[remauriel]

ㅤthe thing about the angelic demi-god was that he could be just about anywhere but also nowhere at the same time. normally, usually, he appears without a notice - at least for those unfamiliar to him ( those who were familiar have come to notice the gentle chimes of his entrance ). it is simply a known feat of his to be CAREFUL as to not stir the very air around them, if he can help it.

ㅤit is ethereal in nature, his comings and goings; rather masterfully mysterious all in the same. it is not to scare another. ( oh! anything but that! ) never and quite rarely does it seem to happen in any means to terrify or to intimidate. as if he was a thing unnoticed prior and then so very suddenly noticed: a forgotten thing now remembered.

ㅤbut never mind the question of entrances. neither grand nor ordinary - peculiar, perhaps. but, who cares? ( not him, it seems. ) to the immortal, it was just another day - just another moment. remauriel seemed to continue and CARRY the conversation that was started by the other. as if that was far more important than anything else.

ㅤㅤ"is it?" the question was both genuine but also almost prying.

was it? was it a wonderful day? what made any sort of day wonderful? how was the term 'wonderful' even measured? and how could it have possibly be wholly determined by a singular definition?

ㅤwas it wonderful because the other believed it to be? ( like truly thought it to be 'wonderful' ? ) or was it a day that MOST would agree with it to being a wonderful day.

ㅤof course, all of this musing had never been audibly spoken, though just a single look at the angel could have anybody knowing those thoughts. even a child could see it on him. his plain and SIMPLE question held so much to them. he was an open book - and anybody could know his musings. he cared not to hide a single part of it.

but that was the thing. he cared NOT to HIDE a SINGLE part of it.

ㅤhis inquiry held far more weight than just asking if it really was a wonderful day.

ㅤㅤㅤ'do you really believe it to be a wonderful day, or are you holding a small conversation to help with the masquerade of hiding how you really feel?'

doublespeak.

ㅤㅤof course, remauriel spoke not a single word outside from his initial response. but he did not need to. while, true, he had the gift of hindsight, one did not need to look very deep to know that the 'elder' gentleman beside him on the bench currently held a rather troubled life.

one. he was alone. in what seemingly looked like a park. where was his companion? two. the notebook. though valid in closing it when a stranger approaches - that could be personal and most likely private thoughts and information. but the reaction is something that seemed to have almost have been that of one hiding an obsession.

ㅤnow, the angel is not - will never be - one of harsh judgements or presumptions. though he is still one who does, genuinely try to have meaningful conversations with others. often gives others the chance to look inward ( if only slightly ), and yet, not once, does he ever seem to make them do or say anything. and if it seems to be discomforting for anybody, he does not press. for he would rather allow them space to go at their own pace.

ㅤthough it is absolutely clear here what he is doing. he is giving the man a choice to answer however he wishes to answer, but the question itself is far more open ended that it really seems.

ㅤwhen remauriel asked, it absolutely was an euphemism or sorts - and he was not hiding it. but it also did not need to be. though it seemed as though he would speak up again, out of consideration for the other.

ㅤㅤ"do you really believe it to be? couldn't it be better?"

[aurorxaeternitatis]

        One life wasn't enough to prepare a soul for the kinds of people it would meet during its lifespan. A single blade of grass didn't create a meadow. It was always surrounded by its kind, by other grass, by weeds, by flowers. If Malcolm was a pampas grass, then the one before him was as colorful as a camellia. Unexpected, off-putting with his presence, disarming with his question. Yet, the way the eyes spoke more than words ever could cloaked the stranger with an aura of someone one crosses once in a lifetime.

        He had read it plenty of times in fiction — of encounters that changed one's trajectory and worldview. Instances where souls and minds clash in their dichotomy — opposed but candor, from start to the end; idiosyncratic. Malcolm was never a fan of such encounters, even in fiction. He disliked the mere idea of one's world being turned upside down due to a gap in experiences. He disliked people with a profound understanding of things written in books; those who read a passage and understood it intimately, regardless if they've experienced it or not. Most of all, he disliked those with a predilection for soulful questions. Those who wanted to peek inside a mirror and unearth that which was buried. People whose words sounded mellifluous like honeyed nectar in ancient times, but were more often than not as nefarious as a cup of poison.

        Those types of people he felt the most comfortable around.

        Those types he trusted the least.

        Lips pulled into an amiable smile, but its sweetness wasn't reflected in the eyes that peered into the other's.

        As inquisitive and childlike as the question may have sounded, something in his heart demanded caution. The more pleasant his mere company felt, the more alarms sounded off in Malcolm's head.

        He didn't like it. Didn't like the luminous glow of the other's soul. It had burnt him before. It was a treacherous path with calamity at the end of the road.

        After all, wasn't Lucifer the brightest of all angels? Wasn't he known as the deceiver and the devil? Even if his faith had long dissipated, he still held onto some of the lessons. The brightest of them all was the most humane, and that which was humane was innately both vile and kind.

        “ Does everything need to be so deep and serious? ” Does it need meaning? Does subjectivity need to be included when answering such a question? Can it not be a wonderful day simply because for the majority it is a normal, uneventful day?

        Facial features indicated someone youthful, at least at first glance. Perhaps it was arrogant to create a profile on a stranger so early with barely any thoughts shared, but old habits die hard. If the youthful man before him was a student, it would make sense why such curiosity existed. Possibly someone studying philosophy, or anything related to it. Or, perhaps, someone deeply enamoured with it, and with a lack of filter to keep those questions at bay.

        Should curiosity be kept at bay? Put on a leash and controlled at all times? Should it be encouraged? To which degree then? Should it run free?

        Where is order in such a world? Where are its rules?

