Monday: Book Titles

[bwhouwant2b.livejournal.com]

Hi! I’m bwhouwant2b and I’m going to be your guest host of the week.

Today’s theme is going to be Book Titles .

We are gonna start the week with something simple. Just pick a book title, any title; fiction, nonfiction, anything goes.

Please think about our wonderful codemonkeys and use the correct format (the second is for crossovers).

Fandom, Pairing, Prompt
Fandom1/Fandom2, Pairing, Prompt

RPS, Chris/Steve, Fish Out of Water
Supernatural/Criminal Minds, Dean & Reid, Undead and Uneasy

Please remember not to post more than 5 prompts in a row and more than 3 prompts per fandom. If one or more of your prompts are answered, you can prompt again later in the day.

If you don't see anything you like, you can always Adopt a Lonely Prompt.

Comments

[bwhouwant2b.livejournal.com]

RPS, Chris/Steve, Fish Out of Water

[bwhouwant2b.livejournal.com]

Supernatural/Criminal Minds, Dean & Reid, Undead and Uneasy

[darkmagic-luvr.livejournal.com]

Dean's first thought: Zombie....great. Zombies sucked. They sucked even more when you were standing in the middle of a crime scene across from a skinny kid with glasses pointing a gun at him. Dean was actually surprised that...Dr. Reid (the hello my name is...when he first walked in seemed to pay off. Mr. FBI agent proceeded to recognize Dean as the Dean Winchester and to point previously mentioned gun at him) could hold the gun.

Cue Zombie. Right behind Dr. Reid. Shit. Where the hell was Sam when you needed him?

Oh right. Looking for the Zombie. Mission accomplished.

Dean held up his hands, wincing as the Zombie eyed Reid hungrily. Gross.

"You're supposed to be dead," brilliant deduction on the part of Dr. Reid. Dean grinned at him, his eyes flickering between the good doctor and the flesh eating Zombie.

"You have no idea how often I get that," said Dean. The Zombie moved forward and Dean made a split decision. It was either him or another dead FBI agent on his conscious.

"I said don't-" Spencer was cut off the the sound of Dean Winchester's gun going off. He closed his eyes, waiting for the white light and the angels that he knew logically wouldn't come. Seconds past where only screaming, shouting and another shot coming off was all he heard.

Someone's hands were on his shoulders and Spencer opened his eyes slowly, wondering if this was it. But a pair of striking green eyes blinked at him before eyebrows raised and a long exaggerated sigh filled the now quiet room. Spencer blinked and frowned, glancing at Dean Winchester and then over his shoulder at what he had obviously been shooting at.

He wasn't expecting to see a [supposedly] dead man lying on the floor with a stake shoved through his chest. Spencer blinked again, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding for so long; taking a step back and closer too the [supposedly] dead serial killer who'd just saved his life.

"I fucking hate Zombies," Dean muttered under his breath, clapping Spencer on the shoulder and pulling out his phone. "Hey, Sammy....No you're a little late...yeah, nearly had Reid for lunch...Never mind, doesn't matter. Hey," Spencer jerked, his head snapping onto Dean's who had pulled his phone away from his ear and was looking at him with concern. "You gonna be okay?"

Spencer cleared his throat and nodded. Dean seemed satisfied.

"Alright. I'm gonna assume you aren't gonna arrest me?"

"You're dead," said Spencer. "So there isn't anyone to arrest."

"Awesome."

And with that, Dean Winchester was gone. Serial killer, bank robber, sadist who somehow keeps coming back to life. Spencer shook his head. So not worth the head ache.

[berrypop90.livejournal.com]

Harry Potter, Harry/Scorpius, Pretty Little Mistakes

[voksen.livejournal.com]

Weiss Kreuz, author's choice, Stranger in a Strange Land

[daegaer.livejournal.com]

"What's that?" Nagi said. He stared in horror at the . . . thing that had just been preemptorily dumped on his meal tray.

"Wienerschnitzel," the server said as the boy behind shoved Nagi hard.

"Move it, brat."

Nagi quailed and took a step forward to have the usual lumpy semolina dumplings slapped on his tray by the next server. He couldn't repress a shudder.

"Aww, does the widdle boy not like his din-dins?" the boy behind him laughed.

Nagi risked a look back. The other boy was at least three years older, and had probably been here ages. Not to mention that Nagi hadn't a clue what he could do - it was safer to ignore him. He turned away and staggered forwards as the boy kicked him in the back of the knees.

"Don't turn your back when I'm talking to you, you little shit."

