"I Think, If We Work Together We Can Make A Great Pair!" He Exclaimed. Glitter In His Eyes. That Tension

Looking For an Illustration Artist

Searching for a bright eyed, sharp witted illustration artist who is willing to flex their creative abilities in an exciting opportunity for collaborative works.

Aim: To design 4 - 8 simple, black and white line art illustrations for a small range of published fan fiction short stories. (Mixed genres include film and TV series such as Joker (2019), The Witcher (2019), John Wick Series ect)

Design: Preferring artists inclined toward dark fantasy, vintage and/or horror with long sharp gothic style lines. Styles such as Brett Helquist, Iren Horrors, Paul Kidby, Gerald Brom <--- As inspirational sources, similarities not required.

Commission: Artists may be interested in using this opportunity to hone their skills and imagination by producing works as a creative exercise. Payment for work may be rendered in exchange for a short story to be produced of their choice, a range of arts and crafts including custom paper flowers, miniature charms, digital graphic design, custom icons, layouts, wallpapers ect. Otherwise funds can be exchanged via Ko-Fi or PayPal.

This advert is open to any and all artists regardless of your choice in medium. If you are interested and would like to know more, please contact me directly via the Ask link and provide a simple illustration with your introduction message. My Inbox is ALWAYS OPEN!  I look forward to working with you!

Please share/reblog this message far and wide so as many artists as possible might see it. Every share is greatly appreciated. Please be kind and be safe!

John Wick by Carolina Lta  aka @littlemorrison / @mycrystalhorse

"The problem with youth is death is an incomprehensible concept. Even as you hold the dead bird in your hand as a child, the weight of it's loss does not seem to penetrate the carapace of seeming immortality the child lives within. The truth comes later."

- Musings - L. G. Spider

“The King is dead. Long live the King.“

- John Cleese, 2020

There's always time for tea.

Wait...

Just wait a bit...

Cool down.

Cool off.

He'd set down the phone on the sofa beside him. Reluctant to throw it in his temper. He'd burned through quite a few new phones in his aggression. These devices weren't cheap. Product warranty wouldn't cover willful and malicious damage. He's information was always hosted on private central servers. There was no fear of losing important information and even so he never kept anything important enough on the phone that could be considered incriminating. He'd learned discretion. Not trusting securities breeches that happened with anything that was connected online, to the internet. For all intents and purposes the contents of his phone simply looked like a wealthy Italian business man that dabbled in a considerable amount of foreign trade and international exchange. Stocks, land, financial lending. Art trade. Designer goods and products. Car import and export. The world didn't have to know the truth. That he was the son of Rome's most powerful organized Crime Lord. Footwear. Women's designer luxury shoes. He had a lot of that on his phone. He enjoyed buying footwear for Lalienna. Her tiny frame and dainty feet drove him wild. He could spend hours alone just worshiping her heels, sucking, licking, massaging her feet until she relaxed... until she came. He'd come with her. Incredible. He'd not even touched himself but the act of attending her feet, it was.... mind blowing. Those releases of tension and pressure had been amongst his favorite. The way she made him feel.

Now he watched her, as she kneeled on the floor, black lace hugging her curves and his white Pierre Cardin dress shirt. Fuck! She looked incredible wearing his clothes. Sleeves rolled, those fucking collarbones, the swell of her cleavage. Those eyes... she could get him off with those eyes alone. Her hair was wet. Combed neatly away from her face. He forgot what he was angry about. His cock throbbed painfully between his legs, reminding him he was a man and she was a woman. A potent, powerful women. The instinct to breed was... impulsive. His caress found her cheek, her jaw line. So warm. Droplets of her hair fell against her ear, across his fingertips. She was so sensual. She stole his breath. Those lips.... those eyes...

"Jesucristo, eres jodidamente hermosa." (Jesus Christ you're fucking beautiful.) He breathed.

