#fic: sweet child o' mine

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | masterlist

neighbor!joel x f!reader | ao3 | playlist

joel miller has lived next door - since forever. you've been a pain in his ass - since forever. one drunken night changes everything - forever.

please check out individual chapter content warnings before reading!!! this series features adult content and themes which may be triggering.

series warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), unplanned pregnancy, discussion of a car accident & dead parents, emotional cheating & some minor/one major instance of physical cheating, smut, angst, fluff.

main series

pt. i

pt. ii

pt. iii

pt. iv

duckie's baby shower

bonus

➵ replaying the wedding night

➵ the whole world

➵ jellybean

➵ something blue

features

➵ sweet child o' mine moodboard by @sawymredfox

➵ joel and duckie by @knopes-waffles

➵ duckie vs. tomato by @dundienominee

➵ sweet child o' mine moodboard by @rarachelchel

[yourmomxx]

Sweet Child O’ Mine

father of mine masterlist

summary: It’s time for Dean to face what he has been so afraid of the entire time. Meanwhile, the monster that has already taken one young man’s life, is on its way to claim the next one

warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, throwing up, this is written like an episode of Supernatural

word count: 11,2k (whoops)

disclaimer: What I know about Group Homes is what I know from my country (and Google), so I apologize if I made any mistakes

pt1 pt2 pt3

@psycho-magnotheric-slime

Now

The cafeteria was loud. The mixed noise of talking children and clattering dishes and cutlery filled the air, creating a yet bearable loudness.

You were sat at one of the light blue tables, across from you your best friends Cassandra Claire and Finnegan Beckett.

Cass and Finn.

She was lowly cursing at the paper straw in her apple juice box and a few strands of her black bangs slipped into her view. The wolf cut, which had been so present a few months ago, was now already grown out and even the shortest strands of Cass’s hair were reaching her shoulders.

Finn seemed caught up in his own world as he carefully laid out little figures and symbols with his french fries. He still had a few, slightly red acne spots lingering on his skin, amongst freckles covering his nose and cheeks. His hair was flaming red, just as Roy’s had been, but other than him Finn usually hid the tousled locks under a cap.

Roy. The news of his death had hit the three of you hard. You had been a friendgroup of four, Roy and Finn, and Cass and you.

Almost a week ago you had been eating lunch at this exact table, the seat to your right had been taken, laughing about terrible jokes, bickering, and not even considering it all to end as soon as it did.

And especially how it did.

Roy’s body was still lying at the morgue. The authorities had kept it there for ‘further investigation purposes’ as they had said, so no funeral had been possible yet.

Of course, the adults had introduced all of you to helping hotlines and offered their own support in case anyone wanted to talk about their feelings and their grief in the safeness of a closed room.

Not that one of you took that into consideration.

The only way you three were coping with the whole situation was through joking around and pretending none of it ever happened. Which was fine.

You and Cass had sometimes talked in the darkness of your rooms, careful and short conversations while sleeping over because neither of you wanted to spend the night alone.

But other than that? Zero. And it was alright that way. The right moment would come.

Maybe.

“Aha!” Cass suddenly yelled out triumphantly, and startled Finn out of admiring his artwork.

You looked up at her from half-heartedly poking around in your own food, as she proudly held up the apple juice that was now pierced with what looked like the abused version of a thin straw.

You gave a small clap. “Bravo” and she grinned at you before turning to Finn.

Well done, Cassie,” he sarcastically said. “You won the hard fight against the opening of a box of apple juice.”

Cass pouted and took a sip. “You don’t appreciate my victories enough, Finn. And don't call me that. Cassie.” She dramatically shuddered at the nickname.

“I’m mentally unstable, not five.”

Finn examined her perfectly done eyeliner and makeup with skeptically raised eyebrows. “You don’t look mentally unstable to me,” he remarked.

Cass gasped. “Excuse me? Prejudices??” She exclaimed.

“You see that?” She asked, frantically pointing at her face. “See how perfect my makeup is today? That's not a good thing, dumbass! Perfect makeup means that I am absolutely mentally fucked!”

You nodded supportively, and Finn just raised his eyebrows, before he dedicated his attention back to poking around in his food.

“Don't you think that's kind of ironic?” He pointed out, and Cass simply ignored him, except for the tiny eye roll she gave.

“Guys, I need your help deciding what color I'm going to dye my hair next,” she changed the topic instead and desperately ran her hands through her hair.

Finn’s head whipped around, back to his friend. “You're honestly thinking about dying your hair right now?” He asked incredulously.

She groaned and threw him a look.

“No, Finnegan, I am not actively thinking about dying my hair, but I sense a mental breakdown coming and if I'm going to absolutely lose my shit and take it out on my hair, I want the result to look good. Otherwise, we are met with that weird yellow-green-combination again.” Cass let her body shudder dramatically.

“I liked the yellow-green-combination,” you interjected.

Cass reached over the table to lay her hand above yours and looked up at you with sweet eyes. “Thanks, hun.”

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it,” mumbled Finn, his mouth stuffed full of fries. “Just leave them black.”

“I don’t think you quite understood how a mental breakdown works, man,” you said.

Finn shrugged and dipped a frie into his ketchup. “Whatever.”

You looked at Cass. “I’ll go shopping with you soon and then we will choose a color together,” you promised.

“Thanks,” she said and eyed Finn, “at least someone who cares if I ruin my good looks or not.”

But Finn didn’t hear her, or maybe he just ignored what she was saying. Because he changed the topic.

“Did the FBI agents get a hold of you guys yet?” He suddenly asked.

Your eyebrows shot up in confusion. “The what?”

“The FBI agents,” Finn repeated.

“Why, thank you, I got that part, but what is the FBI doing here?”

Cass just shrugged her shoulders. “Apparently they are here investigating Roy's murder.”

“What, they think someone murdered him?” You asked in disbelief.

“Well, he will not have crushed his ribs all on his own now, will he?” Finn drew a heart shape with the remaining ketchup on the plate.

“It's better than the state police,” retorted Cass, “who still think that it was some kind of ... animal attack.”

You snorted. “Yeah, right, because a bear sneaking into a castle, pushing down on someone's chest and then just leaving seems so plausible.”

Your friends raised their eyebrows in agreement.

“What did they ask you guys?” You closed your waterbottle and absentmindedly started cleaning up your plate.

Cass shrugged and leaned back in her chair with crossed arms. “Not much, the usual, I guess,” she answered, “Wanted me to tell them some things about Roy, his behavior lately, who would have wanted to hurt him…” She trailed off.

“Same here. Routine stuff,” Finn said. Then he leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice.

“To be honest, I don't really care why they're here, they are both incredibly handsome.”

“Finn!” You and Cassandra exclaimed at the same time.

“What?!” The boy widened his arms in defense. “Let me enjoy the one good thing that came from Roy's death.”

Cass shoved him in response. “God, you are a manwhore!” She grumbled.

Finn rubbed his arm with an offended pout on his lips and you giggled. “Geez, we must seem so fucked up, our best friend got murdered and here we are, joking about his death.” You shook your head lightly.

“It's what he would have wanted.” Cass scooted a bit closer on her seat and took both yours and Finn’s hand in acted solemnity.

“If I die,” she vowed, “you are now officially allowed to joke about my death as much as you want. On any occasion.”

“Sick!” You called out and Cass smirked.

“Can we please get back to the part where she said if?” Finn pointed out.

Cass rolled her eyes and pulled back.

“I'm a witch, after all,” she reminded him with a threatening silken voice that had a tone of mockery. “And one day, I will figure out the secret of necromancy, just you wait.”

Finn scoffed and grinned. “Right, you with your crystals, and your smokey sticks and your herbs and tarot cards.”

He wiggled his fingers in front of her face. “That's some real serious stuff you got there, Cass.”

She pushed him away. “Yeah, keep making fun of it. We'll see who has the last laugh when I turn immortal and outlive all of you idiots.”

Finn shook his head. He looked at you and pointed his forefinger to his temple, moving it in circles to indicate what he held of her words.

You shook your head grinning, and Cass, who noticed the interaction, promptly took Finn’s sugar-glazed donut and dumped it in his untouched mayonnaise.

"Ew! Jesus, Cass, you are disgusting!" Finn yelled as he stared at the disaster.

She just shrugged and was quick to eat her own food before he would get any ideas.

For a while, it was quiet. You continued cleaning and sorting your lunch plate, while Cass ate and Finn and her did not speak a word to each other.

It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, though, just a break from conversation.

Eventually, Cass was the one to break it.

“So, uhm, did you guys, like - I mean, have you been thinking about Roy, too? Or, like, dreaming or something?” With every word her voice got more quiet until it was only a low mumble, drifting apart in the busy noise around.

But still everything she said managed to pierce through the air and directly into your heart.

“Why would you bring that up?” Finn asked through gritted teeth, he almost sounded mad.

Cass avoided eye contact with both of you and pressed the palms of her hands against her forehead, as if to stop it from giving her incredible pain.

“I’ve been having those horrible nightmares, since it happened,” she sighed in despair.

“It’s the same thing over and over again. I see something going into his room, but when I try to open the door, it’s locked. And I hit it, and I scream, but there’s just no sound coming out of my mouth. And when the door finally opens, there he is, lying on the bed, just-”

A heavy clatter interrupted her monologue and made you flinch. Finn had thrown his fork onto his dinner plate.

“Didn’t ask about fucking details, Cassandra,” he hissed lowly, stood up and walked away with his tray in hand.

Cass looked after him as he left and put her head in her hands with a groan.

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” she mumbled into the fabric of her sleeve.

“I know,” you said. She raised her head. You gave her a sympathetic smile.

“D’you think he hates me now?”

You shook your head no. “He’s just grieving. We all are. He will get himself together again, promise.”

For a second, her lips quirked up in a small smile.

“Come on,” you said then and swung your leg over the bench, standing up. “We’ve been sitting here for far too long anyways.”

You took your tray and Cass was quick to follow you and put the dirty dishes away.

“I didn’t have any, by the way.” Confused, she looked at you.

“Nightmares,” you added.

Cass nodded. “Yeah, didn’t think so.” She shrugged. “Guess I’ll deal with this the same way I deal with everything: completely and utterly alone.”

You jokingly shoved her at her theatrics, and she grinned. “Shut up. I’ll be damned if I let you deal with any of this on your own. Got me?”

She laid a hand upon her heart and the other on your shoulder. “You’re so sweet,” she said. “And I suppose that also includes helping me study for my biology exam which I have definitely already studied for?”

You pulled back and inhaled sharply, pretending to think. “Ah ma’am, I am afraid this feature is not included in your subscription. We apologize for any discomfort this may bring.”

“It brings a great deal of discomfort!” Cass exclaimed while you two walked the hallway to your rooms.

“You can write me an email-complaint,” you joked. “No guarantees though. You’ve had like two weeks to study for that one.”

“I know, I know, but it’s so endlessly boring and complicated!” she cried.

You shrugged. “There’s a reason I didn’t take the AP class.”

“And I will forever envy you for it.”

You stopped when you reached the two doors to your bedrooms that laid right across of each other.

“Then,” you said and bowed lightly, “farewell my friend. May your head not explode while rehearsing for the terribly difficult school subject that is AP biology.”

She flipped you off and disappeared into her room. Laughing to yourself, you opened the door and slipped into your own.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Central Nebraska 2007

The past few hunting days had been rough. Sam and Dean had driven from one case to the next without a break, been beaten up by an entire pack of werewolves and hunted down a loose chupacabra outside of its usual territory.

Dean was beyond exhausted. His muscles ached, his head was pounding, and the lack of sleep was weighing his limbs down. He was practically dragging himself over the gravel path, before he swung open the door to Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

The air that hit them from inside was stuffy, warm, and smelt like sweat and alcohol. Low but loud enough music fell into an uncoordinated melody with loud chatter and the clinking of glass.

Dean felt like he had never experienced something more beautiful, after the weeks he’s had.

“Deeeeeannnn!”

He heard the excited cry of his name before he saw where it came from. He spotted a bright sundress on a small girl, and out of instinct crouched down as she sped towards him.

With a grunt, Dean picked her up in his arms mid sprint and lifted her up. Behind him, Sam closed the door again as Dean made his way over to the bar with little Y/N on his hip.

“How is my favorite girl today?” He asked her and she grinned at him.

“I’m good! I missed you,” she added.

Dean’s chest clammed with how much he loved her.

“Well, I’m back now, ready to give you allllll my attention. Come on, show me those fangs.” He nodded his head at her chin at his request, and Y/N drew her lips back and bared her teeth to him.

Dean held the hand that wasn’t holding her in front of his eyes and pretended to be blinded. “Wow, those are clean! I can’t even see anything.”

With a giggle, Y/N closed her mouth again and Dean blinked hard a few times.

“I brush them extra hard. Ask Auntie Ellen.”

Dean nodded. “I totally believe you. Every werewolf would be jealous of those teeth. Oh, did I say werewolf? I meant vampire, of course.”

Dean shook his head at himself, and Y/N beamed up at him with the brightest shining eyes he had ever seen.

“Good to see you again, boys,” Ellen greeted them and pulled out two glasses. “The usual?”

Sam and Dean nodded. Ellen started pouring. When Sam took his drink, he pointed somewhere in the back of the bar and said, “I’ll go have a talk with Ash.” Then he was gone.

Dean placed Y/N on one of the bar stools and took his seat next to her.

“Dean, can you play Operation with me?” Y/N asked him, and Dean stilled in his movement to take a sip of his drink. He opened his mouth to answer her, but Ellen was faster.