Nagi turned back. Other boys were gathering and grinning, happy to have a lunchtime show. His assailant put his tray down and made a show of rolling up his sleeves. Nagi swallowed. He was going to get creamed.

"That's one thing you've got right," the boy said and pushed him hard again.

Oh crap, Nagi thought. He was going to get beaten up, had a perfect right to be scared and - nothing was happening. In the orphanage when he got scared thing started rattling, when he got angry heavy objects started hurling themselves around, and here of all places he got nothing? "Leave me alone," he said, his voice shaking.

"Why? You're just a pathetic little TK who can't even bend a fucking spoon," the boy said, drawing back for a punch.

Nagi shifted his grip on his tray and sliced it up at the boy's face. The dumplings and the wienerschnitzel-thing in its horrible thin sauce splattered across the floor as the metal tray gouged a line of red up from the boy's jaw to his temple, barely missing the eye. He shrieked, clasping at his face with both hands as blood oozed between his fingers. Nagi held the tray two-handed and stood there, panting in fright, eyes wide, waiting for the next attacker. Before anyone could move, one of the teachers stood up from the far table and came over. She looked the knot of boys up and down, and they melted away.

"Clean that up, then get to the medical centre," she said to the whimpering boy.

"Me? He threw it on the floor! He was the one who used a weapon!" the boy said.

"And you're the one that lost. Clean it up." She turned to Nagi. "Have your lunch and get back to class."

Nagi bowed, heart pounding. Now, when it wasn't doing any good, all the utensils in their drawers were rattling and the horrible food was shaking violently in its containers. The woman looked down at him, eyes cold.

"Stop that."

Nagi bowed again, thinking about quiet parks, flowers, kittens, anything that wasn't this place and that might let him calm down even a bit. The shaking subsided to a low sound of metal vibrating against metal. The teacher nodded and walked off. Nagi detoured around the bleeding boy wiping up the floor, and went back to get a clean tray. He started to get back in line, then paused. It was clear how things were in this place, and he needed to start acting on that. With a confidence he did not feel he walked back to the head of the line and stepped ahead of the boy about to be served.

"Hey," the boy grumbled.

Nagi stared him down, and collected a fresh, disgusting lunch. No one sat near him as he ate, but no one tried anything funny as he walked back to class either. That was all right, Nagi thought. He knew how to deal with isolation. He'd do all right here, now that he'd made a first impression.

[vashti.livejournal.com]

Death Note, Light, The Blind Watchmaker.

[vashti.livejournal.com]

Death Note, L, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime.

[shiny-glor-chan.livejournal.com]

...that prompt is made of so much awesome. The book was pretty awesome and add L = <3 *is contemplating it but makes no promises*

[kuwdora.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Sylar/Peter, The Most Dangerous Game

[moontyger.livejournal.com]

Hellblazer, John Constantine, Practical Demonkeeping

no fic

[badfalcon.livejournal.com]

but your icon just made me choke... oh, that's fantastic! ♥

[emmademarais.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Parker, Understanding Human Behavior

Crack!fic

[daria234.livejournal.com]

Parker read a book on the subject. Well, part of a book. She took notes, though, and she even made a list of main points. She keeps the list with her so she can take it out for reference when she has to talk to somebody. But the list keeps growing and changing as Parker has to talk to more and more people. She's glad she has the list, though....
******

Quick Tips For Understanding Human Behavior
Summarized and Written Down By Me (Parker)

1. People are social and they desire interaction with other people. (Note to self: smelling someone only counts as interaction in certain circumstances)

2. People value honest feedback about their strengths and weaknesses. (Note to self: people DO NOT like this.)

3. People like to know that you care about them as individuals. Find out what makes them unique, and tell them why thy matter. (Note to self: if someone is not unique and that person does not matter one bit to anyone, do NOT tell them that. See note for #2)

4. Fear is a natural emotion that helps human beings learn when to be cautious, and how to avoid making the same mistake twice. (Note to self: don't laugh at people who are afraid of heights, especially if that person is a computer hacker who can put you on every telemarketer's call-list in the country)

5. People respond well to others they have something in common with. Try making conversation to determine what shared interests you have (Note to self: Reminiscing about that time when you made that person cry is NOT a shared interest with that person. Even if it TOTALLY seems like it should be.)

6. When all else fails, talk about something universal, like the weather, or sports, or pets, or celebrity gossip. (Note to self: Do NOT tell people you won a magical weather machine by beating Russell Crowe at kitten-rugby. It will not help them relate.)

