#john's family fics

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Do you have an fic recs involving John’s dad in the present? He’s usually a character that’s deceased in most fics but I think it’d be super interesting to have his dad and Sherlock meet. Thanks!

Hey Nonny!

Ah, you know what? I don't recall any at all, to be honest, or at least none that I have read. I'm sure there are a few though!

Anyone able to help us out with finding a few fics for Nonny??

[ghcstao3]

johnny has always known simon to be quiet, introverted. it’s possible to get him talking when they’re alone, sure, but generally simon happens to be content listening to johnny speak, more than anything. a man of few words, as all the privates would say.

he expects it to be the same way when simon is at home, with family—but dear god, was johnny wrong to assume so.

it’s a whole new side of simon, when he’s with his family. and johnny kind of adores it.

simon complains when his mum asks for the nth time when’s the wedding? and looks pointedly at johnny. simon gets into lighthearted brotherly spats with tommy about the most insignificant things. simon and beth exchange their dry wit and shitty jokes. simon is loud and lively when he plays with joseph.

it takes some adjustment for johnny, at first, to get used to this strangely extroverted version of simon. but he certainly doesn’t hate it—if anything, it has him feeling inspired by simon’s mum by the end of the night.

maybe he’ll start asking simon when the wedding will be. perhaps that’ll speed things along.

[4vanaa]

— MODERN FAMILY.

an outer banks alternate universe

— PAIRINGS dad!rafe cameron x mom!reader | dad!jj maybank x mom!kiara carrera | dad!pope heyward x mom!cleo | dad!john b routledge x mom!sarah cameron | singlefather!topper thornton | uncle! barry |

— SYNOPSIS a slice-of-life series that takes you into the heart of one big, chaotic, and loving family. at the center of it all is you and rafe navigating the ups and downs of parenthood with your own kids—ranging from toddlers to teenagers—while trying to balance your relationship, your personal growth, and the wild, unpredictable moments that come with raising a family. but it’s not just about you, the obx cast is all here. they all have their own families, with different parenting styles, dynamics, and struggles.

— TROPES/TAGS established relationships, slice of life, chaotic family dynamics, fluff, very mild angst, humor, original characters, everyone’s married, parenthood, no real plot, everything is a standalone.

TEASER

—MEET THE FAMILIES 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 |

REQUESTS/DRABBLES.

HEADCANONS.

ONESHOTS.

SMAUS/TEXTS.

a/n: credits to @zyafics for the layout!! this work is also inspired by @papercranesandinkstains elementary smau. and credits to @vesearartistry for the dividers!! heavily inspired by modern family. there is no plot, every drabble/headcanon are all in the same universe but not needed to understand the other. if you’d like to request something you’d like to see just comment below here, or send an ask.

🏷️ taglist: if you’d like to be tagged for this smau, or any future or current ones, you can reply and i’ll add you!!

[ghostbsuter]

The house of Nightingale & Constantine ( P. 1 )

> next part

.・゜-: ✧ :-

You know, when Batman reassured him (was it tho? His way of using words is a bit... confusing.) of bringing in a third person for their common problem, Phantom, Danny, didn't press nor worry.

He regrets it now, just a little bit.

—

Dick liked Danny.

The small guy has been an absolute delight!

(He isn't grinning when he and Damian duke it out, doesnt watch fondly when Danny and Jason exchange the most weirdest ways of insulting someone or when He and Steph gossip, Cass sitting behind him with her hands in his hair.)

(He can see from the corner of his eye the way Tim hides a grin behind his hand, texting Danny someone rapidly and their Guest laughing at random times, the way even Duke, despite wearing the sunglasses, seems to warm up pretty quickly to their new brother friend.)

(It's doesn't help that he has black hair and blue eyes either.)

Danny has been living with them for some time now, temporarily as it may be, and grew on them all pretty quickly.

Bruce told them when Constantine arrived at the cave, seemingly irritated for unknown reasons, and they all were ushered to the elevator.

There is no noise as they arrive, Danny few feet off the ground and engaged on a hot topic with Steph as they go down the stairs.

The moment Constantine is in sight however, has their resident ghost snapping out of the conversation and zooming in on the man from afar.

It's kind of funny? The way his black hair fluffs up like in a Ghibli Movie, the way his eyes narrow to slits, glowing a faint green.

Many shout in alarm at the sight of agitation (?), Dick sees Constantines own eyes glow a eery gold??

It's like two cats staring down one another, a showdown.

(Someone should record this.)

The two meet down in the middle of the cave, Danny is bristling and John scowling.

"Really Bats? A Nightingale?" The blond man scoffs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat, hands roaming for cigarettes probably.

"Excuse me? I thought the line of Constantine died out back then, with the way you handle your stuff." The teen hisses back, a hand running through his poofed up hair.

"Hah!" The Hellblazer gives a mocking laugh, cigar already in hand and lit. "'With the way we handle our stuff'? Weren't the Nightingales out of commission not so long ago?"

The glow might have died out, but the tension only rose higher.

Danny turns to Batman, glowering.

"Asking for the help of the house of Constantine? Are you crazy? Those nutjobs have no self-preservation!"

John's eye twitches at the remark.

"No self-preservation, my ass. Nightingales do nothing but mess with stuff they shouldn't, talk about self-preservation when you have it yourself, pipsqueak."

And Danny? Danny growls.

"All you do is trick every being to do your bidding! One day all of this will catch up to your house and me? I will watch as it burns."

The blonds cigarette snaps in his grip.

"Burn? Me? Doesn't the house if Nightingales hunt the beings we 'trick'? It seems to me that your lineage is already going down as we speak."

The argument (?) continues and the batclan does nothing but watch as if its a particularly interesting tennis match.

(John looks like he's about 5 seconds away from strangling Danny and the teen about to bite off John's head.)

"What's going on?" Finally, Batman steps in.

"What's going on? What's going on?? You said you'd bring in a third person! Not a constantine!"

The bat shows no signs of anything really, when both teen and man whip around to face him.

"I thought you'd know better than to involve yourself with the house of Nightingales."

"I was here first! No take backs!"

"And yet I know bats longer, don't I, pipsqueak?"

"Foolish trickster!"

"Imprudent necromancer!"

(Apparently, beef between two houses of dark exists and they had the chance to experience it first hand.)

(This is one of the many occurrences.)

