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johnwickcaretaker · 1 day

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⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒳𝐼𝒱: 𝒜 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝒶𝓁𝓁 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!

TW: Vincent treating John poorly, crying, self-loathing, discussion of grief, letter from a person who is now dead, digital self-harm (reading triggering texts on purpose), Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Author's note: I changed a couple details about the stores in the mall from what they had originally been in the moodboard/location description because I got better ideas. I'll update that post at some point too! Also, special thanks to the anon who reminded me that John and Vincent should talk about their grief at some point.

Summary: John and Vincent spend a day at the mall. At first, everything is perfect. But Vincent’s past actions are about to catch up to him.

Vincent didn’t realize how much everything hurt, how much he had been holding back, until he collapsed against the railing of the mall’s second floor, panting. Don’t cry in front of the guards. Don’t. Don’t.

His chest was burning from being thrown around so much – had been ever since the fight. His hands were still embedded with fragments of glass and red lines where the rope had dug into his wrists. His knees, his arms, his damn jaw…everything was sore. His mouth was full of iron and it made him feel sick and desperate. He tried to focus on some decorative tree standing in a soil-filled planter below, almost glowing in a beam from the skylights. Its leaves danced and blurred through water and he refused to blink.

Then there was a hand on his back. A touch that had already become familiar.

John, bafflingly gallant, offering him an arm. “Will you walk with me, Marquis?”

That he phrased it as a question, after Belle had just stripped Vincent of all choice a few minutes ago, made him almost forgive the things John had been persuaded to say. That he didn’t believe in the plan…That he’d kill him if the time came. It was with great annoyance that Vincent rested an arm over the top of his and let himself be led slowly down the walkway.

“Que voulait-elle? [What did she want?]”

“Elle essayait juste de me convaincre de t'abandonner. [She was just trying to convince me to give up on you.]” John bumped lightly against his shoulder. “N'arrive pas. [Not happening.]”

He looked down at Vincent’s hand, on the point of taking it, and noticed it glittering with glass. The guards were dispersing, but John called after one of them, asking if they had a medic and where to go.

So, soon enough, they were moving past the metal pull-down doors of shuttered storefronts, Vincent looking away into the lower level. There was a small congregations of people moving near a decadent pink and gold carousel - perhaps there were two dozen roaming below them altogether - but they were swallowed in the eerie vastness of the space and the mall still felt empty.

“You should put away your ring,” John said, as they approached the entrance of an arcade, now lined with medical beds. “They won’t like that symbol.”

“That woman told her people to serve us and they will. I’m not putting anything away.” His thumb ran over the face of the gold reliefs, as if reassuring himself that it was still there. He wouldn’t give the Bowery the satisfaction of prying the High Table away from him, even symbolically.

But he had to, to let them wash his hands in alcohol and extract the shards with tweezers. The medic’s eyes did linger on it, but, mercifully, he said nothing. He was probably too busy enjoying the way Vincent hissed through his teeth at every touch, trying not to scream. He also stared at John, standing close to the bed, tension burning in his look every time he saw Vincent wince. John had insisted he be given painkillers, but Vincent guessed he’d deliberately given him something that wouldn’t kick in for a while. John never left his side while his chest was re-bandaged. He just stood with planted feet, as if waiting for orders, until it was done. The attention somehow made the process bearable. That protective look in John’s eyes didn’t make him so furious anymore, he realized. Now that he knew it was genuine and not woven out of pity, he demanded more of it, would have been frankly insulted if John had turned away.

On the way out, John stopped to ask, “Do you have Diamox?”

The doctor smiled victorious, taking the request as a clue. “Going to high altitude, Mr. Wick?”

He didn’t bother to reply, just stared.

“We’ll get some into stock. It will be on the plane.”

The man refused High Table currency, just to be difficult. Vincent attempted to pay by card, but it declined. And declined again. “The bastards froze my accounts…” The doctor was grinning and Vincent was narrowly holding back from decking him when John stepped in and took care of it instead.

And they were out the door again.

“Thank you,” Vincent forced out, still flushed. “I…will owe you.”

“No. Not for your health. But you’ll owe me for the suit.”

“The suit?”

“That’s where we’ll go next. You need something warm. And bulletproof.”

“And let’s not forget professional. Not one of those clunky tactical suits. One must look his best in situations such as this.”

“I get it. I wore my best to the Basilica.”

“…You did.” He recalled how John had both dazzled and terrified him as he rose up those steps, inevitable as the rising sun, something too awful and beautiful for this world, a grim reaper who would lead him into the next. Someone who had just taken Chidi away…he pushed that thought down because it was too horrible to look at. At the same time, John had been so obviously honorable that he could not be regarded as a villain, no matter how much he may be an enemy. That sight had forced respect from Vincent against his own will. “How you looked then…that is how I would like to appear to everyone. Especially the Elder.”

John glanced away, almost bashful. “You sure? You may have been biased.”

He laughed. “No, no. I hated you then.”

“And now you don’t?” He asked it quickly, overeager yet with a note of fear in his voice. Vulnerable. It gave Vincent a rush that it shouldn’t have, to think he cared one way or another. And pissed him off, to think he had to ask.

“…Don’t play coy.”

