She/ they 80% of the time - 24 as of April - neurodivergent mess - demi/pan - soft of heart / full of rage - homestuck classpecter - Midsyđ Asks are open, but my notifs suck so Iâm sorry,
Alright I should probably tag my stories properly, or at least try to so
If youâre looking for my sagau series it will be under nyg which stands for not your god since that was the base inspiration for this variant
Hereâs the Masterlist
If youâre looking for my Linked Universe stuff that I did a little bit ago, itâll be under luy! Donât think I have to spell that one out for you
Hereâs the Masterlist
If youâre looking for my Obey Me! Stuff, itâll be under ome!
Hereâs the Masterlist
If youâre looking for my older writings,.. man so am I QuQ
Edit: might as well put what Iâm currently working on here, bc yes I am in fact still writing even though I donât post any of it bc none of it is anywhere close to finished.
- Honkai Star Rail character pieces
- as well as a Honkai Star Rail x Subnautica crossover
- a Fire Emblem Three Houses fic that basically tries to mold the two routes I played into one
- also a Fire Emblem Heroes fic thatâs more like a collection of soap opera episodes that vaguely fit together maybe
- trying to rework my Linked Universe au or whatever, girl my notes are all over the place and completely nonsensical. All while trying to make sure everything I already posted still at least makes sense with the rest of what I had in mind.
- probably remake my Genshin stuff with my self insert specifically. I wonât replace the old fics though, dw
- writing a full ancient beast au complete with worldbuilding bc I physically could not control myself
- Marvels Loki, both the mcu and aoa versions (and whatever other Loki I find to be fair). And literally no one else from there which is kinda funny
This thing between the two of youâthis relationshipâis weird. You donât know what the two of you are, or what he even considers you. Johnny is so touch and go; whenever you get too close, he goes off to fuck someone else. You donât think youâre just some flavor of the week considering itâs been a few months, but you never know with him.
Youâre in this weird spot right now. Getting closer, but the second you get too close, heâll say something mean, and youâll bite back, but secretly cry as you head back to your place. And then youâll be at square one again, pretending like youâre just meeting each other for the first time. Johnny will flirt with you and youâll fall for him too quickly. And then the cycle repeats.
Itâs two in the morning and youâre laying on the couch in Johnnyâs apartment. Youâre creeping closer to too close, especially when you spend more time at his place than your own. Johnnyâs still at a gig you had to miss because of work, but your brain is too awake for you to sleep. You like his bed when heâs here. Otherwise itâs too empty.
Getting too close again.
The T.V is playing a rerun of some shitty reality show. Youâre not actually paying attention, just letting the audio fill the apartment with something other than silence. Pieces of your clothing are still discarded on the floor from last night; did Johnny want to keep them there, or did he just not care?
Your eyelids are starting to feel heavy when you hear the jingle of keys and the rough handling of the door handle. The corner of your mouth quirks upwards in a half-smile as the sound of Johnnyâs heavy boots fill the room. He turns the corner, setting his guitar case on the ground with a soft thud.
âHey,â you greet softly. âHow was the show?â
Johnny grunts as he shrugs off his leather jacket, throwing it over the arm of the chair.
âFuckinâ gonks shorted us. Said theyâd transfer the rest of it to us later.â
You hum in response, reaching out as he passes by to grab at his wrist. Surprisingly he stops, letting you press a kiss to the palm of his organic hand.
âYou tell them they can take their wire transfer and shove it?â
ââCourse I did, baby,â He grumbles, smoothing your hair with his metal hand. He smells like sweat and smoke, and you want to just wrap yourself up in the scent forever. âYou sleeping out here?â
Thereâs something expectant on Johnnyâs face as he looks down at you. Heâs clearly trying to play it cool, show you that he doesnât give a shit if you sleep in his bed or not. But his thick brows are furrowed just a little too much for him to be flippant.
âNah. Just waiting for you to get home.â
You cringe at the word home, worried you just screwed it. But Johnny doesnât seem to notice, or if he does, he doesnât show it. You turn the T.V off before following him into his bedroom, which is equally as chaotic as the rest of the apartment. You kick a pair of sneakers out of the way as Johnny takes off his shirt and pants. Heâs rummaging around for something in his discarded pockets while you climb into the unmade bed. There's the soft click of a lighter and Johnny takes a drag of a cigarette, tossing the carton onto the nightstand.
He grunts as he gets into bed, leaning against the worn headboard. A car outside honks loudly. You shuffle to the side, resting your head against Johnnyâs bare chest. He turns to the side, blowing smoke towards the open window.
