What If We Cultivated Our Ugliness? Or: The Monstrous Beauty Of Medusa

The entire room seemed to sway slightly under the low light of the lamps and the soothing glitter of the crystal chandelier overhead. The sun had set on a beautiful Roman afternoon and Santino was just wiping the last of a line of purest Colombian cocaine into his gums with his middle finger, enjoying the nerve frazzling high that came shimmering off the drug in a slow burn as he worked down his third glass of Sicilian merlot. Around him, his crew, his family; were seated at their ease about the drawing room. Reclining back into plush leather and decadent well stuffed lounges decorated with silk cushions. The pale walls and their contemporary modern classic elegance paired with the soothing sounds of relaxing deep house chill that played through the surround sound system soothed away their tension as though they were all great cats reclining about after a dramatic hunt.

The large glass and timber coffee table with its turned legs played host to more than harmless homoerotic Grecian art books. Marcus had laid out a crystal bordered mirror as a platter and used a blindingly sharp razor to work pure white powder worth well into the quadruple digits into thread-fine lines of illicit pleasure. They were rarely afforded the opportunity to dabble in recreational narcotic use. But, given Santino's leave now that they were allowed to relax off duty for a week; and the fact that London had strained them to the bone, they sought to relax that rigidity somewhat. 

And it felt good to do it. 

Beside him, on the lounge Tony and Curtis had already taken down three lines each snorted directly up their noses using rolled hundred Euro bills as a conduit to deposit the drug into their systems. Much to the claps and cheers of the others, Hector, who would mix his with a little vodka and drink it down and Tino who rather enjoyed seeing his boys become that intimate. The two men had locked eyes as they inhaled. The moment sensuous between them. They both eased back and smiled wolfishly. That had felt good. Too good. Tony thumbed a stray few grains of powder from Curtis's upper lip and Curtis grabbed for Tony's wrist before he could flick the debris away, instead making his friend watch as he sucked his thumb into his mouth with a moan. The remnants of the cocaine dissipated against his tongue. The air tensed between them. Charging with the heat of unabashed sexual tension. Curtis made no move to pull his thumb out of Tony's mouth. 

Wired, tense and edging as they were: all it would take was one wrong move from any of them and the threat of eruption would drench them all in the heat of searing forbidden passion. They didn't cross the line with each other. They were family. They had duty. They had honour. They had a responsibility to uphold. 

Christov opened his fucking mouth.

"Hey, you pair... C'mon man, don't tease us. We wanna watch you clean each other's guns."

Clapping and cheers. The clink of glasses. Footsteps as Ares and Lalienna finally joined them. The men separated with suggestive looks and took to their drinks. Tony eased back into working on correcting the aim of his combat pistol. A task which he wasn't sure he would be able to exact with the ache between his legs or the high that was coming on in a building wave. 

Beside him Curtis complained. 

"Fuck.... You know that shit is pure when it gets you this hard."

"Um, that's not the blow, amico." Marcus corrected as he racked a new row of lines for Hector's drink. 

"Behave you fags, the ladies are present now!" Santino laughed, sighing deeply into Lalienna's neck and searing at the heat of her touch as she sat atop his lap and caressed him. The couple shared an intimate moment of gentle kisses and embraces. Meanwhile, Ares set a little silver box of illicit pills atop the coffee table next to Marcus who thanked her graciously and helped himself to its contents which she explained to the room in her customary agile hands. 

'Pills boys. Grade 'A' Ecstasy from Berlin.' 

Finally, finally, she had gotten Lali downstairs. Man, she looked beautiful but fucked up. Her heart was bleeding for her friend. The worst part of all this was how helpless she felt to prevent Lalienna's suffering. At twenty-four, Ares had not yet developed the maternal instincts that were apparently essential and second nature to other women. Her lifestyle was a selfish, and highly self-indulgent cascade of events that disallowed her from considering her future or motherhood too deeply. As such, she could not fully comprehend nor imagine the turmoil her friend was churning through. But she proceeded to look over the young woman with veiled glances and declined the lines of cocaine that Marcus offered her so as she could be sober enough to monitor the young woman's behaviour closely. If the slightest thing seemed amiss, she was ready to react against the boys with vicious ferocity and absolute selflessness. That was the extent of her loyalty, considering the romantic moments and positively explosive bouts of heated passion the girls had exchanged since Lalienna's initiation had been approved by Gianna in London.  She accepted a glass of wine from Hector however, but nursed it only to be polite. She kept her hands busy by selecting one of the pistols on the table and proceeded with its unpacking to clean the cylinders and other parts of the weapon as Tony worked beside her. 

