Small Fortunes Presents: The Witcher - End Of The World

Oh god yes, hello. You're wonderful! If this is appropriate for a prompt request: There's a violent world of unseen fae all around us, and in the center of it is John Wick. There was no reason for him to fly away from there, until he found one.

This is an interesting concept. I will develop the idea and commit it's organic evolution to digital paper, Ruby. I request you satisfy my visual neurons by providing me with compelling high resolution art work straight to my private inbox, please and thank you in advance. Now, I warn you Wick fans, this concept is a little alternative universe on crack, but I will try to really encapsulate folklore, ancient history, art and violence on page. If the audience approves, I will continue world building. If not, it will be relegated to a one shot shot story. No matter what, I'm inspired! Let's do this everyone!

Be seeing you on the other side, Mr. Wick. ❣️

Yes, I gave over.

I regret nothing. Not even in the morning.

Once the dust has settled.

Christov stood rooted to the doorway as the young woman, he realized, his romantic rival past him. Taking the tender pup with her in her protective embrace. At a minimum he was delighted to see for himself that she had taken so intimately to the little dog in the few hours that they had been together. That was a relief. He'd worried that perhaps, in her delicate condition she might have thought to reject this responsibility, forcing them to return the baby dog  to its original owners. They would not have been pleased. Over the phone Hector had talked a good game to secure the pup from the breeders. Christov had stayed behind to shop for puppy goods with Ares whilst Tino and Hector had dressed in casual clothes and their most disarming smiles. Looking every bit the gushing puppy fanboys. The breeders weren't comfortable with Hector's tattoos until he got down on his knees and began to effortlessly love the bitch and sire whilst Tino almost wept at the beauty of each baby dog, also on his knees, allowing the pups to nip and tug at his clothes and hair. The breeders finally relented, formally signing baby Cerberus' birth and registration papers over to the young men with a strict list of care requirements and veterinary contacts. They were paid in cash and sent the boys away with the new baby dog after a tearful goodbye to the other dogs. They swore on their lives and mother's that the puppy would forever be a king in their home.

It wasn't until the owners looked to their transaction receipts that they saw the name whom the dog had been signed to and paled. 

'D'Antonio.'

Their concerns were obliterated. They were not about to refuse the sale of a dog to the Camorra. They crossed themselves and shut the door.

Even so, Christov stung under the burn of rejection. Handsome, well mannered and educated as he was, he had come from a relatively privileged upper middle class French/Italian family and was not accustomed to being stood down by women. As the eldest of three sons, he had been taught to love, cherish and respect women, for they were the bringers of life and completion. A man's ultimate pleasure. He'd not fully comprehended the depth of that statement until at last he had struck his 13th year and suddenly girls had become very interesting indeed. He'd always regretted that his first kiss had been stolen by a cheeky boy. His playground rival and neighborhood enemy that he would later go on to fight with over the affections of a pretty girl that lived down the lane. 

This memory was somewhat implanted deeply into his psyche and seemed to govern much of his ideologies on the affections of young ladies whom he kept as casual mistresses and returning companions to fulfill his carnal urges and then politely call the next cab home for. A mechanism he engineered to stop the pain of rejection that seemed to constantly plague him when it came to matters of love. This morning had been no different and affirmed that his reasoning was sound. Forming deep romantic ties with a lover in this line of work was a painful mistake. He preferred the tattoo needle to his most sensitive nerves than the slap and sting of agony that he was forced to negotiate through right now. 

"Lali, please... Wait up! Let me come with you at least?" He jogged after the dancer whom had made her way on rapid footfalls across the mosaic tile landing and was beginning her decent of the stairs. He realized in the peripheral of his heart that chasing the girl and whimpering like a kicked dog at her rejection was making him appear oppressive, needy and clingy. Qualities that no lady found particularly charming or fashionable anywhere in the world. And his profession with the Camorra had certainly seen him to be well traveled. 

Regardless he persisted, hating himself a little. His dignity compromised and his heart aching. It only occurred to him then, that for his failure to comply with rules he had been dumped by two potential lovers each within hours of each other. What's more, he was powerless to put them behind his wheels because they were domestic and professional family. He realized then, as Lalienna refused to look at him, just how fucked he really was after all. A whip of anxiety began to strangle-hold the lungs in his very chest. The tension built, flooding his veins. He needed to do something that would stop him feeling so dejected and neglect the press of tears he was determined to deny. He had his pride after all and he would not allow the dancer to see him come apart over what he reasoned was a casual affair. She was not equal to the task of his self indulgent whining and he refused to give it to her. After all, the young woman had just made a shattering revelation when she agreed to abort her unborn child. He would push past his pain and jealousy and attend his number one duty first even if it irritated her. He would follow at her heel and protect. That was his natural born calling and he fell to it with pure muscle memory. 

