#Mary Grayson alive

[paladin-of-nerd-fandom65]

I saw some of your posts about how the Grayson family spends their time and bonds (all very ticklish!). Do you have any thoughts about how Snow Owl (the Mary Grayson Talon) bonds? My understanding is that she is an anti-hero who still takes care of Dick but a Talon. Does this affect how she feels things, both physically and mentally? How often is she able to mother Dick? Do they have hobbies together or just fight crime? Thanks

Well to clarify some things here first so it’s easier to understand and brace yourself, it’s gonna be a bit much.

Those are actually two AUs I have; Talon!Mary Grayson proceeds Snow Owl!Mary in terms of when the posts were made.

Talon!Mary was under the Court’s control after her supposed ‘death’ in the hospital that night of the Fall. So here Dick stays with Bruce as per the canonical timeline and the two don’t reunite until Dick’s a teen, and leader for the Titans. It’s at that point when Mary finally snaps out of the Court’s control over her and begins her anti hero streak against them which would lead to about one or two clashes with the Titans before finally the Court are defeated. Dick and Mary afterwards are able to reconcile and Mary leaves the US to go back to Haly’s Circus under a new identity, being their guardian from any dangers since.

Snow Owl on the other hand; the point of divergence here comes at the night of the Fall; the ropes weakened as they are held on just enough for Mary to safely get on the platform and await John to join her. It’s then the ropes finally gave way, John being the only one to fall to the ground below. Mary and Dick would try rushing to his side and while Mary picked up a small fading heartbeat before the paramedics pulled her and Dick away from him to clear the way for the ambulance, as we know in this situation, by the end of that night Dick would be left fatherless while Mary is now a widow. Because of the impending lawsuits from concerned parents, the massive refunds they give for that and in secret the protection racket Haly pays to Boss Zucco’s men, an act had to be cut in order for their finances to sustain that damage and the circus to survive potential bankruptcy. Mary and Dick both volunteer with heavy hearts to do so, choosing to move into this city of Bludhaven and start a new life.

Thankfully for them, Gotham billionaire Bruce Wayne is a generous enough landlord whom gives them a nice apartment to rent out of with everything they need and even their possessions from the circus kept. Including Dick’s Performing suit. Still Mary was suspicious on the nature of the accident given those men who approached John earlier before he told them off. One night as Haly’s prepared to head out of the city, Mary would try saying her goodbyes to Mr Haly but instead she caught him being forced to pay that racket in cash, seeing those suspicious men from before. As they drove off in their car, Mary followed suit from the rooftops. She got lost though midway……that’s when he arrived. A certain bat shaped shadowy blot appears from seemingly out of nowhere….he offers to help Mary as he too might have his suspicions of what really happened at the accident.

It’s easy then to guess from here because you’re correct; Mary gets some little help from the Batman in investigating the accident and the men responsible for it. With this knowledge in hand and now a goal to avenge her husband by bringing Zucco to justice, she begins taking self taught self defense courses which combine karate, judo, hapkido, escrima and May Thai with her acrobatics during days off from her job as a gymnastics teacher. She also takes the team to sew in secret a suit combing the colors of white and black, reflective of owls which sometimes are spotted in Bludhaven during g the snowy winter season, hence her identity of Snow Owl. Of course her son Dick picked up on all this while Mary didn’t notice and secretly followed his mother’s own self taught footsteps so by the time she makes her move in getting Zucco’s attention leading to a dangerous confrontation at a construction site which sees her captured, Dick steps in to help alongside this Batman. Dick himself is clad in his performing suit…said suit being the Red Vest, Green Leotard, Gloves and Pixie Boots and a bright yellow cape but supplemented by a utility belt and a domino mask provided by Batman.

With all three caped crusaders and after Dick catches Zucco from a fall off the Steel beam after Mary spooks him off it, the last great mob boss of the Gotham-Bludhaven corridor was finally taken down. Mary while reluctant at first, comes to understanding her son wanting to join her on this quest but later this call to action against crime and corruption in Bludhaven. They can work together as Mother and Son but importantly moreso as partners, equal and easy to come to each other’s aid. Hence enter Snow Owl and Robin the Boy Wonder

Now with all that established; besides crime fighting, Mary and Dick bond with the former helping the latter with homework from school, doing chores around the apartment side by side, Dick practicing his math skills with paying the bills for the month, Mary taking the both of them out to the beaches when the weather is just right let alone vacations across the country, the both of them revisiting Haly’s whenever it’s back in town, many movie nights, times they just talked out what’s going on with their headspace together, in turn it can lead to family counseling, oh and yes…family tickle fights especially when Mary wants to make sure Dick’s stamina is drained out before bed and going for his weak spot on his feet which he got from her does just that.

That having all been said though, Mary knows that Dick is far more mature minded and emotionally intelligent than most 10 year olds at his age. He gets embarrassed with any attempt by her to dote and coddle him and she respects his request for her to hold back any to all of that if possible despite her motherly instincts insisting otherwise. Thank goodness she’s got a tight good friend in Janet Drake who allows Mary to babysit her little boy Timmy Drake who is far more receptive to said doting and coddling by her. It’s not that Dick and Mary never have moments like that but they are few and far between and that was the reality even before the Fall.

Thanks for the ask, Anon. It’s appreciated ;-)

[farshootergotme]

Before I knew what I know now about Robin (Dick Grayson in particular) I used to think that the whole "Batman is Robin's father" was a very popular interpretation that wasn't actually canon and people just thought it was cool. I also thought it was cool, so whenever I saw something of the Teen Titans (2003) I was always like "I wish Robin saw Batman as his dad. Idc if he has parents, Batman is so much cooler :("

[ahqkas]

“WHEN YOU’RE LOST IN THE DARKNESS, LOOK FOR THE LIGHT — dick grayson.

PAIRING dick grayson 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS he was completely frustrating. him with his cheeky grins and perfect teeth. maybe that’s why it didn’t anger you when he took an interest in you WORD COUNT 5.6k WARNINGS / TAGS artist!reader, cursing, mention of reader’s hair, unedited NOTES yes the title is inspired by tlou & yes i compared dick to a blue jay. i decided to mix 2 different reqs ( req 1 & req 2 ) because they worked well together for me soo i hope it’s okay! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

IN ART, WHAT WE WANT IS THE CERTAINTY THAT ONE SPARK OF ORIGINAL GENIUS SHALL NOT BE EXTINGUISHED.

Said Mary Cassatt, and her words had echoed in your mind for as long as you could remember. There was something comforting in the idea that creativity—pure, untouched, and entirely your own—could endure even such cruel punishment as darkness. Darkness was a language you understood well, especially living in Gotham, where shadows devoured the city inch by inch until there was nothing but colorless void. The darkness wrapped itself around you, slowly seeping in to claim your soul as well, like the chill of a cold winter night creeping into your bones.

But even in a city this unfair, you believed there was still some beacon of light. Hidden, of course, but not extinct.

And so, you painted. You drew. You created. Every stroke of your brush and pencil felt infinite. Art was the closest thing you felt to immortality, and you clung to that belief like a child did to innocence.

Your small apartment was more than just a simple place where you lived. Every inch of the space bore a trace of you and of your determination to carve something special into the world. The walls, once peeling and beige, were now alive with color. A breath of life you granted the old home. It wasn’t much, your apartment, but it was yours.

The darkness couldn’t quite reach you there, and the light found you within your search for it.

It was late past midnight when you met him. The hour of the night was silent despite the fact you were living on one of the most dangerous streets of Gotham. Silent, but far from safe. The full moon hung high in the sky, its pale light struggling to pierce through the dark clouds that blanketed the whole night. Every so often, the moonlight would break free and shimmered a silver beam that barely softened the shadows.

You sat curled up on your old, beaten couch in your living room, aching legs tucked beneath you. The thrifted mustard-yellow couch sat beneath a gallery wall you’d arranged with so much focus you were unmistakably proud of the piece. The light from the fairy lights strung above the paintings softened the sharp edges of your apartment.

The pencil between your fingers moved along the paper with practiced movements of an artist as you clutched the sketchbook close to you with your free hand. You brought the drawing of a blue jay to life. Its small, delicate body was perched on the middle of the page, its head tilted slightly to the side as if caught mid-movement. The blue jay’s wings began to take a lively form beneath your hands.

You loved sketching birds—the way they had an open opinion of freedom in their feathers, how they could fly away from the weight of everything below on earth.

The quiet was broken by a dull thump.

Your pencil stilled, the sharp tip pressing into the delicate beak of the blue jay as you tilted your head towards the sound. It came again, heavier this time, right outside on the fire escape under your living room window. Living in Gotham meant you knew better than to ignore suspicious and strange sounds, especially at this hour.

Setting the sketchbook down on the coffee table, you slid off the couch with a pounding heart and bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. The window was already cracked open, letting in a cold breeze of night air. It prickled at your skin and sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine.

You moved with an intention to investigate, your hand gripping the window frame when you leaned forward slightly to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Before you could fully stick your head through the opening, something shifted — a flash of movement so sudden that you instinctively took a step back to avoid bumping your head. Then, just as quickly, a figure shot up from the darkness surrounding your fire escape and you watched as his top half leaned against the window frame with effortless grace.

Anyone could recognize the symbol gracing his chest.

Nightwing was on your fire escape, practically with one of his halves in your apartment.

