#It's like John Wick but my facial hair situation is worse

[captain-clive]

Unironically been considering a post where I explain why each Sims 4 expansion pack is a let-down. The game designer in me has been trying to sit things out but bro wants in.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

this is random and probably not worded the best but do you have any tips on writing men? I tend to struggle writing them.

This is such an interesting question because writing men is not really something that I think about. It comes more naturally to me than writing women (maybe because my own masculinity was left unexpressed for so long that I now just find it pouring out of me). But this gave me an opportunity to think about it.

I think my first piece of advice would be to not think about them as men at all, but instead think of their character traits, the way that you would when writing anyone. What do they desire? What is their biggest fear? How do they want other people to view them? What are their blind spots or weaknesses? That should be the starting point, the heart of the scene.

But there are some differences in attitude/expression, and I think they tend to arise around social expectations. Men are less likely to touch each other in public, for example (at least in contemporary American culture) because that's just not expected. So if you see a full-on hug or kiss or hand holding, especially if it's between two men, that's a bigger deal and it's likely to be a sign of either a confident person who doesn't care what others think, or a lot of emotion.

I also think that in general, shame is likely to be something that's a factor in the character's story. Men are shamed pretty much no matter what they do, just like women are - everybody is shamed under sexist social structures, just in different ways. They are expected to be providers, to be strong, to take action in any crisis, to hide their emotions. If they fail, they are shamed for "femininity". And yet if they succeed in these overt shows of power, they are feared, and are shamed for inspiring fear in others. Imagine the shame of passing a woman on the way home in the evening and seeing her cross the street to avoid you - the shame of knowing that just your body was enough to frighten someone. This is not at all to minimize what women experience in that situation (in many ways that's worse), but men feel something negative too, and their shame has a different nature to it. Now imagine that shame amplified to the extremes of a person who has actually killed others to try to maintain his image, and you get an idea of why I tend to write such self-loathing male characters in the John Wick universe (besides the fact that it's fun to write self-loathing and watch it turn to self-love...)

For the same reason, loneliness is a bigger factor. There's near-constant, competitive social performance going on for men, especially men in high-profile positions within organizations that have a lot of tradition, like the mafia stuff that I tend to write. So there's not a lot of room to be themselves and form deeper connections in that situation.

All of this adds up to mean that when a man experiences connection, whether it's mental or physical, it's such a relief, such a big deal. And if he cries in front of someone, it's like a distilled symbol of everything that men don't normally get to express. It's a taboo, and how the characters (including the one who's crying) respond to the tears says a lot about them. This is probably why I tend to write male tears as the climax (sexual or not) of a lot of my stories. It's this proving point - can someone step out of the social expectations set for them and accept this man as a person for his genuine emotions? Can he accept himself? If so, it's an incredibly satisfying victory.

Okay uhhh...after all of that heavy stuff, here's some superficial things to mention in descriptions and such:

Facial hair. Do they like or dislike shaving? Do they have some meaning behind the way they style it? If your characters are on the run or in captivity, it will grow out unless they have a shaving kit. Unless they don't have much facial hair to begin with. Not everyone can grow a beard.

The walk. Men walk so...so...uniquely. It's gorgeous. It's not stiff, but it's solid. "Swagger" and "saunter" and "strut" are good words. Just look at men walking sometime and try to describe it.

Sitting. Unbuttoning a single coat button to sit when wearing fancy clothing. Arranging their legs differently if they're a penis-haver. That thing men do when they rest one ankle on the other knee.

Aaaaaaaa I have a lot of feelings about men, if you couldn't tell. Anyway, I hope that helped! If anyone wants to chime in with other thoughts (especially people who were raised as men growing up, because I didn't have that experience), please let me know. I'm sure I missed a lot - this is just the first few things that came to mind.

[littleteatimestories]

John Wick x Reader: Start of Something New (5)

A/N: Hello again! 😆 It’s been a week ever since I’ve updated this one. Again and again, thank you so much for loving the series! I’ve actually started the 2nd series for this one, but I’m taking my updates slow and peasy in case changes occur in the chapters that I wrote in advance so far. Just so you know, if you spread the love for this blog to more fans out there, we’re going to reach 200 followers soon! Just 2 more to go! 😀 So please tell your friends and mutuals about this blog! I just don’t write for John Wick, but I also write for other fandoms like Assassin’s Creed and Marvel.

Once again, enjoy this one! LIKE, COMMENT, and REBLOG! 🥰 This chapter was a bit long and the final one will be much longer.

(GIF by @chadstahelski)

⇇ CHAPTER 1

⟸ CHAPTER 4

He hailed a ‘special cab’ and gave the driver a gold coin.