"Hey, look I get it, okay? You've got every right to be pissed the off at me right now. I admit it. I fucked up. I didn't even think about what I was doing. I was just angry at him. Retaliating you know. He's not into me that way, he never fucking was and I asked him for sure. He told me, point blank. No. There's no compromise between us Lali, serious. Jesus, could you just stop for a sec? C'mon!" The dancer wasn't interested in listening. And the more he talked the more he realized he was starting to sound less like a daddy and more like a pathetic boy. She crossed the flights of stairs on decidedly rapid footfalls with the little pup in arms. At her approach to the garden doors, one of the maids, with her basket of fresh laundry, stood to the side and let the new house mistress pass, bowing her head in quiet reverence to the couple whom she heard the tattooed master speak briskly. Unfortunately the maid did not comprehend English so what was being said escaped her. She did catch a glance of the new puppy however and her young heart leapt in joy! Alas, the mistress did not appear happy so she thought it best to refrain from fraternizing and instead return to the laundry with her clean washing to begin her ironing.

Outside the Roman Autumn was magnificent. The air was crisp, clean and fresh. The sunlight shone a radiant warmth across the gardens that caught its fingers along the colour changing trees. The scent of Jasmine and Magnolia hung in the air an alluring perfume and the massive stone fountain with its tiered classical bowls was playing bird bath to a dozen doves that splashed happily in its waters, refreshing their feathers after their morning flights. Their cooing and flapping seemed to have caught Cerberus' attention, for he wiggled happily in his lady human's arms, waggling his little cropped tail offering the doves a tender series of gentle barks in greeting, hoping his mami would put him down to play with them. They were fun to chase!

Even so, Lalienna refused to make even a token gesture at acknowledging Christov who was feeling himself very displaced and rejected. He tried again at conversation, amazed that he was managing to keep the cracks out of his voice.

"You're right, I am an asshole. I didn't touch any of the shit they were snorting last night and I wasn't even drunk and I still picked a fight with the boss over you. He doesn't fuck around either, Lienna... Sure, he argues with us plenty but he's no push over. He's been as military trained as we are. I've seen him lay the smack down on Hector's ass more than once. He's given me a few good blows to the jaw just because I got mouthy at him. And trust me, if you think he's gonna treat you with kid gloves just because you're his lady, you got another thing comin'. Sure, he doesn't get so rough with the ladies but that doesn't mean what he'll do to you if you piss him off won't be worse. I can only protect you while you're in front of me, babe. When he has you alone, you're gonna need to handle yourself. So good luck. 'Cos I've watched his ass evolve over the past six years and I'm telling you, the boss is into some dark shit in bed. You're new the scene babe, but I know he gets filthy with girls. If he gave you a safeword, you'd better know how to use it. We've pulled bleeding flowers out of his hands before. He's not afraid to get into that shit if you'll let him."

What was he doing here? Saying these things? Was he trying to make a point? Make himself appear a dark knight by feeding the young woman information that he was already certain she knew at least a fraction of? Every time the breeze caught her hair, that scar on her neck was visible. He'd ask his boss if there was a way to organize for her to have that shit removed. Marking a woman with your initial was barbaric. Over an indiscretion? Really? What would Tino do to her if he found out she had visited his bed more than once. What would Tino do to him?

He didn't want to think about it.

So he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes noting he was on his third last one and would need to pick up another pack or bum a few from Tony later. He lit up and took to the nearest timber bench to watch over the pretty blonde girl and her puppy as the sunlight shone through her hair. He couldn't believe it. She was so angelic. Just standing there in the sun with the beauty of the garden surrounding her. The fountain at her back the puppy in her arms.  He put his head down and focused on his boots. The rips in his dark denim jeans. The burn of the smoke as it caressed his mouth and soothed his throat before he exhaled. He wasn't going to cry over this. He wasn't. He wasn't going to cry. Fuck. He was gonna cry. Wasn't he?

