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bloodlust-1 · 9 months

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༻ 3 Nights ༺ part 7

Gortash x fem Tav — mini series Explicit 18+

SMUT

Summary: Gortash invites Tav to stay 3 days at his palace for the sake of an alliance. Reluctantly, she compromises for peace and it becomes an experience they won’t forget.

Part one -> here <-

Gortash invaded Tav's mind, and the attraction between them was undeniable. Whenever she visited his castle, Tav felt a powerful pull towards him. It was like a giant wave in the ocean, one moment pushing her away and the next drawing her in. Since they last kissed, Tav's been trying her hardest not to give in to his advancements. She wanted to hold the power...or what little she had over him.

She knew that he was bad for her, but at the same time, something about him tugged at her. Out of everyone who presented themselves to him, why her? Was she even special? It was a mystery to Tav.

She recalled Gortash's eyes in her head. Tired, emotionless, maybe even sadness. As if he was waiting for something to put his existence to an end.

Despite this, Gortash kept his promise. He aided Tav in the most difficult of battles, and the moment of the Netherbrain was coming closer. The final battle would be a blood bath, everyone knew. Tav had to keep her head up no matter how difficult it'd be.

And so she went, making her way back to his palace, like many times before. Every step she took filled her with a familiar feeling, as if her heart was already longing for his touch, despite knowing the disapproval of Karlach. Death was at everyone's door and Tav needed to be honest with herself, to live these moments to the fullest, no matter what the consequences. It felt like her last opportunity to be with him, and she wanted to make the most of it.

Tav quietly walked down the garden path, her feet sinking into the damp grass. She noticed Gortash spent a great time outside alone as the days got closer to battle. As Tav got closer to him, she noticed his slumped figure, his shoulders slightly hunched over. She could sense his sadness emanating from him.

Tav cautiously approached him, taking in the sight before her. Gortash was sitting on a bench, gazing out to the horizon with a somber expression. He seemed miles away, lost in his own thoughts.

Tav stood beside him for a few moments, unsure of how to break the silence. Taking a deep breath, she softly called out, "Hey, you." Her voice was light and playful, yet still held a hint of concern.

Gortash seemed to snap out of his trance, turning to Tav with a gentle smile. He scooted over in his chair, making room for her to join him. She sank into the chair beside him. They sat in comfortable silence, their eyes fixed on the horizon. Tav felt a sense of peace wash over her, and she knew that Gortash was starting to feel the same.

"You've come again. Can't stay too far?" Gortash chuckled cockily to himself, his eyes still glued onto the horizon.

Tav peaked at him. His skin seemed discolored and his hair was messier than usual, "You look like shit." He heard the worry in her voice, causing him to immediately react with a playful scoff.

"just waiting for death."

Tav leaned back into the bench with a weary sigh, nodding in agreement, "Me and you both. It's always at the front door, hm?" She nudged Gortash's arm lightly. "You know..." Tav sat up, "I've been exploring around the lower city."

"And? Find anything worth your time?"

"Well— I did find an interesting pair, to say the least." Tav twiddled her fingers as she looked down on them. "I met your parents..."

She could feel the air around them get automatically tense. Yet, she continued to speak, "I know about them selling you to the devil. Enver, I'm so sorry that -"

Gortash snapped, cutting Tav's words off, "You know nothing of what happened." He turned his head at Tav, his lips frowned and his eyes were angered. "You're good at digging your nose into business that's not yours. Enough."

Tav shook her head sadly, aware of how delicate the topic she was raising was. "It's alright not to forgive. But to let it haunt you like this…that's a different kind of pain entirely," She tenderly rested her hand on his. Her gaze was sorrowful as she said, "I'm so sorry for what happened to you, and for bringing it up like this." She felt like she was gradually uncovering the many layers of his innermost self.

Gortash stared down at her hand in disgust. He didn't need pity from anyone, especially Tav. It hurt his ego too much. "I said that's enough, no more discussion."

Tav bit her lower lip. Embarrassment crept into her body. They both fell silent with a thick tension in the air. Gortash lifted up his hand, and firmly grabbed Tav’s cheeks, squishing her face in a stern grip. Despite the firmness of his hold, it's soft enough not to hurt her. "You're still here, you must want something."

"Why does everything have to be so transactional with you. Am I not allowed to just enjoy myself?" she pulled away from his grip with a frown. “I just wanted to see you before we kill the Netherbrain.”

Gortash coldly stared at her. Tav was so sensitive, something he could never relate to. “I see, Is there a reason why?” He lifted up an eyebrow questionably, “Do you not think we’ll win?”

Tav shrugged, “I don’t know…” she sighed and averted her gaze from his. She didn’t want him to think of her as weak, but she couldn’t help but feel a little insecure. “I just wanted to talk to you…in case— you know, things don’t go so great.”

“You must not know who you are talking to.” Gortash rolled his eyes at Tav’s words. Lose? That was never an option. “So go on, it seems like you have a lot on your mind.”

“Listen. You’re cocky, cruel, and over all you’ve done more bad than good. But when I see you, I know you can be so much more than that.” Tav scooted herself closer to him with a worried expression on her face, “You don’t deserve redemption.” She shook her head before speaking again, “But I’d like to see you try. Come, with me and the others to kill the Netherbrain…”

Gortash laughed, “You make quite the offer.” He turned his head and stared at Tav, his eyes never left hers. “If I come, and we succeed, which we will, then I want you to stay here with me.”

Gortash held Tav's hand and brought it to his lips, gently kissing her skin. Something in his eyes and smile felt off. Like he was playing a trick on her, or rather a bet he knew he'd win.

"What?" Tav pulled back her hand.

"Friendly bets, dear. If we come out of this alive, then you will join me here, and become part of my powerful court." His lips smirked, he knew exactly how to get her back again. "Deal?"

Tav giggled nonchalantly, "Let's see what happens. You need to prove me wrong first."

Gortash nodded in approval, "Not making haste decisions. I respect that."

They sat in silence once again, taking in each other’s words. Gortash noticed Tav’s small fidgeting of her hands as she played with her hair. She seemed off, not confident like usual. Maybe something was on her mind. The sun started to set and she had yet to say anything.

"You're fidgeting," Gortash spoke, looking at Tav with a curious, cold expression. "Why so antsy?"

Tav spoke uncertainly, her heart heavy with the knowledge that once she spoke, there was no turning back. She was unsure of what the future held, and the fear of not having the opportunity to speak her truth bothered her. "I feel like I should be honest."

Gortash stood still, silently listening to Tav as she stumbled over her words, "I…may…possibly…have some kind of feelings for you." She paused hesitantly between each syllable, and with every one Gortash's face twisted into a smile. Not a gentle smile, a possessive one. There was a hunger that seemed to go beyond mere affection.

He leaned back and let out a relieved sigh. He had been waiting for Tav to confess her feelings for him ever since he proposed they become a couple, and finally, everything had come together. "If it's my love you want," he said, standing up and taking hold of Tav's hand, pulling her up from her seat, "Then stay here with me. Just for tonight."

Tav's eyes fell from his. In her mind the thought of her friends came into her mind, she didn't want them to worry.

"Like a mother to children. They will be just fine." Gortash was annoyed by how Tav always brought them up. Such an inconvenience.

"right..." Tav raised her gaze to meet his, and a hesitant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She gave a slight nod in agreement.

Tav stood in the doorway to the bedroom, her heart pounding in her chest. Gortash was already in bed, propped up on his elbows, watching her. She could feel his eyes on her and it made her skin tingle. His bare chest was out and the familiar sight of his chest clouded her mind with all kinds of intrusive thoughts.

"Come, Tav," Gortash said, his voice low and commanding. "It's time to sleep."

Tav hesitated, never in a million years would she thought she'd sleep in the same bed as him. Tav was nervous and didn't know what to expect. But Gortash wasn't taking no for an answer. He reached out a hand and beckoned her over. She reluctantly took a step forward, then another, until she was standing next to the bed.

Gortash reached over and grabbed her hand, pulling her in beside him. His skin was warm and she could feel the heat radiating off of him. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

"You don't need to be guarded," A sly grin melted his lips. "Not after all we've done." With a teasing tone, he hinted at the two occasions where they made out.

Tav closed her eyes and tried to relax. Gortash's presence was intimidating, yet he seemed to try and want to be comforting, oddly. Regardless, Tav wrapped her arms around him in a tight snuggle.

Gortash and Tav laid in each other's arms in silence. Gortash had gazed down at Tav's peaceful face as she lay with her eyes closed. The flickering candlelight had cast a warm glow on her features, making her look even more beautiful. Tav sensed his gaze and blushed, "What..?" She barely spoke in a whisper.

This girl, who had ruined his coronation, tried to kill him, and still even tries to desperately be a hero, made Gortash feel a surge of emotion within him. It disgusted and awed him, "Nothing, dear."

She had reached out her hand to trace the many scars that had adorned Gortash's face, each one telling a story of battles fought and won. As she had traced the lines, Gortash had felt a posessiveness within him. He would make sure Tav was his.

"You make me feel— something." He ran his hands up from her hips, to her waist, and then her face. Gortash's cold touch grazed her warm skin as he cupped her cheek. His gaze darkened and he spoke with conviction, "It disgusts me." His eyes went dark. He meant it, surely.

Raveled between his cunning words was a confession that Tav quickly caught on to. Did he know how to confess such feelings? No. But this was his way of trying to tell her, and she appreciated it.

"I know," Tav spoke softly, her eyes locked with his dark ones. The expression on his face was possessive, but his gentle touches were tender.

Her thumb traced Gortash's bottom lip. Repeating the motion while they lay in a comfortable silence. Both observing and learning new details from the scars to beauty marks. They peered at each other and admired the features passed upon them. Tav didn't think he looked like either of his parents.

His fingertips found the back of her neck, and he gently pulled her face closer to his. The moment seemed to stand still as their eyes locked, their pupils widening with anticipation before slowly closing as they surrendered to one another's lips.

Tav's breath quivered as his lips touched hers, her heavy breathing becoming more and more noticeable with each passing second. He finally pulled away to see her blurry gaze filled with desire. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he licked them, before locking his lips back with hers.

Tav moved her leg seductively onto Gortash's side, feeling the warmth of his body as he eagerly clasped her thigh and pulled her in closer. She felt the thrill in this forbidden connection, and Gortash seemed to revel in the sensation of her skin against his. He wanted every part of Tav completely as his.

Gortash pushed his tongue into Tav's mouth, dominating her own to surrender to him. His desperate groans filled the room as his hips pressed eagerly against hers. Tav felt the hard bulge against her groin, sending prickly goosebumps up her spine. It was driving her crazy.

His fingers brushed against the button of her pants, skillfully undoing it. He felt a tinge of excitement fill his body as the fabric of her clothing slowly peeled away to reveal her bare skin. His eyes trailed every crease, crevice, and curve. He wanted to remember this moment: The beauty marks hidden on her hips, stretch marks, the color of her nipples.

Between sloppy kisses, Tav helped Gortash with his shirt, then his pants, until he was bare. His body was covered in scars, some of them deep and others barely visible beneath a thin layer of hair. He wasn't perfect, but that is what was so intriguing about him

Tav felt Gortash grab a handful of her hair and yank her head back. He took in the sight of Tav submissive and restrained. How she looked most beautiful just like this. His voice raspy, "I want to see that pretty face of yours before I ruin you." He spoke between planting small kisses against Tav's neck. It was a gentle pleasure before fading into hard bites, dragging his teeth against the nape of her neck.

"A-ahh.." Tav winced as small bruises formed on her skin. Her chest rose up and down from her heavy breathing. She could feel the growing heat between her legs grow hotter with each hot breath touching her body. Gortash pushed her back down against the mattress and forced her legs open with his waist.

For a moment their lips found each other once again before he parted away from them. His fingers toyed with her core, slowly stroking her clit. He watched her expression change into a pleasurable mess.

The wetness coated his fingers, creating a slick lubricant against her clit. Gortash circled his fingers skillfully, as dark eyes locked on the way Tav’s lips quivered each time he hit the right spot.

Tav hung her head back, small moans left her lips and her legs twitched to her sensitive core. He continued to rub her clit and was rewarded with moans that slipped off her tongue like a lyric.

“I want to feel every part of you.” Gortash spoke, almost sounding like a threat— no, a promise.

His finger slipped inside her effortlessly as Tav let out a small sigh of relief. Finally, her body allowed him inside her temple, one that he intended to ruin.

Gortash hummed in approval as her walls clenched around his finger, “Eager are we?” He whispered into her ear before pumping his finger in and out of her.