You blinked at him, startled at the unexpected visit from Gotham's (wait, wasn’t he supposed to be in Blüdhaven?) acrobatic vigilante. He stared back without shame. His face was partially illuminated by the soft glow of your fairy lights and his forehead, plus the top of his eyes, were hidden beneath the dark strands of his hair. Damp with sweat and light spray of rain. The black domino mask was doing little to hide the attractiveness of his handsome face, although it did not tell you his identity. Or the color of his eyes. The white lenses didn’t show any signs of life, it would be almost unsettling if it wasn’t for the other features of his face.

His jaw was sharp, the bone ready to cut through glass, and his lips held a shadowy grin in them. His chest heaved as if he’d just ran a marathon, or in his case, as if he’d just been in a chase. And his suit—a sleek, midnight black with that striking blue emblem—was marred by faint fabric tears and streaks of grime.

When he spoke up after a minute of analyzing you, his voice was breathless but warm, like he hadn’t just scared the life out of you by his entrance. “Hey. Sorry about the dramatics. Mind if I, uh, come in?” He glanced over his shoulder briefly, as though checking to see if someone had followed him.

You swallowed the lump that formed in the back of your throat, fingers still gripping onto the windowsill. You were pretty sure the surprise and disbelief etched into your face could be completely seen. “What? You’re joking, right?” those small words stumbled past your lips in a sharper tone than you intended. “You can’t just—“ gesturing vaguely to the fire escape he was standing on, you trailed off for him to finish the sentence himself.

But instead of an answer, Nightwing simply offered a grin, all perfect teeth. It was the kind that felt like it was meant to disarm you and melt you into a puddle at his feet. A swooning, pretty puddle.

“Technically, I can. But I’d prefer not to freeze out here while we debate it.”

Your reply to his cheeky comment died in your throat the moment you heard it—an angry bellow from somewhere below, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots thumping against the wet pavement. The voices were low and animalistic, only growing louder by seconds. Whoever they were, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were looking for.

Shooting him a pointed look with one of your eyebrows raised, you realized it was useless as he was already halfway through the window, ducking inside easily. He didn’t so much as flinch when his heavy boots hit the floor with a faint thud. You could only watch the trail of dirt and grime he was leaving behind himself. The sounds from outside faded into muffled whispers when he closed the window, and effectively scanned the room with a quick glance.

“You really have a way of making an entrance,” you mumbled under your breath as you gave him space and moved back towards the sofa. The sarcasm wasn’t meant to reach his ears but with the way one corner of his lips tugged up, you knew he heard every single word. Did this guy have super hearing?

The faintest glint of amusement danced on his features, despite the lack of emotion in his hidden eyes. You could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips quirked up. “It’s part of the job description,” he replied to your remark casually, as if crashing into strangers’ apartments was just another Tuesday for him.

With a sigh, you shook your head and leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching him move around the living room. He didn’t sit, didn’t relax, didn’t even pause long enough to breathe out the weight of his situation. Instead, his gaze grazed over everything in clear sight — your paintings on the wall, the cluttered coffee table and its content, the pencils scattered across your notepad.

He was strange.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking,” his response came quickly, he was probably distracted by the hand brushing against the edge of the window frame as he double-checked the latch.

You watched him carefully and tried to not let his presence throw you off. There was something unbelievable about seeing him there, in the heart of your apartment of all places, where every inch of the space was yours. Technically, he was in your territory now.

“Don’t worry,” Nightwing added with humor etching his voice when you didn’t say anything. “I’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Take your time,” the dripping sarcasm got out the exact same reaction from him just like before, and you watched as he smirked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a way that told you he was far too used to getting under people’s skin. Cheeky bastard.

This inspection of his lasted for a few more minutes before his pacing slowed down and his masked eyes landed on your beaten couch. The faint amusement in his features shifted, softening into something more thoughtful as he approached you. You stiffened when he got close enough. The light scent of cologne hit your nose from the proximity.

Gloved hand reached for your notepad, and you watched him again when he started tracing the soft pencil lines of your sketches. You seemed to watch him a lot tonight, but you didn’t dare to interrupt him. He was still a stranger and you lived alone. The vigilante could take you down without breaking a sweat, no comment.

The blue jays stared back at him from the page with their wings outstretched mid-flight, the faint smudge of pencil giving them a sense of movement, like they could lift off the paper and fly toward their freedom at any moment.

“You drew these?” the question slipped before he could think of it and the raw quietness of his tone surprised you.

You hesitated before you gave him the answer. “Yeah, I did. What, are you secretly an art critic, too?”

His lips twitched, but his eyes stayed on the sketches. “Blue jays,” the murmur was more to himself than to you. “They’re nice.”

“Nice?” you echoed back at him, a small smile ghosting your lips upon hearing his praise. “That’s your verdict? Nice?”

This time, his wide grin returned as he glanced at you from your artwork. You decided on the spot that you liked this look on him. He could be all sharp edges and rough words, but the genuine smiles and clever remarks were a part of him, too. “Hey, I don’t know the first thing about art. But they’re good. Really good. Why blue jays though?”

You shrugged your shoulders, crossing your arms around yourself tightly. His clear interest in your work made you feel strangely exposed. “They’re . . . free. They can leave whenever they want, fly away from everything. I guess I like the idea of that.”

Nightwing was quiet for a moment, his masked gaze flicking back to the page like he was seeing something more between the colors and lines you’d drawn. He really was strange. “Makes sense,” he said finally. “They’re tough, too. Survivors.”

For a man who’d just come crashing through your window, being chased by a bunch of angry goons, he suddenly seemed relaxed. The birds meant more to him than he was letting on.

“Guess that explains why you like them.”

“What, you think I’m a blue jay now?”

A smirk made its way to your lips, and you felt a slight hint of satisfaction brewing inside you. You finally got him. “You said it yourself. Tough. Survivors. Seems fitting.”

It was a strange image, seeing someone who carried so much weight on his shoulders standing here, in your little apartment, admiring a simple sketch of a bird. Most people assumed he was a machine under the suit, someone who did their job because it had to be done. But you saw the life in his smile and heard the feelings in his voice. Red flooded his system like any other human being possessed. A beating heart and marred skin. He was human, even under all that armor.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, effectively breaking the silence that followed your cheeky remark. “I’m glad my art could distract you from the mad mob outside.”

That earned you a genuine laugh, low and rich. You noted he had a nice laugh. Everything about him was nice, though. Maybe it was because it was the first time seeing him from up close or maybe it was simply that he got your attention.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The next few days were rather busy. You had more work on your shoulders and your family kept pressing about your upcoming visit (spoiler alert; you didn’t really plan on visiting them). Your family members lived far from Gotham, which you were particularly glad for. One boring and busy day went after the other, and so did you with your life. You weren’t going to admit it, but you missed the sudden excitement the cocky vigilante brought with him. It was something new, something that wasn’t boring.

The wind carried a chill that nipped at the exposed skin of your face, numbing your cheeks in the process. The streets of Gotham were alive despite the coldness the new day brought with itself—the city never really stopped, even when it probably should have. Your tea sat untouched beside your half-eaten croissant, warm steam curling lazily above the porcelain cup, while your hand moved steadily across the pages of your sketchbook.

You were drawing another blue jay. This one was perched on a thin branch, its head cocked slightly with ruffled feathers as if caught in the same breeze that howled right now. The pencil lines of your drawing were sharper this time, more confident, though you weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was because you couldn’t stop thinking about them—the blue jays.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, your thoughts fixating on a subject, but this time it felt different. Ever since that night, when Nightwing had stood in the heart of your living room and held your sketch like it was something worth admiring, you’d been thinking about them more and more often. Birds had always represented freedom to you. A fleeting kind of beauty, one that wouldn’t last long. But now they carried something else. Something more.

You found yourself replaying his words in your mind while you shaded the curve of the blue jay’s wing, your pencil working instinctively as the low conversations and local sounds of the café faded into a hushed whisper. The bird began to take shape, its tiny body beaming with life.

The next thing you knew, the chair you were sitting on rocked slightly and your bag was violently jerked from the edge of the table.

It took you a second to process what had happened. One second, your purse was there, sitting by your side, and the next, it was gone. Snatched by a blur of unidentified movement. Your heart skipped an uncomfortable beat as you whipped your head towards the stranger, catching sight of the thief bolting through the crowded street.

Panic started to settle in. Your bag. Gone. It was gone. Everything was in there—your money, your keys, your ID. The grip of your fingers on the pencil in your grasp tightened while adrenaline surged through your veins. Without having any second thoughts, you shot to your feet. The chair scraped loudly against the floor and you bolted after him.

“Hey! Stop!”

The thief was already halfway down the block when you finally pushed past the crowd with alarming speed. Your boots moved without any more thinking. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was quick on his feet, his figure darting between pedestrians who shouted in surprise and yelped in confusion when he pushed into them to clear his path. Your lungs burned as you tried to push against your limits and keep up with him. The strap of your bag was swinging wildly in his grip.

“Stop!” you shouted again, although you doubted he would listen. He wouldn’t. People around turned to look at the chaos, but no one made a move to help. It was Gotham, after all — everyone looked after their own self.

The thief rounded a corner, successfully disappearing into an alley, and you felt a pinch of dread forming in your stomach. You didn’t know this part of the city well, and the narrow alleyway clothed in shadows sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine. Hesitation brewed in you for a moment before you made up your mind. Fuck it. You didn’t care that chasing him was reckless. You didn’t care that you had no plan for what you’d do if you actually managed to catch up to him. All you knew was that he had your bag—your life—and you weren’t about to let him get away with it.

Whoosh!