        For the sake of entertaining a stranger, and possibly questions in the future (should his curiosity be piqued), Malcolm closed the notebook in his hands, keeping the secrets written down away from prying eyes.

        “ Do you study philosophy by any chance? It isn't common for me to have my thoughts dissected in such a way, so excuse my lack of wit when answering your question. ”

        As accusatory as the words may have sounded, there was a genuine unease as they were uttered. Normally he would've claimed it was a part of acting he had picked up with the job. Realistically, he was deeply aware of how disquieting it felt to be transparent to another being.

        How vulnerable.

[nomenu]

[aurorxaeternitatis]

@gunrising continued from here

        She plays the nonchalant to perfection, Alexander mused when the coffee cup reached his lips. He knew, if the order had been given to her before, he wouldn't be sitting. He wouldn't have even made it close enough to sit on a chair. Granted, if the setting wasn't as public and playing in his favour. It allowed him to test the waters and also seek the answers to his questions. For who else would know Izumi Ryoto's thoughts better than his daughter?

        “ A threat? ” Amusement was visible in the smile that had tugged on his lips. No, he was far from making threats. He leaned into his seat, eyes calculating, caught for a mere moment in her gaze. “ I do not make threats. I make promises and give warnings. ” Promises he always kept, warnings he shared when he wanted to play games.

        It had been this childlike fascination with the world around him that made him so unpredictable. He observed those around him as if they were different, special. Like a kid whose world was so vastly different from that of adults, the world seemed as if it needed to be analysed to the most meticulous of details. Their movements, their speech, their conduct. He watched it as if he was yet to step into that world, as if he had not been part of it for years. Yet, he believed — more so than anyone else, that the true colours of the world were understood through his crystalline gaze. Reflected through them like against a water surface. In that reflection he found meaning. In that reflection he found truth.

        Currently, the truth was quite simple. He was at a border that stretched far and wide. Izumi Ryoto was on the other side, serving as a barrier he needed to overcome. The playfield wasn't in his favour and the chances of failure were higher than success. How many times had he defied the numbers against him? If to judge by the trail he left behind him, plenty of times.

        “ Rather than going in circles, I was hoping we could mutually exploit each other. ” Amusement etched itself in his features, in the corners of his smile, his facial muscles and the intrigue in his eyes. “ Your family has information and influence here. I have it in the USA and parts of Europe. You give me access to Japan's black market and I return in kind. The reason why I am not speaking with your father about this is purely because I feel he needs a nudge from someone he trusts to see the potential of the offer. ”

[aurorxaeternitatis]

        Malcolm liked to walk. He enjoyed the feeling of safety from the unyielding pavement under his feet. He liked the sound of the leaves crunching beneath him as the wind blew them into his path. Most of all he liked the silence that came from being by himself. Sometimes, the memories stuck in never-ending winter invaded his mind, the what-ifs played themselves one after the other until all was diluted with a few shots of whiskey. Sometimes, he merely walked down the streets with his work in mind, eyes focused on others.

        He took a seat on one of the wooden benches in the park and, more out of habit than anything else, he found himself observing those around him. The mother pushing her child on the swing, the lady walking her dog, the man jogging, the two teenagers smoking on another bench; each in their own world. He imagined pushing his own daughter on a swing, his wife shouting to both to look into the camera as she took a picture, the trip to a pizzeria afterward. A simple, joyful, purposeful life that had been stolen from him on that day. It created an unbridgeable chasm, separating him from a life he could never have.

        Now he was lost, wandering, trying to keep the wolves from devouring him in the dark forest of emotions he had found himself in. A forest he had been stuck in for so long, he was beginning to call it home. The only thing he had left was an untameable beast that had emerged from grief and hurt, his need for vengeance. For someone to pay for the lives that were unrightfully taken away.

        The mother left with her child, the teenagers rushed back to school after checking the time, two ladies jogged together and quickly passed by. Malcolm pulled out his notebook, a notebook with notes and information related to the unfortunate events many years ago, and went over it for the hundredth time since he bought it. Names, images of those possibly involved, those of notable names that were in Spain that year, the current criminals whom the law couldn't put behind bars. Anger prickled beneath his skin, snuck into his heart and clawed until it would burst free. Each passing name, each event, fueled the monster growing inside.

        Only when Malcolm heard someone's breathing beside him did he close the notebook and lift his gaze. " Wonderful day, isn't it? " He hadn't heard the stranger arrive at all, hadn't heard his footsteps crunching against the leaves, nor the moment when his weight rested against the bench. Perhaps he was simply too occupied with his thoughts to notice, or his senses were getting duller as years caught on. / @remauriel

[aurorxaeternitatis]

Smoking was something he never planned to get addicted to.

When he was a child, Magnus detested that his father smoked. He disliked the smell of nicotine, he hated the effects on the body it left, and he hated the double standard of men being considered confident and professional if they smoked, while women who smoked were considered unattractive, rebels, and aggressive. If it was seen as so, he had decided he'd be someone who doesn't smoke. He'd be a rebel in his own, private way.

He was seventeen the first time he lit a cigarette. It was in the company of a girl he liked at the time, after sex. His first puff was wrong and he didn't inhale it properly. She instructed him how to actually do it. It took a few more tries until the smoke actually entered his lungs, and he took a proper inhale of it. Since that night, he had seen it as a ritual of sorts between them. After sex, they'd both smoke, remain in each other's presence, enjoy the following minutes of peace. They'd casually chat or they'd remain silent.

