prompt table { 2016 } 100 situations

[iluvroadrunner6]

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

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

[iluvroadrunner6]

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.

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

[iluvroadrunner6]

- - - - - --

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.