iluvroadrunner6 | prompt table { 2016 } 100 situations

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prompt table { 2016 } 100 situations

Because I intend to finish this table one way or the other - please feel free to claim prompts from the list below. Anything with a link or a strikethrough is off limits, but otherwise, comment below and I will mark your prompts as claimed!

001.	Tired	002.	Back Alley	003.	Sunrise	004.	Late	005.	Son
006.	Hot	007.	Friend	008.	Floor	009.	Cheat	010.	Think
011.	Disgust	012.	Shelter	013.	Borrow	014.	Chair	015.	Alter
016.	Peace	017.	Beach	018.	True	019.	Crazy	020.	Love
021.	New	022.	Beggar	023.	False	024.	Happy	025.	Cancer
026.	Pickpocket	027.	Reverse	028.	Deliver	029.	Arrival	030.	Fall
031.	Knife	032.	Torn	033.	Danger	034.	Neutral	035.	Mate
036.	Fly	037.	Loud	038.	Touch	039.	Seek	040.	Argue
041.	Work	042.	Sink	043.	Nut	044.	Stuck	045.	Animal
046.	Pray	047.	Kill	048.	Light	049.	Cold	050.	Affair
051.	Restaurant	052.	Movie	053.	Wait	054.	Patient	055.	Crime
056.	Choke	057.	Fever	058.	Summer	059.	Eat	060.	Thirst
061.	Chance	062.	Appear	063.	Whisper	064.	Day	065.	Scream
066.	Fail	067.	Confused	068.	Smile	069.	Come	070.	Alone
071.	Fast	072.	Slow	073.	Return	074.	Fire	075.	Positive
076.	Baby	077.	Upset	078.	Kitchen	079.	Winter	080.	Ignorant
081.	Fool	082.	Afraid	083.	Prison	084.	Sex	085.	Hate
086.	Alarm	087.	Genius	088.	Negative	089.	Flood	090.	Bomb
091.	Hospital	092.	Trap	093.	Celebrate	094.	Old	095.	Disappear
096.	Writer‘s Choice.	097.	Writer‘s Choice.	098.	Writer‘s Choice.	099.	Writer‘s Choice.	100.	Writer‘s Choice.

Prompts Written: 100/100
Total Word Count: 124,261 words

Fill Plurk | Fill Plurk 2

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

011. Disgust - Scott/Lydia
025. Cancer - Connor/Robin
031. Knife - Oliver/Tommy/Laurel
034. Neutral - Dinah Squared
036. Fly - Lena/Mon-El I'M GONNA WRITE IT we're gonna pretend Karolsen didn't die.
080. Ignorant - Kara/Kate
100. Writer's Choice - Finn/Rey/Poe

Edited 2020-01-03 23:23 (UTC)

Stiles and Lydia break up after she graduates MIT.

It’s mutual. Stiles wants to stay on the east coast, give the FBI a real shot until he can get transferred to work under Scott’s dad somewhere closer to Beacon Hills. Lydia doesn’t really know what she wants beyond more academia, but the nematon’s been calling her home for four years, and while she doesn’t necessarily want to return to the town that drenched her in blood and gore for her high school years, there’s something about that draw that she doesn’t understand yet, and Stiles can’t explain away for her. Plus, the expected epic love story she walked into this hoping for fell a little flat in the end.

It’s nothing either of them did wrong. It’s more a case of building things up for so long, too long, that it doesn’t seem like there’s anywhere else for them to go. They both agree a break will be good for both of them. It’ll give Lydia a chance to assess what she wants.

“You should come to London.”

Jackson calls her while she’s driving back, her entire life packed into the back of an SUV. She stops for lunch at a roadside rest stop to take the call, and she rolls her eyes.

“And that’s going to solve my nematon problem how, exactly?”

“Maybe it’s not a problem you’re supposed to solve. Maybe it’s a problem you’re supposed to ignore.” When she doesn’t comment, he continues. In true Jackson fashion, he doesn’t want to give her time to weigh her options, only continue to force his preferred option down her throat until she agrees. “C’mon. You won’t have to pay anything. Ethan and I can put you up here at the penthouse, and I’ll pay for everything.”

“I don’t know, Jackson.”

“‘I don’t know’ isn’t a no. Which means there’s still room for a yes.”

She laughs. “Let me get my stuff to California and then I’ll think about it. I’ll have time before the semester starts at UCLA, so maybe I’ll arrange for a vacation.”

“Good.” She can hear the smile in his voice. “Because I miss you.”

“You show that so well by only coming to see me when someone’s in danger of dying.”

“Is that what you want? You want me to visit you? Because I will.”

“Oooh, you, me, and Scott alone in Beacon Hills with no buffer. I don’t see that going as well as you may think.”

“It’s not like I don’t have the means. All you have to do is say the word.”

“As I said. I’ll think about it. Stay safe over there.”

“Always.”

When he hangs up, she looks over the empty expanse of the highway in front of her and sighs. Part of her really would love an elegant, extravagant vacation she absolutely can’t afford, but she knows that’s not why she wanted to take this break from the east coast. The only way she’s going to solve a problem like the nematon is to focus.

So focus is what she’s going to do.

- - - - - - -

Her re-arrival back into Beacon Hills is a quiet one, mostly acknowledged by her mother and her much older dog. Her first day back in town involves buying a step stool for Prada so that she can quickly help herself up onto Lydia’s bed without too much hassle and rearranging her room so that she can have a productive workspace. The next day after that is working, making up for the week she lost in transit, making sure all her scattered notes and voice memos make it into her work, rather than lingering on her phone for the rest of eternity.

On the third day, she makes it out to the nematon.

It still looks exactly as she remembers it, a large stump, reminiscent of the giant tree it used to be. She watches the endless rings that spiral across the wood, tracing endless circles that notate the numbers of years it’s rest here, providing power to those who needed it, offering protection, saying, “Come to me, be with people like you.”

In some ways, it feels like she’s coming home, truly, but she wishes she didn’t feel the pull at all.

She reaches out slowly, moving to press one hand against the cool wood when she hears a stick snap in the distance, and she fights the urge to snap around and be ready to attack. Beacon Hills has been quiet since they banished Monroe. It’s probably not danger unless she’s the canary in the coalmine that draws in the next dangerous thing to prey on the people here. Still, her fist balls at her side, and she’s prepared to swing until she hears the voice attached to the footsteps.

“Lydia?”

All the tension flees her body when she realizes it’s Scott. Instead, she smiles and turns to face him with a nod. “Hey, Scott.”

A big dopey grin crosses his face, and that is genuinely the only homecoming she ever wanted. Not some freaky spiritual tree, not all of the baggage that comes with it, but the wide smile of the alpha who kept them all together and kept them all safe for so many years. He holds out his arms to her and she happily leans into him, letting him wrap her in the welcome home hug she didn’t realize she was craving.

“When did you get back?”

“A couple of days ago.” She steps back when he releases her, sliding her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I had some non-Beacon Hills stuff I needed to settle, but I was going to come by the clinic, I promise. I was just … ”

“Getting used to being back?”

“Something like that.”

He doesn’t seem bothered by the deflection, which she appreciates. Instead, he waves a hand back towards town. “Have time for breakfast? I’ll buy.”

Lydia can’t help the smile that crosses her face as she takes his arm. “I think that sounds perfect.”

- - - - - - -

“So, I heard about you and Stiles.”

Lydia glances down at her plate and nods. “Halfway into my omelet before you brought up the S-word. I’m impressed.”

He winces as he cuts into his pancakes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

“No, it’s okay. I mean, we’re still friends. Sometimes it feels like … aside from the non-friend things; we were never really more than that.”

Scott’s brow furrows. “You think so?”

Lydia shrugs, reaching for one of the pieces of toast, resting on the secondary plate nearby. “It feels all romantic and like a whirlwind when he was this thing I couldn’t remember, or when we were apart, but when we were together … the spark went away fast. And I thought that maybe that’s just what having a real relationship is, but I don’t think it was.” She pauses, then glances away, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. You’re his best friend. You shouldn’t have to hear all of this.”

“No, it’s okay.” Scott shakes his head. “You’re my friend too. And honestly? He told me pretty much the same thing.”

In some ways, it’s a relief. That Lydia and Stiles were both on the same page, for once, even if it means that page is the end of their relationship. It makes her feel like if they both decide to move on, one of them isn’t going to be lingering around, waiting for the other to come back and feel the same again. It’s nice to have a relationship that ends on equal footing, for once. But that doesn’t necessarily mean she wants to talk about it anymore. She waves a fork as she goes back to her omelet.

“What about you and Malia?”

Scott shakes his head. “We broke up a while ago. I wasn’t really what she wanted.”

“Does she know what she wants?”

“Not really. But knowing Kira, I have a feeling she’ll find it.”

She smiles softly before nodding. “What about Kira? Did you ever hear from her again?”

“Yeah. Kira came back to help with a few skinwalker adjacent problems. She’s in a really good place. I think she’s found her calling.”

Lydia nods. “But she decided not to stay?”

Scott shrugs. “I think being single for a while has been food for me, though. It’s … shocking how much you get done when you don’t have a girlfriend.”

She laughs, before shaking her head. “Well, hopefully, it will do wonders for my thesis. I think having some time to focus on me could be good.”

“Well, Beacon Hills is so quiet these days, I’m pretty sure you’ll get your wish.”

