iluvroadrunner6 | prompts { 2025 } fictober

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prompts { 2025 } fictober

We're gonna do this again just to keep motivating me to write, please submit your requests on the thread below.

PROMPTS:
1. “That was good work.”
2. “It’s been a long time.”
3. “I know you better.”
4. “No, we’re not doing that.”
5. “It’s a new day, let’s go.”
6. “I’m not giving up.”
7. “Follow me if you want to live.”
8. “Are we happy?”
9. “Don’t listen to me, listen to them.”
10. “Is this normal?”
11. “Well, that worked out great.”
12. “Did you hear that?”
13. “That’s not the point.”
14. “Did you stick to the plan?”
15. “Let’s try this.”
16. “No, I’m not okay.”
17. “Strangest thing I ever heard.”
18. “This is getting ridiculous.”
20. “I saw your eyes light up.”
21. “We’ve done worse.”
22. “Why are we doing this again?”
23. “We can fix this, I know we can.”
24. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
25. “It consumes me.”
26. “You were the first.”
27. “Let me remind you.”
28. “Just say what you want.”
29. “How did this happen?”
30. “I won’t let you down.”
31. “It’s always been you.”

Request plurk
Completed: 31/31
Word Count: 57,038

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

1. Diego/Laurel
3. Wynonna/Dean
16. Malia/Tyler
20. Alice/Sam
27. Stefan/Rebekah
30. Lydia/Allison

4. Angel/Cordy
5. Ben/Dickerson
7. Josh/Aiden
17. Dean/Elena
22. Connor/Carroll
25. Damon/Freya
31. David/Ezra

Edited 2025-09-05 03:47 (UTC)

2. “It’s been a long time.” - Steve/Laurel
8. "Are we happy?" - Behrad and Zari
23. “We can fix this, I know we can.” - Carol and Kamala

29. Grayson and Miranda!

6. sarah&rosalina
13. allison/(btr)john
21. alondra/freya
24. esme/derek

19. Neal/Anna
26. Dean/Anna (if you're feeling it, for old times' sake lmao) - [alt. Flack & Anna]

15. Ben and Jed
18. Caroline and Ryan
28. Derek and Hayley

14. Shawn & Anna (if you feel up to it, or any other combination of characters 😘)

10. Bruce/Allison

Edited 2025-09-10 17:17 (UTC)

9. Callahan and Bradan (siblings!)

11. Buffy and Stefan

12. Fay + Rosalina

Sometimes, you have to make a deal with the proverbial devil. In this instance, the devil is the Star City justice system.

Laurel isn’t under the impression that all cops are bad. Her father, after all, is a police officer, and she knows he does his best to do his job for all the right reasons. But there are things that make being a cop in Star City complicated, and a lot of it has to do with parts of the system that Quentin Lance can’t change all by his lonesome. Never mind that her father can have a bit of a single-minded focus on who he thinks the “actual” bad guys are, and his and Laurel’s don’t always line up. That’s part of why Laurel went to work for CNRI rather than the ADA’s office. Sometimes, the regular people of Star City need help on the other side of the courtroom too.

However, this is an instance where having a cop on her side may be useful, and she’s done her homework. Her dad isn’t a good option, not if she doesn’t want to look like a little girl who went crying to Daddy, and for good reason, a lot of the beat cops hate her. She has a tendency to shred them on the stand when they don’t do their job well. But she’s gathered enough intel that this one may be a good option. He hasn’t been up against her in court, and he hasn’t had a lot of direct contact with her dad.

And the rumor on the street is that he actually cares. That’s rare enough for a cop, so she’ll take it.

She strides into the Star City bullpen, scanning the faces until she finds the one she’s looking for. She spots him over by the coffee machine and puts on her best smile before making her way forward.

“Officer Hargreeves?”

He doesn’t look up at her at first, intently stirring some artificial sweetener into his coffee. “Who wants to know?”

“Laurel Lance, CNRI.” She extends a hand out to him as he finally looks up, and he shakes it, but his eyes narrow as he studies her.

“Lance. Like Detective Lance?”

“One and the same.”

Hargreeves nods before smirking slightly. “Patch warned me about you.” He turns to head back to his desk, and Laurel follows.

“And what did she warn you about me exactly?” It could go one of two ways, especially since he brought up her dad first. The fact that it was Patch that warned him gives her some kind of hope it won’t be completely gross, but hard to say, really.

“She said that if I didn’t do my job properly, you would shred me to ribbons on the stand without even blinking.”

Laurel can’t help but be a little pleased that this is becoming her reputation. “If you don’t do your job well, you deserve to be shredded on the stand. You’d be shocked at what some cops think they can get away with.”

“See, that doesn’t make me feel any better about why you’ve come to see me specifically.” He settles back at his desk, coffee cup in hand, and raises an eyebrow at her. “I don’t think you’ve been brought in as counsel on any of my cases.”

“You’re right, I haven’t.” Laurel reaches into her briefcase before pulling out a file. “I’m here to ask for your help.”

“A defense attorney. Asking a cop for help.” He takes the file from her and flips it open. “That’s new.”

“Believe it or not, we’re not actually on different sides. We both want justice.” Laurel’s version just wants to make sure that the prosecution is actually doing its job in proving it and not creating some kind of frame job. But that is neither here nor there. “This case wasn’t justice.”

The defendant in question is named Declan Monroe. An underprivileged kid who is just trying to feed his siblings, all of whom have been shuffled into foster care while he’s been stuck in prison, serving far too heavy a sentence. He has an appeal coming up, but Laurel needs to find the evidence that could at least reduce his sentence, if not release him.

Declan isn’t a perfect defendant, but when all people have are tough choices, Laurel is of the opinion that justice should have some compassion.

“Seems pretty straightforward to me. Guy had drugs, guy was caught with drugs, guy went to jail.”

“Do you honestly think guy deserved to go to adult prison for fifteen years? On a first offense for being caught with weed?” Laurel raises an eyebrow. “He was sixteen years-old. Does that seem fair to you?”

The officer’s face shifts as he looks down at the folder again, taking in the larger picture. She knows cops are trained to strip away the external factors, just focus on the perpetrator and the crime, and keep things very black and white. But Laurel knows better than anyone that the world exists in shades of gray. Sometimes, forcing them to look at those shades can be the difference between what makes a good cop or a bad cop.

“I’m not saying he didn’t commit the crime. But I am saying that maybe there were better options, and Declan has an appeal coming up. I want to get him a reduced sentence, maybe time served. Five years seems fair for the amount he had, don’t you think?”

“So why do you need me?”

“We need character witnesses. People to vouch for him. And if I can put a cop on the stand who would do that, it could go a long way.” This is the hardest sell she knows. But cops have a lot of weight in a courtroom, especially with a judge. It’s just a matter of finding the right one to help you. “Look, all I need is a day of your time. Come with me to meet him, meet his siblings, and if you still think you can’t do it, then you don’t have to deal with me anymore.” She pauses. “At least until you have to face me in court.”

He snorts before nodding. “I’m off Friday. You get one day.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you Friday.” She leaves her card and takes her file back and heads out of the bullpen with a bounce in her step. She catches her father’s eye on the way out the door, and smirks.

That’s going to be a third-degree conversation later, but that’s a problem for later Laurel.

* * * * *

“You got the Kraken!”

Laurel doesn’t know what it is about Diego Hargreeves, but somehow in the moment of seeing him, the hard-won prison façade that Declan’s had to put on to survive melts away as he slides into his seat next to Laurel. Laurel must clearly look confused, because Declan scoffs.

“Man, you really know nothing. From the Umbrella Academy!”

That name rings a bell, if from nothing else but her father’s rants about how eccentric billionaires shouldn’t be running around raising children to be vigilantes. But she had been young when the Umbrella Academy was in its heyday, and found it was best not to get invested.

“Sorry, I wasn’t a superhero kid,” Laurel says, amused.

Declan shakes his head before turning his attention back to Diego. “You were always my favorite, with the knives?” Then, to give Laurel more context. “He throws knives, and he can curve their trajectory so that they always hit their mark.”

Diego looks amused, but she can already see him engaging in the way he leans forward and grins. “Thank you. My siblings never thought so, so it’s nice to be properly appreciated.”

Laurel just leans back and lets them talk, the conversation flowing freely. Eventually they get around to what happened the day Declan was arrested, and she sees Diego really listening. He can see the cracks in the police file versus what Declan is saying and how it all doesn’t add up, not really.

From there they head to the foster home for some of the younger siblings, and his sister, who’s aged out, meets them there. They’re good kids, and good advocates for their brother, who only did his best to take care of them. By the time they make it back to CNRI to pick up Diego’s car, she feels like she already knows his answer, but it’s still good to hear him say it.

“I’m in,” he nods. “Whatever you need me to say, I’ll do it.”

Laurel feels a weight lift, and she nods. “Thank you, Diego. You don’t know what this is going to mean to him.”

She just hopes it all works.

* * * * *

Sometimes you can do everything right, and the world will still be stacked against you. It’s nothing new for a kid like Declan, but it still makes Laurel furious.

Diego is perfect on the stand. Acknowledging that what Declan did was wrong, but that the amount he was caught with wasn’t enough to justify a fifteen-year sentence. The other character witnesses did their jobs too. The problem was the judge.

The other lottery draw of the justice system is, unfortunately, the judge. Get the wrong one, and no matter what argument you make, it’s like you’re arguing against a brick wall. In the end, the judge denies their appeal, focusing too much on the letter of the law and not the spirit of it. Laurel promises Declan they’ll try again, but getting another court date will take years of hard time that will only chip away at more of him, and they might be better off looking to the parole board rather than an appeal.