The sudden surge of pleasure melted Tav into the mattress. Her legs parted wider, inviting all of him inside her. It was a sharp tinglyness that seemed to hit the right spot. “M-More—“ Tav shamelessly moaned between him fingering her.

He smiled, and added another finger, quickening his pace as his hand tensed up from the constant jerking. He continued to fuck her with his fingers, making sure to watch the way her face scrunched up in pleasure. He specifically watched the haziness in her eyes.

A third finger slipped in, causing her back to arch with a groan, "Aughh-" Tav gripped the bed sheets in pleasurable pain. The girth of his fingers was entirely too tight for her. Yet, he continued to fuck her hard. Tav looked up at him and noticed his eyes light up to her pain.

Gortash hunched over, kissing her collarbones "Yes, hurt for me." His voice was husky. Tav placed her hands on his shoulders, scratching down his skin from the pain, trying to adjust to his fingers.

Tav's climax started to whelm up deep in her stomach, and her legs twitched in reaction. Her eyes shut tightly, the only image in her head was of Gortash. The strands of his black hair sticking to the sweat accumulated on his forehead. This image burned into her memory.

Her hands snuck up from his shoulder to his neck and then face. Tav forced his face against her own with the little strength she could muster. He grinned between the sloppy kisses from her painful moans. And finally, her walls clenched up against his fingers. A loud yelp echoed off the walls, her back arching from her climax.

Gortash released his fingers out of her. His skin was coated in the slick of her cum. He rotated his hand, admiring her wetness glistening in the candlelight on his skin. She too, admired his sweaty chest and face. Gortash was extremely attractive under heated circumstances.

His eyes darted at Tav's. He brought his fingers to her lips, "Clean up your mess." He demanded coldly.

Before she could react, his fingers were already forcing their way into her mouth. Her tongue could barely wrap around his fingers because he had already pushed them down her throat. Tav struggled under his body, gagging on his fingers.

"Shhh." He whispered softly as her eyes watered intensively. Tears trickled down her cheeks as his fingers toyed in her mouth. A chill went up her spine as they locked eyes. He was more than pleased with Tav, he truly wanted to ruin her. Make a complete mess of her.

Tav hummed and gagged against his fingers, and it lit up his eyes eagerly. He could not wait no longer. Gortash released Tav from her torture, and she let out small coughs and gasped for air.

He used the spit-covered hand to pump his cock a couple times. Tav lay there, taking in every detail of his body. The gerth of his shaft was thick, and she was mentally prepared to give herself to him. She was nervous, she hadn't had sex in months, and this was the most action she'd gotten since being infected.

His body hunched over hers, one arm held up his body against Tav, and the other placed his tip against her opening. Their eyes matched, Tav's face was messy: Hair frizzed, eyes wet, and her own spit trailed from the corners of her lips to her chin.

Gortash smirked at his creation. He pushed into her, and both sighed in unison. She was tight around him, but the warmth only invited him deeper and deeper.

He drew a sharp breath, "Fuck." He scoffed from the tightness. He knew Tav was a momentary pain, but he didn't care, he wanted her just as bad as she did.

He rammed his hips against Tav in strong long strokes. Tav Gasped, her teeth gritted as she adjusted to his cock. Every pump melted her pain away into something more pleasant. He was rough, but it was something she always craved in her sex life: to be pushed over the edge between pain and pleasure.

Gortash kept her body steady, slamming his shaft deep into her. He loved the sound of Tav's desperate little moans. The view of Tav under him spurred him, beckoning him to continue to fuck her harder with each stroke. His cock buried inside her grew hot and stiff.

Like a toy, his hand wrapped around her neck, forcing her head to the side; and exposing her already bruised neck. His eyes focused on her neck, and he dragged his tongue against the hickeys.

Tav desperately wrapped her legs around his waist, bringing his hips closer to her. She lifted her hips to match with his pumps, and the moans from them lewdly filled the room. Her juices collided with his cock, creating a slippery smacking noise between their bodies.

They fucked like this until Gortash pulled away, "Hands and knees, now." He panted between each syllable. His chest was covered in beads of sweat rolling down his stomach.

Tav shakenly positioned herself, ass first in front of him. She gripped the bed sheets in anticipation. Tav knew she had to use every bit of strength if he were to take her like this.

His palms were heavy on her lower back, "Good, just like that." He praised Tav.

His tip made its way back into her, filling her entirely. Tav mewled to his heat, and again he was fucking her with precision. Tav forced her hips back against his cock along with his own strength. Gortash's nails dug into Tav's stretch marks, blurring out cusses between their strokes.

Tav's eyes water once again, salivating from the immense pleasure. Her mind went blank while trying to hold her stance against his forceful pumps.

Gortash's hand scratched up her back, grabbing a hand full of her hair and jerking her head back, "You're- fuck. So tight like this." His voice was coarse with anger and lust. The beads of sweat dripped off his forehead and the tip of his nose onto her back. The room grew thick and filled with a musk.

Tav whimpered out, "Nghh! Ah- Enver." The sound of his name whined out in a jumbled mess. The roughness of it all that small tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

A tingle ran up Gortash's spine to the sound of his name, he felt her walls clench and unclench from his length. His body started to unwind and he fell weak over Tav's back. His teeth sucked and scraped her shoulder.

His body became stiff, his grip tightening, "Stay right there. I want to fill your little cunt." Gortash threatened seductively.

His cock twitched, blood boiling, and whines and whimpers, Gortash completely unloaded himself inside Tav. He pulled out from the stickiness, wrapping his arms around Tav's waist and falling back onto the bed.

Their chests rose and fell heavily, and their sweat-covered bodies pressed comfortably with each other. Damn, did he keep his word. Tav was covered in bruises and scratches. It was almost like he wanted to prove a point: by destroying her intimately.

Tav's lips parted, "The way you took me... So roughly." She paused before whispering, voice in awe, "Do it again."

Gortash kissed the nape of her neck," I'll have you up all night, Darling." He let go of Tav and lay on his back, "It's not surprising you enjoyed yourself, dear." He smirked to himself.

Tav turned and rested her head on his chest, "What will happen after we kill the Netherbrain?"

Gortash gave her a light squeeze, "Then I will honor us. A grand party." It would be the best opportunity to win the public over whilst containing influence.

Tav hummed in approval. Both tyrant and hero lay together peacefully in the bed, naked. They were safe here, in each other’s arms.

To Be Continued ~

Any Thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

I'm posting this without proof reading so I hope it isn't too bad.

Next Part Here

#bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #enver gortash #tav x gortash #gortash x durge #gortash smut #dark urge x gortash #gortash x tav #gortash x reader #lord gortash

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pursuitseternal · 4 months

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“A Night with the Ascendant:” truths revealed and a delicious punishment is served

Ascended Astarion x F!OC (Lumina) |E| 5K

Summary: While the Master’s away, Lumina decides to take matters into her own urchin hands. Hooded and cloaked, she finds the book she seeks on the Lower City streets… but Lord Astarion finds her, too. She is willful and reckless and disobedient, and a fitting punishment is required.

CW: Grieving AA, Half-truths, manipulation, orgasm denial, Lumina fails her charisma and stealth rolls, “borrowing her bf’s clothing” for nefarious purposes, AA having too much fun for the first time in centuries.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 4…

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

Lumina was everything he ever dreamed someone could be—beautiful, willing, submissive. It was so easy to give her that final ingredient to remake her in his image, to dominate her so thoroughly. It shouldn’t have even felt like manipulation or deception to that matter, she drank the chalice of his blood so eagerly. He remembered the deep scarlet stain on those satisfied lips, the aftertaste of his power in the richness of his blood that lingered on her tongue.

But if she was so entirely his… why did it bother him to no end? He missed that edge of control, to compel her and weave his way into her brain like the beautiful marionette she had been. Where control and order once dictated his life, now all was replaced with… whims and desire.

With her smiles and her guile and her intelligence and her willfulness.

He hadn’t counted on such willfulness. Even if it was to insist on calling him hero. Hells. Heroes didn’t live forever with unrivaled power, needing to spend eternity numbing the pain of life. Heroes laid peacefully in their graves when all was said and done.

Graves like the five cut headstones that spread before him. They had never been this quiet, not when they were alive. The silence of the graveyard grinded at his resolve, eroding that perfect veneer of power and control crafted over two glorious centuries. He was weak right now, remembering the way his eyes would hurt as they rolled back every time Gale rambled… or the edge of sassiness in Shadowheart’s voice when she was peeved… or even Karlach’s hyena call of a laugh.

Instead there was only silence, the growth of moss on their stone tombs, and the rot of time on their remains, the same uncheck grinding of time that had swept them away and left him. Alone. Unaltered and untouched.

For the first time in ages, he stood in the wash of their memories, the ghosts of their voices and laughter and criticism and ferocity. In a moment, he would steel himself over once more, return to that visage of power and dominance and untouchability. But for now, he stood in silent remembrance, his damnable beating heart feeling the sting of emotions he had worked so hard to banish. Loss… grief… affection… desire…

A flash of bright blonde hair and crimson eyes passed through his mind. A tug at their bond that she was somewhere in the city, somewhere up to mischief and no good… if she was this petulant and unruly, why did he love her…

Love.

Hells dammit. He had remade her into something new, something even he had yet to experience in his centuries of vampirism—his Bride. But what was it she was remaking him into now?

Hungry for him, she paced between her suites and his sumptuous chambers. But there was one thing for which she hungered more—knowledge. What in the hells was she?

Every few turns around the room, Lumina paused at the window of his bedchamber, its arching frame overlooking the gardens, and the Lower City beyond. Creeping ivy trellised its way up the ancient stone walls. Every one of her urchin instincts screamed to escape—to reclaim the sun and discover all she could about her new abilities, to try to uncover more about her hero, her tyrant, and her love. She needed information, research.

She needed books. Or at least one. One to unlock what strange transformation had taken place to grant her safety from the sun like him.

How many times had she touched that green leather-covered tome, The Curse of the Vampyr? If only she could run to any book seller, Upper City, Lower City, surely she would find that book or… better yet… one that detailed the tether of a Master and Spawn. Fingers itched, mind whirred. She needed to taste her freedom, to learn what he wouldn’t divulge. Perhaps he would be impressed by her ambition, perhaps he would punish her for defiance.

But he wouldn’t begrudge her that freedom in the sun, not after all that she had just read about his past. Not when it was the same sweet prize he had sought and won to become the magnificent lord he was now.

He could be gone for hours, for all day, she decided. Sharp crimson eyes darted to his wardrobes packed with clothing. Practical clothing. Pants and tunics and cloaks. Maybe just… a quick rummage. Her light, little fingers danced over the rows of his garments, hoping to find something not too ostentatious or decadent. Black velvet trousers tied snug above her hips, a black silken chemise that wouldn’t reveal too much of her breasts with that low-dipped v cut—she was ready to climb and find her quarry.

Shoes slipped off, she knew it would be an easier climb barefooted, besides it’s how she had spent most of her time on the streets anyway. One leg out the window, and Lumina held her breath, that sunlight on her skin invigorated her. It bathed her, warmed her pale skin for the first time in weeks… it made every vein beneath her alabaster skin glow blue, it heated her bones and made her feel alive again.

Free again.

Emboldened by her freedom, she gracefully scampered down the vines. It was so easy to do, so glorious. She smiled to feel her feet in the dirt of the garden and vault over the stone walls back into the bustling streets of the Lower City.

Drawing the hood of his black cloak up over her head, she slunk in the shadows, surely a sight to behold. A small little girl, dressed in a man’s rich robes, stalking around like the urchin she was at heart. Bodies brushed against her on all sides, the pulse of the City, the bustling pace and breakneck ignorance of its populace for urchins like her… it would be so easy now to steal what she wanted.

Giddy, gleeful even, Lumina let her fingers dance into some fat vendor’s pocket to take their purse. It was just so easy, instinctive. Just a bump and an apology, and sure as Balduran’s balls, she was now one purse richer. Maybe a little weapon too… she smirked, mischievous and greedy. Just another helpless victim, another bump into her side and a mumbled apology… and now Lumina’s cool fingers closed around an elegant filigree hilt. She tucked its scabbard into her makeshift belt before continuing on to the closest book cart.

Her deft eyes skimmed the titles from beneath the canopy of her hood. Gold letters glint in the sun, her sharp eyes darting over every spine.

There… she gave a sigh of relief, the title she sought gleamed at her, brighter than a prized jewel. Stepping back, she eyed the cart vendor, a plump, stinking man who looked more interested in drinking than reading. She could practically smell the stale ale on his breath and scent the alcohol that tainted his blood, even from her distance.