âIâm skipping town on Tuesday. Wonât be back for a while.â
You donât like when Johnny disappears. You won't hear from him until he reappears in Night City. But you suppose you canât complain, because thatâs just how Johnny Silverhand is.
âWhy?â You ask, regretting the question as it leaves your mouth.
âItâs nothing. Just something I have to sort out.â
You donât push. Johnny doesnât like it when you push.
Instead, you take the cigarette from him, taking a drag. The smoke burns your lungs. You shouldnât be smoking this late, but itâs hard not to when youâre with him. A lot has changed ever since youâve been with him.
The two of you sit in silence for a while, sharing the cigarette as the restless sounds of the city fill the room. Johnnyâs chest is warm against your cheek, but his metal hand is cold when he hands you the cig.
âYou can crash here if you want,â Johnny says. âBetter than that shithole you call an apartment.â
âVery funny.â You roll your eyes and gently elbow him in the side, and he barks out a laugh.
âThe truth hurts, sweetheart,â Johnny drawls, leaning over to snuff out his cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand. His dog tags clink against each other from the movement. âIâm fuckinâ tired, but I want to kiss you.â
âYouâre a dog,â You scoff, but allow him to manhandle you by the hips, your legs straddling his. Johnnyâs handsâone metal, one fleshâpush up the hem of your shirt, grabbing the skin of your sides. He pulls you closer so he can graze his lips against your jaw, his beard scratching against your skin. You sigh happily, moving one hand from his shoulder to grasp the back of his head. Youâd be content to just sit here forever. He keeps kissing down your neck, sucking bruises while running his hands up your sides.
You kiss him until your body is heavy and tired. You donât want to stop, because once you do, Johnny will be out of your grasp again. You donât want him to leave, but you donât know how to tell him. You canât tell him. Johnny Silverhand doesnât want to be tied down.
Eventually the two of you maneuver yourselves into a position appropriate for sleeping: Johnnyâs leg slotted between yours and his arm around your waist. You rest your hand over his, not wanting to let go.
You donât say anything to each other as sleep takes you.
Wondering if the virus Johnny implants in Arasaka tower in 2023 was from Crimson Harvest. Spider Murphy says its a foreign daemon, and Johnny does go on about famers being fucked over by corps a good bit during his rant after dropping off Helman to Takemura.
Mass casualty bombings against a corp with disregard for innocent people within it is the Crimson Harvest's MO. It may also lend credence to the idea and comment Johnny made about not knowing that the bomb was going to be as bad as it was.
Spoilers for Phantom Liberty, Mr. Hands side gig:
Nele in the Roads to Redemption quest was a Crimson Harvest member and mutinies them after a mass casualty bombing she was instructed to do without being told how bad the aftermath would be. There is a ton of parallels between her and Johnny. Now Johnny is being a massive shithead throughout that quest about "doing what you need to do for the greater good" or whatever, but that is kind of a departure from now he reacts when confronted by Saburo when he's about to be copied into Mikoshi. He is regretful when the woman who is copying his engram says her husband died in the explosion. That that wasn't supposed to happen.
Then again, I think the 2077 source book or some other 2077 related lore book says that none of that even happened, and Johnny basically got sawed in half by Smasher's machine gun and it was Murphy who copied his engram. So, idk, its hard to get any truth in this game whatsoever. Everything is up for debate.
Heya!! can i request for yandere john wick (headcannons or give anything will work)
You probably know which Anon i am. Please forgive me i got a little too happy cuz you write so good for such good stuff!
Yandere John Wick Headcanons
Warnings: Obsessive Behaviour, Stalking, Snooping, Very Brief Implication of Smut, Just John in Love <333, No Pronouns used for Reader except âYou.
A/N: I wanted to get these out before I watch the new John Wick film; one which I have been waiting for for the last 4 years <3
O B S E S S I V E
Absolutely an obsessive lucid yandere â he may be in love, but heâs not delusional.
Regardless of whether you came before or after Helen, John knows how cut-throat his profession is; how quickly everything can go from an is to a was.
Thus, nothing is certain. Not you, not him, not your relationship.
So when he realises heâs in love with you â a process as gradual as the construction of Earth itself â heâs never letting you out of his sight.
This might manifest as something as subtle as him visiting you more than usual, staying, longer during movie nights, trying to get you to spend the night more often; inconspicuous displays of a strengthening friendship you and John had accrued over the last couple years or so.
But, unbeknownst to you, heâs around even when youâre unaware.
An unmarked black car parked a house or two down the street, shielded by the shadows of the trees as moonlight casts a stark white against the black.
An inconspicuously-dressed civilian whoâs been sat on that park bench for the last two hours as you read your book.