What she doesn’t expect is how hard Diego takes it.

She finds him at a bar later and buys them both another round. At first, she’s not sure what to say, but leans on reassurance more than comfort.

“That was good work, Diego.” He looks over at her, and she continues. “We all did our jobs. Unfortunately, with our system, good work doesn’t always magically unlock the result we hope for.”

“How do you do it?” Diego asks. “Stand on the opposite side for these people who have everything stacked against them, knowing that you might not win?”

Laurel takes a deep breath before shrugging. “Someone has to. The upper elites of Star City, they can afford a hotshot defense attorney with all the resources and bells and whistles. I could have joined one of those firms and won every case I took, but I’m not sure I would sleep any better. I still don’t sleep great when the cases don’t go my way, but at least I know that I’m trying. That I can take the law that’s being wielded at this people like a cudgel and try to fight back.”

He nods slowly, picking at the label of his beer bottle before admitting: “Being a cop isn’t what I thought it would be. I wanted to help people. Protect them from actual bad guys. Instead, I’m on the street catching people who are just trying to get by, breaking the law because they don’t have any other choice. That’s … it’s not why I want to do this.”

Laurel nods. “So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.” He smirks a bit. “Maybe I should go back to being the Kraken.”

Laurel laughs before lifting her glass to clink against his beer bottle. “Well, if you get arrested for vigilantism, you have my card.”

He grins before taking another long pull on his beer. “Thanks for the round.”

She nods before glancing over at the dartboard. “Those powers of yours work on anything?”

Diego follows her eyeline before pushing up from the barstool. “Buy another round and maybe I’ll show you.”

How can a girl say no to that?

Steve heals faster than the average human, and while normally that would be a relief, Laurel can’t help but wish that he would take it a little bit easier after having an entire airship come down on top of him, preceded by having another enhanced superhuman beat the crap out of him, and followed by a bout of almost drowning.

She would have preferred him to have taken it slow for at least a month or two.

Steve has other ideas, however, and she understands the reasons. Bucky is out there, and Steve wants to find him, to make sure he’s okay, to reclaim some part of his past that he’s lost. And she allows it (“allow” like Laurel could stop him if she tried, but she could ask and he would be miserable), so long as Sam and Natasha are with him and making sure he doesn’t go too far off the rails trying to save his friend. Mostly it works. He calls to check in, even flies out when CNRI collapses and Tommy dies saving her. That’s not so much quality time as him holding her through her grief, holding her hand through the funeral when Oliver is nowhere to be found, and making sure she eats, but it’s at least seeing him in one piece, having one week where she doesn’t have to worry.

Worrying about him is an excuse for not having to worry about herself. Worrying about him means she can ignore that she may have one too many glasses of wine or a little too much whiskey. Somewhere in the middle of that, her sister comes back from the dead and she truly spirals, but that isn’t Steve’s problem.

She has enough people trying to fix her already.

She comes home after her fight with Oliver and reaches for a glass of wine, his condemnations rattling in her head, like all of this isn’t his fault. She’s trying to deflect blame? She wants to throw the glass at the wall when her phone buzzes, stalling the action briefly. It’s a text from Thea.

Sorry but also not sorry.

Before she can even process it, her phone lights up with Steve’s picture. She closes her eyes before answering it. “Hi.”

“Your sister is alive?”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The silence stretches as she tries to find a suitable answer. She doesn’t really have one, not one that rings true. He’s hurt, she can tell, and she can’t tell if it’s the fact that Oliver is right and she’s trying to give herself reasons to just wallow in the hurt she’s created, letting the hooks of a problem she knows all too well drag her deeper, or if she thinks that not even Steve could pull her back to the surface when she’s already drowning.

The silence seems to be answer enough. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Steve, you don’t have to—”

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”

There’s no room for argument, no debate. Steve Rogers is a man who flies by his own internal north star, and she knows that if he wants to be here, he will. “Okay,” she sighs, rubbing her eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Another stretch of silence, this time on his end. So many things he can fill in the blanks for, but he doesn’t. “I’ll text you when I have an ETA.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t say goodbye, likely because this isn’t a finished conversation, just one on a slight delay. She places the phone down, staring into the distance, before reaching for the glass of wine again and downing half of it, but it immediately sours on her tongue and instead she winds up spitting it out into the sink.

She pours out the rest and then turns her attention to the rest of her apartment.

Maybe if she starts now, she’ll have it clean enough that she’ll feel like a person who has it together by the time he gets here.

* * * * *

She feels slightly more with it by the time Steve gets here, but she still does not know what to say to him. He doesn’t seem to either, but she can see the strains of guilt in the tension of his shoulders and immediately feels terrible because this isn’t his fault. None of it is his fault.

This is all on Laurel.

“How long has she been back?”

“I don’t know. I only found out a few weeks ago.”

That seems to ease some of the tension. Some, but not all of it. Which is fair, as Laurel has been on a downward spiral long before Sara came back into the picture. As he turns to face her, his shoulders slump, and he asks again the question she couldn’t answer yesterday.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because that would mean having to tell you everything else.”

His eyebrows go up. “There’s more?”

Laurel takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, trying to straighten up, to seem like she’s not a person scrambling to get her head above water. She’s not sure how well it’s going to work, considering what she has to say. “I lost my job. I was attacked because of a case I was investigating, and I killed my attacker. They cleared the charges because it was self-defense, but with it also came out that I’ve been drinking too much and there were some drug issues and … and I might get disbarred to boot so … ” Concern furrows in his brow and she breaks off before shaking her head. “I’m just having a really hard time.”

“And you thought you couldn’t tell me?”

“You were doing something important. I thought I could get it together. Because that’s what I do. I’m Laurel Lance. I’m the one who holds everyone else together when everything is falling apart. I survived the Gambit going down, no problem. I should be able to survive this.”

With each sentence, Steve takes another step closer until he’s close enough to touch. One hand slips out to rest against her side, steadying her, and it’s as if she can breathe again. And then, just like that, everything crumbles, tears slipping down her cheeks as she tips forward to bury her face in his chest.

“Why can’t I keep it together this time? Last time I could do it all by myself.”

“You weren’t by yourself,” he murmurs, sliding his arms around her to pull her close. “You had Tommy.”

That seems to unlock a whole new wave of grief, and she crumples into him, using his strength to steady her. Somehow in the haze of it all, he scoops her up and moves them to the couch, letting her curl up against him. It feels like she finally has someone in her corner, and some of it relaxes.

“I’m still so angry with her. It’s been a long time. I shouldn’t still be this angry.”

“You thought she was dead, and now she’s not. There are a lot of things you never really worked out between you.” Steve runs his fingers through her hair soothingly. “I’m working through some of that with Bucky.”

“Have you found him?” It’s a desperate distraction from the topic at hand. Unfortunately, Steve sees it for the dirty pool it is and shakes his head.

“No, I’m just saying it’s one thing to be angry with someone who’s dead, and another entirely to be angry with someone who’s here to be angry at.” Steve shifts to face her more. “Before she died, she hurt you. In fact, the way she hurt you ended in her getting killed. That’s a lot to process.”

She sits with that, realizing that there may be some truth to it. Maybe too much truth. She’s also not sure one talk with Steve is going to resolve all her problems. There need to be other steps for that. No one can do any of this alone. You'd think she would have learned that by now.

“If I go to a meeting, can you clear out my apartment while I’m gone?”

“I can do that.” She can tell that the request eases some of the tension, giving him a practical way to help. “I’d also like to meet her while I’m here. If you’re feeling up for that.”

“I think I have to talk to her alone first.” They need to resolve whatever this thing is sitting between them before moving forward. “And also only if you can get through it without punching Ollie in the face.”

“You know I don’t like promising that with Oliver Queen. And why would that matter when I’m meeting—” Steve’s face flattens. “You’re kidding.”

“Sadly, no.”

“And they’re upset with you for being angry?”

She shrugs. “In their defense, I haven’t exactly been my best self.”

“You’re making me promise not to punch Oliver. I think you’re being better than they deserve.” That makes her laugh, and more of the tension flows out of him. He sighs. “Fine. I promise I will make a good impression and not punch your sister’s boyfriend.”

“Thank you.” She sits up, reaching for her phone. It doesn’t take much googling to find the nearest AA meeting, and she glances at her watch. “I have about half an hour, so I’m going to get ready to go.”

“Sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

She shakes her head. “This I have to do on my own.” She then shifts before leaning in to kiss him. “But thank you for coming. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on.”

“Always,” he murmurs. “And it’s okay. As long as you’re not angry with Thea for ratting you out.”

She shakes her head. “She was right to do it.” Even though Laurel wishes she had enough sense to reach out on her own, Thea was looking out for her. She wouldn’t fault her for that.

With that, she gets up to wash her face and heads out to the meeting. When she returns a few hours later after talking to Sara, her apartment is cleaned out, Steve has a fresh shirt and a fresh pie from Mario’s, and oddly enough she feels lighter. Like she’s heading in the right direction for the first time in a long time.

Like she’s stopped sinking and finally started to swim.

[Part 1]

Sam shows up two days after Wynonna realizes she’s pregnant, a one-two punch that knocks him on his ass without even trying. Neither he nor Wynonna were trying for a baby—Wynonna, especially, is panicking at the idea of being a mother—and then he finds out his brother has been alive for the better part of two years without saying a goddamn word to him.