“The Continental,” he simply instructed.

The driver tipped his flat cap and replied, “Of course, Mr Wick.”

The drive felt longer. He managed to patch his shoulder injury and held his wounded left side with his right hand. He pulled out a photo in his coat jacket using his free one and lingered his eyes on it. It was a photo of you and Helen ten years ago. The sides of your mouth were curved upward, exposing your teeth. Helen showed a same facial expression. You two were happy in here and this was taken before Helen met him. He briefly brushed his thumb on her then took his time on gazing on you. You were so beautiful and innocent on the picture. You didn’t deserve to be involved in all of these. Revenge clouded his judgment and his fear of losing you got the better of him. He could’ve sent you to a faraway country and erased any connections between you and Helen. He could’ve saved you from all the terrible things that were happening, but even he was aware that there was no time.

You didn’t take the information well about him being an assassin. Nevertheless, you remained unperturbed and still attended to him; probably because you didn’t know who to rely on anymore other than him.

He painfully hissed. His condition was getting worse and the last thing he wanted to do was him getting badly injured and staining his clothes, just like you said that he indeed was like crap right now. He didn’t want you to fret over him anymore. You had enough of grief and worry for a day.

***

He finally reached the hotel. He limped his way to the reception counter, the concierge already watching him as he moved closer.

John requested, “I need a doctor. But I’m doing it elsewhere this time. I don’t want (Y/n) to worry over me.”

The concierge responded, “It will be done, Mr Wick. Please wait a moment while I make the call.”

He waited patiently even though the need for medical attention was urgent. The concierge announced to him, “Proceed to Floor A and find Room 118.”

“Thank you.” Before he went on his way, he asked first, “How is she?”

The concierge answered, “She is doing well. Though, I am concerned for her emotional well-being. Despite that, she is strong-willed. If you actually want to keep her safe, Mr Wick, I suggest watching out for Jacob Fortuna. He seems to find Miss (Y/n) interesting.”

John internally growled. Jacob Fortuna was like the male version of Perkins: cold, deadly, and conniving. He also had a personal vendetta against him. John swore he and Perkins may perhaps be siblings.

He notified the concierge that Mr Fortuna will be dealt with if he appeared threatening to you. He’ll have to advise you, too, not to interact with the man anymore. He then marched away to tend to his medical urgency.

***

You were reading “Murder on the Orient Express” by Agatha Christie. You actually find it ironic that the theme of the book was about killing, death and revenge, which may as well describe your situation right now. You didn’t even know why you’re reading this book in the first place.

There was a knock on the door; a familiar knock at that. There was only one person whom you knew taps the door twice. You put down the book and went to open it.

“Hey,” John greeted faintly.

You blew out a tired air through your nose. “Really, John? Didn’t I tell you to be careful?”

“I tried. I’m sorry.” He entered the room, still limping. His wounds were already stitched up. It was just a matter of drinking some painkillers in case it got too tough on him.

“Take a quick shower before you rest. Leave your clothes in the bathroom. I’ll take care of it. If you’re hungry, there’s food on your bedside table.”

He just nodded then laid his eyes on you for a short moment.

The last time he saw you having a lighthearted expression was when Daisy came into your lives. She gave hope to the both of you. Not everyone understood Daisy’s importance in your lives; that she wasn’t just a dog. You didn’t even try stopping him for going after that bastard Iosef, who was still in hiding and on the run. If you thought of telling him to just give up and move on, you probably didn’t have the courage to say it to him; perhaps, even you were having a hard time doing so because you also might’ve felt being taken away from your loved one.

He stopped his thoughts and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

***

You helped him lay on his bed. You then kneeled beside him and held his free hand, focusing your eyes on him.

“The doctor must’ve given you painkillers. Where are they?” you queried softly.

John exhaled tiredly. “They’re in my coat pocket.”

You bobbed your head and rose to your feet. You kissed his forehead. When you turned, your hand was clasped firmly and you glanced at him. He surveyed you.

“Don’t ever talk to Jacob Fortuna. He’s as dangerous as I am,” he said cautiously.

You huffed. “The receptionist told you?”

“I’m just worried.”

You wiggled your hand from his hold, which he gently released. “I’ll be fine.” You proceeded to the bathroom to collect his medication and sort out his blood-stained clothes.

You slightly shut the door and scanned his clothing. You would gladly burn these out, but this was one of his favorite suits so you couldn’t do much of it. You crouched and searched for the painkillers. When you did so, you also got a hold onto another thing. It was some sort of paper, a little crumpled that was folded in two. You slowly took it and your breathing hitched. It was a picture of you and Helen. You remembered that this was taken when you were finally graduating from your Master’s Degree. Helen was really happy in here.