“I hope so. Speaking of, I should get back to it.” She finishes up her food and goes to reach for her wallet. “How much do I owe you for … ?”

“Nothing. My treat.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He smiles that dopey smile at her again and rests a hand on her arm gently. “It’s nice to have you back, Lydia.”

She’s pretty sure that Scott’s the only person who would ever think that, at least in Beacon Hills.

- - - - - -

It’s three months before Lydia has her first banshee incident.

She isn’t sure if it’s because she’s let her guard down in this newly peaceful Beacon Hills or because Lydia exercised such exact control in Boston, knowing that Lydia couldn’t give herself away, but one day when she’s arriving back in town from her latest trip to campus, Lydia suddenly realizes that she’s pulled off into the Preserve for no good reason. Where she comes to is somewhere around Lookout Point, and her skin is thrumming, buzzing with a scream that has yet to be released.

She doesn’t want to get out of the car. Getting out of the car means it’s real, and at the moment, that’s much more preferable than the relief that will come when she finally pushes forward. She doesn’t want to acknowledge that she might have brought something on her heels, back to a peaceful town that Lydia forced to pay so many prices for things she never requested. Still, eventually, she makes her way out of the car, following her feet down the side of the cliff to find the body in question. It’s impossibly mangled. She can barely tell if the victim was a man or a woman. The banshee doesn’t need an identifiable victim anyway. She screams for the dead – no exceptions.

When the scream is finally torn from her throat, echoing off the trees and into the darkness of the preserve, the last of her resolve is gone, and she charges back towards her car, doubling over and retching from the disgust. She used to have a tolerance for these things, she remembers. That tolerance is something that fades over time.

When her stomach is empty, and she looks up again, Scott is there, peering over the edge of the cliff to see the body in question. She turns to face him one hand, brushing at the corner of her mouth and sighs.

“What was that you said about things being pretty quiet?”

Scott glances back at her grimly, but he doesn’t say anything to contradict her.

- - - - - -

It’s shockingly easy to get back into case mode

Parrish and the Sheriff tell them to stay out of it, and they’ll let them know if they come across anything supernatural, they’ll let them know, but Lydia can’t make this newly found body sit not when she might have brought it there, which is what leads her to place a very old text on top of Deaton’s work station at the clinic.

“I think it’s a real rougarou this time.” She knows that they had one that was Dread Doctors’ adjacent, but this one seems to be fully capable and doing real damage. “All the markings are consistent.” Deaton and Scott look at each other and then back at her and she can see the worry in both their faces, which puts her even more on the defensive, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “What?”

“I don’t disagree with you.” Deaton reaches out to close the book, speaking in that overly calm way of hers that always drive her a little crazy. “But the deputies are properly trained for these things now. They don’t need the pack the way they used to, and if they do, they’ll let us know.”

“So what? We’re just going to sit here and do nothing?”

“There’s nothing to do.” He frowns. “I thought you would be happy about that.”

Happy. Happy about not having to run around, throwing herself into the line of fire? Happy about not winding up in the hospital because she may be supernatural, but she can’t heal the way that werewolves and other shifters can? Happy about not having the nightmares that came with her high school years in Beacon Hills?

She should be. She’s not.

Her mouth draws to one side, nodding as she reaches forward to close the textbook and pull it back to her chest. “Right. Of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to waste your time.” She turns on her heel before either of them could say a word, turning to head back to her car. She’s at the driver’s side door when she hears the smack of the door slamming closed.

“Lydia!”

She doesn’t want to turn around, but she does, turning to face Scott. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting. I don’t know how things work here anymore.”

“That’s not what’s bothering you.”

Stupid werewolves. Stupid chemosignals. “I’m fine, Scott. Really.”

“Lydia.”

He stares into her like he can see right through her – he always has. He takes another step forward, resting one hand on her arm, and some of her armor crumbles. One hand comes up to cover her eyes before she looks up at him again.

“What if it came here because I did? What if I brought this with me?”

Scott gives her arm a light squeeze. “Why don’t we go get a drink?”

Lydia thinks that sounds like an excellent idea.

- - - - - --

The one bonus of not having a healing factor is that she can feel the alcohol she’s drinking.

Scott sits politely across from her, nursing a soda as she works her way a decent amount of whiskey while managing to deflect talking about anything at all. She doesn’t want to talk about this situation, she doesn’t want to linger on memories of dead bodies – she wants to remember good things and be a happy drunk, and for the most part, Scott indulges her, up until they’re ready to make their escape, and he reaches a hand over for her car keys.

“I’ll drive. You’re in no shape.”

She doesn’t disagree and places the keys in his hand, letting him lead the way out to the car. She only opens the door halfway when she reaches the passenger’s side and spins around. “Don’t –” Her breath catches when she realizes how close he is, far closer than he’s been in a long time, and all of her drunk girl instincts say take advantage of it. She remembers him kissing her once, a long time ago Coach’s office when she was looking to piss off Jackson and he was looking to do the same to Allison. Still, she pushes the memories back with another step into the V of the car door, trying to put some space between them. “Don’t take me home. My mom will worry.”

“Where do you want me to take you?”

“That’s a good question.” Those feel like words that probably should have stayed on the inside, but Scott smirks and waves a hand.

“You can crash at my place. Get in.”

Scott’s place used to be Derek’s loft. She recognizes the bare bones of the area but marvels at the fact that it has furniture and on occasion walls. Scott takes Lydia’s hand and leads her through, letting her look her fill as they pass the now fully furnished living room and up the spiral staircase towards the bedrooms.

“You got furniture.”

“Yeah. Unlike Derek, I’m not one for minimalist techniques.” He leads her past many doors, stopping in front of the main bedroom that is full of Scott’s sense of somewhat cluttered organization. “Unfortunately, I haven’t set up the guest rooms yet, but it’s okay. I can crash on the couch.”

She blinks, before looking over at the big bed sitting in the middle of the room. “I can’t take your bed.”

“It’s okay, Lydia.”

She shakes her head. “No. We can share.” She turns to push the door closed behind her, as though that will deter him. It makes sense in her drunk mind, where she momentarily believes that a werewolf’s greatest weakness is a closed door. Scott raises an amused eyebrow at her in return, and her face falters. “I don’t want to be alone somewhere. Please?”

Scott’s amusement softens, then nods. “Yeah, okay. We’ll share.”

“Good.”

He lends her some clothes, and she strips out of her various layers and by the time they’re both tucked into Scott’s bed, back to back like awkward siblings who don’t want to be touching, she’s ready to fall asleep. Before she can drift off, however, she feels Scott reach over and brush his thumb against her arm.

“It’s not your fault, you know. That shifters find their way here.”

Lydia thinks that maybe she should pretend to be asleep, but instead, she rolls over, turning so that she’s facing his back. “How do you know?”

He turns as well, tucking one arm under his pillow as he gets comfortable. “Just because you sense death doesn’t mean you cause it. The nematon is always going to call cryptids here whether we want it to or not.”

She closes her eyes because she knows she’s right. “I still wish I could do something more. I still … want to get there before they become a body. No matter how much I hone my skills, I still can’t get there before they’re dead.”

“You can’t save everyone.” He tucks one arm around her waist to pull her closer, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You do the best you can. That’s all anyone can ever ask of you.”

It’s probably too close, too intimate to stay tucked into him like this, and this isn’t what she had in mind when she suggested they share the bed, but at the same time, this feels like the safest place in the world to be. So instead of pulling away, she tucks in closer, burying her face against his shoulder and lets him hold her as she drifts off to a troubled sleep.

- - - - - -

When she wakes the next morning, Scott’s still kept her tucked into his side, one arm draped over her waist in a protective gesture. Sometimes she isn’t sure where the alpha ends, and Scott begins, but for Scott, she presumes that’s almost the point. Scott became an alpha because he was a protector. It was innately in him all along. She also knows that she should not be resting this close. She likes being there – she’s always been one for affection and proximity, as long as it was with the right people, but this particular position with this specific person is not a good idea. She’d be lying if she said Lydia hadn’t felt the tug between them once or twice since returning, one Lydia hadn’t felt since that moment before the concert where Scott promised her that if she gave him the time, he would act. But there’s too much baggage between them to make this viable.

Still, she can’t stray far without waking him more, so instead, she waits, tries rolling over, so she’s not immediately facing him. His arm tenses, holding her in place before he opens his eyes to look down at her again.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she whispers, before glancing over her shoulder. “I was just going to get dressed and go home.”

He makes a small, sleepy noise of protest before curling into her shoulder. “You can stay. We could breakfast.”

Breakfast does sound good, but at the same time, she knows she’s playing with fire as it is. “That’s a bad idea.”

“Why?” The question is so innocent, and he looks down at her like he honestly doesn’t know why one is better than the other.

She doesn’t have the right answer for that. Scott hasn’t suggested anything untoward, only that they share a meal which they had been doing with regularity since Lydia came back to Beacon Hills. It’s likely everything she’s feeling that’s causing the problem, and she doesn’t know how to put that into words.

She looks up at him, and he’s suddenly too close, noses brushing to indicate that he’s in kissing distance, and as his head starts to dip lower, she pulls back with a groan. “God, we’re terrible friends.”

She catches Scott’s smirk out of the corner of her eye, but he doesn’t pull away. “Again, why?”

Lydia turns to look at him. “Because every time I get close to you, I keep wanting to do bad things.”