Yes, he’s fucking pissed about it.

Dean drags his brother out of Shorty’s by the arm, eyes narrowing as he tries to pin down what exactly is going on. He fumbles through the car until he finds the silver flask with holy water whiskey in it before passing it to his brother with a firm nod.

“Drink up.”

Sam rolls his eyes before doing as he’s told. No smoke. No flinching. Not a shapeshifter. Not a demon. Sam.

“There. Happy?”

That’s a complicated question if Dean’s ever heard one. On some level, yes. He’s very happy to see Sam, the only family he has left. But there are too many questions that come with how Sam is here.

“How long?”

“Dean—”

“How long, Sam?”

Sam shrugs so nonchalantly. “A while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Almost two years.”

“And you’re just showing up now?”

There’s that shrug again. So callous. So unlike his brother that he isn’t entirely sure what to do with him. If he hadn’t just tested him, he would have assumed that he was possessed. “Well, I couldn’t find you, for one. That’s kind of what happens when you disappear to Bum-Fuck, Nowhere.”

“Bobby knew where I was.”

“Yeah, and he also said you were happy. Having a life. I figured you didn’t need to be dragged back into my bullshit.”

That feels slightly more like Sam, but it still feels not quite right. It itches at the back of his mind, and he can’t decide what’s more wrong—Sam’s behavior or his excuses.

“Could have still picked up the goddamn phone.” Dean takes a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So why are you here now?”

“Need your help. But it’s also going to mean you leaving town.”

Of course it does. Because this is the worst possible time for him to do that, naturally that’s when he’d have to head out. He exhales slowly before nodding. “I have to talk to Wynonna. She’s back at the homestead.”

“Wynonna.” He waits, then he stares at his brother. “Soulmate Wynonna? You found her.”

“Yep, Wynonna Earp.”

Sam snorts. “Of course, your soulmate is the Earp Heir.”

Dean grins in return. “That’s what I said. C’mon, you should come meet her.”

Sam hesitates, but in the end he concedes, sliding into the passenger’s seat of the Impala next to him. A piece of Dean’s world feels a bit righted, even if he doesn’t fully understand how. He pauses as he slides his keys into the ignition before looking back at his brother.

“Really good to see you, Sammy.”

“You too, Dean.”

It still doesn’t feel right, but it’ll do for now.

* * * * *

Waverly’s bundled up on the porch when they arrive, and she perks up when she sees Dean, before promptly frowning at Sam. Sam seems a little uncomfortable, and instead of heading into the house, he hangs back and leans against the hood of the Impala.

“Hey Dean. Who’s your friend?”

Dean hesitates before turning back to his brother. “This is Sam, my brother. Sam, this is Waverly, Wynonna’s sister.”

Waverly is bundled in at least two heavy quilts, but Sam still gives her the most overt once-over that Dean has ever seen. From Sam. His brother usually needs two dinners and a movie before he even acknowledges that he might be sexually attracted to someone—something that obvious is usually beyond him. Dean’s brow furrows, something protective rising in him as Waverly flashes him a confused look.

“Hi,” she says awkwardly. “Wynonna’s inside.”

“Great. C’mon, Sammy.”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna stay out here.”

“Don’t you want to meet her?”

Sam shrugs. “Maybe another time.”

“Right. Well, it’s freezing, so I’m going inside.” Waverly turns to lead the way back into the house, and once they’re inside and the door is closed, she turns back to Dean with a frown. “Was Sam like that before he died?”

To most other people, Dean would brush it off. But there’s something about Waverly—something they’re still trying to figure out—that has him shaking his head. Waverly sets her jaw. “Are you leaving with him?”

“Maybe. Have to talk to your sister first.”

Waverly nods. “If you do—be careful, Dean. I don’t know how I know, so I can’t tell you how I know, but … something’s wrong with him.”

That much feels obvious. He nods slowly. “I’ll be careful. Promise.”

Waverly nods in agreement before tipping her head to the side. “Wynonna’s in the living room.”

She disappears up the stairs and lets out a heavy breath before following the path around the corner to the living room. Wynonna sits on the couch, as promised, staring down at her stomach as though she can make eye contact with the baby—their baby—through her skin. Dean moves to sit next to her on the couch and takes her hand, drawing her attention to him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Wynonna’s eyes narrow. “Who died?”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

“You look like someone hit you emotionally with a two-by-four, so yes.”

Dean shakes his head. “No one’s dead.” He pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Sam’s back.”

“Sam. Your dead brother Sam.” Wynonna hesitates as she tries to figure out how to approach this. “Is this like my dead sister Willa, where he’s secretly evil and looking to blow a hole in the Ghost River Triangle?”

“God, I fucking hope not.” He doesn’t know if he’d be able to bring himself to kill his brother. He couldn’t do it before he went to Hell. Not much has changed in his codependence on Sam on that front. “But he says he needs my help with something. Something out of town.”

Wynonna tenses, trying to shore up her emotions, but the downside of being soulmates is that he can feel that flare of disappointment, matched right along with a stoking of the low-key fear that’s been there ever since she found out about the baby.

“Oh.”

“I can tell him no, if you want me to. I know we have a lot to sort out with—”

“My body, my choice. You get that right.”

“I do.” Dean tries not to let on how it twists him up inside that he may choose to do that, but he would never want to force her. Never want her to feel resentful. “And I’m not gonna try to twist your arm. But I want to talk about it.”

Wynonna nods slowly, shifting so that she’s propped against the arm of the couch, tucking her legs under her as she studies his face. “You really want this.”

“Only if you want it.” Dean’s a convincing liar; he knows that, but Wynonna sees right through him, shaking her head with a half-laugh.

“Liar.”

Dean’s eyes drop to the space between them, and nods. “Guilty.”

Wynonna reaches for his hand, turning it palm up in hers so that she can trace over the lines of his palm, idle movement designed to help her gather her thoughts. “It won’t be safe. Not here. Not with me. I mean, it’s not like I have any good examples.”

“And you think I do?”

“Not making me feel better.” She pauses before finally looking up at him again. “I know me, Dean. I’m a train wreck even on my best day. No one deserves that for a mother.”

“I know you better,” he counters. He shifts closer, scooping up her legs and pulling them into his lap so she’s forced to meet his eyes. “I know how you love people, how you go to bat for them. Everyone deserves that in a mother. Everything else, we can figure out.”

Wynonna swallows hard. “I still don’t know. I need … more time than right now. And you need to go deal with Sam.”

“I can stay—”

“No, it’s okay. I need to think, and I can do that without you here. You need to find out if your brother is evil. I’ll call, alright?”

“Alright.”

“If I do—”

Dean sets his jaw before nodding. “I’ll deal. But I’ll understand.”

She nods before leaning in to kiss him softly. “Be safe. Get that ass back here in one piece.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs with a smile against her lips, before getting up and going to pack his things. He still feels uneasy leaving without a decision made, but he trusts Wynonna. He doesn’t know what decision he trusts her to make, but whatever wants he may have, she is more important. She’ll always be more important.

* * * * *

Sam is not evil. Sam is not okay, but he’s not evil either. He’s a third, more complicated thing, and it takes Dean much longer to get back to Purgatory than he initially expected. Weeks pass, and while he and Wynonna talk, she dances around the decision, almost as though she hasn’t made it yet. Part of him wonders if she has and just hasn’t worked up the nerve to tell him yet.

Then, one day while he’s at Bobby’s, doing research on a job, he gets a message from Wynonna: an ultrasound photo, followed by one line of text.

It’s a girl.

A wave of happiness and relief swells through him. That’s his kid. He’s going to have a kid. He’s going to be a dad. Almost makes the piles of shit he’s shoveling through at the moment feel a little less heavy.

Bobby swings around the corner, and his eyes narrow when he sees the look on Dean’s face. “What? What’s wrong?”

Wrong? Absolutely nothing. “I’m gonna be a dad.”

Bobby’s face softens, and he gives him a small smile. “Good for you, kid.”

His phone buzzes again, with another text from Wynonna: We’re in this together, right?

To hell and back he replies. They have a lot to figure out along the way, but whatever comes at them, they’ll handle it together.

[Part 3]

What some people don’t realize is that the Powers That Be is not actually a euphemism for God.

They are separate entities, separate purposes. God is pure creation, both the good and the bad, set to craft the world to his specific machinations, but the universe quickly realized that balance was required. Not so simple as Light versus Darkness, but more author versus editor, ensuring that one side of the tale the Creator was weaving doesn’t overwhelm the other.

It takes thousands of years, multiple attempts at an apocalypse, but it becomes all too clear, all too quickly, that the breaking point has come. Things are spiraling out of control. The Creator’s fixation on the Winchester brothers has become … untenable.

It is with that realization that Cordelia Chase stands in front of the Powers That Be, years after her “retirement,” and she doesn’t realize why yet, but it has her on edge. She was supposed to be done. So why is she here now?

“We have an assignment for you.”

“We require you to return to Earth.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“A mission most dire.”

“The current champions of this Apocalypse are faltering.”

“Their oracle has fallen.”

“And her successor is not ready.”

“If they are to achieve their goal of killing the Creator, they require a more seasoned conduit.”

“You know how to read the visions. Your body is prepared for the weight they carry.”

“We need you to succeed where others have failed.”

Cordelia nods slowly. “Okay. What’s in it for me?”

They stare at her in unison, almost as though they don’t understand the question, before one of them finally stammers out. “You’re … negotiating?”

