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Five Things Meme Prompts.
All for Becca (moorfaerie). ♥!
Five Foods Tim has Given Bart, Secretly, or not so Secretly, from his Plate:
1. Tim’s not sure why it started, exactly - just that with a boy whose metabolism is so fast he spends half his time starving anyway, it seemed the perfectly logical thing to do. Tim’s not even sure that Bart noticed the first time, when Tim just slipped him a few pieces of toast in the morning, sliding them from his own plate to Bart’s. Tim’s not sure that Bart cares half the time what he’s putting in his mouth, just as long as it’s edible and mostly cooked. Which, when looked at in the right way, could be a team weakness.
Tim will just have to make sure no one feeds Bart on missions. And maybe he should start bringing along a granola bar or something, just in case.
2. Tim doesn’t like peas. Luckily, his dad knows this, for the most part, but he’s never bothered to mention it to the Titans. They only eat dinner together once a weekend, on average, and the likelihood that whoever is cooking will prepare peas is relatively small. A small enough risk to warrant withholding such useless information.
Besides, he’s got Bart. And when there are peas, there is also a Bart to feed them to.
3. Tim has a list in his room, mounted on the bulletin board in small block letters, of things that Bart will not eat. The list, so far, is only three items long, but Tim hasn’t been conducting this experiment for very long. So far, he has -
1. blue cheese,
2. cucumbers, and
3. pork. The last is the most consistently surprising, as Bart doesn’t even really like bacon, and very much dislikes ham. Tim wonders why there are so many different names for the same kind of cooked animal, but decides that it doesn’t matter. What really matters his how long he can slip Bart food almost unnoticed before Bart cares enough to ask him any questions.
4. Tim is not the world’s best cook by any stretch of the imagination. He can successfully boil water, he can put an English muffin in the toaster and have it come out only slightly burnt, he can heat leftovers in the microwave, but much past that is beyond his expertise.
If there is anyone, though, who Tim would like to see in the kitchen less than himself, if would be Bart. Who tried to cook them Interlac food and ended up melting the skillet handle and microwaving at least one spoon. They were extremely lucky that nothing exploded.
Tim’s pretty sure that none of those things are likely to happen again, but given the option, he’d still rather cook than see Bart anywhere near the stove.
5. Bart isn’t stupid, and Tim knows this. Bart was never stupid, exactly, so much as immature, and now he isn’t even that. Now, though, there’s this sense that Bart knows how he was, and all he wants is to prove himself different. There’s some kind of kinetic energy, static electricity in his smiles and on his face that means I can grown, too and means don’t treat me like a child and means give me a place to fit.
Tim’s not sure, yet, what to do about that, but he hands Bart a glass of orange juice in the morning and a slice of toast and figures that as long as he acknowledges the difference, Bart won’t care. And that’s something, at least.
Five Words/Sentences/Phrases Bart has Heard Tim Yell in his Sleep:
1. Bart doesn’t sleep so much. Instead, he naps - a few hours here, half an hour there, thirteen minutes in front of the TV, thirty-seven during debriefing - and so when the Tower is mostly quiet, he’s playing video games in the common room, or raiding the fridge. He’s got half a bologna and pepperoni and cheese and pickle and peanut butter sandwich in one hand, and half a soda in the other, his feet light and quiet, if a bit too fast, against the beige carpet, when he walks past Tim’s door.
“Bart?” It’s Tim’s voice through the crack in the door, tentative and thick with sleep. Bart pauses, says Tim’s name quietly in the dark, not sure if Tim is awake or not, and listens. When he hears nothing, he keeps walking.
2. Bart learns that Tim is part of that slim five percent of the population that still talks in their sleep after puberty (and while fifty percent of children do, he knows, most people tend to grow out of it - although, it does seem to run in families, or so studies suggest). Bart doesn’t know what it is, exactly, that makes him curious, but sometimes he’ll sit on the floor outside of Tim’s door, listening. Half the time, Tim just says things like “but I don’t understand, why would I do that?” or “go away, you’re not supposed to be here,” with his voice all slurred and molasses sweet.
Sometimes Bart peeks in through the gap, watches Tim shift under his plain blue sheets, but Tim never wakes himself up, and Bart figures that it’s better if Tim doesn’t find out that he was there are all.
3. Bart does some research, and learns that most people talk in their sleep when stressed or sleep deprived. Well, big surprise there, really, and Bart would be more shocked to learn that Tim was neither of those things than both. It’s a working hero thing, probably, or maybe just a bat-thing, but either way it doesn’t matter.