7. People will be drawn to you as long as you are confident in what you say and do. (Note to self: your confidence may be interpreted by some as being a "lunatic" and/or "not right." This may not be a criticism necessarily, but simply an observation made by good friends.)

[emmademarais.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, Any Winchester man and any crossroads demon, Death and the Maiden

[elebridith]

RPS, Spy!Steve/linguist!Chris, The Spy Who Loved Me

*weg*

[havenward.livejournal.com]

Christian knows where all his scars are. They're small or thin, and most of them faint (the best of The Agency's money at work, he's sure). Mostly no one would ever notice them, would ever guess they were there. It's better for Steve that way, better that there's nothing so simple to give him away.

He knows the story behind each one. Knows the how and where, and sometimes even the who, at least in part. Knows the long stories, told in the dark with the scar under Chris' fingers, under his lips.

There's a lot Steve has to do as a spy. Lies and fighting and stealing and... some things that Chris would rather not think about sometimes. But always, always he comes home to Chris. Always he pulls Chris up to bed, to tell him what he can.

And to remind them both what it means to be home.

[voksen.livejournal.com]

Highlander, Methos, Aristotle and the Gun and Other Stories

[daria234.livejournal.com]

"What's this? Greek?"

"Be careful with that, Duncan, Aristotle wrote that himself."

"Aristotle? As in his hands touched this scroll?"

"Yes, and now you're touching it. And not gently."

"Sorry, Methos. But shouldn't you donate this to a museum? Instead of, you know, keeping in storage underneath your jean jackets from the 1980's?"

"Too bad, Boy Scout. Aristotle wrote this down at my request."

"Is it philosophy? Poetics? Natural history?"

"I'm offended that you think I'm so trite, Duncan. I meet the great Aristotle and you think I'm going to ask him for that nonsense."

"What then?"

"It's of a personal nature."

"How personal?"

"A thank you note."

"To you?"

"Of course."

"For what?"

Methos smirked.

"No. No. You did not sleep with Aristotle, Methos. And why a thank you note?"

"I'm just that good."

"Ew. Methos, you are _ruining_ all of Western culture for me."

"Here I thought it was the postmoderns."

"I don't believe this. And you saved it all this time? Why?"

"I hate to admit it, but I was kind of a starfucker back then, Duncan. Now stop whining or I won't let you hold Roosevelt's gun."

"What? Please don't tell me you got it by sleeping with Teddy?"

"Of course not. It's Eleanor's gun."

[emmademarais.livejournal.com]

Numb3rs, Ian, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

(Bonus points for adolescent Ian in at least part of the fic)

[kuwdora.livejournal.com]

Stargate Atlantis, Sam/Rodney, Rendezvous with Rama

[dergerm.livejournal.com]

Heroes, Authors choice, American Gods

[onceuponapillow.livejournal.com]

Criminal Minds, Morgan/Garcia, Sex Appeal

[dergerm.livejournal.com]

Chuck, Casey/Chuck, The Things They Carried

[daria234.livejournal.com]

Since becoming a spy, Chuck has spent considerably more time knocked unconscious than he used to.

He's woken up staring at the ceiling a few times. And a few times, it's been to Sarah's concerned face hovering over him.

Most often, though, he wakes up to a jostle and the sensation of being carried. He groggily tries to understand his surroundings, realizes that he is yet again gripped tightly in Casey's ridicuously strong arms. And, feeling safer, he usually fades back into unconsciousness, occasionally after murmuring "Casey." Chuck realizes he does this, but trusts Casey to understand that this is just how unconscious men say 'thank you.'

Casey watches, records, eavesdrops on, and fairly frequently saves Chuck Bartowski. He never mentions the fact that while passed out in Casey's arms, when Casey is trying desperately to prevail in the segment of the op that involves NOT DYING, Chuck will practically distract him by cooing his name, usually accompanied by the kind of moan that the nerd usually reserves for his favorite ice cream flavor.

Casey also never mentions Chuck says his name at night as well, tucked away alone in the safety of his bedroom, while in the throes of a series of repeating dreams in which John Casey is apparently a stellar lay. Chuck screams "Casey!" again and again, as his dreaming self half-articulates any number of things Chuck apparently would like to do to Casey. Casey would have to listen to this -- since it was his job, after all, to keep tabs - but his reaction went from shocked to annoyed to bored. Until he realized that he had never even heard of half the things Chuck wanted to do to him. Then Casey went to impressed. He spent a lot of time deciphering those half-formed, fully-explicit words that would pour out of Chuck's lips. More time than necessary.

