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small-fortunes · 5 years

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John Wick || Beatitudinem

There was beauty in the air today.

This late summer afternoon as the breeze rolled fresh off the heat-hazed horizon with the scent of the sea entwined in its crest. The tang of salt in the air. It caressed her skin and lifted her hair. She loved to work in the soil. Especially here, in this house on a high hill overlooking the ocean. The summer's heat dissipated, but the dirt was warm in her hands. Under her nails, between her fingers, under her wedding ring.

She smiled to herself, happily. Still very much in love. These past two beautiful years. And she thought the name was still magical. She could barely believe it. In these quiet moments where she was an earth mother, her hands in the soil as she sought to plant these succulent flowers in the landscape of their garden, she caught her name revolving around her head.

'I am Helen Wick. Helen Wick now. God... How did I get this lucky?'

She'd planted the last of her seedlings and meant to water them gently except her tin water canister was empty now. She'd been working the soil for at least four hours whilst her husband slept upstairs on this glorious Sunday afternoon. She'd water them a little later.

Helen rose to her feet and clapped the dirt off her hands, looking out over the horizon. So beautiful this day. She could see on forever, out over the hill and into the valley where the beach brought its eternal tidings along with the first star of the celestial heavens above.

She loved to work the earth on days like this. It helped her feel grounded. It reminded her that we all returned to the earth eventually. For now, she was thirsty. It was easy to lose track of time when working in your own garden. Especially when it was a labour of love.

She made her way up the patio steps, across the landing, and through the garden door into the kitchen. Attending the sink that overlooked a grand arched window into the garden where her beautiful plants were growing. She'd planned on building a gazebo where she and her husband could rise on early mornings and have breakfast together. Or make love under its arching roof.

That was a romantic fantasy. She wanted very much to make it come true as she took a glass tumbler and filled it with chilled filtered water from the tap.

The embodiment of her marital bliss had padded on silent footfalls down the stairs and was now dressed and leaning against the kitchen doorframe, smiling at her. Warm, chocolate-coloured eyes and radiating passionate humility. She caught his reflection in the kitchen windowpane and turned to admire him as she leaned back against the kitchen sink. God. He was beautiful. Her husband. She could do nothing but smile at him. Smile and love him with every piece of her blossoming soul. Her Johnathan.

"Are you...smiling, Mister Wick?" She teased him playfully. A glitter in her eyes as she looked him up and down. Dark blue jeans, a white low cut t-shirt and a calf brown leather jacket that they had bought together in their first year of marriage. He wore it everywhere. It was his absolute favourite. But she wished he'd opt for something lighter in the summer.

"Maybe... yeah." He replied, that smile unwavering.

"Well, I wish you wouldn't. It's indecent." She teased. Not far from the truth. He had a way about smiling that always felt a little too intense around her. Borderline romantic. He pushed his shoulder away from the door frame and came forward into the kitchen proper to caress her hips with his tender hands and whisper,

"Just as well."

"What's that?" She whispered back coyly, setting the water glass down upon the sink and turning her attention to again look up into those tender, heartbreaking eyes.

"That I'm not shy about being indecent." He replied warmly. Their lips met. And it was heaven suspended in magic. Infinity forever. She wrapped her arms around him, forgetting her hands still carried the soil of the afternoon summer land that she was mothering into life. He didn't seem to mind anything that she had. Whether it was dirt or blood, so long as it was hers he'd accept everything with passive gratitude. His warm fingers caressed her jaw as he pulled away and she smiled in the wake of his kiss. Coming gently back down to earth. He had a way about him. Her Johnthan. Of making her feel as though she never wanted to come back down from this cloud he had her perpetually suspended on.

Her husband. She loved him. But he occasionally needed correcting. Gently, lovingly. But definitely correcting. Her heart swelled with hopeful pride as she said to him,

"Hmm, well.. That said, it's Sunday... and I was wondering if I might convince you to stop tinkering with the car and head out to the hardware store for me?"

Now that sultry smile he wore dissolved into something a little smoother. She pushed a lock of his ebon hair out of his eyes.

"What for?" He asked gently. Gravel in his voice. Deep and reverberating so that even at a distance she could feel it in her chest.

"What for he says? John! It's been two months, that gazebo isn't going to finish building its self. I'd like to have it ready before New Year, if at all possible."

That glitter in his eyes as he leaned forward to grace her with another kiss. She tilted her jaw away, playful in her need to refuse him. But his lips met her chin all the same and made her sigh as he whispered, "Anything is possible." against her skin.

That made her laugh. Gentle, like wind chimes in the distance. She stepped away from him and arched her brow suggestively,

"Well, are you going or...?" He hesitated. Watching her. The scent of the sea and soil against her skin. The lines of her neck, the curves of her breasts and hips.