“Baby, let Dean rest for a bit. I’m sure these past few days haven’t been all sugar and cakes for him. Maybe later, alright?”

Y/N pouted a bit, but then shrugged and shuffled off the barstool. “Okay,” she said, and disappeared between the people, probably to the private rooms.

Dean looked after her and then turned back to Ellen with a thankful look on his face.

“Can’t believe that game is still so popular. I mean, I used to play with that in my childhood,” he said, and took a sip from his drink. The alcohol burned a bit down his throat, but it was exactly what he needed right now. Dean closed his eyes and sighed appreciatively.

“Really glad you’re back,” Ellen then told him honestly, as she opened up a beer for herself and folded her arms on the counter. “She’s been asking me nothing else than ‘When will Dean come back’ for the past few weeks. I can’t hear that sentence anymore.”

Dean chuckled and she took a sip.

“Yeah,” he dragged, and threw a look in the direction that Y/N had disappeared in. Ellen tilted her head and gave him a look he couldn’t quite read.

“You’re really good with her, ya know?” She twirled the bottle loosely on the counter. Dean avoided her inquiring gaze and looked into the liquor in his glass instead. He vaguely saw his reflection in it.

“’ve always been good with kids, I guess.” He shrugged it off.

Ellen hummed. Dean didn’t know what to make of it. He looked up at her again.

“For what it’s worth, she makes it really easy,” he said. Ellen raised her eyebrows. “To lo- to like her, I mean. She’s a great kid. You did good with her.”

Ellen sighed. “Yeah, I like to think I did. Wasn’t always easy.”

Dean nodded. A bit after they had met, Ellen had vaguely told him how she got to Y/N. How someone had just dumped the little girl, barely one year old, on her doorstep. No note, only a name and date of birth, and a blanket in the basket she had been put in.

When he had first heard the story, Dean���s hand had cramped around his beer bottle so hard his knuckles had turned white.

Stories like this about kids always got to him. But about this one? Hell, the lengths he would go to protect that little girl. She had made her way into his heart so easily, no preparation or caution, just boosted right into it with her bright smile and those happy eyes.

And Dean had never spent a day not wanting to know her.

Sometimes, when he thought about it, he thought about how easy it was. To love a kid. She wasn’t even his, but every time he had to say goodbye to her for God knows how long again, his heart broke a little more.

And he thought about how it was that easy, and how yet, somehow his father had not managed it. Had left his children alone, abandoned, in ran down motel rooms, without any contact for days and sometimes weeks. How he had felt absent, even when he was physically present, and how Dean could never do enough to feel enough for him.

It made him ache, but he had promised himself to never make anyone else feel this way. And maybe, just maybe, this little wonder he had come across was supposed to be his salvation.

“Dean, I have to tell you something.”

Somehow, the way Ellen said it, made Dean stiffen. A strange mixture of regret and hurt crossed her exes.

“It’s about your daddy,” she added.

“And about Y/N.”

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

If Sam had tried to read the different emotions that were crossing his older brother’s face right now, he would have given up as soon as he had started.

But one thing was certain, they were many, and probably none of them were good.

They stood in front of the wooden door to their last room.

Your room, to be exact.

And they stood there for the second time today, to be exact.

Maria had pointed them the numbers of the bedrooms where Roy Kendall’s friends lived, they had paid each of them a visit and asked them questions about the deceased.

None of those interrogations had proven to be useful to them, though.

Also, funny enough, it turns out that Cassandra Claire and Y/N Winchester’s room happened to lay just across the hallway from each other.

But when Sam offered to move on to her after finishing Cassandra’s questioning, Dean had not-so-smoothly avoided his question and decided he was in desperate need of some lunch.

Which is why, now, they were standing here, staring at the old wooden door with filled stomachs and angel Castiel in tow - who had decided to join them after all.

Said angel now leaned in closer to Sam and not so silently whispered, “Is he- frozen? Shall I wake him?”

Dean snorted and shook his head, as if Castiel’s words had actually woken him up from the sort of trance he had been trapped in.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, still talking into the direction of the - apparently very intimidating – wooden door.

Sam raised his eyebrows, fully aware that his brother couldn’t see him. “Well then,” he said, extending his hand to the door. “Knock.”

Dean threw a murdering look over his shoulder at his little brother and took a deep breath in, shook his shoulders.

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew this had to be difficult for Dean, but he also wanted to get all of this over with. He could think of more fun things than spending his entire day in an orphanage, investigating a murder. Also, his suit was starting to get itchy.

The sound of Dean knocking at the door felt like a salvation. “Agents Shield and Stark and …” He threw Cas a look, “… Miller. We’re here to ask you some questions about the death of Roy Kendall.”

For a second, it was quiet. Then, “It’s open.”

The voice from inside made a chill run down Sam’s spine. He couldn’t imagine what his brother felt. But even if Dean was falling apart inside, he didn’t let his face show any of it.

Dean’s heart twisted with the door handle, as he pushed the door open and entered into the room. After him, Sam and Castiel entered, and Dean closed the door behind them again.

The room wasn’t big, but it had been decorated to be comfortable. In the middle of the wall to their right, a twin-sized bed with unified colors was placed, a small bedside table next to it.

To their left was a tall wardrobe that almost reached the ceiling, and under the window on the wall opposite them stood a nice desk.

And there, shuffling through some papers, stood a young teenage girl, with her back turned to them.

“Sorry about the mess, I-“ Dean’s heart skipped a beat as you turned around.

You hadn’t changed, not a bit, but had grown so much. The roundness in your features, like with all children, had gone away as you grew older. You had changed your hair, and your voice was different, but it was so unmistakably you that Dean needed a second to catch himself.

He feared his feet would buckle under him, as you looked at him with wide open eyes, those eyes that he remembered looked so much like your mother’s.

You felt your whole world tumble around you as you looked at them. At him. Your heart was speeding in your chest, a feeling spreading in your stomach as if you had been sucker punched.

This couldn’t be real, there was no way. But then again, there was no reason why it wouldn’t be. There were more epic scenarios you could have come up with to reunite with your … family. And nevertheless, you had stopped having dreams like that a long time ago. You had given up on hoping a day like this would come.

But now it was here, apparently, and it was so unspectacular, it was almost funny.

They walked in here, after years, in fancy suits and badges, wanting to know about- what exactly was it they wanted to know about?

You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, gathering yourself.

“What are you doing here?” Compared to the chaos inside of you, your voice sounded calm and collected, almost devoid of any emotion, and a part of you was proud.

Sam cleared his throat. You noticed he looked older.

Well, no shit. But more … drawn, from his experience. Trauma, maybe. You hadn’t been aware of much when you were a child, but that their work took a toll on them, that had been unmistaken.

And Sam’s eyes held a story that seemed as tragic as it seemed muddled.

“We heard about Roy Kendall’s death,” he answered.

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. They had heard about Roy. Did that mean they were here to-

“And we’re here to find out what killed him.”

What?

“What?”

“Yeah, we, uh-“ Sam shifted his weight awkwardly, “We don’t think it was a … natural death.”

“Well, no shit.” Roy’s chest had been cracked open. You were no coroner, but even you knew that couldn’t exactly be filed under the case of natural deaths.

Now, Dean took a small step forward, trying his best to hold eye contact with you, and your shoulders subconsciously stiffened.

“Y/N-,” he started.

“Dean,” you shot back.

And that wort was like a punch in his guts. Dean felt physically sick. But how could he expect any different really?

You noticed him stumbling slightly at the word, a look of hurt crossing over his face.

Good, you thought.

A part of you wanted to hit him in the chest, scream at him until your voice was raw, Why did you do this? Why did you leave me? When did you stop loving me?

But in the end, you didn’t.

You would rather die than give him the satisfaction of breaking down.

Why you thought he would feel satisfaction at your hurt, you didn’t know.

“So, Roy,” you simply said, something to break the pressing silence in the room.

Sam nodded. “Yes, exactly. We, uhm –“ He pointed to the third man you had never seen before, “and Castiel, we wanted to ask you a few things about him.”

You glanced at the guy in the trenchcoat, who raised his hand to do an awkward little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

“Too,” you said.

There was a silence again, until Dean took the floor. “So, he was one of your friends?” He asked, “That Roy kid?”

People had been doing it for days, yet something about them talking about one of your best friends in the past tense made your stomach turn with uneasiness.

You hummed in agreement.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Sam said.

“Stick it,” you bit back, and crossed your arms in front of your chest. Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“Did your friend mention anything … out of the ordinary happen, before he was killed?” The third guy, with the trenchcoat and the weird name which you had already forgotten, asked.

You clenched your jaw and something about the way Dean pressed his eyes shut in exasperation made you believe that this guy’s bluntness was something quite common.

“No,” you simply said. Trenchcoat frowned.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked, taking a slight step forward.

“Yes, I am. Roy never said anything about anything strange that would be in any way valuable to your case.”

“What do you mean by that?” Dean questioned.

You shrugged. “What I said.”

“Y/N, any information you can give us about Roy’s behavior before he died is extremely important and could really help us,” Sam urged.

Something about the way your name slipped off his tongue, with that sense of familiarity and normal, made your skin itch.

You took a deep breath and cleared your throat. “Well, I mean - he just mentioned that he was having those … terrible nightmares all of a sudden.” You shrugged. “Like I said, nothing that would be worth writing down.”

Sam did it anyways.

Dean tilted his head and looked at you quizzically. “Why would you think his nightmares were unusual? I mean, everyone has bad dreams from time to time.”

You shifted your weight uncomfortably. “Yeah, I know, but it’s just …” You paused. This was stupid. “It’s stupid, really, but – Roy doesn’t usually dream.”

Didn’t, you corrected in your head, but the word didn’t make it past your lips.

Sam and Dean looked at each other.

“And it was just strange, because he was having these nightmares frequently, or rather this nightmare, because it was always the exact same,” you keep rambling on.

“What was it about?” Dean asked.

You swept your hand across your forehead. “I don’t know, he wouldn’t talk much about it. Just said that it was like the worst day of his life replaying over and over.”

Dean nodded. Sam frowned in interest.

“Do you know what that was? The worst day of his life?”

You shrugged. “The day he lost his parents, probably,” you said. “The entire house burnt down right in front of him. He made it out, they didn’t.”

Your voice was quiet and pressed, still feeling bad about sharing such an intimate part of Roy’s history with those … strangers. A nagging part in the back of your mind kept telling you he wouldn’t – couldn’t – mind anymore.

Sam’s pen kept scraping over his notebook, and Dean threw a glimpse over his brother’s shoulder. As you watched them, your gaze fell on trenchcoat-guy, who was still positioned in the corner of your room, just a few steps behind them.

He was observing you with interest, blue eyes staring back into yours as if he was looking directly at your soul. Something like a chill ran down your spine.

The man tilted his head, as you diverted your attention back to Dean and Sam. His brows were furrowed.

Cas recognized you. He didn’t know where from, but you looked so weirdly … familiar. Your features, the shape of your face. They way you talked and moved.

“Your boyfriend is staring at me weirdly,” you mentioned to Dean, as you caught the man’s gaze again.

Dean turned his head and looked at him, then back to you. “Yeah, he tends to do that.”

You lifted your eyebrows and made an ‘Ah’ sound. Trenchcoat was getting weirder by the second. But at least the guy had stopped his creepy staring. For now.

“Look, I don’t want you guys here. But I understand that your presence is necessary in order to catch whatever it is that’s killing my friends. So, you just do your thing, look around a bit, kill something, and then leave. Both of you.”

With a look at the third guy in the trenchcoat, you added, “Three.”

Dean avoided your eyes, but Sam nodded jerkily and cleared his throat again. “Yeah, we uh … we understand that.”

He straightened his coat and turned to leave the room. “Thank you for your help for now, really. We’ll get in touch if we need anything else.”

You nodded simply, even though you didn’t exactly know what to make of that idea.

As Sam and trenchcoat-guy made their way to leave the room, Dean took a small step towards you and pulled something out of his suit jacket.

“And if there’s anything else you might remember or see, you can always give us a call.” You stared at the small paper he had handed to you. With dark blue pen, a phone number was sloppily scribbled on it. The edges of the paper were uneven, it had probably been ripped off a bigger sheet.

You pursed your lips and nodded.

“Yeah.” You didn’t know what else to say. Thank you wasn’t really in the cards right now. Dean cleared his throat and stepped back with a nod. Then, they left the room one by one.

“Have a nice day,” Sam said.

“You, too.” The answer came automatically. The door closed behind them with a click, and you were alone again.

The small paper suddenly felt incredibly heavy in your hand.

—

When Dean stepped through the threshold and out into the hallway, he felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off his chest. He took a deep breath like a man starved.

The sick feeling in his stomach still lingered.

He didn’t even wait for the click of the closing door before he started making his way to the exit, trusting that his brother and Castiel would follow.

His fast steps echoed over the hallway, when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder yank him around. Dean was staring into the eyes of his younger brother. He shook his arm to let Sam’s hand harshly fall off.

“What?”

Sam didn’t say anything, and Dean just glared at him. It was Castiel who spoke up first. His head was tilted, eyebrows scrunched, and a curious tone in his voice.

“She is your … daughter.” It wasn’t a question. Cas had figured out the root of all of Dean’s hesitation – to come here, to stay here, to investigate. All because of one person, that he knew was so close to Dean Winchester, but yet way too far than two people with their natural bond should be.

“What gave it away?” Dean turned to Cas. His tone was bitter. “The attitude or the way she hates my guts?”

Castiel looked him up and down.

“She is so similar to you,” he stated matter-of-factly, completely ignoring Dean’s sarcastic response.