Shaking her head, she tried to rid herself of these hypersensitivities, drawing back a pace until she couldn’t smell him anymore. Gagging, she tucked the purse of gold in her pocket; a man like that would be much more fun to rob than to waste her newly acquired money on.

All she had to do was wait…

After a few moments, he got up, lumbering around the corner, and Lumina smiled. Her undead heart would be racing with the thrill of the hunt, that rush of risk and reward, of being victorious or being caught.

Slinking to the far side of the cart, she pulled out the small green book, her quarry. Her steady hand began to slip it under her cloak until….

“What do you think you’re doing?” that stinking, sour breath was hot in her face as the cart keeper snatched her wrist and spun her around.

“Fuck,” Lumina cursed as fear gripped her soul and raced down her spine.

Out of practice, Little Light… she swore she could hear his mocking laughter in her head. Fuck, what would the Master say, she worried as she was dragged into the street.

“You wretched, dirty rat,” the keeper yelled in her face, spittle flying in her face and he yanked back her hood. Arresting the book from her hand, he flung her against the alley wall. “No one steals from me!”

“I have no need to steal,” Lumina lied, even as she caught herself against the brick wall. “My master is Lord Astarion Ancunín, and he will not like having his things manhandled thus.” She snapped, wrenching her hand from the man’s grubby fingers

More spit flew in her face as the man laughed, big and loud and rude. “Yeah sure, some hoity Council Member let his servant run in the streets barefoot to fetch books for them….”

“I fear the lady is right,” a silken purr rumbled from behind them both. Astarion stood, perfect in posture and confident in stance. “My Mistress is prone to such wild fantasies, wandering the street unshod, fetching books on drivel from half-brined booksellers…” Astarion turned up his nose and grimaced as he too took in the foul odor of the rotund man. “Beautiful women have their indulgences, and we must allow them their indulgences. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Astarion smirked, his silver brow quirked high on his forehead as he dangled a fat coin purse at the seller.

“Of course, my Lord,” came the reply as his fat fingers snatched it midair. “Lord Ancunín, I didn’t mean to…”

A withering, crimson stare was all it took to send the fat man fleeing back into the shadows.

“Come, Lumina,” Astarion grabbed her upper arm, firm but with a sickeningly sweet smile, “it’s time we got you home.”

With one last ditch effort, she snagged the copy of her desired book from the seller’s cart, a victorious grin on her pale face as she followed her master into the City’s fray.

Her little arm threaded through his, he walked her towards the Park, his head held high as if the woman on his arm didn’t look like some barefoot vagrant. Finally, he drew them to a stop beside the fountain. His crimson eyes leveled at her, Astarion’s brows furrowed. “Was it worth it, Little Light?” he asked, cold and yet casual in tone.

Lumina fought the urge to tremble. “My little shopping spree?”

“Thieving spree, you mean…” his brow quirked as he pulled out the purloined objects of her own efforts from his own pockets.. He pulled out her purse, her book, and her new little dagger carefully with a wicked, conceited grin, watching in amusement as she patted the places on her lithe, little body from where he had stolen them. “A rogue’s dexterity is not to be outmatched, no matter how desperate or eager you are…”

“Please give those…” she wanted to say more, but his other hand flew towards her face, planting a single finger over her lips.

And Lord Astarion smiled. “Ah ah,” he chided, “explain yourself first, and your punishments may be lessened.” His voice rippled with promise, a teasing and yet desirous tone lacing into his words. “Why does my newborn mistress, a spawn of several weeks now, need to conduct some… research of her own kind?” He set the purse and dagger in his pockets, flipping the pages of the little green book. Pausing, he locked eyes with her, licking his finger first, slow and deliberate, before turning to the next one. “What are you so eager to learn that you could not dare to ask your beloved Master?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she braced her hands on her hips, head tilting up at him in a show of confidence. “I walk in the sun, I can smell things… hear things… I couldn’t before.”

“Such as?” came his nonchalant reply.

“That oaf for one, I could almost taste the effects of his tenday long bender,” Lumina tried not to wretch at the memory. “And then there was the moment where I heard your voice inside my head…”

Something in his gaze shifted, something veiled now lifted, as if he was also surprised. “Indeed,” he purred, thumbing another page of the text. “And you decided to be disobedient and break my rules to seek out this uninformed drivel?” He scoffed, “Not to mention violating a few laws for good measure?”

“If you just gave me answers, Master; if you just gave me my own coin and a dagger, I wouldn’t need to steal them.”

“Oh, pet, I can deny you nothing,” he purred, “unless you might end up harmed in the process. You’re fortunate I stumbled upon you when I did, Lumina, or else you would be rotting in some Flaming Fist cell by now….”

“Pugh,” she folded her arms, that stare growing more defiant. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Astarion couldn’t hide it anymore; his chuckle rumbling in the air between them. It was undeniable, her petulant spark, it made him grin just slightly, that youthfulness that he would have once been drawn to, instead of seeking a way to snuff it as he had done for centuries as Ascendant.

Perhaps he would indulge this spark, just a little more.

A wry look on his face, he extended the book towards her. “If you want it, it’s yours, but in exchange, you’ll be punished, my dear.”

Lumina narrowed her crimson eyes, weighing the cost. She smirked to flash her own fangs, “Alright, I’ll bite.”

Astarion rolled his eyes at her cheap humor. “Puns are beneath us, Lumina,” he scoffed, irascible in tone. “Perhaps I shall extend your punishment for such plebeian humor.”

“And just what will be my punishment?” she goaded, thumbing her way through her hard-won prize. “Once I finish my research, that is…”

“You’ll have your answers, but they aren’t found in that layman’s examination of vampiric bonds. You are a near-secret of our kind, and just as there has never been a Vampire Ascendant before me, there has never been a creation quite like you before.” His eyes darkened with lust and glimmered with impatience. “And there will never be another like you after, I promise.”

Then, his fangs glinted as he grinned wider. “But those answers will only come once I’m through with you. You wish to know your punishment?” He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I'm going to make you scream my name until your voice gives out, Little Light.”

His form seemed to ripple, and with a snap of his fingers, they both burst into mist and flew from the Park.

A strange tingle on her skin, or what would have been her skin, coursed through her. Pure magic unmade her, shifted her until all that remained was essence. Wind rushed around her, the sounds of voices and the smells of the Park rushed past her consciousness. It was as if her very being was cradled in his arms. Astarion pushed into her, threading into the very fabric of her existence—everywhere, all at once. Inside her, on her, through her… nothing more tangible than the sensation of his power taking root at her core as he raced them both up his palace walls and into the window of his own chambers.

Gasping like one near-drowned, Lumina once again stood on her own two legs, on her own bare feet, facing his crimson stare of ire.

She winced, surely, he would be brutal, beat her and punish her for her insolence. He would make her scream, he promised, the thought of it making her back sting in anticipation of a lash.

As her old master would, she thought with a pulse of fear and disgust.

Astarion’s presence before snapped her out of that pit of self-loathing. For now, he just tilted his head and gave her that lazy, mischievous smirk. Long, skilled digits grasped her hand, pulling her against him to bring her finger into his mouth. With precision, his fang sliced into its pad, his tongue sucking the blood as it seeped. “Such sticky fingers need cleaning,” she heard him say, right into her mind, his mouth preoccupied and his eyes flashing a dangerous amusement at her shocked expression.

“What in the hells…” she gasped, the thought somehow making him smile around her bleeding digit.

“Oh, darling mistress, seems you have more and more to uncover by the second,” he purred, his voice now a caress in her mind, a tender brush up her spine to tingle her ear. He pulled his finger from her lips with a pop. His true voice was almost sticky with that ripple of danger and the lingering dregs of her blood. “But first, we must see to your punishment, my Light, as delicious as it might be.”

His grip on her waist was firm, guiding her towards his bed again. His teeth glinted as he grinned, that dark mischief shining in the crimson of his eyes. “By rights, you should be cuffed in a cell for thievery. I should know, I once, long ago, gave such sentences for urchins like you.”

Lumina caught it, just a glimpse, a far off look in his eyes, a dower frown, his mind recalling pieces of him so deeply buried by time and pain. Somewhere in her own chest, she could sense that grief, that ancient, nearly-forgotten longing. Then he turned away, and the feeling vanished.

“As your Master, I shall have to take matters into my own hands, I suppose,” he commented, reaching into his drawer, the one where he kept all sorts of things for play and punishment, Lumina knew. She heard his choice before seeing it, the heavy clanking of chains filling her with excitement and dread. “A nice pair of shackles will do, nothing elegant for my little thriving urchin of a mistress.” He rounded on her, the irons in his skilled fingers. “You know what to do, darling,” he just stared at Lumina, a challenge of a smirk on his full lips, eyes darting towards the bed.

Pausing, she waited for the tendrils of his compelling to take root, sought that shadowed presence to command her body, but they never did…

“Well, darling?” he just repeated, firmer and more agitated.

Lumina drew in a breath and moved to sit at the edge of the bed, her wrists in front of her, a smile growing on her face. He shed his decadent coat, his own silken shirt following to lie in a mess on the floor. His boots followed the same fate. “Now, Lumina, you seem rather youthful, bent on willful defiance, this need to discover who I once was and who you are now. Stuff of fools and children.” A chilling smirk on his lips, his eyes still sparked with a sense of mischief, the same she had found with increasing frequency in their fucking. “Since you insist on acting like a child, let’s play a game,” he smirked. “I will ask you a question, a simple one… and if you are correct, I’ll let you find your release…”

The implication as to her failure hung in the air, his hand firmly guiding her to lay in the center of his bed. Her shackles clanked as he drew her arms overhead and bound them to his headboard. His chuckle reverberated in her bones as he leaned to press a kiss on her pressed lips. “Now, here is your question… what are you?”

“If you had let me read my book…” she started to argue, but Astarion just shoved two fingers in her insidious mouth. His gag as effective and sudden, her tongue pressing against him, fighting for breath as he pumped his fingers slightly between her lips.

“Hush,” he smirked at her, condescending and delighted. “You are allowed one answer each time,” his smirk twisted all the darker, “and you just used your first one…” His hands splayed wide on her hips, pulling her taut against her restraints. Fingers dug into her ass, lifting her to rip off his own loosely fit trousers. Her pale legs writhed, rubbing together to already seek the friction she craved. “Ah ah,” he corrected with a low growl, “I’ll be the one to dole out your delicious punishment. Now hold still and take what’s coming to you.”

With that, he lifted her hips up, his mouth ready to lick her and devour that already dripping essence. Tongue parting through her folds, he lapped through her seam, teasing her, toying as he licked and sucked everywhere between her thighs but her hard little bud and her clenching channel.

“Master…” she whined.

He lifted his head slowly, eyes blown wide and dilated as he chuckled. “For what you are, my Light, you get the privilege of screaming my name as you beg and plead.” His tongue danced along the edge of her folds, sucking and nipping the flesh of her thighs until she bucked hard against him.

“Astarion…” she whined, nervous at first, as if unsure she truly had his permission for it.

“Louder,” he crooned his order, letting his breath alone tickle her clit.

“Astarion,” she whined full-throated this time, making him chuckle.

“That’s it, darling, you’ll grow sick of my name on your lips, soon enough, but for now, let’s drive you right to the edge….”

“Fuck!” she cursed, unable to hide her urchin-tongue as his finally swiped over her clit. Relentless, he swirled around it at last, making every nerve ending between her thighs burst into flame. She could feel her wetness leaking, summoned more by every pass of his mouth over her entrance.

But never in it.

“Please,” she yanked on her restraints, “your fingers too, please…”

He merely laughed into her folds, letting his tongue swirl and vibrate against her clit until she was gasping above him.

Then he sat back up, wiping the arousal off his chin with the back of his hand.

Lumina groaned and writhed, that wave of climax once so close, vanished just as quickly. Her little noises of frustration from her pale throat made him chuckle. He rose to his knees, a sinister and delighted smirk on his face. “So close, weren’t you, my darling?” he chuckled again, fangs peeking from his parted lips. “Care for another guess in our little game?” He tilted his head, a hand running through his shoulder-length waves of hair. “What are you?”

“Your obedient, loyal, loving spawn, master,” she answered dutifully. She smiled as he crawled closer, pressing his clothed hips against hers as he lowered into her.

“Tch,” he sucked his teeth, “closer, but still shy of the mark.” He ground his hips against that sopping apex of her thighs. The thick velvet of his pants was soon soaked by her, but he just gave that low, rumbling laugh. “Another round of punishment then, my sweet.” He yanked her by the hair, pulling her head back, his lips brushing her neck where it curved just right for him. “And you forgot to use my name, dear. Not master. Not when it’s just you and me…”

That grinding between her legs made her eyes water, just enough friction to drive her wild, but still not enough. It made her ache. Made her burn. Made her stare up into his face with utter desperation in her own crimson eyes as a few tears dripped down. “Astarion,” she whimpered, more pathetic sounding than she wished.