[incorrect-green-lantern-quotes]

Currently drunk and imagining Green Lanterns being the resident alien experts in the Justice League/Titans/whatever superhero team they’re in

Like, when the JL first got together and Hal learned that two of his teammates were the last survivors of their worlds, he decided then and there that he would always support them in whatever way he could.

(Because as the first- and for a while, only- human in the Green Lantern Corps, Hal knew better than most what it was like to be the only one of his species in a room. It’s astonishingly lonely even when you know your planet and people are still alive and well.)

So Hal asks his ring for information about Krypton and Mars, which holidays their people had celebrated and held sacred, what foods they had enjoyed that he could recreate with ingredients available on Earth.

Hal ends up becoming the third JL member after Bruce and Diana to learn about Superman’s secret identity after Clark has to explain that he came to Earth as an infant and most of his own knowledge of Krypton is as secondhand as Hal’s is. J’onn however, is very touched by Hal’s attempts at baking N’bisko cookies, as it reminds him of when he would make them with his wife and daughter.

Guy inadvertently makes Hal's practices into a tradition when he gets roped into some Fourth World drinking games with Mr. Miracle and Big Barda. Apokolips might be a flaming hellhole, but it was still once home to them both and they do miss it at times. Even in his Warrior years, Guy keeps his pub stocked with food and drinks that are popular in space, in case he gets a hungry visitor from the stars.

From then on, it becomes a duty of their shared legacy. John in his rookie days didn’t listen much to Hal but this was one of piece of advice he did heed: You might end up with an alien refugee as a teammate at some point, and it is your job as a Green Lantern to be there for them when they’re homesick. John was never a member of the Titans, and he's certainly no mentor to the team's alien princess, but he does visit Starfire on days when her banishment from Tamaran weighs most heavily, like the Blorthog Festival.

Kyle had no idea about any of this when he inherited the last ring in the wake of the Corp’s twilight. Expecting him to pick up where his predecessors had left off would have been just another weight to carry on his shoulders. So instead the heroes who'd once been touched by a Green Lantern's kindness now return the favor for their only successor. They tell Kyle about the Corps that were the keepers of peace and justice across the universe for thousands of years. They tell him of how the emerald knights of Oa were brave and kind and loved by so many people.

They tell him these things because they see that the Green Lanterns were more than just an organization of lawmen. They were a legacy, a family, a culture. Unorthodox insofar as that every member was an adopted one, but that only meant Kyle is just as much a son of the Corps as Hal or Guy or John had ever been. He may be Oa’s last son, may not have known that he belonged to the Green Lanterns until their light was all but gone, but he would never have to be lonely.

[esteljune]

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish gifs [23/?]

Look at the size of this man

[velcroedshoe]

I just think John should’ve tried to kill Sam for the “greater good” of the world and to save Sam from what he’d become because he knew Dean couldn’t bring himself to do it

[starlightvld]

Allowances

For @baohanhanesel - happy holidays! Have a little hurt/comfort, MacTavish family Christmas vibes, and Simon beginning to find his place among them (and a bit of sappy romance at the end).

(Also on AO3!)

---

"Dinnae fash, Simon. They're gonna love ye."

Ghost stands perfectly still beside the car as Johnny rounds the boot to step up beside him. They make a pair, with Johnny in a new bright red cable-knit sweater, jeans, and a navy blue knit cap that brings out the blue in his eyes, while Ghost is dressed down in his usual black shirt, black hoodie, and a black medical mask. His faded blue jeans are the only spark of color, as old and worn as Johnny's are crisp and new.

If he were a better person—a better partner—he would've worn something nicer. As it is, he's a split second away from turning around and disappearing into the Scottish twilight. The only thing keeping him rooted in place is—

A warm hand slips into his hoodie pocket and curls around his balled up fist. Ghost sucks in a deep, slow breath, and as he exhales, he releases the fist to clasp Johnny's hand palm to palm.

It terrifies him, the comfort a single touch can give. He knows how easily comfort can turn into soul-wrecking pain. Yet he clings to Johnny's hand with the kind of desperation Price would no doubt find concerning for a whole host of reasons.

"We dinnae have tae go inside," Johnny murmurs. "I can call mam from here and—"

"'M not gonna melt, Johnny. Just... gimme a minute."

He's already ruined Johnny's Christmas enough by bowing out of the actual holiday. But the aching despair of the anniversary always winnows him down to his basest self. Even three days later, he feels hollowed out and cold, his sole point of warmth the callused palm and strong fingers clinging to his as they huddle closer against the chill winter air.

Johnny doesn't know the sordid details, but he knows enough about special ops life to fill in the blanks. Every operator has their demons. Simon Riley's are just a little more harrowing than most.

At least the MacTavishes like to celebrate the winter season all the way through New Year's. Or so Johnny says. Ghost suspects the post-holiday get-together might be an allowance made specially for him, but he's certainly not going to ask about it. So here they are, standing in front of Johnny's childhood home outside of Glasgow, store-bought biscuits in hand, while a multi-colored glow spills through the frost-edged glass into the rapidly darkening outside world. It beckons them inside with the promise of warmth and joy and all the other things those trite holiday cards claim for the winter season.

Ghost doesn't move.

The blinking Christmas lights taunt him through the front window. Memories loom from the dark corners of his mind and threaten to upend the one thing he desperately wants to give Johnny—time with his family.

He takes another deep breath, taking care not to let the exhale shudder on the way out.

He's only met Emma and Grant MacTavish twice in passing at Johnny's medal ceremonies for Las Almas and then for the Chunnel op. The latter medal, a Victoria Cross, was officially for exceptional heroism in the line of duty and unofficially for assisting in the dismantling of a major bomb threat and taking down Makarov with a well-aimed stab. He and Johnny weren't in a relationship then, and even if they had been, it would've been inappropriate to mention it on base. Even so, he remembers the overflow of unearned gratitude in Emma's blue eyes—exactly like Johnny's—as she wrapped both of her warm hands around his and thanked him for keeping her boy alive.

The words still ring hollow as he thinks about Johnny collapsing on the cold concrete after clipping that final wire with Price.

He almost died in Ghost's arms that day, and Ghost hasn't been the same since. For one, he kissed his subordinate in the hospital the instant he thought Johnny was coherent enough to remember it and hasn't stopped kissing him since.

Completely unprofessional.

And utterly worth it.

With a final deep inhale and slow exhale, he straightens his shoulders. He can do this. Even if it makes his stomach cramp and his palms sweat with anxiety and the Christmas decorations seem to taunt him with memories of a family forever lost to him.