“Hell yeah, I’m negotiating.”

“That is not your role.”

“You are the Oracle. You do as we command.”

“No, we’re not doing that. I know my worth.” Cordy crosses her arms in front of her chest as she stares them down. “I did my job, and I paid the price for it. I’m not going to be your little vision monkey again without proper compensation. Especially if this is who I think it’s for.” She waits expectantly for them to confirm or deny her suspicions.

“The champions are the Winchester brothers.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So are you going to listen to my terms or are you going to risk this without an Oracle in their corner?” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for their response.

They exchange a glance before their shoulders slump ever so slightly. They’re not ones to risk the balance. Cordy may not have known how to negotiate when she was younger, but she does now. She will not let herself get screwed over again.

“What are your terms?”

She smiles. “I want my team to help. I may watch the boys’ backs, but I need someone to watch mine.” She knows in her heart that they won’t give her all of them, but she has to try. Some of them had consequences to bear, but not all of them. They all deserve to be free of what Wolfram and Hart dragged them down into. The silence stretches for a moment before they nod in concession.

“You may have two.”

Two. Okay, two is not great, but if she plays her cards right then maybe—

“Of our choosing.”

Her shoulders slump some, because fine. Fair enough. At least it guarantees that whomever she gets will be useful to the mission.

“Is that all?”

“No,” she continues, lifting her head. “If we succeed and we survive this, we get our lives back. No hanging out on Earth just long enough to get the job done and then going back to being dead. We get to stick it out for however long it takes to kill us again.”

“You know that their mission is to kill God.”

“That the Winchesters lives are messy and bloody at the best of times.”

“And this is likely to be one of the worst.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Odds of survival are low. But if I beat those odds, I think I’ve earned a second chance. Don’t you?”

They stare at each other silently for a moment, a complex conversation held in total silence, before they turn back to her and nod.

“Very well.”

“Should you survive.”

“And you succeed.”

“Your life will once again be yours.”

“We accept your terms.”

“Good luck, Cordelia Chase.”

“You will need it.”

The light swirls around her, along with their voices, and soon everything fades to black.

* * * * *

She wakes up in her room in the Hyperion, and for a moment, she almost forgets what she’s here to do. Almost. Realization comes that she has to hurry, because if she’s at the Hyperion and she has to make it all the way to Kansas before the boys do something stupid and get themselves killed, well. There goes her reward.

First, she charges over to the closet. The clothes inside it are dusty and probably at least fifteen years out of fashion, but it’ll have to do. She drags out a suitcase and begins packing at least enough to get her started until she can make it to a mall or department store. She’s going to need toiletries, food, a car, maybe stop at a laundromat if she can scrounge up some quarters—

“What the bloody hell—”

The voice springs up from the hallway, and Cordelia’s head tips back with a groan. Right. Spike. Of course it’s Spike. Why would she expect anything else? At least he has a soul now.

(She hopes he still has his soul.)

Zipping up her suitcase, she drags it out into the hallway when the familiar bleached head comes around the corner and his eyes widen.

“Cordelia?”

“Hey, Spike. You didn’t see anyone else around, did you?” The Powers That Be promised her two. Spike is one, so where is the other?

“No. Do you know why I’m suddenly not in a corporate hellscape being tortured by demons who want to ‘circle back’ on the matter of whether I’m allowed to keep my intestines?”

“I do. But we kind of only have time to do this once, so there’s still one more person we have to find.”

“And they’re in this hotel?”

“Probably.”

“Lovely. You go down, I’ll go up?”

“Deal.”

She drags her suitcase with her and begins circling down to the lobby, her heart sinking the more she finds empty. She woke up in her own room, so she checks for Fred, Wes, Gunn—all their rooms empty. But when she comes down to the lobby, stepping into the setting sun of the LA day, her heart leaps as Angel comes out from the shadows behind the front desk.

“Hey.”

He looks up at her, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem to be sure what to say. He just looks at her, and she can’t help but feel like this is the boon she was promised. This is their second chance. It’s been so long that maybe he doesn’t want it, but that’s a conversation to have another time, when Spike isn’t likely eavesdropping.

“Hey,” he finally says, before following up with: “Are you real?”

“Yeah. And so are you, just in case you were worried.”

Angel studies her, then takes a tentative step forward. “How?”

“Long story. But before we get into that—”

“Nothing upstairs,” Spike cuts in as he steps off the elevator, and makes his way closer, and his eyebrows go up when he spots the two of them. “Oh sorry. Am I interrupting?”

“Yes,” Angel replies, just as Cordy says, “No.” Angel looks back at her, eyes narrowing, and she sighs before gesturing to the collection of chairs nearby.

“Sit down. This is going to be a long one.”

By the time she finishes telling the relevant parts of the story, the two vampires look a little shellshocked, and she can’t say she blames them. Not every day that you ask someone to help you kill God. Angel, especially, looks a little perturbed.

“Sorry. I’m just processing. The Irish Catholic in me is having a hard time with this one.”

“I know it’s a lot,” Cordy sighs. “But if we make it out the other side, we get to live. That has to be worth at least trying, right?”

“I think this sounds like fun.” Spike shrugs. “I mean, I’ll probably die again. But killing God is a hell of a trophy.”

Angel meets Cordy’s eyes, possibly hears all the things she isn’t saying in mixed company, before nodding. “I’m in too.”

“Good. Okay. So, I’m thinking one of us should try to get in touch with the Slayers. The Winchesters have to do parts of this themselves, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have backup, or have things taken off their plate.”

Spike holds up a hand. “I’ll take that one. I’ll ask around, see what the Slayer cells are looking like these days, and keep in touch.” A beat. “How will we be keeping in touch?”

“We’ll get phones, exchange numbers before we split up.”

“I’ll check and see if our old bank accounts are still active,” Angel says slowly. “I have a feeling no one reported us dead.”

“Okay. So Angel and I will go out to meet with the Winchesters, Spike will talk to the Slayers, and we’ll coordinate from there. Once Chuck realizes that the Powers That Be have put help on the board, this is probably going to escalate fast, so we can’t waste time.”

Angel nods as he gets to his feet. “I’ll go check and see if my car is in the garage.”

Cordelia and Spike both nod as he goes, and once the door closes behind him, Spike looks back at her. “So just us, then?

“What do you mean?”

“You really mean to tell me that the Powers That Be let you build a team and you didn’t reach for the others? Gunn or Wes or—”

“They only gave me two.” Cordy says quietly. “And I didn’t get to choose.”

She’s not sure if Spike reads between the lines in her saying that if it were her choice, he wouldn’t be. Still, he takes that in quietly before nodding. “Right. Then let’s make this all worth their while.”

* * * * *

Once they get their phones, and Cordy raids a drugstore for skincare and other necessary toiletries, they part ways with Spike and head in opposite directions. She and Angel head out of town, while Spike heads deeper into the city. By the time the sun rises on this long night and they’re tucked away in a motel to wait out the sun, Cordelia has a small vision, barely even a blip, really, of where she might find a witch who will make traveling a little easier.

She sneaks out while Angel sleeps, and when she returns, she’s made a run to the butcher shop and a convenience store for food for them both and has traded a considerable amount of their remaining cash for a small silver ring with a blue stone. Angel is also awake when she returns, considerable concern written all over his face. “Where did you go?”

“I had a vision. And I needed to run some errands.” She places the food down on the table nearby before making her way closer to him and holding out the ring. “This is for you.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a daylight ring.”

Angel stares at it for a long moment before shaking his head. “I can’t take that.”

“It’s not like the other one, Angel. This isn’t going to make you invulnerable or give you any extra power. It will just protect you from the sun.”

“After everything I’ve done—”

“Yes, after everything you’ve done, you deserve this. And we also can’t promise that the problems we’ll be trying to solve here will be at night.” Cordy steps closer. “If you want to stop wearing it when we’re done, that’s up to you. But for now, we need this tool in our arsenal.”

Angel hesitates before nodding and taking the ring from her. As he slides it on his finger, he looks back at her. “I wish it weren’t just us.”

“I tried to get everyone,” she admits. “They didn’t let me choose.”

“They wouldn’t.”

He turns away from her, moving towards the cooler for some of the blood, and Cordelia hesitates, playing with one of her rings before she turns to face him.

“Angel, I—”

He turns to face her, and she almost chickens out. Does still, slightly. What she says isn’t really what she intended to say, but it gets the point across well enough.

“Even if I could choose, I still would have chosen you.”

It’s a dim representation of the things she wants, of what she wants her life—potentially their lives—to look like if they make it out the other side, but it says enough. He watches her for another long moment before nodding.

“Let’s eat, and then we’ll get back on the road?”

She nods, reaching for the food, and hoping that settles things enough for now.

* * * * *

It’s another day and change before they finally arrive at the front of the bunker. The Winchesters are not present, the telltale Impala missing, so they have some time to talk before they have to get down to business in convincing these two paranoid men that they are on their side.

Angel has the hood of the convertible down. He’s had that more and more since getting the ring, letting himself soak in the sunshine. His head tips back against the rest of the seat, eyes closed, and Cordelia can’t help but smile. Things have gotten easier the longer they’ve had to find their rhythm again. The words they need to say to each other don’t feel so hard.

“See? Told you it was a good thing.”

“You were right,” he says dryly. “I should always listen to your words of wisdom.”

“Thank you.” She takes a deep breath before looking over at him. “Angel … I know it’s been a long time. I was dead. You were in a Hell dimension.”

He opens one eye and looks over at her curiously. “Where is this going, Cordy?”