Later on in life, when he was eighteen, he was introduced to cigars. His father had sat him down, brought out his favourite cigars, Davidoff #1, and they shared a smoke together. It is one of the very few fond memories he shares of his father, and the act itself gave cigars higher value than cigarettes. They became, more than anything else, a commitment to time. To the company of the person he was smoking with and the conversation between them. Whenever he smokes one, he is always in good company. The person he currently enjoys smoking cigars with the most is Dominico. Their conversations are the ones Magnus cherishes and values the most, and they find time once a week to smoke together. He still smokes cigarettes when he needs a nicotine fix, but cigars remain above them.

[aurorxaeternitatis]

Smoking was something he never planned to get addicted to.

When he was a child, Magnus detested that his father smoked. He disliked the smell of nicotine, he hated the effects on the body it left, and he hated the double standard of men being considered confident and professional if they smoked, while women who smoked were considered unattractive, rebels, and aggressive. If it was seen as so, he had decided he'd be someone who doesn't smoke. He'd be a rebel in his own, private way.

He was seventeen the first time he lit a cigarette. It was in the company of a girl he liked at the time, after sex. His first puff was wrong and he didn't inhale it properly. She instructed him how to actually do it. It took a few more tries until the smoke actually entered his lungs, and he took a proper inhale of it. Since that night, he had seen it as a ritual of sorts between them. After sex, they'd both smoke, remain in each other's presence, enjoy the following minutes of peace. They'd casually chat or they'd remain silent.

Later on in life, when he was eighteen, he was introduced to cigars. His father had sat him down, brought out his favourite cigars, Davidoff #1, and they shared a smoke together. It is one of the very few fond memories he shares of his father, and the act itself gave cigars higher value than cigarettes. They became, more than anything else, a commitment to time. To the company of the person he was smoking with and the conversation between them. Whenever he smokes one, he is always in good company. The person he currently enjoys smoking cigars with the most is Dominico. Their conversations are the ones Magnus cherishes and values the most, and they find time once a week to smoke together. He still smokes cigarettes when he needs a nicotine fix, but cigars remain above them.

[aurorxaeternitatis]

Magnus is a man living by schedules. He's incredibly meticulous and prefers when his time is used efficiently. His meetings, business trips, interviews of potential investments, and even his free time are all planned ahead. Every day starts at 5 a.m., and every night ends at 11 p.m. The exceptions to the rule are only made when he plans them in advance so he can move his sleeping schedule around accordingly. Otherwise, he is completely unreachable in the middle of the night. This routine that has been instilled in him since he was a child is one of the reasons why he does so much during the day, and why he's in charge of most operations in Eden. He is detail-oriented and someone who likes to be in charge of all aspects in his life, be it work, pleasure or entertainment. He trusts his judgment on the matter, he knows details won't be ignored if he personally looks at them, and he knows the decisions made would have good reasons behind them. His intense obsession with control is the reason why he prefers it in the bedroom too, even though sometimes, on very rare occasions, he may let go of it. Not because he wants to take the weight off of his shoulders or because he doesn't want to be in charge, but merely because it interests him what his partner for the night would do if they had all of it. More often than not, if he doesn't like where things are going, he will simply take it back. He is the one giving it after all, it is never being taken away.

[aurorxaeternitatis]

Me, whenever I'm discussing plots involving Domínico, Kafka or Nikolai:

[darksweetmelody]

Passion is obsession. It is desire beyond reason. It is not want, but need. And it comes with the worst of sin far more often than it comes with the best of it.

- Sarah MacLean

[aurorxaeternitatis]

He was late; barely able to step out of the bus while he ran to the underground entrance with his sports bag on his shoulder. Shit, shit, shit! That miserable bus and that fucking traffic! Mika was erratic while he slammed his shoulder against the metallic door, making his way inside the locker room to already throw away his sweatshirt onto the bench and get himself ready. He wasn’t on the fighters list tonight, but he had received a call from one of the supposed referees to fill in because a lot of money had already been bet and there were VIPs to watch the fights. Money was money, after all, and he needed it. He quickly made sure to change before he stepped out of the locker room, heading to the cage. With that kind of organization, his name would be called out at the last minute, the very moment he would step into the ring for the surprise effect. 

He gazed at the VIP area from below, recalling the first night he had ever talked to Nikolai. They hadn’t texted at all since yesterday, but Mika was aware he was also a busy man, probably out of town or just… away. He glanced absentmindedly until he eventually saw moving shapes on the booths of the VIP room. He squinted his eyes for a moment, before he eventually recognized the very man he had been thinking about, a smile appearing at the corner of his lips, before it faded immediately. Yes, Nikolai was there… But certainly not alone. And certainly not sharing a drink either. Mika’s mouth went dry, his heart sinking deep inside his guts; oh… How could he be so naive…Of course… Of course it was like this… 

“... BEAR!!” There were acclamations from the scene, the spectators gathering around the ring fervently. He received a loud slap on his shoulder as the referee shook him. “Get in, kid!” He pushed him forwards. Mika was forced to look away from the other show that had caught his attention. Nikolai’s expression, his eyes full of lust for that girl, his hands on her body… It was the same as when they were together. Mika clenched his fists and entered the ring while his name was shouted again. He didn’t dare to look at the VIP area anymore. He was stupid, so stupid. 