Nope. Not today amigo. Not in front of a girl. Rule number one. Never let a woman see you cry. It made you look weak. Girls didn't respect weakness. They only kissed the boys in the playground that could protect them against bullies. So he worked out, tripled his protein intake, bulked muscle, covered himself in imposing tattoos, dressed sharp, talked a hot game and pretended he was a classy motherfucker. When in truth he was just a kid pretending to be a German Shepherd. He liked being treated like an attack dog. He liked pretending he was hers. But now he was unwanted. His boss didn't want him and his lady didn't want him either.

This juice wasn't worth the squeeze.

So he got pissed off instead and changed gears.

"Hey... Lienna, you listening to me?" She flipped him off. Bitch. He sucked down a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out of his nose, like a dragon.

"Hey!" He snapped. Showing his teeth. "Show me a little respect, eh? I'm willing to get smacked around because of you. The least you can do is show me some fuckin' courtesy and look at my face when I'm talkin' to you, lady. Damn! Didn't those White Women teach you any manners?" Oooh dear, he shouldn't have gone that far. He was pissed off, he didn't care.

"'Cos I met your mom babe, Judeth. Yeah, she's a real lady. And I don't think she'd be too impressed if she saw her daughter acting this way to her employer's colleagues. And another thing," He got up and crossed the garden to stand beside her.

"Apologies and forgiveness ain't worth shit if you spit it out just because you think that's what the other person wants to hear. They don't. I don't. I want you real. Always real. As real as you get when you're praying to God while I'm eating your pussy. That's the kind of real I expect from you. Even when you're in the right and I'm in the wrong and I'm asking for forgiveness because I had the balls to front and tell you I fucked up. So we're done here. 'Kay? Done. I'm gonna cut you slack because what you're going through right now, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy but don't think for a minute than I'm not hurting for you, because I am. And I'm sorry for kissing your boyfriend last night. He told me, you thought he came to fuck me. Ha! No way man! Not in my wildest dreams and I had a few. Pfft, whatever. I'm done being your dog for today. You're a big girl, you can handle yourself. You sure as fuck pussy whipped the boss. I'm out. You need me, baby girl, you know where the find me. I'm the third bedroom on the left of the forth floor. Follow the music. And take care of that baby dog too. He's into you almost as much as I am."

Pissed off, he turned on his heel, spat at the ground and stalked away, crushing his cigarette against the stone goddess as he passed and taking the butt with him. He wasn't into littering in his own house.

He knew what he wanted now. If she came back to their wager, and he'd show her that video. He'd tie her down to a chair first. Let her feel the taste of velvet rope about her wrists. He'd fix a spreader bar to her ankles and watch her drip as he'd pull off her lace with his teeth and deny her the touch to her throbbing womanhood that he'd know she'd need. Complete sensory denial. That would fuck her over. Nothing torments a woman more than denied orgasm compounded by furious sexual stimulation. He'd snap that book out of her grasp too and read to her the most intensely erotic passages. He'd make her watch while he stroked himself and tasted his own cum leaving her crying in denial. When she finally broke down and admitted he'd won and begged for release both from her bonds and her need for climax, he'd charge her for it. Four hundred gold coins. That was top class money for a male escort in the underworld. Just to sell your soul with him for one night.

God he was a cunt. Why was he so possessed of this idea? Jesus, she'd just lost a baby and he hadn't even asked her about it yet. She wasn't in the mood. It didn't matter. He made his way across the garden path leaving the beauty of the Roman afternoon behind. Maids rushed out of his way. He pinched one on the ass. Cheeky. The girl yelped and blushed furiously dropping her eyes to his predatory smirk. Marcus met him on his way down to the garage, pulling on a dark blue t-shirt over his head and brushing out his hair with his fingers.

"Hey bro, wanna take the Ducati for a ride?"

"Yeah buddy, let's go hit up the Lombardi's, see if they got any work for us." Christov murmured, dropping his cigarette butt into the ashtray upon the work table before stalking over to the sleek and ruinously expensive Italian sports bike in candy-apple red. He mounted it with a purr. Mmh, it felt good to have this much power between his legs. Marcus took one look at his friend and colleague, mounted on that motorbike and looking stung. He knew instantly that something was wrong. And he guessed at what it was.

"Rough morning bro?"

"Dumped. Twice." Was all Christov offered as he thumbed the keyfob in his pocket that rolled out the mechanical garage doors, opening to the steep drive way and the Roman streets below.