You barely registered the sound at first. Your focus was entirely on your thief, the dark shade of his jacket disappearing deeper and deeper, just beyond your reach. The puffs of air left your lips in a sharp shape and the cold air didn’t help much. But you didn’t stop running. You couldn’t stop.

Then, out of nowhere, a dark blur descended from above, landing right in your path.

“Whoa, hold it!”

The familiar drawl of his voice ringed in your ears before you saw him. You skidded to a halt, nearly losing your balance as his figure stepped into the sight. His arms were outstretched to block your way, and you felt a sudden burst of frustration upon his appearance. After all, you still had a bad guy to catch.

“Move,” moving to the side, you tried to sidestep him and start your chase again. Key word—tried. He shifted smoothly, following your movements like a mirror.

“Not happening,” he interrupted you firmly. “You can’t go running after some guy who might be armed. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“I don’t care. He has my purse—my money, my keys, everything! I have to—“

“You have to stay here,” Nightwing cut you off again, and you pushed the urge to strangle him away. His presence was infuriating, even though you could see every muscle in his jawline tightening and tensing. He was holding back, that much was evident.

“I don’t need your help.”

His hands shot out the moment you tried to brush past him again, gloves catching your biceps in a firm hold. It wasn’t painful, nor would leave any marks in the form of bruising, but he held you in a grounding manner. Almost as if he wanted to calm you down.

“Yes, you do,” the glint of seriousness in his gaze made you halt in your argument. He meant every single word. “Look, I get it. You’re pissed, you’re scared, and you feel like you have to do something. But this guy could have a knife, or worse, and you’re completely unarmed. He’s probably long gone by now, too. I’ll track him down and get your stuff. That’s a promise, Blue.”

You swallowed hard as the fire that fueled your intentions died a little bit. He was right, even though you didn’t want to admit it.

“Fine, but you better catch him.”

A small, reassuring nod and a gentle squeeze was all you received from the masked vigilante before he released you and took off after the thief. A moment later, you realized he gave you a nickname.

Blue.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The thick steam from your earlier shower still lingered in the bathroom, curling faintly in the air and clinging along the tiles and the edges of the mirror as you massaged moisturizer into your skin like you did every night. It was a routine by now. One you were excited to participate in. Your favorite playlist hummed softly from the phone propped up on the counter near the sink, the melody blending with the occasional rustle of the city outside your window.

Gotham was quiet tonight. No sirens. No shouts. Just silence.

You signed and leaned against the counter as you let the coolness of the white cream soothe your skin. The events of this day were rather . . . unpleasant. Your purse was gone, and the thought of all the things you’d lost still made your chest ache. Your keys, your ID, even your favorite pen you always kept in the front pocket—all gone, snatched in a moment. But at least you were safe. Nightwing had made sure you didn’t dive head first into what could have been a disaster.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, either. The way he’d swooped in like some kind of a movie hero. For a man who lived his life surrounded by constant danger, he’d had this unmistakably calmness about him, like no problem was big enough to not handle.

Reaching for a soft towel, you patted your face dry with it when you finished the last step of your nighttime routine. A moment of realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your sketchbook.

Your heart sank deeply in your chest, and you froze, gripping the towel tightly. You’d left it at the café. It must’ve been sitting there on the table, untouched, while you chased after that thief like a reckless idiot. You would be lucky if you found it where you’d left it lying as there was a possibility of a tired barista throwing it away.

That notepad wasn’t just another notebook to you. It held weeks, months, of drawings—ideas, experiments, half-finished sketches that no one but you had seen. And the blue jays he praised . . .

The day’s exhaustion weighed heavily on your tense shoulders as you finally made your way to your bedroom. You switched off the light in the hallway, plunging your apartment into darkness save for the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the cracks in the blinds.

A dark shadow caught your eyes the second you stepped into the room and your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. There, casually perched on your windowsill was Nightwing, dressed in shadows.

His grin was the first thing you recognized on him, the wide stretch of his lips almost haunting in the darkness. His teeth appeared almost sharp, like canines of a predator. But he wasn’t here to hunt tonight. One gloved hand held your bag, dangling it from his fingers as if presenting you a beloved prize.

“Miss me, Blue?”

“Are you insane?” hissing, your palm resting against your beating heart. “You can’t just show up like that!”

A delighted laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he stepped inside like he didn’t invade your personal space and almost gave you a heart attack. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He tossed your stolen (now found) bag on your bed with a flick of his wrist. It took you a moment to process what you were seeing but when you did, your panic gave away to stunned disbelief. “You got it back?”

“Of course. I promised you.”

The smug look on his face softened after those words left his throat. You crossed the room in quick steps, rushing to get your hand on your belongings. Once it was in your hold, you rummaged through the inside. Everything was still there—your keys, your wallet, even the blue pen you favored so much. Relief flooded your system and you finally felt your shoulders relaxing. It was all returned.

You glanced at him from the bag, suddenly feeling somehow embarrassed. “I—I don’t even know what to say.”

“How about ‘thank you, Nightwing, for saving the day’? That would do,” the arch of his eyebrows told you he was enjoying this, if only a little. Smug bastard.

Rolling your eyes, you felt your lips tugging into a smile anyway. “Thank you for getting me my bag back. Happy?”

“It’s exactly what I wanted but yeah, very.”

A minute of silence stretched between you, one that wasn’t entirely comfortable but during that time, you studied him. He was leaning against the edge of your bed, just shy away from your side.

“You’ve been drawing them a lot, huh?”

“What?”

“The blue jays,” Nightwing gestured towards your desk with his free hand, the other behind his back. He looked strange, amusing even, but you didn’t dare to point it out. You followed his movements, eyes sliding toward your desk full of stray papers. He was right, the wooden space was filled with your recent works, and among them were multiple pieces of those blue birds. “You were working on them that night. At the café, too.”

Your lips parted slightly to voice your confusion, but the words didn’t come. He had noticed? And kept track of it? You didn’t know if you should feel creeped out or honored.

You didn’t get to react much before he perked up. “Oh, almost forgot,” pulling the occupied hand from behind his back, you noticed he held a small book in it.

Not just any book, though. Your sketchbook.

“You went back for it?” the disbelief dripped from the tone of your voice as you reached for the notepad. Your fingertips brushed against his gloves when you did so, and a spark of light crossed through you at the faint touch.

“Figured you’d want it back,” he tried to act nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders without a care in the world, but even if you knew him for such a short period of time, you could tell he was just acting. The subtle tone of his voice betrayed him, along with the rosy dust painting his cheeks. Your thumb traced the broken spine of the notepad. The thought of him chasing down your thief, retrieving your stolen stuff, and then returning for your more personal thing left you speechless. He didn’t have to, but he did—again.

He was so close to you now that the faint scent of rain and city clung to him, mixing with his natural fragrance. You could inhale it all while you saw everything, too—the sharp line of the bone in his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows like he was constantly deep in his mind, and even the way the moonlight caught on the pink dusting the top of his ears.

His pose shifted lightly, in a way that made the space between the two of you feel almost nonexistent. Your instinct told you to move, but your feet didn’t move.

“You’re . . . really something, you know that?”

Your heart beat against the bones protecting your ribs so loud you swore he could hear it. The white lenses of his black mask flickered all over your face, almost like he wanted to memorize every delicate detail, like he wanted to count every lash on your eye individually.

“You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but I think I’m starting to.”

No response made its way past your lips. It died at the base of your throat, and no one could rip it out of you.

His hand reached out in your peripheral vision, slowly, like he was giving you an option to stop him whenever you felt like. There was no force between you, just purity of the actions. When you didn’t stop him, he moved bolder and louder, long fingers tracing the curve of your cheek before brushing against the damp strands of your hair. He pushed it back behind your ear, his touch lingering even there.

You could feel his breath mingling with yours, becoming one.

And then, just as you felt the unmistakable pull towards him, Nightwing pulled away. He took a step back like he remembered who he was.

“Take care of that,” he nodded towards your hold that clutched your sketchbook.

You opened your to say something, anything because what the fuck was he doing when he jumped out of the bedroom window, leaving behind the what ifs if he stayed with you.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The rooftop had become your favorite spot to disappear from your responsibilities. The view was magnificent with how the city stretched out in every direction and you could see everything. The chaos was muted up here, replaced by singing of the birds and occasional flutter of wings. This place was comforting.

You sat cross-legged on the concrete with your sketchbook propped in your lap, pencil in hand and mind open to new ideas. But the paper brewed alive with yet another drawing of a blue jay. Something about them had rooted itself in your head.

Pausing in your work to glance up at the sky, you were greeted by the most remarkable sight. Caught by the horizon where the sun dipped lower, brushing its streaks across the rooftop in a golden orange. The light breeze tugged at your hair, and you reached up to tuck it behind your ear. You managed to smudge a piece of graphite along your cheek upon the gesture. Your sketch was coming along slowly today; your mind kept wandering off and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

Which you were correct about.

“Nice view,” a familiar voice drawled.

You flinched upon the sound, nearly dropping the tools on your knees as you whipped your head toward the source. There he was, perched on the edge of the rooftop, the sunset behind him painting him like some sort of an angel. Nightwing.

“Seriously? Do you ever not sneak up on people?”

The cheeky smirk made its usual appearance on his lips when he hopped down from his spot, taking slow steps towards you. It was impossible to stay annoyed at him, with that face and easy charisma. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With a roll of your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile a little. “What are you even doing here?”