“It’s not something that I can just turn off, Dad,” he whispers, but Bart hears him, speeding through his algebra homework out in the hall. Bart wonders who Tim’s dad is, what he’s talking about, but Tim doesn’t open up. Won’t. Not when he’s awake. Not when Bart can see the expression on his face and know how fake it is. Closed off like padlocked doors, and Bart can vibrate through walls, but he can’t see the inside of Tim’s head.
Bart feels like he’s intruding, almost, but if Tim’s subconscious will tell him what Tim would never actually say, who is Bart to protest?
4. Sometimes Tim just murmurs names of people Bart has met or hasn’t or has never even heard of, but Bart listens to the sound of his voice, monotone and calm, even in sleep, and thinks about what he’d do if he heard his own name again.
5. “Nananananananana Batman,” Tim hums in his sleep, faint but audible, sometime between two and four am, and Bart wonders if this bodes for further insanity or possibly something worse, or maybe it means that things are finally getting better, and Tim might actually resume being human. Bart supposes that the latter is too much to hope for and the former is much more likely to be true.
He’s kind of glad, though, that even Tim can’t sing on key.
Five Times Giles had Needed a Cup of Tea (or a Large Brandy) - Post Chosen:
1. Anytime Andrew opens his mouth. This may not be precisely true, but there are only so many Star Wars references Giles can take before he’s had enough. Especially considering there is far more than one hope left for the universe. And none of them have seen all of the Star Wars movies.
2. There was that one time he mistakenly brought both Andrew and Xander with him to that set of ruins down in Arizona. He’d thought it a good idea at the time, thought he might give them a few pointers teaching Slayers and all that, but as soon as they entered the state they started talking like they were in a western, and it was all he could do not to hit one or both of them over the head with a crossbow.
3. Plus, if Xander lets Andrew poke his empty eye socket one more time, there are going to be repercussions. Probably including the scrubbing of one or more lavatories. And silence charms.
4. The time Buffy ran into a group of rogue spell casters, and was temporarily without a mouth. It wasn’t so much that is was difficult to fix, more that Buffy decided that if she couldn’t make noise with her vocal chords, she was going to damn well find another way. Two days of bongo drums and maracas has made Giles particularly gun shy of drum circles, not that he had much to do with them in the first place. Still, one never knows when such things might come in handy.
5. Having the bedroom directly next to Willow and Kennedy’s on a trip through Maine is not something that Giles wants to repeat. Ever. Motel walls tend to be thin, and this was no exception. As much as he is glad that they are happy (and, apparently, have a healthy sex life) it isn’t anything he’s ever wanted to hear. Especially not that loudly.
Five ways Andrew has checked out Spike’s ass:
1. Andrew doesn’t really check out Spike’s ass, and if asked he would have no idea where the question was coming from, really. Straight out of the blue, that one.
2. Well, there was that time that Spike had sex with Anya, but Andrew’s not exactly sure that should count because, well. It wasn’t like he was actually there, so it’s not really checking out so much as. Gazing from afar?
3. And there was all that time that Spike spent chained up in the basement, but really. He can’t be expected not to think a chained up person is hot. Because chains? Just hot. And maybe he should just shut up.
4. Here’s a very serious question - does it count as checking out if the recipient is suspiciously transparent at the time?
5. Really, Andrew can only think of the one time, and Spike had just gotten back from LA, and Andrew had only been visiting Giles, anyway, but there had been all that vodka (and Andrew never really had much of a tolerance, anyway), and Giles had disappeared at some point when the music got too loud. Andrew’s never been sure where, he’d been too distracted at the time.
But really, that had been more feeling up than checking out. So whatever.
Top Five Songs on Sylar’s iPod:
1. BRAINS! - Voltaire.
(Brains, brains, I love 'em, I need ‘em.
My tummy jumps for joy when I eat ‘em.
Big ones, fat ones, short ones, tall ones,
they’re so delectable, especially the small ones.
No time to cook 'em in a skillet,
my belly's rumblin', and I got a need to fill it.
I don't fry 'em, the heat will only shrink em,
I just grab myself a straw and I drink 'em!)
2. A Little Priest - Sweeney Todd.
(For what's the sound of the world out there?
Those crunching noises pervading the air!
It's man devouring man, my dear!
Then who are we to deny it in here?)
3. Flavor of the Week - American Hi-Fi.
(I wish that I can make her see
She's just the flavor of the week)
4. I Hold Your Hand In Mine - Tom Lehrer.
(The night you died I cut it off.
I really don't know why.
For now each time I kiss it
I get bloodstains on my tie.
I'm sorry now I killed you,
For our love was something fine,
And till they come to get me
I shall hold your hand in mine.)