He glanced at his opponent with a profound furor. Tonight, the Scottish Bear would be particularly violent. // you thought you could get away Nikolai? NEVER 😤

        Nikolai's fingers gently explored the contours of Annabelle's hand, his touch sending shivers of anticipation through her. She leaned in closer, her red lips brushing his ear as she whispered, " You're a hard man to pin down, Nikolai. Haven't seen you in the club for a while. "

        Hazel eyes met her sultry gaze, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. " I do enjoy keeping people on their toes, " he admitted, his voice low and seductive. " But tonight, you have all my attention. "

        As the announcement of Bear resounded in the club, Nikolai's gaze momentarily flicked toward the ring, his smile amused. " A friend of yours? " She noticed possessiveness in his gaze as his fingers traced tantalizing patterns along her arm. " A friend of mine, and quite the showman. "

        Annabelle's laughter danced like a secret melody between them, her fingers tracing a teasing path along Nikolai's chest. " Showman, you say? " she purred. " I like a man who knows how to put on a show. "

        Nikolai's eyes darkened with desire as he met her playful challenge. " Is that so? " he murmured, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. " Perhaps we could make our own kind of spectacle tonight. "

        As the first fighters entered the ring below, Annabelle's fingers traced a slow, deliberate path up Nikolai's thigh, her gaze never leaving his. " Tell me, Nikolai, " she whispered, her voice a sultry caress, " what's your favorite kind of excitement? "

        Nikolai's smile widened as her touch sent a rush of desire coursing through him. If only she knew. He leaned in closer, his lips grazing the curve of her neck. " I enjoy the thrill of unpredictability, " he confessed, his voice husky. " The rush of taking risks, and the sweet taste of victory. "

        Annabelle's laughter was like the tinkling of crystal, a sound that echoed with allure and mischief. " Victory... And what if you lose tonight? "

        Their playful banter was interrupted by the raucous cheers and jeers from the crowd below as the fight in the ring intensified. Mika was giving his opponent a run for his money, and the excitement in the club was palpable.

        Nikolai tore his gaze away from Annabelle, momentarily captivated by the intense bout below. " Impressive, " he mused, watching the fighters' every move. " Mika's quite the fighter. " Nikolai was proud of his Scottish bear. He proved to be a far more captivating plaything than the typical individual, and his unique ruthlessness set him apart from the rest.

       Annabelle's fingers resumed their tantalizing exploration, this time tracing up Nikolai's thigh. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his earlobe. "I'm more interested in what you're capable of," she purred.

       Nikolai's self-assured smile returned as he turned his attention back to her, his fingers finding the contours of her waist. " You'll find, Annabelle, " he murmured, " that I'm capable of many things. "

[aurorxaeternitatis]

       The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue across the sprawling landscape of Alhazaria. Domínico stood atop the parapets of the Royal Alcazar of Zahran, his keen gaze sweeping over the kingdom he ruled. From this vantage point, he could see the diversity of his realm unfold before him — the rugged coastline stretching out along the Sapphire Sea, the rolling hills adorned with vineyards and olive groves, the majestic mountains towering in the distance, and the vast desert to the south with its shimmering sand dunes. It was a kingdom at the crossroads of two worlds, a place where the beauty of the sea met the allure of exotic landscapes.

       As he looked out, Domínico's mind drifted back through the pages of history, tracing the footsteps of those who had come before him. Alhazaria was not just a kingdom; it was a living tapestry woven with the threads of generations past. The legacy of his ancestors, their triumphs and struggles, was etched into every stone and grain of sand that made up this land. He recalled the stories of King Rashid and Queen Amira, rulers who had guided Alhazaria through turbulent times, and he felt a weight of responsibility that came with his position as the current monarch.

       The city below hummed with activity — the markets bustling, the distant cries of vendors, the murmurs of the people. It was a symphony of order, orchestrated by his meticulous rule. Domínico knew his subjects looked to him and relied on his intellect and stratagem to navigate the complexities of their world. He was a descendant of their gods, after all.

       Yet, as the sun's glow deepened, his thoughts turned to the shifting currents beyond Alhazaria's borders. The impending union of Nunally Ambly des Ayvelles and Leopold von Furchtlos was more than a marriage alliance; it was a doorway, an opportunity—a chance for war and expansion. The tension of religious disparities, the discord of ambitions — Domínico dissected these elements with the precision of a strategist, his mind a whirlwind of calculations.

       The clash of faiths, he pondered. The implications of an alliance forged on differences. He considered potential catalysts — a skirmish on the fringes of Ambly des Ayvelles' domain involving displaced polytheists seeking shelter. It was a thread he could pull, a seam he could unravel. A spark to ignite the flames of a calculated war, a war he desired for his own gain.

       His fingers traced the carvings on the parapet as he imagined various scenarios. The board was set, the pieces poised, and he played with them in his mind. The reasons for war — he could conjure them as easily as he breathed. The consequences, the strategies, the victory — all painted with the strokes of his ambition.

       As the sun sank lower, Domínico's thoughts turned to Ángel, his younger brother. The brother he saw potential in, an uncut gem that could be honed and shaped to serve the kingdom's ambitions. In which way he was yet to decide, but just like with anyone in the kingdom, Domínico would find a purpose for him.

       " Your Grace, " Thoughts were brought to a halt and he was greeted by a familiar face — his loyal friend and confidant, Luciano. Luciano bowed slightly before meeting Dominico's gaze. " You seem preoccupied. "

       " Luciano, " Domínico greeted with a nod, his eyes fixated on the kingdom sprawled below, a land ripe with potential. " You've seen the shifts in the alliances, the brewing tensions at our borders. The marriage between prince Leopold and princess Nunally — it's an opening. "

       Luciano's brow furrowed as he studied Domínico's expression. " An opening for what, Your Grace? "

       Domínico's lips curved into a shrewd smile, a glint of determination in his eyes. " For expansion, my friend. Our realm has stood strong for generations, our history is etched with resilience. But the time has come to seize the moment, to grow beyond our current borders. "

       Luciano's gaze held a mix of understanding and concern. " Are we prepared for the consequences, Your Grace? War, bloodshed — those are not easy paths to tread. "

       Domínico's eyes remained unwavering, his voice resolute. " Every great ruler in history has faced such choices. The world bows to power, my friend. Our military is strong, our alliances won't fail us — I've made sure of that, and our people are loyal. "