“Patrolling,” he replied casually to your question, just like he did the night he came to return your bag. Trying to act all nonchalant, but deep down he cares. You know that. He’s acting again. You could tell by the experience and by the tone of his voice. It suggested otherwise from his answer. His masked eyes shifted to your knees, noting the open book. “Another blue jay?”

“I’m trying to capture the way they look when flying. It’s harder than it seems.”

You watched him while he watched your drawings. The vigilante crouched down beside you, his knee bumping against yours softly, almost as in unsaid greeting. He was saying hello while you responded hi back. “You’re getting better.”

Silence draped over the two of you after that sentence left his throat, this one much more comfortable than the one you experienced the week before in your apartment. His elbows were resting on his knees, which bumped into yours from time to time in a silent gesture. Your eyes found the white lenses behind the domino mask.

“You’re not gonna disappear this time, are you?”

“No.”

Your sketchbook lay forgotten in your lap as you gazed into the void of his eyes. You couldn’t read the emotion in them but you somehow could tell every single feeling brewing inside him. It was written across his face, open like a book.

“You’re staring,” you whispered.

“So are you,” his reply was quick, like he knew exactly what to say the moment you spoke up.

A faintest tug at your lips brought the corners up in a smile, but it faltered the moment he leaned in, taking up your personal space inch by inch. He was moving slowly, giving you the opportunity to pull away, to reject him and his touch if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

His palm hovered near the curve of your cheekbone close enough to feel the warmth seeping through the glove. He cocked his head slightly to the side, as if silently asking you a question he was too caught up in to say aloud.

“You’ve got graphite on your cheek.”

“Do I?”

He brushed his thumb across the smudge, wiping it away. He didn’t pull away once your skin was clean.

You noticed the way his eyes briefly dropped to your lips before flicking back to meet yours, searching for an answer he so desperately wanted to hear.

If you didn’t want this, he’d pull back. You knew he would.

But you didn’t want him to.

Leaning in, you closed the little distance between you, and that was all the answer he needed. His lips met yours firmly, pressing against yours like a puzzle, like they belonged there. Your hands gripped at him, fingers moving to the base of his neck to grab a handful of his black hair and pulling slightly to deliver a message.

Although the darkness around you enveloped you, clothing the day in dark, you felt a spark of light every time his lips pressed against yours more urgently, licking and biting his way inside to get a taste of you. You felt it when his gloved hands tangled in your hair, tugging you impossibly close to make you his.

His forehead came to rest against yours when you eventually had to pull away for a fresh breath of air, both his and your breaths uneven.

“Tell me I’m not gonna regret this.”

“You won’t.” That was a promise.

Because when you’re lost in the darkness, you should look for the light.

[seoafin]

do not say Home

pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader ; implied past f/f warnings/tags: referenced sexual assault and self harming behaviors; grief and mourning; established relationship word count: ~4.9k title taken from interstate by marie harris read on ao3

You think of her sometimes. A flash of silken red out of the corner of your eye, full lips painted ruby, the warmth of her smile tucked into your shoulder, real and heartbreaking. You see her in strangers that visit the library, seedy bars where the music is slightly discordant, a bit different from what you know, when you turn a street corner and an attractive woman meets your gaze, eyes softening just a little bit, just like hers did. You think, maybe she isn’t dead. She’s right there, just a heartbeat away: a new wig, contacts, heels, and those painted lips she swore has never given her away. A countenance that speaks to some new identity as a wealthy heiress. Again. She’s indulgent like that. Was. Is. You’ve trained in the art of espionage until all you could taste was salt behind your teeth, and blood in your throat. If there’s anyone that could fake their death—

She’s there. She’s alive. She managed to get away, and she’s come to get you. It’s not the first time she��s overcome the odds. She’ll do it again. She’ll never die. She belonged to the world, but you’ve always belonged to her. But her promises, they were yours. She promised, forehead pressed against yours, eyelashes brushing against your own, slow, measured breaths fanning against your face—

You are cold when you wake, and you are convinced the yawning ache in your chest has swallowed your heart until you press a hand to your chest, and memorize the steady thump. 

Someone shifts in bed next to you.

“Hey,” Dick murmurs, blinking slowly awake at your quiet panic. The concern is apparent in his gaze as he reaches out for you. “Everything okay?”

You let the warmth of his body wash over you as he pulls you close. A hand steadies itself on your bare lower back, and it scalds. Dick has always been good with tactile comfort, as foreign as it is to you. 

You close your eyes, trying to chase away the sensation of fingers brushing against your cheek. “Just a bad dream.” You try to ignore the worry emanating from him, now alert, and the slight furrow of his eyebrows as he takes you in. You don’t want to look at him, because looking at him makes you real. This life of normalcy you’ve carved out for yourself, in this world that is so much like and unlike your own, where the grief that lives in the hollow of your ribs can be neatly tucked away. You want it to hurt until you can’t breathe. You want to suffocate in it.

But you can be happy here, you tell yourself. You are happy here, you tell yourself, when Dick smiles at you, fingers slipping over your own.

You can almost see the questions working their way out of Dick’s throat when the alarm goes off. He immediately groans at the noise, pulling you into his arms and rolling on top of you, until you are swallowed up by him, and there is no more room for ghosts. 

“Don’t let me go,” he mutters into your ear. “Let’s stay in bed.”

You exhale. “Some of us have jobs.”

“Ouch,” he nips at your neck, and a heated shiver rolls down your spine as he turns a devastating grin on you. “I happen to be over-employed actually.”

You reach out to brush some of his tousled dark hair back, something wrenching at your chest when Dick leans into the cradle of your palm. Despite finding it difficult to breathe, you plaster a wry smile on your lips and lean in close. You hear his breath hitch. You’ve always been good at pretending.

“Moonlighting as a vigilante doesn’t count,” you whisper against his lips, pressing close to him, just enough for a firm, chaste kiss.

Then you push him off you. 

He squawks into the duvet as you rise to get ready for work. “Sexy,” he mutters, “ Sexy vigilante.”

You are a legal, law abiding citizen of Bludhaven. To Dick, a librarian from the wrong side of the tracks. Not a criminal, and definitely not a hero. This is the normalcy you’ve always wanted, away from everything you’ve ever known and loved. 

“Don’t forget,” Dick calls out from the bathroom as you stick two pieces of bread into the heated toaster, and contemplate sticking your hand in just to feel the skin blister, “Picking you up at 5!”

Right. You pull yourself away. “Should I be worried?” You tease gently. “Is there a contingency plan?”

Dick wraps his arms around you, dropping a kiss on your neck, and resting his chin on your shoulder. You lean into him, reveling in the scent of aftershave and the mint off his breath. You want to suck the flavor off his tongue, press him down, and—

“Should I be offended?” He says jovially, “I am perfectly capable of planning a date. Prepare to be wowed.”

“Will do.” You can’t help but press a kiss to his jaw. “See you later?”

He turns to you, fitted in his uniform, gaze soft as he takes you in once more. Enamored, the other ladies at the library titter when Dick strolls in, whistling, a cup of coffee in hand, exactly the way you like it. A gentleman , they sigh, when Dick appears to walk you home to the apartment that is more his than yours because old habits die hard and laying roots in a single place goes against the very essence of your being. He doesn’t know about the apartment you keep in Tail’s End, under a different name. And so hot, they think, when they crowd him and innocently ask him what attracted him to the unsmiling, distant librarian who rejected every social gathering to go home.

At first that was all it was. You knew you would appeal to people more if you were attached to another. You didn't want to make friends, but you didn't want to be disagreeable either. With a relationship, you had an excuse to go home and avoid outings. Objectively, being in a relationship made you more palatable. Your standoffish behavior reframed as a girl in love. How easy it is manage the perceptions of others with a little nudge. 

So you had said yes to the police officer who came in searching for Pride and Prejudice. 

By the end of your first date, you witnessed 1) a fire 2) a crying child 3) Dick juggling for said crying child and buying her an ice cream sundae moments later. He sent you a flash of that disarming smile, one that gave your heart a lurch for the first time in a long, long, time, and you thought, maybe, a second date wouldn't be the worst decision you've ever made.

He kisses you, lips searing like a brand. Then exhales. “Later.”

He winks, waving a piece of toast in the air, and then he’s gone. 

—

Do you have any idea, Veronica had started, as soon as Old Betty stalked off to the bathroom with a warning glare in your direction, who that police officer who comes in all the time to check you out is?

You glanced at the glossy magazine cover she had pulled on top of the pile of books you had been scanning. 

Bruce Wayne’s Bahama affair!PAGE 23 EXCLUSIVE : All about the swimsuit model sighted with the playboy billionaire!

She continued, undeterred by your silence. That delicious man happens to be Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne’s ward.

You stared at her, and Veronica had stared back, befuddled.

Bruce Wayne? Billionaire CEO of Wayne Enterprises? She frowned. In Gotham? Joker? Batman?

You cleared your throat. Who is Batman?

—

"I didn’t realize this was going to be an overnight trip.”

Dick looks sheepish, keeping his eyes on the road as highway gives way to the tall, shadowy skyscrapers of Gotham. “I was thinking we could stay overnight at the manor. Take our time back since it’s the weekend. I packed for you.”