For Johnny, he can do this.

"Alright," Ghost murmurs—more to himself than to Johnny—as he slides their clasped hands from his hoodie pocket and pulls him toward the door.

It opens before they can knock, flinging brilliant light, excited conversation, and upbeat music into the night air. Emma MacTavish greets her son with a wordless exclamation of joy as she throws her arms around him in a tight hug. Somehow, Johnny manages to return the hug and answer rapid-fire questions about their journey all without letting go of Ghost's hand. Cold air pricks at the exposed skin around his medical mask, but Ghost is too focused on processing and cataloging every detail to acknowledge the physical discomfort.

Johnny looks more like Emma than he does Grant, sharing those bright blue eyes, dark hair, and a brilliant smile that could melt a glacier. Peas in a pod and, according to Soap, often partners in pranking crimes. All Ghost can see is warmth and light—pouring from her, from Johnny, from the home that was never riddled with suffering and people whose lives were never cut short by an evil too insidious to anticipate.

When Emma pulls back from Johnny, she keeps her hand curled around his bicep as she turns the full power of her warm gaze on Ghost.

"And Simon—may I call ye Simon?" Emma asks.

"Yeah," Ghost replies before clearing his throat and adding, "Hello, Mrs. MacTavish."

The smile she gives him sends a shock of pain through his chest even as a flood of comfort flows in behind to sooth the ache.

It's kind. Compassionate.

Motherly.

And it's directed at him.

It gets worse—or better?—when she reaches out to gently clasp his bicep too, connecting the three of them in a circle of touch. As if he's somehow a part of this world. As if he deserves a second chance at family despite dooming his own. The connection is both suffocating and freeing, as if he's taking his first breath of fresh air in years all while a boulder crushes his chest.

She squeezes his arm, and her smile widens into something familiar. Maybe a bit teasing, too.

"Call me Emma, love. I'm so glad yer here. Both of ye. Now, come in out of the cold, will ye? My bones are already aching."

Ghost flounders as the onslaught of pain and comfort slices straight through the layers of armor he's built up through the years, exposing his soft insides.

He wants to fall into the touch.

He wants to run away.

He meets Johnny's gaze, and the softness and understanding he finds there is a balm to his spiraling emotions. Despite everything inside screaming at him to shut down, to not let anyone else into that secret part of him that Johnny breached with the ease of a demolitions expert, Ghost is helpless to do anything but follow Emma inside.

For the first time since he lost his family, he dares to let himself hope.

-

Hours later, Johnny pulls Ghost into bed with a gentle hum, guiding his head to rest on his chest. The heavy thud under Ghost's ear is like scissors to a puppet's strings, snipping the tension away and leaving him boneless and overwhelmed.

"Alright?" Johnny murmurs in his ear before pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his head.

"Not made of glass," Ghost grumbles.

Johnny knows him too well to take him seriously, even now. "Nae, yer made of sterner stuff. Gunpowder, madness, and pure spite."

"Spite can be motivatin'. Just ask any of the rookies who've had me for drills."

Johnny hums a laugh, and Ghost presses his ear harder into Johnny's chest to catch every vibration. Fingers trail through his hair, and he sighs.

"How shite was that, scale of one to ten?"

"What?" Johnny mumbles, his lips once again pressed to the side of Ghost's head.

"How bad an impression did I make?"

A hand grasps his hair to gently tip his head up. Their eyes meet, and the genuine confusion in Johnny's expression gives Ghost hope.

That he didn't fuck everything up. That Johnny's family won't try to convince him to stay away from Ghost.

"Mam was absolutely charmed, Ghost. I think she'd adopt ye on the spot if she could."

Ghost blinks. He replays the evening in his head—from the homemade dinner to the impromptu after-dinner sing-along between Johnny and his niblings to the softer conversation between the adults once the children had crashed. He can't think of anything he did to warrant such a reaction. In fact he barely talked at all, content to let Johnny answer questions for both of them and only interjecting when someone spoke to him directly, which happened rarely enough that Ghost was positive Johnny had asked them to make allowances for him. He both hated and loved it—hated that it made him feel weak, like he couldn't handle himself or his emotions, but loved that Johnny was clearly thinking about him and ensuring he would be as comfortable as possible.

He doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve Johnny at all if he's being honest with himself. The man is too good—all righteous fire and burning passion. But with that honesty comes the acknowledgment that he's far too selfish to ever give Johnny up.

At this thought, a faint memory surfaces of Emma's soft look when Ghost wrapped his arm around Johnny's shoulders as they settled on the couch. It's how they always sit when on leave because they can't risk it on base. Ghost loves the feeling of their bodies melding together, a line of heat at his side and Johnny close enough for Ghost to mumble inappropriate comments, bad jokes, and blush-inducing innuendo into Johnny's ear.

Apparently Emma MacTavish thinks it's a good thing, too.

"Well. Good then?"

Johnny hums another laugh, making Ghost's cheek buzz. "It is good, love. Very good." He tightens his arm around Ghost's shoulders. "Thank ye for coming with me."

Ghost swallows. Despite their solid relationship status, they haven't exchanged more than joking admissions of their mutual attraction. He feels the lack all the more as the worst of his holiday malaise falls away in the face of so much care and affection. Something wiggles loose in his chest, a sensation of free falling as his lips form words he hasn't said since before Roba took his family from him.

"Thought you woulda figured out by now that you've got me wrapped around that trigger finger of yours." He swallows. Takes a shaking breath. "You're the only thing alive in this world that I love."

Johnny stills under him. Even his chest is unmoving, breaths locked up with a quick inhale.

And then it all comes out in a rush.

"Simon... d'ye mean tha'?"

And though it means losing the comforting thud of Johnny's heart in his ear, Ghost answers by leaning up, gripping Johnny's chin with his fingers, and pressing a soft kiss to slack lips. When he pulls back, Johnny is staring at him, tears welling in his blue eyes and a wide grin replacing his shocked expression.

"Love ye, too, ye big bastart," Johnny whispers before diving in for another kiss.

And maybe it's not perfect in an objective sense. Maybe he still misses his family and what could have been. But in this moment—with this man and his gracious family who went out of their way to make him feel welcome—it's the closest to perfection he's ever been.

[cloakedsparrow]

Bat Family 'Bruce is Tim's biological parent' AU Idea #1

Wherein Jack Drake: a) Regularly tags along on archaeological digs despite not being an archaeologist. b) Commonly smuggles home archaeological finds despite that not being legal. c) Does not believe in curses, hauntings, or any mythology despite the world that he lives in being populated with *gestures at comics* all that.

