Jul 15, 2020
text ll open
Constantin: Wait. Wait. Wait.
Constantin: Hear me out.
Constantin: Hot air balloon date?
Constantin: I really want to drink wine in the sky.
Loading...
seen from Japan
seen from Belgium
seen from Japan
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from T1
seen from T1
seen from Japan
seen from Japan
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from Italy
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Bulgaria
seen from Japan
text ll open
Constantin: Wait. Wait. Wait.
Constantin: Hear me out.
Constantin: Hot air balloon date?
Constantin: I really want to drink wine in the sky.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
This house had been nothing but trouble from the start. Vidal Athanas was his Father but he was no super villain, he was just a man that Roman didn’t like all that much. He’d never hit him, whipped him, abused him or gave him a reason to be scarred for life by his own hand. He’d never hurt him the way that he seemed to have gone on to hurt everybody else because Roman had been blessed with the good sense to leave. Maybe that was the only Athanas trait that he carried -- sense.
“I didn’t come here to make some big claim for this house, I didn’t come here because I wanted to drag everyone to hell and back over a lump of ground that was worth more than my childhood,” Roman says, looking over at the other person. This place was ruinous, it could destroy any person or thing and this night had been proof of it. His head was spinning with all he had witnessed, all he had seen, the memory of that dirty abandoned bear imprinted on his mind all he would think about for days. Why had he came back? It had been his biggest mistake thus far.
florence had made the conscious decision to not join in on the seance. although black magic was more scientific than it was spiritual, it was still a bit... concerning. disturbance of anything beyond the natural world was, wasn’t it ? yes, instead, he’d spent his time tending to the garden that he very much believed could use some extra tlc. some flowers were pleading to be plucked, death creeping up on them; others were begging for more life – oh, please, more life ! he did have to say, though – it had been maintained fairly well for the lack of considerable workers.
...of course, that nice and peaceful night had been interrupted by scrambling from within the house – he was pretty sure he saw some of his siblings and/or their friends scramble inside the green house, too. there were times that ignorance was bliss... and there were times that answers were needed. approaching the nearest person ( who looked a bit... shaken ), he asked, voice soft, “ hey... did something happen with the seance ? ”
God. It felt like a bloody lifetime that he had been locked up in that cell. He’d never done more than a few days and some reparative litter picking. Worse than the lack of funny company when everyone thought you were a murderer was the lack of booze, drugs and good music. It had been a real buzz kill. Not to mention the envelope someone had kindly delivered him which had made his stomach turn. He thought he wouldn’t even have gotten out if it weren’t for threats from some out of town cop who seemed to be on his side or at least think he was rightfully too fucking stupid to even have hide something like that. Only the Lord himself would know why. Chandler just thought it was a real life miracle.
Or maybe it was the opposite of one... of all the crimes that he HAD committed, how could he be charged for the only one that he had absolutely no idea about? Even the few nights that he blacked out he’d never woken up in a ditch covered in human blood -- now that would of been enough to stop him drinking (probably). Right now though, he was sure the only thing that would hit the spot was a bottle of whisky right back in the kitchen of that house on the hill that he had now bound himself to by a flashing ankle monitor. If he even managed to stay inside to fulfil house arrest in someone else’s home.
𝕿here was a clutter in horatio’s mind; a knocked over cabinet, thoughts and feelings spread out; promiscuously, abstruse and ruining the tightly clasped order he had always had in his head —– and perhaps even worse, tonight it was surrounding him as well. cheap red party cups distributed on expensive wooden furniture, a limitless audacity filling hallways which were supposed to remain empty as soon as the clock struck ten thirty and the rhythm of too loud music, though reliable in itself, messing up the beating of his own heart. he could feel it; the desperate hammering of it against his chest, uncontrolled and irregular, as every single fibre of him was begging to make it stop, yelling inside his head because it wasn’t right !! this was not how the dollhouse was supposed to be treated. it had been built a home, a sacred place, a safe haven for vidal’s children —– this was not what he would’ve wanted.
horatio’s chest was heaving; rising and falling in too fast a pattern for him to feel even the relaxation of a sufficient amount of oxygen in his lungs. instead, there was the whirlwind of perhaps irrational but nonetheless real panic, and his hands were trembling, either with the terrifying loss of control or the exhausting attempt to keep a hold of it, as he lifted his arm, shaking fingers pushing back the sleeve to look at his watch. it had always given him comfort. the ticking of time in forever the same pattern, it helped. when reality started to feel awfully nebulous — not unlike a dream, a vision, a nightmare, it was the one thing which reminded him of the things which were real. one second lasts a second, one minute a minute, one hour an hour; no matter what... however, now even the silent ticking was loud inside his head and with it the voice of his father telling him to get rid of them. he was the warden, after all.
he was noticing someone, suddenly, rather than seeing them as his gaze was still glued on his watch, the pad of his thumb – stuck as well – brushing in ever the same mechanic pattern across the face of it. “ i need some air, “ he muttered under his empty breath, fingers curling a little tighter around his wrist because he didn’t want to say it, because he was not someone who needed help, because this was his home and he knew his way around in it —– under normal circumstances, at least. “ can you get me out? “
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
she stood nearing to vertmoor creek but not quite at the edge where those who were up to no good lurked, not that it mattered as that business was something that ran in her blood more than others knew and nobody would dare to face her father’s wrath. the arslan’s were protected by a reputation that no longer existed. she did not know if azra and demir would ever truly fill those boots of that dark shadow but now she knew for sure that she wouldn’t. she had been driven to scheming and that was not good. she didn’t need to be smart to understand how to get under her siblings skin and demonstrate that she was no little girl anymore.
“where do you think i can get the best balloons for a baby shower?” she asked the passerby, a small smile turned up on her lips.
Neek was pleased. He wasn’t exactly a chaotic person but it was true that chaos sometimes surrounded him when he campaigned against the plights others faced and screamed about the importance of good morals. Occasionally the path to a peaceful existence and respect for human rights was paved with upheaval and sacrifices beyond the means others expected. There was nothing that Neek Silva would not sacrifice including himself. He could not stop, he could not filter or hold himself back because every fibre of his being was angled only towards his ultimate goal of making the world a better place. It was unfortunate that it often blinded him to the collateral damage that could occur in the process and all those that were so easily left behind. Where did one draw the line in the battle of good vs moral evil?
“When the history books write about Vertmoor I hope they accurately record that there were always people who knew that basically everything that happened here was a human rights violation from day one. If only I was born earlier and my parents too, then I’m sure I would of gotten to the bottom of things in time.”
HER BEDROOM DOOR WAS PROPPED OPEN and anyone who had not seen it before may have felt nobody had ever lived there at all. Her side of the bedroom was completely bare and her twins side was customised, his bed completely empty. He was nowhere to be seen. Alone she lay atop her bed with a stuffed toy that she had found in a box marked with someone else’s name. Perhaps she felt closer to them than to anyone in this house because like her they must have been too broken, Dad had just realised it about her far too late to follow his process of correction. She imagined they were long gone, buried in some forgotten place like all of Dad’s secrets were in the end.
She watched people return to their respective rooms, elbows on the bed and plasters and bandages wrapped around her hands and neck. It reminded her so much of when everyone was still here; before she had been banished for the very first time from her family home. Someone approaches and she speaks, words to the point, “The trophy is gone; it’s no longer where it was left. Taken again.”