“Bad things.” He lets the phrase hang in the air as his thumb brushes against her side. “Good, bad things or bad, bad things.”

“I don’t think the former is a thing.”

“Lydia.”

“I just broke up with your best friend.”

Scott takes a deep breath before leaning back against the pillow. “Okay.”

“And last time I saw you, you were dating my best friend. We can’t just keep sleeping with our friends' significant others.”

“First, we haven’t done anything yet.” The ‘yet’ is the dangerous part of that sentence, and it’s clear that he knows it. “Second, it’s not like it’s the first time for either of us.”

“Yes, but the first time should have been the only time.” Lydia shifts to prop herself up against his chest. “There are codes. Expectations, you know?”

Scott stares up at her, before surging up and kissing her soundly. One hand cups the back of her head, fingers winding up into her hair, while the other keeps her close. She melts into it almost instantly, her hand finding his bicep to keep herself steady, and she leans into it for as long as she can, until he finally breaks it. She stays close, eyes closed, before she looks up at him.

“How is that so much better than the last time we did this?”

Scott pauses, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. “Last time wasn’t real.”

She doesn’t think he’s wrong about that, even if it wasn’t in the literal sense. “I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Or it could be a really, really good one.” Scott shifts again. “How about we take it slow? Just … one day at a time.”

Lydia nods again because that sounds logical. They could take it slow and not super commit to anything until they know where it’s going. That seems fair, especially considering the powder kegs they could be lighting on both sides of their relationships.

“Okay. Slow sounds good.”

“Good,” he murmurs as he kisses her again. The kisses are relatively chaste, but they still linger a little longer than they should, and eventually deepen a little more than they should, until Scott is shifting them so he can settle above her and pull her closer.

And as his lips wander to her neck, he leaves her wondering how “slow” has never really been one of her strong suits.

Want to meet for a drink?

Robin sends the text about halfway between Chicago and Rochester when she’s about three hours into a drive that she probably shouldn’t be making when she’s running on nothing but grief and a need to see him, even if he isn’t prepared to see her. It’s not that she intentionally decided to drive six hours after seeing her mother for the last time. Robin hadn’t even intended to leave the party. All she truly remembers is saying goodbye to her mother, getting into her car, and then driving, without fully knowing where she was going.

The midway point she finds to take account of herself and what exactly it is she’s doing is a gas station along Route 90 in the middle of Wisconsin, and it’s far too cold to sit there for long, but she waits just long enough to see if he responds, or if she should turn back around shut herself into her apartment.

She doesn’t want to be alone. She knows that. But forcing her grief on someone else not the right thing to do either, so she sits in her car, letting it run idly so she can crank up the heat and waits.

About twenty minutes later, Connor responds: Always. I didn’t know you were in town.

She swallows, debating what she should stay in the grand scheme of things, before deciding that it’s best to go with the truth. I’m not, yet, but I will be in 3 hours.

This answer has a longer pause attached to it, almost as though he doesn’t know what to say to her. Does he know? Did her father think ahead and figure out where she’d go? Did he hear through the hospital grapevine, even though he doesn’t work there anymore? She certainly doesn’t want pity out of this visit, but she knows that given the subject matter, she’s probably going to get some anyway.

Still, true to his word, he responds: I’ll drop a pin. Then, a pause, almost as though he’s trying to decide if this is a worthwhile question to ask, but the map appears in her messages, followed by a question that he has every right to ask: Is everything okay?

Robin doesn’t respond. Instead, she opens the map, starts up the radio again, and begins to drive. After all, what’s the point in coming for a drink, if they’ve already talked about it?

- - - - - -

She isn’t entirely sure why she decided Connor Rhodes was going to be her rock to lean on through this episode of her life. With many other much more local options to choose from, she could have already been halfway drunk by the time she arrived in Rochester, but at the same time, those names don’t come to mind. She also doesn’t think it’s fair to be putting this on him without at least giving him some warning, but where else could she go? He’s grounded her through so much and even if they aren’t together anymore, he knows her better than anyone. He’s the first thought that came to mind as an option and the one she needs to see, even if she can’t quite put her finger on why.

When she pulls up outside the bar, she can tell by the look on his face that he already knows, probably because he contacted her father. It’s after midnight and she’s exhausted on so many levels, but he’s there and all she has to do is get across the parking lot and she’ll be safe.

She gives a small wave as she gets out of her car and he waves in return, before stepping off the curb and meeting her halfway, his hands coming out to steady her arms once she’s close enough. She lifts her hands, resting them against his chest before nodding.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he replies, still warm in his way. She feels his thumb brush against her bicep as he pulls her closer into a hug. Robin swallows hard, tucking her head against his shoulder as she leans into his hold.

“My mom …” She can’t even bring herself to say it, her voice breaking on the second word, and Connor pulls her closer, smoothing a hand over the back of her head.

“I know.” She feels him swallow as well, his cheek resting against the top of her head. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

At that moment, that’s all it takes for her to break, finally, like all the tension that’s holding her together suddenly collapses and any emotional, structural integrity fails all at once. Picking a public place was supposed to negate this kind of reaction, but her willpower isn’t that strong. Still, Connor holds her through it, standing outside in the Minnesota winter for as long as it takes for her to regain her breath again. Once she does, she takes a step back, brushing the tears away from her cheeks and shakes her head.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s fine.” When he says it, she can tell he means it. In some ways, maybe that’s the reason why she went to him, knowing that she could take him at his word and that he wouldn’t merely be placating her. He then tucks an arm around her shoulders and leads her not towards the bar, but one of the other cars. “C’mon. Let’s go back to my place so we can talk.”

She thinks to protest, before glancing up at him. “Is there booze there?”

Connor laughs, before nodding. “Oh, trust me. There’s plenty.”

- - - - - - -

“Can I ask you something?”

She’s a few drinks in at this point, her head resting on a pillow in his lap. His fingers have been lazily brushing through her hair as they were talking, but they stop on this question, almost as though he’s worried she’s going to want to get up and be elsewhere.

“Of course,” she sighs, looking up at him. “What?”

“Why me? I’m sure there were much closer friends you could have leaned on.”

“I’m not sure,” she admits because she’s not. “Honestly, I had intended to go home but when I looked up again, I was already halfway there.”

“That sounds a little dangerous,” he teases, and she laughs.

“Probably. I mean, I did not think I would be spending my evening driving six hours to Minnesota. But then again, I also didn’t think that I would be saying goodbye to my mother tonight, so. There is that.”

“That is true.” His hand resumes its gentle strokes, his thumb curling against her forehead. “Is it weird of me to say that I’m glad you came?”

She tips her head up to look at him curiously. “You mean it?”

“I’m not glad about your mom. And I still think it’s a little crazy to drive six hours on a whim. But … I’m glad that you still feel like I’m someone you can come to.”

“I’m glad you didn’t tell me I was crazy and to go home.”

He shakes his head. “You heard me out when my dad died. The least I could do is return the favor – and even if you hadn’t, I’d never turn you away.”

She stares up at him for a moment, part of her wanting to lean in and kiss him for that, but the sane voice in the back of her mind remembers that she’s both grieving and drunk, and maybe it’s time for her to get some actual sleep.

“Okay. I’m starting to think dirty thoughts, so maybe it’s time for me to get some sleep.”

Connor flashes her a teasing smile. “Good dirty or bad dirty?”

She gives him a look as she gets up, stretching her arms back behind her. “I think you know.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to assume. Wouldn’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you.”

She laughs, before leaning in and kissing his cheek gently. “I think those kinds of thoughts will have to wait until both of us are sober.”

He nods, taking her hand as he pushes up off the couch to show her to the guest room. “So, there’s a chance, then?”

She picks up one of the throw pillows and lobs it gently at his shoulder. “You are the king of Inappropriate Flirting, do you know that?”

“I know. It is one of my few flaws.” He grins, letting it go slightly lopsided, a tell that he’s mostly kidding. “But I’m also pretty good at distractions.”

“Maybe another night,” she says with a nod, as she heads into the guest room. “Not tonight.”

“Fair enough,” he nods, before going through his usual routine of locking up his apartment. Robin lets her eyes linger just long enough before closing the door behind her. She didn’t come here for those kinds of distractions, as tempting as they may be.

Though who knows? Maybe she’ll feel differently tomorrow.

Two fingers stand on the roof of a building across from CNRI on May 15, 2013. One is tall, wearing a mechanical suit, while the other, a stocky blond woman, is dressed in white leather and carries a bow staff. They’re here to correct an anachronism, one that needs delicate handling, a case of fixing the spirit of the anachronism, but not the letter of it.

That anachronism being the death of Tommy Merlyn.

They only have a brief window of opportunity. If they’re wrong about this, a lot of people could die, and this anachronism will get a lot worse before it gets better. Or, at worse, the original timeline will reassert itself, and Oliver Queen will die. This kind of time travel is delicate, especially considering it involves their timelines.

Fortunately enough for both of them, neither of them happened to be in Star City quite yet. Sara doesn’t return to Star City for another few months, while Ray is on a business trip, getting ready to launch one of the first projects for Palmer Tech. Their plan is simple: find Tommy and Oliver after CNRI collapses. Get Tommy onto the Waverider and use Gideon’s tech to heal him. Place them both in the hospital afterward, and wipe Oliver’s memory so he doesn’t accidentally spill the beans to past Sara about future Sara’s time-traveling activities.

