Tuesday: Secrets

[ibonekoen]

Greetings, fellow wordsmiths, it is I, ibonekeon, your guest host for the week! I bring you today's theme in the form of Secrets — Everybody's got 'em, it's just a matter of who we trust enough to share them.

Come on down, stop on by, hop a carpet and fl— No, wait, wrong movie. Let's see what you can do with today's theme. Does your protagonist (or antagonist) have a secret that's eating away at their soul? Maybe they've discovered someone's secret and they're now wrestling with the moral dilemma of keeping said secret. The sky's the limit! Just remember, have fun!

As always, there's the little matter of rules:
-No more than five prompts in a row. If someone fills one of your prompts, you are then free to prompt again!
-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

Here are just a few examples to get you started:
Glee, Kurt/Blaine, Blaine didn't tell Kurt the whole story about the Sadie Hawkins dance

Avengers movieverse, Tony, His secret is...he's grateful for this ticking time bomb of a family.

tag=secrets

Comments

[ibonekoen]

Glee, Kurt/Blaine, Blaine didn't tell Kurt the whole story about the Sadie Hawkins dance

[ibonekoen]

Avengers movieverse, Tony, His secret is...he's grateful for this ticking time bomb of a family.

mini-fill

[love-evil.livejournal.com]

Sometimes Tony regrets converting his tower into Avengers headquarters. Steve and his 1940s sensibilities is always turning his nose up at Tony’s choice in TV programmes (the guy has absolutely zero appreciation for the near-genius of HBO); Bruce has a tendency to set the fire alarm off whenever he gets within five feet of the kitchen (How? How?); Clint climbs the furniture and scares the crap out of Tony whenever he starts talking without Tony realising he’s there (fucking hawk); Thor has discovered that he likes scotch and more than once Tony has come in looking for a drink and found all his vintage brand gone (the worst part is that Thor had practically downed the whole decanter); and Natasha always seems to be watching him and recording his movements so that she can go tattle to Fury (fucking spy).

Yet when he runs out of his lab because the alarm is wailing and JARVIS is telling him that there is an emergency in the living area and he finds the other Avengers gathered there under a sign that says ‘Happy Birthday Tony!’ he can’t help but smile and admit that, for the most part, he’s glad to have his ticking time bomb of a family.

[elfgirljen.livejournal.com]

Supernatural,Dean, He misses Hell.

Fill

[restlessme.livejournal.com]

His entire life there has never been a place he can call home, an endless life of motel rooms that swell with the responsibility of death.

The chains in his body...anchored him...tied him down so tight he couldn't move without breaking every bone. The blades carving into his skin, the blood welling to the surface (painting a picture so beautiful he can hardly take a breath).
     The flames licking at his soles, the blackness taking over his soul. The laughter that spews from his throat, catching in the blood he spits up. The blade fits so easily in his hand, carves through skin easier than butter.
Home is where the empty heart lies.

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Castiel, Castiel is a better liar than he thought he would be; it's the secrets he's keeping that are making him hurt.

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Sam + Lucifer, sympathy for the devil

Fill: In some ways....

[analise010.livejournal.com]

Sorry for any typos in advance, but I'm writing this in my Kindle, which has interesting Auto Correct choices.

--------------------------------------------------

In some ways, Sam feels sorry for Lucifer. He doesn't condone the killing or the backstabbing or the stealing his family away bit by bit, but in some ways, Lucifer is a reboot of The Prodigal Son. God tried so hard to be the best father that he could by training his sons as soldiers. He wanted them to stay safe so he made them warriors. One day, Lucifer wanted more than his father was willing to give and cast him out.

Did Lucifer beg and pleads like a frightened child to be let back into Heaven? No, instead he made himself a kingdom with slaves and minions and servants and became the master if his domain. In some ways, God should have been proud of his son for making so much out of so little, not started a war for control.

Every time Sam thinks about it, the absent father, the warrior sons, the need to stand alone and make something if himself, he can't help but feel sympathetic.