John asked nothing further, and led him into the ghost of a Valentino, where the floor was still lined with black tile and the chairs with red leather. The key difference from an ordinary store was the presence of Kevlar samples in neatly arranged swatches on a glowing table trimmed with gold. It had been converted into a tailoring station for body armor. “You Americans think of everything. If there’s consumerism afoot, you’ll show us how to consume in style.” Vincent was grinning ear to ear. He felt his confidence beginning to return just being there, in a place of at least some small luxury.

On top of that, the painkillers began to kick in at last, and he finally started to feel better. In a new t-shirt (compliments of the house so that he wouldn’t get blood on anything while measurements were taken) the world felt soft and floaty, just the way he liked it. He had to sit down from dizziness and was graciously invited to do so.

The tailor was nicer to them than the doctor had been. He doubted she was terribly caught up in the particulars of the whole affair - she just seemed glad to work with a patron who had taste. She let him sketch designs and answered all his questions about fabrics. He settled on black wool with a fur lined, double breasted overcoat. He even managed to talk John into getting something fur lined too.

Seated across from them, hands on his knees, John watched him intently while the tape measure wound around his wrists, his neck, his waist, his hips… Vincent held eye contact, knowing what he was thinking about, and watched his pupils visibly swell with desire.

Finally, he felt desirable again, more like himself. Felt like teasing him.

He let his bandaged hand slide down John’s wrist as they walked to their next stop, dancing across his palm and threatening to hold it. But John stiffened and pulled away.

He stopped, embarrassed. “Je suppose que nous ne devrions pas être ainsi en public. [I suppose we shouldn’t be this way in public.]”

“Non, à ce stade, tout le monde le sait. C'est juste que… tu es d'accord avec le doigt ? [No, at this point everyone knows. I just…you’re okay with the finger?]”

Oh. “Of course.” Vincent grabbed his hand and flicked his own finger suggestively through the gap where John’s ring finger should be, winking.

“Okay, ça suffit [enough of that].” John swore quietly in Russian, blushed, and then squeezed his hand in affection. It was a gesture that conveyed his strength and gentleness in the same instant. He’d been intending to tease John, but he felt his own heart fluttering instead. This was more overwhelming than he’d bargained for. How long had it been since he’d properly held hands with someone? Not formally arm in arm at a ball, or taking a hand to help someone out of a car, but just holding on together? Certainly not in many years. The light played golden across John’s embarrassingly tender features and Vincent felt the tug to pull him in for a kiss. But that seemed a little far, even if everyone did know.

They broke away to buy weapons in the old Build-a-Bear Workshop. John bought him a beautiful blade, an 18th century Rococo smallsword with a golden spiral hilt inlaid with ebony. And it was nimble and springy. Despite the struggle of movement, they took a few swings at each other, John wielding the nearest simple smallsword, until the shopkeeper pleaded with them to stop before breaking the wares. It occurred to Vincent that this could have been the method of his near-mortal wounding, had he won the card flip for choice of weapons at the duel. If that had been the case, he would still have lost. John was damn good.

Somehow, he was glad that had not happened. To have gained a fear of swords was unthinkable. A blade felt like a part of his own body, and it was such a joy to play against John without real fear.

After that, they were at their leisure. John pointed out the carousel, with its the central column of which served as a cover for an access door leading down into the tunnels under the city. Those tunnels, he explained, connected with the subway system and would no doubt be their means of exit to reach the flight tomorrow. “Does it still spin?”

“I doubt that. But…come on.” John stepped over a velvet rope onto the platform, beckoning for him to follow. Before he knew what was happening, he’d been lifted onto a horse.

“This is a gaudy plastic monstrosity,” he protested, but he couldn’t keep a straight face. Not with the way John was looking at him. Real happiness bubbled out of his chest and set him laughing. “If I have to do this, you have to do this too. Get on a horse.”

So he did. “Just imagine it’s spinning,” John said. “It’s just really slow.”

“If we’re in a race, mine’s winning. Look, it’s ahead of yours. And I know you’ll never catch up at this rate.”

But they didn’t get to find out, as they were scolded by a guard to get off the horses.

Just past the carousel was the food court. It was functional and being used to feed Bowery members, so they sat at a pink table with blue metal chairs. The food on offer was a stew, simpler and more substantial than typical food court offerings since it was intended as daily fare for Bowery members. But it still came with fries, and ice cream for dessert.

“Why do you look so cheerful?” he asked John. “It’s unusual for you.”

“I’m at the mall with you.”

Vincent beamed, grateful to feel that the heaviness inside him from the past few days had vanished for the moment.

“You know, I always wanted to go on a date at the mall when I was growing up. I imagined holding hands with some ordinary girl, just going to her favorite store to buy her a dress and having ice cream at the food court. Didn’t really have any context for what that would be like, but…it sounded nice.” He stared off towards the carousel. The fading evening light was turning it from pink to lilac.

“You really daydreamed about doing nothing at the mall? It can’t compare to the life we have. Look around you. This is better than any civilian date. Here, we buy life and death.”

“I did want that, and I got it. I took Helen out all the time, just window shopping, walking together, talking. It…it didn’t disappoint.” He had a misty look in his eyes and Vincent wished he could wipe it off of him.

And just like that, the heaviness inside him was back. He felt a pang, thinking of Helen. Why did John have to want things that were so fucking useless, that had no place in Vincent’s world. “Well this is not like that. Such dreams are impossible for you. Leave your fantasies at the door with me, John. They disgust me.”