It seems easy enough, but it needs perfect timing, so there’s no room for error. And Sara knows better than anyone that Oliver is going to be hard to sway. She glances over at Ray as they wait.

“Last chance to back out.”

Ray shakes his head. “If it saves Laurel, not a chance.”

Laurel runs out of the collapsing building into their father’s arms. A motorcycle pulls up the back, and the rider disappears into the building. Sara grips her staff and prepares to launch herself onto the next roof over. They save Tommy Merlyn tonight and then let the dominoes fall where they may.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

- - - - - -

Tommy Merlyn had been reasonably sure that his words to Oliver were going to be his last. He closed his eyes, ready to succumb to the darkness clouding around the edges of his vision.

Then he opens them again.

The lights in the hospital room are low, which he’s grateful for – as it is, he only needs to blink a couple of times in an attempt to let his eyes adjust. The steady beeping over his head indicates a strong heartbeat, even if he’s not sure how. He moves his hands slowly from his sides, curling inwards to check his chest for any sign of a hole, sending an answering ache through the center of his chest that confirms yes, he was very much stabbed.

“Ow.”

“Tommy?”

He tries to turn his head towards the voice, forcing the fog in his mind to allow him to connect the dots, but in the time it takes him to summon that effort, Laurel’s face appears in the field of vision above him. He stares up at her, relief flooding him that she made it out safe, and he extends one hand up above him to take hers.

“Hi,” he murmurs, and she laughs.

“Hi.” Her free hand comes up to brush against the side of his face. “How do you feel?”

“Like a building fell on me,” he replies glibly, and she laughs again, but this time it’s accompanied with drops of water that leak down onto his hand. “Hey, hey.” His hand comes up to brush against her cheeks, trying to get the offending tears away. “I know my charm is a little broken right now, but that’s there’s no need to cry. I’m sure I’ll be back up to normal in no time.”

“Tommy, I almost lost you,” she whispers, leaning into his hand, as her free one gently moves over to rest against his chest, just above where the rebar pierced through him. “I’m pretty sure crying this time is allowed.”

“Fine, but only this time.” He smiles softly. “Man, you are the best wake up call I could have asked for.” Her head tips to the side, keeping that close contact with him, and it allows his brain to catch up to the other thing that’s missing. “Where’s Oliver?”

“I’m here.”

The soft voice comes from the opposite side of the bed, and he turns to see Oliver back in his civilian wear, though bruised and beat up from their time in the building. He has so many questions for him, but he can also see the guilt weighing down around the man’s shoulders. Plus, some questions can’t be asked around Laurel anyway. So instead of saying anything at all, he reaches out and takes Oliver’s hand in his and giving it a firm squeeze. Oliver squeezes it back.

“I think I’m going to pass out again,” Tommy murmurs, his eyes feeling heavy. “But do me a favor. Don’t go anywhere until I wake up?”

Oliver looks over him at Laurel. Their eyes meet in the middle, and where usually there would be a flare of jealousy, he’s starting to realize that that jealousy may not have been what he thought it was. Eventually, Oliver nods and swallows hard.

“Yeah, buddy. We won’t go anywhere.”

“Good,” he nods, keeping their hands in his as he succumbs back into the darkness again. “See you then.”

- - - - - -

“I got you a sandwich.”

Oliver looks up from his vigil at Tommy’s bedside to see Laurel, standing there holding out a paper container from the hospital cafeteria. She smiles and jiggles it slightly.

“I can’t promise it’s a good sandwich, but you need to eat something.”

He smiles in return as he takes it, and the cup of coffee from her with a nod. “I’m pretty sure I’ve eaten worse.”

“Right. The island.” She moves to sit next to him with her cup of coffee, crossing one leg in front of her. “It might be slightly better than whatever you ate there, but I don’t have a basis for comparison.”

Oliver laughs, flashing her a sly grin. “I honestly hope you never do.”

She laughs as well, and it’s a light sound in a room that’s starting to feel a bit too heavy. All Oliver had ever done as a hero was try to prevent the people he loved from getting hurt, and in the end, he was almost too late to get to the person who needed him most. A person who he’s injured in nearly equal measure to the woman sitting next to him. Part of him thinks he shouldn’t be here, that he has more sins to atone for and maybe going back to the island is the best choice for all of them, but Oliver promised Tommy he would stay put.

After everything that’s happened, he’s not going to deny him that.

He doesn’t touch the sandwich, though, and eventually, Laurel reaches over for his free hand, linking it in hers as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe we almost lost him.”

“Neither can I.”

“We can’t let that happen again.”

He thinks he knows what she’s saying. He thinks she’s saying that she’s choosing Tommy and that what happened between them that night in her apartment can never happen again. He’s been waiting for it, ever since the Undertaking. He doesn’t have the right to fight for her anymore, and he knows it.

“I know,” he replies, his hand still in hers, but when he starts to pull away, she tightens her grip, looking back at him.

“No, I don’t think you do.” Her thumb brushes against the back of his hand. “Because we can’t lose you, either.”

He looks down at her and then down at her hands. “Tommy loves you, Laurel.”

“I know. I love Tommy too. And I also love you. And I know that Tommy loves you too, and you love us both.” She looks down bringing her free hand around to clasp around his. “It’s always been the three of us, Oliver. Maybe that’s how it always supposed to be.”

Oliver’s quiet, because bringing both of them into this world of darkness with him doesn’t feel like the right thing to do. But he also doesn’t think Laurel’s wrong. There aren’t two people in this world he loves more than the two people in this room. At the same time, what he thinks she’s proposing

“I don’t know if Tommy will … ”

“Tommy would appreciate it if you didn’t try to speak for Tommy.” They both turn and see Tommy looking back at them from the bed, eyes open and bright for the first time in a few days. He shifts just enough to prop himself up to one side, before continuing. “Especially because Tommy thinks Laurel’s right.”

That … is not a thing Oliver expected to hear. The idea of getting everything he wants without having to sacrifice something harder. Laurel reaches across the space to take Tommy’s hand and he gives it to her, tethering the three of them together as one and it feels too good to be true.

“It won’t make sense to anyone else,” he offers lamely as some reason why they shouldn’t.

“It doesn’t have to,” Laurel counters. “It just has to make sense to us. And it’s always been the three of us.”

Oliver looks down at the triangle of her arms, holding the three of them together, keeping them from floating off too far. This moment is the way it should be, the comfortable weight of feeling like home settling in his chest. Then he nods. “You’re right. It has always been the three of us.”

“If we do this, though, there’s only one condition from me.” Tommy’s gaze fixes on Oliver, determination in his gaze. “We have to put everything on the table. No secrets between any of us.”

Oliver knows that comment is directed to him more than Laurel. She glances between the two of them, confused, and Oliver nods again, this time releasing her hand and getting to his feet to shut the door to the hospital room. Just because he’s telling her, doesn’t mean that he wants the entire hospital to know. His identity still needs to be a secret, for the most part. But Tommy is right. The thing that was tearing them apart in the first place has been the secrets and lies. If Laurel is going to jump into this, she needs to know what she’s joining.

He then moves to crouch in front of her, drawing her eyes to him and away from Tommy.

“There’s something you need to know.”

“Okay,” she whispers, swallowing hard. “Tell me.”

“I’m the vigilante.”

“Oh.” Laurel takes that in, and he can feel the way her hands tense in his, at first, but then she relaxes and nods. “That makes … so much sense.”

Oliver and Tommy glance at each other briefly, before Oliver nods. “Okay. That was a lot easier than I thought.”

“Not so fast.” Laurel holds up her hand. “I have many, many questions, and you are answering all of them. And if you lie to me …”

“I swear, I won’t. I promise.”

And for the most part, it’s a promise he’ll keep.

- - - - - - -

They try and keep things as much to the status quo as possible. Laurel and Tommy remain the couple in public, even closer after the Undertaking and the things they suffered as a result. Oliver is their close friend and biggest supporter, and the three of them are together all the time, just as they always were. The only difference is that Tommy uses what money he manages to get out of the settlement of his dad’s estate and the loss of his company to buy a bigger apartment for him and Laurel to share. A few months later, Oliver moves in, and the story is that he’s staying in the second bedroom. For a while, it works. People don’t look twice, most of the time.

Thea is the first one to figure it out.

Laurel had thought that honor would go to Sara when she returned, as she was privy to more of their secrets than Thea was, but either Sara wasn’t ready to look too closely at Laurel’s relationship, or she didn’t read between the lines. Thea, on the other hand, is sniffing out secrets like a bloodhound, and it’s Laurel she confronts first, confronting her during one of their regular lunches.

“So you, Tommy and my brother – that’s a thing, isn’t it?”

Laurel blinks, confused because they were so careful, and Thea rolls her eyes, before pointing to the spare bedroom.

“My brother has never kept a room that clean in his life. Also, none of his clothes are in the closet and drawers, yet I found his suits in the master’s closet.”

Laurel squints at her. “You were snooping through our stuff?”

“Are you not denying it?”

For a moment, Laurel thinks she should, to keep the cover story safe. But Laurel also knows that Thea isn’t the type to go telling secrets that aren’t hers to say, so in the end, she shakes her head. “No. I guess I’m not.”

Thea reaches over and takes Laurel’s hand. “Look, it’s 2014. I’m not about to judge you. Just … are you guys happy?”

