter and hotter. It didn’t help that he had you pressed to his chest. His erection pressed against the cheeks of your perfect ass. His hands wander lazily over the front of your dress. Stopping over your belly before wandering further down.

“Oh my little love, will it even fit in your little tight hole? Or will I have to mould your little cunny so only my cock can fit inside?” Your breathing hitched at his dark, lustful words. Daemon’s predatory smile grew at your body's reaction to his scandalous words whispered so softly into your ear.

He often wondered if he was unfair to his wife. She was small, her body had nearly strained from the weight of the beautiful two children she had already given him.

He was right at their wedding feast. Her swollen stomach looked too large for her body. It hadn’t been long before the first signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

From the small bump only three moons after they conceived. He still can remember how his hands could cover it until she was seven moons pregnant. She had been ordered to rest. To not exhaust herself too much.

Daemon, looking at the image of her laying in their bed, their little one nestled in her belly. The sight did things to him. Things where his darkest desires seemed light in comparison. Oh, how he had spent his days behind her, driving himself into her tight cunt instead of sitting in a boring small council meeting. His wife and unborn child needed him, and he needed them.

“Another one?” You looked at him from where you stood. Children’s toys in your arms as you helped your daughters clean the room for the day.

Daemon just shrugged. “Why not? Add another one to our hoard. What about you girls? Do you want another sibling?” He crouched down so he was level with Alyssa and Visenya. Both girls looked away from their task to clean up the solar, screeching with joy as their father spoke to them.

“They are tots, Daemon.” You protested. Picking up more of the girls’ toys. “They will agree to anything if you say it with enough enthusiasm.” Daemon chuckled. “Oh, I think they know what I am saying, elillus (honey).” He smirks softly. His eyes roamed her body without shame.

“It has been so long.” “It has only been a few hours. You had me in the morrow.” You snapped back. Cleaning your daughters’ toys from the floor. Putting it into the chest designated for their toys. “I did not mean our coupling, prūmȳs ñuhus (my heart). I meant another child. The girls are six and four.” He mumbled gently.

She looked up at him sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet where the girls were playing moments ago. His violet eyes were dark as he watched her like the hunter his prey. “I don’t know, valzȳrys (husband). You heard the maester's words after Visenya’s birth.”

Daemon saw the change in demeanour. He nearly had you, only a small push. “It is your choice, ābrāzȳrys (wife). I do not want to force you.” He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you with cleaning the toys up.

You were tossing and turning in bed. Nothing seemed right. Thoughts swirled through your head. So many voices at once.

You wanted to scream. But you would only wake up your family.

“Tell me what is keeping you from sleep, ābrāzȳrys (wife)” Daemon's gravel voice rang through the room. He sounded tired. His back turned to you.

“It’s nothing.” You whispered. “Bullshit!” Daemon groaned. Turning to face you. “It feels like I am sleeping next to a bloody sack of kittens. What is it.” He tiredly glared at her. Knowing full well what was going on.

“You’ve gotten into my head, you menace!” You growled out. Pouting at him. His usual smirk grew on his lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “Apologies for that, ābrāzȳrys (wife).“ „You are not sorry, Daemon.” His grin widened more. “You know me so well.”

A huff escaped your lips. “Why must you torment me so?” Daemon sat up on his forearm, looking down at you. Your hair was splayed out in a messy halo. A bright smile adorned his face as he saw the light, tired glare and the pout on your lips.

“Oh, little love, I vowed to be the bane of your existence since we played with the small dragon figurines our daughters’ play with now. And ever since it was announced you would be my dear lady wife I swore to torture you even more.” He softly nipped at your collarbone, his large hands coming to rest on your rips, just under your breasts.

“Let me help you with your decision-making. Let me enter your little cunny and stay there when I cum. Let my seed fill your womb once more.” His imposing frame loomed over you. Covering you like a blanket.

“What if the maester is right?” “The maesters are cunts who want to see me unhappy and you in doubt. They told you after Alyssa you could not carry another child. Two years later they said the same after Visenya.” He kissed your shoulder gently before his expressive violet eyes stared at you. “What is your body telling you?”

You bit your lip gently, A small rumble going through Daemon’s chest at your gesture. But he restrained himself. “I want another one.” You whispered gently.

A smile broke greater than before out on his lips, his dimples showing. “I will not let anything happen to you. The moment your body is resisting, I will get you moon tea or whatever is necessary.” You nodded gently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Now before we can even discuss the pregnancy, we must make it happen.”