And, eventually, the tiny camera attached underneath your sofa, monitoring every coming and going of your house.
You know about none of this, of course.
Sure, you may have suspicions that the car down the street â one youâve never seen before in your life â could be doing something⊠but who were you to judge ? There could be a perfectly logical explanation !
But John keeps enough of himself â and you â in the dark so youâd never suspect him.
I mean, why would you ? Heâs John Wick ! Nicest, quietest guy on the block.
If ever heâs on a mission; John relies on that camera more than heâs like to admit.
In his downtime, while resting up at the Continental, heâll check his phone, see that youâve gone to the kitchen to make something or other, and wait for you to return to the sofa until he can put his phone away.
Even with his logical mind, he canât help but fall partial victim to his superstition that, once you reach the sofa, nothing bad can happen to you.
The idea of putting up more cameras has crossed his mind.
Multiple times.
But youâre attentive. Youâd notice something as small as a little blinking light a mile off.
Hencewhy he takes to manual surveillance when heâs not out earning a thriving.
He also lowkey interrogates you.
âYou found a boyfriend yet ?â
You give a sharp laugh.
âIf I had, youâd be the first to know,â
You already tell John practically everything that happens to you â as best friends do â but whenever you ask John something similar, heâll skirt around your questions.
âNo time for that,â heâll tell you whenever you try to identify the new mystery partner in his life.
âYouâre always so busy, John-John !â
Ah, his nickname. A mythic specialty no other has had the privilege to call him.
And John gives a rare smile.
âIâm never too busy for you.â
And you know he means it.
Whenever you need him, heâs there.
And you try to be there for him as much as possible, but given how elusive he is, he rarely seems to need it.
You want to help as best you can, regardless.
So, one day, out of the blue, you hand John a set of keys.
Heâs a smart man. But he canât wrap his head around what youâre trying to tell him.
And when he stares at you with a narrowed look, your eyes roll, the edges of your lips curling up.
âTheyâre keys, John,â you say. And you gesture around the living room, general in your manner. âTo my house.â
And John stares at you for a moment. Then two.
â(Y/N), Iâm not trained to be a housekeeper.â
âOh my god, Johnââ
You have to explain to him that youâre not trying to get him to clean your house or care for it. Youâre opening it up to him.
âI trust you more than anyone else to know how everything works here,â you say, a hand on his shoulder. Heâs trying to keep dead eye contact with you, but the feeling of your fingers holding him with a softness heâs never known is like being branded.
âSo,â you smile. âIf you ever need it for anything, you can get in.â
Honestly, John has been granted few mercies in his time; makeshift alliances with murderers who were loyal to none, not even themselves, his life saved only by his ability to barter and his renowned skill for death. And never are these mercies granted without a price.
So to have you gift him a set of keys to the place you are most vulnerable takes John a while to come to terms with, shall we say.
Remember earlier when I mentioned Johnâs idea to install more cameras ?
Well, now youâve given him a perfect in.
Plus, he now has access to all your personal belongings.
At first, he did try to restrain himself.
Trust me, he did.
But, as the days grew into weeks, your keys sat on his bedside, glinting under any source of light that could find its way inside.
And, as if the Gods aligned circumstance on his favour, you would be away from home for a week.
A trip to such-and-such a place â John had the address memorised even before you did.
Youâd best believe that, although he initially had his reservations about 1.) you going on the trip, and 2.) using your absence as a means to snoop around your home, John is not immune to whim and fancy. Especially when it came to you.
Heâs phantasmic; he leaves no trace, not even fingerprints as he prowls your apartment, looking forâŠwell, anything, really.
He avoids stooping so low as to rifle through your underwear drawer like a stalker. Instead, he uses what he likes to call âenvironmental storytellingâ to make deductions about you.
Heâs a very intuitive, perceptive individual, so the story of your everyday routing unfolds for him as if he were reading a book.
And, yes, the temptation to peek at theâŠless savoury pieces of your inventory did become overwhelming when he could no longer be satiated with the literature you consumed, the worn look of your favourite outfit, your secret money stash you kept in the biscuit tin in the kitchen.
To make a long story short, John walked out your house with a short of yours.
And, when he got home, he did the only thing he could think to do.
He put it on a pillow and pretended it was you.
Cuddles with it whenever heâs missing you. Or sad.
Maaay have cried into it on more than one occasion.
Maaay have doneâŠother things to it when he wasnât feeling upset.
Heâs absolutely paranoid that youâll find it one day, despite his aptitude at covering his tracks, so he tries not to invite you to his house as much as he can.
However, as your friendship progresses further, thatâs unavoidable.