“We’re figuring it out.” Laurel shrugs. “But it feels right. It certainly feels better than picking one over the other.” She looks over at Thea. “Are you okay with this?”

“I honestly am surprised you got Oliver to do it.” Thea laughs. “I mean, he barely has the emotional intelligence to juggle one partner most of the time, let alone two.”

Laurel laughs. “Yeah, we’re working on that. There’s a lot we’re working, honestly, but … ”

“He’s been happier,” Thea nods. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s a good look on him.”

“It’s a good look on all of us, really,” Laurel replies, glancing out to where the two men are bickering over the grill on the balcony, and wrinkles her nose. “And that food is going to get burned.”

Thea shakes her head before getting up to knock some sense into them. It only takes this another step into feeling a little more real. It gets a bit more awkward when they find out that Malcolm is Thea’s father; in the end, it doesn’t change anything they didn’t already know.

They’ll be a family, together, whether it’s by blood or by choice. That’s what matters.

When Diggle figures it out, however, it’s easy to say that he doesn’t take it nearly so well.

- - - - - - -

Some dominoes still fall the same way, however. Sara still returns. Laurel still loses herself to her addictions, though this time not from grief and depression but anxiety and anger. Being the girlfriend of a superhero who risks his life every night leaves her worried that she’ll lose him again, and she and Sara still have things to resolve before they can start to move forward, and in some ways, alcohol makes that easier.

Once she decides to get better, Tommy institutes a dry house order for the apartment, that Oliver supports. He also winds up sweeping Laurel off to Central City that Christmas to see her mother, giving her some relief from the pressure of the holiday. Oliver stays behind, as the Arrow has its own concerns to address.

On the one hand, it keeps the two out of the crosshairs of Slade Wilson, at least for a little while. On the other, it puts both of them right in the path of the particle accelerator.

Oliver blows through Central City General like a man on a mission, eyes wandering over each door until he finds the one he’s looking for and pulls it open. Laurel is stretched out on the bed, unconscious, and Tommy sits next to her, holding her hand, waiting for her to wake up. Oliver closes the door behind him before making his way closer.

“Tommy.”

“Oliver, it came out of nowhere.”

Tommy rises, and Oliver catches his shoulders, meeting his eyes with his usual quiet intensity. “Are you okay?”

“She won’t wake up. I don’t know what it was, but she won’t …”

“Are you okay?”

Oliver stares him down, and eventually, Tommy nods, turning his head back towards the woman on the bed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Oliver continues to watch him, almost as though he’s trying to sense a lie, to see through the obvious statement to find something that Tommy’s trying to hide, but in the end, he doesn’t see anything that would indicate otherwise, so he turns his attention back to Laurel.

“She’s a fighter,” he murmurs, one comforting hand against the back of Tommy’s neck. “She’ll be okay.” That hand massages his shoulder before pulling him away from the bed. “When was the last time you ate?”

“What does that matter?”

“Because you’re no use to her if you don’t take care of yourself. C’mon.”

He manages to force Tommy out of the hospital room and down to the cafeteria for half a sandwich and some coffee and tries to press him for details, but Tommy is hazy on them at best. The news kept rolling through reports on the particle accelerator explosion and the dark matter wave, but none of it explained why it hit Laurel so much harder than Tommy was. Eventually, it becomes clear that Tommy isn’t going to wait much longer, no matter how much information Oliver wants to gather.

They’re halfway down the hall to Laurel’s room, when an ear-splitting noise cuts through the air. Glass windows explode, and electronics spark around them. It’s all they can do to get their arms up to protect their ears and face. When the noise dies down, they dash forward to find Laurel sitting up in bed, one hand over her mouth, looking vaguely terrified.

“Laurel?” Oliver asks gently, lingering in the doorway and using his shoulder to keep Tommy out, just for the moment. “What was that?”

Very slowly, the hand lowers. Laurel starts and stops, almost as though she’s expecting some other sound than the sound of her voice, and when it sounds normal, she lowers her hand even further.

“I think it was me.”

Both Tommy and Oliver stare at her for a long time, before Tommy glances back over his shoulder to survey the damage and then back to her again.

“Oh, boy. This is going to take a pretty big check.”

- - - - - -

“Are you sure this Constantine guy is going to be able to help her?”

“Trust me,” Oliver replies as he pauses over the sink to get himself a glass of water. “If there’s anyone who can help someone harness an uncontrollable force, it’s John Constantine.”

“I do trust you. Your friend John, however, is another story entirely.”

Tommy is by the counter, watching a cooking video on his Palmer Tech smart screen, and eyeing a long carrot in front of him like he’s sizing it up for some contest of wills. He then turns his attention from the screen to the carrot, picking up the knife in his hand and dicing the root vegetable quickly and cleanly, in a polished enough way to make Oliver raise an eyebrow.

“Those are some pretty impressive knife skills.”

“Thanks,” Tommy smirks. “I’ve been trying to pick up something new. I figure that since Laurel is probably going to be taking the night shift with you soon, I might as well make sure that both of you eat.”

Oliver frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

Tommy slides the carrots into the crockpot next to him, before raising an eyebrow at Oliver in return. “Oh, come on. You know the only thing keeping her out of this fight is the skill set. This power could make her an asset rather than a detriment.” Tommy tips his head to the side. “Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”

“I did. But I was kind of hoping I wouldn’t be right,” Oliver admits. “And power doesn’t a skillset make.”

“It’s not just a power. Laurel’s been taking boxing lessons ever since the last time the Huntress kidnapped her, and you could train her instead of trying to push her out of it.”

Tommy could tell by the look on Oliver’s face that he’s not thrilled with either idea, so it doesn’t surprise him when he immediately deflects back to Tommy. “Are you going to be joining us next? Or are you going to be focused on cooking lessons and décor?”

Tommy turns back to him as he reaches for the next ingredient for the food, holding up the knife as he does. “Are you implying that I’m the homemaker in this relationship? Because … I might not disagree with you.”

Oliver smirks. “I don’t think it’s that much of a surprise. You always were, in your way.” He makes his way closer, leaning in as Tommy finishes chopping the last vegetable and putting it in the pot, before replacing the lid and setting the temperature. “But would you be okay with that? If I brought Laurel into this. That’s one more person to worry about.”

“I tend to worry about you both enough already. But I think Laurel wants to be more proactive than reactive, so this could be good for her.” He turns and rests a hand on Oliver’s chest. “So long as you both come home every night, I’ll be okay.”

Oliver nods, his hand coming up to cover over Tommy’s. “I promise I will get her home.”

Tommy notices that Oliver doesn’t include himself in that statement. He knows that Laurel will promise the same, not for herself but Oliver. As long as both of them do their job, both of them will be safe.

He hopes.

- - - - - - -

Sara’s death brings a whole new host of problems for the city. Between Malcolm brainwashing Thea into doing it, and Ra’s al Ghul wanting to exact justice for her life, it was only a matter of time before Oliver did something stupid. In some ways, Laurel blames herself for not seeing the cracks sooner, given that she spends so much of her time with him, her grief at losing Sara consumes her, and it slips past her radar. Before she knows what’s happening, Oliver is gone, off to pay the debt in his sister’s place.

She and Tommy are close on his heels, or as close as they can be, but it’s still not close enough. By the time they make it to the foot of the mountain, Oliver is plummeting off the top, and Laurel has to suppress the urge to scream, as that might give their position away. He doesn’t fall far, just to a ledge maybe a story below, but he doesn’t get back up once he lands.

Tommy pulls her back into the trees, out of view of anyone who might be descending the mountain, holding her tight and close. “We need to get up there and get to him.”

“How are we going to do that?”

Tommy scans the side of the mountain, eyes calculating. He watches as the League of Assassin members make their way down off the mountain and disappear into the snow, before stepping out of the trees and moving forward. “Follow me. Do exactly what I do.”

She wants to question precisely what he means by that, before watching as he starts to scale the side of the cliff, knowing each handhold and foothold that will get him where he needs to go. She follows in suit, making their way up to the ledge where Oliver’s body waits. Tommy rushes forward, checking him for a pulse.

“It’s faint, but it’s there. Oliver’s still alive.” He then presses a hand against one of the wounds, a deep stab on the right side of his chest – it looks like it’s through his heart, but Laurel’s not a doctor, she can’t say for sure. Tommy then looks up at her. “Get the medkit out of my bag.”

As she starts to make her way around, another shape appears on the ledge, this one dressed in the League’s armor. Laurel tenses sliding easily into a fighting stance, and Tommy looks up as he sees it, but doesn’t move his hands from Oliver. The man holds up his hands as a gesture of surrender.

“Oliver is a friend. I’m here to help.” Silence meets his claim, and he elaborates. “My wife lives in these woods. She’s a healer. She can help him.”

Tommy looks at Laurel. “He’s cold, but he’s also bleeding fast. If we don’t get him help soon, he’s going to die.” She swallows, then nods. He turns back to the unknown assassin. “If you are screwing us? You’ll get to have the fun experience of your brain leaking out your ears. And I’m pretty sure she can scream faster than you can draw your sword.”

The assassin looks over to Laurel, before nodding his agreement. “My name is Maseo.”

“Laurel. And this is Tommy.”

Between the three of them, they managed to patch Oliver up enough for transport and get him to Maseo’s wife, Tatsu. Laurel followed Tatsu’s instructions best she could in terms of preparing herbs and tinctures for Oliver’s wounds, but when she glances over, she sees Tommy watching a video on his phone.