“Well, when you sound that remorseful, what kind of Sire would I be to deny you some of what you seek…” he crooned, an edge of victory in his voice, a shine of amusement in his gaze. Deft and quick, he unbuttoned his trousers, a low chuckle as he watched her strain against her shackles to watch. She practically drooled for him, her seam leaking in equal amounts of wet to finally feel that pressure inside her.

Gods, she was beautiful, wanting him.

“You’re so perfect, Lumina,” he growled, “and you’re so totally and utterly mine…”

Her shriek pierced the quiet of his palace, a heady mix in her tone of ecstasy and relief as he filled her to the hilt in one thrust. His breath was hot against her neck, his hands skating his nails down her sides, “But remember, my Light, you don’t get to come until I say you may…” His tone was venomous and playful, a promise and a dare all wrapped in the velvet notes of his voice. A slow, grinding pace he set, taking his time to savor every flutter of her walls. It would be quick, he grinned, letting his hips slowly roll into her, he didn’t have long to push her right to the edge once more….

“Think hard… my dear… just what are you?” his question rumbled in her ear, gravel in his voice making her shudder hard beneath him. He groaned, quickening his pace, his own need for release taking root. Easy, he warned himself, his eyes locked on her face, observing every clench of her jaw in bliss, every gasp she made as she grew closer and closer…

Just as her body began to buck and clench, his cock slipped out, his hand wrapped hard around it. His fist beating his length was good, but her cry of anguish was all the more exquisite, sending that burst of pleasure from his core to race through him as he came. Cum spewed out on her belly, her hips bucking and grinding before him as she bemoaned her fate.

“Fuck…” she cursed through clenched fangs, sweat dripping down her angelic face. “Balduran’s… balls…” she tried to clench her thighs together, but his hands pried them apart so easily.

That made him laugh, breathless and a bit exhausted through his open mouth. “Having met the legend myself, I doubt he would appreciate you speaking thus of his balls. And I certainly don’t approve of you speaking of anyone else’s either, pet…” his fingers stroked through her hair gently before giving her head a corrective yank. “My balls will just have to be enough for you for eternity.”

She stared at him, a mix of frustration and longing that set his heart racing again.

“Now, let’s try this question one more time for now, before I leave you to contemplate your choices, my love.” His gaze skimmed the sight of her half-naked in his bed, his own black silk shirt stained now from his seed and her sweat. “Think hard, my cunning Little Light, what… are… you?”

Lumina chewed her lip, her gaze flickering around his room, lost in thought as she considered her response wisely. “You said I was your… mistress… not your spawn, not your concubine…”

“That’s what I said,” he purred, sliding his fingers through his cum, gathering it on his fingers before he teased it into her folds. “My question, love, is what do you think you are now?” He let the slick sounds of his fingers inside her distract that train of thought she was clearly attempting to recover. “Well?” he insisted, catching her clit with his thumb and making her gasp another curse.

She seemed to relax, a serenity in her gaze, a softness around her mouth as she tilted her head most alluringly. “Yours… I’m yours,” she whispered, toneful and beautiful in its submission.

“Mmmm, a beautiful proclamation,” he crooned but withdrew his touch and stood from the bed, regardless. Flashing her a wicked smirk, he savored the look of devastation on her pale countenance. “While I thoroughly enjoy such a confession, it’s just… not quite the response I seek.” Fastening his trousers, he shrugged his shoulders, smiling twistedly like that arrogant bastard he truly was.

“Astarion, please!” she panted, wretched and devastated as she could only watch him depart.

He paused at his wardrobe, choosing a new shirt, sliding that crisp cream silk over his immaculate body as he turned one more time. “Don’t fret too long, my love. I’ll return soon. In the meantime, you can use your time wisely. Weigh your answers… Oh, and you can use this, if you can manage to open it, that is.” He tossed her that green-covered book, the title accusing her as it landed just within reach of her bound hands. The Curse of the Vampyre, indeed. He laughed merrily, low and rumbling in his chest. “I’ll see you later, I’m sure, darling.”

The thud of the door shutting behind him only spurred Lumina into action all the quicker. She would give him his answer and earn her release. Physically and carnally.

Hours it seemed creeped by, that little book her only distraction from the arch of her arms and the wet, lingering burn between her thighs. She awkwardly flipped pages, dropping it on her face from time to time when the shackles got in her way. Page after page revealed nothing new, and she cursed Astarion for being right, dreading how he would preen and gloat when she admitted defeat.

Food sources… seduction… vulnerabilities… that section no longer applied to her, she furrowed her brow. The creation of a spawn… the nourishment of her kind…

That made her hungry belly growl, and as if she wished it into existence, she smelled blood. The door creaked open, and Lumina fixed her gaze on the silver cup brimming with blood.

Only once that chilling laugh sounded from its bearer did Lumina glance at who held the cup.

“Morana,” she hissed fangs bared as she tried to hide her half dressed state.

“I just couldn’t resist the opportunity to replace a poor, freighted servant from entering the Master’s chambers to bring you your meal at his orders,” the tiefling’s dark eyes glimmered with hatred, her voice like vitriol as she sarcastically pouted and preened, “Is the Master’s Bride starving?”

“The… Master’s what?” Lumina went deathly still. There had been one line that book… the unknown characteristics of a Sire’s Bride or Groom. She had thought nothing of it an hour ago. “What did you just call me?”

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dreadheadmadi · 7 months

Text

- I’M GONNA CLAW THOSE PRETTY LITTLE EYES OUT

Chapter 1

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know by reblogging or just dm me! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I hope you have a wonderful day or night, bye angel!

BLACKWOOD MANOR loomed on the outskirts of New York like a gothic monolith, its sprawling grounds shrouded in mist and mystery; its imposing design was a testament to the wealth and power of its enigmatic owner, the elusive billionaire Alexander Blackwood. The grandeur of the mansion enveloped the night like a cloak of decadence, its opulence a stark contrast to the darkness that seeped through its polished corridors.

Usually, the manor would lay dormant and dark, with no sounds or persons going in or out. However, tonight was a special night, a masquerade-themed birthday, of whom it belonged to but none other than Alexander Blackwood's spouse. She was different from her loner husband - a city girl and an active member of New York's rich folk. Such a figure would earn as many friends and connections as possible - and she invited them all. Within the manor's walls, the wealthy elite danced and revealed, their laughter echoing against the marble floors as they indulged in the spoils of their privilege.

Among them, Alexander's favorite niece, Sofia Blackwood, navigated the sea of masked faces, her steps hesitant as she struggled to mask her discomfort beneath a façade of poise and grace. That night, she mustered the courage to ask her uncle to fund her college education, considering that her parents disapproved of her choice of study and promised to cut ties if she pursued it.

There, amidst the ivy-covered trellises and moonlit fountains, she stumbled upon a sight that would forever haunt her nightmares. A figure lay sprawled across the cold stone tiles—a man, his once-immaculate tuxedo now stained with the crimson evidence of his demise. His eyes, wide with terror, stared unseeing into the night while multiple grotesque gashes marred his throat, the blood still warm and viscous against his pallid skin.

Sofia recoiled in horror, bile rising in her throat as she struggled to comprehend the brutality of the scene before her. The metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils, and she fought to suppress the urge to hurl as the reality of the situation washed over her in sickening waves. Instead of vomit coming out of her mouth, a guttural, heart-wrenching shriek replaced it. Multiple footsteps rush towards her before halting abruptly, filling the evening atmosphere with their wails. Around her, the party descended into chaos, the revelry shattered by the specter of death that now loomed over them all. Sofia was grabbed by her mother and father and ushered into an enclosed room where she finally regurgitated her evening meal onto the pristine marble floors.

Guests screamed and fled in panic, their masks slipping in their haste to escape the scene of the carnage unfolding before their eyes. All but one remained rooted to the spot, their gaze fixed on the lifeless form before them. Taking off their mask reveals a Black man with a scowl so deep in hatred that one would have thought he was the one who committed the murder. His dark brown eyes glower down at the body before being covered by the full face mask again. Quickly, he returned to the building, stomping down the velvet-covered stairs and pushing his way to the front of the small crowd around the crime scene.

As the crowd prayed, cried, and cursed the murderer to hell, the man's eyes focused on the wound on his neck. The gashes weren't a nice clean slice as if it were with a standard knife; they were thinner, deeper, and jagged with bits of flesh dangling and sticking out on the sides. No, a knife hadn't done this, but a set of claws-

"It was the Prowler!" a voice declared, "Look at the claw marks! That fucking bastard killed Alex!"

"I heard he's working with Fisk now. That fucking mammoth hated Alexander," another voice added, "He probably put a hit out."

"But on his wife's birthday? At a big event like this when we're all here?" A third chimed in. The second shook his head while pointing to Alexander's dead body.

"You don't know those men like I do; Alex was his number one enemy. When Fisk's family died, he asked Alex to help with some investments on some secret project; the hell if I know what it is. Alex said the fucker went batshit crazy when he lost his wife and was all over the news saying it too. It was supposed to be a wake-up call, but Fisk took that as disrespect and has been an enemy to the Blackwood family ever since. Dropping sponsorships, buying out companies, blocking his political power, I know that son of a bitch got something to do with this!"

The first voice suddenly reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a gun. "Fuck," he spat, "Fuck, fuck! To fucking hell with Fisk! I was THIS close to buying off those fucking votes! All that money gone to shit - where the FUCK is that purple bastard?! I'm putting a bullet through his head and then into Fisk's next!" With the sudden uproar, the first voice stormed back into the manor, which prompted others to do the same, all looking for the Prowler. He was already gone, however - he snuck out of the manor and into the thicket surrounding the manor, climbing onto his motorcycle and speeding off towards Brooklin. As he blares down the road, he tears off his mask again - brown eyes darkened as a single thought runs through his head.

That bitch stole my fucking kill.

Aaron swore to his momma that he’d never hit a girl, but this bitch was asking for it. It wasn’t the first time Black Cat had killed someone on his list; no, it’s been months since their first encounter. But for how long will this keep happening? The year is almost over, and he’s only been responsible for the deaths of four unlucky souls. Four, while she had six. Five of which were stolen right from his grasp. To say he was upset is an understatement. Annoyed? Oh, that’s long gone. Pissed? Maybe two months ago. Enraged? Closer, but not quite.

It’s gotten to the point where his work has become sloppy - disregarding his usual planned and strategic approach for a quicker and easier route just in case she was around. One time he even took a gunshot to his shoulder because of his blatant tunnel vision - Fisk gave him shit for it and benched him for a few weeks to heal before shoving him back into work. Aaron figures he’s going to be hooked on painkillers for a long while.

Speaking of the Kingpin, Aaron wasn’t sure how to explain what happened tonight, hell he doesn’t even know what happened tonight. All he knew was that he had only been at the party for around fifteen to twenty minutes before Sophia’s screams were heard. The party had only been going on for about ten minutes before he arrived, so within that thirty-minute window, Black Cat had arrived at the party, isolated Alexander, and killed him.

Based on his wounds, Aaron deduced that they weren’t deep enough to make a swift and easy kill. As he studied the evidence photos of Alexander after he hacked into the BPD police files, he zoomed in closely on the gashes. While it did look like claw marks, they were uneven and choppy. It wasn’t a clean strike either - it was slanted and angled more vertically than anything. A clear indication of a height difference, Aaron noted.

Alexander was six feet tall exactly; if Black Cat had struggled to get to his neck, she’d be closer to five feet in height, five feet and five inches at max. Aaron paused and wondered if she were wearing heels or platforms that night - it would make sense, considering she’d have to blend into a masquerade-styled party. That would put her shorter than five feet and five inches, the average height for women in Brooklyn. He wrote that down on a notepad and kept examining the photos.

The pieces of flesh that stuck out kept drawing his attention. It looked like the results of his prototype claw gauntlets. They were made of random and uncut metals that weren't accurately measured or maintained. The metal would often be too sharp or dull and get stuck underneath the victim’s skin due to the curvature of the claws. Once he drew back his hand, he would quite literally rip out the area of flesh he had made contact with. While it got the job done, it was a messy and loud kill, prompting him to update his weapon.

It was evident to Aaron that Black Cat’s weapon was similar to his prototype; however, one thing still bothered him - it was a silent kill. The initial contact had been on the side of his neck, still leaving enough airway to scream out for help or in pain. No one heard anything, and according to the witness statements, no one had noticed that Alexander was not present at the party. Aaron frowned at that detail - Alexander Blackwood wasn’t stupid. Someone, be it a guard or even his wife, had to have known he was separating himself from the partygoers. A man who has many enemies wouldn’t dare leave without alerting someone.