The hotel phone rang, not without a glass shattering along with it. You whipped your head to the door, now on high alert.

“John?” You quickly made to the door and out of the bathroom. “Are you-“

You were cut short when someone just tumbled inches in front of you. You shrieked. A young woman locked eyes on you. You instantly recalled that she was the patron who interacted with John in less than no time at all. What is she even doing in here?!

She was about to lunge at you (and you backed away) as John collided with her. Your instincts told you to get the pepper spray and assist him. For God’s sake, he was just recovering from his abrasions!

You moved quickly to your bed and got a grasp on your mighty protection tucked under your pillow. You saw your opportunity as the woman lost her balance and you briskly dispersed the pepper spray on her face. She roared, but she was able to pounce onto you as she coiled her hands on your neck. You gasped as you tried to get her grip away from you. John was able to wrap a cloth on her face to which she immediately released her tight hold on your neck. You coughed and wheezed, sniffing aggressively on sweet oxygen. John threw the woman on the other side of the room, a glass wall broken into pieces.

She was unconscious temporarily. John came to your side at once. The phone was still ringing nonstop.

“You okay?” his voice quivered slightly.

You wheezed again. “I’m fine…” The phone kept reverberating and it’s annoying the hell out of you already. “Can you please answer the phone?”

John did so. “Yes?”

The concierge wanted to confirm about noise complaints in the floor you were residing in. John plainly explained the situation, but kept it vague. You heard a door being opened and you peered to it. You saw the woman crawling her way out.

You called to John quietly, pulling the sleeve of his now dirtied white shirt to get his attention. You nudged your head towards the door. He was cognizant of it quickly.

“I’ll have to call you back,” he said as he put down the handset. “Stay here,” he enjoined you and retrieved the gun on the floor.

You didn’t know what was happening outside. You shakily stood and sat on the edge of your bed. You were scared for sure though, honestly, you didn’t know what to feel anymore. This wasn’t your world and if you can just run away, you’ll do so in a heartbeat.

If only that was possible…

***

“I’ve requested to move you in a new room.”

You weren’t saying anything, just staring into space.

“It’s going to be safe. She won’t know where you are.”

You still didn’t open your mouth to speak, still looking blankly ahead.

“Hey.” John gently shrugged you by your shoulder, which made you flinch. You looked at him.

“Did you even-“

“You just got hurt and now you’re leaving?” you interrupted. There was little anger in your voice.

John sighed loudly. He was already in his usual suit and tie with his long hair slicked back. He still had those recovering scars on his face, but you couldn’t deny that he still looked handsome.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n). I know this all feels rushed, but-“

He was intervened again by you. “Yes, John, it does feel rushed!” You stood and faced him. “I feel so stressed with everything! I can’t go out, someone’s trying to kill you, and now I’m all alone again because you’re leaving again!” Tears were falling off your eyes. “How can you be so selfish? Helen’s gone and so is Daisy and all you ever think is taking revenge. What about me, John? Do you think I wanted this? Do you ever think of my well-being other than my safety?” You sobbed hard.

John suddenly pulled you in his arms. He didn’t even know what to say. It was true that he only thought of getting repayment for Daisy’s ‘murder’ and thought of getting you in a safe place. He was perhaps selfish not to consider your own feelings with all of these.

He wanted to get out of this already, but he was so close now. He just wanted to end the Tarasovs.

“I promise,” he whispered. “once this is all over, I won’t go back. I’ll treat you right, just the way how I treated Helen.” He brushed his lips on the top of your head and his arms wrapped more protectively around you.

You tried to stop from crying, but just thinking about him leaving you was making it harder for you. You coiled your arms firmly around him as well.

“Please don’t go…” you pleaded.

How he wished. For your own sake, though, he reassured you, “I won’t go anywhere.”

***

He offered you a glass of water to which you drank the whole content. You asked him to sit beside you and he did so. He tenderly rested your head on his shoulder and softly stroke the side of which. Your eyes were starting to get heavier for each passing second. Without you noticing, you were already asleep.

John paid attention to your breathing. Once he knew you were not going to be disturbed for an hour, he fixed you properly on the sofa bed, placing a smooth blanket over you. He murmured an apology again. He didn’t want to put sleeping pill powder in your drink, but he didn’t have any other choice.  He started the ‘war’ with the Tasarovs; he had to end it permanently. He affixed his forehead to yours, trying to memorize your peaceful features. He touched your cheek one last time like as if it was going to be his last then slung a leather shoulder bag. He looked longingly at you.

He truly and deeply cared for you. He just had to finish what he started.

-

FINAL CHAPTER ⟹