5. The Landlord’s Daughter -The Decemberists
( She cursed, she shivered
She cried for mercy,
"My gold and silver if thou will release me!")
Five Books Dean has Actually Read:
1. He reads all six Harry Potter books, and refuses to be ashamed when Sammy tries to make fun of him for it. Dean just finishes the last chapter of The Prisoner of Azkaban for the second time, and pushes Sammy into the bathtub.
2. He did have to read the Odyssey when he was in the ninth grade. He’d liked it because that last chapter was bloody, but Telemachus was a whiny bitch and Athena was a know-it-all. The monsters, though? Pretty neat. Also, he’s pretty sure that sirens actually exist. He wouldn’t want to meet one, though.
3. He steals a Stephen King novel from a roadside bookstore somewhere between Nebraska and Idaho, after Sammy insists that he’s going to drive for the next few hours. Dean figures there isn’t much Sammy can run into between fields except the occasional ditch, and his fingers are starting to get cramped. The book - It - is something he can relate to, and he can’t help but try to place it as he reads, figure out what kind of spook it is. Between the mutilations and the use of drainage systems, the localized and time based sets of attacks, he has it as some kind of reoccurring poltergeist, a wronged spirit of some sort. Sammy can’t get him to put the book down until he finishes it at two am in a cheap motel this side of Memphis. He’s wrong though.
It figures. Aliens. Whatever.
4. There’s a stretch of time between November and April when there just isn’t time at all to read - too many gory deaths, splatters of blood on the windshield, claw mark scars on their skin. Sometime in May, Dean starts to read Paradise Lost sprawled in the back seat, waiting for Sammy to get back from a food run, half a cup of lukewarm coffee in one hand. Hell, he gets, he does. He gets judgment, eternal and final. He just doesn’t understand why people think they are special enough not to deserve punishment.
5. He reads his father’s journal from start to finish, and then starts over, aloud. There’s something strangely poetic about his father’s prose, lists like symptoms that run down the page, scrawled half neat and half rushed. Sammy sits with his back pressed against the wall, his eyes closed like he’s trying to assimilate it all, and their father is dead. The prose is, really, all they have left. Dean’s not sure it’s enough.
He comes to the end, and looks down. Then, he starts over again.
You guys are welcome to give me prompts, if you want. I will try to do them all. ♥
All for Becca (moorfaerie). ♥!
Five Foods Tim has Given Bart, Secretly, or not so Secretly, from his Plate:
1. Tim’s not sure why it started, exactly - just that with a boy whose metabolism is so fast he spends half his time starving anyway, it seemed the perfectly logical thing to do. Tim’s not even sure that Bart noticed the first time, when Tim just slipped him a few pieces of toast in the morning, sliding them from his own plate to Bart’s. Tim’s not sure that Bart cares half the time what he’s putting in his mouth, just as long as it’s edible and mostly cooked. Which, when looked at in the right way, could be a team weakness.
Tim will just have to make sure no one feeds Bart on missions. And maybe he should start bringing along a granola bar or something, just in case.
2. Tim doesn’t like peas. Luckily, his dad knows this, for the most part, but he’s never bothered to mention it to the Titans. They only eat dinner together once a weekend, on average, and the likelihood that whoever is cooking will prepare peas is relatively small. A small enough risk to warrant withholding such useless information.
Besides, he’s got Bart. And when there are peas, there is also a Bart to feed them to.
3. Tim has a list in his room, mounted on the bulletin board in small block letters, of things that Bart will not eat. The list, so far, is only three items long, but Tim hasn’t been conducting this experiment for very long. So far, he has -
1. blue cheese,
2. cucumbers, and
3. pork. The last is the most consistently surprising, as Bart doesn’t even really like bacon, and very much dislikes ham. Tim wonders why there are so many different names for the same kind of cooked animal, but decides that it doesn’t matter. What really matters his how long he can slip Bart food almost unnoticed before Bart cares enough to ask him any questions.
4. Tim is not the world’s best cook by any stretch of the imagination. He can successfully boil water, he can put an English muffin in the toaster and have it come out only slightly burnt, he can heat leftovers in the microwave, but much past that is beyond his expertise.
If there is anyone, though, who Tim would like to see in the kitchen less than himself, if would be Bart. Who tried to cook them Interlac food and ended up melting the skillet handle and microwaving at least one spoon. They were extremely lucky that nothing exploded.
Tim’s pretty sure that none of those things are likely to happen again, but given the option, he’d still rather cook than see Bart anywhere near the stove.