"What have I done in my life to deserve someone as gorgeous as you, amore mio?" He took her in his arms, raising her gently from the floor. It didn't feel right, having her on his knees to him. Though the position was suggestive and he would have paid tremendous amounts of money just to have her suck down his length the way she did when she was between his thighs. This line of thoughts wasn't helping. She was warm and heavy against his thighs. He embraced her, hugging her to him. She'd seen the tension in his face and misread it for something else. He comforted her. Breathing her in. Placing his nose against her neck and just inhaling deeply. As if he could smell, like a dog, the intrinsic  olfactory patterns that made up her genetic makeup and decode her as his...property. No. She wasn't property. Not like this. Not when she held him, talked to him. Loved him the way she did. And he knew it, that it was true. It wasn't about the money, the prestige, the power. It was the feeling he got when she was in his arms. That he could take on the world and nothing could stop him because he was doing it for her.

His lover... his warrior... his dancer.... Mistress.

"I'm so owned by you..." He whispered into her shoulder. Smiling against the fabric. His rusty curls falling across her skin as he caressed her hips and back.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do to keep you with me... Safe... Forever... Contra el mundo, Lalienna." ( Against the world.)

His kiss found the hollow of her throat. He'd missed her. Missed being inside her. Missed her company. He needed it. Craved it, constantly. He was so obsessed. He looked at her now, his docile, loving green eyes absorbing her warmth.

"But your mother....tesoro... Your fucking mother... Vaffanculo!" (Fuck me!) He laughed, taking hold her delicate hand from his shoulder and bringing her fingers to his lips. He kissed her... The ring of the Camorra that Gianna had given her. He lapped at it. Hotly. Like a dog's kiss.

"I called her, like you told me to. And she had words for me, alright. Do you know she called me a slave trader? And a peasant? Me... My family owns this city, my father speaks for all of Italy on The High Table and she called me a fucking peasant. Me!" He said, indignant. The rage starting to burn through him again as he gestured to the luxury of the office that surrounded them. The sofa they sat on alone was made of finest Italian kid leather and valued well into the five digit figures.

Lalienna's brows furrowed in concern. She knew Judeth well. Her diplomacy and temper were often as sharp and direct as a knife blade. It didn't surprise her in the least to learn that her lover had receiving a hefty verbal beating from her adoptive mother. It was all so much, so soon. Uprooting her from one country where she barely had the time to find herself and now put her in another strange gilded cage with other dangerous and vicious birds. Even if they were intrinsically beautiful. She tried to diffuse the  gathering heat in his eyes, pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

"She's just being protective, Papi. We left London so quickly. We didn't even call her to say good bye. Of course she was going to be pissed. How would you feel if someone eloped with your daughter?"

Her reasoning was sound. She was young yes, but not without intelligence and the ability to rationalize and reflect clearly. She was much more focused at twenty-one that he had ever been. Mature. That was impressive. He nodded, sighing and leaning back against the leather, taking her with him to rest against his chest. She felt good. Heavy, female. He felt complete. He didn't give a wild fuck about Judeth or her English whores. They could all burn as far as he was concerned. He was still seething internally from the beating she'd given him. He tsked angrily.

"She wants me to test your employment for the Camorra by giving you a probationary period of three months service. That means she controls your finances and upkeep under The Continental London; keeps you neutral, employed as a contractor. She won't hand me your accounts. And she intends to make my father sign a contract to the same tune. She's.... smart. I'll give her that. She wants to control you, even though you're not Iron Fortuna anymore. Independents with Continental memberships are valuable," He didn't add expendable. She didn't need to hear that right now. "I told her there would be no probation, that I would commit you fully to my care and absorb the cost of your upkeep. You'd be paid a monthly salary that would exclude boarding costs for the estate just like the rest of the High Guard. She's like a dog with a bone... the bitch won't let go."

"Papi!" His dancer complained. She didn't like the insult. Again he clicked his tongue, frustrated. She'd likely already contacted Lorenzo. He'd speak to his father later about this mess.

"Bambina mi dispiace." (Sorry baby girl.) He returned kissing her cheeks. "Business... It's boring. More than you can handle right now. Hey... you look incredible in my clothes.... That shirt suits you..." He tugged at the buttons, one after the other. Revealing a little more of her cleavage. Distracted again by her flesh. His free hand found the swell of her rear and squeezed it. Making her smile. He smiled in return.

"How are you feeling, tesoro? We missed you at breakfast.... again at lunch. Ares' been a good girl and taking care of you eh? She said you were playing video games with her huh? She's good. Very good. What she can't say with her mouth she says with her hands. Games are good. They focus and enrich the mind. You should get her drunk and try play something from the Tekken series with her. That's worth paying for. She always picks Marshall Law because he reminds her of Bruce Lee. She lacks technique. If I want to own her I pick Nina Williams. If I want to tease her I pick Kuma, the bear. You should see how she loses her shit! It's very funny to watch." He brightened considerably now. This was fun, talking about something so innocent.