While you may not be dating yet, just know that John holds you in the highest of regards, and heâll never let anything â including himself â hurt you.
Just ignore his eye wandering to the walk-in cupboard in the hallway; thatâs just where heâs kept his imitation of you.
Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)
Black dragons delight in suffering and ruin. While other chromatic dragons scheme for power and wealth, these dragons seek to tear down all they see and rule over what remains.
ME: *after watching the whole four john wick franchise and proceeds to watch constantine (2005) again then goes to tumblr to discover keanuverse and keanu reeves fandom*
Red dragons take whatever they desire and burn to ash anything that stands in their way. These chromatic dragons endlessly desire moreâmore magic, territory, treasure, or whatever else inflames their cruel ambitions.
Tysm to @saturnalia2808 and @thatgingernerdgirl for the help on this one đ«¶
Letâs imagine a cozy yet chaotic living room decorated with mismatched Christmas lights, a slightly leaning Christmas tree, and stockings hung unevenly on a mantle. Snow falls gently outside the window. The Keanuverse characters have gathered for an unusual holiday celebration.
Jack Traven: Setting down a plate of cookies. âAlright, guys. Iâm used to defusing bombs under pressure, but organizing a Christmas party for this group might be my toughest mission yet.â
Ted Logan: Strumming an air guitar. âWhoa, dude. This setup is most excellent! But whereâs the eggnog? No Christmas party is complete without the nog.â
Neo: Sitting quietly, observing the decorations. âYou know, in the real world, Christmas doesnât exist. This isâŠstrange, but⊠I like it.â
Kevin Lomax: Leaning back on the couch with a glass of whiskey. âThatâs because the âreal worldâ doesnât have soul, Anderson. Christmas is about indulgence. Family. And occasionally, cutting a few deals under the mistletoe.â
John Constantine: Lighting a cigarette, ignoring the no-smoking sign Jack put up. âAnd what would you know about family, Kevin? Youâre as loyal as a snake. If youâre making any âdealsâ tonight, Iâll be watching.â
Johnny Utah: Chuckling as he tosses a football between his hands. âRelax, Constantine. Itâs Christmas. Can we go one night without someone accusing someone else of being evil? Letâs just kick back and have a good time.â
John Wick: Polishing a gun at the table. âThe last time I kicked back, I lost everything. Iâm not here for âgood times.â Iâm here for quiet.â
Jack Traven: Raising his hands. âWhoa, Wick. No need to bring the intensity tonight. I hid all the sharp objects and ammo before you got here. Letâs just⊠try to be festive.â
Ted Logan: Grinning at Wick. âWick, my dude. You need some holiday cheer. Maybe play some video games, or we could jam together!â
Neo: Tilting his head. âWait. You play instruments?â
Ted Logan: Grinning. âIâm half of Wyld Stallyns, dude. Weâre only, like, the greatest band in all of space and time.â
Kevin Lomax: Rolling his eyes. âSpace and time? Is that what weâre doing now?â
John Constantine: Taking a long drag from his cigarette. âHeâs not the weirdest thing in the room. Weâve got Neo over there still questioning his existence, Wick brooding in the corner, and you, Kevin, pretending you donât have the devil on speed dial.â
Johnny Utah: Throwing a football at Constantine, who catches it effortlessly. âAlright, letâs cool it. How about a game?â
Jack Traven: Perking up. âA game sounds good. Something everyone can handle. No high stakes, no bullets, no Matrix glitches.â
Neo: Narrowing his eyes. âIf itâs dodgeball, Iâm out.â
Kevin Lomax: Smirking. âPoker?â
John Constantine: Grinning slyly. âIâm in.â
John Wick: Shaking his head. âPass.â
Ted Logan: Spinning around. âSecret Santa! Thatâs what we need.â
Johnny Utah: Nodding. âGreat idea. Letâs do it.â
Jack Traven: Clapping his hands. âAlright, whoâs got the hats for drawing names?â
Later, everyone exchanged hastily picked gifts under the tree.
Neo: Opening a pair of sunglasses. ââŠWho got me these?â
Ted Logan: Grinning. âDude, you can never have enough shades.â
Kevin Lomax: Opening a leather-bound notebook. âA notebook? How original.â
John Constantine: Lighting another cigarette. âThought you could use it for all your courtroom lies. Merry Christmas.â
Johnny Utah: Opening a surfboard keychain. âThanks⊠whoever thought I needed another reminder of my past life.â
John Wick: Opening a dog collar. ââŠâŠ.â
Jack Traven: Clearing his throat nervously. âUh, that was meant to be symbolic. For loyalty.â
Ted Logan: Opening a guitar pick. âThis⊠is most triumphant.â
The group exchanges small smiles, and for a brief moment, thereâs peace. UntilâŠ
Neo: Noticing the tree flickering. âThe lightsâŠtheyâre glitching.â
Kevin Lomax: Smirking. âHere we go. Who rigged the tree?â
John Constantine: Grabbing his coat. âLooks like Christmas just got interesting.â
It all fades to black as the tree sparks, and the group scrambles to figure out whatâs going wrong. What do you think is happening?