Casey never mentioned any of this to Chuck, of course. It would be good for a laugh at Chuck's expense, but it would open up a boxful of those things that Chuck really likes to talk about.

Feelings.

Feelings of love and trust and maybe even a little hero-worship. On Chuck's part only, of course.

But it was better to make sure Chuck thought his secret was safe. Some desires are better off staying repressed.

So Casey had no problem keeping Chuck's longing a secret, even a secret from Chuck himself. It was just another thing he carried with ease, barrelling onward even as the weight grew heavier and heavier.

[voksen.livejournal.com]

Weiss Kreuz, Omi, The Cat Who Walks Through Walls

[fairady.livejournal.com]

It's ridiculously easy getting in the building.

Omi follows a group of business men in a side door and sticks close when they're come up to the front desk. He doesn't pause or look at any of the security guards checking the IDs of people, just keeps his eyes fixed on the man in front. The guards let him pass without a second glance. He's just another kid following his father to work for a day.

He peels away from the group just before the elevators. The stairs are locked with a keycard access system that's simple to bypass, but he doesn't even need to do that. The door hasn't been closed all the way from the last person to use it. Omi simply pulls the handle, then it's three floors up and he doesn't pass anyone at all. Everyone uses elevators these days.

No one looks at him twice as he moves through the maze of offices and desks. If he's in the building then that must mean he's allowed there, and these people are all far too busy trying to meet deadlines to pay any attention to a kid. The door he wants is opened just enough for him to slip through and the man on the phone is too focused on a folder to notice.

Too much reliance on flimsy security measures, and employees who wouldn't notice a fire if it wasn't on their desk. It's something that the target will not get the chance to regret.

[onceuponapillow.livejournal.com]

Veronica Mars, Veronica/Logan, Tangled Sheets

Bed Sheets

[smilesoftnsweet.livejournal.com]

---

It’s tangled sheets and sweat-damp bodies, panted breaths and blood-flushed skin.

Logan’s hand runs along Veronica’s heated skin. She shivers at the touch and Logan grins, self-satisfied and wolfish. His eyes smolder in the near darkness as he moves to hover above her. The sheets rustle… one half dropping from Logan’s body to pool between them and bare him to her. He keeps her gaze, unashamed… not the least bit self-conscious. Veronica bites her lip. They should be tired. They shouldn’t be so starved for this… animalistic hunger wafts through the air and stirs around them… the sensation of not quite enough.

They crave it, even now.

Logan lowers himself slowly, arms bracketing either side of Veronica’s body. Sensitive skin rubs along the cool sheets below and he grinds against the body beneath it.

Veronica whines, pained and pleasure-filled—a protest of too much but also wanting more. She arches into the touch, even as her body continues to tingle with aftershocks.

“Logan, please—” And she bites her lips to stop herself.

“Stop?” His voice sounds amused.

“Yes. I mean… ugh, no.” Veronica pulls at the sheets between them. “This. Come on, Logan.”

Logan laughs—low and rough—as he maneuvers them around in the covers. His back falls to the bed and he cradles Veronica above him. The covers drape against her back and pool around his legs. He tries to kick them away but they tangle up between his legs and he laughs—slightly frustrated—against Veronica’s lips.

“Problem?” Veronica’s smirk infuriates and arouses him. He’s twisted that way.

“No problem.” Logan offers, cursing when Veronica takes him in hand without preamble. His cock swells in her grip even as his toes curl against the covers. “No problem at all.”

The sheets are completely strewn off the bed by the next round.

[dergerm.livejournal.com]

Firefly, Mal/Jayne, Nickled And Dimed

[onceuponapillow.livejournal.com]

Buffy, Buffy/Spike, Caught in the act

[dreamsofspike.livejournal.com]

What he hopes she'll never find out is that he heard them coming.

If she thought about it for a few seconds, she'd probably figure it out. His vampire senses are far stronger than hers, and her friends aren't exactly the reigning experts when it comes to stealth.

At any rate, it's not exactly his fault that they were in the midst of some rather questionable activities when Red and the boy decided to feel guilty about leaving her alone so much and come looking for her. They probably checked all the other, more logical places, before deciding to come and ask Spike if he's seen her.

He's bloody well seen her, all right.

He's seen more of her than either of them ever will.

The shocked, trapped expression on Buffy's face when she sees her friends staring at her in amazed, stunned silence breaks his heart, to know how humiliating it is for her to be caught with him.

She hesitates a moment before he sees her jaw stubbornly square, and she meets their eyes defiantly, albeit while rolling onto her back and pulling the blankets up to cover them both.