John shook his head and inhaled deeply. “Forget it. I’m sorry.”

It just made Vincent feel worse. He had somehow made a mess of their interaction again, been cruel before he even thought about it. This whole nice afternoon, and it just had to get fucked up. He had a sudden desire to act out, to wallow in something dramatic and painful. If he were at home, he could have used. That was not possible here, and it made him feel trapped, bottled up.

But there was an outlet in the side of a divider at the center of the path. And the lights were on in this part of the mall. “Give me my phone. I would like to read through missed messages.”

“Are you su – “

“I shouldn’t have to ask twice.”

He handed it over. Within a few minutes, Vincent was sitting by himself over the outlet and watching the cracked screen light up again with shit he couldn’t handle. For some reason, it disappointed him that there weren’t any messages from the current day. The High Table had driven him out of hiding, and then stopped as soon as they knew where he was. They didn’t care about him even enough to insult him.

That didn’t stop him from poring over each of the older messages one by one, his body turning gradually hot with rage and humiliation.

“Hey.” John was standing over him.

He shot John the nastiest look he could muster. “What?”

“Delete them. Please.”

“There could be important information. I should read everything.”

“Vincent. This is – “ He sighed. “I don’t want you to be hurt. This is you getting hurt.”

“I’m not hurt! Fuck them all! I’m – “ He broke off just short of throwing his phone again.

“I can delete them myself. If you don’t want to look at them. I don’t care what’s in them, it’s all lies. I’ll just tell you if there’s any real information.”

That sounded like an incredible relief. Despite trying to use this to blow off steam, he felt even more on the verge of an outburst. He really couldn’t do it alone, and that was the worst of anything. “…Fine.” And he handed over the phone again.

He watched John’s expression nervously as he read. It was angry. Very angry. One hand went onto Vincent’s shoulder in a mute gesture of protectiveness. This, at last, began to make some kind of dent in his spiral. So John had loved this Helen once, fine. But he cared for Vincent an awful lot now.

Then John looked…different. He was reading something long.

“I’m going to show something to you.” His voice was dangerously calming. Pre-emptively calming. This could not be good. “There is a text, and two letters.”

“Letters?” He took the phone back.

The text came from a number he did not recognize. It said, “The High Table did not want you to see this. I send it to you not because you deserve it, but because Chidi deserved for his message to be delivered. He was a good commander. These were found on his body.” A Myrmadon, then. Vincent’s throat had gone very tight. He opened the first attachment. There were two, each showing a folded and unfolded piece of paper. He remembered Chidi writing something on the plane. He had said it was plans, but maybe not…

It read,

“Mr. Wick,

It is my hope that within a few days, we will meet up again and I can speak to you in person. But if you are reading this, it means I am dead, and the Marquis’ life rests in your hands. I have no connections, no idea what to do for him. I am a guard, that’s all. But everyone knows of you, Mr. Wick, and you know everyone. I hesitate to leave him with anyone, but when you spared my life and left me unconscious, even after I pushed you down 200 stairs, I woke up and thought, “This is someone who maybe has the patience to deal with Vincent.” When you did not pursue him, after all of that, and merely accepted your retirement, my hope increased again. I don’t know if you will be with him for a long time. If you are not, give this to his new bodyguard, please.

Vincent is a difficult man. You will often be frustrated with him. He will not show you gentleness, but I think we can both understand why. He has had a life that shocks even me. If he tells you his secrets, consider yourself lucky. I hope you’ll come to know him that way. I’ll let him tell you what he is struggling with in his own time. Just please look after his health and don’t indulge him. I have tried to stop him but he has ways of getting what he wants. Again, Mr. Wick, I don’t know how to help him. I hope you do.

Look after yourself - he will take and take and he will not be sorry. It’s up to you to keep yourself safe. You can decide whether to give him everything, like I did. I am even willing to give him my life, and I have no regrets.

He is worth it. The years I’ve spent with him have been my happiest, in spite of everything. This may sound strange, but he’s such a good man. He is generous with those who are loyal to him, very respectable and so, so smart. He never gives up on something he has set his mind to, and he makes such beautiful things. I know he has a vision for the world beyond what you and I can see.

Above all, protect his honor as well as his life. It means very much to a man like him. I have given you the most precious and dangerous thing I have to give. Please take care of him.”

He had to wipe tears off the screen by the time he opened the second photo. It was much shorter.

“Marquis,

Il y a si peu de choses que je peux dire. Je t'aime. Je sais que vous ne ressentez pas la même chose – vous ne pouvez pas me regarder de cette façon. Mais je pensais que tu devrais savoir que tu es aimé. J'espère que vous aurez votre âge d'or, monsieur. Si cela vous plaît, souvenez-vous de moi.

[There’s so little I can say. I love you. I know you don’t feel the same - you can’t look at the likes of me that way. But I thought you should know that you are loved. I hope you get your golden age, sir. If it pleases you, remember me.]”

This…this was a punch to the gut deeper than anything the High Table could have said to him. His ears were ringing and his mind blanked out to nothing, just total overwhelm. Everything that he had held back since learning of Chidi’s death at John’s house – hell, since watching John walk up the steps alive while Chidi must be lying dead somewhere far away…all of that burst out at once. It took some time to realize that he was doubled over sobbing into his hands and that John’s arms were wrapped around his torso from behind. John put his suitcoat over Vincent’s head to shield him from onlookers and everything went dark.