“Tommy, what are you doing?”

“Refreshing my memory,” he replies, in a way that makes no sense, before fishing out the medkit and handing his phone over to Laurel. “I need you to hold this up for me.”

“Why?”

“Because they haven’t finished the procedure yet, and I need to get all the details.”

She glances at the screen and sees that he’s watching what looks like a medical training video. She frowns as he watches his hands in the kitchen sink, before pulling on rubber gloves. “Tommy … ”

“I’ll explain once Oliver’s on the mend. Just … trust me, okay?”

Laurel nods because if there’s anyone she trusts in this world, it’s Oliver and Tommy. She does as she’s told, holding the video at eye level for him and handing him tools as needed. By the time all of Oliver’s wounds are patched up, she thinks she has a better idea of what’s going on.

Once Tatsu has gone to sleep, and she and Tommy curl up for warmth on her couch, she tucks her head against his shoulder. “You weren’t unaffected by the particle accelerator, were you?” Tommy blinks at her in surprise, and she looks up at him with a smirk. “You’re a meta, like me.”

Tommy swallows, then nods. “How’d you figure it out?”

“I just watched you perform amateur surgery on Oliver by watching med school procedure videos. And well, I might add, with zero hesitation. And unless you’ve been going to med school when Oliver and I weren’t paying attention …”

He laughs, before shaking his head. “No, I think you two would have noticed that one.” Then, he shrugs. “I started picking up things really easily. At first, they were just small things – knife techniques from the cooking videos I was watching, things like that. Then I started testing it more and more, picking up different skills along the way and I was doing it fast. Like … I saw it, then I could do it, like that.” He snaps his fingers for emphasis. “I figured it had to be a power of some kind, but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

She nods, a curious expression crossing her face. “You could learn anything with those powers. Even how to fight like Oliver, and you decided to learn medical stuff?”

Tommy shrugs. “You guys seemed like you had enough fighters. I figured what you more likely needed was a healer.”

Laurel smiles as she leans in to kiss him. “I think that was an excellent idea.”

He grins into the kiss. “I’m so glad you agree.” He then turns to face Oliver again, and she rests her head against his shoulder. “I’m going to have to tell him too when he wakes up.”

“Oliver can handle it.” Laurel sighs. “If he can handle me and handle Barry, he will be fine.”

“That is true.” He then watches his friend, his slow, labored breathing rising and falling. “And he better wake up.”

“He will. He’s just watched both of us in this position. Clearly, it was his turn.”

Tommy snorts, before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Can we agree never to do this again? Any of us, ever?”

Laurel laughs, before leaning in to kiss him again. “I think we can certainly try.” Then she tugs him down onto the couch, nestling against him. It’s not an ample space, but it’s just large enough. They hopefully won’t fall onto the floor. “C’mon. We should get some rest. He’s probably going to be out for a while anyway.”

Tommy agrees, and after a day of stress and exhaustion, sleep sounds like the next best thing. Tomorrow, they’ll have to make a plan for the League and everything that is going to come with saving Oliver’s life. But tonight, they’re all together, and they’re all alive.

For now, that will have to be enough.

Laurel Lance had very different plans for her evening when she initially ventured home to the bunker she and Dinah were calling home, bearing Big Belly burger and matching milkshakes. It was supposed to be a low key night, just the two of them, but when she reaches the door, she can already hear the argument that’s brewing inside. For a moment, Laurel hesitates, not wanting to wind up in the middle of whatever Rene and Dinah are arguing about now, but Laurel also refuses to be banished from her own home for something that’s not her fault. Shoulders squared, she takes a breath and makes her way inside to see if she can edge her way around the fray and not get noticed at all.

“I can’t believe you’re in support of this, knowing where this leads!” Rene is pissed, that much is clear, but what hasn’t made itself apparent as of yet.

“It’s not like I could stop it. She’s a grown woman. She’s going to make her own choices.”

“Yeah, and these choices could kill her! You and I both know that.”

Laurel is trying to piece together which “she” they’re referring to, though it should have been evident from the start. She’s so focused on the matter at hand that her fingers slip, and the bunker door closes with a slam, causing both Rene and Dinah’s heads to snap towards her.

“Hi there, Mr. Mayor.” She waggles her fingers. “Sorry, Rene, I didn’t know you’d be here. I still wouldn’t have brought you a milkshake, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Charming as ever, Laurel.” He rolls his eyes.

“Laurel, maybe you could help us settle this.” Dinah turns to face her as she places the burgers and shakes down on the nearby kitchen counter. “We could use a neutral party.”

Laurel blinks up at her. “I’m a neutral party now?”

Rene scrubs a hand over his face, before shrugging. “Right now, you might be the closest thing we’ve got.” He huffs, before placing his hands on his hips. “Zoe wants to be a Canary.”

Laurel glances between the two of them as though she’s waiting for the “but” to come, but meets silence instead. “Didn’t we already know that?”

“Rene wants me to discourage her.”

Laurel immediately snorts. “Yeah, like that’ll work.” That earns her glares from both of them, not just Rene. “What? I’m sorry, was that not helpful for you?”

Rene throws up his hands before preparing to storm out. “You know what? I give up. Some help either of you are.”

The door to the bunker slams again, and Laurel meets Dinah’s hard gaze with an innocent smile, before holding out one of the milkshakes. “I got your favorite?”

Dinah rolls her eyes before walking away as well, slamming the bedroom door behind her, leaving Laurel alone in the kitchen. She stands in the silence, letting it sink in, before popping a fry into her mouth with a frown.

“Well. That didn’t go as expected.”

- - - - - - -

The funny thing about Rene is that he doesn’t go far.

Being the mayor, he could have quickly left, but when Laurel peaks out the window later, he’s standing on the roof, staring out at the lights of Star City from a distance. With a sigh, she wiggles her way out onto the fire escape and makes her way up. He sees her once she’s about halfway up, and shakes his head.

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Laurel.”

“Seems to me like you do, or you wouldn’t still be standing here.” He gives her another look in return, and she holds up her hands. “And hey, maybe you don’t want to talk to me, which is fair. So you don’t have to talk at all, and I’ll talk instead. Cool?”

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t walk away, either, so she’s just going to go for it.

“Cool. So let me guess what the fight was. You don’t want Zoe to be a Canary because of what Mia and William told us happens to her in the future. Dinah wants to encourage her because for her, it’s all about public service, and she thinks that Zoe wants to do good. Am I warm?”

Rene glances back at her briefly, before shrugging. “You’re in the ballpark.”

“Well, I’m here to tell you that you’re both wrong.”

“That so?”

Laurel nods. “Being a hero isn’t something you encourage or try to grow. It has to be something the person wants. Something they’re desiring. So we’re well past the point of encouragement because Zoe’s already hungry. She already knows what she wants.”

“Which by your logic means no one’s going to talk her out of it?”

“Zoe’s almost a grown woman. She’s going to have to make her own choices about what’s valuable to her. You can’t blame her for wanting to follow you down the path you set out for her. You’ve already told her that Star City is worth her life.”

“But it’s not. Not hers.”

“To you. But not to Zoe.”

Rene falls silent again. “If she dies this time around again, it’ll kill me. She’s my world, Laurel.”

“I know. But speaking as the daughter of a cop, who wanted nothing more than to be just like him once, it’s hard when they tell you no. That path that they’ve dedicated their life too isn’t good enough for them, just under the guise of keeping them safe. Because it's their risk to take.”

Rene looks over at her for a long, quiet moment before shaking his head. “You know, it’s terrifying when you’re the one making sense.”

“Hey,” she replies. “I make sense a lot. You all never want to listen to me.”

He swallows hard. “Do you think I should let Zoe do this?”

“It’s not about letting her do anything, because we both know that whether you’re happy about it or not, she’s still going to do this if it’s really what she wants. And we both know she’d make a badass canary.”

“Hell, yes, she will. That’s my kid we’re talking about.”

“What makes the difference is her knowing whether or not you have her back. I’m sure she would much rather do this with you, versus against you.”

Rene takes a deep breath before nodding. “I just want to keep her safe.”

“Then teach her how to be. Don’t try and hold her back.”

There’s another massive sigh before he nods and turns to follow her back to the fire escape. “Guess I should get back home and give her the talk, huh?”

“Guess so. If you want to call it that.”

When they reach the entrance to the bunker, he glances back at her and nods. “Thanks, Laurel.”

She wants to say something about hell freezing over, but she decides it’s better to take her wins while she has them. “See you around, Rene.”

Laurel makes her way back into the bunker, and Dinah is at the counter again, picking through the food. She rests one hand on her hip before raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I see how it is. You leave me to clean up your mess so that you could steal my food?”

Dinah glances over with a smirk. “That wasn’t bad, babe.”

“You think?” Laurel can’t help but be pleased at the compliment. “I think we might be making progress.”

Dinah winces. “Why did you say that out loud? Now you’re going to jinx it.”

Laurel rolls her eyes with a laugh. “Whatever.” She takes her fries and shake, before heading to the couch. “I’ve done enough good deeds for the day, so I’m going to watch a movie. Care to join me?”

Dinah smirks, before gathering her half and nodding. “How can I say no to that?”

The first sound Lena hears is the sound of something getting dropped to the ground.

It echoes through the sterile setting of the lab, and when she turns to see the source, she sees Mon-El, staring at Rhea like he had seen a ghost. Not in a pleasant way, mind, but in the way that gives her the feeling that all hell was about to break loose.