“I just … I would understand if you’d … moved on.” He opens the other eye and turns his full focus on her. Her stomach sinks, wondering if it’s acknowledgement or understanding, but she keeps pushing forward. “But … if we win, do you think maybe we could try again? Have a real chance this time?”

One of his hands comes up, cupping her face and letting his thumb brush against the apple of her cheek. She wants to lean into it, but she holds his gaze, waiting for his answer.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I think we should. If we win.”

“If we win.” All the more reason to win in her opinion, but before they can push the issue further, a car rumbles in the distance. They turn to see a black Chevy Impala pulling into the spot next to them, and the driver rolls down the window.

“Hey! This isn’t some make-out spot. Go get your kicks somewhere else.”

Cordy rolls her eyes before pulling away from Angel and climbing out of the car. “That’s not why we’re here.”

“Oh, really?” The driver climbs out of the car. Blonder than the other. Dean? “Then why are you here?”

Cordy sighs. “I’m Cordelia Chase. This is Angel. The Powers That Be sent us here to help you kill Chuck.”

The other brother joins him, and Dean stares back at her for a moment until he realizes she’s serious. Then his eyebrows go up.

“Bullshit.”

Cordy and Angel share a look before she holds up her hands and goes to get back in the car. “Okay, fine. If you don’t want prophetic visions designed to give you a competitive edge, then I’ll just get back in my car and—”

“Wait.” The taller one—Sam?—speaks up as he stares back at them. “You’re a prophet?”

She shakes her head. “Oracle. Totally different gig. Think more like Missouri Mosely. You lost her, and her granddaughter isn’t ready yet. So the Powers sent me instead. They want you to win.”

“And the big guy?” Dean asks.

“He’s my backup. I watch your back, and he watches mine.”

The brothers exchange a look, and Dean’s eyes narrow. “How do we know any of this is true?”

“Call your angel. My reputation may not be super common knowledge for humans, but he’ll know who I am.”

“Fine.” Dean points to the door. “We’re going to go inside and talk to Cas. You stay here.”

Cordy nods, hands up as she leans back against the side of the car. Angel gets out to join her, and as the door closes behind the Winchesters, he smirks.

“This is going to be fun.”

Edited 2025-09-25 22:52 (UTC)

He’s your problem now.

Ben stares at the text from Marla on his phone uncomprehendingly. There’s something about it that doesn’t make any sense. Who and why is he Ben’s problem and what does that—

Then his brain actually wakes up. Clearly, it’s too early to be doing this kind of mental math. Instead of responding by text, he hits the phone icon and places his phone to his ear and waits until Marla answers the phone. She answers on the second ring, already sounding annoyed.

“Jesus, do I have to break up with you too?”

“So you did leave him.”

“You sound surprised. Didn’t he tell you?” Ben’s silence seems to speak loud enough, and she snorts. “Typical D.”

“Why?”

“You really have to ask that question?”

Ben falls silent again because no, he probably doesn’t. Ben likes Marla, and thought that she and Dickerson were happy, but he also knows that there is something about them that just felt a little too … safe. Not that there’s anything wrong with safe, and maybe that’s just Ben’s fucked-up way of looking at the world, but they never actually seemed that into each other.

“No, I guess not.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.”

Marla sighs. “It’s fine, Ben. I should have done it a long time ago, because he clearly was never going to.”

“Still. I’m sorry.”

“You know, it’s really hard to hate you when you’re not being an asshole.”

“I could go back to being a dick if that would make it easier for you.”

“Please.” Marla pauses. “Take care of yourself, Ben. I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

He takes a heavy breath as he hangs up before sending off a text to Helene to see if she heard anything. She had not. Neither of them is particularly surprised, but Ben forces himself out of bed early and goes to check on Dickerson himself.

* * * * *

Given that he’s never seen Dickerson go through a breakup, he decides it’s best to show up with options; the options being coffee, doughnuts, and booze. He doesn’t know what to actually bring inside, so he starts with the coffee and goes from there. He’s grabbing the to-go tray and climbs out of his car when he sees Dickerson, acting like it’s just a normal day, making his way out of the door like he’s going to go to work.

Like nothing happened.

Ben’s eyes narrow as he takes in the scene, before drawing Dickerson’s attention. “Dude.”

Dickerson turns towards the sound of his voice and immediately looks confused. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you?”

“Why would you do that?”

Ben gapes briefly before his shoulders drop. “Marla told me what happened.”

“Oh.” He reaches over and takes one coffee before shrugging. “It’s fine, man.”

“It’s fine?” Ben stares even harder. “You were engaged.”

“And now I’m not.” Dickerson shrugs. “It’s fine.” He takes a sip of the coffee. “Good coffee. Were you worried about me?”

“The woman who was your fiancée broke up with you, and I didn’t hear it from you; I found out from her. So yeah, I was worried.” He stares back at him, not really understanding the level of fine Dickerson is experiencing right now. “But you’re good?”

“Yeah, man. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely. It’s a new day, let’s go.” Dickerson flashes him a smile as he opens his car door. “I gotta get to work. But drinks? Later? We’ll meet up at Helene’s new gig.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

Dickerson gets in his car to head off to work, and as Ben watches him go, he feels his feelings shifting, for reasons he’s not entirely sure why. He takes a swig of his own coffee before sighing and climbing back into his car. Time to pick that feeling apart while he fixes other people’s cars at work.

* * * * *

“Marla and D broke up.”

Helene’s eyebrows go up, considering Ben as he sits at the bar working through a plate of fries. “Why do you sound like you’re having complicated feelings about that?”

Ben’s eyebrows go up as he pops a fry in his mouth. “Seems like I’m the only one who’s having feelings about it.” Helene’s brow furrows, and he sighs. “One, I heard about it from Marla, not from him. Two, I get there this morning and he’s just fine. Like nothing happened. They’ve been together as long as I’ve known him, and she dumps him and he’s just … fine.”

“Ahh,” Helene nods slowly. “This is your first time with the Dickerson special.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “Explain.”

“Dickerson is a fixer. That’s his thing. He wants to solve everyone’s problems, because he wants no problems, so naturally when he has problems, he’s going to make sure no one knows about it.” Helene pauses as she wipes down another part of the bar before continuing. “Or maybe he just actually doesn’t care.”

“He proposed to her.”

“Yeah, because he’s been with her forever and ‘it was time.’”

Ben can read the implications, and he doesn’t like them. That the comfort of having a relationship is more important than whether it’s the right one. He sets his jaw before looking back at her. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

Helene squints at him. “I’m not trying to get him to marry me. Why would that bother me?”

Ben isn’t entirely sure he knows why it’s bothering him. He’s not Marla. It’s not his relationship that fell apart. He’s not Dickerson either. This shouldn’t matter to him. If Dickerson’s fine, he should let it go.

Helene leans forward, elbows resting on the edge of the bar. “Ben. Why are you acting like you’ve just had some grand revelation about your best friend?”

Ben tips his head to look at her more before shaking his head. “I’m not.”

“So you’re having a grand revelation about how you feel about your best friend.”

That strays closer to the truth, but he’s not sure he wants to unpack that with Helene either. She’s available for specific conversations, and they aren’t deep or complicated. But also they are the kind he can’t really have with Dickerson.

She waits quietly for him to confirm, then sighs. “Look, you two have your thing, and I’m not trying to get in the middle of it. But I’ve known you long enough to know that you have a lot of big feelings. So if you want to talk about it with someone who is not Dickerson—”

“I’ve been Marla. In fact, I’ve pretty much always been Marla.” He sets his jaw before leaning back on the stool. “I didn’t think that Marla was me.”

What he doesn’t say is that whatever feelings he may or may not have for his best friend, things stuffed down hard because Dickerson was engaged to someone else, none of them ever equated to the fact where it could be just another take on any of the relationships he’s ever had. Just another blip on the radar, another bit of fun until something actually serious comes along. Or worse, someone just going along for the ride because something easy was presented to them. He doesn’t think he could handle that from someone who is so important to him.

It makes him want to pull back in a situation that maybe could have had him leaning in.

“Marla isn’t you.” Helene points out. “None of your people has ever deluded you into thinking that they would marry you.”

He snorts. “Yeah. Probably should be grateful for that, shouldn’t I?” He’s about to say something else, when Dickerson walks in the door, and he shifts his body language to lean in towards her, looking for the distraction from his thoughts. “I’m off tomorrow. Want to hang tonight? My place?”

Helene looks back at him, raising an eyebrow almost as though she realizes that she’s being used as a distraction from something else, but she also never seems to mind. “You’re not going to get stupid drunk and pass out on me halfway through, are you?”

“Do I ever?” Ben is almost offended she has to ask. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Her eyes sparkle with an edge of almost feline intrigue. “Good point.” Dickerson’s almost at the bar, and she nods. “Yeah, sure. I get off at one.”

He grins, an escape secured as she places another ginger ale in front of him. Dickerson’s hand comes down on his shoulder, and he gives it a firm squeeze.

“So, what are we drinking? Beer?”

“Beer. Sounds good,” Ben nods, settling in to have a relaxing night with his friends. Not to think about things that aren’t important. And put a nail in the coffin of things he never put actual words into hoping for.

“We have a new Valkyrie.”

Rosalina pauses before stepping back and raising an eyebrow at Hecuba. She stands at the entrance to the stables. “Odin’s dead.”

“Yes, and Thor felt the need to call one of the Indebted into service.”