[draycevixen.livejournal.com]

Person of Interest, Reese/Finch, where does Finch go every Thursday for lunch?

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Bela, she doesn't need anyone to absolve her for what she did, but she'd like someone to know about it so that she doesn't have to die with this secret.

Fill: Bela/Charlie

[wallmakerrelict.livejournal.com]

In those final minutes, the clock ticking away the last of her time, she makes one last call.

It rings five times. She almost thinks it's hopeless, but then there is a click and a familiar voice says, "Hello?"

"Mara?" says Bela, almost laughing with relief.

There is a clatter of metal and plastic, as if something is being dropped or fumbled. Silence, and then, "You must have the wrong number. This is Charlie Bradbury."

Bela can't help but smile. A new name, a new identity, probably a new state and a new job, but Mara kept this number. "Sweetie, it's me," she says, "It's Bela."

"I am not your swee…" she hisses, "Why are you… You know what? Just wait. Give me a second."

Bela gives her a second, a precious second, a second that she doesn't have to spare. She listens to the lightning-fast click of keys as Mara – no, not Mara, Charlie now – locks her computer. There is a shuffle of feet on carpet, and conversational voices fading in and out, before a door slams and there is silence. The next time Charlie speaks, her voice reverberates just slightly, as if she is in an enclosed space. "What do you want?" she asks.

"Did you shut yourself in a broom closet?" Bela says.

"So what if I did?" says Charlie, her voice squeaking, "I'm a Muggle now, okay? I work in an office! If someone asks who I'm talking to I can't exactly say, 'Oh, it's just an old buddy from when I used to run tech support for robbers!"

"Oh, please," says Bela, "Robbers have no subtlety. I'm a thief."

"Bela!" Charlie groans, "What do you want?"

A glib comment dies on Bela's tongue. For a moment, she had allowed herself to enjoy just listening to Charlie's voice as if it were the old days.

As if she weren't currently preparing herself for death.

"Ma… Charlie," says Bela, her voice becoming heavy again as the fear rushes back into her, "I'm sorry. I know I promised I wouldn't call you again, but there's something I need to tell you."

"What?" Charlie snaps.

It was always easy, talking to Charlie. Even for someone as tight-lipped as Bela, the words had always flowed. Maybe that's why she chose this number to call. She hadn't been able to tell Dean; she had meant to, but her pride had gotten in the way at the last moment. But Charlie. Charlie won't judge. Charlie won't pity. She can tell Charlie everything, and then, even after she's died, there will be at least one person in the world who knows the truth.

She opens her mouth, but the words won't come.

"Bela?" says Charlie, "You still there?"

She tries again, but she cannot make a sound. The pressure is building behind her eyes and in her chest again, and she realizes that she can't do it. She can't say the words. Maybe there are no words for this, not when she has so little time to explain. Or maybe her own heart is sabotaging her – so accustomed to keeping this secret, it won't let her divulge it even now.

She will take it to her grave. And suddenly, she is okay with that. Especially if it means that Charlie will remember her as a daring thief instead of as a scared little victim who sold her soul to escape her tormenters only to find a different kind of torment waiting for her ten years later.

"I'm here," Bela finally manages to say, even though her voice is cracking now, "I just wanted to tell you that, no matter how things ended between us, you were the best partner I ever had. I kept a lot of secrets from you, and I lied to you a lot…"

"I know," says Charlie, and even though she still sounds annoyed there is a note of concern in her voice.

"But I hope you know," says Bela as the first tears begin to roll down the well-marked tracks on her cheeks, "That when I told you that I loved you, I meant it."

There is a long pause before Charlie replies, this time without a hint of impatience, "Bel, are you okay?"

Bela is sobbing again, but she manages to choke out, "I'm sorry to bother you at work. Enjoy your Muggle life, sweetie. You won't hear from me again."

"Bela, wait…"

Bela hangs up the phone, sets it on the bedside table, and waits for the end.

Only one person in the world knows her whole story.

Soon no one will.

And maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Merlin (+/any), the more he keeps the magic secret, the more he resents it.