“Mon-El?”

“You were supposed to leave.”

Lena knows he didn’t direct those words at her – he would never – but the tone was cold enough that it sent a chill through her all the same. Whoever Rhea was to him; it wasn’t friendly. That didn’t make it any easier to stay still when Rhea steps closer to her.

“You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? Especially not when I learned you had made such an exceptional choice in a mate.” Lena feels Rhea’s fingers close over her shoulders, and she tenses. “She’s magnificent, Mon-El. I have to say; you chose so well.”

“Let her go, Mother. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Mother?” The word tears from Lena’s lips in the shock of it all, and the look Mon-El gives her is a genuine apology. He’s never lied to her, not truly. She knew he was an alien from the start, though she didn’t realize that their mothers were so similar in drive and purpose.

“Oh, but she is just what we need to solidify our power here.” Rhea forces Lena back into her chest, holding her firmly in place. “And unless you want something terrible to happen to her, I think you should do as Mother exactly says. Don’t you?”

Mon-El tears his eyes from his mother to look directly at Lena, and his face softens. “I’m so sorry, Lena.”

“It’s not your fault,” is all she can get out before she’s struck hard from behind and everything goes black.

- - - - - -

Mon-El meets Lena in a bar. Kara is trying to get him to integrate into the world, trying to help him adjust to his new Earth life, and he doesn’t think that her kind of fun is what he seeks. No offense intended to Kara, but he likes actually to have fun, and her kind of fun is well … not.

Fortunately for him, he’s not the only one that Kara is trying to integrate into her friend group. Left sitting across from him at the table while the rest of them darted off to pick karaoke songs is a raven-haired beauty with a knowing smirk that in his limited time on Earth has never shown to be anything but precisely what Mon-El wants to see.

Before he can even open his mouth, she already has his number.

“Kara doesn’t like you very much, does she?”

He laughs, reaching for his beer. “No, Kara does not.”

“Then why did she bring you here?”

He shrugs. “She’s trying to help me make friends. See the error of my reckless partying ways.”

Lena laughs. “Well, you are the type.”

“What can I say? I love a good time.”

She takes a long pull from her beer before shaking her head. “I have a feeling that there are many people who would think I’m allergic to them.”

“Oh, really?”

“I’ve been told I’m quite the frigid bitch.”

Mon-El shrugs. “I think that means you know what you want. There’s nothing wrong with that.” It happens to be incredibly attractive to a man who doesn’t have any idea what he wants. Then again, he only just recently received the news that his planet was dead, so he might be excused.

“It’s a rare man who thinks so.” She holds a hand out to him. “I’m Lena.”

He reaches over to take her hand, and for a moment, he’s ready to parrot back his usual Earth alias, but he stops himself. Mostly because he’s tired of pretending to be something he’s not. “I’m Mon-El.”

- - - - - -

“Lena? Lena, sweetheart?”

Lena comes to with a groan, one hand coming up to rest against her forehead as she looks down at what she’s wearing. The long black gown stretches to her ankles, and the bodice she’s been stitched into shows far more cleavage than she usually would show. If anyone but Mon-El were in the room, she might have been self-conscious in the moments after waking, but that fear quickly evaporates when she learns they’re alone.

“Where are we?”

“On my mother’s ship.” His hands come up to cradle her face gently, looking for any sign of injury. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, there are so many answers to that question, but physically? I’m fine. Or I will be, as soon as we get out of here.” She swings her legs over the side of the bed to stand, a momentary wave of dizziness sweeping through her, and she reaches out to steady herself on his shoulder. “What does she want with us?”

“I’m fairly certain, knowing my mother, it’s something terrible.” Mon-El’s hand moves to her waist to help, his eyes continuing to scan around the room. “She’s not incredibly fond of how Earth has changed me. And with Daxam gone, I think Earth might be on her ‘To Conquer’ list.”

“Supergirl is not about to let that happen.” Lena takes a breath as her legs finally steady under her. “And neither am I. If she thinks I’m going to help her …”

“Oh, I doubt she thinks we’ll do it willingly. But my mother is not above applying the proper leverage to get what she wants.”

Lena’s eyes scan the room before landing on one of the doors. “Can we get out the door?”

“We could, but it’s heavily guarded. We might be better off trying to bide our time and looking for opportunities while they transfer us between rooms.” Mon-El looks over at her, arms pulling her closer in a way that might have been romantic, were they anywhere else. “Do you trust me?”

“You know, I do.”

“Trust me enough to follow my lead?”

Following has never been Lena’s strong suit, and he knows it. But Lena is also aware of the fact that this is a race and a queen that she has no context for and Mon-El is increasingly familiar. She swallows hard before nodding.

“Just let me know what you need me to do.”

The doors behind them slide open, with two Daxamite soldiers standing at attention, and Mon-El’s face sobers. “I think we’re about to find out.”

- - - - - -

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

If he had done this when they were somewhere less intimate, he might not have been able to notice the subtle way her face shifts, a wariness that slides back into place when she thinks someone might have been hiding something from her. He knows better than anyone how deep those wounds go, from what she’s told him. He doesn’t want to be another one of those people.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” He shifts to lie next to her, propping himself up on one elbow. “There’s … something I haven’t been entirely honest with you about.” She arches an eyebrow, and he continues. “I’m …”

“An alien.” In an instant, her entire body language relaxes, and she smirks. “Is that all?”

He blinks at her as she shifts to slide out of bed. “You knew?”

“You’re not exactly subtle about it. Especially with a name like Mon-El.”

Mon-El considers, before nodding. “Okay, fair point.”

“But is there anything more specific you want to tell me?”

He takes a deep breath and tilts his head up towards the ceiling, trying to decide how far he wants to take this. “The planet I’m from is Daxam. It was a sister planet to Krypton.”

Lena turns away from her closet to face him again. “Superman and Supergirl’s Krypton.”

“The same. Turns out it died when Krypton did. I got shoved into a pod and shuttled off into space before landing here.”

“I’m sorry,” Lena slips a nightgown over her head before returning to bed, curling up in the space next to him. “That must have been horrific.”

“Oh, it was awful. But I think I’m starting to like it here. Earth is different from Daxam, but … it could be home. Maybe.” He pauses. “Not that there’s much choice, considering space travel isn’t your planet’s strong suit.”

She laughs. “We’ll get there one day. I’m sure of it.” She props herself up on one arm, before turning to look at him. “Anything else you want to share with me?”

He pinches his eyes closed, weighing his options, before turning to face her more. “I was the prince of Daxam?”

“Oh.” The amusement in her tone is evident, and she shifts to fold her arms over his chest, getting in close. “Good to know, Your Highness.”

“You know, you say my title like that, and it’s like you don’t take me seriously at all.”

She laughs, almost as though she’s sealing the deal in that respect, before looking up at him curiously. “Wait – does the sun affect you the same way it does Kryptonians?”

“Yeah?” Mon-El raises an eyebrow at her curiously.

Her face lights up, as though something childlike has come over her. “Can you fly?”

He takes a deep, dramatic breath before shaking his head. “No. But I can jump really, really high?”

Lena laughs, and honestly, he prefers those reactions over admiration. “So, you fall with style.”

“Something like that,” he grins, leaning in to kiss her softly. “So … we’re okay?”

“We are good,” she agrees, brushing one hand against his cheek. “In fact, I think we’re amazing.”

- - - - - -

“We are not getting married.”

“You know, you don’t have to say it quite like that.”

Lena winces as she glances over at him, her face sympathetic before turning her back to zip up the ridiculous dress she’s wearing. “I’m sorry. It’s not as though I don’t want to or haven’t thought about it …”

“No, I one hundred percent agree with you. Being forced to get married so my mother can take over the world is not what I was going for either.” The zipper closes, and he turns her around to face him again. “I know down below Supergirl is coming up with a plan to get us out of here, but right now, I think we need to do a little planning ourselves.”

“Is it a good idea to plan when they’re pretty much watching our every move?”

“Also, a good point. Which is why you’re the brains in this relationship.”

She smirks. “Don’t sell yourself short. Besides, plans are my area of expertise. Winging it is yours, and you know this ship better than I do.”

Mon-El nods, and he squeezes her hands. “So … follow my lead?”

She nods. “I’ve got your back.”

The doors open, and one of the guards is standing at the ready, holding the door open for them to make their way through. It seems like there’s only one, most of the halls empty and likely waiting for their upcoming nuptials. Mon-El gestures for her to head through first, and she does, keeping her head high as they head into the fire.

At first, things are quiet, nothing but their footsteps echoing against the walk. About halfway to the bridge, Mon-El reaches for her wrist to stop her, and they both turn around.

“As your prince,” he begins, “I command you to let us go.”

The guard doesn’t go for it. He pulls a gun on them. So, naturally, Mon-El punches him in the face.

The gun skitters across the pathway, and Lena darts forward to grab it. Mon-El wraps the guard in a headlock, and she finishes things with a shot to the chest. The guard goes down quickly, and Mon-El grins up at her.

“Thanks, babe.”

“Anytime,” she laughs, before moving closer. “Where do we go now?”

He reaches for her free hand and tugs her down one of the hallways. They hack through a few panels, shoot down a few more guards, and eventually, Mon-El forces one of the external doors open. The wind whips past their heads as they gaze down into the city sprawling beneath them.