As a result, Jack is like a magnet for cursed objects and keeps smuggling the damned things home.

The first time little Timmy suspects this is happening, he knows his dad won't respond well to him suggesting the most recent package he sent home is haunted. He knows he'll respond even worse if he tries to get anyone else involved. So he sends his mom a private email explaining what's going on. Janet replies that he's right to be suspicious, that this has absolutely happened before, and that he was right to contact her. She tells him she's sending over a friend who can help and gives him a password that she'll tell the friend so he knows it's okay to let him in the house.

John Constantine shows up within the hour. Tim is certain he didn't drive there (the alert that someone passed through the gates never went off and no one put in a code to open them) but there is a cursed object in his house and John knew the password Janet gave him, so he's mostly just happy to have an adult there to handle the situation. Even if a somewhat bizarre adult.

John takes care of the cursed object and is impressed that Tim reacted to it much faster than most do. He gives Tim his card with instructions to call him if anything like what was happening starts to happen again or if anything else weird starts happening after his father has been to any digs or sent home any strange packages.

As Jack is the aforementioned cursed object magnet, Tim ends up calling John fairly often for someone who doesn't actively work with the occult and is, in fact, a child. John keeps praising him for catching on as quick as he does and giving him information to catch onto other types of mystical/magical wickedness. Tim gets really good at recognizing when magic/curses/spirits are at play.

Then, Janet dies and Jack goes into a coma. Tim is fostered by Bruce for a year and a half and doesn't have to worry about curses or haunted objects for all that time. When they do come across something of the occult, Bruce/Batman has his own contacts, so there was never a reason for Tim to bring any of it up.

Then, the events of Identity Crisis/Crisis of Conscience occur, and Bruce doesn't want to talk to Zatanna (his usual mystic go-to) if it can be helped. He doesn't want to call in anyone connected to most of the Justice League if it can be helped.

So when they come across a cursed object, Tim immediately identifies it and tells Bruce not to worry, he knows a guy who can handle it. The man knows his civilian identity, so they'll have to pretend Bruce bought the object as part of an action or estate sale lot.

John comes and handles it. Before he leaves he comments that he's glad Tim's biological father finally decided to step up and that Bruce better take good care of the boy.

When Tim explains that Bruce isn't his father, the look on John's face clearly shows that he's trying to figure out how to back-step, but not in the expected way. More in the 'I let on information i wasn't supposed to' way.

Which is how Bruce and Tim end up running a paternity test in the Cave at four am.

Alfred and Dick are delighted by the results.

[Alternative ending: John pulls Bruce aside to let him know that Janet told him Jack wasn't Tim's father and that both he and Bruce were on the short list and he hadn't known Jack died or he'd have contacted him already. They have to wait to find out which of them is the lucky one. Either Bruce turns out to be the father and John just lets Tim know he can still call him whenever needed or it turns out John is the father and they decide Tim should still stay with Bruce but John has visitations. Also, Tim might have been showing signs of his Homo Magi heritage when he recognized all these cursed objects. John insists on teaching him to use his magic despite Bruce's unease with it.]

[itacats]

Operation 141: The Family Business

FT: TF141 x gn!reader - Mafia AU

Warnings: mafia themes, stalking, use of the name "sweetheart", please let me know if anything else should be here!🙏

A/N: Welcome to the underground, where secrets are currency and alliances are as fragile as glass. Part 1 of our Mafia AU story is here, ready to pull you into a world of shadowy deals, unexpected loyalties, and high-stakes drama. Step carefully, but don’t look away—you won’t want to miss a thing!

Read Part 2 Read Part 3 Read Part 4 Read Part 5 Read Part 6 Read Part 7 Read Part 8 Read Part 9 Read Part 10

Part 1: The Hidden World

The dim lights of the bar flickered, casting a soft amber glow across worn wooden tables and well-worn stools. The low hum of the jukebox played in the background, mingling with the clink of glasses and the steady hum of conversation. The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, a constant reminder of the bar's gritty charm. This was no high-end joint — just a dive, a haven for the forgotten and those who preferred to keep their lives in the shadows. For years, you’d been part of that rhythm, the steady beat of routine keeping the world at bay, making you feel just detached enough to avoid the spotlight.

And then they walked in.

Members of the 141 Mafia.

For months now, they’d come in like ghosts slipping through the shadows — deadly, enigmatic, and utterly out of place in the world most people knew. To the outside eye, they looked like any other patrons, but the air around them was charged, like a storm perpetually on the horizon. The kind of tension that made you realize they weren’t just men who had seen an unspoken battle, but men who carried it with them, like a weight that could never be set down. But to you, they were just regulars, faces who blended into the dim light like anyone else. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

John "Soap" MacTavish was the first to break the ice. His boyish grin and easy banter disarmed you from the start, making you forget, if only for a moment, that he was part of something darker. He’d sling a joke your way or toss a casual flirtation across the bar, a half-finished beer in hand. His carefree nature seemed almost out of place, but when you caught the flicker in his eyes — a fleeting darkness — you knew there was more to him than the easy charm. He often asked you to stay after closing for a drink, and though you’d laughed it off the first few times, lately, you found yourself lingering a little longer, drawn to the mystery behind his laugh..

Then there was Simon Riley — Ghost. Silent as a shadow, he would plant himself in the farthest corner of the bar, a hood pulled low and that eerie skull-patterned mask always hiding his face. No one dared approach him unless invited, but his eyes, constantly scanning the room, missed nothing. His mere presence sent shivers down your spine, though not from fear — it was something else, something deeper, as though he carried the weight of a hundred lives on his shoulders. Whenever Soap got too close, Ghost’s gaze would darken just a shade, his silent watch never breaking, as though ensuring nothing more than words passed between you two.

John Price was different — a man who exuded authority and a weariness that came with a lifetime of hidden battles. He’d sit at the bar nursing a tumbler of whiskey, sharing stories that sounded more like fiction than fact. 

And then there was Gaz. He brought a breath of fresh air to the heavy atmosphere. His laid-back attitude, the way he could light up the room with a joke or a quick challenge to a game of darts, made it easy to forget that he too was part of this group of regulars. He’d always laugh at your terrible aim, encouraging you despite the fact that you’d never win, but that was the charm of it. He had a way of making you feel like you were in on the joke, like you were part of their world, if only for a moment.