Meanwhile across the way, Santino was equally concerned with his lover's body language. Her emotions read pain and dissociated depression across her eyes. Her caresses were clinging, which he didn't mind. But she seemed tense on his lap. Was it her cycle that was affecting her so poorly or the pills she'd been taking? He had no basis of comparison. Whilst Lalienna buried her face into his neck he signed to Ares with one hand,

'She eat?' Fast gesture. His fingers returned to caressing her hip. Ares shook her head no and read the frustration in Tino's eyes. His brows furrowed. He was clearly pissed off. 

"You okay baby?" He murmured against her hair. The girl declined to answer but proceeded to tell him she loved him repeatedly and with heart-breaking sincerity. 

"Ti amo anch'io piccola."  (I love you too baby.) He whispered back, over and over. Meeting her eyes and melting under the innocence of her expression. He'd never considered her child-like, but in this moment she certainly appeared so. So much so, that he was suddenly possessed by a deep-seeded pang of guilt for daring to sexually defile her as he had. 

The fear in him was short lived for Christov called her attention now that he had loaded his machine. Tino was reluctant to let his dancer go, fixing Christov with a clear glare that read: 'Be gentle, or else.' The men exchanged knowing glances as Lalienna shimmied out of her skin-tight jeans and settled into the plush French chaise lounge. Every pair of eyes made quick work of devouring her bare legs and the curve of her rump, though they were prudent and looked away immediately. She was family after all. You didn't look at your little sister like that. All but Santino, who devoured the swell of her rear in its black lace as she settled and exchanged cheeky words with Chris who chuckled to himself and began to work the girl's skin with the kiss of the needle. The men went back to chattering amongst themselves, drinking, playing cards and servicing their weapons. Their eyes were dark and hungry. Something about watching Lalienna being caressed by Christov's hands set their blood to pump hotly. They all jolted when she cried out against the sting with tearing eyes. Hector had jumped to his feet and only relaxed when he was certain her yelping was exclusively related to the pain of the needle and nothing more sinister. His eyes instinctively settled over her groin, knowing that she had likely bled profusely.

When she settled, he looked away and wondered if he should get up to fetch her a towel to cover her modesty. The chaise lounge she sat on was white. He silently prayed she would not accidentally stain the furniture. His primary concern was focused on hiding her bleeding from the other males whom he felt eyed her down like ravenous dogs. He found himself wishing he hasn't drank the vodka/cocaine mixture after all. His pupils had begun to dilate and he didn't trust his reaction times to be fast enough if he had to protect her from their predatory attacks. He doubted they would... But then again, a few years ago, the crew had wordlessly consented to attending an underground orgy in the back streets of Paris where they had fucked willing girls mindless, together in the same room. In some instances, on the same bed. That had been... an experience they'd never forget. And planned to repeat when time and situation permitted. It hadn't. He wasn't sure what brought that memory back. Oh. Yes he was. Christov... He was touching her... Caressing her calf, his fingers against her ankle... His heart was pounding in his throat. Was it the coke? Probably.

Tino had also tensed at her cries but settled into a lull as he watched her, listening to her breaths as she worked through the pain. Her breasts heaved and after a while she seemed able to negotiate her suffering as Chris corrected her movements. Sharper than he would have liked. He didn't approve of Chris' tone and clicked his tongue in frustration. The younger man briskly ignored his employer and settled into his work. The ankles were indeed a painful place to ink a woman, especially one with feet as pretty as hers. Even so, he consumed the art form with a ritualistic attention to detail that bordered on erotic. Every line was a kiss. Deep. Under her skin. His thoughts darkened. She jolted, cursing hotly then settled again. He shouldn't have done it.. But he rolled himself forward on his work stool and pressed his kiss to her knee. Separated his lips... nipped the flesh and sighed before straightening and returning to work. He didn't dare meet his employer's eyes. He could feel them burning into the side of his head. Santino watched the exchange.. Watched her feet, the way her toes curled against the white fabric. His body ached at the sight. His thighs separated just a little further, his fingers stroked over the fabric of his thigh. The drug had sunk its fangs. His perception was dilated... He felt hot.. Raging hot. Without realizing his fingers worked his shirt buttons free and before long his chest was exposed to the air.

"Hector, apri le porte del balcone. Ho bisogno di un po 'd'aria." (Open the balcony doors. I need a little air.) His guard complied wordlessly. The crisp Roman breeze felt invigorating as it lessened the heat in the vast room. It was Lalienna... she was making it so hot. He was convinced of it.