"It's none of your business," she declares in a trembling voice. "Did you want something?"

"We just... thought you might be lonely," Willow responds in a stammering, hesitant voice. "But... obviously... um... that's not... a problem at the moment..."

"Buffy!" Xander sputters. "H-how... how could you..."

"Oh, please, Mr. Engaged-to-a-vengeance-demon!" Willow cuts him off, surprising everyone in the room.

"Ex-vengeance demon!" Xander protests.

"Well, according to you lot, I'm just an ex-vampire, so I don't see's how it makes any difference," Spike ventures to mutter, already bracing himself for the Slayer's violent reaction.

It doesn't come.

She's looking down at him with something new and wondering in her gaze. He looks away, feeling vulnerable and embarrassed by the hurt in his tone. Her hands on his arm and his chest soften almost imperceptibly, as she glances over her shoulder and addresses her friends in a quiet, distracted voice.

"So... I'm not lonely, then. A little privacy, please?"

Xander and Willow seem all too willing to flee the room. As the sounds of their departure fade from his ears, Spike focuses on the strange look on the Slayer's face. He's not sure what she's thinking -- can't seem to read her these days -- but he senses that in the past few minutes, something vital has changed.

he barely dares to hope that it just might be for the better.

[onceuponapillow.livejournal.com]

Buffy, Spike/Tara, Kiss me again

[onceuponapillow.livejournal.com]

House, House/Cuddy, Under his skin

[darkmagic-luvr.livejournal.com]

Dark Angel, Max/Alec, Wicked

[dergerm.livejournal.com]

Being Human, George/Tully, Fool Moon

[alba17.livejournal.com]

The woods were bathed in a cool light, the fat full moon creating ashy shadows and pools of pale grey. George grunted as he tripped and grabbed hold of a tree, sharp claw-like nails catching on the rugged bark. He noticed the thatch of hair on the back of his hand was getting thicker.

He heard the crunch of underbrush and the crack of twigs snapping, loud as a siren to his heightened senses. Was it a small animal or something bigger? He lifted his nose higher, inhaled sharply. Every scent was brought to him clearly through the sharp night air. Was it him, the other one?

He was running hard now, without direction. He had to move, had to get away. The wolf inside was upon him. Branches scraped his face, caught on his clothes. Something ripped. He kept going, frantic. He paused when he caught the whiff of a familiar smell. He was somewhere near. George jerked his head around, searching, but the moon-bright woods betrayed nothing.

He wanted to catch a glimpse of him, that was all. See his cocksure slouch, hat brim pulled low. See his eyes glowing in the dark. Sense his energy radiating, magnified by the full moon’s glow. Feel less alone.

There had been that moment when he’d walked away from the abandoned house in the woods. He’d almost let him die. His stomach clenched at the thought.

Suddenly he was on the ground, on his hands and knees, arching his neck up toward the moon. His back literally rippling, his body reforming itself. Bones stretching, organs mutating.

As the transformative spasm ebbed, George crouched, panting. A swishing sound drew his attention, and a white hat went sailing through the crisp cool night. It gleamed in the moonlight. He watched it land nearby on a pile of leaves banked up against a tree trunk. A low growl followed.

He jumped up, limbs twitching. A scream ripped through the still night. He heard the thump of a body falling to the ground and the quick swish-swish of heels trying to gain purchase in the soft, leaf-littered ground.

George crashed through the trees in the direction of the sound. Another wave of energy was forming at the base of his spine, tingling at his skull, like fireworks bursting under his skin. The urge to crouch, to slash and attack was growing, the trees becoming a blur.

Shortly, the woods opened to a small clearing filled with blue-tinged light. A spreading pool of black blood brightly glinted as it pumped from the mutilated body of a young man lying on the ground, still convulsing. Tully, no longer recognizably human, stooped over him, yellowed eyes wild, blood-tinged saliva dripping from his powerful jaw, roaring gruesome howls of triumph into the night air.

George lowly keened at the smell of the blood, the sight of the werewolf rampant over its prey. Every fiber of his being yearned to join him, to revel in the primal powers they shared. As he took a step closer, however, the open-eyed stare of the dead man on the ground stopped him. Some tatter of his humanity reminded him that he barely escaped the same fate.

He looked up into the jaundiced eyes of the werewolf Tully, who grunted at him in vague recognition. His maker. They were prisoners of the same bizarre condition, yes. But they were not the same men.

George swiftly turned and disappeared among the trees. With his last shreds of rational thought, he hoped that, by the time the moon sank below the horizon, he’d be well away from Tully and the grisly scene in the clearing.