You stare out the window, imagining the lit up skyline of the city Dick had called home as a boy, wondering if you have it in you to fool Bruce Wayne once more, knowing that it still comes easily to you as a pirouette. You can be anybody you want, and you are good at it. The best. You have more in common with Bruce Wayne than you’d like to think. And when he gives you a genial smile that verges on flirtatious as he goes to shake your hand, the lax lines of his shoulder will give him away as trained in a mistake you’d never make. What a lot of people don’t know, is that you have to give yourself fully to the performance. It is life or death. You cannot pretend, you must be. You are. And the best way to build an identity is to raze it all down and start anew. Every single time and leave nothing behind. You were trained to be naught but a moldable vessel. There is no need to raze it all down if there is nothing there to begin with.

Bruce Wayne will never be able to give himself to the performance. He is not a performer, not a true one. There is too much behind his gaze, too much pain, horror, grief. There is no separation or distance. It is with him always, simmering just beneath the surface.

Sometimes, when you close your eyes you can feel the heat of the spotlight. There is blood on your tongue and lipstick between your teeth, and maybe you are sweating, crying, or bleeding, or some combination of all three. You drown in the heat as the music crescendos, right before cold fingers tear your leotard off of your shoulders and hands pin you down like an immobile butterfly.

“If Bruce is willing to have me,” you finally say. “Then why not.”

Dick chuckles at that. “Everyone knows Alfred calls the shot when it comes to the manor.”

“Of course,” you say dryly. “If Alfred is willing to have me.”

He glances at you, all warmth and amusement and a genuine fondness that makes your throat close up. You’ll never be used to the overt affection in every look and touch that Dick gives you. So freely, you always think. It’s a gift you treasure. You collect these smiles, and tuck them away. “He’ll be delighted to see you again. I had to talk him out of decorating the manor, but cooking a feast, now that’s a non negotiable. You’re the guest of honor.”

Nobody had thought you to be a permanent fixture in Dick’s life, least of all yourself. Then one month had become four, and four had become a year and a half. You had met Damian, Bruce, and then Tim. You know there are more, like Jason, but Dick doesn’t like to talk about him.

You study him, evening shadows transforming his face as he navigates downtown Gotham traffic, impatiently tapping on the steering wheel. 

“You miss them.” You aren’t completely ignorant of Robin’s occasional drop in’s in Bludhaven, but Damian has also made his disdain for you quite clear. Which is why you try your best to stay steer clear when Damian is in town. Besides, it does you well to spend time alone, in a apartment that belongs only to you. Just like it does Dick well to spend one on one time with Damian.

Dick softens, despite his fingers tightening on the wheel. “It’s been a while. I just worry about them, you know?” There’s too much to unpack in that statement, so you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek just as Dick pulls into the wide driveway leading to the manor.

Alfred is already in the front. He ushers the two of you in, taking your coat before you can even blink. Then Dick is wrapping his arms around the man. Alfred pats him on the back with a fond smile, and says, “Master Richard, I’ve prepared your old room.”

“Thanks Alfred,” Dick murmurs. "And Bruce?"

"A pressing last minute engagement."

You are inwardly relieved.

The butler turns to you with a greeting. “It’s a delight to see you again.” He even means it. “I do hope you find your stay enjoyable. Now, I must check on the roast, but Master Damian should be back soon.”

Dick raises an eyebrow. “School’s been out for three hours.”

“Master Damian has decided to partake in extracurriculars.”

The eyebrow raises impossibly higher. “Damian? Joined a club?” Dick looks delighted, and you can’t help but share in his joy. “God,” he runs a hand through his hair, “He’s growing up isn’t he?”

There’s a twinkle in Alfred’s eye. “Indeed.”

Then Dick is gently taking your arm, fingers curling around yours, and giving you a tour of the lavish rooms and gilded hallways tastefully decorated with art and portraits that would put the more ostentatious displays of wealth you’ve seen in your lifetime to shame. He points out various crooks and nannies, hidden alcoves where he used to hide when the grief of losing his parents was too strong to comprehend, and regales you with tales of Bruce letting him eat nothing but potato chips for five days straight until Alfred had demanded Dick eat a proper meal. With vegetables.

You listen and observe, trying to picture the man next to you as a small boy, bouncing through these corridors with a grin splitting his face, exuberant and alive. You find the image charming.

“I used to hide in that chandelier,” Dick murmurs into your ear as you gaze at a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “Alfred had to call the calvary when I refused to come down.” 

“Bruce?”

“Bruce.” He grins. “He always says I took twenty years off his life that day, swinging up there like a monkey.”

“I believe it,” you exhale with a laugh at the imagery. Something in your chest turns at the boy that he must have been. 

There’s a silence. 

“You know, you don’t really like to talk about yourself.” An uncharacteristic hesitation flits across his face for a brief second, before resolve quickly replaces it. “Or your past.”

“There’s nothing much to talk about,” you say gently, consolingly. “I had parents, and they died. I grew up alone.” No, not alone. You shove down the deluge of memories threatening to escape, shove it down until the ache is barely bearable.

His face falls, and you can’t help but feel you’ve let him down somehow. You just don’t think you can. It’s nonsensical at best, asylum seeking at worst. Sometimes, you think you imagined all of it, but you know better. How do you even begin to start talking about your arrival? That you had a life, and while you were never a hero, you did your best. How do you even begin to formulate the words that there was someone whose body you knew as intimately as your own, that inexplicable feeling of a synchronization during a pas de deux so uniform it was intimate, someone whose blood you licked off your knuckles, just to taste it against her lips. Someone, who is buried, somewhere far, far away. There are no words. Not anymore. She took them all with her when she died.

A previous life, that’s what it is. 

“Then,” you say slowly. “I met you.”

Dick stares at you as if fathoming out a puzzle. He is, you think, not going to be allayed by your lies much longer and you find comfort in the fact that he does not love you. That Dick finds the vulnerability that accompanies love as difficult as you do. Dick is too smart, too loving, too curious to not want to pick you apart with hands that are gentle in their suffocation, but he’s also somewhat of a hypocrite. You shouldn't find it as endearing as you do. Sometimes when you catch him looking at you, you feel like he wants to flay you open and keep your secrets for himself, with an intensity that sends a prickle down your spine.

In a way he can’t help it you suppose. He grew up with the ultimate jigsaw puzzle as a parent figure. A puzzle he’s been trained to solve, but has yet to put together because Bruce Wayne is an unfathomable, omniscient presence in the lives of the children he raised and didn’t, a voice in the dark that both guides and chokes.

But for now the suspicion in his eyes fade, back to the recesses of his mind where it can be dissected another day as Dick takes your face between his hands, and kisses you soundly, if not desperately.

—

“Will you tell me where we’re going now?”

Dick grins, looking handsome in a tux that fits him to perfection as the two of you drive into a neighborhood with cleaner streets and urban apartments. “I can tell you it’s a secret. I can also tell you we’ll be there in five.”

You hum. “Say the word and we can still go to Bat Burger.”  

He makes an offended noise. “I have a bit more class than Bat Burger. I’d at least take you to a diner.”

“And they say romance is dead.” But that’s all that leaves your lips because Dick pulls up to a grand white building with marble columns, large painted glass windows, and a long stairway leading to the entrance. There are banners fitted to the columns: THE METROPOLITAN BALLET.

You force your gaze away and force yourself to measure the beat of your heart until it goes steady. He couldn’t have. He doesn’t…

Dick is already stepping out and passing the keys to a valet with a beaming face as cameras flash in his direction. This is Dick Grayson in Gotham, prodigal eldest son of the city’s beloved Bruce Wayne. You close your eyes, collect yourself, and step out. Dick easily winds an arm around the waist of your black slinky dress, and the two of you walk up, while you discreetly ensure difficult camera angles shield your face. Luckily, it’s not you they’re interested in. Just one of many pretty birds on the arm of a Wayne boy.

“Surprise!” Dick says, gesturing to the building with a nod as the excitement builds on his face. “You haven’t met my little sister Cassandra yet, but she’s a dancer. Ballet. And she’s amazing.” He rambles on about how tonight is Cassandra’s first ever public performance and how upset Bruce is to have to miss it because of a business trip (ie: off planet mission with the league) and how he’s going to take all the pictures like the doting eldest brother he is just to rub them in Bruce’s face later.

“She’s going to love you,” Dick says in genuine happy belief when the two of you enter the lavish lobby. He takes your silence as nerves. He’s not wrong. You feel brittle and pathetic in that even a mere shadow of lace and tulle might cripple you. It doesn’t need to, you think. A few moments in the bathroom, and in the time it takes you to reapply your lipstick you can be someone deserving of a man who looks at you like you’re worth something. You don’t have to be a walking, aching tragedy.

But a part of you—

You don’t want to be someone else. Not when you’re with Dick. 

You gently extricate yourself from him. “Bathroom,” you say lightly. “I’ll meet you inside?” You glanced at the tickets earlier: front row seats. 

Dick gives you that look, that weighted stare combined with the stubborn set of his jaw that makes you think he might stop you. Are you alright? You can almost hear him ask. You’ve been off since this morning . He nods, fingers curling into his palm in your absence. “Okay. I’ll find you.” It sounds like a promise. You reluctantly let go of his hand, and as soon as you walk away, six socialites take your place.

You wind up the stairs to use the bathroom on the top floor in hopes that it'll be more secluded. You count each step, you count your breaths, you count each note in Bach’s Orgelbüchlein currently playing overhead. You realize you neglected to ask Dick what performance was playing. The Nutcracker? Le Sacre du printemps? Don Quixote? Or did you? It's all a blur.

The running tap begins to steam. Without a second thought you stick your left hand into the scalding water until your skin turns an angry color. You focus on the pain flooding your nerves, and the ensuing numbing sensation. Then you switch the tap off, pointedly avoiding your reflection. It’s just a show. 