[draycevixen.livejournal.com]

The Professionals, Bodie/Doyle. What was in the letter?

[hobnailedboots.livejournal.com]

Any, any/any, trying to come out to your family but they already know and are completely fine with it

Static Shock - Life Choices

[ickaimp.livejournal.com]

"So, uh... Sharon... You got a minute?" Virgil fidgeted slightly, mentally bracing himself for the conversation. He didn't want to talk to her about this, really he didn't.

But it was better to let her know and clear the air, then having her stumble into it and do her impression of Mount Vesuvius.

She looked up at him, lips pursed as her eyes narrowed, taking in his nervous appearance. Virgil really should know better than to show weakness in front of her, one hint of baring his belly and she'd be after him like a lioness on the hunt, not letting go until she had glutted her fill and was satisfied.

"I, uh, just wanted to let you know, so you don't freak out about it later-"

Sharon put one hand on her hip, cocking it dangerously to the side. Which was better than if she'd crossed her arms and stuck her hip out to the side like that. "Is this about you bein' a Superhero?" She demanded.

"Uh..." Virgil felt the blood rushing from his head. "What?"

"Static." Sharon continued. "Oh, don't bother arguing, I know it's you. Got Adam and Daddy to confirm it, was just waiting for you to admit it too. And it's fine, was actually a relief to know that you weren't just being a slacker all the time."

"Oh. Well, yeah, it's true." Virgil ran a hand through his dreadlocks. "But that wasn't what I wanted to-"

"Ooooh." Comprehension seemed to dawn on her face and she smirked. "You finally ask Richie out on a date?"

"... Bwuh?" Wait, what?!

"You've only been head over heels for the guy since, what? Sophomore year of High School?" She stepped forward, patting him on the shoulder. "Glad to see you're not totally oblivious. He's a good catch too. You're not gonna find some girl more devoted to you than he is."

Which was true, but totally not where he had been going with this. He just stared at her and squeaked.

Sharon smiled, one of her sweet non-calculating smiles that was scary because she meant it. "No matter what choices you make in your life-" She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him a fierce, tight hug. "-just remember that I'll always be proud of you, Baby Bro."

"Thanks, Sharon." He managed to get out past his extreme confusion, hugging her back.

---

"So how'd Sharon react when you told her you got a tattoo?" Richie asked, goggles over his face as he welded something onto a motherboard.

Virgil watched him, highlighted by the glow of the small welder. Richie had the best hands of anyone he knew, strong and big for building, yet nimble enough to work on fine details. He wondered what kind of callouses Richie had on his fingers. If they would be smooth or rough if Virgil touched Richie's pale skin.

Of course, he probably wouldn't have been noticing such things if it hadn't been for that strange conversation with Sharon. He closed his eyes and rolled the other way on the sofa in their private Gas Station of Solitude. Sharon didn't care much for tattoos, but Virgil hadn't been able to resist getting the 'Static' logo, which would be clearly visible the next time they all went to the pool together.

He had a bad feeling that she was still going to smack him when she saw it.

"Nothing much." Virgil said, deciding to wipe as much as their conversation from his memory as soon as possible. "She said she's 'supportive of what choices I make in my life'."

He already knew that Pops was proud of what Virgil did, the path he'd chosen for his life. In retrospect, now that the shock was fading, it was nice to know that Sharon felt the same. That his family was cool with him being a Superhero.

Possibly a gay superhero, now that he thought about it. Pops had been dropping some not-so subtle hints the past couple years.

It kind of made his head hurt in a way that complex scientific calculations didn't.

"Huh." Richie paused, turning to glance at Virgil. There was an absentminded black streak of soot on one cheek, giving him a lopsided, asymmetrical appearance. It was oddly endearing. "Well, that's good at least."

Unlike Richie's parents, who could barely accept that Virgil was Richie's Best Friend, much less anything else he did in his life.

"Yeah." Virgil said, absentmindedly rubbing his chest where it ached a little. "I guess it is."

-fin-

[draycevixen.livejournal.com]

Person of Interest, Reese/Finch, why Reese really wants to know Finch's secrets.