5. Bart isn’t stupid, and Tim knows this. Bart was never stupid, exactly, so much as immature, and now he isn’t even that. Now, though, there’s this sense that Bart knows how he was, and all he wants is to prove himself different. There’s some kind of kinetic energy, static electricity in his smiles and on his face that means I can grown, too and means don’t treat me like a child and means give me a place to fit.
Tim’s not sure, yet, what to do about that, but he hands Bart a glass of orange juice in the morning and a slice of toast and figures that as long as he acknowledges the difference, Bart won’t care. And that’s something, at least.
Five Words/Sentences/Phrases Bart has Heard Tim Yell in his Sleep:
1. Bart doesn’t sleep so much. Instead, he naps - a few hours here, half an hour there, thirteen minutes in front of the TV, thirty-seven during debriefing - and so when the Tower is mostly quiet, he’s playing video games in the common room, or raiding the fridge. He’s got half a bologna and pepperoni and cheese and pickle and peanut butter sandwich in one hand, and half a soda in the other, his feet light and quiet, if a bit too fast, against the beige carpet, when he walks past Tim’s door.
“Bart?” It’s Tim’s voice through the crack in the door, tentative and thick with sleep. Bart pauses, says Tim’s name quietly in the dark, not sure if Tim is awake or not, and listens. When he hears nothing, he keeps walking.
2. Bart learns that Tim is part of that slim five percent of the population that still talks in their sleep after puberty (and while fifty percent of children do, he knows, most people tend to grow out of it - although, it does seem to run in families, or so studies suggest). Bart doesn’t know what it is, exactly, that makes him curious, but sometimes he’ll sit on the floor outside of Tim’s door, listening. Half the time, Tim just says things like “but I don’t understand, why would I do that?” or “go away, you’re not supposed to be here,” with his voice all slurred and molasses sweet.
Sometimes Bart peeks in through the gap, watches Tim shift under his plain blue sheets, but Tim never wakes himself up, and Bart figures that it’s better if Tim doesn’t find out that he was there are all.
3. Bart does some research, and learns that most people talk in their sleep when stressed or sleep deprived. Well, big surprise there, really, and Bart would be more shocked to learn that Tim was neither of those things than both. It’s a working hero thing, probably, or maybe just a bat-thing, but either way it doesn’t matter.
“It’s not something that I can just turn off, Dad,” he whispers, but Bart hears him, speeding through his algebra homework out in the hall. Bart wonders who Tim’s dad is, what he’s talking about, but Tim doesn’t open up. Won’t. Not when he’s awake. Not when Bart can see the expression on his face and know how fake it is. Closed off like padlocked doors, and Bart can vibrate through walls, but he can’t see the inside of Tim’s head.
Bart feels like he’s intruding, almost, but if Tim’s subconscious will tell him what Tim would never actually say, who is Bart to protest?
4. Sometimes Tim just murmurs names of people Bart has met or hasn’t or has never even heard of, but Bart listens to the sound of his voice, monotone and calm, even in sleep, and thinks about what he’d do if he heard his own name again.
5. “Nananananananana Batman,” Tim hums in his sleep, faint but audible, sometime between two and four am, and Bart wonders if this bodes for further insanity or possibly something worse, or maybe it means that things are finally getting better, and Tim might actually resume being human. Bart supposes that the latter is too much to hope for and the former is much more likely to be true.
He’s kind of glad, though, that even Tim can’t sing on key.
Five Times Giles had Needed a Cup of Tea (or a Large Brandy) - Post Chosen:
1. Anytime Andrew opens his mouth. This may not be precisely true, but there are only so many Star Wars references Giles can take before he’s had enough. Especially considering there is far more than one hope left for the universe. And none of them have seen all of the Star Wars movies.
2. There was that one time he mistakenly brought both Andrew and Xander with him to that set of ruins down in Arizona. He’d thought it a good idea at the time, thought he might give them a few pointers teaching Slayers and all that, but as soon as they entered the state they started talking like they were in a western, and it was all he could do not to hit one or both of them over the head with a crossbow.
3. Plus, if Xander lets Andrew poke his empty eye socket one more time, there are going to be repercussions. Probably including the scrubbing of one or more lavatories. And silence charms.
4. The time Buffy ran into a group of rogue spell casters, and was temporarily without a mouth. It wasn’t so much that is was difficult to fix, more that Buffy decided that if she couldn’t make noise with her vocal chords, she was going to damn well find another way. Two days of bongo drums and maracas has made Giles particularly gun shy of drum circles, not that he had much to do with them in the first place. Still, one never knows when such things might come in handy.