Stupid, foolish, idiotic Chidi. Why would he do this? Why would he fall so hard for Vincent’s charm, why would he care this much? I am even willing to give him my life. Vincent had killed him. He had poisoned him to death with ideas of his own grandeur until Chidi was willing to walk straight into a bullet just to save his master. And then he did, he really followed through and did that, and now he was gone.

And even now, even now, under these circumstances, he was still making it about himself, his own grief, the relationships that he had missed out on and was continuing to damage. God! He almost killed John too. If he’d had his way, John would be dead and there would be no one alive who cared for him at all. Sooner or later, things would surely end up that way.

He was crying so hard that there were pinpricks tingling in his fingertips and pain behind his eyes. John’s arms around his waist and the head resting silently against his back were no longer even holding him together. They were just holding the broken pieces. There was no coming back from this. He wanted to say so much, but all he could manage, in a brief moment of control before he began bawling again, was, “Qu'est-ce que j'ai fait? [What have I done?]”

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹(coming soon)

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#(ooc reblog)#beyond judgement

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johnwickcaretaker · 2 days

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MOURIR, C’EST CONCEVOIR UN ÊTRE DIFFÉRENT. Le chagrin donne naissance à l'hédonisme et à l'acte d'oublier tout ce qui est derrière. Une transformation ignoble et dégoûtante au cours de laquelle Vincent passe tranquillement le bout de ses doigts trempés dans la saleté sur la fente de son cou. Elle est profonde, l'entaille a déchiré sa chair en un seul coup de lame sur une guillotine. Le sang ne coule plus librement dans ses veines. Il était mort, au repos, mais son âme respirait encore, son corps était glacial, et ceux qui l'avaient tué étaient en vie dans leurs maisons chaudes. Assis dans une forêt, l'obscurité l'envahit et il s'assit dans les crevasses des racines d'arbres qui se desséchaient. L'humanité a fui son corps et son être et n'a plus osé le toucher. Vincent a commencé sa vie avec un esprit bienveillant et ce n'est qu'après avoir été introduit à la cour royale qu'il a commencé à avoir soif de quelque chose. L'obsession de l'excellence s'est emparée de son amour de la vertu et de la droiture. Qu'est-il devenu ? Un être qui transcende la mortalité. Sa soif devient évidente, son état de faim s'empare de son esprit affaibli. La mort n'est rien ici, elle n'est qu'une simple pièce de théâtre que Vincent peut regarder et dont il peut se divertir, il le sait. Pourtant, la peur de devenir monstrueux demeure, tapie au fond de sa tête, ses vœux de vertu à Dieu pour être aussi purs qu'ils le paraissent s'éloignent lorsque ses yeux se posent sur un lapin au bord de la mort. La puanteur du sang l'envahit et devient sa tentation avant que ses dents ne s'enfoncent dans le cou du lapin.

TO DIE IS TO CONCEIVE OF A DIFFERENT BEING. Grief gives rise to hedonism and the act of forgetting everything that lies behind. A despicable, disgusting transformation as Vincent quietly runs his dirt-soaked fingertips over the slit in his neck. It's a deep slit that has ripped through his flesh like the blade of a guillotine. The blood no longer flowed freely through his veins. He was dead, at rest, but his soul was still breathing, his body was cold, and those who had killed him were alive in their warm houses. Sitting in a forest, darkness overtook him and he sat in the crevices of the drying tree roots. Humanity fled from his body and being and no longer dared to touch him. Vincent began life with a benevolent spirit and it was only after being introduced to the royal court that he began to crave something. The obsession with excellence took hold of his love of virtue and righteousness. What did he become? A being who transcends mortality. His thirst becomes obvious, his hunger takes hold of his weakened mind. Death is nothing here, just a play that Vincent can watch and be entertained by, he knows. Yet the fear of becoming monstrous remains, lurking in the back of his mind, his vows of virtue to God to be as pure as they seem fading away as his eyes rest on a rabbit on the brink of death. The stench of blood overcomes him and becomes his temptation before his teeth sink into the rabbit's neck.

#(ooc reblog)#(that was gorgeous)#(and reading “asshole” at the end of it genuinely got a laugh out of me)

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johnwickcaretaker · 2 days

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She lies in her grave.

A frigid stillness comes

Flesh falls,

salt sticks,

foam forms

The light begins to fade

Every second that passes,

a gentle wave comes by

Then a voice,

a maddening, sickly, lustrous sing-song beckoning:

promising wealth, highs, health, life

Leaning towards the rocks of which sea foam collides into,

sailors push the ship through

To catch a feast

Only to find a beast

#(ooc reblog)#(Gianna poetry!!!)

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johnwickcaretaker · 2 days

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A little more about Acheron

Acheron follows Santino's orders, his commands.

If Santino wants someone dead and he commands Acheron to kill them, he will do it.

It's the loyalty between them.

One more fact about him:

He often drains Santino's energy when he's in a fight so that he gets extra energy and becomes stronger. So, Santino sometimes ends up feeling exhausted and feels mentally and physically drained. However, it depends on how intense the fight is and how much Acheron needs to use his abilities. If he has to heal Santino, he uses his own energy.

Everything comes with a price. If Santino wants a demon to serve him, to help him get whatever he wants, he needs to face the consequences and accept them because there is no other way.

