21 - 26 of 26 Works in Children of Dionysus (DCU)
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“What are you here for?” Bernard asks, ignoring Tim.
“…What do you think?”
Bernard sucks his teeth, eyes staring at Tim’s new sneakers and looking over him until he gets to his clean cut hair, face giving away the sudden change to something wicked. He smiles and bites his knuckles to cover it, giggling to himself when he meets Tim’s eyes again and Tim starts to kind of just maybe believe that Bernard is using something.
He smells black cherry.
“What’s so funny Dowd?”
Bernard’s eyes squint as he laughs, bouncing on his toes and shaking out his hand holding his cigarette. Tim smiles cautiously as he watches. Bernard leans in close and bares his teeth in a smile back.
“I know something that you don’t!” he sings.or
Tim finds himself elbow deep in an investigation of pain cults, clay manipulating Sherlock villan rip offs, a group of deranged people with freaky multi-eyed headpieces and concerning access to questionable substances, old and new friends, a handful of loose zoo animals, and a particularly delicate case of host possession between someone from his high school memory and the greek god Dionysus.
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"But there was still something particularly ironic about him waking up and knowing that something was wrong, not because he was in pain, but because he wasn’t.
There were little twinges of tightness as he curled his fingers in the sheet beneath him, as if his scars had migrated down to his wrists. A little stiffness in his shoulder when he flexed it to test his muscles.
But his normal pain was gone. The aches and pangs and groans of his body had all gone silent after years of them just getting louder with every new trip to the med-bay."
Written for day 6 of Timber Week! Alternate Prompt; "Body Swap."
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"There was something about the safety he felt around Tim that made it a little easier to be held, especially the more it happened, the more often he was left with Tim’s arm around his waist or over his shoulders or a hand on his. It was like he was getting used to the weight and the warmth.
But it was waning, not disappearing. There were still days where Bernard didn’t want anyone to touch him. He kept a distance between him and whoever he was with, put a pillow beside him before Tim joined him on the couch to watch TV, went home instead of staying overnight.
He also had plenty of days where he went looking for it, purposefully laying with his head in Tim’s lap or putting himself where he knew Tim would sprawl out over his back to hug him tight.
And then there were the days like today, where Bernard couldn’t figure out what he wanted."
Written for day 5 of Timber Week! "Touch Starved."
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"The drive from the marina to Bernard’s school on a normal day was about thirty minutes, plus traffic. Tim had gotten good at predicting it since he and Bernard had started dating, wanting to be able to take every minute he could with Bernard before sending him off for classes, and he knew that a normal Wednesday in the middle of the afternoon would be about a thirty-five minute drive.
Today, on a Wednesday in the middle of the afternoon, Tim made it in fifteen.
He blamed the bit of tension in Bruce’s voice when he’d called to let Tim know that there’d been trouble at the college. Blamed the fact that Bruce hadn’t had much to say beyond "everyone is out safely. I’m investigating what happened now." Blamed himself for letting Bernard ever get out of bed that morning."
Written for day 2 of Timber Week! "Truth Serum."
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Every Little Bit Helps the Fire Burn by Lilac_hyacinth
Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types
26 Jun 2023
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"He had to force himself to pay any sort of attention to whatever was spilling out of his phone now. It felt like he couldn’t hear a single word without it twisting on its way into his ear, turning into something horrible and rotten, his own worry tainting it.
That made it take a second for him to even register that the news anchor had said they’d identified the arsonists.
Longer to understand that she had genuinely said, “The Children of Dionysus.”
Or
Bernard's POV of tdr9 and me trying to make sense of his emotions (spoilers for the tdr10 previews)
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“We welcome you,” the cultist is saying, breathlessly. “To the mortal realm, oh father of Chaos-”
Bernard slowly raises his head, meets the cultist’s gaze, and he stutters to a stop. Tim’s breath catches, because Bernard smiles, manic and benevolent and totally devoid of humanity.
The cultist, shaking with excitement or awe, bows his head. Bernard floats down, and reaches to delicately touch the side of the mask, cupping his face.
“Stupid animal,” he says, kindly, “Why would I thank you for this?”
The cultist starts to raise his head, confused.
It’s not Bernard, says Tim’s brain, even though he already knew that, even though he was putting the pieces together the minute the knife flashed down, even though he shoved the knowledge away because it was unbearable to consider, it’s not Bernard, and it’s only that thought that keeps him from fumbling when vines explode from the cultist’s eyeball.
At the ritual altar, Bernard gets possessed by Dionysus. Nobody liked that.