He lifted himself so his arms were on either side of your head. “Oh my sweet, I longed to fill up your little cunny. Seeing it overflow with my seed. Stuffing it back in.” He laughed gently as you shuddered.

With haste born of his pent-up desire, he ripped all of your clothes off your and his body. You gasped softly, scolding him for literally ripping your nightgown. “I never liked it anyway.” He mumbled against the skin between your breasts. Slowly moving down to your stomach.

He worshipped your body, caressing your thighs and hips. Squeezing the flesh around them, even gently nibbling on it.

He kissed each and every lightning-bold-like scar. Mumbling with every kiss a small thanks. These were the marks of his children. Evidence of your brave sacrifice.

He went further down. His lips ghosted over the soft locks, his eyes watching you heave out breaths of anticipation.

A loud scream ripped from your throat when you felt his tongue plunge deeply into your wet core. The eagerness of his lapping overwhelmed your senses. His nose ever so lightly brushed against your pearl. Teasing it to shoot lightning throughout your body.

You came undone. His tongue, nose and two of his digits working in tandem to torture you. And it worked. Your back arched off the bed. Loud cries of his name and pleas for him to stop accompanied your downward spiral into the abyss of your pleasure.

He stared down at you hungrily. His vibrant eyes were dark with lust. He looked every bit the dragon he ought to be. “Little rabbit.” He growled out. “Sweet, little rabbit. Trapped beneath the large dragon.”

He leaned down again. Like Caraxes would decent upon his pray, Daemon came down upon you. Devouring you once more.

He held your thighs wide open as he ploughed into you. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin rang through the room. His large hand wrapped around your delicate neck, softly pressing against it. Your breathing coming out in small pants.

“You should see yourself, little darling. My large hand is like a necklace on your throat. I can nearly wrap it around.” He chuckled darkly.

His words elicited shivers to run up and down your spine. This action causes your body to tense slightly. Daemon roared as he felt you squeeze his cock. “Seven fucking hells, woman! Do you want to kill me?!” He panted out. Driving his cock deeper inside you. The stretch is a familiar pain. But not too unpleasant. He had prepared you for him. And he would hate for you not to enjoy your coupling.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It was so different from the way his hips moved. So slow and loving. “I am not hurting you, am I, my little darling?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Nothing I am not used to from you.” He grinned, nipping at your lower lip, “That’s my good girl.” He whispered.

He picked up his pace. His hands on your thighs clawing into your skin. His knuckles are white. He groaned and grunted, looking down at you with an intense stare. Your own moans and cries mingle with his. Creating a symphony of pleasure.

He came with a roar of your name, his face buried into your neck. Panting heavily next to your ear. Your own climax is triggered by the feeling of being filled with his potent seed. Both your eyes closed in bliss.

He stayed inside you even as his member softened inside you. The grip on your thigh remains tight. Like he needed to be grounded by you.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, softly caressing his head. He hummed gently, letting you know he loved what you were doing. “Do not dare to stop.” He mumbled gently into your neck. You continued with your caress. Softly petting him like he was a dog.

He fell asleep like this. His spent cock inside you, keeping his precious seed inside you. His body acted like a blanket. Your hand in his hair.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

what if reader is a cat burglar and breaks into pitfighter vi’s apartment one night and vi catches her and at first she thinks it’s kinda funny and says “are you dumb? there’s nothing in here worth stealing.” but then she sees how cute and scared reader is and decides to punish her for her actions

CONTENT: Vi x fem! reader, spanking (r! receiving), fingering & oral sex (r! receiving), spit play, hair-pulling, impact play, overstimulation, rough sex, degradation & some praise, dom / sub roles (dom vi, submissive reader), punishment, aftercare in the end

WORD COUNT: 3.1K

A/N: Thank you for the request I loved this one! Also if it's unclear because I only hinted to it, Vi comes back early because she forgot her bandages!! Enjoy<3

Your hands leisurely sift through the jewelry box, fingers brushing against a few rings and necklaces. Then, you feel it. Jackpot. A beautiful emerald, a real emerald necklace. You recall your friend telling you about how Pilties loved their jewels; frisking the accessory out of the box, you didn't expect to find such quality from an undercity home. Once again, another good snag. You smiled to yourself in pride though you were alone and slipped out the window you came out of, onto the night to bring your find to an.. 'old friend.'

The door jingled so comically and shut behind you. There, standing behind a tall desk and in front of shelves of treasures was Harlan: the pawn man of Zaun. He was intimidatingly tall and a snake if you ever did see one, but he was convenient, his building open at all hours of the night. Though most came to sell their own items, he didn't particularly need to know that yours were not technically.. well, yours. All he needed was something to sell up to the top-siders.