       Luciano nodded slowly, his gaze distant as if contemplating the implications. " Even if they're loyal, will they stand with you in war after so many years of peace? I can imagine some being against it, and internal conflict will make us vulnerable — if it comes to it. "

       Domínico's expression softened, his tone carrying a hint of empathy. " Change is never easy, Luciano. But our realm's progress, its advancement—that will be our legacy. We will lay the foundations for a future that resonates through the ages. That is something the people will fight for, and they will if I'm the one doing the talking. "

       Luciano's lips quirked into a thoughtful smile. " You've always had a gift for turning adversity into advantage. "

       Domínico chuckled, a mixture of pride and amusement in his eyes. " It's what makes a ruler. We must adapt, evolve, and master the art of the unexpected. "

       " And what do you propose, Your Grace? " Luciano inquired, his curiosity piqued.

       Domínico's gaze grew intense, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the parapets. " We must explore every avenue, seek out weaknesses in our potential foes, and build a case for our actions. Political moves, diplomatic gambits, calculated alliances—all leading to a unified front. "

       Luciano nodded, a renewed determination gleaming in his eyes. " It shall be done as you wish. I'll send the word to those that need to hear it. You have my unwavering support, as always. "

       Domínico's smile seemed genuine, but even with their bond of trust and shared purpose, Luciano had always been someone Domínico used. " I'd be grievously wounded if I didn't, " he quipped.

       As night descended upon the kingdom, Domínico retreated into the depths of the palace, his mind a tempest of thoughts and plans. The future awaited, a tapestry waiting to be woven — one where faith, alliance, and ambition would converge in ways neither he nor the realm could predict. However, that didn't mean he couldn't control all of it. / @lured-into-wonderland

[aurorxaeternitatis]

It was the first time he was using his brand new phone. He had never had such a quality camera before, and surely, he was quite abashed that such a small thing could cost the price of one dangerous night of fighting - and only if he was the winner. But Nikolai had insisted - he wanted Mika to be his sugar baby. To have things, to provoke him. He was not the best with that, but slowly, he was learning by the other one’s side. 

Mika made sure that no one else was in the changing room of his dojo. He had taken his time under the shower, an idea blooming in the back of his head. While he headed out with his towel rolled around his hips, he stopped in front of the mirror. His copper locks were still wet and dripping, his abs covered in a veil of small droplets of water. He took his phone out of his bag, and then prepared himself. He tensed his muscles, enough for his abs to show up, the V on his hips increased. He slightly pulled on the towel, down enough to reveal his happy trail. 

10:45: Training done! I’m alone in the lockers 

10:45: *picture attached*

10:46: Felt like I wanted to go frisky… 🍆😈

He took another picture, this time the towel was gone and he was exposing his bubble and muscular butt. Perfectly shaped after such hard training. 

10:48: *picture attached*

10:48: Too bad you can’t pick me up tonight 😖 / @distopea

       Nikolai's fingers tapped on the screen of his phone, his lips curling into a predatory smile as he devoured Mika's messages. The images Mika sent were like a direct line to his fantasies, a seductive invitation that made his pulse quicken, a restless energy that demanded release. He leaned back in his chair, his mind delving into a world of desire and anticipation that only Mika could evoke, while the wet sounds filled his ears.

11:05: You're testing my limits, aren't you, my little tempter? 😈

       His thumbs moved with purpose, his replies becoming more explicit as he allowed his thoughts to roam freely. He longed to see Mika's body laid bare before him, to trace the lines of his muscles with his fingertips. Tension grew within him under the touch so well attunded with his body, a bead of sweat running down his temple. " Keep going, baby. " The brunette between his legs took it as a challenge.

11:06: Can almost feel your lips wrapped around me, that tongue working its magic… 🍆💦

       Nikolai's thoughts drifted to the night before, the memory of their passionate encounter fresh in his mind. He recalled the way Mika's body had yielded to his touch, the way he had moaned and writhed beneath him; of Mika on his knees, those skilled lips and eager tongue driving him to the brink of ecstasy. His words were a reflection of his insatiable appetite for Mika, for the way their bodies fit together in a dance of pleasure, dominance and submission. There was no need for elaborate descriptions when the truth of their desires was so vivid. And the tongue currently working him so well only fueled those thoughts, only made it harder to keep himself in control. A chuckle escaped him as fingers gripped her hair, his chest rose and fell faster.

11:12: It's a shame I can't be there to see that perfect ass of yours in person tonight.

11:12: I want to see you dripping with need, begging for release. You love it when I come inside you, don't you?

       Nikolai's messages were a blend of commanding statements and tantalizing questions. A dance of words, a carefully orchestrated seduction that played upon their shared desires and secrets. He could almost feel the electric tension that hung between them through the phone, the unspoken promise of pleasure and passion that they both craved.

       His mind was in an overdrive, yet the thrill he was feeling was addicting. The woman seemed to know what was going on as well, and with a naughty smirk, simply took him in deeper. Enough to make him pant.

11:15: Until then, my naughty little fighter, keep those thoughts burning in your mind.

       He hit send, his pulse quickening as he imagined Mika's reaction to his words, and at the fact he was close. The anticipation was intoxicating, a heady mixture of arousal and excitement, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Mika was his canvas, his willing plaything, and Nikolai couldn't wait to paint their shared desires onto every inch of his skin. Just like he was going to paint it on her.

