It was apparently a running joke that Bernard gets his romantic advances and flirtations from media, what with the whole B necklace given to Tim. And I was thinking that romance novels and movies/shows were probably the only actual portrayals of romance that he was exposed to because his parents weren't exactly lovey dovey and quite frankly they seem like they don't want to be together at all.
This is something that I personally experience actually, so maybe it's a little bit of projection speaking here. But either way I wanted to think about Bernard seeing things in a romantic subtext in full for the first time and it jumpstarting him reading romance novel after romance novel to get a glimpse of what love is supposed to be, how others see it and show it. So now he has a very.... special way of communicating his adoration for people. Like the freak he is (the theatre electives didn't help any either, I'm sure.)
Bernard: "Do you ever think about how the curve of your neck and the dip of your collar bone is moulded perfectly for the sole intent of cradling the head of another?"
Tim: "Is this your way of asking for cuddles?"
Bernard, already making grabbing hands: "Absolutely. Come here."
--
Bernard: "How completely and utterly tragic it is that in life, death is a guarantee but love isn't."
Tim: "Sunbear, we are not taking that rabies-infested raccoon you found in a dumpster behind the bar home to my houseboat and your apartment doesn't allow animals. It was frothing at the mouth, Bernard."
Bernard: "My heart is broken, I will never love again. I bared my pried open ribs to you only to have it clawed at by your very hands."
Tim:
Bernard: (´;︵;`)
Tim:
Tim: "... I'll look into domesticated options for you. It can run around the docks and you can train it to chase your dad."
Bernard: "So this is the warmth through the trees in the deepest darkest depths of winter that poets spoke of. To be known so intimately and cherished so dearly! I could faint."
Tim, rolling his eyes fondly: "If you do, I won't catch you."
Bernard: "Nevermind fuck you actually."
Tim: "I love you too "
--
Bernard, laying upside down on a sofa with Tim sitting on the floor next to his head and reading: "If cannibalism is synonymous with wanting everything of your lover to the point of consumption, the greed of taking in all they have to offer in willingness or not- even flesh and blood and scraps–"
Tim, typing away on his laptop: "Morbidly curious on where this is going."
Bernard: "Shh, let me finish! I was just wondering how you would taste. What would you prefer to be seasoned with? I'd personally like to be flavoured with honey-glaze, or maybe lemon pepper? Garlic?"
Tim: "Well since humans taste like swine, I supposed there'd need to be a complementary flavour profile. You'd be sweet, and I'd be something distinctly Umami, so I'd settle for smoked or roasted? With paprika."
Bernard: "I love you so much."
--
Bernard, spoken off-handedly while grocery shopping: "If ever you were to die, I'd harden your heart into stone with calcium and keep it in a case so that I carry you with me always."
Tim, staring longingly at a 30pk case of Monster: "And where is this coming from?"
Bernard: "My mom once read me Mary Shelly's biography as a bedtime story over the course of a week. She carried her husband's heart in her purse after his passing when he drowned in the ocean and his heart didn't turn to ash after his cremation so she snatched it out."
Tim: "Beatrice, frankly, scares me. And I love you too, darling."
--
Bernard, lying in bed next to Tim and staring at him:
Tim, sighing and rolling over to face him: "Honeybear?"
Bernard, fidgeting with a pillow: "Being near you is like being in a vacuum."
Tim: "That's a new one. Do you want to elaborate?"
Bernard: "It feels like I'm drowning in everything and nothing and like my chest is caving in. It makes me feel heavy and light, it feels like a contradiction. Loving you hurts in a way I'm not used to hurting. It doesn't feel like sacrifice. It makes me feel safe. I don't know if I'm saying this right, it's hard to articulate."
Tim, pulling Bernard close and pressing his nose into his hair: "I know, I understand, Bear. Intrinsically. I love you too."
I wasn't going to post this, but then I remembered; what the heck. This is my blog. I rule these lands. Have my closeted lesbian Mrs. Dowd (whom I've named Beatrice) propaganda that I have been spouting for months. I made fanart once. I can radicalize this.
Mrs. Dowd, sitting on the couch: “I have been up since four in the morning going through articles and forums.”
Bernard, in a Pikachu onesie and having just woken up: “Oh.... That's nice. How did you get into my apartment?”
Mrs. Dowd, waving a hand: “Irrelevant. The doorman was incredibly weak-willed and I made a copy of your house keys the last time you came over. So, this pansexuality thing, it means you are romantically inclined towards whomever?”
Bernard: “Essentially? In simplest terms, I guess. Why?”
Mrs. Dowd: “In that case, it's just.... I don't get it.”
Bernard, stiffening: “Mom, I know yo–”
Mrs. Dowd: “Of all people; Timothy Drake? If you are attracted to women, and others, you wouldn't choose them instead? There are so many better options Bernard, I simply cannot fathom what you see in him that you cannot in others. I don't understand why you would ever choose a man over a woman if given the option.”
The ship that absolutely NOBODY EVER asked for, but has been plaguing my thoughts anyway. Mr. Dowd needs to leave, and Nina should take his wife. Just an opinion.
Some Beatrice Stuff while I procrastinate on my writing. Because sometimes you get two chapter two days within each other, and sometimes you get the next chapter in a week or two. Or three. Or in the case of my mha fic, uh.... *Checks calendar*.
Hmmmlnk. Chapter three is beating me into the ground with a crowbar, trying to balance current scenes with flashbacks of traumatized baby Bernard. I need them to write themselves like there is only so much I can do for y'all. Divorce your husband and get therapy istg. Go make out with your ex husband's sister whole you're at it. I'm so tired.
I just realized that my Mrs. Dowd design greatly resembles Soyona Santos from Jurassic World and now I can't unsee it, that's my mental image for Beatrice now.
Very typical of me to try to write fluff of a character making a cake and whoops! they're highly dissociating and whoops!! they're hallucinating the voice of their mother who they love but have been emotionally neglected by– all while doing one of the few things that tied them together, which is baking– instructing to him what to do. And whoops!!! there's little bombshells of what a horrible home life they had and how that messed them up badly.
But it's okay!!!!!!!!
Because like 3k words later his bf comes to cuddle him to sleep. A Universal Cure, I'll have you know.