"Well, well, well. You've got something new for me today?" Voice so nasal, you'd think he was always in bouts of allergies, but no. Just a natural snake. "Show me what you've got for me, dear."

Your grin was as wide as the Cheshire cat's, "you'll never believe the haul, Harlan."

With raised brows, he bit. "How much?"

"One." Your hands found purchase at the front of his desk, amusingly starting up at his now impatient expression.

"You've come to me with only one item?" He sighed. "Fine, show me. What's so great about your find?"

Your toothy smile only widened, having lured him in for the catch. Then, your nimble hand fished through your pocket, pulling out the fish in question, the emerald shining as if to say, "I cost more than your Zaun home is worth by twice-over."

You had him hooked, and you were happily able to return back to your home with a bag of coins and a few heaps of gold stuffed into your pockets. Once your feet returned back to your humble apartment, you were quick to collapse onto your stiff mattress.

Your life mainly consisted of the routine of thievery. At night, you dressed to cover yourself and bade off to homes to snatch their possessions. From watches to even just coin itself, you were particularly good at going undetected. This was all you knew, and you didn't feel an ounce of empathy. What was fair was fair game, and what wasn't fair were the cards you were dealt with early into your childhood; why should anyone be offered what is simply 'fair', if you are not? You had rent to pay, your own mouth to feed, and everyone in Zaun in fact knew that money did equate to happiness. Everyone in Piltover may have been able to snuff those thoughts down as they mindlessly bought their way through life, leading more extravagance in a nanosecond than any person who'd lived in the undercity could see in a century-length lifetime.

Tomorrow, you thought, would be an even better haul. You usually did not plan through missions, for you were witty and able to go undetected. However, you knew what apartment to pick from tonight. You knew who to pick from, more precisely stated.

Her shoulders were broad, her hair dark. A glint of metal from her piercing flickered through visions, and her betters were smug. Vi was the name all undercity could ever think to talk about anymore. Vi was well-known for her abilities in the ring, and you knew she had a lot of money in her pockets from that. Little did you know that all of the cash went straight to brothels and beer, not to anything you could pick-pocket, though you did love a good quality drink or two.

You planned the perfect burglary: leave before Vi's first fight of the night starts so that she won't be in her apartment for a while, giving you enough time to find yourself her most valuable possessions. Every fight probably lasted under 15 minutes, but that did not include the time she spent at the bar with Loris or preparing for fights, so that added quite some extra time onto however many fights she'd be taking on that night. When you were satisfied with the haul, you would be careful not to leave a trace of yourself anywhere or make any noise that may pin you to the crime; you heard rumors that Vi was sweet on enforcers, and you wondered if that meant that she could possibly make it easier for you to be pinned to all of the robberies in the under-city if she were to ask for it. A trial like that? You'd be easily looking at decades.

You knew that without a doubt, this could go terribly wrong. Not only was Vi disgustingly connected to enforcers, but she was extremely strong. If you were to be caught, your life could be on the line. You weren't weak, but you were in no means fit to take on any pitfights, let alone Vi. However, you were quite foolish and the money from the emerald necklace would only get you so far. Plus, what's wrong with stealing from some enforcer suck-up?

So, you carried out your grand plan. At 8 p.m, the first fight began. Vi had not locked her front door, which surprised you but you were ironically grateful. Made it a lot easier than slipping through a window. Now, here you were, in Vi's apartment.

Taking it all in left you dumbfounded, to say the last. There was almost nothing in sight worth stealing. The room was tinier than you could even imagine; hell, it was smaller than your apartment and that was saying a lot. How in the world does a successful woman like Vi live in a place the size of a college dorm? The bed was hardly a mattress, and all of the valuable items you expected to see within the room were somewhat empty bottles of alcohol, dirty clothes all over the floor, and a few empty plates. Really the only thing worth stealing was the punching bag, but that would be difficult to carry, and you couldn't fit it in any bag you had on you. You momentarily noticed Vi's bandages on the mattress (if you could call it that), which was peculiar knowing that she was known for always fighting with those wrapped around her hands, but you were starting to panic over the fact that you plan was for naught. In a bit of a frenzy, you began sifting through her wooden nightstand's drawers for anything of importance. A flask, a small amount of coins, and a palette of black eye-shadow was all. And then, before you could get a chance to even take those items, you were caught.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" The door slammed. You whipped back around to see her standing a few feet away, looking cautious but not exactly furious.