Beside him Marcus put on his leather jacket and handed his friend his cycle helmet without a word before also mounting his own monstrous black bike. The roar of Italian engines exploded to life. Both men revved their engines, getting high off the purr of precision sports engineering. Like great mechanical beasts. Steel horses. Guns, bullets and steel knives honed to dangerous edges rested in their travel cases fixed to the bike's rears. These boys were headed to the Lombardi's precinct. Even though they were on a week's vacation and business didn't have to be considered. They wanted to blow off a little steam. And if fucking up the Lombardi's ring was the way they were gonna get it, then so be it.

The garage doors closed behind them. Marcus and Christov took off down the winding Roman road.

|||

Back within the estate, Hector had was just drying off as he came out of the pool. He'd pulled on some sleek cotton pants in white and was wiping the last of the water from his hair as he followed the path around the manicured gardens past the stone angels toward the sound of a very excited puppy making its best attempts to sound imposing as it shouted at a flock of doves in the fountain bowls that were not going to give the little creature any attention. The sunlight sparkled off the young woman's hair. And her eyes through troubled were as beautiful as jewels. She was radiant to behold!  

"Lali! Ciao bella! How you doin' baby girl? Oh God! Look at him! He's gorgeous! Do you love him babe? You given him a name yet?" Hector called as he padded over on confident strides. His shoulder was still mending after the attack the young woman had bestowed upon him. But now, rather than feel the sting of irritation, he was proud for every time it ached. It mean that their latest guard, his Lalienna (for that is what he thought of her in private, as his little sister) had a very large set of balls that complimented Ares' skills extremely well. He made to kiss the young woman's forehead but earned a protective series of yelps from the puppy until he melted and gave the little dog his fingers to smell. The pup nipped him excitedly. Tiny little razor sharp teeth that made Hector cry out.

"Ow! Ow! Geez! Settle down, baby boy! It's okay! It's me! Uncle Hector! Remember? We picked your little butt up this morning, ha ha ha! Oh, there we go. You like me now, eh?" The puppy reverted to arfing at Hector with a wag of his tiny cropped tail, approving of the scent of the man that he now remembered was the first human outside of his family to lift him from his pack. That was alright then. He didn't mind this boy human. He was the one that smelled warm. A protector. Big and strong. That's what Cerberus wanted to grow up as. But for now, he'd chomp anything that came near his mami! He arfed happily. He wanted to play with the doves.

"Put him down a little babe, let him run around. The garden's are fully gated in solid steel. No gaps anywhere. There's nowhere for him to run out of. He'll be fine."

The sunlight caught Hector's wheat blonde hair and the muscle across his chest, playing off the tattoos on his skin as the droplets of water gathered down his chest. He was handsome in the way of a solider with a gentle heart was handsome. But he'd seen the trouble in the young woman's eyes. And he knew she was suffering. So he asked quietly flicking his eyes over his shoulders to make sure they were out of earshot of anyone that was important.

"Hey baby... Talk to me. How've you been keeping? Are you okay?"  

“Cerberus!” He loved it! The name rolled off his tongue with his Italian accent. He tried the name a few more times.

“Cerberus, Cerberus… Baby Cerbs… A baby… Oh Lali, congratulations Mami, amore mio, you’re the proud mother of a darling baby boy! I’m so happy for you amore! God… look at me, I’m crying!”

He couldn’t help himself. His eyes flooded as he looked at his prospective wife and their furry child. His heart was singing, and breaking… Fuck… Fuck… He wanted to get her a ring. He wanted to make it official.

Cool it.

Cool off.

It hasn’t even been three months yet. It had taken him four years before he finally proposed to Marissa. He wasn’t ready to rush something so important with Lalienna. But he was Italian, hot-blooded, impulsive, and she was holding a furry son. Loving him. He was praising himself. This had been his idea had’t it? Oh… yeah… No it wasn’t. It was Hector’s.  But it didn’t matter. He wanted to make her happy.

Keep reading

Two Thrones

“Wear a dress.” He told her.

She was hot and cold at once. The way he made her feel, with just the sound of his voice.

And she knew the time would come when they’d take it all from her. It’s not that she didn’t welcome the change. It’s that she feared the cost was more than she was prepared to pay.

Two Thrones reared to her left and right.

One held by the Prince of Rome, the other by the Knight of the Underworld.

How could she refuse them?

They’d cut her vein into a wine glass and watched her grow cold.

She could read between the lines with their fangs in her throat.

Nothing was at it seemed.

She put on her battle dress and prepared for war.

"What do you have in mind?"

|| COMING SOON ||

Square for thought.

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Neon Halos

- Various Artists

The disconnect between us is not permanent.

                 Know Your Roots

                                              Temperance