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Thursday - Names

Hello, I’m crazycatt71 and today's theme is Names
Nicknames, real names, full names, family names, choosing a baby name, names have power. Knowing the true name of some one allows you control over that person.

The rules still haven't changed:
No more than five prompts in a row.
No more than three prompts in the same fandom.
No spoilers in prompts.
If your fill contains spoilers, warn and leave plenty of space.
Prompts should be formatted as follows:
Fandom, Character+/Character, Prompt

Some examples to get the ball rolling...

Sherlock, John/Mary, trying to decide on a name for their baby

NCIS, Tony DiNozzo/Ziva David, Tony tells Ziva his full name before he leaves her in Israel

Merlin, Arthur, Arthur learns Merlin's true name

Not feeling any of today’s prompts? Visit the lonely prompt archive and brighten someone’s day. For more recent prompts to write, you can also use LJ’s advanced search options to limit keyword results to only comments in this community.


Feb. 27th, 2014 03:38 pm (UTC)
Any spy fandom, any, favorite alias.
Mar. 26th, 2016 03:42 pm (UTC)
Agent Carter, Dottie/Peggy, contains spoilers for Season Two

She’s waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting with bated breath. She’s always been waiting, although she didn’t know it until Peggy swept into her life.

Dottie waits. Because that’s who she is now, Dottie Underwood forevermore. Not the girl who had a name once upon a time, or had, at least, a designation as she trained to be a weapon, beautiful and deadly. Not any of the covers that have come before, not even her first assumed name on her first true mission.

She’s Dottie Underwood, because that’s how Peggy sees her. That’s the name that falls from Peggy’s lips, and that makes it perfect.

She’s Dottie Underwood, and she waits.

Limping away from that confrontation in the aeroplane hangar, her blood dripping behind her as she stumbled across the tarmac, she was waiting for Peggy to follow her. Leaving a trail of destruction in her wake as she hunted for the elusive Arena Club pin, she was waiting for Peggy to find her. Sitting in that cell with its bare walls and the stench of bleach, she was waiting for Peggy to visit her.

And now Dottie’s on the run again, and she’s waiting for Peggy to catch her.

She remembers the days before Peggy, standing in front of a filthy mirror, her hair blonde and perfectly curled, a new identity to create, a new mission to complete. “I’m Dottie Underwood,” her reflection had said, quiet, calm, patient. “I’m Dottie Underwood.” Repeated over and over, her accent bouncing across America, changing from state to state each time.

She’d smiled, a guileless and charming expression. There’d been a crack through the mirror, splitting her reflection from her left temple to the right side of her chin. For a moment, her smile had changed - it grew wider, crueller, her eyes hard and sharp and her teeth on display. There’d been no humanity on her face; she was a moving corpse, her grin a twisted mockery of the humour she didn’t feel.

The moment passed. She smiled softly again. “I’m Dottie Underwood,” she’d said , a sweet Southern twang to her voice.

She remembers imagining the crack in the mirror had grown deeper at the sight of her.

When she was compromised, that persona should have disappeared, shed like a snake’s skin and left to rot on the ground. But she can’t let go, she can’t let go of Dottie, can’t be anyone else but this version of herself. If she took a new name, took a new role, would Peggy recognise her? Would Peggy still want to chase her? Dottie won’t take that risk.

Because Peggy is everything. She’s redefined who Dottie is, turning the muted shades of red that Dottie’s always lived in, rusted and dark as dried blood, into vivid slashes of scarlet.

She thinks of Peggy and her heart beats fast, her palms sweat, warmth rushes through her like a fever. Peggy is her sole focus, a vibrant light she leans toward. Peggy is excitement and frustration and desire, and all the American movies she’s studied have taught Dottie that what she is feeling is love.

She loves Peggy, from the blow of her fist against Dottie’s cheek to the press of her lips beneath Dottie’s mouth. She wants that again, wants to recapture that kiss, no sedative-laced lipstick between them this time, just heat.

She’d sat in Peggy’s room in the Griffith, looking into the mirror atop the vanity. “I’m Peggy Carter,” she’d said, her accent English and her voice aloof, imagining what it would be like to be this flawless porcelain doll of a woman.

But Dottie knows now that Peggy isn’t flawless, and that’s she’s all the more magnetic for it. Dottie knows now that she doesn’t want to be Peggy, she wants to possess her.

And she knows now that Peggy feels that pull too, their lives and their fates intertwined. It is love for Dottie, and Peggy may not know it yet but one day Dottie will show her, will make Peggy see that she loves Dottie right back.


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