"I'm thinking...." He murmured.

"John..." It sounded like exasperation, but it was honestly veiled lust. He seemed to breathe this nuance between them in.

"I'll go. But I'll need you to do things for me in return."

That was very much her husband. Johnathan Wick, every bit the negotiator. Willing to compromise but for a price. She paid him willingly but not without gentle rebuke as she corrected him again now.

"Do things? Don't I do enough for you? I clean your house, I cook your meals, I press your clothes."

"These are all things I could do for myself, baby. You know you don't have to do any of it."

"That's not the point, Johnathan, I've seen you with an iron."

"Well, you shouldn't have distracted me."

"Distracted you?! John, you can't iron suede!"

"And you shouldn't bend down in a short skirt, but I'm not holding it against you, am I?"

Johnathan Wick, her husband. Negotiator and master debater when the mood suited him. And it suited him like a second skin. Always. Forever. She loved him. She loved him with every ounce of her heart and soul. But he could stand to be corrected every now and then. She really wanted to finish that gazebo before their anniversary. She wanted to lay in his arms so they could take in the evening sea breeze on their hilltop home and talk about their dreams of forever.

"Will you just go please, baby? I've left a list of timber beams and bolt specs pinned to the board by the door. And can you make sure they're Imperial, please? And get a tube of Liquid Nails while you're there, we're out. Now, get outta here, will you? I need a little alone time. You don't need to hover about my shoulder every two minutes like a stalking butler. I can take care of myself, surprising as that may seem."

He committed her words to memory. His eyes never leaving her face, he watched her lips move and felt the swell of her hips against his palms, sighing in contentment as her hands came up to his chest. Oops! She forgot about that. She brushed the dirt off the cotton with her forearm whilst he smiled at her.

"I never doubted it, baby girl. I just like checking up on you." His left hand strayed, lower than was prudent. She purred the words,

"With your hand on my ass?"

He squeezed the flesh he had purchase on. A reminder that his hands could bring about the coils of pleasure she'd only ever dreamed about.

"At least one of us needs to keep it covered. They're shrinking lace like it's going out of fashion." He replied. There was heat in his voice now. He looked hungry. Protective and hungry. And for a moment she thought about it. About taking off his jacket and t-shirt and rubbing her soil-covered hands against his chest. He did this to her. Conjured visions and dreams and desires she'd never experienced before. Except when she stood alone in his presence. In the heat of his eyes. Mmm. She loved him. The way he made her feel. But she'd make him wait. On principle if nothing more. Because she enjoyed feeding him when he was hungry. Nourishing him took on many forms. And she delighted in being instrumental in overseeing all of them.

"You fool! Get outta here. Give your wife thirty minutes alone, won't you? And stop at the drug store on the way back. I need a refill of my pill prescription." She pecked his cheek, dancing out of his tender embrace and turned back to the sink, to take the olive oil soap and lather her hands under running water.

"You're gonna need more than the pill to keep you protected from me."

There was humour in his voice but it was thin and veiled in the heat of a man that had long since decided he wanted to spill his seed as a willing father. They'd discussed their options quietly in bed together. Not yet. She just wasn't ready. She wanted more time to love her husband alone before giving a piece of herself to rear his children. He understood. But he made the offer all the same. A vow to her. For when she changed her mind. He was ready.

"That's a funny way to file for divorce, Mister Wick." She called over her shoulder. Teasing him again. She caught his reflection in the kitchen windowpane as he stalked down the hall waving her comment away. She could imagine the smile across his lips vividly.

They knew each other. First as friends, then as lovers, then as husband and wife. Their history secured their bonds with each other. There was nothing that either of them could say that would ever be grounds for devoicing. Except for when he left the garage door open. Or came back inebriated from a good night with his work friends and stumbled about the following morning hungover with a ringing headache.

Who was she kidding? She'd never detach herself from him. He was a good man. And they were rare to find in this day and age.

Even so, he could stand with a little correcting. She heard him mutter to himself in the hallway and then call to her.

"Keys, baby?"

"Bowl on the hall table." She called back, listening. That's right. He had them now. She counted the heartbeats. He asked another question,

"Phone?"

"Coat pocket...on the hat stand by the door."

That's right. He had it now. She counted the heartbeats and sure enough, her beloved husband asked yet another question that made her smile and laugh inwardly.

"Wallet?"

"Next to the vase, John. On your left... your other left." She heard him mutter to himself. Something about how grateful he was to have a woman as organized as she to depend upon. So she padded out of the kitchen, drying her hands on the dishtowel and met her husband at the foot of the hallway. He turned and looked up at her with a self-satisfied corona of radiance. In marital bliss.

"I love you, baby." He said to her. To his wife.

"Mhm. I love you too. Drive safe." Said Helen Wick.