Dean exchanged an annoyed look with his little brother, who simply shrugged.

“All right, now that we’ve cleared that up,” Dean gruffed and made his way down the hallway again, “Let’s go.”

He trusted that the others followed him quietly.

When they reached the gravel path that led from the small castle to their car, Sam picked up his pace to catch up with his older brother. “Dean, I’ve been thinking.”

The man scoffed. “Oh, don’t hurt yourself like that, Sammy.”

“I’m serious.” Sam halted next to his brother and pulled him to a stop with a firm hand on his shoulder. “And I think, maybe… we should sit this one out.”

The way Sam said the last bit was careful, and Dean tilted his head as he turned to his younger brother. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying, maybe this case is too personal for us, Dean. Maybe we should let some other hunter take care of it.”

Dean shook his head. “No way. This is the first time in years that I get to see my daughter, I will not just throw this away.” He lifted his index finger to point it at his brother.

“Well, what exactly is it that you want to do, Dean? It’s not like the two of you have the strongest father-daughter bond!” Sam scoffed and his arms in the air.

Dean started walking towards the impala again. “I know, and that’s why I want to make things right with her.”

“What for, Dean? Just so we leave her here, again?”

"I don’t know!” Dean whirled around in fury as he yelled the words. He slumped his shoulders.

“I don’t know, okay?” He said, his voice was smaller now. “Look, let’s just … let’s finish this case. Give me some time to figure things out and then we will decide.” Dean peeled himself out of his suit jacket and tossed it in the backseat of the impala. He slammed the door. “But first, let’s save some lives.”

Sam shook his head. “Alright. Whatever you say.” He matched Dean as he opened the door to the back and tossed his jacket on the leather seats.

“By the way, where’s Cas?”

Sam threw a look around them. He was right, the angel was nowhere to be found. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he zapped to the motel again.”

Dean frowned as he pulled open the front door. The hinges squealed. “We need to have a serious talk with him about that. Can’t have him disappearing on me the entire time.”

Sam frowned. Dean meant them, right? Couldn’t have him disappearing on them the entire time. Us.

Right?

Sam decided to shrug his brother’s strange comment off for now and got in the passenger’s seat.

“We have to go there anyways. Do some research,” he said.

Dean hummed and started the car. Sam could about assume what that meant. The gravel gnarled under the Impala’s tires as they drove off.

—

Back alone in your room again, you sat on your desk chair as your playlist of favorite songs blasted through your headphones. Dark ink started covering your thighs, where you were drawing on them with your pen as you had placed them on the surface of the desk.

The past few minutes, your mind had been insanely occupied with processing what the actual fuck had just happened. Because. Well. What the actual fuck had just happened?

When they had knocked on your door, you had expected the normal questioning, something that Cass and Finn had been talking about anyways.

When you turned around, just to stare at the face of Dean Winchester, your mind had gone fully devoid of every thought ever formed.

The typical “heart slipping into your pants.”

It felt as if you had worked on autopilot, not even coherently remembering what you had said to them. Had your reaction been an appropriate one? After years of imagining this exact scenario, in all ways and forms it could’ve played out, you not being able to form a simple sentence had not been one of them.

In afterthought, maybe you should’ve punched Dean.

Maybe that would’ve been the appropriate response.

The sharp sound of a knock at your door made you startle. You pulled your headphones off your ears and turned the music off. Those things were great, but in all those years they had never quite managed to overpower the sounds around you.

Maybe that was why you were still allowed to wear them all the time.

“Who’s there?” You asked loudly into the room.

“Me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. The fuck? How was there not a single normal person knocking on your bedroom door today?

“Who is me?” You asked again.

The door opened just the tiniest bit, creaking in the process, and through peeked the head of the third man that had accompanied Sam and Dean earlier.

Trenchcoat guy.

“It’s me,” he repeated.

You frowned. “Uhm - come in?” You invited him and lifted your feet off the table.

Trenchcoat guy carefully shuffled in through the gap in the door until he stood in your room, awkwardly, and his stiff posture made him look so out of place, it was almost funny.

When he didn’t seem to plan on doing anything more than eyeing the bookshelf on the other wall, you decided to speak up.

“I’m sorry, but I think I forgot your name.”

Slowly, he turned his attention back to you, as if he had now just remembered that you were there. “I’m Castiel,” he answered in a deep, gravelly voice.

You raised your eyebrows. “Ah. Right.” Another beat of silence. “Are you, like - Dean’s boyfriend or something?” You asked.

Castiel frowned and tilted his head. “Me and your father are not romantically involved in any way whatsoever,” he reassured you.

“Ah,” you said again. Then, “Did Dean send you?”

Castiel shook his head, almost offended at the implication. “After our … conversation, earlier, he figured you were not too enthusiastic to see him. That is why only I am here.”

You swallowed hard. No, that wasn’t true.

“He’s damn right.”

Castiel nodded.

Then it was quiet again. “Is there … anything you need?” You dragged out, unsure of what he was planning to do in here exactly.

“Well, no, not specifically, I just - wanted to talk to you,” Castiel said, though he seemed not too secure about his purpose himself. “About your father.”

“Dean,” you corrected, but were sure Castiel didn’t miss how your shoulders stiffened at it. The man in the trenchcoat frowned and dipped his head lightly.

“Yes, your father.” He repeated.

You shook your head. “He’s not my father. He’s just Dean.”

“As I understand it, you were conceived through him and your mother having sexual intercourse, therefore-“

“Okay! Thank you,” you interrupted him and raised your hand to sign stop. “What do you want?”

Castiel took a few steps closer to you, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor as he seemed to look for the right words.

“I fear your father- Dean,” he corrected himself with a look in your direction, “does feel very bad about what happened between you and him.”

You pursed your lips. “So? Did he tell you that?”

Castiel looked sheepish. “No,” he answered honestly, “But I know your- him. Just because he does not like to talk about his feelings does not mean that he does not feel them.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Let me ask you something, Castiel,” you said. He nodded. “Anything.”

“Do you know at all what happened? Between me and him?”

Again, Castiel looked away. You did not know this man. You did not know what his history with Dean was, or with Sam. But you knew that he knew nothing.

“No.” That one word confirmed it.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Then - excuse my choice of words - but you have no room to talk. And if Dean wants to tell me something, he can always do that himself. In person. He’s here anyway.”

Castiel nodded. “Alright.”

It was silent again, between you and him, until Castiel took in a sharp breath and leaned forward into something close to a bow.

“I’m sure they await me,” he explained. “Goodbye, Y/N.” He then turned around to open the door, but paused mid his action.

“You do look a lot like him, you know?” He said.

That’s it.

“Out,” you ordered him harshly and Castiel walked through the door, closing it behind him.

—

You had, in fact, ended up helping Cass study for her upcoming exam. Well, what means help, you had asked her questions and she had to answer them correctly - which worked expectedly not so well.

“I can just play the dead friend card,” she had joked, but you knew that she was actually actively considering it.

In that moment though, you had just skipped over her remark and continued asking her about the digestive system of a Baird’s beaked whale.

It was already late at night when the two of you finally hugged goodbye.

“Thank you so much,” she said. “You helped a lot. I’ll forget it all until tomorrow morning, but I do appreciate your effort.”

You smiled at her. “Don’t worry, you’ll nail it. Or at least not fail.”

She laughed. “You think too highly of me, Y/N.”

For a few moments, nobody said a word. “I never asked you,” Cass eventually started, “are you okay?”

You took a deep breath and shifted your weight. “Considering the circumstances, I guess. You?”

“Same thing,” she said. You laid your head back and stared at the ceiling. “It still feels weird only being three people,” you realized.

“Yeah,” Cass agreed quietly.

A few beats of silence passed, until you got yourself back together and shook your body as if to shake off your grief.

“But whatever,” you sighed. “Can’t change that now, can we?”

You looked at Cass and she hummed with a dull shrug, seeming lost in her own thoughts.

She absentmindedly opened her bedroom door, but just as she wanted to disappear into the room, you grabbed her arm to stop her for a second.

“By the way, about your nightmares,” you said, “maybe you can take some pills against that, if it gets too much. Unregulated sleep is probably worse than no sleep.”

Cass managed a tired smile. “Will try, thanks. Goodnight babes, love you,” she threw you a kiss.

“Love you too, good night,” you said back and smiled at her, waiting until she closed the door to enter your own room.

—

You didn’t know what woke you up. The glowing numbers of the digital clock on your nightstand showed it to be somewhere around half past three. Really not your usual wake-up time.

Just as you rolled around in your sheets to get your missing hours of sleep in, you heard strange shuffling outside your door. Perking up, you realized it sounded like the overlapping chatter of voices, and shoes pounding over the smooth floor.

Yeah, no way you would be going back to sleep now.

Especially not with the uncomfortable feeling that had settled into your stomach.

Stumbling a bit, your joints not quite awake yet, you trutted over to your door and creaked it open slightly.

The white light burned your eyes at the start, as you slipped out of your room and were met with the sight of multiple people fussing around not that far away.

The uneasy feeling only got worse, as you realized two things at once: The people were first responders, firefighters, to be exact. And they were all gathered around the open door across the hallway to yours.

Cass.

You moved on autopilot, as your feet carried you closer to the scene, eyes not leaving the gaping black hole that was the entrance to your best friend’s room.

“What happened?” You asked the closest paramedic next to you, a young man with brown hair and dark gear. It didn’t help much, because his voice faded out into the back of your head, as movement began to settle over the group.

The paramedic gestured his hands, as he talked to you, though that was not at all what had grabbed your attention.

You could only look at her, as she was lying sprawled out on the stretcher that was being wheeled out of her bedroom.

Cass.

But it wasn’t Cass, it couldn’t be. Dark grey plastic was wrapped around her body, covering her features as one of the firefighters that pushed the gurney zipped the material closed.

A body bag.

You felt bile rise into your throat.

Who put a seventeen-year-old in a body bag?

She wasn’t supposed to be there. What was she doing in there.

She had a biology exam tomorrow. She was supposed to join you at breakfast. In just a few hours. She was supposed to still lay in her bed and sleep, fast and sound.

Lay in her bed. Not on a moving gurney. Her bed.

You had laid in that bed. Just a few hours before.

The exam.

Breakfast.

Dark grey plastic.

Body Bag. A body. Dead. A dead body.

Dead. Dead. Gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Dead.

Like a distant echo, you still vaguely registered the young paramedic talking to you; he came to an abrupt stop when you bent over and threw up on his shoes.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Sioux Falls 2009

The soft music that sounded through Grandpa Bobby’s old house reminded you of Auntie Ellen’s Roadhouse.

It made you a bit homesick, but for a while now, whenever you asked Dad if you could go there again, he just shook his head and said that it wasn’t possible.

That’s also the reason why you’d been living with Grandpa Bobby for very long now, he had told you.

Auntie Ellen and Jo came to visit sometimes, but it wasn’t the same. But you saw Dad much more often, and you liked that. You missed him whenever he went out and saved people.

Grandpa Bobby had told you that it was very important, what Dad and Uncle Sam did. That’s why you never complained when they stayed away for long.

Grandpa Bobby said they saved lives. Like firemen, he said. Or Sheriff Jody.

Auntie Ellen and Jo came over for a visit today. Dad had said that they were here to help him and Uncle Sam take care of something, that’s why they had to leave later.

Jo was playing your favorite boardgame with you. You had missed her. She was still very pretty. You knew your Dad thought that too.

“Alright,” Dad said, walking through the threshold that connected Grandpa Bobby’s workroom and the dinner table where you and Jo were currently playing. “It’s time to get this little Lady to sleep.”

You pouted at him.

“But Dad, I still want to stay up and play with Jo!”

Dad raised his eyebrows and threw a pointing look at his watch.

“It is already way past your bedtime, kiddo. And I heard tomorrow is a big school day?”

He was right. Tomorrow, you started your first singing lessons with all your bestest friends. Not all of them as best friends as Jo was, though.

Your shoulders slumped.

“Can I at least say Goodbye to you?”

Dean’s gaze went soft as he looked at you. He knew how hard this was for you, how he left all the time and came back for only such short periods. But he wanted to make this a better world for you to grow up in. And when all of this was over, and it would be tonight, hopefully, then he would allow himself to settle down and spend all the time he could give with you.

“Of course you can, my little love.”

Dad crouched down and lifted you up into his arms.

“Dean, Jo!” Came Auntie Ellen’s voice from the study, “We’re ready!”

Dad threw you a mysterious look as he stepped into Grandpa Bobby’s workspace, where he and Auntie Ellen and Uncle Sam already stood lined up.

You noticed the camera set up on a strange construction.

Auntie Ellen and Uncle Sam smiled when they saw you.

“You don’t mind a small addition, do you, Ellen?” Dad asked, and Auntie Ellen shook her head.

“Of course not!” She smiled, and made space for you and Dad to stand next to her. He was still carrying you in his arms, supporting your weight with his hip.

“Alright, on the count of three, all smile in the camera!” Uncle Sam said.

“One, two, three!”

You giggled when Dad tickled your stomach. You wanted to see the picture right now, but Grandpa Bobby had told you it would take a while to develop.

Enveloped in bear hugs from Auntie Ellen, Jo, Uncle Sam and Dad, to say goodbye to them, you finally agreed to go to bed.

“Dad?” You asked him, as he went to close the door behind him. Dad turned around and looked at you, snuggled into the warm blanket with your favorite stuffed animal under your arm.

“You’ll come back soon, right?”

Dad smiled at your words. “Of course I will, sweetheart. And Uncle Sam, and Auntie Ellen, and Jo. All of us.”