Pairing : David Allen Griffin x female!reader
Genre : headcanons
Note : Keep in mind, I've never watched the movie. I'm writing this from intuition.
Warning : needles
Divider by @enchanthings-a
David Allen Griffin loved the sight of the needle piercing the flesh. The needle pierced slowly, deliciously penetrating the flesh. Penetrated the person. It was almost intimate, like sex, he thought. But he preferred the fear or the thrill before sex. It was more alive, more intense. More exhilarating when two contradictory emotions collided. When the needle penetrated the skin, it was slow. Each time, a sick rush twisted his insides, whether he was a witness, a recipient, or, most often in his case, dealing with one of his victims. Whether it was drawing blood for a health check or, more commonly, using an anesthetic to drug his victims, he couldnât tear his eyes away from the needle of the syringe as it pierced the skin while the victim began to fall asleep, sinking into a kind into slumber before waking up later. A form of dark communion, a moment where he holds absolute control over life and consciousness.
Of course, he had taken care to photograph you from every angle, each one he found perfect. The photos were displayed on a wooden board, hung on one of the walls in his dark apartment, like an altar devoted to you. He would trace your lips in the photos with his gloved index finger, slowly, reverently, imagining his own lips in place of that touch. His lips against yours. Would fate bring you together? He didnât believe in fate. If anything, he believed in force. In control. He would create his own destiny, to feel his lips on yours, not muffled by tape meant to silence your screams.
Sometimes, he would sneak into your apartment and shift things almost imperceptibly to unsettle you. Sometimes, he took objects you considered insignificant, long forgotten, their absence barely noticeable. Vacation trinkets long tucked away in a closet that you wouldnât notice missing. Sometimes, he was a bit bolder, stealing some of your underwear. He loved watching you go about your little routines: waking up late on weekend mornings, padding across the floor barefoot, or lounging on the couch with your breakfast.
He had started leaving you small messages. Not love letters. Fragments of sentences you couldnât understand. A word scrawled on the back of a receipt. A phrase etched faintly into the condensation on your mirror. Things no one else would notice, but that unsettled you. The message was never direct, always vague, like a whisper. He wanted you to feel a presence without being able to name it. He wanted your paranoia to grow slowly. For you to doubt yourself before doubting the world. He wanted to be felt. One morning, you found a note on your table:
You forgot to close the curtains. The light suits you so well.
You double-checked the locks. You glanced over your shoulder. You started to wonder if you were imagining things. But deep down, you know you're not.
He had followed you into the alley behind your place that night. Everything was ready. The syringe in his pocket. The glove already on. You were alone, as expected. And yet⊠he hesitated. His finger trembled on the plastic of the syringe. Warmth. Fragility, maybe. He couldnât do it. Not yet. He turned away, dissolving into the shadows. He had given in. He didnât know why. He only knew it was stronger than him.
After failing to kidnap you in the alley, David begins to punish himself for his weakness. He pricks his own skin with a needle, not to draw blood, but to feel the pain of his failure. He does this in front of your photos, as if offering his pain to your image. Each prick is a reminder that he must regain control, but it also deepens his obsession, as he imagines sharing this pain with you someday, not to harm you, but to merge your experiences in a perverse act of intimacy, to bind you to him. In his mind, it would be a merging of sensations. A communion. A perverse kind of intimacy that only he could understand.
He fantasized a scenario where you find his shrine and, instead of fear, feel flattered by his devotion. He fantasizes about confessing everything to make you see the âartâ of his obsession, the careful attention.This fantasy is why he canât bring himself to kill you; he wants you to choose him. The question about âpure loveâ in his mind is his desperate attempt to justify his actions as something other than destruction.
He had kept one of your scarves. Stolen, of course. Imbued with your scent, soft, indistinct, unique. He brought it to his face like an offering. He closed his eyes. He breathed deeply. There was no longer David Allen Griffin, only a being suspended between reality and fantasy. The scent brought him back to you more violently than any image. Something that urged him to get even closer, yet also to hold back from destroying you. He wanted to keep that scent with him forever. He had never felt such intoxication. He no longer knew if he wanted to love you, kill you, or simply⊠keep you frozen in that eternal scent.