It’s just a show.

The show is just starting when you run into Dick at the entrance to the theatre.

“Get lost on the way?” He jokes. “I was just about to look for you.”

Mouth dry, you manage a smile. “Something like that.”

“C’mon. Tim and Damian are already seated.” You make sure Dick takes your right hand as he leads you into the dark. Tim raises a hand at your arrival, rolling his eyes when Damian gives you a pointed sniff and crosses his arms.

In the dark, Dick’s voice ghosts over your ear. “Swan Lake.” 

The curtains are red, you note, distinctly ill, as they slide open. 

It’s easy to discern Cassandra Cain, front and center. She is dark haired, lithe, and beautiful as she expertly executes a grand pirouette on the stage as if she was meant for it. She’s good. Every single movement is refined to perfection to the extent that it almost looks uncanny, as if you’re watching through an altered projection. Objectively there are no flaws in every arabesque, allegro, or fouetté turn. You know this dance intimately, as both Odette and Odile. 

You feel the spotlight once more. But this time, bile rises in your throat. You distantly wonder if Dick can feel the heat radiating from your skin, because it feels like you are boiling alive under the strength of a thousand suns. The music crescendos, and to your ears it sounds cacophonous. Dissonant in a way that demands you to balance straight ( straighter ), to point your broken toes at an angle that makes you swallow back blood, to force the dislocated joints in your arms above your head. And hold—

Cool fingers flit over your thighs, before resting above your tights. A burst of fear shoots through you, and then: resignation.

You squeeze your left hand tight, until the sore skin around your knuckles are on the verge of splitting open. Under the guise of fixing the strap of your shoe, you sink your nails into the flesh of your ankle until blood sinks into the dark fabric. You mentally apologize to Alfred. You’ll ask Dick to take the dress back to Bludhaven just so you can wash it without drawing suspicion. 

Exhaling, you absentmindedly look to Dick, to find him already looking at you with an amalgamation of affection and worry. You wonder how it feels, to wear the emotions you feel on your face, to let yourself plainly feel them. Dick feels. He cares. You wonder how he hasn’t drowned yet. 

He’s beautiful, and right now, he is yours. You already know you’ll never find another person like him. In a way it makes sense. All these memories resurfacing, this wave of unrelenting grief. Maybe you’re already mourning what will be lost. What it means to not be cold and bereft and lonely. 

You reach for the warmth of Dick’s hand, and squeeze. The audience erupts in the applause around you, but you can’t quite tear your gaze away from him.

—

Tim and Damian hand Cassandra a comically large bouquet as they congratulate her on a job well done. But then a blonde haired girl with an even larger bouquet appears, slinging her arms around Cassandra. You turn to Dick. Another one?

Dick grins. His hand hasn’t left your waist since the four of you got up. You wonder if he might be trying to make a point. 

There are things you notice about Cassandra up close, the first being that she is a trained killer, the second being that trying to kill her would be quite difficult. It’s impossible to turn off: that voice in your head that tells you to observe, to plan, to escape. You swallow, distantly hearing Dick introduce you to both Cassandra and Stephanie. It feels like you’ve been submerged underwater, but if there’s one thing you know how to do, it's smile.

“32 Fouette turns isn’t easy,” you add to the conversation, with a small smile before your silence becomes suspicious. “I’m sure you’ll be Prima soon.” If she isn’t already.

Cassandra looks at you, discerning in a way her brothers have learned how to hide. You wonder how well she sees through you. You’ve heard bits here and there, and for all the people you’ve met, you’ve never quite met anyone who could read body movement to the extent of clairvoyance.

Her gaze is unnerving. “Are you…a dancer too?”

You blink, blood running cold as everyone turns to look at you. “Oh,” you say with a laugh, instantly defaulting into plausible denial. Is that what she sees? A fellow ballerina? Maybe in the end that’s who you are, stripped of everything else. Every name, every smile, every kiss, every lie. Away from the bite of cold steel, the finger on the trigger, and the immeasurable horrors of your youth. You are a small girl in a leotard and everything hurts but you have to move, faster, faster, faster, teetering like a spinning top about to blitz off a table. Spinning, spinning, spinning before everything collapses, a comet hurtling towards earth, destroying everything in its fiery wake. You are a bullet, a finely honed blade, spread thighs, gardening shears snipping away the rot.

You are a tool, and tools are meant to be used. 

The sentiment brings you more comfort than it should.

“No, not me.” The more you lie, the easier it becomes. You can feel every minute change in you as all the apprehension and worries begin to ebb away, becoming vaguer, until it becomes one indistinct picture, and that streak of red hair you once loved becomes so faint it could be the memory of snow and the swift darting of a fox, its pelt gleaming in the sun.

These are the immutable facts: you are a legal, law abiding, citizen of Bludhaven. A librarian. You are alone. You were alone. You are alone. 

It's Cassandra’s turn to blink. “Your…” she makes a gesture with her hand as she grasps for the words. “Posture. Movements.” She hums. “Ballet.”

“A little,” you acquiesce after a pause, as if you’re embarrassed. People are always more inclined to disregard little things in the face of overt discomfort and embarrassment. “Just a little. When I was young. Nowhere near your level,” you’re scared at how easy it comes to you still, terrified at the way Dick has stilled next to you, the way he is looking at you like you are someone he doesn't know. And well, that's the truth isn't it? “You were wonderful, by the way.”

Cassandra takes your compliment too modestly. 

You let conversation flow over you, piping in when acceptable while Dick quips about this and that, fondly mussing both Tim and Damian’s hair. Dick is emotive and sensitive, and loves with such unadulterated joy, you often forget.

Dick is good at pretending too.

—

There are more things that happen that night. Alfred’s roast is even more delicious when eaten in the dining room with a nearly full table of people. You meet Barbara who is as smart as she is beautiful. Tim and Damian end up tussling over an ill timed quip about fratricide, and Dick ends up having to yank Damian away from the silverware before any bodily harm is done.

Dick holds you that night, and you listen to the gentle beat of his heart in silence in a room that used to be his, in a house that used to be home.

“Sometimes,” Dick says conversationally, staring at the faded stick on glow-in-the-dark stars plastered to the ceiling, “I think you might fall apart if I hold you too tightly.” 

If there is anything to say, you are glad it is just this. You can’t tell much from his voice. You find it difficult to look at him. And yet, he had still opened his arms to you, and you had still curled up in them. 

There’s more, of course. But there’s a logic to this. In the quiet of the night, in the glow of the moonlight, some things are better left unvoiced. Right now, you listen to Dick’s steady breaths, and try to match his heartbeat to yours. 

“I’m right here,” you say into his bare chest.

There’s a wretched, pained humor in his voice. “Are you?”

You tip your chin up to look into those piercing blue eyes. Those sad, blue eyes. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t love. 

A hand cradles your face. “Who are you?”

There are so many things you could say, but you’re tired. In the end, these ghosts are all yours. 

In the sparse light, you can see yourself, reflected in Dick’s eyes. You’re not sure who or what he sees. So in the end, you settle on what you can. Whoever you are—

“You have me.”

For what it’s worth, you think. For what it’s worth.

if you want to spoil context: my a/n on ao3

[ditzybat]

Had a thought about Mexican Jason Todd while setting up my family’s Ofrenda with my mom this year. So basically, it’s agreed that Jason died at the end of April, and was resurrected 6 months later at the end of October (and in this HC the VERY beginning of November). So what if, every year after his mom died, Jason would set up his Ofrenda with Bruce. Honoring Catherine, even Martha and Thomas along with other deceased loved ones like John and Mary Grayson for Dick. And after Jason’s death, Bruce pulls himself together to put his son on the family Ofrenda. His Pan de Muertos not as nice as Jason’s family recipe, the Cempazuchitl is arranged around the alter, but not as aesthetically appealing as the way Jason would arrange it, and the candles not quite the correct brand that they would normally pick up from Crime Alley. But it’s personal, and sweet, and he knows that in spirit Jason would join him along with other loved ones. However, what if, on midnight of November 1, when the veil between the living and the dead is weakest, Jason crawls out of his coffin disoriented and confused as to how, exactly, he’s alive.

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

You want to hear something kinda funny but also like not.

Ok so anyone seen that video of the Mom's being asked if they would kill for their child ok so Bruce wouldn't right, but they would.

Mary Grayson, Janet Drake, Catherine Todd, Talia Al Ghul they would without hesitation picture that video.

And I wonder if they roll over in their graves everytime Bruce doesn't pick their babies.

Like they labored for hours grew those children. Or choose to love a child as their own. Planned nursery's and dreamed of weddings and graduations. They came into the world screaming and covered in their blood and they looked at these tiny babies and knew they would do anything for them.

For this man to hesitate the ground shakes.

You can say what you will about murder but for Mom's you don't hesitate you don't think that's your child.

And they watch as horrible things happen to their boys and they want to crawl back up to earth to cradle their sons and this man who is able to do what they can't just doesn't.

They die they left their sons or are stuck in another continent because of circumstance.

And this supposive hero who is getting the privilege  to watch their precious babies grow up just doesn't care.

He doesn't protect, he doesn't nurture and it burns.

Martha who remains silent doesn't utter a word because what can she say after all her son is the cause of their pain. Who blames herself because she died her death is the kindling, the reason the forest is ablaze.

So what can she say, what can any of them do.

They just watch. 

(I want to make something very clear Duke is not on this list because as far as I'm aware his mom is alive.)

(Lady Shiva is not on this list because one she is alive and twoI do not think that she ever wanted kids.)