[draycevixen.livejournal.com]

Life on Mars(UK), Sam/Gene, Gene has a secret talent.

[drabblewriter.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Nick, he misses Lucifer

Fill.

[with-rainfall.livejournal.com]

After Lucifer the days are empty and the nights merciless. He has the angel - no, the Devil, although Lucifer always thought of himself as angel-kind - to thank for saving his life. The gallons of demon blood made Nick retch and convulse, but they kept him alive.

And now? What is this waiting for nothing, if not death? The man his friends and neighbours formerly knew as Nick is missing, reported dead. He saw his own funeral, with no body to bury - because Lucifer was possessing it, of course, and laughing fit to burst at Nick’s despair. Lucifer promised redemption and revenge, his vision of Eden filling Nick’s soul with… not hope, exactly, but purpose. I will annihilate the demons and the humans. I will create a utopia, crowed Lucifer, and to curb Nick’s protests he would speak softly of gardens brocaded with roses, fountains sparkling silver in the moonlight, lakes clear as ice.
Who needs them, the vile pustules? We will make ourselves a heaven right on this beautiful plane, won’t we, my disciple? Together we will touch hearts.
No we won’t, you murderer! cried Nick, but without much fervour. For it was impossible to help that hard light bleeding into his mind: Lucifer was leaching him of mortality and replacing it with divine conviction. You are a sword, he said, pointed towards a single purpose.

And now he is bereft of even that, although it makes him sick to think that he would’ve annihilated two races. Of course he doesn’t miss Lucifer’s mocking laughter, or the nightmares of hell, or the hallucinations. But he misses the voice in all its variations: petulant, indignant, malicious and plaintive. Is that wrong? Of course, for it’s a sin to to touch and feel the Devil, and accept his temptations, and sell him your soul.

Some days he’s tempted to visit the church down the street, but what do you say? Father, I was possessed by the Devil and now I miss him, God help me. I can’t live without him. That wouldn’t go down too well. They’d lock him up. So he keeps his secret inside his head, not even writing it down.

[drabblewriter.livejournal.com]

ASOIAF/Game of Thrones, any king, he doesn't really want to be king

[youaredriving.livejournal.com]

Rob never felt the need to be who he’s becoming. He never dreamt about being a king. All he ever wanted was to be like his father. Lord of Winterfell. He dreamed about taking care of his own family, teaching his sons how to provide for their families, teaching his daughters how to be strong. That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Now, he’s fighting. Every moment he’s thinking of the possibilities of what the Lanisters are planning, what Renly is doing and how he’s going to win the next battle without losing so many men.

He does it because it’s his duty as the eldest Stark. He does it because his father wouldn’t have let any of his sons’ deaths go unnoticed. He would have fought for the freedom from the bindings that the Lannisters have placed on the people of the seven kingdoms. No his father wouldn’t have left things like this.

So, the King of the North fights with his wolf by his side. He does then things he doesn’t find easy to do. He does things he never thought he would have to do. And he’s never wanted to. All he’s wanted was to live in Winterfell with his family.

[fountainxxpenny.livejournal.com]

Teen Wolf (MTV), Scott + Any, Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead

:)

[iantojjackh.livejournal.com]

Torchwood, Jack/anyone, Jack reveals his real name

Mini-Fill

[sudipal.livejournal.com]

Takes place after the events of Captain Jack Harkness
A/N: Pardon if they sound in any way OOC. I haven't written for Torchwood in a long, long while.

---

“So what’s your real name, then?” a Welsh voice asked.

Jack looked up from the paperwork on his desk and gazed at the sight of Gwen Cooper standing in the doorway of his office, leaning against the post with a look that revealed a mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and just a hint of anger.

“Pardon?” asked Jack, leaning back in his chair.

Gwen stepped forward into the room. “We all know now that ‘Captain Jack Harkness’ was a name you’ve stolen-”

“I prefer borrowed,” Jack interjected.

“Oh, so you were gonna return it then, were ya?” Gwen inquired, raising her brow.