5. Having the bedroom directly next to Willow and Kennedy’s on a trip through Maine is not something that Giles wants to repeat. Ever. Motel walls tend to be thin, and this was no exception. As much as he is glad that they are happy (and, apparently, have a healthy sex life) it isn’t anything he’s ever wanted to hear. Especially not that loudly.
Five ways Andrew has checked out Spike’s ass:
1. Andrew doesn’t really check out Spike’s ass, and if asked he would have no idea where the question was coming from, really. Straight out of the blue, that one.
2. Well, there was that time that Spike had sex with Anya, but Andrew’s not exactly sure that should count because, well. It wasn’t like he was actually there, so it’s not really checking out so much as. Gazing from afar?
3. And there was all that time that Spike spent chained up in the basement, but really. He can’t be expected not to think a chained up person is hot. Because chains? Just hot. And maybe he should just shut up.
4. Here’s a very serious question - does it count as checking out if the recipient is suspiciously transparent at the time?
5. Really, Andrew can only think of the one time, and Spike had just gotten back from LA, and Andrew had only been visiting Giles, anyway, but there had been all that vodka (and Andrew never really had much of a tolerance, anyway), and Giles had disappeared at some point when the music got too loud. Andrew’s never been sure where, he’d been too distracted at the time.
But really, that had been more feeling up than checking out. So whatever.
Top Five Songs on Sylar’s iPod:
1. BRAINS! - Voltaire.
(Brains, brains, I love 'em, I need ‘em.
My tummy jumps for joy when I eat ‘em.
Big ones, fat ones, short ones, tall ones,
they’re so delectable, especially the small ones.
No time to cook 'em in a skillet,
my belly's rumblin', and I got a need to fill it.
I don't fry 'em, the heat will only shrink em,
I just grab myself a straw and I drink 'em!)
2. A Little Priest - Sweeney Todd.
(For what's the sound of the world out there?
Those crunching noises pervading the air!
It's man devouring man, my dear!
Then who are we to deny it in here?)
3. Flavor of the Week - American Hi-Fi.
(I wish that I can make her see
She's just the flavor of the week)
4. I Hold Your Hand In Mine - Tom Lehrer.
(The night you died I cut it off.
I really don't know why.
For now each time I kiss it
I get bloodstains on my tie.
I'm sorry now I killed you,
For our love was something fine,
And till they come to get me
I shall hold your hand in mine.)
5. The Landlord’s Daughter -The Decemberists
( She cursed, she shivered
She cried for mercy,
"My gold and silver if thou will release me!")
Five Books Dean has Actually Read:
1. He reads all six Harry Potter books, and refuses to be ashamed when Sammy tries to make fun of him for it. Dean just finishes the last chapter of The Prisoner of Azkaban for the second time, and pushes Sammy into the bathtub.
2. He did have to read the Odyssey when he was in the ninth grade. He’d liked it because that last chapter was bloody, but Telemachus was a whiny bitch and Athena was a know-it-all. The monsters, though? Pretty neat. Also, he’s pretty sure that sirens actually exist. He wouldn’t want to meet one, though.
3. He steals a Stephen King novel from a roadside bookstore somewhere between Nebraska and Idaho, after Sammy insists that he’s going to drive for the next few hours. Dean figures there isn’t much Sammy can run into between fields except the occasional ditch, and his fingers are starting to get cramped. The book - It - is something he can relate to, and he can’t help but try to place it as he reads, figure out what kind of spook it is. Between the mutilations and the use of drainage systems, the localized and time based sets of attacks, he has it as some kind of reoccurring poltergeist, a wronged spirit of some sort. Sammy can’t get him to put the book down until he finishes it at two am in a cheap motel this side of Memphis. He’s wrong though.
It figures. Aliens. Whatever.
4. There’s a stretch of time between November and April when there just isn’t time at all to read - too many gory deaths, splatters of blood on the windshield, claw mark scars on their skin. Sometime in May, Dean starts to read Paradise Lost sprawled in the back seat, waiting for Sammy to get back from a food run, half a cup of lukewarm coffee in one hand. Hell, he gets, he does. He gets judgment, eternal and final. He just doesn’t understand why people think they are special enough not to deserve punishment.
5. He reads his father’s journal from start to finish, and then starts over, aloud. There’s something strangely poetic about his father’s prose, lists like symptoms that run down the page, scrawled half neat and half rushed. Sammy sits with his back pressed against the wall, his eyes closed like he’s trying to assimilate it all, and their father is dead. The prose is, really, all they have left. Dean’s not sure it’s enough.
He comes to the end, and looks down. Then, he starts over again.
You guys are welcome to give me prompts, if you want. I will try to do them all. ♥