"Oh, I miss playing Final Fantasy. They are long games but the Japanese have such rich stories and worlds. I don't have the time anymore, but I used to love it. Too much work. Too many other distractions. You're far better than a game... I get to complete sensory overload without having to pick up a controller. Mmmh?" He nipped her ear and listened as she recounted her morning playing Halo again with Ares.

"It was fun, Papi! I really like Ares. She's sweet and tender. She looked after me... I'm sorry for not coming down to eat. Are you mad?"

"Not mad, amore... just.. A little put off. You know me darling, I'm Italian. This is Rome now, not England. There are few if any formalities that will be placed upon you, but sharing meals with your family is amongst one of the most important things you can attend. Sharing food is the way Italians show their love. It marks the history and culture of the region, the depth of our devotion to one another. Even if no one says a word at the table, at least we're together. Grateful, thankful of each other. It's a prayer. Eating with one another. Being with them. I understand, you've been through a lot, we both have. We both need time to adjust. London has not been kind to us. It's been especially unkind to you, amore, so you'll forgive me if I arch up over the White Women. I mean your mother no disrespect but she's fucking with the wrong wolf if she thinks she can push me around in my own house. Bah! Don't worry about that." He shook his head and pushed the thought away. Judeth.... she fucking irritated him something awful. He was smarting from the burn of her voice. In his rage he imagined dispatching his men and just... having her brutalized... raped... again. By Italians. So she could feel the depth of his hold. She had nothing to turn against him. Clutching at straws. This thing about controlling her contract was a farce. He'd wipe his balls with it. It wasn't worth further acknowledgement. So what!

"I'll let you off today. If you don't feel like sitting at table with us for the next few days while you bleed and rest, I'll forgive you without offense. But come next week, I expect you to do your duty and eat with us. We're the High Guard, amore. It's important we spend this time together. I'm going to rest the crew for a week to adjust back to Roman life but then we return to field. We have shit to get done and The High Table doesn't conform to our ideas of relaxation. They're a machine. Faceless Gods and my father is one of them. He says jump, we ask how high. That simple. We want to live in peace and luxury, we want to sleep at night with each other's bodies around us, without the fear of being shot in the head, then we do what we're told.... For now.

He let the ominous slip. Let it hang in the air. Then patted her rump adoringly.

"You look unsettled baby girl.. Uncomfortable. A little stung out. Are you high? Ares keeping you loaded? Hm?" He smiled at her darkly. Not entirely minding the idea of having his lover stoned.

"Look, when you're working I need you to keep clean. No drugs. No dope, no booze. You need to stay sharp on the field when you're dispatched. But you've got down time now babe. You're allowed to spread your wings a little. Talk to Curtis if you want something to take the edge off. Him and Hector may have a few lines of Columbian blow that might make you feel good. Mind you, you they won't give you more than a quarter gram. If you've never touched it before, it could have an adverse affect. And I don't want to rush you to hospital over a bad trip. Okay? They'll take care of you..." He thought he'd let it slip now.

"Christov and Hector seem to be guarding something intimate about you. Like they know something I don't. I'm probably imagining it. You've had a rather deep impression on them. All of them these past few months. I know you two and Ares are tight together. Curtis, Marcus and Tony may not be so clingy, but they're for you babe.... always for you. You saw them in London. Your personal attack squad. They would have gunned me down in cold blood if I didn't yield. That's my boys!" He smiled warmly, his eyes glittering in mirth. He loved his crew. His Italian Silk Mafia.

"Amore... I think... if you're feeling up to it... you should speak to Chris, about getting a new tattoo. Our tattoo. The Camorra crown... somewhere on your body. You've seen mine, I have it on my back. Gianna has hers on her hip, the others wear theirs on different places one their bodies. It doesn't have to be large. But it has to be there. I want it there. It's a sign of our brotherhood. Our creed. It marks us as a unit. Together. ... And... skin art is sexy. I think you'd look good with a tattoo... Something I can run my tongue over when we fuck... And I wanna.... fuck..."  Now his lips found her throat again... Feeling the pulsing vein under his tongue. His hands rolled over her hips... caressed her breasts. Were they sensitive? Some women complained that their brests ached during their cycle. This was the first time in the months he'd loved this woman that he'd been present for hers. He wanted to ask her intimate questions. He'd been away in Austria missing the opportunity to probe her. Now he did. Gentle, lovingly.