“Does it really bother you?” Jack asked her, watching as she moved to sit in the chair facing opposite him.

“You have so many secrets, Jack,” she said softly. “Would it kill ya to trust us with some of ‘em?”

“I trust you enough to let you know that no, it definitely wouldn’t kill me,” he said, the corners of his lips began to upturn, though there was a slight bitterness in his voice.

“No one else knows, though.”

“No,” agreed Jack.

“How can we ever put our faith in you,” asked Gwen, “if you have no confidence in us? You hand picked us all to join your team; that already tells you that ya trust us enough in your gut.”

There was silence in the room as the two of them just stared at each other, neither determined to lose the battle. Jack, in the back of his mind, fancied that even a Weeping Angel would have lost this contest.

Just as suddenly as the silence fell, Jack got up from his seat and walked around his desk and knelt beside Gwen. “I don’t deserve your trust,” he explained as Gwen listened with interest. “That’s part of the reason I don’t like to share about my past; I’m not very proud of it. But I am proud of you,” he told her, staring into her eyes. A moment later he turned from her gaze, “All of you,” he stammered. He stood up then. “I may not have been born Jack Harkness, but that’s who I am now. It’s who I want to be.”

When he finished talking, Gwen rose from her chair to stand next to him at eye level. “Okay, Jack,” she said soothingly, taking his hand in hers and stroking it gently.

He kissed her lightly on the temple. “Thank you, Gwen Cooper.”

[drabblewriter.livejournal.com]

any, any, s/he just wants to die

fill: zero-sum (the hunger games, foxface, canonical character death, tw: suicide)

[wakemexsoftly.livejournal.com]

She knows how to calculate odds; unlike the other Districts, the children in District 5 are highly educated. The assumption is that they will grow up to run the various power plants throughout the District and throughout Panem. Scientist’s children never really starve, and it’s the rare child who ends up taking Tesserae. Still, everyone is tense when the Reaping approaches.

There is the unspoken rule among the entire District: no one Volunteers. It isn’t logical. There is the unspoken assumption; if you are smart enough, you’ll come back alive.

But they don’t teach the children the skills that will bring them home. They do that in other Districts, where children wield knives and spears, where children never starve.

She shows off when she can, to tell the Gamemakers that she isn’t a lost cause. She can start a fire with anything. She can climb and she is very good at camouflage. Her fingers fly over the computers, the foraging and animal/insect identification simulations.

At night, she looks down at the Capitol. She's trapped in her room, and trapped inside the Games. She spends a pointless hour throwing herself at the barrier on the windows again and again.

When they are in the hovercraft flying to the arena, she doesn’t look at anyone, not even her own District partner. She realizes that she didn’t even bother to learn his name. When he dies in the bloodbath, she feels nothing.

She can’t sleep in the arena. She knows she should, but she can’t bring herself to relax enough to sleep. Instead, she obsessively calculates odds. She follows the other tributes. When they finally sleep, she steals a bit of their food. The sleep deprivation begins to set in.

Figuring out the safe path to the Career’s stockpile wasn’t luck; it was skill, and intense observation. The decision to try the path for herself was born out of a fit of sleepless mania.

She is almost disappointed when she makes it out of it alive.

With a full stomach, she falls asleep. When she isn’t sleeping, she wanders the forests.

The Gamemakers announce the rule change. Her only thought is, they don’t want me to win.

She sneaks inside the Cornucopia before the Feast. She doesn’t sleep, instead, she clutches her knife hard enough to leave a bruise in her hand. She crouches into a runner’s position at dawn and grabs her backpack, never looking back at the other tributes. Inside, there is a vial of sleep syrup. It’s a small vial, not a lethal dose. They wouldn’t give her food or a weapon. They think she needs to sleep.

She begins to obsess over the idea of dying. A small part of her mind whispers that it would be better to just die by her own hand in the arena. She thinks of District 12, and how they could still win.

A storm rages for the next few days, and she doesn’t bother to find shelter. Once she makes the decision to die, staying alive seems impractical. She screams out her frustration to the rain, to the sky, to the Gamemakers, to Panem. This is what the Games have turned her into; a sleepless mad girl with red hair screaming at the rain.