“You promise?”

Dad pressed a kiss into your hair.

“Don’t worry about that, baby. Sleep well.”

Even years later, Dean Winchester still carried an old photograph in his wallet, of a brunette mother, a blonde daughter, a father figure, and two brothers.

Though, one of them wasn’t looking at the camera, but rather at the small child he held on his side, his hand on her stomach as she blindingly smiled a carefree smile into the camera.

His own was dreamy as he watched her, and yes, for that moment, he dared to say, maybe even carefree as well.

༺ ｡ ° ୨❀୧ ° ｡ ༻

Now

Cass’s room was never quiet. Whether she was blasting music or playing guitar, singing her soul out in the shower or watching a move obnoxiously louder than it had to be.

Cass’s room was never quiet. Especially not as it was now.

The silver streams of light reaching through the window made her bedroom almost look so soft and inviting, as you stood there, observing, not quite in the hallway but not exactly in the room either.

It was macabre, what you saw. Not because the room looked so terrible, no, because it looked so … normal.

None of the bookshelves were tumbled over, or paper sprawled all across the floor.

The loose decoration items weren’t lying disheveled everywhere. No signs of a fight. A physical one.

The bed wasn’t made. Cass never did that.

The room looked so normal.

It looked so right.

So why wasn’t she?

“Y/N, sweetheart,” The sound of the familiar, comforting voice of Maria Whitlock reached your ears and made you slowly turn around.

Even through the blur of unshed tears in your eyes, you could make out the two familiar figures standing behind her.

“There’s someone here to talk to you.”

You blinked away the tears and caught Dean’s gaze, and for the first time since you had seen him again, his features looked so soft and merciful, towards you, it had the power to almost shatter your heart.

And you hated yourself for how much you wanted to be comforted by him, be held in his arms like the small child that once had been, only seeking safety with her-

“What are you doing here?” The question came out harsher than you had expected it to, almost an accusation. But neither Sam nor Dean did flinch at your tone.

“We wanted to talk to you.”

“Why?” It was obvious why. They knew, you knew, they knew you knew.

“I think you know about what,” Sam said, the softness in his voice grazing your stuttering heartbeat like a soft breeze.

Dean gestured in the direction of your room.

“In private.”

You didn’t want to speak alone to them. Then again, for the past almost-decade, it had been everything you could’ve wished for.

As you settled onto your bed, both Sam and Dean taking it upon themselves to find chairs to be comfortable, you felt like a small child again.

Looking at Dean, there was a familiarity that you needed, it was grounding, and you hated that it was. His presence, which had felt like home, and like safety for so long, being everything that you craved these past few days made your skin itch, because he still felt so right.

And you still felt so safe with him.

In a matter of seconds, you stood there and turned from a young woman into a small child, that wanted to throw herself in his arms and let him tell her that everything would turn out to be alright, because he was there, and he would look out for you. No matter what happened between the two of you, that had not changed, and you didn’t know what to think about it.

Sam was the first one to clear his throat. Of course he was.

“How are you feeling?”

Half-heartedly, because that was all you could muster right now, you raised an eyebrow at him. At least he had the decency to look a bit ashamed of his question.

“We’re sorry for your loss.”

Surprised, you turned your head to look at Dean. His green eyes were soft with sincerity.

“I don’t know how much she meant to you.” He glanced at Sam. “But I can imagine.”

You swallowed hard and looked back at your fumbling fingers again.

“Yeah, she was – she was great.” Your voice broke mid-sentence and you sniffled.

You cleared your throat. “Uhm, but – anyways, that’s not why you’re here. Am I right?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, that could be regret as much as it could be pity, and then turned back to you.

“We’re sorry. But if we want to catch whatever is doing this, we need to have all the information,” Sam apologized.

You nodded. You already knew what they were going to ask, so you saved their time and jumped straight to the answers.

“There was nothing – unusual.” You rubbed your eyes. “She was okay just yesterday, she was- I helped her studying biology, we-“ You interrupted yourself.

Sam threw you another pitying look.

“Is there a chance she might’ve had nightmares too? You know, like Roy,” Dean asked you.

You threw your hand in the air. “Yeah, I guess,” you said. “Didn’t really think that much into it. You know, considering what happened.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheeks and gulped. “Right.”

It was quiet again. The brothers looked at each other one last time, before Sam stood up and fixed his suit jacket.

“Alright. We’re gonna leave you now.”

Please don’t.

You nodded.

Sam stretched his hand out to reach for you, but hesitated mid-air and pulled his arm back again.

“Whenever you need something,” Dean said meaningfully, before he stepped out the door, “Call us.” Call me.

You hummed absently.

The click of the lock drowned the bedroom in a deafening silence again.

—

Night came sooner than you thought it would. Sleep didn’t.

You thought, with the exhaustion that had been dragging down your bones all day long, it would only be a matter of time until exhaustion claimed you.

Without thinking about it, you grabbed your phone from your nightstand and opened up your chat with Finn.

With a sting in your heart, you realized that the last text conversation the two of you had had, had been more than a week ago.

Before all of this started.

Your keyboard clicked as you typed out the message.

hey

The answer came almost instantly.

Hey

can’t sleep either?

No

Your thumbs hovered over the buttons as you thought of what to type next.

I’m sorry we didn’t talk the entire day

It’s okay

It’s not like I came to see you either

would it be terrible to ask how you’re feeling?

Everyone’s been asking that

Oh, how you knew.

But to be honest

I don’t know

First Roy now Cass

Hasn’t reached my brain tbh

Feels more like a dream and I could wake up any second

I know what you mean

You paused for a moment, before you decided to send out the next text.

I’m still waiting for her to waltz into my room at 6 in the morning because she wants to get some mini donuts at breakfast before they’re all gone

You could practically hear the snickering laugh of Finn’s, as the icon told you he was typing out his next message.

Or letting my Alexa play the most random songs

I swear to God I’ve heard less sexual content in actual porn than that one Nicki Minaj song

first of all, it was cardi b, you pig, and

second that song is legendary

she was right to show it to you

A short while, you didn’t get an answer and you were almost afraid that Finn had either fallen asleep or that you had said something inappropriate, when the familiar ding made your screen light up.

We can catch up tomorrow

You know, maybe it would help us both

I know we haven’t been the same since all of this started, but I would really like us to be

Now more than ever

A heavy tug clamped around your heart at his words

you’re right

let’s talk tomorrow

Alright

Goodnight Y/N

good night finn

Sleep didn’t come in the first second after you plugged your phone on the charger, or even after you turned around to face the other wall.

But, as you laid on your back and felt the comforting arms of exhaustion grab after you, you had a feeling that it would’ve been worse if you had not talked to Finn.

—

Meanwhile, in the motel, Dean was slamming his third book this evening shut and tossed it onto the ever-growing pile of “absolute useless crap that nobody needed and was a total waste of time”. The name had been his idea.

Sam didn’t even look up as his brother stood up with a screeching from the wooden floor as he slid the chair back, and started pacing around the room.

“I hate this,” he mumbled under his breath.

“How is it even possible that, everywhere we look, there isn’t even the smallest hint at what we might be chasing?”

Demonstratively, he picks up a book from the pile they brought back from the library, and lets it fall on the desk again.

“Not to mention that we’re completely wasting our time here reading through this absolute crap, and we’ve got jack squat!”

The paper rustled as Sam turned another page.

“I already told you, Dean,” he muttered, eyes still concentrated on the faded ink of the book. “There was nothing online, so we had to go old-school.”

Dean kept muttering under his breath. “This is ridiculous.”

Sam rolled his eyes and placed a new book where his brother had been sitting a few minutes ago.

“If you want it to go faster and we can catch this thing, sit down and get to reading. Research doesn’t do itself.”

Dean was still cursing under his breath when he reached the second chapter.

—

The loud chatter of multiple conversations, accompanied by faint music playing in the background and the occasional clinking of glasses or beer bottles was an all too familiar mix of noises for you.

The light in the Roadhouse bar was still a warm-toned white, and the men and women all towered over you in lengths. Immediately, the feeling of home engulfed you.

You were looking around, searching for the familiar set of colorful crayons, where had your Auntie Ellen put them? You were bored and wanted to draw a pretty picture of the horse you had seen this morning.

Squeezing through the people, they all made way for you when they realized who wanted to get past them, you tried calling out for Auntie Ellen or Jo, but no tone left your throat.

A panicked feeling settled in your stomach.

Then, you spotted a tall figure just a few feet away from you. They were wearing a cool leather jacket and had their back turned to you.

You made your way over to them. You didn’t know why, but somehow you knew that this stranger could help you.

When you had almost reached them, they suddenly started moving and walked away. You wanted to cry after them, but you still couldn’t speak.

You moved your legs as fast as you could, running after them, but the people in the bar suddenly got more and more, always shoving and not making room for you anymore.

The person still hadn’t shown you their face, you could only see their back as you fought to get to them. Then, they walked through the door out of the Roadhouse.

With one last push, and a protesting yell that didn’t leave your throat, you rushed after them into the light.

With a creak, the Impala’s door swung open, and you shuffled your feet out of the car until they hit the gravel.

Dad had offered to open the door for you, but you were a big girl already, you could get out of the car on your own.

When you turned around to ask him what you were doing here, you faltered.

The Impala was gone. So was Dad. And Uncle Sam. You looked around, but they were nowhere to be found. Your breathing quickened as you realized that you were alone, somewhere you didn’t know, on stoney ground with only your bunny slippers. You didn’t even have your favorite stuffed animal with you!

“Hey, let’s go,” you suddenly heard a voice say, and turned around to see a girl with black hair stand in front of you.

Suddenly, as you had just been looking up to her, the two of you were now eye to eye. She just stared at you.

A name popped into your head.

Cass.

That’s weird. You knew a Cass. And then it hit you.

Your best friend. Roy, Finn, Cassandra. Sam and Dean.

But Cass was dead. She couldn’t be here. Looking around, you noticed that the scenery around you was blurry by the edges.

Weren’t you standing on a pathway just now? Why were you in a cafeteria?

This wasn’t real, none of it. It was a dream.

Harsh dread clawed itself into your heart like iced water. You had to get out of here. How did you get out of a dream?

You knew it, you had done this before, with your nightmares. You had to die.

You moved your feet, tried running away, but the floor wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard you tried, you didn’t move an inch, it’s like you were stuck.

You began to panic. This couldn’t be, there had to be a way for you to get out.

The next thing you knew, you lost the ground beneath your feet, and everything was black. You were falling.

You felt your organs being lifted by the air pressing you up, felt your heart pump so hard you were afraid it would jump out of your chest.

There was nothing around, only darkness, only empty.

No, no, no.

You wanted to scream, but your vocal cords were cut. Not a sound escaped your lips.

You had to get out, if there was nothing around you, how could you die?

You screamed without a sound.

If this was your dream, why couldn’t you just shape it the way you wanted?

The next thing you knew, there was light around you, and you were running again.

“Dean, look at this.” Sam slammed a massive book under Dean’s nose, dangerously close to Dean’s freshly filled coffee. Reflexive, Dean pulled the cup a few inches away.

Sam placed his finger on one of the open pages of the book. “Here,” he said. “I think this could be it.” Dean leaned forward to read.

You had landed on a road, a highway, judging by the many cars around you. This time, you actually managed to run somewhere, even if a lot slower than you usually would. Like treading through water.

It felt like you were chasing something, but you didn’t know what it was.

“If this is really it,” Dean said, when he finished reading, “Then we have a big problem.”

You did your best to remember your original plan. Right now, you were on a stripe of green next to the busy road. You had to change that.

Sam nodded heavily. “We need to get to Saint George’s immediately.”

Sam grabbed his jacket, but Dean didn’t move an inch, still staring at the handwritten words on the old paper in front of him.

You used all your strength to tread to the left, where cars were rushing from both sides over the street.

“This thing basically feeds off of bad experiences, right?”

Sam nods.

It was a red car that did it. You saw it coming as you made a beeline over the highway. As you noticed the headlights speeding towards you, for a split second you asked yourself, “What if this isn’t a dream. What if this is real.” You didn’t feel the impact when the car hit you.

“Then that means-“ Dean’s head shot up so fast Sam feared his brother would get whiplash.

“Y/N,” Dean breathed out.

Your heart was still beating rapidly in your chest when you officially woke up. The memory of the nightmare was still rushing through your minds, pictures playing behind your eyelids.

You had a hard time breathing, your chest felt as if it was carrying a hard weight that caged in your lungs.

You forced open your eyes to get yourself a glass of water. You were met with two yellow glowing orbs staring right back at you, merely inches away from your face in the darkness of the room.

You couldn’t stop the terrified scream that erupted from your throat.

oooh guys, only one chapter to go! what are we thinking? do you have any ideas on what the monster could be? and what do we think about cass and finn? comments & reblogs are always appreciated, see y’all in the next part!

[childlikegoblinqueen]

SCOM SIDE STORY FINAL CHAPTER! "And this is my four leaf clover"

Image commissioned by @skeptical-rainbows

RULERZREACHF4N to hello_willow: WiLlow …

Before considering what to say next, Hunter looked at the time and shook his head. He deleted the message and made another attempt at cleaning, only to hear his own scroll buzz on the table. 

hello_willow: Knock knock. 

A matching knock tapped on the front door. Raising an eyebrow, Hunter padded quietly to open it, and there, under the light of the Noceda’s porch – bundled in a thick jacket and a woolen hat in the shape of a bee, stood Willow Park. Her breath hung heavy in the air.