Another thing that bothered him was that Alexander wasn’t some snobby old rich guy. Blackwood was a black belt in his youth; he competed in and eventually founded various boxing matches and fight clubs across the United States. He was highly trained in artillery and probably would have been a military commander by now if he wasn’t in control of New York’s corrupt legal system. Simply put, Alexander Blackwood was a force to be reckoned with, just to be cut down by some female in a black leather jumpsuit. It just didn’t make sense.

All of Black Cat’s six kills before Alexander Blackwood had been young men and women of minor importance—quick money, as Aaron called it. The targets Fisk had assigned to the Prowler were gang leaders, drug dealers, and old henchmen whom Fisk no longer needed. This jump from stepping on an ant to straight-up maiming a lion was highly unusual for some uptown thief in a bodysuit. A whole year with little to no gains was starting to get to the mercenary; he needed to get to the bottom of this shit and quickly.

Aaron rubbed his hand across his face and turned towards another monitor, clicking on Google and searching up “Black Cat Brooklin.” He was hoping something new would pop up, but all he found were a few articles and stories he’d already researched.

There was a video that had gone viral a month ago; it was the CCTV footage of a jewelry store that the villainess had broken into. She wore her classic attire, mask, and a white straightened angled bob. Strolling around the store, she opened the displays and bagged all the merchandise, even trying on some and posing in a mirror hanging on the wall. Afterward, she shouldered the duffel bag, blew a kiss at the camera, and left out of the vent system she had used to get into the building. The uproar on memes and parodies of the event were all over Aaron’s feed for days. Women were gushing over her bad bitch aura, creating fan pages, and even going out and buying white wigs, dyes, and bundles just to look like her. And, of course, the men were practically fapping their dicks, saying how she was too delicate to go to prison, how they too would steal some shit in this economy; they were lowkey gassing her up more than the women did.

Aaron didn’t care enough to have an opinion; at that time, she was just some thief. But it’s different now, he thought, she’s more than a thief, she’s a killer. This year was the first year of her dipping her toes into homicide, and from Aaron’s knowledge, she hadn’t even been caught yet. Aaron wondered if those men and women would still support her after it’s exposed that she killed six people in over a year, but he figured they probably still would - the world is fucking crazy nowadays.

Right now at the moment, he was just mindlessly scrolling, clicking on the fan pages and profiles for any information he could gain on her. And then, after refreshing for the tenth time, a new video popped up titled “BLACK CAT HAS A NEW WEAPON (and it reminds me of someone 🤔) | New Look, New Tactics.” Aaron immediately clicked on the video and recognized the person in the commentary as an influencer who was one of the ones who made the robbing video famous by creating a whole trend based on it. The video started with random filler topics, which Aaron graciously skipped through before getting down to the central part of the video.

“Okay, guys, so let’s get to the tea; last night, Black Cat was seen scaling buildings and rooftops downtown with a new look, baby! Let’s look at what Miss Cat got going on for us,” the influencer starts, clicking on a Twitter thread showing a few off-guard pictures and videos of the thief.

“Oh, my God, you guys! Look at that fur, okay, hold on, I’m getting ahead of myself,” she laughed before viewing the first picture and zooming in. “Okay, first thing’s first, that hair, baby! Miss Cat said new hair, new me, and rocking this new do! Gone is her angled bob, replaced with these cute goddess passion twists; I love this! Of course, it’s colored in her signature platinum. Is it platinum? Platinum feels more yellow to me, maybe just plain white? Or maybe more like a frosty white, you know? Yeah, let’s go with that, haha! Edges are laid to perfection, makeup always looking fresh, ugh I’m telling all of you Miss Cat needs to open up shop cause I would pay-“

Aaron skipped ahead a little more; it’s nothing new that Black Cat constantly changed up her hairstyle and makeup looks. It's a smart move, considering how easy it is to track someone nowadays. Her indecisiveness is the sole reason no one has found out who she is; by the time they get comfortable with one look, it’s on to the next.

“Alright, so let’s talk about this new suit. So, I do get why most people say this isn’t a new suit. I mean, it is just the same suit with more fur, probably to keep warm since we are in winter, but I like to call it a new suit solely for these!” The influencer moves to the following picture, a close-up of Black Cat’s arms - which had two slender gauntlets with claw-like attachments. Aaron sat up and leaned towards the screen. Those looked familiar - real fucking familiar.

“That’s right, guys, Black Cat has a new weapon! This kitty has claws, and she is not afraid to use them! Many people say they love it; it’s on brand with the whole cat thing and a way better choice than the staff she used. I love the claws; they bring her a new, dangerous vibe. Like, before, she was just this common thief we all made jokes about, but now it’s like, damn, she's pretty serious about this. Miss Cat said to put some respect on her name; she isn’t any weak runt of the litter; she is THE Black Cat. Quit playing with her; this is serious business! Now, next, we have a quick little video of this new weapon in action, but before that, a quick word from our sponsor-“

Yeah, no, fuck that. Aaron skips again to where the video starts, and his leg bounces. There’s no way, there’s no fucking way, right? Right?

The video in the thread plays, and it shows Black Cat using the claws to climb up a brick wall, leaving significant scratch marks and puncture holes etched into the concrete. Then, once on top of the roof, she raises her hand and flexes it, which seems to trigger some mechanism as the claw part of the gauntlet shoots out and attaches itself to the edge of another roof two buildings across. Black Cat then runs and jumps off the roof she was currently on and uses the rope-like connection lodged between the claw part and the rest of the gauntlet. She swings towards the building, and on the video, the connection shortens, creating a grappling hook. The video shows her safely landing and repeating the action for another building before it ends.

The video cuts back to the influencer as she comments, “So, as we can see, it’s like a grappling hook, kind of? That’s cool; I wish I had a grappling hook. Then I could properly get to work on time when there’s traffic-“

Aaron exits the video before finding the Twitter thread and checking the comments. There are screenshots of the gauntlet from different angles and a few claims that it had sometimes glowed purple. After reading more and more comments about the description of the gauntlet, Aaron leans back in his chair and blinks.

That’s my gauntlet, he thinks; that’s my prototype.

Immediately, he calls Fisk - the one person Aaron trusted enough to leave the prototype with due to his high-security level warehouses and marked a sign of mutual trust between the two business partners. After quickly catching Fisk up to date, Fisk left to check the warehouse himself before confirming that the prototype was indeed missing - stating that they had numerous techs slowly disappear since the end of the previous year but couldn’t pin who it was or how they broke in.

The whole reason he wanted Alexander dead was because he was the only other person who knew where Fisk’s warehouses were, so the Kingpin thought he was the one who did it. Regardless, Fisk seemed intrigued that Aaron had made the connection to Black Cat, but Aaron was too busy breathing fire to even tune in on what the Kingpin was saying, causing him to drop the line altogether.

Aaron could feel the uncomfortable heat of anger creeping up his spine and seeping into his brain, as he returned to the thread and checked the new comments.

It didn't take long before the public started to bring up the Prowler’s weapon and their similarities. After rewatching the video five more times, Aaron noticed the prototype was tampered with. Every major flaw Aaron had trouble with had been fixed to a degree. Aaron closed his eyes and leaned back, his leg bouncing rapidly before suddenly stopping.

“It’s my prototype, he mumbles, “And she fixed it. She took my shit and made it better.” He slowly opens his eyes; green envy returns to his dark brown eyes. “First, she steals my kills, and now she steals my tech,” he chuckles before laughing and slamming his palm down onto his desk. “I am,” he laughs, “I am going to fucking end this bitch.”

Tag list: @mordeiswrld @arielpanda1 @young-dc @fossilizedbeetle @super-nova-2006 @chelsea-xxx2003 @fandom-multiamory @leahnicole1219

#black tumblr #x reader #across the spiderverse #miles morales #x female reader #aaron davis #aaron davis x reader #the prowler x black cat #the prowler x reader #the prowler #black cat #x black reader #x black oc #into the spider verse #spiderverse x reader #madiwrites

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queerofthedagger · 4 months

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we could be kings

[Fingon/Maedhros | T+ | 1.6k | ao3]

Written for @russingon-week Day 1: Valinor/Princes and Exiles

The copper circlet Maitimo is crowned with is a work of art. He finds that he likes it much better on another's brow.

---

The ceremony is splendid.

Findekáno would have expected nothing less, of course; it is a feast of Finwë, for one. For the other, it is Fëanáro’s moment of triumph.

Findekáno does not begrudge it as much as perhaps he should. Maitimo outshines even the gems and lights, the crowd of beautiful Ñoldor, all the magnificence of a coronation little more than a backdrop to him.

His white robes are simple, beset with silver thread and pearls. They shimmer in the light, are mirrored in the long waves of his hair, and stand out against the dark-threaded embroidery that adorns the sleeves and collar.

There is a thin thread of gold, woven in his hair, almost invisible. Findekáno knows it is there, though—after all, he had braided it in himself this morning, in the early hours of dawn.

Maitimo had allowed it, his eyes dark and knowing, even as it was a gamble. There is only one person who is known to wear gold in their hair like this; there is only one thing that wearing someone’s token means.

Much the same way that a crown signifies allegiance, Findekáno thinks, as Maitimo kneels in front of their grandfather’s throne.

Knowing his own mark to be there soothes the sting a little, if only for Findekáno. Beside him, his father’s face is impassive. Turukáno is less successful in hiding his indignation, as is, unsurprisingly, Artanis.

After all, this is nothing but a blatant show of power, of influence. King Finwë already has an heir, a crown prince. To crown Fëanáro’s eldest son as such as well, when there are two more sons in line, is little but sharp-edged provocation.

At least it is from Fëanáro. As always, it is impossible to tell how aware Finwë is of the implied insult, the sign it sends. As always, Maitimo is caught in the crossfire.

Findekáno shakes himself; it does not do to think of these things now, here. It is not, after all, as if matters of succession matter greatly beyond the symbolism.

The copper circlet that Finwë sets on Maitimo’s brow reflects the light and nestles into place as if it belongs there.

When Maitimo rises, turns, and meets Findekáno’s eye, he still cannot quite find it within himself to be as annoyed by it all as he ought to be.

---

He makes sure to enjoy his fill of the food and wine, to stay long enough for it not to be perceived as an insult but not so long that it could be read as endorsement, and, last but not least, to let his father see him make his way home.

Once he is out of sight, he takes the familiar paths through back streets and narrow alleys towards the Fëanorian residence. Telperion washes the city in glazed silver, the shadows long and a friend to those who want to avoid being seen.

Findekáno has long practice in such avoidance, and once he slips into the gardens of his destination, he climbs the steel grid that supports the clematis running wild along the white-washed wall of the house, red and violet like gems.

The window is ajar, even as the room is still empty. Findekáno takes a moment to listen to the silence of the house. When nothing stirs, he lights the lamp on the desk and finds a book to occupy himself with while he waits.

It is only another hour until he catches the familiar footsteps up the stairs. There are no voices, but he moves behind the door just in case; as a general rule, their parents seem to—grudgingly—accept their closeness, but today is not the day to test their luck.

It is only Maitimo who enters, though. It speaks to his exhaustion, the amount of wine he had, or both, that he does not immediately notice Findekáno.

Findekáno grins. “Hello, lover.”

He has all of one moment to be gratified by the way Maitimo jumps before he is tackled to the bed, his own shout utterly undignified.

“Is that a way to greet me,” he complains, once Maitimo has both his hands pressed into the sheets above Findekáno’s head and is grinning down at him with evident self-satisfaction. “I could have been a burglar.”

“A burglar who waited for me to arrive home and greet me as his lover?”

“One with bad intentions, then?”

“Hence the bodily attack. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Findekáno echoes, and all the day’s tension is already melting out of him, Maitimo’s weight familiar and grounding. “Do you invite all burglars to your bed, then?”

“Only the ones I find particularly pleasing,” Maitimo says. Before Findekáno can come up with a smart retort, Maitimo kisses him, open-mouthed and hungry.

Findekáno does not mind the distraction; Maitimo kisses as he does most things—deliberate and thorough, its devastation fuelled by the fire just beneath. He licks into Findekáno’s mouth, bites his bottom lip; draws back again, his eyes dark and untangling their hands so that he can touch Findekáno’s jaw.

“It suits you, you know,” Findekáno says, when the silence drags. It is not uncomfortable, rarely ever is, but this—this day, this coronation, this circlet—has been hollowing a space between them for a while, and this, at least, is true.