[aurorxaeternitatis]

She put on the green contact lenses. They matched her skin tone, and would not make her look unnatural like if she had opted for some more adventurous colour. Her fair hair was not put into a bun, as it usually would, and was currently falling down on her shoulders like a small bright cascade. It was not as long as it used to be (she was too old for that or perhaps it would make her look unprofessional in her own eyes), but still longer than most women her age would have. She looked at herself in the mirror. Critically. For a short moment she considered putting on a wig, but it would be too much. Instead, she took a hair colour spray and dyed some of her locks purple. Perhaps she should have chosen a different colour, but it looked well enough. Different enough. Nunnally didn’t want to be recognized. She was well aware that what she was doing was wrong. And it could even have some negative influence on her career. But sneaking out, having some moments when she was not fully herself, helped her to survive, to keep herself sane all her life. After all, her safety was why she wasn’t allowed to leave alone. Bu why wouldn’t she be safe anyway? She wasn't anyone that important. Yet, she hoped. Even if she was to get recognized, it might actually help her case, although would earn her some scolding from the chief of her security. But walking surrounded by the bunch of men with serious faces was the last thing Nunnally wanted.

The day was bright. Sunny. It was late summer and she enjoyed the warm breeze on her skin. The flowery dress had long sleeves (Nunnally never liked sun or getting tanned) and was long enough to make her feel comfortable. Perhaps that dress was the only thing that didn't fit her image, but Nunnally couldn't convince herself to completely change the way she dressed. She didn’t plan to do anything special. Just hang around, find a nice café, had a cup of coffee, somewhere close to the water. A small, cosy café seemed to be the best option.

Nunnally noticed him at once, when she scanned the guests of that small café. Not that he was standing out in anyway. He looked pretty normal, not to say average. But he brought some unexpected uncertainty into her mind. Nunnally liked observing people, guessing who they were, or assigning roles to them by the way they looked or talked. An old habit she developed when the majority of things were hidden from her (not that her current life was so different in that respect). But he was a mystery for her. She probably stared at him a bit longer than she should have, but hopefully the man didn't notice. He didn’t seem like he had.

She focused on her drink, took a magazine and started to flip its pages. Pretending to read. He looked like a former military… Nunnally shrugged. It was not that important after all. Her phone beeped. She looked at the message and sighed. She switched it off. She was not going to care. At least not tonight. She stood up and decided to get another drink. But was the floor wet? Or was she too distracted by the unexpected message? Nunnally tripped.

“What a bad luck…” – she muttered under her breath, hopelessly looking at her broken heel but quite thankful that she didn't fall down. How was she supposed to walk back now? She should probably try to catch a taxi. She took the other shoe off and tried to break off the other heel – “It’s no use… I cannot do it.” Then she smiled to herself, to her thoughts. And then approached the man that previously piqued her attention: --

“Would you mind helping me? I cannot break off the other heel.” – she explained the obvious – “I would appreciate your help with it…and could offer you one more drink in return for this favour…” – she smiled; her head pointing at his almost empty glass; the gesture made her hair dancing around her shoulders.  / @lured-into-wonderland   

        Amid the sun-kissed ambiance of the café, Ghost's attention was stirred by the subtle stirrings of a scene unfolding nearby. His instincts, sharpened by years of training and honed by countless missions, guided his gaze to a woman who radiated an air of uncertainty. She projected an image of normalcy, her hair cascading gently over her shoulders, her attire a charming blend of casual and composed. His gaze lingered on her as he played the role of the unassuming observer. There was something intriguing about her, an allure that tugged at the edges of his curiosity. Ghost had a habit of reading people, an ability finely tuned through necessity and nurtured through the stark realities of his profession. As her eyes flitted across the café's patrons, Ghost couldn't help but sense a depth to her gaze, a keen perception that seemed at odds with the simple act of scanning the room.

        He continued to feign indifference, the veil of anonymity draped over him like a shroud. His thoughts remained his own, his observations hidden behind the mask he wore so well. Yet, beneath that veneer, Ghost found himself compelled by the air of mystery that surrounded her. The wheels of his mind turned, weaving scenarios and speculations as he wondered about the woman's story.

        Ghost shifted his gaze away, pretending to return to his own thoughts, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his almost empty glass. The café's atmosphere swirled around him, the low murmur of conversations and the clinking of cups composing a backdrop to his musings. He considered the message that had summoned her attention, the way she switched off her phone as if to sever a connection to the world beyond.

        In the midst of this internal reflection, Ghost's awareness sharpened as he sensed her movement. The gentle rustle of fabric, the soft padding of steps—it all drew his attention back to her. His gaze remained masked, hidden behind the façade he presented to the world, yet his senses remained attuned to her approach.

        And then, the unexpected happened. Her voice, a melodic blend of uncertainty and determination, reached his ears. The words she spoke were simple, a request framed by an almost sheepish smile. The sight of her broken heel, her confession of futility in trying to break the other, painted a picture of vulnerability that intrigued him further. Her eyes, framed by the tendrils of hair dancing in the gentle breeze, seemed to hold a myriad of unspoken stories. And in that moment, Ghost found himself caught between his instinct to remain detached and his inclination to engage. He weighed his options in an instant, the complexities of his life and his role intertwining with the undeniable allure of her presence.

        With a silent exhale that only he could hear, Ghost finally allowed a hint of a smile to grace his lips. A nod, an unspoken acknowledgment, was all that he offered. As he rose from his seat, his movements were deliberate, controlled. The distance between them seemed to close effortlessly, his steps measured yet purposeful. Ghost turned his attention to her shoe, his fingers deftly working to release her from the other heel. His gaze met hers briefly, a fleeting exchange that held a world of unspoken understanding. And then, the task was complete, the broken heel separated and cast aside.