[smallpapers]

Commission for @childlikegoblinqueen ‘s post-canon fic, Sweet Child O Mine!! Tysm for the comm💛💚

This is a sneak peek for a future scene! If you haven’t read the fic go check it out!! It goes in depth with the nuances of dealing with the aftermath of canon AND where they start a family, especially from Hunter’s POV

[prettyhatetrentchine]

Bruh--- GET A ROOM KAHDKAJD I love them

[macfrog]

I miss our beloved scom family. How are they doing this fine day?

god, i miss them too. here's what they probably got up to today.

something blue 3.6k words | series masterlist warnings: y'all know the drill: being a mom.

Sarah leads Ellie, the way she always does, into the kitchen at seven a.m. sharp.

She stops by Joel first, squeezes into his size at the counter, and pushes onto her tiptoes. When he sidesteps to let her see (even though he point-blank refused to let you), she wraps two arms tight around her sister and hoists her up.

“Pancakes!” the three-year-old squeals, and loses her grip on her plastic dinosaur. He falls headfirst into the counter.

“Shh!” Sarah hisses, slinging Joel a disgruntled look. She sighs and swipes the T-Rex from his hand.

“The heck you lookin’ at me for?” he grumbles.

The girls eye you the entire walk over to the table. One as suspicious as the other. Sarah moves smooth, floats over to her spot with her chin skyward.

Ellie thumps at her heels, staring you down and almost stumbling into a chair.

“Careful, Nel,” you whisper, and her poker face cracks. You turn to Sarah. “I know it’s pancakes. It’s the only thing your dad ever figured out how not to burn.”

Joel’s shoulders jump. He swallows the laugh in his chest and says nothing.

Ellie sucks the chocolate clean from her dinosaur’s head. Last week, she decided his name was Bill. You, Joel, and Sarah are still trying to figure out where the hell she came up with it. Whoever he’s named after, she doesn’t like him much – not with the rate she lobs him around.

Kid’s an enigma. She suits it just fine.

She stares at you, still, as Sarah helps her up into her chair. Judders forward with each shove under the table. Comical, the two of them; like Pinky and the fucking Brain, you once told Joel – though you’re still not sure who’s who.

Your eyes drop to a stain on the toddler’s outfit. “You want me to wash that yet, Gagarin?”

She looks down. An arm swishes up to dab at the tangerine splotch. She grins, amused with herself, and shoves the dino back between her gums.

Sarah shakes her head. She turns back to you and flashes a trademark Joel frown. Eight years old and somehow, she manages to encapsulate the same fifty-six-year-old, unimpressed glower.

“Nel,” she turns, uttering between teeth, “You can’t wear dirty clothes today, remember?”

“I don’t think spacesuits are allowed at preschool,” you sigh as you push yourself up. “Much too sophisticated – huh, baby girl?”

Ellie giggles and flings her arms to the ceiling, sending Bill in a somersault across the table. She’s in nothing but pull-ups underneath the onesie – although it’s rare for her to ever be in much more than her pull-ups and, usually, one loose sock.

The suit means she’s feeling fancy. But what the fuck for?

All of Sarah’s leftover chaos, the magic she left in your veins after she was born, seems to have poured into her little sister. Smaller, mightier – more reckless, but not half as savvy.

Rarely seen without one of her prehistoric pals in her fist; evidence of what she had for lunch smeared around her lips. Chasing after Sarah, after Shimmer, after a butterfly that found itself trapped in her bedroom last month.

She scaled a chest of drawers trying to reach it. Joel caught her just in time. Some nights in bed, you can still feel his heart pounding from the scare she gave him.

Chalk and cheese. Sarah and Ellie. The former calm, composed. Candid and levelheaded, book smart and (alarmingly) wise beyond her years.

The latter – well.

It’s her first time on the planet, too, you try to remember.

You wander over to the washer, tossing the suit into the drum. You dig an elbow into Joel’s side and he flinches.

“Can I see yet?”

He turns, shielding whatever’s in front of him with a wide shoulder. “Not yet, baby. Not done.”

“You’re taking fuckin’ forever,” you mumble, pressing the words into his shoulder blade. From the corner of your eye, you watch the girls babbling to each other, scratching Shimmer between her floppy ears.

Joel twists, still hiding with his hands, and dots a tiny kiss on the tip of your nose. He smells like coffee and toothpaste. It still dizzies you every time he’s near enough for you to breathe it in.

“I’m almost done. Promise.”

You steal a kiss from his lips and smirk, stepping away. “Okay,” your eyes drift down to the counter, “If you say s…Alphabet sprinkles?”

His jaw slackens, moves like a bubbling fish. “Uh – they’re for – they’re for somethin’…Duck?” he clears his throat, “Tell your mom what they’re for, would ya?”

Sarah freezes. She stammers just like her dad. She does a lot just like him.

“A…a…a school project,” she says, and stares down at the dog.

“A – a – a school project?”

Your daughter nods. Still fixed on the smudges of sable around Shimmer’s eyes. “Bake sale.”

“You never told me about any bake sale,” you cross your arms, “What’d you make?”

She’s quick as lightning. “Cupcakes. But we haven’t made ‘em yet. Tonight, right, Dad?”

Joel’s voice is hoarse with panic. “Tonight,” he rasps.

You lean back against the counter, eyes shifting to the right. A different tactic. A rogue tactic, that’s for sure, but she has her moments. “…Nel?”

Your youngest looks up from her belly button.

“Not Nel,” Joel pleads, catching your eye for half a second.

“Why not Nel?”

His voice drops. “That kid would spill a state secret if you dangled a marshmallow in front of her.”

You tsk. “That’s mean. And wrong, anyways. The reason they have state secrets is ‘cause of kids like her. We should be proud, Miller.”

Ellie’s clutching the dinosaur when you look back over, chewing on his tail. She blinks back, and you wonder if there’s anything other than mastermind plans of mischief behind her eyes.

Joel says she has the same look in her eye that you do. Like you’re in on something the rest of the world has yet to catch up on. Twins, from the moment she stumbled ass over foot out of your body.

She talks just like you, and acts just like you, and – some nights, chatting sleepy gibberish under the slow turn of her rocket ship nightlight – you figure she must think just like you, too.

The perfect little riot.

Joel nudges you away, whispering, “Go on,” and you snicker, pushing off.

The sun combs through the room, glinting off cutlery and radiating from your daughters’ smiles. They chat and giggle and kick their feet; Sarah blows raspberries and Ellie sprays saliva all over the table when she tries to copy.

This is life, now.

You used to wake up to a silent house, sip your coffee and watch the oven clock count down the minutes until you had to leave for work.

You used to keep the radio on, even when you were out back – just to feel like someone was home with you. You used to sing to yourself as you flicked every light off at the end of the night.

Now, the laughter lives in the walls. It echoes even when you’re home alone. The oven clock counts down until there’s another pair of smaller hands in yours; until your man’s arms are back around your waist where they belong.

Come nightfall, you pluck odd socks and toy cars from under the couch. You tuck your children into bed, nuzzle your nose into their cheeks. You curl up beside Joel and trace shapes into his palm.

I love you, you write, some nights.

Dickhead, on others.

It takes a village, they all say. And sure, sometimes it does.

Sometimes, though, all it takes is two neighbors, a handshake deal, and a little bump named Duck.

“Woah, Nellie,” Joel chuckles, setting the first plate down. He clicks his teeth and taps a light knuckle on the girls’ hands, locked in a death grip. “Play nice. I got yours here, too, kiddo.”

Ellie straightens immediately. She watches, eyes fixed and glasslike, as her own breakfast is presented to her. And then she breaks into a wide grin, cheeks swelling. Her heels thud thud thud on the legs of her chair.

You lean over, cocking your head to see.

Two stacks of fluffy pancakes – a healthy dollop of chocolate spread on Sarah’s, and Ellie’s drizzled in golden syrup. Shards of strawberry and slices of banana scattered over the towers; blobs of whipped cream like clouds.

And on top of each, in clumsy sprinkle letters: Duckie and Nellie.

Sarah grins, two front teeth brand new and beautiful. She picks up her cutlery and raps them against the table, a nervous jitter about her.

You realize, just as her eyes flicker across yours, that she’s not beaming at her pancakes.

You realize, as he sways over to your side, that she’s beaming at him.

He’s holding two more plates. He sets his own down, a messy crater carved into the chocolate.

Your brows pull. “What happened –?”

“Bill happened,” he scoffs, shooting Ellie daggers.

She’s too busy tearing her stack apart, mixing a paste from syrup and cooked batter. There are few things the kid loves more than food and mess – and nothing she loves more than both at the same time.

She looks out of her mind happy, smothering the glossy mixture all over her cheeks, chewing in contentment.

“Like ‘em?” Joel asks, and you glance up.

“Yeah,” you laugh, eyes welling, “I love them. What’s the occasion, Miller?”

“Just…” his head wobbles as he considers it, “…we wanted to ask you somethin’.”

You turn to Sarah.

She’s still smiling, wider than you’ve ever seen. So bright that you worry she might shatter the glassware on the table.

“We?” you ask, smiling much the same.

She gives nothing away, and yet, at the same time – everything. Her knee bounces with excitement. Her breathing quickens.

“You wanna read yours?” Joel asks, tilting the plate in his hand.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No,” you sniff, “I’m scared.”

He lowers the plate.

The letters blur in and out of focus as you blink.

Red, green, yellow, pink. The second M is an upside-down W. The Rs lean into each other, chocolate pushing from the middle of the letters. A question mark crafted from a C and half of another letter.

Your lungs jump, though you knew it was coming. Though you’ve talked about it for months, now.

Let’s just get it outta the way, make it easier for the girls when we’re older. Few forms to fill out then it’s done. We don’t gotta make a big deal of it.

Can’t afford to make a big deal of it, anyway.

Wouldn’t want to make a big deal of it.

You’ve never been one for big deals.

This is a big deal. This is a big fucking deal, Joel.

All multicolored, flecks of whipped cream on them. Silly little alphabet letters.

Marry me?

Joel kneels as you swivel around to him. He kisses your cheek, takes your hands, rubs his thumbs across your knuckles.

“Look,” he says, voice trembling, “I know we said we wouldn’t make a big deal of it. But…you gotta let me make a big deal of it, honey. You gotta let me make a big deal of you.”

You laugh, tears spilling down the front of your shirt. Your heart is pounding, body alight with nerves or excitement or both, in one lightning bolt of feeling.

It’s everything you ever wanted, and nothing you ever expected.

“Everything I have –” Joel says, “– the kids, the house, the dog – I found it all with you. Because of you. I love you so much, and I can’t – I can’t take another minute that we’re not…”

His hands squeeze yours, and you swear you feel your pulses align. Beating together, two hearts on the same bassline.

He swipes the tears from your cheek, catches them in his palm. “…It don’t have to mean anything, I know that – but you, darlin’…you mean everything. What do you say we go do it?”

It’s the easiest thing in the world. And not just because you knew it was coming, knew to expect it soon enough.

Joel could’ve asked you the minute you found out you were pregnant with Sarah, and you reckon you would’ve said yes.

It’s easy. Loving him is so easy. Being with him is so fucking easy.

Coffee at sunrise, low volume TV in the bedroom. Skin and sheets, marks on your neck and chest and thighs. Laughter for breakfast, homework for dinner. Two bodies squeezing into one tiny shower cubicle, Joel’s hand over your mouth to muffle your giggles.

“Today,” you whisper, cupping his jaw. “I want to do it today.”

“Today?” his eyes flash over your shoulder to his daughters, “We gotta take the girls to –”

“No, we don’t,” your head shakes, “Do we have a marriage license?”

“Got it last week.”

“Then they come with. We get all dressed up, all four of us, and head down to the courthouse. We’re married by the end of the day.”

He laughs, loose and disbelieving. Shakes himself back into the room. “Today,” he repeats. “As in, right now?”

“Right now, baby.”

“Okay. Yeah, alright. Today.”

“Ask me.”

Joel’s cheeks lift. Tears disappear into his beard.

You lean forward, lining your forehead against his. “Ask me, Miller,” you whisper.

It’s no big deal. It’s a regular Wednesday. Packed lunches and dinosaurs with Nutella in their teeth.

It’s no big deal, but when he asks you, time stops.

“Will you marry me?”

“Fuck yeah, I will.”

Sarah takes forty-five minutes to apply your mascara, some powder, and a pink lip. She promises she’s being neat, and you tell her you don’t care – you’ll love it either way.

She says she knows, but she promises she is anyway.

Ellie curls up in your lap and twists your necklace around her fingers. She asks four times if her spacesuit is dry yet.

“Ellie,” Sarah warns – and you know it’s serious when she uses her sister’s real name – “You can’t wear a costume to a wedding.”

“Mama is!”

“No she ain’t! Brides are s’posed to wear white. Mama’s dress ain’t white. What you got on is fine,” she decides.

Ellie knows better than to keep arguing. She catches her heel in her hands, huffing. “Wanted to be an ass-traut.”

You catch Sarah’s eye. Don’t.

She bites her giggle.

“You are an astronaut,” you squeeze your toddler, “Our astronaut. Whether you’re in your spacesuit, or you got your big bare butt out for us all to see.”

She giggles into herself, a sound sweet enough to convince the sun to rise at dawn. Her baby teeth are small and wonky. She snorts, settles in your arms again, and watches Sarah lean in with the lipstick.

You lift your chin, holding steady. “Is Dad ready?”

She pauses, letting go of her breath. “He says he’s been ready the last half hour,” she mutters, and dabs more color on.

“Is he nervous?”

Her eyes lift. Eyelashes long and thick – black mascara that you made her pinkie swear she’d wipe clean the moment she gets home.