Watching as her husband made his way out of their marital home door.

Beatitudinem Uncut

The word ‘beatitudinem’ is Latin for ‘happiness’.

The John Wick film franchise features little content for the wonder that is the beautiful Mrs. Helen Wick. Performed by American actress: Kathryn Bridget Moynahan. Helen Wick appears in mobile phone film footage and a range of tender and romantic flashbacks in the original John Wick film released in 2014.

Helen, along with Daisy and John’s beloved antique 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1 which is referred to in the film as a Boss 429, are three central motifs that surround John’s life with meaningful importance both before and after his retirement from the criminal underworld where he is renowned and feared as a spectacular master assassin.

Fans feel, that were it not for Helen’s passing, John Wick may have moved into the ether of his retirement happily ever after. Beatitudinem, seeks to explore a moment in time where Helen is alive and well, two years into their blissful marriage. Naturally, the narrative takes on the creative license to assume the thoughts, feelings and attitudes of the woman who is otherwise a foreshadowing figure to her husband and his grieving process after her passing.

Little is known about Mrs. Wick, but the fans agree, she was a magnificent woman to have been able to bring this man so much warmth and salvation in their five years of happy marriage.

Beatitudinem, is written as a tender one-short short story that celebrates the simplicity and domesticity of every-day married life. We sincerely hope you enjoy it! If you do, please share, like and reblog the story with your friends and fellow John Wick fans. Spread the love. You’re welcome to add the work to a Master List, just don’t forget to send a message or comment our way to let us know how far the tale has travelled.

This work is dedicated to my special friends:

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat & @lalienna-dementriento

We Love You!

#johnwick #helenwick #inspiredbyfilm #johnxhelen #originalcustomgraphics #customhandmadegraphics

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small-fortunes · 5 years

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The Keys to Our Rooms

Sable knew the truth. He was the first to review the security footage and show it to Jeremy. The Prince of Rome was hitting on the girl in Room 509. Her meal that night had been paid for by his cheque. One less to the bill for Mistress Clayton care of The Tower of London Miss DeMentriento had fine taste. Her plate was expensive. Seafood always was. Mr. D'Antonio was seemingly made of money. Powerful Italian. And spending it on luxurious food for a pretty lady as a means of impressing her was always on his charter. That was the way of things at The Continental London. Sable was busy reconciling the day's trading takings in order to process his paperwork for the bank. It was his business to know these things. What the guests ordered in the dining room. How many times they requested room service, laundry fees, parking charges, weapons acquirements, medical services, adult entertainment, night club access, private dancers, high class escorts. Accounts Payable, Administration. Everything went through his computers, through his records, though his ledgers, through his books.

And these room keys he handed his guests: They had a chip in them that unlocked doors the world never knew existed. Just like those gold coins that formed a silent currency in exchange for services rendered. Blood Money. Body Removal. Blood Money.

It became common knowledge, soon thereafter; that Mr. D'Antonio had proposed possible Camorra employment to Miss. DeMentriento. That was an exciting proposition for someone so young and so displaced from the world. The White Women, their new female initiates were bought and sold, traded like livestock. They were livestock. Expendable. Their purpose was to fight, breed, kill and die. But not here. Not in his house. Not in Jeremy's house. This hotel was a neutral ground. House rules were simple. 'No Business Allowed' And their motto: 'An Oasis of Calm and Civility' Those were the words of The Continental London. The exact same as New York City, Rome, Barcelona, Morocco and Sydney. No matter where in the world you went. If you were part of the Gold Class Standard. Seven Stars of immaculate class and infinite style... If you wanted the Continental Experience. Then you paid the price. And you put your weapons away. And you did exactly as you were told. In exchange you got a luxurious room, as many meals as you could desire, a magnificent bar, gardens and hire cars. You got safety, security, peace of mind. You had bell hops, valets, maids, waiters, personal assistants, state of the art technology and the greatest underground entertainment anywhere in the world. It all came for a price. You wanted that gold card? You wanted the high rolling luxury? Black suits, diamonds and gold? Then yes, you paid in Blood Money.

Now only prime staff knew the truth. Sir Jeremy, the Owner/Manager. The Iris twins, reception officers and night club hostesses. And he... the Concierge. Sable.

He could gather from the records and security footage that he'd reviewed; extra footage that the High Guard exchanged for coin... exactly what was going on between the guests in Room 768 and Room 509. Mr. D'Antonio had taken a new employee to the D'Antonio Family. A new member for the Camorra High Guard. Everyone was very happy that Miss. DeMentriento, a complete underworld unknown; was secured into such a powerful house name. It would do her good. But Sable knew the truth. As did the Iris Twins. As did Sir Jeremy. That the Italian Prince was hitting on the girl in Room 509.

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