Winding his fingers through Maitimo’s hair, he tugs lightly. Finds his own ribbon and smiles, before tapping the circlet, and then pressing a kiss to Maitimo’s forehead. “Just do not tell anyone that I said so; we will cause a diplomatic incident to rival our fathers.”

It is never an easy topic. For the most part, they try to avoid it, keep it out of those pockets of time that they carve out for themselves.

Tonight, though, Maitimo laughs. He is loose-limbed and easy, as if some weight has been lifted from him, rather than added. It is as good to see as it is a little unsettling.

Flipping them over, Fingon hovers over him; presses another kiss to his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his jaw. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

Maitimo hums, watching him. “You like it?”

“Would I tell you so if I did not?”

Slowly, carefully, Maitimo lifts the circlet from his head, turning it between his fingers. “So pretty and so useless, and yet causing so much strife.”

Then he looks up, considering Findekáno through long lashes. Mischief sparks in his eyes—the quiet kind, too often carefully banked. Too often only there for Findekáno to see, and he should mind it—does. Too often, he also revels in being the only one allowed to see it, to share in the small escapes that Maitimo allows himself.

The copper circlet up close is an unmistakable work of art. From any other than Fëanáro, it might have been a lifework. Countless, hair-thin strands of gleaming copper are braided together, braids winding around each other, dipping low in the centre. Minuscule stones of dark red and banked orange sit in between the gossamer wires.

Maitimo is still looking at him, as if considering one of those theorems he likes to sit over for hours.

“What?” Findekáno finally asks, lifting a brow. He crosses his arms over Maitimo’s chest, settling his chin on them. “You look like the time you decided that Tirion needed a Masquerade Ball, just so that we could go out together in public with none the wiser.”

“And everyone loved it,” Maitimo says, mouth quirking at the corners. Then he lifts the circlet and sets it on top of Findekáno’s head. He rights it with care, tugs lightly at strands of hair until he is satisfied.

Findekáno stopped breathing the moment he realised what Maitimo was about to do.

“It suits you,” Maitimo says, eyes fond and sparkling. As if he had not just set the Crown Prince’s crown on Findekáno’s head, Fëanáro’s work in so many ways beyond the mere forging of it. “Perhaps they should crown you next, all of Finwë’s princes adorned in copper and gems.”

“Maitimo—“ His voice comes out unsteady.

“I know,” he says, and he does—he always does, is the thing, and Findekáno loves him so much that it aches.

Maitimo kisses him again, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling him close. He is mindful of the circlet, of the way Findekáno’s heart is still hammering in his chest, of all the things he is not saying. That neither of them can say, beyond ribbons woven into hidden braids, and circlets bestowed in the sanctuary of twilit rooms.

“I would crown you in all the jewels of Valinor, lover,” Maitimo finally says, pressing another kiss to the corner of Findekáno’s mouth.

“I know,” Findekáno echoes, and kisses him again. It is easier than rehearsing all the reasons why it will only ever be a possibility behind closed doors.

---

Fingon thinks of that night, its edges hazy in memory, when he kneels before what was not long ago his father’s throne. When the silver coronet is set atop his head by one of his father’s councillors, its weight oppressive where the copper had been light. When he rises, despite the grief dragging at his limbs, and faces his people.

He thinks of it, too, when that same night Maedhros slips into his room, hugs him close. Kisses his brow, his voice rough and sad and still, still, still so full of affection, and says, “I did always say that it would suit you better, did I not?”

Fingon leans into him, and wishes, just for one moment, that their world was still polished copper and dark-red clematis gleaming in the glittering light of Telperion.

#*mine #mona's writing #russingon #the silmarillion #silm fic #tolkien #silm #this has been bumping around in my brain as a scene for ages bless #don't think about the timeline too much btw <3

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maximumwobblerbanditdonut · 10 months

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Had you played TV cliché bingo while watching The Couple Next Door, I do believe sparks would have been flying from your dabber. I’m almost in awe that so many were crammed in before the first ad break alone. Barely seven minutes in, Becka (Jessica De Gouw) and Danny (Sam Heughan) were pulling each other’s clothes off and having sex at their living room window, curtains open, in a way that no married couple whose small child has just left the room ever do. Except in TV La-La land.

It was a bonus, though, for Alan the Pervert (Hugh Dennis), who has a telescope trained on their house and dark circles under his eyes that suggest he does a lot of squinting while hunched over his computer (and I don’t mean at Wordle).

I suppose at least this drama owns its clichés. What am I saying? It revels in them. It opened with the classic taster of horror to come, Eleanor Tomlinson as Evie running in what we shall call TV’s “sexy terrified” way. That is, frightened but looking hot, hot, hot in a short silk nightie as she ran barefoot through a forest. We then flipped back in time to Evie and Pete (Alfred Enoch) happily arriving at their new suburban idyll to start their family, which was a sort of sunny Wisteria Lane and not at all like the Leeds I remember from when I lived there.

youtube

It told us everything was too smug to be true by having laughing children playing with water guns, lawns being mowed, cars being washed. Uh-oh. We know that can’t last. And it didn’t. Evie miscarried her baby (conceived with a donor because Pete has “puny sperm”) by minute 16. I have a terrible feeling that the koi carp in the garden are some sort of “swimmers” metaphor.

Sometimes the dialogue was so stilted, I wondered if it was a spoof. “You guys will get through this,” Danny said to Pete, who should really have responded by asking if he was a chatbot. It soon transpired that Danny and Becka were swingers (it’s based on a Dutch series called, yes, The Swingers) and they promptly had “that couple we met in Marbella” round for some wife swapping as Pete watched from his window. Has anyone in this street ever considered closing a blind? And, actually, aren’t they “the couple opposite”, not “next door”?

There’s a dull subplot about Danny being a dodgy copper, which ties in to a dull investigation that local journalist Pete wants to look into, but his editor wants him to cover the opening of a new city library. A new library? Pull the other one. The UK has closed about 800 of them in the past decade.

At least Evie cheered up when she got Danny’s powerful beast between her legs. Oh, I mean his motorbike, though it’s obvious it won’t be long before the other beast comes into play. I feared we might get to the end of the episode without it committing the top TV cliché on the bingo card, namely spontaneous sex on a kitchen worktop. But, no. Evie and Pete gave us a full house by doing exactly that — and during a storm for added cheesiness.

These couples are as wooden as Dutch clogs, but I am enjoying Dennis’s greasy performance as the disgusting stalker who pretends to like yoga so he can be near Becka. I must warn you that later in the series it’s traumatic to see the man who played the nice dad in Outnumbered masturbating. I must also warn you that episode two contains some of the worst cringey couple dancing you are likely to witness in your lifetime. I think the moral of this silly but entertainingly corny tale is going to be: “Don’t shag the neighbours.”

thetimes.co.uk

Carol Midgley joined The Times in 1996 and is a former Feature Writer of the Year winner. Find her column in Times 2 each Wednesday and her TV reviews on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.

————————————————————————

Indeed I saw all the reviews after the streaming view, including all episodes. The Times’ review concretes many things about The Couple Next Door 💁‍♀️

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ofduskanddreams · 1 year

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Lack of Discretion

For @stickyelectrons. The request: Modern AU Elucien. Elain goes for a drink after work and meets bartender Lucien.

Elucien ✦ Rated T ✦ 966 words ✦ on AO3

Elain was tired. Not the kind of tired that made a person yawn or long for a nap, but the sort that settled in her bone marrow and made everything heavy.

Most of the time Elain loved her job, but every so often life would descend and remind her that managing a garden center and nursery was no simple task. This had been one of those weeks where everything had gone wrong and she’d pulled multiple twelve-hour days. Now it was Friday and, thankfully, she’d been able to put the place to rights in time for the weekend.

As much as Elain wished to be at home and asleep, she couldn’t cancel plans with Vassa again. They’d already rescheduled this evening three times. So there she was, walking down Main Street with the hot August breeze tugging at the strands of hair escaping her ponytail toward Cauldron Brewed, their favorite bar in town.

Elain had left Velaris once Feyre had started art school. She found the thirty-minute drive between the bustling city and the town of Nightwood to be ideal—close enough that it wasn’t too much of a chore to visit her sisters, but far enough away to feel like hers.

Approaching the faded brick facade of the bar, Elain realized it had been the better part of a year since she’d come here.

She checked her phone to see if Vassa had arrived, but there were no new notifications. Elain sent a text telling her she’d be at the bar.

The warm chatter of conversation washed over her as she stepped inside, the air conditioning covering her arms in goosebumps. She made her way to the long wooden bar, smiling at the faces she recognized and basking in the feeling of how nice it was to truly be a part of the community now.

That feeling vanished, however, when Elain slid onto a stool and noticed the bartender. She’d never seen him here before. Elain knew that for a fact because she was certain she could never forget meeting someone who looked like that.

He had long red hair knotted into a bun at the base of his neck, broad shoulders shifting beneath his white button-down. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, showing off the warm brown skin and corded muscles of his forearms like he’d walked right out of a wet dream. Then there was the way his vintage looking jeans hinted at powerful thighs as he walked over to her.

Quirking a brow with a pale scar bisecting it, he stopped right in front of Elain.

Oh shit. Elain blushed as she realized how blatantly she’d been checking him out.

“Hi there, what can I get for you?” the man—Lucien, according to a pin over his shirt pocket—asked, clearly amused at Elain’s lack of discretion.

“A gin and tonic, please.”

“Sure thing,” Lucien said, his lips curving into a smirk that should be illegal for how it made her stomach flip.

She watched him making the drink with a practiced, fluid ease, wondering just how long he’d been working here and regretting not coming back sooner.

He placed her drink down on a paper coaster. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.”

Jesus, Elain needed to get her mind out of the gutter because that shouldn’t have sounded like an innuendo.

“I’m fine for now thanks, just waiting on someone.”

Lucien’s brilliant smile faltered for a second (which Elain only noticed because she’d been staring at his lips—again) but he recovered just as quickly, nodding politely and walking over to help someone else.

Elain sipped her drink and checked her emails while she waited for Vassa, doing her best not to keep glancing over at Lucien and failing. After forty minutes had passed with no word from her friend, Elain was starting to worry. But just as she had the thought, her phone buzzed with an incoming call.

“Vassa? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m really sorry but I’m not going to make it tonight. Dahlia went into labor early and it’s looking like it’ll be a long one.”

She could hear the exhaustion and excitement layered in her best friend's voice. Vassa operated an equine rescue and rehabilitation center just outside of town. “Don’t worry about it. That’s exciting news!”

“You’ll have to come over and meet the new addition soon, okay? I really miss you. Tuesday coffees aren’t enough.”

“I’m free Sunday after four. Would that work?”

“It should! I—” Vassa paused, listening to something in the background. “I’ve got to go, the vet just arrived. I’m really sorry for standing you up and I love you and I can’t wait to see you on Sunday.”

And then the call went dead. Elain laughed softly; Vassa was always like that—a whirlwind.

“Still expecting your date?”

Elain hadn’t noticed Lucien approaching.

“No, my friend can’t make it but for a very good reason.”

“Do you mind if I join you, then?”

Elain blinked, then noticed that his button-down and nametag had been replaced by a sage-colored t-shirt and he had let his hair down.

“I’m off the clock. It’s after seven,” he elaborated when she didn’t respond, color creeping up his cheeks. “It’s totally fine if you want to tell me to fuck off, I just…” he shook his head and walked around the bar to stand near the neighboring stool. “Sorry, I’m doing this all out of order. My name is Lucien.” He stuck out his hand.

It was large and warm, completely enveloping hers and sending a cascade of sparks up her arm. He was flustered and Elain found it rather adorable.

“It’s nice to meet you, Lucien. My name is Elain. Why don’t you have a seat?”

✦ ✦ ✦

tagging: @areyoudreaminof @ablogofsapphicpanic @damedechance @iftheshoef1tz @panicatthenightcourt @separatist-apologist @moonpatroclus @kingofsummer93 @octobers-veryown @foundress0fnothing @talons-and-teeth @krem-does-stuff

let me know if you want to be added to/removed from my Elucien tag list :)

#elucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fanfic #pro elucien #elain x lucien #lucien x elain #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #modern au #acotar fanfiction #acotar drabble #kate's celebratory drabbles series

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powerwashunlimited · 5 days

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Why Power Washing is Essential for Property Maintenance in Roslyn Heights

Maintaining the exterior of your property is crucial for preserving its value and curb appeal. Power washing Roslyn Heights is an effective way to ensure that homes and businesses remain in top condition. Here’s why this service is essential for property up keep.