"I-I..I was just..." Your words seemed to fail you. Everything you could think of, any possible explanation, it all vanished. You thought of coming clean, but she quickly caught you off guard with a burst of laughter.

"Oh my god, are you that thief everyone's been complaining about?! It's you?" She didn't sound even irritated anymore, just purely entertained. You stood, defensiveness creeping into you.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" You shouted, fingers clenching into fists. Okay, so you did not appear to be thief material, to say the least. You didn't look like some big-time robber, only like a 20 year old girl. Still, you almost wished she would've just turned you in. This was humiliating.

"It's just that... you're visiting me of all people? Are you that stupid? There's not a single thing in here even worth taking. You could probably find a mouse who lives in the wall and sell it for more than this place is worth." She laughed once more, looking over your body in a way that made you both offended and somehow hot.

"Oh, please. Says the one who's soft on the top-siders." Your mouth was going to get you in a lot of trouble, it seemed.

Vi's laughed quickly died down, and she began walking towards you. There was nowhere to go but backwards until your back hit the wall. "You wanna say that again, thief? I could have you rot in Stillwater, you know." That threat caused you to begin to panic. You'd heard countless stories of what the guards do to their prisoners, and you didn't think you could even survive an hour in one of those cells.

"I'm sorry, please don't...please don't tell anybody. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" Vi raised a brow at that.

"Yes! I'll do anything, I'll give you all the cash on me, I'll never break into another house again, just..." You were starting to sound desperate, and Vi seeing some cute thief begging, offering her anything at all for her troubles... a wicked idea popped into her brain.

"I wanna fuck you."

"What...?"

"You heard me. I was planning on spending tonight's earnings on the brothel, but you'll work, I guess."

Her demand was met with silence. For some reason, more heat spread through your face at the thought of getting fucked by Vi than you'd care to admit. You knew that if you agreed, she probably wouldn't go easy. Then again, you didn't exactly have a choice. You were in her apartment after trying to take all of her shit. Before you could protest any further, Vi had you pinned against her wall, a hand gripping your chin to keep you from looking away. Her next words were quiet and low.

"Thieves deserve to get punished, am I right?" She let out a small hum at the way your breath hitched, "I mean, 'specially the pretty ones. So what'll it be, sweetheart?"

Your eyes widened at her words. "W-What will...what be?"

Vi laughed, a soft sound. "What'll it be? The enforcer's idea of punishment or mine?"

Your body was already betraying you, heat fluttering in your lower stomach at her words. This was the last thing you were expecting at the previous worries of getting caught, but you had to admit that Vi was hot. She had experience, too. You swallowed and tried to keep a steady voice with her.

"You."

Vi was a fucking maniac, you concluded.

She had you laid naked across her lap, your ass red with her handprint. Her hand spent what felt like hours slamming down onto your ass-cheeks, hitting both with an amount of force you knew that she contained, but didn't expect to feel. Each smack required a number. She forced you to count each and every spank, and if you hesitated for too long or lost count, she would start over. You didn't even remember how many times you were forced to restart because each blow on your rear left you a mess. All the while, she'd throw filthy words at you, somehow causing your pussy to grow wet and drip onto her mattress.

"Whores get punished when they get greedy. You'd know all about that, wouldn't you baby?"

SMACK!

"Every time I spank you, you seem to get even more soaked. A damn mess all over my bed. It's okay, baby. You'll make up for it."

SMACK!

When you were thinking about getting punished sexually, you imagined just a rough fuck. Maybe some heavy kissing and the usual lesbian stuff, not to be bent over this girl's lap and spanked like it was discipline, forced to count and basically stripped of any ounce of dignity your soul had. You had to admit that you loved it, though. The more her hand met your skin, the louder you got. It was absolutely hell, and you looked like it, too. Your hair that was once tied back was frizzy and tangled from the amount of times she'd gripped it to lift your head up. Your eyes were watery, rimmed with tears that reached your cheeks. Your bottom lip was sore and swollen from you biting down onto it to brace yourself for her punishment. Each moment was absolute torture.

And just when you thought it was over, Vi's fingers slipped inside of you, giving you no time to adjust before fucking you senseless. You cried out at the mix of pleasure and pain, trying to squirm away but Vi's hand on your hip kept you right in your place on across her lap.

"O-Oh, fuck!! Vi, please, take it easy on me-" You didn't even sound like yourself now, your voice broken from all of the crying and your words muffled from your face in the mattress. You were so fucking embarrassed, naked on top of this woman's thighs with her fingers thrusting into your pussy like she hated you. You were convinced she did.