        He offered a genuine smile — a rare expression that hinted at the layers beneath his enigmatic exterior. " There you go, " he said, his tone a blend of reassurance and camaraderie. " No need for any return favors. Sometimes, a little help is all we need. "

        As she glanced toward his glass, his smile widened slightly, a subtle acknowledgment of the unspoken offer she had extended moments earlier. " But if you insist on that drink, " he continued, gesturing toward the nearly empty glass, " who am I to turn down a chance for some company? "

        The air between them held a sense of shared understanding, a connection forged in a moment of vulnerability and offered assistance. Ghost found himself drawn into a world that was foreign to him, a world where genuine interactions and casual encounters were as unfamiliar as the darkness he navigated daily. And in that café, under the golden hues of the late summer sun, the lines between his two worlds blurred ever so slightly.

[aurorxaeternitatis]

        As the conversation unfolded, Lilith's bold claims hung in the air, challenging the very essence of her proposed business deal. Alexander's blue eyes bore into her, a mix of skepticism and curiosity. It was clear that her words had struck a chord, and he wasn't about to take them at face value.

        With a calculated finesse, he leaned back slightly in his seat, his demeanor composed but probing. " Miss Bellerose, " he began, his tone measured, " the art world is rife with both authenticity and forgery. Original pieces, especially those with historical significance, tend to find their homes in museums or esteemed private collections. " His words were diplomatic yet laden with a hint of challenge.

        He paused, letting the weight of his statement settle between them before continuing. " The rate of fakes is staggering, and claiming to have secured a significant number of original pieces raises questions. How have you managed to acquire such artworks, considering their rarity and protected status? " His eyes bore into her, searching for any sign of hesitation or inconsistency.

        Nikolai observed the interaction with keen interest. He understood that Alexander was navigating the thin line between caution and confrontation. Lilith's audacious claims had triggered Alexander's skepticism. He was not merely questioning the authenticity of the art pieces; he was probing into Lilith's character and credibility.

        Nikolai had seen Alexander in such situations before, piercing through the layers of words to uncover the hidden truths. In this exchange, Alexander's suspicion seemed to be growing, and a perceptible imbalance was beginning to emerge. The scales were tipping against Lilith, not solely due to the doubts cast upon her claims, but also because her audacity and the boldness of her statements were inviting deeper scrutiny – a crime against art itself while calling oneself an art appreciator. Nikolai had to smile at that.

        However, his lips remained sealed, his role as an observer preventing him from intervening in the exchange. He understood that this moment was pivotal and that the direction of their potential business deal hung in the balance. As Alexander's next question followed, Nikolai's hazel eyes flickered between the two figures before him, silently acknowledging the shifting dynamics and the weight of Alexander's internal questioning.

        " Do forgive my skepticism, Miss Bellerose, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt regarding your claims. Do you perchance have Rembrandt's Philosopher in Contemplation and Matisse's Reading Girl in White and Yellow? " / @redlips-blooddrops-deux

[distopea]

He had ordered Mika to stay in the car, then left with fury in his eyes. Nikolai didn't get violent unless it was necessary or unless he was provoked, and now, it was both. The man in question had overstepped gravely. He had made his sister cry by nearly murdering her boyfriend. It didn't matter who the man was, why he did it or if he had any right to do it, the consequences of his actions were grave.

His men had captured him, tied him to the chair, and almost an hour later, Nikolai was drenched in blood, organs were beneath his feet, the skeleton in front of him separated from the body. Flesh hung to it or was ripped apart, all indicating that it was done premortem. The man had been cruelly tortured, all by his hands alone.

It didn't surprise him when he heard footsteps coming in, knowing that they were Mika's. His men wouldn't come, and the young man had been left for a long time alone. “ Don’t you know my love could destroy you? ”  He was possessive, obsessive. The same way he destroyed those that hurt the ones he cared about, he was able to destroy those he cherished the most. Yet, it was still part of him, still who he was. A man that answered to no one but himself. “ This is an unwritten part of the exchange. Your conscience for your happiness. ”   

@aurorxaeternitatis

Mika was a good man. A man capable of following orders. He had known the moment they had arrived at the location that something dark would happen. But as a good man, he hadn’t asked questions; he had simply nodded to the orders given and he had waited. All that time alone had been both good and terrible. He could ponder why he had been following Nikolai in the first place, quite unsure if his lust and desires for the man could only be the solemn and only driver of his obsession and obedience. Surely, he was aware that a man was killed behind the metallic door of this warehouse, and yet, he was not ready to call the police nor even escape. 

Yet, at some point, his patience was growing thin. He was often shifting on his seat, his sapphire eyes observing the door, like a pathetic young dog who was waiting for his owner. Was he truly so obedient? He hadn’t moved for perhaps a couple of hours, incapable of doing anything else but eyeing his environment. At some point, though, while there was nothing but a deep silence surrounding the building, he had eventually given up the idea of staying put and eventually left the car. He felt as if he was disobeying Nikolai, but another part of him was worried.

Was it because he knew there was a monster behind that door? 

Mika entered slowly, his nose immediately overwhelmed by the strong smell of fresh blood. He had already scented something like this before, when he had worked in a slaughterhouse to pay for his rent. The humidity of the atmosphere was only increasing the sensation of sickness within his stomach, and when he noticed Nikolai standing in front of what used to be someone, his heart sank deep within his guts. He remained there, silent, absolutely unaware that he was capable of such horror. But should he truly be surprised by all of this? Mika didn’t dare to move, eyeing Nikolai, surprisingly more afraid to be scolded for leaving the car rather than finding him in this position. 

“I…” But what could he say? He had never expected to be the witness of such violence, and yet that same brutality had been a part of his life since forever. He observed Nikolai patiently, unable to stop his heart from bumping harder. “I don’t feel destroyed.” Mika stated, perhaps to give, himself courage. He even stepped closer, determined to ignore the remains on the floor, and that pile of organs over there. “I know the risks.” But was it true? Mika wanted to believe that he could be standing by his side. Nikolai had treated him decently since the moment he had started to work for him, and for once in his life, he didn’t feel like the perfect idiot people made him feel. 