But tonight was different.

The bar, usually bustling at this hour on a Friday night, had grown unsettlingly still. Midnight had come and gone, and the usual hum of late-night laughter and drunken banter was absent. You were meant to take your break, but something gnawed at the back of your mind, keeping you anchored behind the bar. There was a heaviness in the air, a stillness that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t quite see.

You wiped down the counter, deciding that it’d be better to call your boss and close up  instead of standing around, casting a glance toward the door. Nothing. No one. Even the regulars had slipped away without you noticing. The quiet was unnatural, as if the bar itself had exhaled its last breath. The jukebox continued its soft, haunting melody, the only sound left in the deafening silence. As you reached for a bottle to busy yourself, your fingers brushed against something cold.

A folded piece of paper.

It sat there on the counter, exactly where an afternoon patron had been sitting earlier. Your heart thudded in your chest as you unfolded it, the jagged handwriting making it somewhat hard to read:

"I’ll see you later, sweetheart…"

Read Part 2

Part 1 just scratched the surface of what’s to come! Thanks for taking this first step into the underworld with me. The stakes are only getting higher, and Part 2 will be here before you know it!

[cluelessatthispoint]

A Dragon's Horde

Pt.2

(Inspired by bluegiragi and docdudo)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walk back to wherever the hell the hybrid has in mind is tediously frustrating. Each time you think you feel space enough in his strong hold to wiggle yourself free, the tighter his grip becomes. It's not like it hurts or anything, it more so only hurts your pride at being teased in such a manner. One minute there's a gap between his arms and his hold grows lax. Then the very second you deem it safe to move, he tightens his grip. Over and over he does this. Gritting your teeth in anger, your palms resume slapping his forearms.

"Calm down now treasure, I'm not going to hurt you."

Just hearing the way his grumbling voice rumbles so close to your ears makes you shiver. His arms tightening and jostling you gently to adjust you in his arms. The feeling of his unnaturally warm exhales ghost over your scalp rhythmically. It's warmth reminiscent of a hot summer's day. Or the day you got sunburnt so badly that even sleeping was painful. With a scowl etched on your lips you can't help but bite out a snarky retort.

"Going senile old man? I'm not treasure! So let go!"

With a burst of energy you flail your arms and legs once more. Your legs kicking widly as you do your best to kick backwards to hit any part of him that would spur him to release you. Undeterred however, the hybrid lets out a soft growl. The sound almost akin to a mountain lions chuff and a warning hiss of a jaguar.

"Keep still you naughty hatchling."

He says with no real venom in his words. Not that he needs to say anything more with with tone of displeasure lacing his words. His massive tail swinging back and forth in amusement as he once again adjusts his hold on you as if holding a misbehaving hatchling. His right arm taking the bulk of your weight as his left arm secures your limbs to his chest.

"Cheeky lil thing aren't you?"

He says with a quick glance down at you. You can see how his eyes twinkle with satisfaction.

"Hatchlings are supposed to behave."

His voice as grumbling as it is is laced with a mirthful purr. Your words not having offended him in the slightest only confirmed to him that you've been on your own for far longer than he initally guessed.

"Not me, I'm human not a hatchling."

Your retort bouncing off his eardrums as if he never heard you in the first place, his mind seemingly already made up. His piercing eyes roaming over your small form for only a moment or two before he settles his gaze ahead of him, eyes fixed on a trail only he can see.

Passing by low hanging branches, and gnarled trees, the air in this part of the woods feels drastically different compared to how it felt near the city's walls. The air feels heavier, the silence more oppressive. The only thing breaking it at the moment being the dragon hybrid’s heavy, even footfalls. Practically being suffocated against the creature's broad, muscular chest. You can feel bitter tears gathering, almost threatening to spill over from frustration.

"John."

Blinking owlishly up at the hybrid’s weathered face. You almost miss what he said.

"What?"

The look of confusion on your face surely present, must have spoke volumes as the hybrid pulled you closer.

"Name's John."

Pouting up at him heavily, you nod in understanding, you could honestly care less about the name of your kidnapper, but it was a good thing to know, you reckon. Introductions were never your strong suit. Always too quiet, too meek or to awkward. Blinking away tears, too tired to do much else. You relax once again against the hybrid’s strong chest. The body heat he gives off soothing your weary limbs.

"Don't got much of a name..."

The sound of your high pitched voice almost sounds grating to your ears as it cuts the silence. It was meant to sound tough, nonchalant. But instead it sounds so small, so tired. A flash of heat rises to your face, the tips your ears turning red from embarrassment at how young and small you sound. Compared to his low, grumbling tone, you sound even younger than your actual age.

"Well now, I can't have a nameless treasure now can I?"

Whipping your head up to face him, you can see the way his beard bristles when he talks. How there's a spot on his throat that glows from under his skin. The veins, both small and large showing faintly from where his dragon's fire lies dormant in his neck.

"Almost home."

John says with a relieved grin as he catches sight of you staring at his neck. Such a small thing as you, all bundled up and held closely to his chest makes his dragon instincts flare with pride. It's been far too long since he's had a hatchling of his own to care for. Lost on thought. He misses how you shiver once he crosses the threshold of his lair. His nostrils flaring as he takes in the scent of home. His safe haven, far away from the prying eyes of humans. And filled to the brim with riches. Most humans would tell the tale of dragon's guarding their horde of gemstones and jewels. As soon as he spots his nest a soft purr rises from his vocal chords. The sight and scent of his mates all laying together and relaxing warming his heart. In the middle of his nest is a beautiful harpy. His wings wrapped around the others shoulders as they sit around him. His deep brown eyes lighting up instantly as he sees John in the nesting room.

"Jesus John, we were worried about ya."

The harpy says with a relieved grin. His eyes now settled on the small creature against his mate's chest. The others a wraith and a werewolf perk up at the sight of a small child nestled against Price's arms. The werewolf almost vibrating with excitement at the sight. His tail wagging furiously, almost hitting the harpy everytime.

"Who's the wee bairn for John? We all did so good you're letting us eat a tender thing like tha."

Stilling instantly at the werewolf's words, you narrowly miss how the wraith slaps him upside the back of his head. The warning look that John sends the werewolf has you shrinking smaller. For almost a moment. However fleeting, it was as if all these hybrids were just human. The way they interacted with one another seemed human enough. But the way Price's eyes glowed ominously at the werewolf, it broke whatever allusion to human normalcy there once was.