#(ooc reblog)#(yaaaay more Acheron content!!)

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johnwickcaretaker · 2 days

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I can’t help but imagine him as a house husband, preparing breakfast in bed and planting roses and other sweet things.

#(ooc reblog)#john wick fanart

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johnwickcaretaker · 3 days

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me, tagging every single post I relate to with #yeah :

#yeah

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johnwickcaretaker · 3 days

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What would be Vincent’s favorite store at the mall? (Like a regular mall, not just Bellwood)

Vincent in a mall would be funny because first of all best believe if there is a YSL or Valentino store he is going to get in there wether someone likes it or NOT!!!!!! Quite literally a bee(vincent) to a flower(ysl store)!!!!!!!!!!

#(ooc reblog)

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johnwickcaretaker · 4 days

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⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒳𝐼𝐼𝐼: 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓎 ⚜

TW: PTSD flashback, interrogation, held at gunpoint

Summary: Can John persuade the head of the New Jersey Bowery to spare Vincent's life?

Bellwood Mall, an atrociously ugly concrete building in the suburbs of Jersey City, had been abandoned just a few years after its opening. An abnormal number of pigeons patrolled the sidewalk leading up to its still-functional revolving doors, and scattered up in a flurry of wings as John Wick marched through their congregation, his steps perfectly even. His eyes never wavered from the security camera above the door, until he had passed it. Somewhere on the roof, there would be a sniper to accompany it, and the fact that he was not yet dead meant he had a chance. They wanted to talk.

Inside, a cavernous, eerie, deathly quiet space welcomed him into its jaws. Without electricity, the kitschy chandeliers spaced along the walkways hung useless. The streams of afternoon sunlight piercing the atrium were the only illumination, and left the storefronts mostly in shadow. But as he glanced left and right, John realized one was lit, on the upper level. Using an immobile escalator as a staircase, he made his way up.

In the hollowed-out body of a GameStop, a woman waited in a comfortable leather swivel chair with her back to the door, facing a wall of TV screens displaying surveillance footage. There was the entrance he’d just passed. The food court. The parking garage.

Two bodyguards flanked the woman, and a whisper of smoke from her cigarette reached him before her voice did. “My, my. John Wick.” She spun to face him, revealing a face at once full of curves and angles, framed by a head of red braids that ended in fluffy, fiery puffs above a baggy T-shirt. She was young, not even 40, but the way she gripped the gold-encrusted pistol in her other hand spoke of deep familiarity with the weapon.

“Belle of the Bowery.” John inclined his head in a sincere and gentlemanly bow. He’d heard good things about Belle. That she hated the Table, mainly. That she had succeeded in running away from them as a teen where he had failed. And that she was a wild card. That had better be true, for his sake and Vincent’s alike.

“Where’s your date, John?” She tilted up her chin in a challenge and puffed a ribbon of smoke in his direction.

He fought not to blush, and not to confirm or deny that very loaded statement. She probably meant it as a joke. Words failed him, so he just gave a kind of pained squint. Belle laughed, but finally snuffed out her smoke. Time for business. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what happened to the King. I’ve let my curiosity get the best of me, and we all know what kills the cat. So you’d better have a damn entertaining explanation as to what you’re getting up to with the Marquis these days. And if it is a date…I promise you that’s not good enough.”

“How about a plot to bring down the Elder?”

“Again?” She raised an eyebrow. “Now, that is entertaining.”

“They can only have so many clear heirs.”

A smile crept slowly onto her face. “And then the line of succession breaks down. An unprepared ruler. Chaos. Succession wars…”

“Yeah. And all I need - “

“Here it comes…”

“Transportation. And a few supplies.”

“Where you headed?”

“I’ll tell the pilot when we’re onboard.” The tension in the room went up a notch, but it couldn’t be helped. The Elder’s location might be the only reason she was keeping him alive.

She just looked at him for a long moment. “How many tickets, John? One, or two?”

“…Two.”

“Then I’ll ask again. Where is Vincent Bisset de Gramont?”

“Does your hospitality extend to him too?”

“Let’s be very clear. This is not hospitality. You have a tendency to let things turn sentimental. It’s cute but it’s gonna get you killed. I have no such tendency. This is me watching the High Table unravel and noticing I have a chance at a front row seat. I have no interest in playing the dutiful host to you and your pet mass murderer. I know what he wants. He wants to take the Elder’s place. And even you can’t possibly want that kind of bloodbath.” She waited for confirmation.

“No,” he said honestly. “I don’t.”

“So you’d better give me one good reason why he needs to be alive for the Elder to end up dead.”

“Either he comes with me, or I don’t go at all.”

“‘Because I said so,’ that’s really your answer?”

But John’s eyes were glued to one of the televisions behind her. She turned to see two small figures advancing through the parking garage, prying open trunks.

On of the bodyguards reached for a walkie-talkie. “Should I - “

“No. Johnnie here looks invested. Let’s not cut to commercial just yet.”

There was their car. Belle gasped softly but triumphantly as Vincent slid out of it and crawled underneath.

John’s heart was doing things it wasn’t supposed to do. They were lifting up Dog. “Please.”

She hesitated, but Vincent didn’t. John saw him drenched to the wrist in blood, kicking, firing, standing over the body. All for the sake of someone other than himself. He was so damn proud.