“Oh.” It’s not unprecedented. Odin chose several Valkyries from the first iteration of the city. But after Odin died, Rosalina assumed their ranks would not continue to grow. Clearly, she was wrong. “Thor. Not Freyja?”

Hecuba nods. “Her name is Sarah. She’s remaining in Teleios for now, it seems. But I wanted you to be aware, as she will likely be brought here for training at some point.”

Rosalina nods with a smile before turning to head back towards the training grounds. “No trouble at all. Do we know whether she has any previous combat training?”

“Unclear, but according to Thor she has psychopomp experience.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Rosalina’s shoulders relax some. “That’s always the hardest thing to teach.” Having empathy in the face of death is hard. Some of the Valkyries who are already warriors have a hard time meeting it head on. Sometimes, it's easier to teach a psychopomp to fight than it is to teach a warrior to guide the dead.

Hecuba nods in agreement. “I’ll let you know when she arrives.”

Rosalina nods before turning and going back to work. It’ll be nice to have a new student again.

* * * * *

It’s about a year before Sarah arrives in Valhalla with the intent of training, with Teleios having closed its doors (again) though this time less brutally than in times past. She arrives with more training with a blade than Rosalina expected, and that is also a boon in their favor. There’s also been some time of recovery, for Thor to find a rhythm with his mother, especially with Asgard being its own realm again. Freyja has taken charge of the Valkyries, but Rosalina knows the agent well enough to know that things will be calmer for it.

“Hello!” she says with her usual cheer as she makes her approach, holding out her hand to shake hers. “I’m Rosalina Frostward. I’ll be responsible for your training from here on out.”

“Sarah,” the young girl says with a smile. “Thank you.”

She’s younger than Rosalina expects, but there’s a weight to her that Rosalina recognizes. Something that feels older than her few visible years, and the older Valkyrie can’t help but be curious—but first meetings are not the place for those conversations.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sarah. Have you been given the grand tour?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Well, then. Let’s get started.”

With the Vikings gone, the Valkyries could reclaim some spaces of Valhalla that they had originally ceded to the comfort of the survivors. But things aren’t quite back to normal yet, so the tour is short, and ends on the fields where she will train with the rest of her class.

“What kind of combat is expected? Will everyone have to use a sword?”

“Most choose some kind of blade, yes. But the types vary. Personally, I am more of a fencer, so I use a rapier more than a broadsword, but your fighting style will be unique to you. We’ll try many things before we settle on your signature weapon.”

Sarah nods slowly before her face becomes more somber. “How often do we go into battle?”

“Not so often as we used to. Agents get along a lot better these days, or what’s required is smaller expeditions. I haven’t seen a battlefield since … Asgard, I suppose. The first time.”

Sarah nods slowly. “Is there a reason you haven’t?”

Rosalina pauses before nodding. She doesn’t bring up Mira often, not after this long, but from the way Sarah is studying her, she feels she might be more astute than most other new Valkyries. “There is. But it’s not currently part of the tour.” She says it lightly, and Sarah nods, offering a small smile in return.

“I understand. Thank you for showing me around. I should find my way back to my room.”

“Yes, indeed.” Rosalina’s eyes sparkle as she goes to lead her back to the dorms. “We start bright and early in the morning. You’ll need your rest.”

Sarah’s nose wrinkles. “How early, exactly?”

“Not before the sun’s up. We want you to see what you’re stabbing, after all. But … not long after it rises.”

She makes a bigger face before nodding. “Well, I wasn’t really a big sleeper, anyway.”

Rosalina won’t comment on how heavy days of training may change that, because that isn’t true of everyone. She’ll simply nod and smile before leaving her at the entrance to the dorms.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Sarah. Looking forward to getting started.”

As she turns to go inside, she can’t help but feel like this is going to be promising.

* * * * *

Sarah catches on quickly compared to most. The training she had before she came to Valhalla helps at least in terms of familiarity with a sword and some other weaponry, but she’s still new to this, and Rosalina spends time with her making small corrections to her form, shifting her steps in the dance just so in order to help her improve.

It also helps that Sarah seems determined to improve. She catches her practicing on her own after classes are done for the day. One quiet evening she comes across her moving through the motions of the forms they learned earlier that day, a series of blocks and parries, and the teacher in her can’t help but step forward out of the shadows before she can pull away from one particular thrust forward.

“Good, good. Don’t pull back yet.” Rosalina moves forward to stand behind her. “Do you feel how your weight is shifted, all to the left? That’s going to give your opponent an opportunity to catch you off balance.”

Sarah nods, watching carefully as Rosalina ever so slightly shifts her weight so that the sword is in the same place, but Sarah’s weight is a little steadier.

“Does that feel better?”

“Yes.” Sarah ducks her head. “I didn’t realize you were—”

“I was not spying. Well, not intentionally spying.” Rosalina moves around to face her at the front. “I was passing by, and I fully intended to leave you to keep practicing. But so much of this is muscle memory, like a dance. I don’t want your muscles to learn the wrong thing.”

Sarah nods in understanding. “When you were learning, did you feel you were never actually learning anything, and all you had was a series of fancy dance moves?”

Rosalina laughs. “Frequently. My fencing instructor was rather demanding. But over time, I saw the ways it helped. Especially when you’re in the midst of a great battle, you can’t waste time thinking about placement—you simply need to act.”

Sarah lowers the sword slowly, considering her instructor. “I saw the aftermath of Asgard. Hundreds of years down the line, I know, but … I can see how any of that would cause someone to walk away. But I don’t think that’s why you did.”

Rosalina raises an eyebrow because in the time they’ve spent together, she’s realized that Sarah is perceptive. And maybe, because she was a psychopomp once upon a time, she’s intimately familiar with the signs of grief, even in someone who is several centuries removed from that great loss. Rosalina doesn’t wear her grief as openly as she used to, but it’s still there, if you know where to look.

“I lost someone very dear to me in Asgard. And while that isn’t the reason, it’s a wound that isn’t easily healed, no matter how much you wish it would.”

Sarah nods. “So what is the reason?”

Rosalina takes a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself. “For a long time, there was the temptation simply to throw myself into battle recklessly, and that is an urge that will do no one any good. I turned my focus to training instead, and the more and more of my students came back, the more that soothed. But sending myself into those battles … I’m still not sure I trust myself not to find a way to the other half of my heart. And I have promises I intend to keep to the living—including you.”

Sarah frowns. “You haven’t promised me anything.”

“On the contrary. The moment you agreed to let me teach you, I promised that I would have you ready. And that is a promise I take seriously.”

“Do you think you will ever go back into battle again?”

Rosalina considers that quietly. “I can’t say for sure. I’m not giving up, but I’m not rushing things either. And every day, the sword sings in my hand more and more. One day my sisters will need me, and I will take up the call. I’m just not sure I know when.”

Sarah nods, consideration on her face before she lifts the sword again. “Can you show me the second form again? Make sure I have it right?”

Rosalina smiles and nods before moving to stand next to her, drawing her own rapier. “Let’s take it from the beginning, shall we?”

The social worker had warned them that adoption could be a long process. But when conversations about it take on the tone of, “I’m stalling because I’m not really sure what to tell you,” Aiden smells a rat. He doesn’t think Josh does. In fact, he’s fairly certain he only smells it because he grew up with Selina, said social worker, and knows what it looks like when she’s trying to dance around something.

So, one morning when Josh is busy with meeting the new human faction leader, he makes his way over to Selina’s office with coffee and opens with: “What the hell, Selina?”

Selina’s eyes narrow as she takes the coffee from him. “Good morning to you too.” Aiden continues to stare her down, and she rolls her eyes with a huff. “You know that doesn’t work on me. I’m a werewolf too, and if I remember correctly, I could kick your ass nine times out of ten, so intimidating me into moving this faster is not going to work in your favor.”

“Sure, it won’t.”

“This is the government, Aiden. It’s slow. It’s the defining feature, especially when doing something arguably good for their community is concerned.”

Aiden nods slowly. “I know for a fact that Shelby and Joaquin started talking to you after we started talking to you about Erroll and they had their kid placed within the month. It’s been nearly four. So, I repeat, what the hell?” Having one of their own in the office is supposed to make things like this easier.

Selina gives a small shrug. “There’s been a bit of red tape, but I’m working on it.”

“What kind of red tape?” He pauses before running a hand over his face. “Is it because we’re both men?”

“No.”

“Because, given that we’re in the south, it would make sense if—”

“No. That’s not the problem.”

Aiden takes a deep breath, taking a sip of his own coffee to steady himself. “Then what is it?”

Selina glances around before pulling Aiden into her office and closing the door behind him. The soundproofing quickly shuts out the rest of the noise from the office, but it also means no one can hear them either.

“It’s the foster mother.”

“Virginia?” Aiden’s brow furrows. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Selina raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, she has not given me the reasons beyond ‘I think Erroll needs more time to adjust’ or ‘I’m just not sure they’re the right fit’ and it makes me want to strangle her but because she is the current guardian, we can’t complete the adoption process without her say so.”

Aiden sets his jaw. He and Virginia have never had a problem. They’ve never been close, particularly after he and Josh got married, but she’s never been outright hostile either. She’s one of the stauncher members of the pack, more set in her ways, but it’s been over a decade.

“What do you think the issue is?”

Selina is perceptive, and she knows Virginia better than he does. Selina makes a face, and he knows it’s an answer he’s not going to like. “Your place in the pack is hard to impeach. I mean, you’re Hayley’s right hand. But … you’re also married to a vampire.” He opens his mouth to respond, and she holds up a hand. “And you know I love that vampire for you, and even as we’re supposed to all be besties now, it’s still complicated for a lot of us.”