"How does that feel? When I touch you like this?" His warm palm cupped her breast over his shirt, rolling against her nipple.

"Hurt?" She bit her lower lip. Not pulling away from the contact but not quite leaning into it either. So he respected her reluctance and let go of her breast.

"Do you want to be loved? During your cycle?" Oh! That was direct. The words sensual, like silk, whispered in his dulcet baritone against her earlobe. He found it erotic. Switched back to Italian she could understand.  

"Non c'è pressione, nessuna aspettativa tra di noi. Quando mi vuoi, sono qui per servirti. Sai che ho sempre fame. Voglio sempre ... amore ... sesso ... con te." (There's no pressure, no expectations between us. When you want me, I'm here to serve you. You know I'm always hungry. I always want...love... sex... with you.)

"It might make you feel good. Orgasm releases hormones that fight pain. Endorphins. Better than any artificial high. I like it when you're stung out on a good fuck rather than stoned on pills. " His lips found her throat again... hot... a deep, sensual roll of his tongue before he pulled away with a groan. Meeting her eyes with his. Sinful.

"You know where my bed is now. If not mine... yours... If not yours... Then any other surface you desire. The windows, the spa, the walls. In the bath... against the shower... In front of Ares on the hood of a car for all I care... Anything... anything to make you cum for me... Mistress." He smirked. Content, Italian charm as he licked his lower lip, catching the swell between his teeth. That's it... he wanted her to be uncomfortable. On edge. If he could keep her horny she'd come to him of her own accord. He wouldn't have to push, to egg or her on or seek her out. He always got what he wanted. From the day he met her he made her do what he wanted. And it felt good. Really good. He swelled under the rush of power that flooded his veins and made his balls throb. Because she was that kind of girl... She did that to him. Made him feel incredible.

 "Go on bella... Go get some rest. You're beautiful, but you look fucked. Not the way I want you to be. You're tired. Make sure Ares brings you something to eat. She didn't bring you a plate and hasn't eaten herself she's so worried about you. That's not good baby, I don't like my girls hungry. I can deal with almost anything but self harm and eating disorders scare the fuck out of me. When a girl stops eating, I panic. It's not natural. Even if it's just biscotti and cafe, you need something. You can't survive on water alone. Understand? I'll have one of the maids prepare some plates and bring them up to your rooms if you don't want to join me for dinner. We eat at 7 usually. Our chef is incredible. But on Sunday I'll cook for you personally. I love cooking for my family. We might even invite Gianna over, if she's not too busy hitting people with her enormous cock."

That got a laugh from his dancer. He was happy. He pulled her off his lap gently and stood up, crossing the room to open the door for her. "Go on, bella... go. Papi has work to do for you. The sooner I can finish the sooner I can relax with everyone else. Why don't you get the boys, or Ares to tour you around the house and gardens? You won't get bored here. There's a beautiful library with a window seat. You can sleep in the Roman sunlight, like a cat. Just be mindful of the boys. They're big dogs and they like to chase pretty things. You'll know where to find me if you need me. I'm usually always here in the office or upstairs in the study. Ask the maids for anything you might need. If you want to go for a drive around town, you're welcome to it. But let the boys take you first. I'll need to organize an Italian license for you and then we can talk about getting you your own car. Or picking something from the garage. Marcus is our resident rev head. He'll tell you the difference between Maserati and Audi.

"You spoil me Papi! You already bought me a car in Austria!" She chirped brightly, clinging to his neck and kissing his cheek. He hugged her back, completely removing the distance between them, he held her. Warm. Tender. Pressing her to his chest. Cheeky, he teased her.

"It's only because I want to get into your garage..."

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You…you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt… and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this…this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So…worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

Who Is Judeth Clayton?

I.

Will.

Eat.

You.

Alive.

|| @reigningmonarch42 ||

John Wick: Chapter 3 - Parabellum

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