[cowboy-doinggay]

the people on the wall

Bruce knows better than anyone about the feeling of losing a parent at such a young age where it is hard to remember the smallest thing, like how many freckles his mother had that she would cover with makeup or the slight curl that his father on in the morning before getting ready for work at breakfast, so because of that the manor's walls were covered with pictures of them, of just Thomas and Martha.

So when Dick comes to live in the manor it takes about 2 months for Mary and John to join the walls with Martha and Thomas. To a normal person it would be weird to have your dead parents cover the walls of your home and even some random people's photos next to your parent's photos, but both Bruce and Dick didn't think it wasn't weird; it was love. Seeing them every day as they passed them in the hall, in a way was a chance for the set of parents to see their sons grow into the men that they become. Bruce sees Mary's blue eyes in Dick and John's smile as Dick saw Martha's freckles in the summer on Bruce's face and Thomas' strong jawline on Bruce.

When it was Jason's turn to live in the manor he didn't want to have pictures of his folks on the wall, which was understandable. But there was a small framed Polaroid on the foyer table that you wouldn't know that it was there if you weren't looking for it, It had a picture of Willis and Catherine with Jason celebrating his first birthday. And in that Polaroid, you can see Willis's smile and Catherine's caring eyes on Jason today. Jason never made it onto the wall, it was too hard for everyone to see that boy never growing older.

when Tim joined the family he didn't really think that Jack and Janet would join the walls because he didn't lose them at a young age like the rest of them so he didn't need to be surrounded with photos of the to remember what they look like, but the next he time that he was walking pass by the hall with the all the photos. Martha and Thomas photos had changed to group pictures of the Wayne couple and the Drake couple and was taken during a gala. And in this photo you can see the way where Tim talks with his hands came from Janet and that cheeky little smile that he gives when he does something bad came from Jack.

When Cassandra joined the family she had the same feelings as Jason about not wanting her parents on the wall, but on the same foyer table there's an old photo with creases and maybe old dry blood that was framed and placed next to Willis and Catherine. Of both David Cain and Sandra Woosan in the league of assassins; in the photo, you can see Cassandra looking like a perfect blend of them both.

As Damian met and joined the family it was a bit weird since both of his parents were still alive and in his life, so he didn't really need to have a photo of Talia on the wall or on the foyer table if the only thing that's stopping his parents from being together is distance and morals. But to the dismay of both Dick and Tim; Talia was added to the wall, as well as photos of younger Bruce and Talia during their time in the league together. In these pictures, you can really see Bruce in Damian, even though Damian is a carbon copy of Talia with Bruce's slight wave in his hair, in the way how his smile reaches his eyes and his nose has a slight wrinkle to it the same way as Bruce has in these pictures.

When Duke comes to live in the manor he had the some feeling as Tim and Damian about having his moms pictures on the wall, due to the fact that his mom isn’t dead and he stills visits her after school. But when he was walking pass the wall of photos to get into a study room he see her right nexts to the the pictures of Graysons and the Waynes with the Drakes and the young couple Wayne and Al Guhul. He see Elaine as he knows and loves her, and in this picture you can see Duke being a carbon copy of his mother they share the same smile, the same kind eyes with the adorable nose.

So when you go to the Wayne Manor there will be old portraits, of the older Wayne’s that had made a name for themselves and helped build Gotham but you'll also see pictures of the Drakes, the flying Graysons, 5 random people in small frames and never before seen photos of Bruce as a teenager during the time when he was studying abroad with a woman that looks a lot like Damian. And when asking any of the Waynes for the reason for all these non-wayne photos they will all say the same thing "Aren't your walls covered in family pictures?"

[gnomewithalaptop]

Batfam Time Travel Fic Recs

Because @clarenceislazy requested it on my last fic rec compilation, here's a list of my favorite DCU time travel fics! They're all pretty Batfam-centric, but eh niche is niche what can you do

Damian fics:

A Good Place by LemonadeGarden - Damian gets sent back in time to a Batman who's never had a Robin. Very sweet, very fun.

The Rule Stands by Engineerd - After Dick's death, Damian has to deal with a time-displaced ten-year-old Dick Grayson. Love a good Dick and Damian bonding moment, PLUS this gets a happy ending <3

to stay in one place by Jezebunny - Injustice!Universe Nightwing!Damian time-travels/dimension-jumps to a timeline where Dick Grayson is still alive and his counterpart is still Robin. Ugh this is so angsty -- I have an unreasonable amount of love for Injustice Damian

looking for the shapes in the silence by popsunner - In a world where Dick died on the job, Damian falls through a hole in reality where Dick is still alive and finds that some things don't fit the way they used to. SUCH an amazing representation of complex grief -- literally every time I read it, I cry

Steph fics:

time slip by almondrose - A mistake in time leads to six Robins meeting. Honestly, this one is kinda cracky, and only barely qualifies as Steph-centric, but I still like it a lot

and we'll never be the same by almondrose - Steph and Tim go on a road trip to figure out the post-universal-reboot anomalies. This is more of a post timey-wimey-bullshit fic than a real time travel fic, BUT I think it's real cute regardless

Tim fics:

Tractors by lieu42 - Ooh this one is honestly so so fun! In a reimagined universe where DC's heroes operate out of the UK, Red Robin Tim finds himself right back in the year before everything went to hell. He has a duty to get back to his correct timeline so he can find Bruce, but with Bart and Kon still alive, there's a part of him that doesn't want to leave. Literally SO well written and trippy as hell -- this fic deals a lot with addiction, drug use, and grief, so definitely go into it forewarned. TimKon

not for very much longer by CreamOfTomatoSoup - ugh what CAN'T I say about this fic, apart from the fact that it's one of my favorite time loop fics of all time. Post Cult of Dionysus Bernard Dowd finds himself reliving the worst day of his life -- the day Darla got shot. Featuring identity porn, Steph as Robin, Original-Personality!Bernard, the grief of a childhood you can never return to, and the weirdness of having to interact with your significant other when he's currently a sixteen year old who doesn't know he likes dudes. Don't look at the incomplete warning -- it's not abandoned, just a wip, and I legitimately cannot recommend this fic enough. This fic made me read War Games. This fic made me a Darla Aquista stan. This fic made me ship timbern. Please read this fic.

Jason fics:

The View From Jade by lowflyingfruit - Jason Todd accidentally travels back to before Bruce took Dick in. I feel like this is on every time travel rec list, but what can I say: I'm a basic bitch

Two Dead Birds by InsaneTrollLogic - Jason Todd wakes up in the middle of his Mob Boss Era and immediately decides to rewrite his own history. This is very funky fresh of him, just in my personal opinion.

Dick fics:

So It Goes by 60sec400 - Bruce from Dick's Robin era receives a troubling call from Nightwing. Be warned -- this fic is angsty as hell. Implied major character death. Don't look at the incomplete warning -- it's a lie (the author has specified they intended it to work as a oneshot)

In This Or Any Other Universe by wildsofmarch - Dick-as-Batman ends up in Battinson-era Gotham. Again, I think this counts more towards the Dimension Travel pile than the strict Time Travel variety, but I'm still putting it here because I enjoy the hell out of it

a million dreams by CaptainOzone - In the seconds between the trapeze line snapping and their bodies hitting the ground, John and Mary Grayson find themselves transported twenty years into the future. SO GOOD I honestly can't stand it.

If you think I missed a fic you love (or if you've written any yourself and want to self-plug), feel free to drop a link in the reblogs! Especially if you know of any that center around Steph, Cass, or Duke -- istg I've scrolled through fifteen pages of the AO3 Time Travel tag, and I've found like maybe two fics that center around any of them. It's honestly a little ridiculous

[magnoliasandarson]

Dick Grayson, Golden Boy

It pissed Dick off when Jason called him “Golden Boy,” but he understood why he said it. 

Dick Grayson had been the first- the first son, the first Robin, the first failure, and the first success. He was the prodigal son, the runaway who returned to his place at Bruce’s side. It was a position earned with blood—a terrible privilege. He couldn't stay away, he'd tried, he was the only one that could temper Bruce's fire.

Dick drew lines in the sand- screamed in Bruce’s face, called him out on his failings, demanded better of him- then he took the man’s punches “for not knowing his place.” There was never an apology (not that Dick would accept it). He wiped the blood off his face, and when someone asked what happened, he said he slipped up, and some random mugger got in a lucky shot. He wasn’t sure who he was protecting when he said it. He still rushes to Bruce's side when called.

He recognizes bits of Bruce eating away at his soul. He tries desperately to stay Mary and John’s son, tries to keep the light alive in his soul. Robin is magic. He feels the darkness creeping in at the edges of his mind. He’s Nightwing; he’s not in Gotham, not in Bruce’s shadow, but he’s never been more of a Bat. He isolates himself and pushes people away. He’s too controlling, too morally rigid. The fearless leader become tyrant.

He fails each of the Robins in new and increasingly horrifying ways, but always for the same reason: he puts the mission first. Bruce is proud of him for it; somehow, that approval hurts him more than any punch ever did. It keeps him up at night, Tim’s face when he left (forced away by Dick’s actions), Damian’s pride at becoming Robin (he was only ten), Jason’s eyes filled with resentment and deep sadness (he had been right all along). 

He hates Bruce when he sees him in the mirror. He hates Bruce when he hears him in his own voice. Bruce Wayne was the worst person on Earth, but Dick Grayson was his favorite son. So what did that make him?