#Power washing Roslyn Heights #power washing oyster bay #power washing massapequa #power washing in nassau county #power washing garden city

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gorbalsvampire · 15 days

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𝖃𝕴𝕴𝕴 𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝕱𝖊𝖚𝖉𝖆𝖑 𝕭𝖔𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖆

𝔄𝔠𝔱 ℑℑℑ, 𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔢 𝔦𝔦

Our story continues with 'alf a coterie, as player availability is becoming a Factor. There are only two or three nights to go until Kupala's Eve (ol' relleytrots is keeping this both loosey and goosey in case we get caught in a "no more time for things to happen but we need a filler session" bind), and the coterie has several Problems ahead of them.

Tonight, Theodericus and Alzbeta deal with one of those problems: or rather, it deals with them. They awake to find the Knights Hospitaller activated - Libussa is under armed guard, and the Cainites are escorted post-haste to meet her. In the cloister garden, they are met by said Libussa, clearly exhausted beyond endurance (she's hanging on to her guards' halberds just to stand up), and Prince Brandl, along with some mortal hangers-on - the constable of the Old Town, and some minor courtiers.

Prince Brandl wished to know why his dictat concerning Vysehrad had been ignored - when he said forbidden to all Cainites he was not speaking in jest. Theodericus tried to claim that a lady - a queen, even! - was in danger, and the rules of chivalry could not be gainsaid, and that Libussa's masters and descendants were trying to take the city from Brandl -

Oh no. He knew. That doesn't wash. Of course the Fiends were trying to take the city; they had been trying to take the city for three hundred years.

Theodericus also committed his first ever act of deceit - although he can't actively lie he can omit elements from his report, and he simply didn't mention that any other Cainites had been there. A heroic effort on the part of this simple soul. Pity Alzbeta blew it out of the water immediately by asking permission to share the details of her visions, as further cause and evidence to disobey the Prince.

The Prince, sighing, explained that not all visions and callings are necessarily divine in origin: that he, in fact, can summon Cainites and mortals alike into his presence, and if he can do it, does it not follow that others can do it also? Alzbeta had not considered this, and neither had Theodericus, and they felt like right twits.

Turning to Libussa, the Prince demanded she explain herself, exerting his Presence to that effect, and -

*record scratch* Let's talk about my storytelling style for a moment here. I've always struggled with SPC Willpower - when they should and shouldn't spend it - as it's easy to fall into an adversarial mindset here. Recently, I've taken to asking questions like "how badly do we want this to go?" or, as I did tonight, "whose side are we on here?" - this establishes what the players want out of a scene and gives me guidance on how hard I need to go to avoid disappointing them. It's not about giving them what they want - if I have ever given a player what they want it has come at a cost - so much as avoiding them feeling like they had no say or agency in what happened, which can happen when their characters confront an SPC who's an order of magnitude more powerful than them.

Anyway, the crew were more pro-Brandl than before! Alzbeta wanted to help Libussa without putting anyone else in danger; Theodericus now understood the Prince was more competent than he'd thought, and that he might have backed the wrong horse, considering how Libussa was still acting like a woman possessed.

The Prince thus pushed on Libussa, getting the truth out of her; that she was indeed the Queen of the Goths, sworn to serve the patron goddess of her people, entombed beneath Vyserhad. Brandl, moved to pity or perhaps sensing an advantage, made her - and the coterie - an offer. He would take Libussa under his protection, free her from her Blood Oath to Shaagra one way or another, and they would owe him a boon for their defiance, but he would keep schtum about their transgression as long as they did.

Libussa accepted this offer.

*record scratch* So this is another thing that occasionally gives me hives: something that I think is cool as shit, but the players have no way of knowing because it's tied to details about the SPCs that they don't even know to look for. I want to communicate those things because they're cool as shit beats on which a story can turn, but short of roleplaying with myself or writing flash fiction very quickly I don't quite know how to manage that.

Anyway, Alzbeta wasn't sure she was doing the right thing, and so she attempted to force a premonition - INSTEAD activating her new Aura Perception. The splashes and blurs of colour around the Hospitallers; the dark bodies and deep ruddy cores of the Cainites with their Beasts; the hollowness of Libussa, eaten inside out, dark and dead as a Cainite but without that inner bloodlust's light; and a spectral presence, white and evanescent. Octavio. Octavio standing before her, awaiting judgment. She wondered if, perhaps, he was a Prophet by choice, or if he had been compelled to this by some outside force as well - and in that moment of compassion, the presence of Octavio walked through her, and she felt her heart beat, just once.

Prince Brandl accepted her subsequent apology, and left Libussa in the care of the Hospitallers; the coterie had to bring him Octavio to earn their forgiveness in his sight.

Alzbeta took the moment to comfort Theodericus, offering to pray for him - he hoped merely that she could forgive herself. Libussa, at this moment, broke down weeping, and Theodericus rushed to her and asked what she wanted. Really. Truthfully. To die? To be free? To be normal, just for a few days, before the end?

Through her tears Libussa answered that it didn't really matter. Having betrayed her goddess, her defilement was complete. It was better that the Cainites watch over Agnes, her descendant in the convent, who they're collectively sure is destined to be a sacrifice to awaken Shaagra. Libussa could live another three hundred years as a traitor, if it meant another could be spared what she has endured.

Here endeth the session - but I wonder what Mariam and Marsillius were up to?

#vtm #vampire the masquerade #vtda #vampire the dark ages #chronicle: xiii tales from feudal bohemia #session report #ventrue #tzimisce #malkavian #vtm ghoul

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lauriegraham01 · 1 year

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avengers compound headcannons

pairing: avengers x avenger!reader, gn!reader, poc!reader

summary: list of hc's of what its like to live in the avengers tower/later compound with these group of dumbasses

wc: 538

a/n: sorry i haven't updated in a while, my chronic pain has been kicking my ass recently and uni is starting up but netherless, enjoy!

Domesticity

The Avengers occupy the top three floors of the tower. With Tony and Peppers penthouse on top, a recreational level on the floor below and then the rest of the avengers rooms on the floor below.

Family styled dinners every night. Tony insisted on hiring a private chef for the whole team but Wanda was fiercely against it.

Wanda, Pietro, Sam and you were the ones that actually brought some spice and seasoning to everyones diet.

Bucky and Clint would pinch in by helping wash or cut vegetables.

Tony and Nat would set the table together.

Thor would prepare drinks and Vision and Steve would deal with dishes afterwards.

You would always call be the one to call Loki for dinner. Often finding him either in the library or in the garden, both places giving him peace of mind. (He never minded when you joined him tho)

Social Outings

Movie nights at least twice a month!!!

It initially started with everyone alternating on choosing a movie but democracy was quickly thrown out the window and now yall spent 20 minutes fighting over what to watch.

Going out clubbing in the city always guaranteed a good time.

Especially when Maria and Valkyrie showed up

Visions was ALWAYS designated driver but he truly didn't mind.

Steve, Bucky, Loki, and Thor would pregame on Asgardian ale, While Nat and Pietro would be bartenders for everyone else pregaming.

Bruce would typically stay sober every time we went out after last time he got hammered him, Clint, and Thor woke up in an alleyway with no pants, shoes or socks.

Nat can handle her liquor the best out of everyone. Wanda is an extreme lightweight.

Pietro was more of a stoner and you two would always light up at every chance together.

In fact he was the first person you ever did psychedelics with and the experience was truly euphoric.

Wanda and you are guilty of indulging in a drunk ciggy.

The girls always invited you for every sleepover and it would always start off pure but then end in a chaotic shitshow.

It would start with face-masks, painting each thers nails, before pretty soon after many many drinks, yall would host a karoake/dance party right in the living room.

(Loki may or may not have been in attendance as well)

Chaos

Sam and Bucky would sometimes surprise Peter by picking him up from school and then proceed to bully him the entire way back home.

During debriefs, Pietro would always send you random memes/tiktoks and you would have to try your hardest not to laugh out loud.

Speaking of which, Pietro would constantly post thrist traps on his social media accounts.

Peter would always try to get us involved in his tiktoks.

Whenever you would speak in your native language, the rest of the team would be mesmerized especially Loki, Pietro, Wanda, and Bucky.

Peter would ask you if you could teach him and you obviously taught him all of the swear words.

You and Loki would use your powers to pull pranks on each other and one time things got so out of hand, that Tony kicked both of yall out for a solid week.

Also Pietro totally had a thing for Aunt May at some point, he's down horrendously for MILFS

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dreadheadmadi · 7 months

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- I’M GONNA CLAW THOSE PRETTY LIL’ EYES OUT

⚠️TEASER⚠️

Blackwood Manor loomed on the outskirts of New York like a gothic monolith, its sprawling grounds shrouded in mist and mystery. Perched atop a hill overlooking the bustling city below, its imposing design was a testament to the wealth and power of its enigmatic owner, the elusive billionaire Alexander Blackwood. The grandeur of the mansion enveloped the night like a cloak of decadence, its opulence a stark contrast to the darkness that seeped through its polished corridors. Usually, the manor would lay dormant and dark, with no sounds or persons going in or out. However, tonight was a special night, a masquerade-themed birthday, of whom it belonged to but none other than Alexander Blackwood's own spouse. She was different from her loner husband - a city girl and an active member of New York's rich folk. Such a figure would earn as many friends and connections as possible - and she invited them all. Within the manor's walls, the wealthy elite danced and revealed, their laughter echoing against the marble floors as they indulged in the spoils of their privilege. Among them, Alexander's favorite niece, Sofia Blackwood, navigated the sea of masked faces, her steps hesitant as she struggled to mask her discomfort beneath a façade of poise and grace. That night, she mustered the courage to ask her uncle to fund her college education, considering that her parents disapproved of her choice of study and promised to cut ties if she pursued it.

The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfumes and the sickly sweetness of excess, but beneath it, a palpable tension lurked—a sense of impending doom that clung to the shadows like a vengeful specter. As the night wore on and inhibitions faded, Sofia was drawn to a secluded balcony overlooking the sprawling gardens below. She needed a moment to think, to gather herself before locating her uncle. There, amidst the ivy-covered trellises and moonlit fountains, she stumbled upon a sight that would forever haunt her nightmares. A figure lay sprawled across the cold stone tiles—a man, his once-immaculate tuxedo now stained with the crimson evidence of his demise. His eyes, wide with terror, stared unseeing into the night while multiple grotesque gashes marred his throat, the blood still warm and viscous against his pallid skin. Sofia recoiled in horror, bile rising in her throat as she struggled to comprehend the brutality of the scene before her. The metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils, and she fought to suppress the urge to retch as the reality of the situation washed over her in sickening waves. Instead of vomit coming out of her mouth, a guttural, heart-wrenching shriek replaced it. Multiple footsteps rush towards her before halting abruptly, filling the evening atmosphere with their own wails. Around her, the party descended into chaos, the revelry shattered by the specter of death that now loomed over them all. Sofia was grabbed by her mother and father and ushered into an enclosed room where she finally regurgitated her evening meal onto the pristine marble floors. Guests screamed and fled in panic, their masks slipping in their haste to escape the scene of the carnage unfolding before their eyes. All but one remained rooted to the spot, their gaze fixed on the lifeless form before them. Taking off their mask reveals a Black man with a scowl so deep in hatred that one would have thought he was the one who committed the murder. His dark brown eyes glower down at the body before being covered by the full face mask again. Quickly, he returned to the building, stomping down the velvet-covered stairs and pushing his way to the front of the small crowd around the crime scene. As the crowd prayed, cried, and cursed the murderer to hell, the man's eyes focused on the wound on his neck. The gashes weren't a nice clean slice as if it were with a standard knife; they were thinner, deeper, and jagged with bits of flesh dangling and sticking out on the sides. No, a knife hadn't done this, but a set of claws-

"It was the Prowler!" a voice declared, "Look at the claw marks! That fucking bastard killed Alex!"

"I heard he's working with Fisk now. That fucking mammoth hated Alexander," another voice added, "He probably put a hit out."

"But on his wife's birthday?” A third chimed in. The second shook his head while pointing to Alexander's dead body.

"You don't know those men like I do, Alex was his number one enemy. When Fisk's family died, he asked Alex to help with some investments on some secret project, the hell if I know what it is. Alex said the fucker went bat shit crazy when he lost his wife, he pubicly announced it in an interview too. It was a wake up call but Fisk took that as disrespect and has been a little shit to the Blackwood family ever since. Dropping sponsorships, buying out companies, blocking his political power, I know that son of a bitch got something to do with this!"

The first voice suddenly reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a gun. "Fuck," he spat, "Fuck, fuck! To fucking hell with Fisk! I was THIS close to buying off those fucking votes! All that money gone to shit - where the FUCK is that purple bastard?! I'm putting a bullet through his head and then into Fisk's next!" With the sudden uproar, the first voice stormed back into the manor, which prompted others to do the same, all looking for The Prowler. He was already gone, however - he snuck out of the manor and into the surrounding woods, climbing onto his motorcycle and speeding off towards Brooklin, past the large coup of policemen racing in the opposite direction. As he blares down the road, he tears off his mask again - brown eyes laced with a green envy hue as a single thought ran through his head.