She smirks. It’s like looking in a mirror. “Are you?”

You press your lips together, blending the pink. “Little bit. You think that’s a good sign?”

“Mhm.”

Sarah straightens, capping the lipstick. She smiles at her masterpiece. “You look beautiful, Mama.”

“Well,” your chest fills, “I’m only beautiful ‘cause you made me that way, Duck.”

Joel’s voice sails upstairs and into the little pink room.

“Courthouse is closin’, sun’s almost down, they’re diggin’ my damn grave already. Are we good to go, or what?”

Sarah grins and leaps over an upturned toybox in the middle of her room. She pirouettes out to the landing, pursing and then smacking her lips together.

You fix Ellie’s skirt and lead her out after her sister. “’s go, Nellie.”

“Mama,” she tugs at the fabric, “I gotta…Need…need…”

“Shit,” you whisper, watching the ballerina twirl downstairs to her dad. “Uh…Duckie?”

“Hi, pretty Duck,” Joel calls, catching her in his arms. He spins her around and the skirt of her dress billows.

Her little heels click when he lets her down. She keeps on spinning, watching herself in the mirror.

“Baby?” Joel calls. “Y’all ready?”

“Nel’s gotta go!” you reply.

He scoffs. “She nervous or som’?”

“Or som’,” you sigh, walking the kid into the bathroom.

Ellie takes about as long as a three-year-old should, to be fair to her. It requires an amount of determination that right now, neither of you have the focus to lend it. Potty training doesn’t wait up, even for weddings.

Eventually, she announces with a triumphant shout that she’s done, Mama! – and claps her hands as the toilet flushes.

You carry her downstairs, heels clunking on the solid wood. At the bottom you set her free – and she sprints out to join her sister on the lawn.

The pair run circles around one another. They cartwheel on the grass; they race Shimmer and use the flowerbeds as hurdles. They dirty their dresses – ivory stained with bursts of green – though they look better that way, anyway.

They take turns playing Swingball with the only remaining racket (a mysterious disappearance that neither will own up to, and both are most certainly involved in). Sarah tells Ellie that she won – and the smaller girl throws her fists in the air and roars in victory.

Joel stands on the porch, hands in his pockets, watching. Even from behind, you can see the shape of his cheeks: he’s smiling. He crosses one foot over the other and taps his heel against the wood.

You emerge from the house slowly, quietly. “We didn’t get matching corsages this time,” you say, and he turns.

He starts, as though he glitches for a second. As though his world tilts on its axis, just from looking at you. His expression softens, his lips curve into a smile.

Then he breathes a laugh – a shaky thing, like he’s seventeen again, watching his homecoming date saunter over.

“That’s alright,” he replies, and slips a hand into his suit pocket. He fishes out two white tulips. “Remembered Alice dropped these off the other day. Here.”

Delicately, lighter than the breeze, he tucks the flower behind your ear. He steps back to admire his work, just like his daughter did.

All the best parts of you, you reckon, are the parts that are loved by them.

“How do I look?” you ask.

Joel sucks in a shattered breath. “Beautiful,” he chokes, like it’s all his voice will allow. He sniffs, drags his knuckles across the bottom of his nose, and says, “You ain’t never looked more beautiful.”

“Your turn.”

You take the second tulip from his fingers and drop it into his breast pocket, turning it until it looks perfect. “There,” you pat his chest, “Now we both look beautiful.”

He steps forward, dipping his head to kiss you. Arms around your waist, hands splayed on your back. He laughs against your lips. “Don’t think I don’t know what this is,” he mumbles, tugging at the pale material.

“It still fits!” you say, running a palm down the smooth silk. Flashes of light, a squealing guitar, heated kisses and a thudding bassline. It spins past your eyes as he leans in again.

He tastes the same. Less alcohol, sure – but that same, sweet-as-honey, instantly intoxicating taste. Like you were a goner before you even hit the mattress.

You look back up, and Joel’s eyes are on yours.

“After two kids, it still fits,” you whisper.

“Hm,” he muses, glancing down. His hands slip around your ass. “Looks even better than it did then, Mama.”

You laugh against his lips. “It’s my something blue.”

“Oh, yeah?” He lifts an eyebrow. “What else you got?”

“Well, something borrowed –” you hold your left hand up, a plastic ring glinting in the sunlight, “– Duck gave me some of her finest jewelry. Something new –” you wiggle your earlobe, “– Mother’s Day earrings, and…something old…”

Joel tilts his head. His expression tightens, tightens, tightens – until he understands. He clicks his teeth and steps back. “Funny. You’re so funny, I ever tell you that?”

You giggle, letting him drag you across the porch. “I’m just bein’ realistic, man. What else do I got that’s as old as you?”

He ignores you. It makes you laugh even harder.

It always did.

The wind surfs through silk, lifting your skirt as you stride over the driveway. Your hands stay interlocked – and you know that, secretly, Joel’s as nervous as you.

He whistles and his daughters look up.

“Serena, Venus,” he calls, nodding to the truck. “Get in.”

They skip over. Sarah takes her dad’s hand – the picture of royalty as he aids her up into the backseat – and Ellie swings into your arms.

You strap them in, point fingers to warn them not to bicker, and climb in the front.

The doors slam closed and you exhale slowly. Two kids aren’t any more complicated than one – especially in yours and Joel’s case – but holy shit, they’re tiring.

They compare dresses in the backseat. What color is yours, Duck? Pink, Nel. Is mine’s pink, Duck? Yours is yellow, Nel.

Joel’s hand slips around your knee. He smiles. Gives your leg a little squeeze. He flicks the radio on, and an Eagles track sways through the cabin. He fixes the tulip in your hair, peppers kisses along your wrist.

His voice is as soft as Henley’s, when he asks –

“Wanna go to a wedding?”

[childlikegoblinqueen]

Began writing fan fiction as a therapist suggestion. Can confirm.

My therapist just told me my problem is that I need to write more fanfiction.

[klaus-littlestwolf]

I am Yours, You are Mine -Aemond T.

This is an A/B/O fic. You have been warned.

Everyone knew, they had always known.

It wasn’t hard to figure out from what I assume, my mothers children are all boys with brown hair and brown eyes, I have white hair and purple eyes. Everyone knew my older brother Jace and my younger brothers Luke and Joffrey were Harwin Strongs children and just like that, everyone knew that I was the daughter of Daemon Targaryen.

Laenor hadn’t been able to give my mother a child and I looked nothing like him, Daemon however…I’m told I’m the spitting image of him. So while I am technically a bastard, I’m also full Targaryen, so I was never treated like it. I was born only 5 moons after Aemond was and therefore was raised with him in a way, as we grew up his older brother Aegon and my older brother Jace got close, at least closer than they were to us and Aemond got picked on a lot. He didn’t have a dragon, and while I didn’t either, everyone knew to leave me alone, whether it was because I was a girl or because I was Daemons daughter I don’t know. My father is the only current Targaryen Alpha in the world and that made people so much more terrified of him than they already were.

Most people in the world present as Betas, it’s normal and no one really thinks twice about it, an Alpha however is a blessing from the Gods. He will be stronger, and tougher, and defend your family better than a Beta can, at least that’s what people believe, an Alphas instincts being so much stronger than a Betas, the only presentation stronger still is an Omega, and an Omega is considered a blessing from the mother herself. Presentation happens around puberty but usually you can see certain traits in children to tell if they will be anything other than a Beta, my mother believes I will be an Omega because even with a father like Daemon I’m quiet and sweet, always the most submissive in the room which for a Princess is a good thing.

Aemond and I spent more and more time together as we got older, him being shunned from the group with his older brother and mine, along with Luke who followed them around like a puppy and didn’t mind getting pranked once in a while. Aemond was the smartest of all of them, he enjoyed learning, and training, but most of all, he had no dragon. Neither of our dragon eggs hatched and the both of us bonded over that, and I always tried to make my uncle feel better when they had been particularly cruel, like the day they gave him a pig instead of a dragon. We skipped dinner that night and sat together in the library for hours just talking. He was my best friend, and my closest ally in the world, we made promises to always be there for each other.

The promises of children never seem to last though…even if the children weren’t the ones to break them.

After Joffrey was born mother moved us back to Dragonstone, me kicking and screaming, clinging to my uncle who held me just as tightly until our mothers gave up. We had a small second of hope as I wrapped my arms around his neck and he held me to him so tightly it almost hurt. That’s when our mothers called for their guards and we were yanked apart harshly and I was carried all the way to the ship that would take us home.

We weren’t apart for long after that, my fathers wife dying in childbirth brought us back together for her funeral. As soon as I saw him I pulled away from Jace and ran to Aemond who held me close and breathed in my scent as I did his, it was a comfort that only we seemed to give each other. I stayed by his side holding his arm while everyone spoke about Laena, saying kind words about a women I barely knew while my “father” stood in the ocean below, crying for the Gods only know how long.

Aegon was with us for some time, watching the maids and being his normal vile self and eventually we were alone, speaking as if no time had passed at all. That moment as we sat on the steps talking would be one I regret for many years to come, watching Aemond as he gazed at Vhagar. I knew my uncle wanted a dragon, more than even I did and I told him he should go, as the sun went down and people filed inside to bed, I encouraged him to mount her while he had the chance. 2 hours later I was awoken to a knight running into my room to check on me and seeing I was in bed and fine. I followed him downstairs to my mothers relief, Luke was bleeding from the nose, Alicent was angry beyond belief and my uncle and best friend sat with a maester stitching his eye up. I moved to his side quickly, taking his hand in my own and holding it tightly, allowing him to squeeze it as he got stitched up and everyone continued screaming. I didn’t care for the politics, I didn’t care for the threats, or insults, only that my favorite person sat beside me maimed and my brothers had done it. I stayed by his side for the rest of the evening, even as the maester gave him milk of the poppy to be able to sleep, snuggling into his chest and feeling his arms around me as he slept soundly and all the while I felt sick to my stomach knowing that what Jace had said to me when I hugged my mother had been completely true… ‘This is all your fault’

I was taken from Aemond’s bed late in the morning, he had awoken to eat and been put back to sleep, all the while clinging to my hand. My mother took us home immediately, we went back to Dragonstone and so did Daemon who quickly married my mother as soon as Laenor passed.

Jace and Luke were quick to blame me for everything, knowing that I had encouraged Aemond to mount Vhagar, maybe if I hadn’t he would still have his eye and I wouldn’t have had to leave again. Maybe Rhaena wouldn’t despise me for “helping to steal her mothers dragon” even if I don’t believe you can have claim to a dragon if it hasn’t chosen you. Jace and Luke spent all their time with Baela and Rhaena and I was left alone, not wanting to be near my brothers to hear about how much they and Aemond despise me, how the only person I had ever truly loved besides my mother wouldn’t even write to me anymore no matter how many times I wrote him apologizing. My mother and father were the only people I ever spoke to anymore, Daemon practically claiming me as his own even if he couldn’t “officially” do that and I learned that being alone is better for everyone, especially once I presented. Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena had all presented as Betas as expected but I was “blessed” to a life as an Omega, suffering through my heats alone in a locked room, only maids to bring me food and try to relieve my pain which never worked.

I was 15 before I was truly blessed with anything in my life, out for a walk by myself, having escaped my guard and stumbling upon a dragon. The Grey Ghost was a name given to a shy, pale dragon, one I never hoped to even get a glimpse of in my life and I suddenly had, his eyes locked on mine as if waiting to see what I would do and so I reached into my bag to get the bread I brought with me and the fish I planned to cook on my little adventure, tossing them to him and watching as he snubbed the bread and ripped the fish apart. I had sat down on a boulder, watching as he ate, assuming this would be the only time I would ever see this elusive creature but it wasn’t. He had laid down to nap after eating and the next day he sat at the same spot as I brought him an even bigger fish. That went on for nearly 2 weeks of me bringing him food and talking to him before he approached me and allowed me to touch him, letting me mount him after that. I kept him away from the pits, away from everyone who only saw him when I went flying, knowing he was just as comfortable around people as I was, which was not at all. I even had all of my riding gear dyed as close to his color as I could, making it truly impossible for anyone, even another dragon rider to find us in a cloud bank. Daemon was impressed, believing it was a useful skill, especially for an Omega to be able to hide like that. Life continued on like that until Corlys’ injury, resulting in all of us needing to return to Kings Landing to fight for Luke’s inheritance. I was less than enthusiastic about going but my mother forced me onto the ship.

In Kings landing once again I was stuck with Jace and Luke as mother and Daemon wanted to go see Grandfather, forcing me to follow them to the training yard that I hadn’t seen since I was a small child. Everyone’s attention was on a fight in the center of the yard and I pushed between Jace and Luke to be able to see, seeing Criston Cole fighting a young man with an eye patch and knowing instantly that it’s Aemond, and that he is winning, dodging the mace repeatedly before his blade was at Cole’s throat and I ducked behind Jace and Luke, catching a very strong Alpha scent as I did and feeling my stomach twist into a knot.

‘Nephews. Have you come to train?’ He questioned and I knew they were no where close to as good as he is, he would kill them. They had continued training but not very much and Aemond is clearly quite passionate about it. ‘Niece, lovely to see you again…or smell you I should say, and what a lovely scent it is. Hmm?’ I blushed darkly, not moving from behind my brothers until Jace turned and pushed me to walk back the other way.

‘I would stay close if I were you sister, wouldn’t want to be alone with him, would you?’ Luke teased and I wanted desperately to strangle the cocky little bastard but the last time I had hit him I’d given him a black eye and made him cry like a bitch, mother made sure I knew Omegas should never be violent, especially when they’ve been trained by Daemon and could make a man feel emasculated enough to be murderous.