"Soap, Gaz, Simon...say hello to our new hatchling."

John says warmly as he sees how Soap visibly deflates just a bit before his excitement returns full force. No doubt excited at the prospect of raising a wee one once again.

"A hatchling? Cannae go a single century without a wee one."

Gaz smiles softly, a mix of worry and tenderness traced on his expression. Soap's words only spurring him on. Immediately setting to work he moves about the nest making sure a corner of it will be comfortable for their new family member. Grabbing Johnny by the scruff, Simon drags him back to bed as the Scotsman looks on at Price and you with a loving gaze. His tail wagging softer now as he's led by the scruff by Simon.

As John makes his way to the nest. He groans tiredly as he sets you down in the center of the nest. Rather than being made of sticks and hay as birds would make it. The nest is made of the finest silks and cottons one could buy..or steal. Plush pillows line the edges of the nest and layers upon layers make up the foundation so as the hardness of the floor wouldn't be felt from underneath. As John settles down into the nest, his mates all gather closer. The sight of a small human child in their nest almost amusing to them. But seeing the scared expression on your face, they resolve to simply lay around you and John. The hope being that their combined warmth would lull you to sleep. The wraith; Simon, presses up closely against John's back, carefully so as to not disturb spot where his partner's missing wing would be. The werewolf; Johnny, curls up by your feet, your eyes wide as you tuck your feet in. The comment he made about eating you sticking in your mind like glue. The harpy; Gaz, at your side. His wings tucked in against his back as he coos quietly. Feeling overwhelmed and frightened, you curl up tightly and grasp at John's front with all your strength until eventually your mind starts drifting and your thoughts become quieter. The heavy hand of sleep overtakes you in a matter of minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's hard trying to write so many people all at once. But now the 141 is all together. :)

~~~~~~~

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey Steph! I was wondering if you or your followers had any good fics involving John or Sherlock’s fathers? But specifically when that father is a bad father

Hey Lovely!

Ahhh, all I have are some Community Rec Fics for John’s Abusive Father (Oct 2022), and there aren't many.

I also have some other family themed fics too:

Parents & Family

Parents & Families Pt 2

Meeting the Family With a Fake Relationship

Fake Relationships with One of Their Families

And I have one about Sherlock coping with the death of his father:

The Tip Over Into The Inevitable by ivyblossom (T, 6,894 w., 1 Ch. || Grief, Cuddles, Insomnia, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers) - When his father dies, Sherlock avoids sleeping. Then discovers he can’t sleep at all. John finds a way to help.

And one where John's father is Jack Harkness:

Captain John Watson, Genetics, and Other Crazy Things  by  cyerus (M, 5,581 w., 1 Ch. || Torchwood Crossover ||  Humour / Crack, Jealous Sherlock, Sexual Magnet John, Captain John, UST / RST, Three Continents Watson) – The explanation for John "Three Continents" Watson? Jack Harkness is his father. Sherlock doesn't know whether he's going to die from jealousy or sexual frustration first.

Feel free to add more, friends, if you have them that are more particular to what Lovely is looking for!

[4vanaa]

—PILOT “Family Dinner (Or Whatever This Is)” outer banks modern family au

[It’s family dinner night at Pope and Cleo’s house—an attempt at a civilized gathering that, predictably, turns into an absolute disaster before it even starts. Each family is scrambling to get ready, kids are causing havoc, and in classic Modern Family fashion, the confessionals, give us an inside look at just how unhinged this crew really is.]

[LO: CAMERON HOUSEHOLD]

The camera cuts to Rafe standing in the living room, staring at a screaming Poppy (3), who has decided she doesn’t want to wear clothes. Milo (10) is sitting on the couch, fully dressed but casually eating a Pop-Tart, while Ava (15) is still upstairs, refusing to come down.

CONFESSIONAL Rafe & You

YOU: deadpan “We’re supposed to leave in five minutes.”

RAFE: chuckling, gesturing to the mess behind him “Yeah… that’s not happening.”

YOU: “Ava won’t come downstairs, Poppy is running around naked, and Milo—” glares off-camera“—MILO, STOP FEEDING THE DOG CHIPS.”

RAFE: shrugs “At least the dog’s eating.”

—Cut to Ava upstairs, dramatically lying on her bed, scrolling on her phone.

CONFESSIONAL Ava

AVA: “I don’t even know why we have these family dinners. Every time, someone storms out, someone cries, and last time Uncle JJ almost set the backyard on fire.” pause “It was kind of iconic, though.”

—Smash cut to Rafe yelling up the stairs, “AVA, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE OR YOU’RE GROUNDED.”

CONFESSIONAL Poppy

POPPY: grinning, wearing fairy wings and no pants “Daddy said a bad word.”

[LO: MAYBANK HOUSEHOLD]

The Maybank house is too calm, which is a bad sign. Jax (7) is fully dressed but covered in dirt, while Maya (12) is filming a TikTok dance in the kitchen. Kai (16), still shirtless, is texting someone suspiciously while JJ is making nachos instead of getting dressed.

CONFESSIONAL Kiara & JJ

KIARA: “JJ doesn’t understand the concept of—” hand quotes “— getting ready.”

JJ: mouth full of nachos “That’s because dinner is at seven, and it is currently—” checks phone “—not seven.”

KIARA: death glare

Meanwhile, Jax is whispering something to Milo(who is FaceTiming him), clearly planning some kind of mischief.

CONFESSIONAL Jax & Maya

JAX: grinning mischievously “Milo and I are bringing stink bombs.”

MAYA: rolling her eyes “This is why we’re never invited anywhere nice.”

—Cut to Kiara snatching JJ’s nachos, forcing him upstairs. Kai is still standing there, texting, when Kiara calls him out—

KIARA: “Kai. Shirt. Now.”

KAI: grinning “Ava likes this one.”

JJ: (off-screen): “Damn right she does—OW! KIE!”

[LO: ROUTLEDGE HOUSEHOLD]

Sarah is running around, trying to wrangle Lily (9) & Bennett (4) into their shoes, while Carter (14) is sitting on the counter, eating chips, and doing absolutely nothing to help. John B is... well, he’s looking for his shoes.

CONFESSIONAL John B & Sarah

SARAH: exasperated “We’re late every. Single. Time.”

JOHN B: defensive “Okay, but, like, time is a social construct.”

SARAH: “Tell that to Cleo when we show up forty-five minutes late and she glares at us until we die.”

—Smash cut to Carter smirking.

CONFESSIONAL Carter

CARTER: “Mom and Dad are always late. I don’t even try to get ready until at least ten minutes after they freak out. At this point, it’s a science.”

[LO: HEYWARD HOUSEHOLD]