Aiden exhales slowly, trying to let some of that anger recede, but it’s not easy (it’s never easy). It doesn’t help that after everything Josh has done to prove that he has the best interests of the pack in mind, it’s still not enough.

“If I talk to her about this, will it get you in trouble?”

Selina waves a hand. “Only if you don’t convince her to be on your side. And if you don’t … well, then I can play a little dirty too.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

“No, you do not,” Selina replies before giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Good luck.”

He nods before turning and making his way out of her office. He was going to need it.

* * * * *

Josh and Aiden have another scheduled getting to know you visitation coming up, so Aiden doesn’t make a separate trip out to the bayou. He doesn’t tell Josh either. It’s mostly because he doesn’t want Virginia to see him coming, and if Selina is right about Virginia’s issues with them, Virginia will watch his husband like a hawk. He’ll tell him after the problem is resolved—or maybe if he’s lucky, he won’t have to tell him at all.

Erroll brightens when he sees them both and immediately takes Josh’s hand to lead him up to his room to show him something in the backyard, and Josh looks back at them and Aiden shakes his head.

“I’ll be right behind you. I just want to talk to Virginia for a second.”

Josh frowns, confused before nodding. “Alright. See you soon.” The two of them head out, and Virginia turns her shrewd expression on Aiden.

“What is it?”

Aiden holds up a finger, waiting until he hears the back door close, followed by the fading footsteps into the distance, and once he’s sure both husband and child are out of earshot, he turns back to her with a frown. “You want to tell me what your problem is?”

Virginia flusters. “Excuse me?”

“I talked to Selina, and it turns out everything is fine on CPS’s end, but you’re the one holding up the adoption. I would like the opportunity to resolve whatever the issue is, so I repeat—you want to tell me what your problem is?”

Virginia’s eyes narrow, crossing her arms in front of her chest defensively. “Maybe I want to keep him myself. Did you ever consider that?”

“Then you would have moved forward with the adoption yourself, and you haven’t. So let’s try again.”

She grits her teeth before leaning in to meet him. “You’re being a real asshole right now, and it’s not exactly changing my mind on things.” She turns to walk away, and he moves to follow her.

“Yeah, I’m an asshole, but that’s only because you’ve been in our face, every time we’ve had a visit, pretending like everything was just fine, so maybe being an asshole is the only way to get you to talk.”

“Well, that was a miscalculation on your part. And this isn’t something you can pull rank on as Hayley’s second. I am doing what is best for that child.”

“How is keeping him here when two people who want to adopt him and give him a good life doing what is best for him?”

Virginia sighs. It’s hard to push like this when he’s known her his whole life, but he’s not going to not fight for his family. So if he has to challenge her, he will. Eventually, she speaks. “You married that boy, Aiden. And that’s your life to choose. You’re an adult; you can take care of yourself.”

“So this is about Josh.”

“He’s a sweet boy. I’m not saying he’s not. But he’s also the leader of the vampire faction, and while I certainly prefer him over someone like Marcel Gerard or, heaven forbid, one of the Mikaelsons, it’s not the least dangerous job in the world. He was kidnapped to be executed, you realize. And then there were more hunters with the kill list—”

“Everyone was on that.”

“Yes, but he was probably worth quite a bit more than the rest of us. And so were you.” Virginia sets her jaw. “Look, I don’t feel great about this, but I’m responsible for that child’s safety. Can you really guarantee that he’ll be safe?”

Aiden looks out to the front yard, trying to keep his temper calm because yes, her words anger him, but he can’t say she’s wrong, either.

“We had peace for a long time. This was one blip; maybe things will quiet down again.”

“Maybe. And maybe it won’t.”

“So you’re saying that unless Josh steps down from his job, you won’t sign off on us adopting Erroll. You realize if he does, that just opens us up for one of the people you don’t want. Davina and Marcel are still close, so he’ll probably stand in until we pick someone new. Elijah Mikaelson is back in town, so maybe he might take a hand in it. He originated the role way back when, so he might find it stimulating. Hell, I’ve even heard the Salvatores have been hanging around. Maybe one of them might want the job.”

The vampire they’d want—Cami, mainly—would be ineligible because of her role in the community. You can’t have your therapist also be deciding for the collective, never mind the fact that she’s Klaus’ wife. They’re all compromised in different ways. Josh is just cleaner than most.

Virginia raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

“No, not a threat. I’m just saying this is something we both really want. So we’ll make the choices necessary to make that happen, but I just want to make sure you’re aware of what the consequences will be.” Aiden shrugs. “You want us to prioritize the kid, we’ll prioritize the kid. But I think we can find a better compromise here. Just … think about it.”

And with that, he will head out to the backyard to find his husband, and hope that Virginia will actually think about it. He steps out onto the grass, scanning for any sign of trouble, when a small, bespectacled face pops up from behind one bush and shouts:

“Follow me if you want to live!”

Aiden laughs, some of the weight lifting as he turns to head in that direction. “Right behind you, buddy.”

* * * * *

Aiden tells Josh about his conversation with Virginia the moment they’re home, because that didn’t feel like the right secret to keep, especially when it may involve giving up his job. And he can’t, in some instances, say that Virginia is wrong to worry. She doesn’t even know about San Francisco, about the two timelines bouncing around in Aiden’s head—Josh barely knows about that.

He’s wondering if she’s right, and needs someone to tell him otherwise.

“Everyone is always in danger! Danger is what New Orleans is!” Josh huffs. “Honestly, I’ve lived here for over a decade, and this is literally the safest it’s ever been, and we just had a hunter invasion.”

“I know.”

“And part of that is because of work I did.”

“I know.”

“Does she really think it’s going to stay that way if I step down?”

“That’s what I told her.”

“Also, I resent that I’m the dangerous problem. You’re Hayley’s right hand. If they can’t find Hayley or Derek and want to come at the pack, they’re going to go right for you.” His stomach sinks slightly, and Josh must see it on his face, because he leans in closer. “I don’t mean that you’re a problem. Neither of us is a problem.”

Aiden rubs his eyes as he straightens. “I don’t think she’s wrong to have us thinking about it. It’s one thing when it’s the two of us; it’s another when there’s a kid involved.”

Josh studies him before moving closer. “Are you rethinking things?”

“No. No, not the bigger question. This is what we want.” What they’ve wanted for a while. “I’m just maybe wondering if there’s a way we can make this work. We will need to have plans to keep him safe if something happens again.”

Josh nods slowly. “Ways we can convince Virginia that we’re taking his safety seriously.”

Aiden nods as well. “Maybe we could ask Davina—”

The question is cut off by his phone ringing, Virginia on the caller ID. He reaches for it, answering on speakerphone, even if he doesn’t have to. “Hey, Virginia.”

“Is your husband around?”

“You’re on speaker.”

Virginia sighs. “I assume you told him about our conversation.”

“He did,” Josh interrupts, the annoyance clear in his tone.

“Good. Well, I thought about what you said about there maybe being a better compromise. So I made a list—”

“Of demands?” Josh cuts her off.

“Of suggestions.” There’s a pause, and Aiden’s phone buzzes again with a text message. “The big one is spending more time in the bayou. I understand you need to have a place in town, but it may be better for him to be here with other kids his age who are like him, and more people who will protect him if necessary. I don’t know what contingencies they have for children in the Quarter but … ”

Werewolf children are less able to protect themselves if they haven’t turned. Witch children at least have their natural protective magic.

“We’ll have a look and let you know.” Aiden pauses. “Anything else?”

“I’m sorry for not discussing it with you directly. I should have instead of just stalling.”

“Thank you.” Aiden hangs up before pulling up the list and showing it to Josh. “Okay, these are not unreasonable. But I think there are ways we can make the Quarter safer. Talk to Davina and see if there’s like … magical ways that we can give him places to hide. Teach him who the safe adults are, that kind of thing.”

Josh nods slowly. “I’m having coffee with her tomorrow. We can brainstorm.”

“We’ll figure this out.” Aiden glances over at him before pulling him close. “I know we can protect him. We just have to spend the time thinking about it.”

Josh nods slowly. “I’m still allowed to be sulky at her for making this my fault, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” Josh sighs as he leans in to kiss him. “Maybe if we’re lucky, we can have him here by Christmas.”

“Maybe.” That would be nice. “In that case, we’d have to make sure we have presents for Christmas.”

“Maybe we'll go shopping this weekend? Just in case.”

Aiden smiles, because it’s the hopeful distraction that they’re both in need of. “That sounds perfect.” And maybe it’ll bring a bit of good luck too.

If nothing else, it’s one more step closer to what they’ve been working towards.

“That was good work.”

Edited 2025-10-01 14:31 (UTC)

This was delightful. What a great exploration of what their first meeting could be like. As far as I'm concerned this is canon for our universe now because it works so perfectly. I loved that she didn't know who he was, she just needed a good cop.

We already chatted, but I'm glad you enjoyed it! And yes, it can def be canon for our verse.

It takes some time, but slowly Zari gets over her initial flustering and is more herself, which helps Behrad be more himself, and things feel something akin to normal. It helps that she knows who his Zari is and can manage those expectations, but she still can’t help but feel like she’s sitting on a secret.

Probably because she is.

Every time she feels like a conversation could lead them towards her Behrad, she delicately sidesteps it. She steers the conversation away from the things that hurt her most. She knows that he’s going to ask one day—how could he not? Zari would. But she keeps kicking the can down the road, hoping that maybe he’ll forget.