I sighed, rolling my eyes and following them inside, finding my room as quickly as I could and locking the doors. I sat on the windowsill and stared out over Kings Landing, seeing a dip in the clouds and knowing my dragon had followed us, it was a comfort in case I needed an escape and knowing my family, I definitely will.

I stayed in my room until my mother came to get me, walking all of us together down to the throne room where I stayed as close to my father as I could, feeling men’s eyes on me, flinching from one who leaned in to smell me making my father turn and glare down at him, the man moving to the other end of the room quickly. I held onto his belt as Otto Hightower spoke, feeling eyes on me and knowing Aemond was staring as well. That same Alpha scent was back and my stomach felt like it was quivering as the wonderful smell assaulted me. My attention was only drawn when the doors opened to reveal our grandfather looking rough…half dead honestly as he walked into the room, stumbling up to his throne, Daemon helping him as he dropped his crown and leaving me exposed with no one to hide behind until he came back. I watched on, thoroughly entertained as Vaemond shouted about Luke and Jace being bastards, and actually couldn’t contain my snort as Daemon cut off his head though as expected nothing happened to him and Luke keeps his inheritance.

‘Now, if we’re through with this useless event, I think we can-‘

‘Actually my King, if I may?’ Otto asked, approaching the throne and mumbling something to him quietly.

‘Are you sure? Rhaenyra! Why was I unaware of your daughter presenting as an Omega?’ The King asked and my blood ran cold, Daemon pushing me completely behind him.

‘She was not ready for every noble man in the kingdom to be vying for her hand Father, I was protecting my baby. I apologize if you think I’ve hidden it from you but that was never my intention.’ She explained.

‘My girl, this is wonderful! Otto is right, there’s no need for anyone to look for a husband when we have a perfect Targaryen Alpha right here. Honestly I always did believe Aemond and Y/n would end up marrying, they were so sweet when they were babes.’ I backed away from Daemon, moving around the crowd and moving towards the doors the maids use to get to the kitchen quickly. ‘My son, you will take Y/n as your wife, do you have any objections?’ The King asked and I waited a moment, waiting for him to start yelling, or begging to get out of it…but he didn’t.

‘It will be my honor Father. Thank you.’

‘Well then it is settled, there will be a wedding, right here tomorrow night-‘

‘Tomorrow?!’ My mother exclaimed.

‘I’m a sickly, old man Rhaenyra, I would like to witness their union before I pass on. You can afford me that, can you not?’ He questioned and I knew my mother would cave at that as I got to the door, pushing it open quietly.

‘Father, I would like to request one thing. Since it must be such a quick wedding, I would like to do it in the traditional Valyrian custom.’ Aemond asked and I took pause.

When we were children we discussed just this, we talked about how we would be married one day and I told Aemond that I wanted to do it right, in the old customs. Since the day I learned of the traditional wedding I thought it was beautiful and I wanted it more than anything, Aemond promising me the perfect wedding. The idea that he remembered and even cared enough to request such a thing brought tears to my eyes.

‘I don’t see why not, I leave it to my wife and daughter to sort out the details with the bride and groom.’ My mother and the queen? And they want me in the middle of that? Fuck no.

I turned, leaving out the door, quickly running down the corridor and into the kitchens which were busy making dinner, allowing me to run through quickly and out another side door. I just made it to the gardens and down the steps, hiding in the bushes when a guard rushed out after me. ‘Princess! Princess! Your mother demands your presence!’ He shouted, running into the garden while I crept out and down the side of the castle. One good thing about growing up in a castle, you learn how to get around quickly and unseen.

I looked up to the sky, hoping to see my dragon, knowing exactly what he looks like now that I’ve spent so many years by his side and on his back. ‘Come on Ghost! Where are you?’ I questioned, getting down the stairs to the front of the castle, peeking around the corner to see many guards and I quickly moved around the wall and past the gates to the plaines where I knew Vhagar rested by the water. I kept far away from the resting place of the nearly 2 centuries old dragon and whistled, seeing the grayish white color separate from the clouds and dive down towards the ground, landing just ahead of me and just as he nudged his giant head into me in greeting a voice stopped me.

‘Byka Zaldrīzes!’ I froze, knowing only my uncle had ever called me that. He had since we were kids and I was trying to comfort him when he was upset about not having a dragon. My child brain figured, I’m a Targaryen, I can be your dragon and it made him laugh so hard he couldn’t breathe. He called me Little Dragon ever since. ‘Where are you going to go?’ He asked, not yelling…not even seeming angry.

‘Home…’

‘Going home already, and I didn’t get a hello or a goodbye. I admit, I had hoped for a different reaction.’ He stepped closer, Ghost growling but not doing anything more as I shushed him to keep him calm. ‘You used to be excited by the prospect of us being married.’ That wonderful Alpha scent came over me again and I could no longer deny that it was him I was smelling, though deep down I knew it was. ‘You can’t even look at me?’ His voice held more emotion now, upset at the idea I couldn’t face him.

‘Please Aemond, please stop this? You don’t want to be married to me, there’s no point in whatever you’re doing…’ I told him, turning to face him and I couldn’t deny how beautiful he is. I had always found him cute but he had become incredibly handsome the past 9 years.

‘You dare tell me what I want? You?! After all of this time?! I have always wanted you Y/n and I always will, nothing will change that apart from you telling me you no longer love me and that my face is too much for you to accept as your Lord Husband.’ My eyes widened and I took an unintentional step forward.

‘Aemond, you are beautiful, you always have been! No scar changes that, and it could certainly not change the way I feel for you-‘

‘Then why do you run from me? Why have you spent 9 years not answering my letters? Why do you find it so hard to look me in the face? Why-‘

‘Because it’s my fault!’ I shouted, unable to take his questions anymore. ‘Because if I hadn’t encouraged you it wouldn’t have happened, no one would have fought, you wouldn’t have lost your eye! It’s my fault! And Jace and Luke, they tell me all the time and I don’t want to hear how much you hate me! I don’t want to hear you lie and tell me I ignored you, I wrote you every day for months! You never responded and I don’t think I can handle hearing how much you hate me Kepus…I can’t…’ the tears were now streaming down my face like crazy and as I reached to wipe them away he grabbed ahold of my wrists, forcing me to look at him.

‘You think I blame you?’ His voice was so soft it actually startled me. ‘Y/n…first of all I never got letters from you and I’m realizing you didn’t receive mine either which I’m assuming was your brothers but Gods Y/n! I have Never blamed you for that night!’ His face was so serious and hard I knew he wasn’t lying.

‘Never?’

‘Not for one second! You are the only one who gave me any kind of comfort, everyone else was either scared or angry, but you just held me. I loved you so much in that moment I thought my heart would explode! Waking up next to you in the morning, in so much pain, but you were there to make me feel better…then you were gone. My Little Dragon was gone and I couldn’t even speak to her, and now I come to find out you’re carrying guilt that has never been yours to hold! Your brother did that, not you, Luke! He chose to pick up that blade and slice my face, not you! And Vhagar was no one’s to claim, she chose me and I chose her, and yes you helped make me feel better about it but I was going to go to her no matter what you said…please let go of that guilt, my Princess?’ I nodded, sniffling as he let go of my arms and used his thumbs to wipe my eyes before leaning close and pressing his lips to mine. ‘You’re mine Byka Zaldrīzes, all mine!’ He swore, kissing me again, harder this time and pulling me flush against his chest. ‘My Little Dragon is going to be my wife, the mother of my children, my perfect little Omega…Fuck you smell amazing!’ He groaned, digging his face into my neck and inhaling deeply.

‘That’s enough!’ A deep voice shouted and Aemond jumped but I knew exactly who it was.

‘Father, you ruin everything.’ I teased and he just smiled as he got closer, Ghost rumbling in irritation at how many people are here now, seemingly willing to deal with my Alpha and that is all. ‘Did you take my letters?’ I asked and he instantly looked confused.

‘What?’

‘The letters I wrote Aemond, and the letters he wrote me, we never got them. Was it you? I am asking you despite the fact that you’re the least likely…I’m going to kill Jace…and Luke.’ I told him and he seemed irritated.

‘If they really did that, then they will be punished, I assure you. However right now, we need to get you back inside and help your mother plan a wedding.’ I hesitated but nodded my head, moving to follow Daemon and he turned to walk away as well just as I pulled away from Aemond and climbed onto Ghost.

‘Y/n, what are you doing?’ He laughed.

‘You think I’m going to mediate our mothers? Not gonna happen, by this time tomorrow we’ll be married or they’ll be dead, but I won’t be in the middle. Bye father!’ I shouted, hearing Ghost rumble. ‘Sovēs!’ I commanded before he leapt into the air and began climbing towards the clouds. ‘You saved my life, you know that?’ He screeched and I snorted. ‘Not really I suppose, but it wouldn’t have been fun…at all.’ We stayed like that, flying contently over the clouds for several minutes before Ghost seemed agitated and I turned to see the shadow of a large dragon above us causing me to push Ghost down before seeing Vhagar behind us, Aemond laughing while Ghost complained. ‘Not Funny Kepus!’ I shouted, diving after him as he turned to land on a nearby island.

‘I like it when you call me that, Princess.’ He told me as we both got our feet back on the ground.

‘Really? I would have thought you would hate it. My father does, it makes him feel Old when my mother uses it.’ I laughed and he just snorted, laying out his jacket for me to sit on so I could be comfortable.

‘He is nearly 20 years older than your mother, of course he hates it. When you say it, it just excites me.’

‘Hmm, well then I will refrain. Wouldn’t want to excite you too much, would we?’ I leaned into his side and he wrapped his arms around me, Vhagar laying down behind us and Ghost wanting to lay his head on my lap but I wouldn’t let him with Aemond here too.

‘I knew you would be a perfect little Omega, I just knew it. So perfect Y/n, and all mine.’ Aemond’s nose trailed through my hair and I loved the feeling.

‘Not yet Kepus, you need to wait to say that until we’re married-‘

‘Are you going to tell me that you belong to someone else, Omega? Because I will remove their organs.’ He threatened. ‘I’m already keeping myself from killing your brothers so save yourself more problems. If any man has dared put their hands on you-‘

‘Aemond!’ I exclaimed, laughing as he went on his tirade. ‘No one has touched me! Jace tried once when I went into heat the first time but I smacked him so hard his ears rang for a week. I love the possessive attitude but no one has touched me.’ I teased him, giggling as he trailed his nose over my scent gland, groaning.

‘Good, because I would’ve killed them. I told you before, you’re all mine Byka Zaldrīzes, Alphas pretty little Omega.’ His lips wrapped around my scent gland, sucking on my neck and making me cry out. ‘Oh, such sweet little sounds you make for me, my good girl.’ He teased, pushing me onto my back and laying over top of me, arm circling my waist. ‘I’ve waited so long to have you under me like this, to have to wait one more day is torture.’

‘You will survive Kepus, no one will keep us apart again…I am yours, and you are mine. Forever.’ I trailed my fingers up his jaw to his cheek and removed his eyepatch, dropping it to the ground and taking his face into my hands, his eyes closing as I held him.

‘Should they try, I will set this whole world on fire my love. No one will dare take you from me again.’ His voice was firm and fiery, every bit the Dragon that he was always meant to be.

As he leant down, I turned my head and let his lips touch my cheek. ‘We’re not yet married Aemond.’

‘Surely you can afford me a kiss, we will be married by this time tomorrow, don’t make me wait to kiss you one moment longer.’ I had to giggle at the way he made it seem like a life or death situation. ‘I had your first when we were only 8, I would have your last before you’re married.’ His fingers trailed over my cheek as I blushed a dark red before I leaned closer and felt his lips on mine. They were soft and warm as he held me close. I touched my fingers softly to the scar under his eye, hating that he had had to suffer so much pain and I couldn’t even be there for him, or even write to him. ‘I am sorry this is the face you must look at for the rest of our marriage, I-‘

I glared up at him and flicked his nose hard before he could finish speaking. ‘You will not speak ill of the man I love that way! Do you hear me? I care very little about a scar, I’m just sorry that I could not stop it.’

‘Little Dragon-‘

‘All this scar shows me is how strong and tough my husband is. It tells me that I will be safe in his arms and bed, and that our children will never know the feeling of danger…I love you Aemond.’ I could see the unshed tears in his eye that I knew he would never let fall and I pressed my lips to his again.

‘I love you Y/n. You are mine, and I am yours. ‘

For everyone who asked me for more Aemond content as well as those who asked for more Alpha/Omega fics.

I hope you liked it, cause I loved writing it!