Pope and Cleo are setting up dinner, the only responsible people in the entire family. Zara (13) is helping, while Jude (8) is sneakily trying to set up a booby trap near the front door.

CONFESSIONAL Pope & Cleo

POPE: stressed “This is a simple dinner. Why is that impossible?”

CLEO: deadpan “Because we’re related to crazy people.”

The doorbell rings. It’s Topper, who has arrived early with Finn (15) & Ruby (6).

CONFESSIONAL Topper

TOPPER: smug “I don’t know why it’s so hard for everyone to be on time. My family runs like a well-oiled machine.”

—Cut to Ruby throwing a juice box at Finn’s head while he scrolls through his phone, completely unfazed.

༝ Your family shows up fifteen minutes late, and Poppy is still wearing fairy wings (but now has pants).

༝ JJ & Kiara’s kids immediately run off with Jax’s stink bombs.

༝ John B & Sarah arrive last(again), and Cleo just glares at them.

༝ Ruby and Bennett start a war over the last dinner roll.

༝ Ava & Kai are flirting, which makes Rafe visibly twitch.

༝ Jude’s booby trap actually works, and Topper gets hit with a bucket of water.

CONFESSIONAL Pope

POPE: staring blankly at the camera, wine glass in hand “I hate them all.”

CONFESSIONAL JJ & Rafe

JJ: “See, this is why we don’t try to be responsible.”

RAFE: “You don’t try because you’re lazy.”

JJ: grinning “And yet, here we are. Surviving. Thriving. Watching Topper get hit with a bucket.”

—Cut to Topper still dripping wet, cursing under his breath as Ruby and Bennett cackle.

CONFESSIONAL Poppy & Bennett

POPPY: whispers “Uncle Barry said this family is crazy.”

BENNETT: nodding seriously “Uncle Barry is right.”

—Smash cut to Barry arriving fashionably late with a six-pack of beer and a bag of chips, looking at the disaster in front of him.

CONFESSIONAL Barry

BARRY: grinning “Yeah, this is exactly why I don’t have kids.”

[lennadanvers]

His Home

Johnny Soap MacTavish x Ace!Reader

A/N: I'm a day late to Ace Week, but I really wanted to post this. I'd love to see more ace representation in fanfiction, so I'm doing my part. Plus, this kind of relationship has always been my favorite- there's something about undefined love that makes it perfect. I really like this one, so much that I wrote it while studying for my History exam. I hope you love it too, happy belated Ace Week!

Ghost is the first one to ask about it.

About you.

It’s late, you went to bed an hour ago, and Johnny offered him a beer. They’re looking at the empty front yard, a normal street in a normal neighborhood- a rare sight for soldiers of their kind. The food you and Soap made for the occasion sits warm in their bellies. The air smells of quiet and night.

Simon has known Johnny for a long time- and he has known him well. He didn’t know about this, though. He heard about you, of course. The first time Soap wasn’t sure if he’d make it back home, it was your name he mumbled. Instructions were clear: his dog tags were for you to receive. Along with everything else in his barracks. Ae dinnae care aboot all the rules. Ye gotta take me home tae ‘er.

Ghost knew you weren’t married- he would have seen it in his sergeant’s paperwork. He decided you were his girlfriend, then.

Until someone flirted with Johnny at a bar, and he happily told them he was single. Single. It didn’t lead anywhere, anyway; he came back to base with the rest of the team that night. Maybe he didn’t have a bird at home anymore, thought Simon.

But then there was the roommate. Soap was always talking about the roommate, how she would always leave hairs in the shower, how the laundry detergent smelled like flowers back home. It was said with fondness, the kind of affectionate jab one develops with family or very close friends. Ghost supposed you might be a childhood friend, then. Someone who had always been in Johnny’s life.

Come the end of their last mission, he had nowhere to stay at. His apartment was waiting for him, of course, but it was as empty and cold as any hotel room. His sergeant invited him home- tae meet ma girl. His girl. That was not a relationship status- no friend, no sister or girlfriend. Just girl, his girl.

He had to say yes.

Then there were you. Johnny’s age, bright eyes full of affection when you saw him. Small, soft hands ruffling the mohawk, saying it was getting out of hand. Nodding when he asked for another trim, bonnie, aye?

You hugged him around the neck, face under his chin. Ghost feared you would suffocate his sergeant. But Johnny’s face was pink, relaxed for the first time since before the mission. His arms were at your back, hands rounding your waist- they were used to that place. His nose deep in your hair- Simon felt like he was overstepping, like he wasn’t meant to see that. No one was.

Until you gave a step back- soft smile, soft eyes, soft Johnny- and welcomed him to your home. You called him L.T., like you knew him. Simon suspected you did. You didn’t try to shake his hand or- God forbid- hug him hello. You didn’t even risk a step into his personal space. He didn’t think it was out of fear- you didn’t blink twice at the black surgical mask. You just smiled and gave him a tour of the house.

That was another thing, the house. Tiny and tidy, cozy. Ghost didn’t have much experience with homes, but that’s what it looked like to him. A place lived in, well loved. A place with a past. Even more intriguing, a place with a future. By the way you talked, he gathered you weren’t renting. This place was owned. Something for the long run.

When you got to the hallway, though, you pointed to the last door. That’s my room! You can knock if you need anything, I’m a pretty light sleeper. Then to the one before that: That’s Johnny’s. Then the guest bedroom and the bathroom.

So you don’t sleep together.

Which would have been an answer to his curiosity, if it weren’t for the kitchen. After he left his stuff- a half-empty duffel bag- in the guest room, Simon went back to the small but charming space that is- all in one- your kitchen, living room and dining room. He was still in his soldier headspace, which means his steps were quiet. When he stepped into the kitchen, neither you nor Soap noticed him there.

You were laughing, hand on his bicep, eyes closed. Johnny was smiling. His shoulders down, his face soft. He grabbed your hand and brought you closer in a weird hug. You swayed together, and Simon almost heard the music you were dancing to. It went on for a while. Johnny went to grab a knife and you’d already placed the cutting board in front of him. You grabbed the oven mitt and he opened the oven.

You two are the perfect machine, always knowing where the other is going next. The smiles never falter. For the first time in years, Simon feels like he’s in a home. It’s confusing and startling. How come Soap has this waiting for him? How is he even able to go on deployment, knowing he might not have the chance to dance around you in the kitchen again?