This tense, erotic atmosphere lasted between the eight of them for the better part of two hours. They laughed and talked happily and joked amongst themselves. They worked their weapons, reloaded their bodies with fresh lines of coke when they felt the climax dropping off only to flow again into another riveting high. They were all very drunk, very liberated. All except Ares, Christov and Hector, who religiously controlled themselves. Just in case. Just in case.

They had reason for their concern. The boys began to flirt heavily with each other. Swapping glasses.. swapping kisses that were so far from prudent it was borderline pornographic. Primarily Tony and Curtis whom seemed to have a hard time focusing on their game of Black Jack and got intensely interested in each other's mouths. All whilst watching Lalienna being tattooed.  

However, she didn't seem to respond the way Christov wanted her to. He called her attention, noting her detachment. He had hoped to lull her into the decadent pleasure that came from the sting of pain. Nothing. She wasn't present. And he knew why.

"Hey," He whispered to her, so only she could hear as he leaned over her leg... "You with me baby girl? C'mon sweetheart. I need you present."

Nothing. She was miles away. He let it go. Returned to his art. Her skin was his canvas. Pale flesh and black ink. He wondered if she'd ever come to him again, late at night. Now that Santino was back on deck.

When at last the young woman's skin art was complete, Christov eased back and admired the work with a flush of self-satisfied acknowledgment that bordered on depraved.

"It's beautiful baby... Suits you. Gonna look damn fine when you next get your heels on." He got up and stretched his back watching her as she strolled the distance proudly to her lover.

He realized he was jealous as Santino took her in his arms again.

"Glorioso bambino."(Glorious baby.)  Tino breathed against her ear. The Italian prince had hit a wall inside himself. His caress was hot against her hips. He pulled her down atop him on the lounge and moaned hotly as her weight settled against his thighs brushing hard against his aching manhood.

"Jesus... I need to fuck you..." He purred against her throat. His hands held her tightly. But he felt it.. She was stiff... suddenly unyielding. Conflicted? What? Was he offending her?

Ares knocked on the table sharply, drawing the attention of the entire room. All eyes on her hands.

'Let her go, Tino. She's not into you right now.'

Santino tensed... smirked... laughed it off. But he couldn't shake the feeling his guard was right. His caress lessened. Christov and Hector were watching him... Sharp eyes. He took his hands off the girl entirely.

"She's fine...You're fine, aren't you baby?" He asked quietly, watching her face.

"She was fine before you touched her, man. " Said Chris with a growl. He put down his glass, flexed his shoulders.

Bad move. Very bad move.

Santino dislodged the dancer unceremoniously from his lap, landing her against the lounge where she bounced and looked bewildered. He was on his feet and in Chris' face in seconds.

"Vuoi andare adesso, figlio di puttana? Stai cercando di dirmi cosa posso e cosa non posso fare con la mia donna?" (You wanna go right now motherfucker? You trying to tell me what I can and can't do with my woman?) He spat in venom. Chris retaliated,

"Faresti meglio a pensarci due volte su quel tono, bel ragazzo, o ti farò cadere un piolo." (You better think twice about that tone pretty boy or I'm gonna bring you down a peg.)

Now the entire crew were on their feet. Weapons, cards and drinks forgotten. Ares rushed to Lalienna's side, vaulting the table in one bound and planting herself protectively in front of the dancer. Cursing to herself. She had to get Lali out of here. If the boys were gonna fight, it was gonna be bad.

Christov and Tino stood toe to toe, both of the men shouting and swearing at each other in rapid Italian. Hector grabbed at Tino's arms, forcing the younger man away and trying to be the voice of reason.

"Come on man.... let it go! He doesn't mean it!"

"Fuck you! I do fuckin' mean it!" Chris shouted back, chesting up only to be ripped away by Curtis. The men struggled to pull the prince and his attack dog apart.

"No, Papi! Please! Don't fight like this!" Yelped Lalienna in shock. Why was this happening?! What went wrong, they were all fine a minute ago.

"Let them go, babe, Ares get her out of here." Tony shouted standing firm against the two brawling men at his back.

"You're drunk man! Drunk and fuckin' high! You can't take care of her like this!" Chris bellowed.

"I'm going to fuckin' bend you over and fuck you, fica!"  (cunt!) Tino shot back, pulling free of Hector's grip.

"You wouldn't know how to fuck a man like me!"

"I wouldn't know how?" "No!"

"Jesus, would you assholes just kiss and make up already, you're scaring the girls!" Marcus shouted, shoving Chris so roughly the man stumbled off balance. And broke down... into a fit of laughter.