That bitch stole my fucking kill.

A/N: So, what do you guys think? (Any feedback is good feedback!)

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rosesinspirationandreference · 1 year

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🎨 94 Random Fic/Art Prompts 🎨

A Christmas Trial

A court order

A famous Sagittarian

A song for you

Action sports

All at sea

All falls down

All talk

At the local

Ball game

Bird watching

Body double

Bottom's up!

Bus stop

Buttons and bows

Camera shy

Cheese please

City limits

Cloak and dagger

Collector's item

Colour guide

Dance steps

Dead or alive

Deep fry

Downpour

Fabricated

Flight arrival

Fresh faced

Garden path

Give and take

Going swimming

Gunpowder plot

Hair raising

Happy anniversary

Homework

Horse power

Hotel reservation

Ill feeling

In the red

In your head

Ins and outs

It's a clue

It's a mystery

It's colourful

It's puzzling

Itsy-bitsy

Just great

Just the opposite

Keep in contact

Knowledgeable

Looking good

Mail bag

Math problem

Measure up

Name of work

Nothing to it

Office work

Oh yes, it is!

On the hook

On the menu

On the move

On top

On your body

Pacesetter

Playing darts

Playtime

Pondering

Royal family

Sail away

Saving face

Secret letters

Ship shape

Snoozing

Stage fright

Tacky

Tea break

Thin ice

Too spicy

Top rank

Top team

Toy box

Trading places

Train ride

Tube line

Up river

Voice box

Wash day

Weather report

What a howler

What a mess!

What's cooking?

Who, What, Where

You're the tops

Zig Zag

#writing inspiration #prompt list #writing prompts #prompts #writing prompt list #story prompts #writing prompt #for reference #story prompt #writblr

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asterhaze · 1 year

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There Will Be No More Strawberries

• Original Work •

I hate strawberries. Their dimpled outside squishes easily, even with a delicate touch, and their sickly sweet fragrance sticks to my fingers even after I have washed them ten times. There is something about their smell, their texture, all of them that seems so fake, so manufactured, so artificially perfected that I find it strange that others like them so much. Strawberries are my brother's favorite fruit.

I also hate bananas. It isn't necessarily their flavor, though bland and uninteresting, that disgusts me. It's their texture. So squishy yet stringy, too easy to eat, mush barely held together by near-flake fibers. They should be good, since they're okay dried, but they're not. Bananas are my grandmother's favorite fruit.

I hate chocolate the most. Sugary dirt. Gritty on my tongue even when smooth. Melts in your throat even if you try to swallow it whole. The smell is enough to make me gag, yet I am one of a kind. Unless they're allergic, I have found that chocolate is one of everyone's favorite treats.

In 90 seconds there will be no more strawberries. In 90 seconds there will be no more bananas. In 90 seconds there will be no more chocolate because no matter how much we love something, how much we care for something, how much we want those things to still exist for those that come after us, there are people like me who care so little for their existence that their absence will be of so little consequence that we will simply forget they were ever there. My life will not change if there are no more strawberries or bananas or chocolate or chocolate dipped fruit. My life will go on.

There is a man who sits in a fancy chair in front of a beautiful desk with his 70-year-old hand resting on the handle of a telephone. This man has a voice so powerful that he can command a dead hand to shoo away the lives of every living thing. Every human, every animal, every strawberry, every banana, and every cacao tree will have its DNA wiped from the face of the earth with the back of death's hand. Like eraser shavings.

There is a man who stands on a tall podium, speaking over the begging screams of his people, and he tells men and women in designer suits with important titles that if he doesn't get what he wants, he will forget us under lovely dots. There are lovely dots on the map. There are lovely dots on every country and every major city in the world. The humans and the strawberries and the bananas and the chocolate bars are so small, you can't even see them. Just the dots.

Will the people who take those lovely dots off of the map replant our fields after the dead hand moves? Will the man who wants to take us with him into the abyss if we don't bend to his will make us chocolate after the fires stop burning? Will the men and women in designer suits pass out bananas and strawberries when the winter fades and the door to their bunkers open up? Will they pass them out to us?

Do the faces of unimportant people with regular titles, bargain suits, and small voices matter if they live below those lovely dots? Are they as insignificant as strawberries, bananas, and chocolate? Less so since they're not the important people's favorites? Even less because they can always make more of themselves if the dead hand forgets to sweep them away?

One day the dead hand will move and it will keep its assured promise. The hand has only so many fingers to point with and can only smudge so many lovely dots away. Nameless faces will find a way to roam the earth again, to rebuild, to survive the poisonous snow and salted earth. Without fresh strawberries. Without bananas. Without chocolate.

But if my brother is still alive, God forbid, he will feel their absence and he will miss the taste of a ripe strawberry picked from his father's garden in summer to replace the ashen taste that rots his tongue. One day if my grandmother is still alive, God forbid, she will wake up hungry and wish there was something easy for her to peel and tear with shaky aged hands, and something soft and easily mushed with her tired gums. After midnight there are no more bananas, no more easy foods, and no more favorites.

Years ago someone found a tree with pods growing on its branches, cracked them open, and between them and their many ancestors they figured out how to make all sorts of chocolatey treats for me to hate and everyone else to enjoy. Hours ago someone looked at a green bundle of leaves with tiny red berries and spent the rest of their life experimenting, learning, and cultivating that tiny patch so the fruit would grow bigger and stronger. Minutes ago someone found out how to take the seeds out of bananas and then clone them so that every single banana that grows from a cloned tree tastes almost exactly the same. While all of this was happening, kingdoms and dynasties rose and fell. Countries were born, lived, grabbed by the throat, and took their final breaths as they were absorbed by countries with bigger hands.

All of this fantastic knowledge is kept in quiet books that were invented minutes ago. Since books are big and heavy, noisy devices powered by controlled lightning were invented seconds ago so all of that knowledge can live in our pocket. In 91 seconds the fires will start and all the books will burn and anyone who survives under the lovely dots won't want to read anyway since there will be nothing to read. In 91 seconds all of the smart parts of those noisy devices will melt like the small parts of people, only less goopy.

All of the records of those hours and minutes and seconds will be wiped away in 90 seconds so that when my brother and my grandmother and I die no one will ever think of strawberries or bananas or chocolate or America or Russia or Europe or China. Because after 90 seconds have long passed, after the dead hand lays mummified by the poison snow in the salted earth, there will be nothing left of this earth that any of us living now will recognize. And our descendents will have no strawberries, bananas, chocolate, or great countries' ideals to remember because there are also no books or noisy devices.

Only the silence, the lack thereof, the stories and the tales passed night by night as children are tucked in their rags.

#original writing #nuclear writing #writeblr #writing #writers of tumblr #writers #writerblr #write #writblr #writing community #post apocalyptic #apocalyptic fiction #there will be no more strawberries story #light horror

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warningsine · 1 year

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Thousands of people are being evacuated downstream of a major dam which has been blown up in Russian-held Ukraine.

President Zelensky said 80 towns and villages were at risk of flooding after the destruction of the dam at Nova Kakhovka, which he blamed on Russia.

Water is surging down the Dnipro river and is said to pose a catastrophic flooding risk to the city of Kherson.

Russia has denied destroying the dam - which it controls - instead blaming Ukrainian shelling.

Neither Ukraine or Russia's claim has been verified by the BBC.

The Kakhovka dam is crucial in the region. It contains a reservoir, which provides water to farmers and residents, as well as to the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant. It is also is a vital channel carrying water south to Russian-occupied Crimea.

Video footage shows a torrent of floodwater gushing through a breach in the dam. Several towns are already flooded, while people in areas further downstream are now fleeing by bus and train.

Some 16,000 people are in a "critical zone", according to the head of the Kherson region, Oleksandr Prokudin.

Mr Prokudin said water levels in the Dnipro river will be "critical" within five hours and accused Russia of committing "yet another act of terror".

In a Telegram post, he said the evacuation of residents living in the threatened areas on the Ukraine-controlled western bank of the Dnipro river were under way, and he appealed to residents on the opposite bank - currently under Russian control - to immediately leave their homes.

Mr Prokudin said residents were being taken by bus to Kherson, from where they will be moved to different cities across the country.

People in low-lying parts of the city of Kherson - around 50 miles downstream - have also been told to evacuate as quickly as possible.

One local resident Andrei, who lives close to the dam, said he believed Russia wanted to "drown" his city.

In Kherson, a woman called Lyudmyla - who was loading her belongings including a washing machine onto a trailer that was attached to an old car - said: "We're afraid of flooding. We're taking our things a little higher up."

She called for Russian forces to be "kicked out of here... they're shooting at us. They're flooding us or doing something else".

Another resident of the city, Sergiy, said he feared "everything is going to die here". "All the living creatures, and people will be flooded out," he said, gesturing at nearby houses and gardens.

There are concerns about the impact on the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant, which uses water from a reservoir behind the dam for cooling.

The situation there is said to be under control and the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) has said it is monitoring the situation closely.

The UN agency said it saw "no immediate nuclear safety risk" at Europe's biggest atomic plant.

As well as the more immediate evacuation concerns, there are also longer-term fears about the damage.

The dam holds back the waters of the Dnipro, forming a vast reservoir that provides water for a host of communities upstream.

It is also a vital part of the channel carrying water from the Dnipro to Russian-annexed Crimea.

After Russia annexed Crimea in 2014, Ukraine blocked a channel carrying water from Nova Kakhovka, triggering a water crisis on the peninsula.

Russian forces reopened the channel soon after last year's full-scale invasion. But without the dam, dropping water levels could once again jeopardise the flow of water.

It is not yet clear what caused the breach in the dam, but Ukraine's military intelligence has accused Russia of deliberately blowing it up early this morning.

This seems plausible, as Moscow may have feared that Ukrainian forces would use the road over the dam to advance into Russian-held territory, as part of their counter-offensive.

For Russia, anxious to defend conquered territory in southern Ukraine, the dam represented an obvious problem.

Just as Ukrainian forces attacked road and rail bridges further downstream last autumn in a successful effort to isolate Russian forces in and around Kherson, Russia may have decided to destroy the dam to hold up Ukraine's counter-offensive, which it fears could come from multiple directions.

However, a Russian official claims Ukraine carried out the attack on the dam to detract from what they said were the failures of its counter-offensive and to deprive Crimea of fresh water.

The Russian-installed mayor of Nova Kakhovka said Ukraine had carried out a "terrorist act directed against civilians", adding that that the "city is flooded".

The Kremlin also claimed Ukraine carried out the attack as an "act of sabotage", to detract from what they said were the failures of its counter-offensive and to deprive Crimea of fresh water.

A major Ukrainian push has long been expected. Kyiv has already said it would not give advance warning of its start but a recent increase in military activity is being seen as a fresh sign that the counter-offensive may have begun.

Senior Ukrainian military commander Serhiy Naev said the dam blast would not stop Ukraine from advancing.

On Monday, Ukraine's deputy defence minister Hanna Maliar said Ukrainian forces had advanced around the "epicentre of hostilities" in Bakhmut, but did not say whether the counter-offensive had begun.

Bakhmut has for months been at the heart of fierce fighting. It has little strategic value - but is important symbolically both for Kyiv and Moscow.

In the aftermath of the attack on the dam, Mr Zelensky said he had called a meeting of the country's security and defence council.

Blaming "Russian terrorists" for the partial destruction of the dam, Mr Zelenksy said "it's only Ukraine's victory that will return security".

Yuri Sak, an adviser to Ukraine's ministry of defence, told the BBC Radio 4's Today programme that phone intercepts have suggested Russia wants to target more dams.

"They're actually calling to blow up more dams on the Dnipro river," he said.

Ukraine has branded the attack on the dam "ecocide" and said that 150 tonnes of engine oil has spilled into the Dnipro river.

World leaders have laid the blame for the blast at Russia's door, with some calling it a war crime.

UK Foreign Secretary James Cleverly branded the attack an "abhorrent act", adding: "Intentionally attacking exclusively civilian infrastructure is a war crime. The UK stands ready to support Ukraine and those affected by this catastrophe."

The head of Nato, Jens Stoltenberg, said the destruction of the dam demonstrated once again the brutality of Russia's war in Ukraine, while Charles Michel, the president of the European Council, said he was "shocked by the unprecedented attack."

#ukraine #russia #Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant #Zaporizhzhia #Kakhovka dam #news

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