“That’s a big drop.”

“That it is.” Mon-El turns and glances back over his shoulder. “But unfortunately, we’re going to have to take a big risk.” She turns to see the guards coming up behind them and then glances back to the city below.

“Are you saying we … ?”

“Do you trust me?”

“But you can’t—”

“Do you trust me, Lena?”

She looks up at him, eyes bright, and nods. “All the way.” It’s not an easy thing for her to say – it has never been – but she’s trusted Mon-El to get them this far. She can trust him the rest of the way. He grins back at her, before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in closer.

“Hold on tight.” As she wraps an arm around his neck, letting him pull her as close as possible, he grins back at the guards advancing on them. “Nice seeing you boys again. Tell Mother I hope Supergirl kicks her ass.”

And without a second thought, they both jump, Mon-El’s enhanced Daxamite abilities propelling them both out into the air.

It turns out, it is a lot like falling with style.

“Wait, you’re leaving already?”

Kate is already straddling her bike, and not ready to look up into the likely pouty face of one Kara Danvers. Kara did her this solid in helping Batwoman come out to the rest of the world, but at the same time, she was hoping she could be in and out. Do the interview and slip back out before Kara could rope her into some kind of Supergirl adventure, but its, unfortunately, not meant to be.

“Yeah,” Kate sighs slowly. “I have to get back to Gotham. Vigilante business to attend to and all that.”

She looks up. There’s definitely a pout on Kara’s face.

“I thought you were going to stay for karaoke.”

“I don’t sing.”

“You don’t have to sing! You can just hang out. And drink. And make fun of all of us as we sing terribly.” Kara makes her way closer, a pleading look on her face. “Please stay? Now that we’re all on the same Earth, I want to make up for the lost time.”

Kate hesitates. Not long after, Alex pokes her head out of the apartment and smirks. “You also get to watch Kara get drunk.”

Kate raises an eyebrow, before glancing back at the blond in front of her. “I thought Kryptonians couldn’t get drunk.”

“On Earth-alcohol,” Alex nods. “This bar serves more than just Earth-alcohol.”

Kate hesitates again because this sounds like an outing she shouldn’t allow herself to get roped in to. At the same time, this sounds like something intriguing. She sighs, before shaking her head. “Alright, you win. This is something I have to see.”

Kara fist-pumps in the air, victorious. “We’re going to have so much fun. You’ll see.”

Kate shakes her head before looking over at Alex. “Please tell me she’s a happy drunk.”

“Oh, the happiest. You think this is bad, wait until you meet Four Drink Kara.”

Kate laughs before gesturing for them to lead the way. “Can’t wait.”

- - - - - -

It turns out there’s a sliding scale when it comes to Drunk Kara Danvers. One Drink Kara is overly-giggly at vaguely dirty jokes, something Kate used to her advantage. Two Drink Kara belts Heart at the top of her lungs, even when it’s not her turn on the karaoke stage. Three Drink Kara, the latest version that Kate has met, is a little weepy.

She turns and asks Alex, at one point, why Rose didn’t make room for Jack on the door, and Alex excuses them from the table until Kara resolves her crisis of faith regarding Titanic, leaving J’onn and Kate alone in the booth.

It’s kind of like leaving your new friend alone with your dad five minutes after you’ve met him, but Kate’s weathered worse. At least she’s not dating either of the Danvers sisters.

“I think it’s admirable, putting yourself out there like that,” J’onn starts as another round of drinks arrives. “I’m sure it will mean a great deal to a lot of people.”

“Thank you,” Kate says with a nod. “Honestly, I just wanted them to stop pairing me with random assholes I happened to meet on the street while fighting crime.”

“I never understood that human assumption. To immediately assume that two people are romantically entangled because they work well together.”

“Well, I’m told that good communication is part of a solid relationship,” Kate smirks. “It’s what romcoms are made of.”

J’onn smirks. “I suppose that’s true. But you would think they would be a little more open-minded, given the world they live in.”

“Oh, no. In my experience, people like to be as close-minded as humanly possible.” Kate shakes her head, only turning from the conversation as a flash of blond coming back to her side. “Present company excluded.”

“Kate!” Kara says happily, a beaming grin across her face as she slides into the booth and throws her arms around the other woman’s shoulders for a warm hug. “I’m so glad we’re on the same Earth now. Now we get to see each other all the time and have superhero team-ups, like Barry and Oliver!”

Kate tries hard not to laugh, but she can’t help the smile, turning and glancing over Kara’s shoulder to Alex. “I take it Four Drink Kara is twice as overly affectionate as usual?”

“Yep,” she laughs as she slides into the booth next to J’onn. “We try to keep her here, because Five Drink Kara has the munchies and for metabolisms like hers that usually involves spending way too much money at Big Belly Burger.”

“Duly noted,” Kate nods. Kara’s still wedged into her personal space, but she finds herself not minding. Kate probably should, but like most things about Kara, they seem warm and inviting instead of invasive and off-putting. She lets the blond settle before reaching for her beer. “Could be worse.”

“Maybe.” Alex shakes her head. “So what were you two talking about?”

“Romantic entanglements of public personas,” J’onn replies. “Or rather, people’s assumptions about them.”

“I don’t get it,” Kara admits pointedly. “They always assume it about ladies and dudes, but they never do it about ladies and ladies or dudes and dudes.” She pauses. “Although, maybe that’s not true. Cisco has sent me some weird stuff about Oliver and Barry from the internet. But ladies and ladies, though!”

Kate can’t help the curious raise of her eyebrow. “I think it’d be kind of strange no matter who it was. Especially if you don’t have feelings for that person.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t make it any better with straight people.” Kara shakes her head. “I’ve never understood what a big deal sexuality was anyway. Earth is the only planet I’ve been to like that.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “What are you saying?”

“I think she’s saying that aliens have less trivial things to worry about than who you love.”

“Exactly. No one just assumes you’re straight in space.” Kara makes a happy noise as a plate of cheesy fries lands in front of her. “That’s a human thing.”

“Huh,” Kate nods. “Space sounds kind of nice.”

“Sometimes it is,” Kara nods. “And sometimes it’s a swirling vortex of death.” Her tone is so cheerful that it’s utterly discordant with what she’s saying, and Kate can’t help but laugh.

“I’m starting to think munchies Kara might be better than perpetually cheerful Kara for this particular conversation.”

Alex laughs before waving a hand for the waitress. “We could make that happen, but her munchies are now your responsibility.”

Kate nods, before taking a sip of her beer. “Deal.”

Rey didn’t expect to feel a vacancy.

She spent so long wishing that Kylo Ren wasn’t lurking behind her every waking thought, hoping that he couldn’t be privy to her more intimate moments. But now that he’s no longer there – now that he’s dead – there’s a space where he used to be. There’s a vast vacuum, almost like the pull of space itself. What should have been relief is now remorse.

It’s the space where life used to be, and even if it was a life she hated, a life she was so willing to snuff out before all of this began, it still weighs heavily on her shoulders after being so closely tied to it. It’s not grief she feels, but more a matter of rebalancing – refinding her place in the world now that her counterbalance is gone.

The rebels are celebrating their victory – as well they should – but Rey doesn’t quite feel up to the celebrations. Part of her wants to drown herself in the noise to feel less alone, and the other wants her own time to process whatever that may entail. In the end, she decides to retreat to the Falcon to find her quarters and give herself space to breathe.

She isn’t alone when she gets there.

Finn sits on the edge of her bunk, Poe leans in the doorway. She doesn’t know how they knew, but in a rush, she feels so grateful they’re here. Maybe the celebrations of their victory were too much, but this, the three of them together, this is enough.

She steps through, one hand reaching back to catch Poe’s on the way. He follows where she leads, and he and Finn bookend her on the bunk curling in together with them. It started with the three of them, once upon a time.

She’s glad it ended with the three of them too. Together, as it always should have been.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

prompt table { 2016 } 100 situations

Prompts Written: 100/100
Total Word Count: 124,261 words

for me }

you are the bearer of unconditional things ~ teen wolf ~ 3,967 ~ part 1

you are the bearer of unconditional things ~ teen wolf ~ 3,967 ~ part 2

i've been waiting on my own too long ~ chicago med ~ 1,513

no one can say what we get to be ~ dctv ~ 4,939 ~ part 1

no one can say what we get to be ~ dctv ~ 4,939 ~ part 2

that's who i'd be ~ dctv ~ 1,311

then i saw you like a summer dream ~ dctv ~ 2258

i'm who i am and i think that's worth fighting for ~ dctv ~ 1,098

i felt it begin again ~ star wars ~ 320

prompt table { 2016 } 100 situations

Prompts Written: 100/100Total Word Count: 124,261 words

for me }

you are the bearer of unconditional things ~ teen wolf ~ 3,967 ~ part 1

you are the bearer of unconditional things ~ teen wolf ~ 3,967 ~ part 2

i've been waiting on my own too long ~ chicago med ~ 1,513

no one can say what we get to be ~ dctv ~ 4,939 ~ part 1

no one can say what we get to be ~ dctv ~ 4,939 ~ part 2

that's who i'd be ~ dctv ~ 1,311

then i saw you like a summer dream ~ dctv ~ 2258

i'm who i am and i think that's worth fighting for ~ dctv ~ 1,098

i felt it begin again ~ star wars ~ 320

Prompts Written: 100/100
Total Word Count: 124,261 words