Behrad does not forget.

“So what’s your me like?”

It feels like such an innocent question as the two of them trade off parts while they work on the front desk computer, and Zari freezes. She knows she can’t truly avoid the question, not really. So she takes a deep breath and wades into things she doesn’t talk about often.

“Not that different, not really.” She keeps her eyes on the screwdriver she’s using to release the cover so she can get at the circuitry underneath. “He was a little harder sometimes, but that’s only because he had to be. He wasn’t usual with me.”

She can practically hear the frown in his voice as he considers that. “What do you mean?”

Zari pauses before straightening and turning to look at him. “Our timeline wasn’t a great one. ARGUS declared martial law shortly after the Metahuman Registration Act was signed; organized religion was outlawed—people were suffering. And you saw that, and you couldn’t stand by and let it happen. You had the totem, but I wasn’t going to let you do it alone. I was your girl in the chair while you went out and helped people move around or broke metahumans out of jail. You were really good at it too. Charismatic. You always knew just what to say to get people to follow you.”

Behrad considers that for a moment before shaking his head. “That doesn’t sound like me at all.”

“Well, that sounds to me like you don’t give yourself enough credit. You became a Legend after all.”

She can tell from the look on his face that he doesn’t think the two are quite the same, and fair. Being part of the Legends can feel like a wild and wacky adventure more than it does saving the world. Instead, he looks back down at his work and refocuses.

“Are we happy? Even with all that happening?” Dexterous fingers work one chip free while he continues to speak. “I mean, makes sense that you would hook up with the Legends in a world like that and try to change the timeline to make it better. But I don’t get why I didn’t come—”

She hears it the moment the penny drops, and he realizes the reason. She can’t bring herself to look at him just yet, because the realization is heavy, especially when she knows what question is going to come next.

“Mama and Baba?”

She can’t say those words aloud. All she can do is shake her head, confirming what is likely sinking into the pit of his stomach. And suddenly the lobby of the Kashtta feels stifling, and she needs to be somewhere else.

“I need to get some air.”

“Z—”

“I’m okay. I just … I need some air.”

He lets her go, and she rushes out into the streets of Chicago. She knows this conversation isn’t over, not yet. But she’ll at least put it on pause for a little while.

* * * * *

He finds her a couple of hours later, sitting on a bench in the subway station, staring down the empty tunnel. He moves to sit on the bench next to her, placing a box of doughnuts between them, almost like a peace offering.

Behrad also doesn’t ask, but she knows she needs to say it all the same. “It was a trap. And I didn’t realize it until it was too late. We had been contacted by someone who knew all our protocols and was looking for a way out of town, and I should have vetted it better. That was my job. We were being so careful, especially because ARGUS had long since moved on from non-lethal methods, but … I missed it. And by the time I realized—”

It was done. The sound of the guns over their earpieces still rattles in her head sometimes, usually after a vicious nightmare.

“They left you behind, but they took the totem. And I knew I had to get it back. I tried to hack in on my own, but they were waiting for me there too. The only reason I probably didn’t wind up dead too was Kuasa tried to kill me first.”

Behrad snorts. “Weird to be kind of grateful to her for that, right?”

She laughs before reaching for one doughnut and tearing off a piece. “I got away from her, and then the Legends showed up. They claimed they were there to help me, so I … conned them into helping me break into ARGUS’ headquarters so I could get the totem back. I thought that once they figured that part out, they would abandon me, but they didn’t.”

“They’re good like that.”

“Yeah, they are.” She takes another bite of her doughnut. “It took me a while to convince Sara to help me change the future. I’m still not sure how I did it, what I changed. The timeline has so many dominoes in it, I knew there was a risk that maybe I wouldn’t still be me, but it was worth it. You were always worth that risk.”

He leans back on the bench, staring down the empty tunnel, almost as though they’re both waiting for a subway train that’s never going to come. He’s quiet, digesting all the information.

“When the Legends showed up, for me, it was like I was waking up. That there were parts of me I never realized were there, and maybe I wasn’t a hero yet, but I could be. I could be the totem bearer. I could help save the world. Me, who spent the entire time hiding in my sister’s shadow, with no followers and no audience and no clout. It felt like something worth doing.” He glances back over at her, and she can see him doing the math. “Maybe you’re right, and it was always there. I just needed something worth fighting for.”

Zari smiles softly. “Do you think there’s a timeline somewhere where we just get to be? No evil government organizations or crazy time-traveling heroes?”

“Maybe,” he says with a shrug. “But then we wouldn’t be us and therefore would be significantly less cool.”

“Fair,” Zari snorts. She leans back against the bench, staring down at the remains of her doughnut. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

His eyes shift to her, curious. “Even though I’m not your Behrad?”

She nods. “Ever since your Zari showed up, I’ve … been struggling with it, a little. Not that I did it—I would do it again, every time. But that I would do all that work and just … disappear when it was done.” She knew Zari was aware of her, but that didn’t mean she was real. “It’s still hard. But having you here remind me why I did it. The person I was fighting for.”

Behrad glances over at her with a small smile. “You just miss your Behrad sometimes. Because I’m not quite the same.”

She nods quickly, one tear slipping down her cheek, and as she reaches up to brush it away, he moves the box of doughnuts between them and slides over to wrap his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in for a tight hug. She leans into it eagerly, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

“I get that,” he murmurs. “I think I feel the same way sometimes. You’re Zari, but you’re not quite Zari enough.”

She laughs. “Which is probably for the best, because I barely know how she manages to be that much Zari.”

He grins. “I’m not sure she does either.”

“Sometimes I would look at her though and … she feels like everything I could have had the potential to be. If things were different.”

“Maybe.” Behrad pauses, and she feels him wrestling through his own complicated feelings about his sister. “Zari and I didn’t always have the best relationship. Since she’s been on the Waverider, I think we’ve been getting better. But I like that we don’t have the same kinds of thorns in our relationship. We can start from scratch.”

Starting over feels good in its own way. None of the complicated emotional tangles, but still siblings. Still Behrad and Zari. If they start there, they can figure everything else out.

“Okay,” she says with a nod as she sits up. “Let’s start from scratch.”

Behrad smiles before picking up a doughnut of his own. “These are really good doughnuts, by the way. I can see why you keep going to Griddy’s.”

Zari nods, going back to what remains of hers. “Have you met Five yet?”

Behrad pauses before tipping his head to the side. “I don’t … think so?”

“You’d know him if you met him. I’d probably keep the complications of this—” She gestures to the space between them. “—away from him. I don’t know of ‘paradox psychosis’ applies with siblings from alternate timelines, but probably best not to get him started.”

“… Do I want to know what paradox psychosis is?”

Zari wishes she didn’t. “It starts with denial and itching, ends in acute paranoia and homicidal rage.”

“Yikes.” Behrad shakes his head. “Thankfully, we shouldn’t be triggering any paradoxes.”

“I think in Chicago, paradoxes are the least of our problems. Besides, your Zari and I lived here together for months, and we were fine.” So clearly she thinks Five is overreacting, but that also doesn’t seem abnormal for him.

“Got it. Keep things chill with Five.” He’s quiet for a moment before he glances back at her. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here too. I’m glad I’m not doing this alone.”

She smiles softly before nodding. “Me too.” And then, as she gets to her feet. “Want to go get dinner at the Crowbar? They have really good potato skins.”

“Yes, please.”

"It's been a long time."

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prompts { 2025 } fictober

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Completed: 31/31
Word Count: 57,038

REQUESTS

no subject

no subject

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no subject

/screeches in here late af with Starbucks

no subject

(I'm too lazy to change accounts on my phone lmao)

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Re: REQUESTS

10/1 ~ that was good work. ~ dctv/the umbrella academy ~ 1,992

10/2 ~ it's been a long time. ~ dctv/marvel cinematic universe ~ 1,745

10/3 ~ i know you better. ~ supernatural/wynonna earp (soulmate au) ~ 1,739

10/4 ~ no, we're not doing that. ~ everyone lives ~ 2,855

10/5 ~ it's a new day, let's go. ~ everyone lives ~ 1,480

10/6 ~ i'm not giving up. ~ teleios ~ 1,550

10/7 ~ follow me if you want to live. ~ everyone lives ~ 2,411

10/1

Re: 10/1

Re: 10/1

10/8 ~ are we happy? ~ wild lands ~ 1,764

10/2

prompts { 2025 } fictober

Request plurkCompleted: 31/31Word Count: 57,038

REQUESTS

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

/screeches in here late af with Starbucks

no subject

(I'm too lazy to change accounts on my phone lmao)

no subject

no subject

no subject

Re: REQUESTS

10/1 ~ that was good work. ~ dctv/the umbrella academy ~ 1,992

10/2 ~ it's been a long time. ~ dctv/marvel cinematic universe ~ 1,745

10/3 ~ i know you better. ~ supernatural/wynonna earp (soulmate au) ~ 1,739

10/4 ~ no, we're not doing that. ~ everyone lives ~ 2,855

10/5 ~ it's a new day, let's go. ~ everyone lives ~ 1,480

10/6 ~ i'm not giving up. ~ teleios ~ 1,550

10/7 ~ follow me if you want to live. ~ everyone lives ~ 2,411

10/1

Re: 10/1

Re: 10/1

10/8 ~ are we happy? ~ wild lands ~ 1,764

10/2

Request plurk
Completed: 31/31
Word Count: 57,038