When the rain ends, she looks for the pair from District 12. She spots Peeta with some red, juicy berries.

She always knew what Nightlock looked like.

[misachan.livejournal.com]

Avengers movieverse, Steve + Natasha, When he shows her a picture of Bucky she doesn't tell him she's seen that man before - in Russia, calling himself the Winter Soldier.

[misachan.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Claire, She would say yes again in a heartbeat.

Not a fill yet...

[alicat713.livejournal.com]

But I love this prompt. I'm fascinated by Claire (and a bit ticked we never see her again in canon) so I'm going to tackle this one tonight. :)

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Vampire Babylon - Chris Marie Green, Dawn + The Dragon, she still dreams of him

[blythechild.livejournal.com]

Criminal Minds, any/+any, if they knew, they'd chase me down with torches and pitchforks.

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

The Demonata, Juni/Kernel, we're dead if they knew

[willow-fae-20.livejournal.com]

The Sentinel, Blair, He's bluffing his way through the whole 'Sentinel' thing. He hasn't actually got a clue what he's doing.

[blythechild.livejournal.com]

Sherlock, Sherlock/+any or none... whatever, Sherlock only confesses to his headstone.

Fill

[liave-ekeli.livejournal.com]

A/N: I've never filled anything for anyone before, and I'm not sure if this is anything like what you wanted.
Also, no beta, no britpicking or anything like that.


He's returned to London, and, since London is being its usual welcoming self, it's raining. His steps are echoing loudly against the cobblestones as he follows the familiar path. First stone, then dirt, then grass, each step reminding him that he's not back for good. Not yet - perhaps not ever, it's still too early to tell. London itself is reminding him that the city is no longer home, and that the places...and the people, that he once took for granted, now continue to exist without him. That they're moving on.

The gravesite is blissfully empty. For the first year after, John was a frequent visitor. Three days a week at first, then once a week, until now, when his visits have become more infirquent. Sherlock suspects that the reason is named Mary, she works as a nurse at the same hospital as John. He doesn't mind. If anything, he's surprised it's taken John this long to move on. He'd assumed that John found some comfort in the routine of visiting the grave, because why else would he show so much dedication to a momument dedicated solely to the death of one individual named Sherlock Holmes?

Though, when he thinks about it, he's had reports from his homeless network (who also had helped fake his death) that the others had also visited. Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson...even Sally Donovan had visited what was supposedly his final resting place. Molly had even brought a ridiculously sentimental present for his birthday.
As he stood there now, he wondered why they bothered. They must know it would not bring him back, that none who are dead care about the actions of the living...and yet, they persisted.

He'd seen it before. Relatives who could not let their loved ones go, who would not listen to reason, to logic. He's seen it countless times, but he'd never understood. Even now, standing where he is, living the life of a ghost, he still doesn't.
They've made him a hero, of sorts. Even though he once pointedly told John that there was no such thing as heroes, and that even if there was, he would never be one. And yet, there are fresh flowers on his grave.

Even with him gone, even with the newspapers making him out to be a fraud every chance they get, there are some people...they are few, but they are there, who see fit to honour him, as best they know how.
It's mindnumbingly stupid, but he feels...grateful? Yes, grateful is the word. Grateful that his sacrifice (he may not be dead, but he still consider his actions a sacrifice) does not go unnoticed, even when the people who possessed him to make it are blissfully unaware. That even when they think he is merely dead, they remember him, and that he was once a presence in their lives.

As he utters a phrase to the name on his gravestone, and to himself, by extension, perhaps he understands at least a little of the great web that make up human emotion. Because the words that escape his lips would never have been uttered six years ago, when he met Lestrade, og ever two years ago when he first met John. Only when he realised what he would have to do, did he also realise that there were people in this world worth dying for.

"You would be nothing without them, Sherlock"

[doreyg.livejournal.com]

Avengers movieverse, Tony/Loki, Dirty little secret