"Why should I take it easy on you? You're just a filthy thief who's desperate enough to steal from anyone, and apparently desperate to get fucked." She berated you, voice so unlike what you'd heard before when she was lightheartedly laughing at you for breaking in.

"It's too much, please!! I can't take it.." You pleaded, crying into her pillow. It was too much, that much was true. Each hit to your g-spot wasn't like a brush but instead like a punch to it, and it felt like overstimulation before you were even able to cum yet.

Vi seemed to take mercy on you, at least that was what you assumed.

Her digits slipped out of you, but before you could sigh in relief, she had you flipped over and onto your back, laid out on top of her mattress with your legs spread in a matter of seconds. Soon, one hand returned to your pussy, three fingers pumping into you at a relentless pace as her other hand gripped your chin. Her eyes were dark with something you weren't used to seeing in anyone, and you began to realize why she was so good at fighting - she was fucking insane.

"Open that fuckin' mouth of yours. Right now." You didn't even wait to oblige, quickly parting your lips which were spilling out whines and cries for mercy. Vi spit into your mouth and used her own hand to close your jaw. "Now, swallow."

You swallowed graciously, and a flutter went through you at her taste. She hadn't even kissed you yet, and you now wanted her to. Her saliva was thick with alcohol and iron, perhaps from blood from a previous fight, but you needed more.

"V-Vi, need a kiss.." You begged breathlessly, expecting her to cave.

"You think you deserve a kiss?" You nodded eagerly, trying your best to even maintain the conversation with her fingers picking up in speed. "Yeah? You're getting a kiss after you've learned your goddamn lesson."

Before you could even whine in protest, Vi's head was between your legs, making out with your sopping cunt while three fingers curled to meet your g-spot. "You wanna complain about me fucking you like this, but you're soaking wet enough to take it and this sweet pussy's just clenching around my fingers like she never wants me to leave," she pulled away to remark before diving back in, tongue circling around your swollen bud.

"Oh, fuck!! Vi, no- You're gonna make me cum, Vi!!"

Only, Violet didn't seem to care. In fact, she wanted you to. She wanted you to so that she could do it again, and again, and again.

Vi coaxed the first orgasm out of you with the flat of her tongue and a deep plunge into your stretched-out hole. Each flick of her tongue sent you both squirming away and bucking up into her mouth. Every hit your sweet insides endured had you only gripping at her stained mattress harder. You cried, pleaded, and begged her for more. You could feel her smile against your pussy. She'd give you more, alright.

You were starting to regret your word when her mouth stayed latched to your clit and her fingertips abused your spongey, tender insides. You were practically fucked raw now, ass still red and sore, cries sounding more like a wounded animal than a real girl, and all you could even process was the sensations. You forgot what you came here for, forgot about wanting a kiss. You wanted mercy.

The second orgasm was a brutal paradise. Ecstasy flowed throughout your body in waves until once again, your pussy was feeling the raw overload of pleasure she was dealing you. You didn't remember how many more times this cycle continued, only that by the end of it, your lower half was numb and you recalled through teary vision, her chin coated in your juices and her lips parting to suck the taste off of her own fingers.

When she was finally done with you, she pulled you into her lap and held you tightly. Sure you were a little thief, but a cute one. Vi wasn't a monster. Her hands traced patterned over your back and squeezed you tightly. You sniffled, still coming down from the intensity of it all.

"Shh, you were a good girl 'f me...took it all and now you're here in my lap.." she comforted you, planting her lips onto your hair.

Then, you remembered what you really wanted to feel before you had to leave.

"Can I please get a kiss?" Your head pulled from her shoulder so that you could see her. Vi nearly melted at your eyes staring up at her, so vulnerable and in need of her care.

Of course she leaned in, pressing her lips onto yours with a gentle warmth just for you to have. She didn't rush it or invade your mouth, only spoiling you with her tender affection you craved after her harsh lesson. Her lips made soft smacking sounds against yours, causing you to softly hum against her mouth and lean in closer for more. You needed this stranger's care more than you needed anything else in that moment. When you pulled away, you placed your head onto her bandaged chest, letting her heart beat and sweet coos lull you to slumber. You ended up falling asleep in her arms, and you hoped to come back to her apartment, but rather for her than for stealing. Your body ached with the previous events, but Vi's hold on you didn't leave you throughout the night, squeezing you so softly to hear those sweet, sleepy squeaks.