The thought sparks memories. Soap’s sketchbook, a gleaming eye peeking from the page. His tactical jacket, jasmine perfume as they march through a field. A hair tie in the keychain. Gunpowder hands buying a bracelet in a faraway country. Making flower crowns while waiting for the target to show up. Dodging bullets with blue fevered eyes. Take me home tae ‘er.

He cleared his throat, and you handled him the plates to set on the table.

After dinner, you said goodnight. Johnny kissed your cheek; I left some beers in the fridge. Another kiss on the forehead. You waved at Simon, sweet and tired. Soap’s eyes followed you through the hallway.

Out in the cool night air, Simon asks.

“Tha’ ‘er?”

Soap flinches in his seat. The bottle in his hand twinkles under the stars. Doesn’t seem willing to reply. Maybe he doesn’t know how.

“The one from yer drawings?”

The nod is soft.

“Aye.”

Interrogation is an art. Ghost knows many ways to get information out of people. None of them work better on his sergeant than silence. The man has a need to fill empty spaces.

So he waits until Johnny takes the bait.

“A’v always known her.”

Another silence. Simon doesn’t need to ask the question out loud.

“We arenae datin. She isnae ma girlfriend. Or wife,” Jhonny’s voice is warm and liquid. “She's the love o ma life.”

Curiosity bubbles again. How does this life fit with the man out in the field? How come a cozy little house is home to a demolition expert?

“How’s tha’ work?”

Soap’s shoulders tighten, preparing for a defensive stance.

“She doesnae want sex.”

That’s not quite an answer, so Simon waits. Johnny’s back relaxes slowly, as if relieved by the lack of a reaction.

“But ‘a dinnae care aboot all that stuff. She's here whan ‘a come home, an she takes care o’ me. A tak care o’ her. Thare's nothin more than that.”

Nothing more he could ask for. Nothing more he’d ever want. His eyes glow blue, melting ice in the night. Ghost wonders, surprised, how he never saw it. How he didn’t realize.

After that, he doesn’t ask any more questions. There’s nothing else he’d need to know, really. When the bottles are empty and the air a little too cold, they retreat to their rooms.

The next morning, Simon stays in bed a little longer than usual. He listens to your soft steps in the hallway, the little knock on the door and Johnny’s raspy laugh. He hears the sheets and the whispers, the way he tells you stories about their last deployement- some true (only the lighter ones), the rest made up, with a handsome, Scottish hero. He pictures you tucked in Johnny’s side, his hand in your hair, easy smiles lighting up the room. And he understands. Once again, his sergeant’s words sound in his head.

A dinnae care aboot the rules. She’s ma girl, L.T.

[my-castles-crumbling]

You

a wolfstar microfic - requested by family anon

"Fuck," Sirius murmured, pulling away from Remus's lips, wincing slightly.

"Pads?" Remus whispered, looking hurt.

It wasn't Remus's fault. Not really. It was Sirius's fault for fucking up so much that he'd driven Remus away. For putting Remus's secret and his life in danger all with one stupid decision.

But now that Remus had finally forgiven him for some insane reason, and they'd worked their way back together, Sirius couldn't help but overthink the entire thing. Did Remus really want this? Did he really forgive him? How could he ever make it up to him?

Plus, there was the problem of Fabian.

Remus had hooked up with Fabian shortly after The Prank. All in a desperate attempt to get over Sirius, he had explained, and Sirius had reassured him that he had no right to be mad at Remus, but still, Sirius couldn't stop thinking about it. Had Fabian kissed Remus on his bottom lip, lightly, just like he liked it? Had he found that spot behind his ear that made him turn red? Had Remus made those noises that caused Sirius's stomach to flutter?

Had Fabian been better than Sirius was? Was Remus thinking of him now?

"I'm...I'm sorry, Moons," Sirius mumbled, trying to take deep breaths and clear his head. "I just- I can't-" And to his horror, his eyes filled with tears.

"Baby, come here," Remus mumbled, pulling him close. "What is it?"

"Fuck, Rem, I know I have no right to be upset, but Gods, I can't stop thinking about you kissing him!" he nearly yelled, a tear trailing down his cheek. "I mean-was he a better kisser than me? Do you think he's fitter than me? No- don't answer that, I-"

But Remus cut him off, pressing his lips to Sirius's own and pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Sirius, I was thinking of you the entire time."

"I- what?" he asked, eyes wide, hope fluttering in his chest.

"Do you think I fancied Fabian? Gods, no! I was miserable! I just wanted you, Pads! He could've been a Greek god and I wouldn't have cared! All I could think of was you!" Remus admitted, a smile on his face and tears in his own eyes. "You're it for me, I think."

"Oh," Sirius exhaled, relief and joy coursing through him. He wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Oh?" Remus repeated, a teasing look on his face.

Sirius grinned, pulling the taller boy close and kissing him thoroughly. "You're it for me, too, Moons."

[johnslittlespoon]

thinking about how we all talk about gale's rocky family life for obvious reasons– between him and john, he's the only one who we really hear talk about his family in the show.

what about what we can infer from john's silence about his family?

as far as we can assume, he had living family who just... didn't write him the whole year and a half he was a pow in germany?

(if we pull from real info for backstory/writing purposes, he had two sisters and a mom, and a dad who died a few years before the war. factor in the endless archived newspaper articles of the other men's families speaking about them, sharing news of their pow status, writing back and forth to the pows, sending gifts and pictures...)

radio silence for john.

it must've been such an isolating feeling, knowing he had family back home who didn't care enough to write to him, wondering whether they even asked after him, if they read the newspaper to find out how their son/brother was doing overseas. having to see the others receive packages when they wrote home asking for certain things, getting to look forward to letters from loved ones and having something to occupy them through the emptiest days.

i'm sure it made gale's chest hurt too, knowing he'd never get a letter from his parents, but he at least had marge to write to, something to get him through the endless mundanity. john had nothing. (well, he had the motivation of getting gale back home safe, but beyond that?)

was he just not close with his family in the mota–verse? or did his parents treat him unkindly the way gale's did? was he the black sheep of the family? as much as he said he enlisted because he wanted to fly and join the fight, was it also to get away from whatever was wrong back home?

so many unanswered questions, so much angst drabble potential, so many hugs needed for that poor boy. </3