Anonymous asked: Can you do John Wick for that headcanon post you reblogged?
You’re darn right I can do John Wick! For THIS meme!
A: what I think realistically
John didn’t get into trouble as a kid. John was a well-behaved student, known for being intelligent and quiet and unremarkable. John never got into fights and no one ever questioned where he got bruises, because no one ever noticed. When John left high school, he joined the military and did a four year tour with very little action. And then he fell off the fucking map. He still has living family. They believe he’s dead.
B: what I think is fucking hilarious
John definitely calls in, like, life debts to get people to watch his dog while Shit’s Going Down.
“I need a favor.”
“John,” the smiling English assassin says, “after that time in Bulgaria you know you only need to ask.”
“I need you to watch my dog.”
There’s a long pause, but the assassin’s smile doesn’t crack. “Does he have a name?”
“…no.”
“Okay.” John is a weird dude, even as assassins go. The English assassin rolls with it like a champ.
C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends
For the record, I don’t have any friends who have seen John Wick except for the people who have asked me about it on here.
That being said: John hasn’t been to visit his wife’s grave since he buried her. At first it was because he physically couldn’t make himself do it. Those first weeks were such a grey haze of…weight, more than anything else–even the air seemed too heavy to breathe–that he couldn’t leave the house. Even with Daisy, it was all he could do to get up and take care of her. Going to the cemetery…no way.
And then once Daisy was dead…John was busy. John was fighting. John was killing. John had a purpose and damned if he was going to turn away from it.
He was planning to go see his wife’s tombstone the morning after he got home. Instead his house gets blown up and he loses everything of hers that he still owned.
D: what would never work in canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway
You’ll never tell me that John’s wife wasn’t a world-class thief. Like, she is to the thief world what John is to the assassin world. They called her the Wraith, and her Interpol file is almost as thick as his, but instead of being a trail of mercilessly efficient kills it’s a laundry list of precious paintings and jewels and artifacts stolen from uncrackable safes and impenetrable museums.
They met while she was stealing a Picasso from one of John’s targets. A classic story: girl meets boy, boy murders target, girl takes painting, girl breaks into boy’s safehouse with champagne. “To celebrate our mutual successes,” she says, and John is gone.
Instead of making a deal with the Devil, she stole the most cherished statue owned by a leading member of her own High Council, and ransomed her freedom back with it. She would have been free for all her natural life–and, John supposes, she was.
It’s just they both expected her natural life to be a lot longer, is all.