But it wasn’t over yet. Seeing Vincent had emerged victorious, Belle nodded to the bodyguard. “Bring him in.”

“Alive or dead?” John’s diaphragm was locked in place, unwilling to move until she answered.

She waited, contemplating. Then, “Alive. Let’s have a chat.”

Within a few minutes, a ring of Bowery guards marched Vincent into the surveillance room, with his hands tied behind his back and Dog at his heels. Covered in blood and oil, he was sporting a look that was somewhere between a walking corpse and the thing that killed it. His eyes flickered to John in a moment of relief before going stony and impassable again. Good. It was important that the rest of the world not know how easily they could be used as hostages against one another. It would be wise to play the part of mere colleagues, uneasy ones at that, and Vincent seemed to understand this perfectly.

Dog ran over to him immediately, and John bent down long enough to pet him before doing anything else. He seemed a bit shaken up, but okay. Belle cleared her throat, drawing his attention to back to Vincent. John would have liked to tell her to untie him, but they were lucky he was alive at all. The best he could do was try to get this interaction off on the right foot. “Marquis, this is Belle. Belle, the Marquis.”

Belle approached slowly. “Vin-cent. Bi-sset. De. Gramont.” She savored each syllable, sing-song, looked him up and down. His expression didn’t change but John could see his nostrils flare slightly in unexpressed indignation.

“The very same,” Vincent responded coldly. John could already tell this wouldn’t go well.

Belle grinned and began to circle him slowly. “Wick wants you alive? Okay, you’re alive. But I WILL enjoy this. Do you know what the Bowery King means to me, Vincent? The man your precious High Table maimed seven times?” Vincent feigned interest with a mocking smile. “He took me in when I ran from the Table at eighteen. Brought me into the soup kitchen, made sure I was fed and clothed and had the chance to make my life into what I wanted it to be, never forced me to kill anyone I didn’t want to kill, which amounts to tearing out your own soul. It’s still a fucked up world we live in, and no mistake. But I’m free. I can leave any time I want, I could walk away and work behind a register for a living and the King would probably still call to see how I’m doing every now and then. You can’t even imagine that, can’t even imagine the value of treating people as something other than tools. And YOU want to take that away from people like me to melt it down into fucking gold bars. FUCK you.”

John cleared his throat, “I thought this wasn’t personal.”

“Oh this isn’t personal. It’s political. It’s social. It’s communal. It’s about justice. And you…” she turned back to Vincent, “…deserve every ounce of pain that you’ve brought down on your own head. You threaten an organization, a peaceful world that you can’t even appreciate.”

Vincent didn’t seem as bothered as John might have expected – perhaps even amused. His mouth drew into a thin line that happened to be upturned but did not express friendliness at all. “Very good. You see the scope of my vision. I ought to thank you. You truly know how to make me feel special.”

Belle chuckled, nodding, and seemed about to turn away. Instead, she spat in his face. John tensed reflexively but forced himself not to move. Vincent couldn’t help flinching, followed by an affronted glare, his mouth hanging half open in shock.

“Where is the Elder?” she demanded.

“Where we’re going,” he answered, voice laced with vitriol. “With your help. You will do as I say. It’s what the Bowery - ”

Her gun struck the back of his knees, dropping him into a kneel, then cocked against his head as she circled in front of him again.

John took a step forward and two guards each took him by an arm. He could flip them to the ground, an elbow back into one of them and then – but Belle glanced over at him and waved her gun in Vincent’s direction. “You interfere, he dies.” And then John was frozen. She turned back to her captive. “If you speak, it’s to answer my questions clearly. You no longer get to prattle endlessly to a room full of yes-men. Understood?”

But Vincent was struggling to answer. John could see his eyes widen with terror, going into a flashback again. It would be a long time before he could handle being held at gunpoint. “Y-yes.” His face was locked up into a mask, but his chest was heaving with hyperventilation.

“Good. Let’s try again. Where is the Elder?”

Vincent laughed, a nervous, humorless sound between gasps. “So, what, I tell you and then you shoot me? You’ll need a bit more incenti-”

Her punch across Vincent’s jaw drew blood from his lip and he leaned forward for a moment, swaying as it trickled out of his mouth. John saw red. “Stop!”

Belle ignored him. “Where is the Elder?”

Vincent’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a response that wouldn’t lead to being struck a second time, or to becoming disposable. He looked to John in desperation. John flattened his expression into something steady and soft despite the way his heart hammered all through him, trying to project calmness.

Belle lost patience and fired a warning shot into the ground. Vincent scrambled backwards, letting out a strangled noise. He was now shaking visibly.

“I have no qualms about killing you.”

He just shook harder. “Putain, s'il te plaît, je suis - [Fuck, please, I’m -] I mean, I’m sorry. Please. I can’t tell you. I’ll get to him for you.”

“You mean John Wick will kill him for you.”

“I – “ He scoffed, frustrated. “Yes, if necessary.”

Something registered on her face. “Even you must know you don’t become Elder just by killing the Elder, right? There are heirs.”

“Yes, obviously! I don’t - ”

“So why do you want him dead?”

“I want…” Damn it. Vincent hadn’t been briefed on this part and he was stuttering in confusion. “I-I don’t. I want to hold him hostage until he restores my position. Or until…”

Belle turned to John. “Care to explain?”