"I wouldn't know how to fuck you, eh?" Tino spat, his own anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. A twinkle in his eyes... He flicked his hand and would have caught Christov square across the jaw with a resounding slap, except his reflexes were slowed under the kiss of cocaine. Chris caught his wrist and smacked it away only to knock the man back into his seat and come down on top of him hard. Their lips crashed in a carnal mixture of violent, heavy kisses. Teeth and tongues. Rough, aggressive. Neither man willing to back down from the other. Christov demanding control and Santino bucking him off.

The room erupted into laughter.

"Fottuti coglioni. Onestamente!" (Fucking dickheads. Honestly!) Hector laughed, rubbing at his face and tearing Christov off his employer. The younger tattooed man complained,

"Oh come on... I was about to get fucked."

"In your dreams, faggot." Tino laughed.

"What the hell is wrong with you idiots? I mean seriously, you guys are the reason why I drink!" Marcus barked. More laughter from the room as they all settled back down to their seats. Ares too relaxed, turning to hug the frightened dancer and kiss her cheek.

'It's okay. They're okay.' She signed, throwing up a peace sign.

"It's okay girls... settle down. Relax... They're just being idiots. They do this all the time when they're tense. They probably didn't jack off this morning or something stupid..." Curtis assured the ladies, waving them back over to their seats.

"Now we remember why we don't do coke that often. Because everyone wants to fuck everyone else up. You're both morons. Have a drink and shut up already." Tony drawled as she sought to refill his friend's wine glasses with a smirk.

"It's alright bella... relax... I love him...He's a good dog. Aren't you?" Tino smiled, wrapping his arm around Chris who returned the gesture and rested his head on his bosses' shoulder.

The storm had passed. They hugged and apologized and separated back to different parts of the room. Back to their conversations, their gambling, their laughter. Ares still protected Lali in her embrace until Tino strolled over and waved her away. "Let me have a minute with her."

'No! You're high!' She signed back sharply.

"It's okay, Ares, really... Baby girl..." His attention on his dancer, "It's okay. We're all fools. Behaving badly. Just big kids when we're not working. I love them... I'd never hurt them. Forgive me?" He licked at his lip, catching her eyes with his. Mischievous twinkle as he lowered his head. The picture of submissive innocence, until he asked with a smirk.

"So... Do we wanna go be alone now?"

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.

We Made It! Goodbye 2020

By Yaroslav Lotsmanov #starwars #thedarkside #sith #darthmaul #maul #apprentice #fanmade #fanart #MoonsithIG https://www.instagram.com/p/BrI8_D2H4L-/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=2okdrpuqoqs8

John Wick: Blood & Gold || I am John Wick

I am John Wick.

Excommunicato survivor.

Assassin.

Son of the Ruska Roma. Orphan of the World.

Servant of The High Table.

~ I TRADE gold for blood. For refuge. For peace.

~ I BLEED wrath. My sanity leaves me. I have you in focus.

~ I BIND souls in markers. In wedding rings. In faithful dogs.

~ I SERVE my vows. Determined purpose in high fidelity.

~ I BATTLE my conscience, your courage, the house that holds me.

~ I SURVIVE my penance. One piece at a time. Live for me. So I may take you down.

 I am John Wick. My history is written in Blood & Gold. I am the first to save you. I am the last to stand at your side.

 I believe in Black Angels.

I believe in Judeth Clayton. "

|| Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat ||

It didn't have to end like this.

---------------------

Laser Glass Spider is a patron of the arts and a supporter of positive mental health awareness. Remember, every life is precious. You are important.

If you feel unwell and life is hitting you hard, reach out. There are services around the world to help put you on the right track. You are not alone. You will recover.

H. R. Giger

Swallow

What they tell you.

When they tell you.

As part of the biomechanical environ.

Keep breathing.

In

Out

When will you stop being part of the system?

When will you breathe without the pipeline to the rest of the network?

Black Arts

“Have you really thought this through? I mean, really chewed it down to the bone? You dip so much as a pinky back into this pool and you’ll find that something very nasty will reach out and drag you back in.”

Be seeing you, Mr. Wick.

I need you, John.

I need you like a drug.

I need you even though you’re hurting me.

How I do refuse you when you look at me like that?

How do we stop destroying each other?

When I can’t say no.

No, to you.

The Naboo Royal Handmaidens are a group of young women handpicked to aid the Queen of Naboo. On the surface, it appears as if the handmaidens only assist with the Queen’s gowns, hairstyles, and makeup. However, they are all trained in self-defense and remain vigilant against any threats to their sovereign. In fact, during times of turmoil, a handmaiden actually poses as the Queen. The Naboo Royal Handmaidens have been selected for their various talents as well as for their resemblance to the Queen, which is useful if a decoy is required. After being invited to join the Queen’s entourage, each handmaiden was trained in self defense and marksmanship. They often carry small, concealable blasters.