Aemond T. Masterlist

[sabtanh1]

Genshin Impact recs (Sumeru)

☁︎ = fluff    ⚠︎ = smut    ❇ = angst    ☘ = au's    

☕︎︎ = slow burn    ✿ = series    ᰔ = blurb

Navigation . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Alhaitham

Adore, adore, adore (☁︎)

When they’re dads (☁︎)

Act professional (☁︎)

Jealousy is a fickle thing (☁︎)

Fractured serenity (❇)

Sugar daddies (⚠︎)

Not jealous (❇, ☁︎)

From me, for you (❇, ☁︎)

You kept me like a secret, but I kept u like an oath (pt1, pt2) (❇, ☁︎)

Next time (pt1), This time (pt2) (❇, ☁︎)

Forget him, be with me instead (❇, ☁︎)

Lactating (⚠︎, ᰔ)

Sweet! (⚠︎, ᰔ)

Cyno

Bring your child to work day (☁︎)

When they’re dads (☁︎)

Giving them a friendship bracelet (☁︎, ᰔ)

Sweet! (⚠︎, ᰔ)

Forget him, be with me instead (❇, ☁︎)

Tighnari

Sugar daddies (⚠︎)

His first (⚠︎)

Heated mind (⚠︎)

Sweet! (⚠︎, ᰔ)

Forget him, be with me instead (❇, ☁︎)

Kaveh

When they’re dads (☁︎)

His first (⚠︎)

Riding his face (⚠︎)

Sweet! (⚠︎, ᰔ)

Forget him, be with me instead (❇, ☁︎)

Wanderer/Scaramouche

All mine (☁︎)

You have a lover?! (☁︎)

Cover me in sunshine (☁︎)

Confessions gone wrong… (☁︎)

Restart (❇)

Needy catboy (⚠︎)

Lactate (⚠︎)

Getting what he wants (⚠︎)

Like what you see (☁︎, ᰔ)

Boyfriends (☁︎, ᰔ)

Giving them a friendship bracelet (☁︎, ᰔ)

s/o with a comfort pillow (or toy) (☁︎, ᰔ)

Who's a good kitty? Cmon! (⚠︎, ᰔ)

Sweet! (⚠︎, ᰔ)

Forget him, be with me instead (❇, ☁︎)

Different body, same mind (☁︎, ⚠︎)

Second shift (⚠︎, ☘)

Nilou

Nothing here yet...

Sethos

Nothing here yet…

Candace

Nothing here yet...

Dehya

Nothing here yet...

send me more fics to read! ₊˚⊹♡

Last updated: 9/8/24

[softfem-dom]

the girl interrupted syndrome 🐇 ,, featuring MENTAL HOSPITAL x-men AU

" why do these eyes of mine cry? " bot m.list

You're just a poor unfortunate soul that has been shown the worst faces of earth, of humanity. You're broken, at least your mindheart is. Will you be able to find solace within the halls of Xavier's Centre for Troubled Youngsters?

that's solely up to you, dear user.

⌢⠀ ★ .ᐟ

XMEN BOT SERIES !

I N T R O D U C T I O N !

hello and welcome to this little idea of mine that has popped into my head just recently! have you ever dreamed of some tooth rotting fluff with your favourite superheros holding your hand every step of the way to your recovery? or are you the kind that just wants the most gut-wrenching angst to feast on because we like to make ourselves cry?

Either way, here —if anything related to mental health recovery fics calls out to you— you'll find exactly that!

this is a compilation, an ongoing character ai bot series, about (some of)the different x-men characters working as staff in the Mental Health Care Hospital you've been admitted to!

For what? Well, that's up to what you want to request and yes I'll write for any and all mental health cases (or two/three at a time).

These are bots made explicitly for platonic use and diversity means, I don't care if your illness is barely spoken about. You ask me and I deliver! This is about you, dear reader!

MEET THE WORKING STAFF !

Charles Xavier —head psychologist, founder of the Centre. sadly not available for requestable bots :(

Jean Grey —head nurse, she gives the meds and handles the infirmary.

Ororo Munroe —general nurse, watches over the kids and their needs.

Scott Summers —general nurse, watches over the kids and their needs. on guard duty when you go out to the garden.

Logan Howlett —general nurse, only takes late evenings and night shifts. war veteran, surgeon just incase you try something kid.

Hank McCoy —psychologist, handles the talks and the exams.

Remy Lebeau —chef, he makes the meals for the kids. might sneak you a sweet or two if you're feeling down.

Kurt Wagner —pastoral consuelor, he's just a nice christian guy that tries to offer reassurance and be there for the kids. he cares for them while teaching those who want about the god above

Wade Wilson —'child' entertainer, he comes in twice a week to run activities to keep you all going. might not or might've tried to sneak you out once or twice to take you out for ice cream.

BOT REQUESTS FOR THIS SERIES ARE OPEN! any mental health issues and illness are welcomed, specially those that don't get that much recognition! you can request any character from those above except charles and you must dive a bit into the scenario you want!

ex : hey, I would like a Hank Mccoy bot where he has the weekly talk with suicidal user and he notices that she's starting to make self-depricating jokes/comments again. Thank you! <3

⚠ YOU NEED TO SPECIFY THE MENTAL ISSUE AND IF IT'S NOT REALLY WELL KNOWN GIVE IT'S FULL MEDICAL NAME SO I CAN SEARCH IT UP!!! ⚠

go wild !

[childlikegoblinqueen]

Also ? TRY not to force the plot to move when it’s not ready yet. I’m trying so hard to get to the end of SCOM authentically, but I get anxious that I’m boring or annoying my readers.

On the other hand? Whenever I try too much to get into an arc that doesn’t feel ready, I hate what I have written!

If you’re certain your end goal will be a good payoff just stick with it!

Do you have any advice and how to write a long fic?

I'll encourage long fic writers to add on in the notes, but as someone who tends to prefer short and medium-length fic, I'll tell you how I go about it.

Get a premise that you just absolutely love. You're going to be writing this thing for months, if not longer, so you want it to be something you're willing to spend a lot of time thinking about.

Embrace subplots. You'll have your main plotline that you want to see through from beginning to end, but you can also weave in some subplots here or there. The way I do this so that I don't get lost down a rabbit hole is that I always make sure that every chapter has at least 1 thing that moves the main plot forward and then if I want to spend 1-2K with some side characters doing something fun I can do that as well. Subplots can extend for the length of the full narrative, but they can also just last a chapter or three. If you're used to writing short fic, these might give you that familiar feeling of "completion"

A chapter is only as long as it needs to be. Don't get hung up on having a consistent chapter length. Don't get hung up on hitting some arbitrary number every time. Instead, figure out what the next part of your story needs to include and write however many words it takes to get that chunk across. Varying your chapter lengths is a normal thing to do and not something to stress about.

The next thing that I find important personally may or may not be relevant to you, but I find that I can't plot anything in much detail. If I get too into the nitty gritty with my plotting, it just feels like I've already written it. I need to keep it at the level of "And then A and B meet C and hijinks ensue." I can figure out the particular hijinks later. It's the characters meeting up that's the next important thing for me to figure out. Getting too far ahead of myself is a death knell for me in writing long fics, but there are other writers who swear by it. Test out different ways of approaching it and see what works for you.

As someone who tends to write more briefly, another feature that's common to longer fics is more extensive descriptions. People spend time painting visual pictures of the setting or the characters or the actions that are happening. Write the more bare-bones style that focuses more on dialogue (if you're like me) and then go back and read through what you've just written and see if there are opportunities to add in more detail. This can lead to some really interesting characterization choices and also help you out with worldbuilding.

When it comes to worldbuilding, you don't have to get it all on the page. You just need to share what's relevant for the reader in that moment and what is useful to lay out now so that it's already there in a future chapter. You can have an encyclopedic knowledge of how your world works in your head, but it's not actually necessary. No one is going to be quizzing you later - and if they do, you can always figure it out at that point.

Most important for me when I'm trying to get myself to the end of a longer fic, have a friend or a group of friends who are also into what you're writing - or at least willing to hear you get excited about it. Being able to get excited about your work is so important. It's like a bottle of water being handed to you on mile 10 of a marathon.

[childlikegoblinqueen]

Me looking at my AO3 stats:

People read my stuff. People LIKE my stuff. People are still reading my stuff and possibly thinking about something I’ve written and I need to write more, but people actually enjoy reading stuff that I’ve written…

[bigfan-fanfic]

Tradition and Ritual (Male!Reader x Dean Winchester)

Could I request a full fic where Dean does the classic asking his bf's very approving dad for permission before popping the question? Just full, teeth-rottingly-sweet fluff.

Dean isn't necessarily dense. He can be pretty clever at times, though he's not a great wit.

But there is just some kind of mental block when it comes to your father.

Maybe it's his own awful relationship with his own, but he seems almost afraid of your dad.

This is despite the fact that the man is a total sweetheart, and has been your biggest shipper since you first told him you were going to ask Dean out.

Your dad loves Dean - he's always talking him up to you about his skill with cars at the machine shop.

When you and Dean got a place together, your dad has been super excited, certain a proposal can't be far behind.

"Daaaaad!" You protest, and he chuckles.

"What? He's an old-fashioned kind of guy, despite his past. I bet he wants Sweet Child O' Mine played when you walk down the aisle."

You roll your eyes. "Maybe we don't count my chickens before they hatch?"

"You mean your rings before they... get fingered? Nope. Not that."

Your dad chuckles at the weird phrasing. "You two going on another date later?"

"Yeah, he's taking me to dinner tonight."

"Oooooooh..." your dad teases. "Proposal alert!"

"Dad...."

"Fine, fine, just teasing. I won't blab to him at work, don't worry."

"Thank you." You say, smiling as you say goodbye as he heads off to the shop.

Dean is already there prepping when he arrives.

"Heya, kiddo." your dad grins at Dean.

"Ah! Sir."

"Whoa, you're jumpy today."

Dean chuckles nervously. "Yeah, I guess so."

Dean tries to play it off and leave his nervousness behind, but he's anxious all day.

He's clumsy today, accidentally dropping tools more than once and jumping when addressed.

Your dad is pretty concerned about him, and asks him to take his lunch break at the same time as him so they can talk.

"Hey, Dean-O. You doin alright?"

Dean sighs. "I... Look, I know I'm not a very... appealing guy, you know, for your son."

"Whoa, what are you talking about?"

"I'd be protective too, and I-"

"Dean! Dean. Calm down."

Your dad reaches across the table to put a hand on Dean's shoulder to steady him.

Dean looks at him. "It's... there's a right way of doing these things. And I... I love your son, sir. I really do. I know we moved in together and all, but... You have been so kind and welcoming to me, and... honestly, a lot more like a dad to me than my own dad was. And I just wouldn't feel right if I didn't..."

Dean runs out of words or breath, and falls silent, trying to calm himself.

"Say what you need, Dean-O." your dad says softly.

"I want to ask for your blessing. To marry your son. I was planning on proposing tonight."

"Oh my god!" Your dad jumps up and practically scurries around the table to draw Dean into a big hug.

The poor man is so stunned by this enthusiastic reaction, his eyes wide, arms hanging limply by his side.

"Kiddo, this is fantastic! Oh, god, he's gonna flip!"

"So, you... you're okay with-"

"Absolutely! You don't need my permission or my blessing, but I give it wholeheartedly. I'm so happy for you both, kiddo."

Dean tries not to cry, but his eyes are misty, and your dad isn't exactly unmoved either. It's something Dean has loved about him - your dad is masculine enough in his eyes to own and enjoy running an auto shop, but he doesn't feel ashamed at all about showing his feelings.

"I'm so proud of you, Dean-O."

"Thank you, sir."

"Ah! Ah-ah. You gotta call me Dad now."

Dean blinks several times, before he breaks out into a grin. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks... Dad."

Your dad is all smiles that evening when Dean leaves to go shower and pick you up for dinner.

But not as happy as Dean, who is practically glowing. He's about to join himself to you together, and even more, he finally has another father figure in his life who actually cares about him and supports him.

[punkshort]

Rec List

Part two here

Search the tag #shortie's fic recs for more

I have been compiling a list of fic recs lately - some of these I have already recommended, and I am sure a lot of these might sound familiar but I wanted to give a little shout out to some incredibly talented and inspirational authors on this website that suck me into their little worlds and make me lose myself. You are all amazing and I am honored to be on this site with you all, writing with you and adding to this incredible fandom.

(This list includes an array of Pedro characters, but most of them are Joel Miller)

Seeking What Is Desirable, Love Me Back - @chloeangelic

sun kicks out, from Eden - @5oh5

a stranger's heart without a home - @morning-star-joy

Pink , Greener Memories of Better Men - @netherfeildren

A Lover's Pinch - @hier--soir

Late Night Texts, Anytime - @undercoverpena

Sex on Fire , Sweet Child 'O Mine - @macfrog

Good to Me, Your Summer Dream - @swiftispunk

Meet Me In The Back - @atticrissfinch

Laws of Attraction, A Burning Desire - @honeyedmiller

I know it when I see it - @bageldaddy

Stay Awake - @toxicanonymity

Unfettered - @the-scandalorian

Lather - @strang3lov3

one thing I'm missing - @joelscruff

I am a nightmare, you are a miracle - @party-hearses

Tell Me a Secret - @katiexpunk

Notes on Tutoring - @honestly-shite

You call and I come running - @chronically-ghosted

Flying to new heights - @fettuccin-e

Elucidate - @ezrasbirdie

Stalemate - @joelscurls

There's so many more but if I kept looking back at my likes, this list would never end, so in all likelihood I will start a new list when inevitably I remember and find more.

[childlikegoblinqueen]

Hunter is a fashion icon (victim?)

P.S. the next title track for SCOM is …. Fashion Victim by Green Day 😂

The group chat.

They're all reading the same message.

Watercolor, ink

Hunters pink Crocs are a hill I will die on.

[11queensupreme11]

Queen do you know other pjo x ror stories like a reaction or something because i would just want to read all of it queen like I am want to read all reaction stories or stories inspired by arsenic blues,and i love the new chapter. And happy arsenic blues anniversary queen i can't believe that it's already been a year since arsenic blues was officially published.

forgotten past (short reactions, but they're on book 2 rn)

memories of the sea (reaction fic + great prologue so i'm hoping that more comes!!!!)

sweet child o mine (reaction fic + really lengthy reactions, i love it!)

the sea tyrant's obsession (inspired)

ocean deep (great crossover!)

young gods (discontinued)