“…” He stared down at Vincent, precious, broken Vincent, who met his gaze with bewilderment and fear, hunched over on his knees, blood still trailing off his lips. “…The Elder will never agree. So I’ll kill him.” He tried to paint an apology across his face. He would much rather Vincent thought he had strong confidence in the plan. He had some confidence…

Vincent rolled his eyes and then closed them, tilting his head back towards the ceiling, retreating into himself at the betrayal. “Alors tu me fais juste plaisir... [So you’re just humoring me…]” he muttered under his breath.

“And if he does agree?”

“…Marquis, what will you do for the Bowery as a High Table member?”

Vincent didn’t open his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched. He seemed to be struggling with rage, on top of the fear. “…We’ll drop all pursuit of The King. I think that’s very generous.”

“Promises, promises,” said Belle. “If you’re going to make empty promises, you can make them more lavish than that.”

He smiled sardonically, as if it just figured. “What more would you ask?”

“The Bowery operates completely independently, outside of High Table regulation. Zero interference.”

“No one exists outside the Table. All are above it, or under it.”

“Then carve out a space. In blood, if you have to.”

For a second, there was only his rapid breathing. “I…I can’t.”

“Oh. Well. I guess you aren’t as big of an egotist as I thought. Don’t really value your own life.” She pressed her gun directly to his skin again.

“Alright! Alright.” Belle lowered her weapon in satisfaction.

“Very good. And if you don’t follow through, Mr. Wick will kill you for us. Isn’t that right, John?”

John tore the word slowly out of his throat. “…Yeah.”

He hated that he wasn’t sure he was lying.

“Good. We’re done here.” She waved to the guards, who unbound Vincent’s hands. He looked like he might faint from sheer relief. “You have a deal, Wick. Your flight leaves tomorrow. Keep this clown in check and go shop for those supplies. But don’t forget that the Bowery sees all. If he mistreats my staff, I will know.”

“He won’t.” John glared at her as Vincent stumbled towards the exit.

“Stay behind a minute,” she told John. Vincent stopped, so she added, “Not you. Out.” A few of the guards closed between him and John, ushering him out into the mezzanine.

Once he was out of earshot, Belle spoke.

“Why are you doing this? You don’t care whether the Elder lives or dies.”

“…I’d rather he died. That’s all.”

“There’s only one problem with that theory.” Her gaze held on him, steady and triumphant. “You risked your life walking in here. But you didn’t risk the Marquis’.” So much for maintaining secrecy about his feelings. “I don’t know why, but you want to save him. And it won’t work, he’ll just drag you both down together when he falls. No one wants to see you do this tragic shit anymore John, even those of us who only know you by reputation. Leave him to his fate. He is condemned.”

“That…sounds like a problem for the people who’ve condemned him.” And he followed Vincent out.

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹(coming soon)

#(ooc reblog)#beyond judgement

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johnwickcaretaker · 4 days

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Methods to Subdue/Counter a Jiangshi

Handbell: The ringing of a handbell attracts the jiangshi's attention. If already subdued, it follows the commands of the person who rings the handbell. Otherwise, it will only hop towards the source of the sound.

Fulu (Taoist talisman): The person must take a thin yellow piece of paper and write out a distinct spell in chicken's blood, which will then be attached to the jiangshi's forehead. It can be used to immobilise them as long as the talisman is firmly stuck on its forehead. Alternatively, take a small amount of blood and place it on the creature's forehead to stop a jiangshi in its place.

Mirrors: A person defending themselves against jiangshi can use an 8 sided mirror called Ba-gua mirror, which is often used in Feng Shui. The mirror's purpose is to reflect light, which in turn scares the creature away. Alternatively, surround the jiangshi on eight sides with large panels of mirror in an octagonal shape. Jiangshi are said to be terrified of their own reflections.

Holy symbols/items: Jiangshi keeps its distance away from holy symbols and items, particularly those of Taoist origin, such as the Ba-gua, wood from a peach tree, and the books I Ching and Tong Shu.

A rooster's call: Jiangshi, like most evil spirits in Chinese culture, is scared of sunlight, so they withdraw when they hear the rooster's call during sunrise.

Blindness: Jiangshi can't see and rely on their hearing sense to navigate around. When evading the notice of a jiangshi, holding one's breath makes the jiangshi unable to find you.

Jujube seeds: "Nail seven jujube seeds into the acupuncture points on the back of a corpse." (棗核七枚，釘入屍脊背穴。)

Adzuki beans

Fire: "When set on fire, at the sound of crackling flames, blood rushes forth and bones cry." (放火燒之，嘖嘖之聲，血湧骨鳴。)

Hooves of a black donkey

Blood of a black dog

Vinegar

Thread stained with a concoction of black ink, chicken blood and burnt talisman

Glutinous rice: To banish a jiangshi, a person can throw sticky rice at the creature drawing out the evil in it.

Coins: Dropping a bag of coins can cause the jiangshi to count the coins. In the rare case, a sword charged under the light of the moon made of Chinese coins can be used in an attack against the vampire.

Causes of Becoming a Jiangshi

Jiangshi are corpses that were reanimated who feed on the qi of a living individual for sustenance and in order to grow more powerful (basically zombies that act like vampires). They can be classified into two categories: a recently deceased person returning to life, or a corpse that had been buried for a long time but does not decompose.