But all his emotions were locked in an infernal pit and he felt that he couldn’t stand there any longer, overwhelmed by this repugnant smell. He lowered his gaze at some point, before he eventually pinched his lips together. A man who had seen violence all his life could only be attracted to violence itself, and Mika knew he wouldn’t be able to untie himself from someone like Nikolai. It was like a siren song.

“I can go back to the car,” he stated, before he found the courage to look up again. Nikolai seemed quiet; peaceful. Mika inhaled. “Or help you clean?” 

[aurorxaeternitatis]

        Alexander's gaze lingered on Zeffy's exposed décolletage, his eyes catching the subtle shift of fabric as she unbuttoned a part of her coat. He maintained a composed exterior, the corner of his lips curving slightly as he met her playful challenge. The air was charged with suspense, a dance of desires and dominance that had begun long before they stepped into this room.

        " You paint a tantalizing picture already, Zeffy, " he responded; his voice a sinuous melody that wrapped around the room. His gaze, a mixture of smoldering intensity and playful charm, locked onto hers in a magnetic embrace. " If art imitates life, then you've certainly mastered the art of captivating intrigue. "

        Leaning forward, his proximity a tantalizing promise, he let the charged air between them crackle with anticipation. The faint scent of her perfume, a delicate blend of floral and spice, lingered in the air, adding another layer of allure to the scene. " But, " he added, his voice dropping even lower, " painting is an art of patience, of savoring every moment. I wonder if you'll be the one to lose yourself in the art of restraint, or if I'll be the one succumbing to the allure you weave. "

        A languid smile curved his lips as he leaned back, the picture of poised confidence. " The power to unveil or to withhold is always yours. Every nuance of this night is a reflection of your desires and boundaries. "

        With fluid grace, he rose from the coffee table he was sitting on, his movements a dance of controlled desire. " Music? " He asked as steps took him to a vintage phonograph. The gentle hum of the phonograph whispered a smooth jazz melody, a seductive soundtrack to their clandestine encounter. Upon return to the canvas, his fingers traced the edge of the blank space, the anticipation almost palpable. With each stroke of his brush, he would paint not just the canvas, but a vivid tapestry of fantasies and unspoken longing. It would be a product of imagination and desire, a dance between artist and subject that transcended the boundaries of paint and canvas.

        His eyes bore into hers, a challenge and a question wrapped in one. " Tell me, Zeffy " he inquired, his voice a velvet caress, " how much of your allure are you willing to reveal tonight? How much will you let me see and immortalize? " It was a challenge, a daring invitation, and a promise that left no doubt about the intensity of the night that lay ahead. / @distopea

[aurorxaeternitatis]

      Nestled within the very fabric of the city's heart, the grand opera house stood as a symphony of architectural marvel. Its exterior offered a harmonious blend of neoclassical elegance and intricate detailing, a mere prelude to the enchanting world that unfolded within its embrace.

      Upon crossing the threshold of its arched entrance, one was swiftly transported into a realm where the whispers of history echoed along the corridors. Gilded chandeliers, resembling celestial constellations, hung suspended from the ceiling, their brilliance dancing upon frescoes that adorned the expanse—depictions of muses and melodies that seemed to capture the essence of creative inspiration itself. A faint scent, reminiscent of aged wood and anticipation, lingered in the air, casting an aura that was both nostalgic and exhilarating.

      A cascade of plush velvet seats curved in ascending tiers, embracing the stage in a symmetrical ballet of opulence and comfort. Each seat held the promise of an unparalleled view. The stage, a canvas upon which dreams and narratives were painted, lay framed by luxurious curtains that flowed like ethereal veils. This boundary separated the realm of the audience from the world of the performers, a tantalizing divide between reality and the universe of the imagination. And at the base of the stage lay the orchestra pit, a haven where harmonies soared and crescendos ignited; an aural heartbeat that underscored every emotion that was to be unveiled.

      As attendees took their places, a symphony of hushed conversations and rustling fabrics filled the air. The anticipation, almost palpable, reverberated like a cadence yet unplayed; a prelude to the melodies that awaited. And then, as the lights gracefully dimmed and the first notes wafted through the air, the opera house transformed into a timeless sanctuary where the bounds of time seemed to waver.

      The tendrils of the opera's melodies wrapped around the space, yet it was the gilded atmosphere in the booths that seemed to clothe the audience in an intimacy that defied the grandeur of the surroundings. A moment suspended in the cadence of the music, Domínico's gaze turned toward the lady beside him; a calculated curiosity glistening within his eyes. A smile graced his lips, a deliberate yet unassuming expression that held a charm of its own. The lady before him seemed to catch his gaze. " For me, an opera is a blend of those on the stage and those watching. Sometimes, it's hard to discern which is more enchanting. I couldn't help but notice your eyes lingering on the crowd—did you seek the same sentiments this opus stirs within your heart? "

      His words, crafted with a blend of seduction and intrigue, hung between them like a silken thread of invitation, tempting her to share her thoughts while leaving room for the dance of conversation to ensue. He leaned back slightly, the dim lighting casting a play of shadows that added to the mystique of the moment, his eyes holding hers with an intent that was both inviting and enigmatic.

      In this shared booth, they were not mere spectators; they were performers in their own symphony. Each word woven into the fabric of their conversation would be a carefully orchestrated note. As Turandot's aria continued its ascent, the opera house would seem to fade, leaving only them; a duet in the darkness, where every pause and inflection held the promise of the unknown. / @vulpesse