Some of the causes include:

The use of supernatural arts to resurrect the dead.

Spirit possession of a dead body.

A corpse absorbs sufficient yang qi to return to life.

It is a Taoist belief that a person's body is governed by "three huns and seven pos". Hun is the spiritual, ethereal, yang part of the soul which leaves the body after death, while po is the corporeal, substantive, yin part of the soul which remains with the corpse of the deceased. If their po takes control of the body, the dead person becomes a jiangshi.

The dead person is not buried even after a funeral has been held. The corpse comes to life after it is struck by a bolt of lightning, or when a pregnant cat (or a black cat in some tales) leaps across the coffin.

A person's soul fails to leave their deceased body, due to improper death, suicide, or just wanting to cause trouble.

A person injured by a jiangshi is infected with the "jiangshi virus" and gradually changes into a jiangshi over time, as seen in the Mr. Vampire films.

#(ooc reblog)

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johnwickcaretaker · 5 days

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Koji Shimazu and the Osaka Continental - A Colour Theory

This is meant to be a continuation of the previous analysis I've done on the colour grading/lighting choices for some of the characters in the John Wick movie series, but I've got to dedicate a separate post for Koji Shimazu himself (and the entire Osaka act in general).

Before I go into it though, I would like to recommend you to first check out @evren-sadwrn's analysis [1, 2] on the Marquis de Gramont, John and Helen Wick as well as @bluelolblue's analysis [1, 2] on Santino and John.

Tagging @thewhumpcaretaker, @tobytheeggo, @babayagaiscomingforya and of course @saengak the number one Koji fan on Wickblr <3.

PART I: BLUE/RED

When you see the opening shots of the Osaka Continental and Koji's scenes before the raid, the entire hotel was lit by blue and red lights. I think this is very important to note because in the post where I talked about Akira and John, Akira was bathed blue lights in her introduction while John was bathed in red lights in his first scene in Osaka. Add on the fact that Koji's outift has both red and blue colours on it, the movie is already subtly telling us that Koji's loyalty lies in both Akira and John.

I think this just adds another layer to the tragedy that is the whole Osaka sequence. The blue/red lights may allude to one thing about Koji's character but may mean different things for Akira and John's character respectively. Plucking out from @evren-sadwrn's tags:

For Akira, the blue represents the normalcy of her life before John Wick's red showed up and began symbolising her delving into the path of vengeance and violence, like John himself. However for John, those blue/red lights are just neon lights to him, the Baba Yaga persona on full display as he was beginning to realise the consequences of his rebellion, something which costed his friend's life and inevitably produced another John Wick in Akira.

PART II: YELLOW

Now, there are two scenes in the Osaka act that's bathed in yellow lights, the first one being Akira telling Koji about the news of the New York Continental being blown up, and the second being Koji confronting Chidi and the Myrmidons, which could only lead us to one conclusion.

I believe the yellow neon, in this context, represents the Marquis de Gramont and the looming threat he posed to the very existence of the Osaka Continental.

And when you mix blue and red respectively with yellow, well, this leads us directly to the next part of this analysis.

PART III: GREEN/ORANGE

The Osaka raid started, and the hotel lights changed to green and orange. (BLUE + YELLOW = GREEN, RED + YELLOW = ORANGE)

I know that people have extrapolated that the green not so subtly symbolises the start of the highly-anticipated action that is expected from a John Wick movie, like how the green light of a traffic light means 'go', but I want to extrapolate more meaning from this choice of lighting.

Green is a distortion of the colour blue, and is the opposite of red based on the colour wheel. Going by what we have established above being Akira=blue and John=red, green could imply Koji's choice distorting Akira's desire to keep the peace of their hotel in favour of protecting John and letting him go off alive.

In a similar way, orange is the distortion of red and the opposite of blue. Orange could possibly mean that Koji's choice (and his death) inevitably turned his daughter closer towards a path of vengeance and violence, the path John Wick had taken that Koji himself chastised him for during their meeting on the rooftop.

PART IV: THE EXCEPTIONS

The locations that didn't turn to green and orange lights in the Osaka Continental is the kitchen and the modern art gallery, both of which stayed blue (and yellow in the case of the kitchen), and that's because none of them featured Koji. Instead, the focus of the these two scenes are given to another character: Caine.

The yellow in the kitchen scene could easily represent Caine being used as the Marquis' weapon during the Osaka siege. For John, we know that neon lights, no matter the color, represent his Baba Yaga side. For Caine, however, what does the colour blue mean to his character in this context, within the Osaka act?

During Caine's introduction, more precisely, in the only scene in the movie where Mia appeared in (except for the post-credit scene), the location where they filmed had a clear blue sky. In trying to protect Mia, Caine was in a way also trying to protect Akira too. This is especially clear with the way Caine tried to convince Koji countless times to surrender John. Unfortunately, Koji cared for Akira and John equally and was willing to sacrifice his life to protect both of them.

And because he killed her father, Caine ironically became the person Akira held so much anger against from this whole event that happened to her. He fulfilled Koji's wish of letting John escape (hence the green colour), and he was the push that drove Akira to seek revenge (hence the orange colour). Caine was even self-aware of this since he told Akira that he would be waiting for her.

This is what makes the Koji vs Caine duel so fucking tragic and the post-credit scene even more heartbreaking.

#(ooc reblog)#(This was a wild ride and I loved it)

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