[brucewaynehater101]

Grandpa Janet's maiden name, father of David Cain, Mary Grayson, and Janet I honestly hc that Drake is actually her maiden name and Jack took her name instead of the other way around because Janet's family had more of a history and let Jack somewhat avoid the nouveau riche label, was indeed a supporter of trans rights and he got into many bar fights as a younger man when he stepped between a lady and a dude who wouldn't take no for an answer. Grandpa Drake was of the belief that "no" was a full and complete sentence and one of his pet peeves was people trying to badger others into changing the "no" to a "yes". Grandpa Drake studied pharmaceutical chemistry and took Drake Industries into the medical field.

He met the future Grandma Drake in one of the bar fights. She was a ballerina and had the skill and strength to break a man's neck with a kick if she wanted. Normally she just broke legs or noses instead. She was her ballet troupe's mom friend and designated driver. She was also the sort of person who learned things just for the sake of learning them and after marriage her occupation was essentially professional student.

Shortly after Janet and Jack married, Grandma and Grandpa were abducted by an alien, a past lover of Grandma who had also fallen for Grandpa and this was the alien's way of trying to rekindle their relationship with Grandma while also trying to start a relationship with Grandpa. Maybe they're still alive somewhere in space. Possibly Tim will run into them if he and YJ have more space shenanigans.

The Respectful Womanizer Grandpa Drake AU!

That post was a bit ago, so I don't feel like scowering my page to look for it.

I hc Jack took Janet's name as well, regardless if that's factually accurate.

What I remember for the AU and important parts:

Tim's grandfather, Janet's father, was a womanizer. He loved woman. He thus fathered David Cain and Mary Grayson (which makes Tim, Dick, and Cass biological cousins).

Despite loving women, he did not badger them. In fact, that's one of the easiest and instant ways to get on his shit list (trying to force, coerce, or wear someone down for sex). He also loves all women and has had many relations with any consenting individual who identified as such near his age range.

He did face some social backlash and shit cause of the time period, but he was a rich, white man. He also didn't give a fuck what the others said and loved getting into fights (he got smarter about how he picked fights and how he aired out his grievances [more manipulative and subtle if he could]).

Grandma Drake met Grandpa Drake during a bar fight. Obviously, gramps had to ask the gorgeous lady (who could beat the shit out of many grown men in a row) out to at least dinner. Grandma, who saw gramps beating the shit out of disgusting guys and calling out their behavior, agrees.

Grandma and Grandpa Drake have an open relationship, and they are happy with it. They discussed healthy boundaries and how it affected their marriage (which they both agreed to for the legal and social benefits. They loved each other, but they didn't need to get married for their own personal relationship). For plot's sake, let's say Mary and David were born before the grandparents got married. Grandma Drake knew of this and supported Gramps being whatever role of parent both bio parents agreed to.

Janet was born shortly after they got married and was raised on their cunning nature to fight for what they believe in. She saw her father use Drake Industries for good and wanted to discover more about the beauty of humans (including how different cultures treat social statuses/roles [like gender, romance, relationships, attraction, etc.] and how people are free to be themselves).

The part where the grandparents get kidnapped by an alien who's interested in both of them and thus they are alive when Tim runs into them in space? Pure crack and I love it

[cloakedsparrow]

Most of the Batpups are Half-Siblings AU

Wherein Willis Todd had mad rizz and is the biological father of not just Jason, but Dick, Cass, and Tim as well.

Mary and John were friends and coworkers who were romantically interested in each other but were reluctant to make a move. Mary was worried she’d seem unprofessional if she acted on her feelings. John couldn’t tell she was interested and didn’t want to risk making her uncomfortable by saying something. Mary met Willis while the circus was in Gotham and had a date with him after their show that culminated with Dick’s conception. John was very supportive of her after she learned she was pregnant and the two of them finally admitted their feelings for each other when she was helping him put together a temporarily solo act.

Sandra and Willis had met when they were both young and first striking out on their own. They would hook up whenever she was near Gotham and he wasn’t in a relationship. She honestly hadn’t thought to say anything to David Cain when he made his offer because a) her private life was none of his business and b) she’d slept with Willis enough times that she thought, what would be the odds she happened to get pregnant right before trying to have Cain’s child? She similarly didn’t mention having a kid to Willis because it wasn’t really any of his business.

They didn’t flaunt it or even bring it up in civilized company, but Jack and Janet had something of an open relationship prior to getting married. They always attended events together and knew they’d commit to one another eventually, as everyone assumed they would. As long as they were honest with each other and used protection, they didn’t hold any temporary infatuations against the other. Janet and Willis met at the library one day and the chemistry was there so they had a fun night together (the condom failed) without ever even exchanging surnames or numbers. When she learned she was pregnant, Jack knew he might not be the father, but they decided it didn’t really matter since he felt childcare was largely the woman’s domain anyway.

Dick was too young to remember his parents’ wedding and everyone considered him John’s kid, too, so no one at the circus thought to mention it to him.

When Sandra realized Cassandra was her daughter, it still hadn’t occurred to her that she might be Willis’ child.

Janet and Jack never told anyone that Tim might not be Jack’s biological child, including Tim, and they were married so no proof was needed to put Jack’s name on Tim’s birth certificate.

Jason was too young for Willis to tell him about any of his youthful hookups before he died. It never occurred to him that the man might have other children.

None of the batpups had any idea that they shared a biological father.

After Red Hood made his big reveal, Bruce ran some fo his blood to confirm it was Jason before allowing himself to get his hopes up. He was initially too stunned (and heartbroken) at the knowledge that it truly was Jason, to pay any attention to the other little dings the Batcomputer made.

Some time later, while organizing his files, Bruce notices that Jason's file had a mark for several first-degree blood relatives that shouldn’t be there. When he checks, he finds out that in addition to proving Jason's identity, the Batcomputer had matched him up to Dick, Cass, and Tim. He runs the tests again, just to be sure (because what are the odds). Again, it says they’re biological half-siblings.

He does a little investigating in the hopes of being better prepared to answer some questions for them when he tells them, but Sandra Wu San is the only one still alive to speak to. No one at Haly’s Circus will tell him anything other than how beloved each of the Graysons were and are. Janet Drake kept excellent records when it came to travel logs, business proceedings, and Tim’s health to education, but nothing that could possibly tell him how Tim came to be.

Eventually, he decides (after Alfred threatens him) that he has to tell them the truth.

Dick hops on his bike and heads straight to Haly’s because they’ll tell him anything they wouldn’t tell Bruce. Mr Haly does end up telling him about his parents, although he never knew Willis’ name. Dick is reminded that his parents loved each other as much as he remembers and that this doesn’t change his memories with them.

Cass contacts Lady Shiva to meet her and demands to know everything she can tell her. Then she kicks Shiva’s ass because she could have never met David Cain. She could have been raised with her little brother. She could have protected her little brother. She doesn’t know what (if any) official records she has, but she starts introducing herself as Cassandra Todd instead of Cassandra Cain afterwards. David Cain breaks out of Black gate to leave her a note that she’ll always be his before returning to his cell.

Tim has no one left to ask about it, but he knew Janet much better than Bruce, so he goes over everything the older man had, to see if he can glean anything from it that Bruce couldn’t. Unfortunately, Janet didn’t leave any answers behind so he’ll never know how she and Willis Todd ended up having a kid together. If this is after Bruce adopted him, he keeps the name Wayne and if it’s before, he still accepts the name Wayne afterwards.

Jason had seen Willis’ little black book, so he’s not surprised to learn the old man got around back in the day. The only thing that truly bothers him is Tim being his little brother. Assaults and murder attempts against said little brother aside, Jason knows his dad hadn’t met his mom yet when Dick, Cass, and even himself were conceived. However, Tim is just young enough that it’s hard to say if Janet got pregnant just before or after they started dating. He goes back to his old neighborhood to try to find answers. No one can tell him the exact date his parents met or when their first date was, but all are convinced that Willis loved Catherine and would never have cheated on her.

Jason will just have to hope that’s true.

Afterwards, Dick invites each of his (now blood) little siblings out for Batburgers. They decide not to say anything about Dick or Tim’s parentage publicly since they don’t want people making assumptions about their mothers, but they’ll tell their friends.

[rewrittenwrongs]

Kiind of jumping off this post; the idea of any of the batkids being biologically related is interesting (esp if they don’t know), but I’m specifically thinking about Tim and Dick. About the Drakes having an open marriage and meeting the Flying Graysons on a dig, or an earlier performance in Gotham, and they have some fun together and Janet tests pregnant shortly after. They tell John and Mary abt it, and do a DNA test and turns out Tim is John’s child. They kind of keep in touch with the Graysons through letters, and when it’s announced Haly’s Circus is performing in Gotham they jump at the chance to hang out and introduce their sons. Tim and Dick were aware they had brothers but they didn’t know much about each other but their names, and when they meet for the first time they click instantly. Dick is ecstatic to have a little brother and Tim is literally bouncing from joy, and Dick promises to do a quadruple backflip just for him and someday teach him how to do one, but then everything goes wrong and you can guess how.

From here there’s two ways this can go.

A) Jack and Janet adopt Dick. They foster him as soon as possible—maybe his parents left custody to them in their wills—adopt him only once he’s ready, stay home more to take care of him and Tim while they all grieve, and try to keep the memory of the flying Graysons alive and help Dick (and Tim) stay in touch with his Romani roots. But Dick knows that wire snapping was foul play. He’s determined to go out there and bring his parent’s murderer to justice. He’s already strong and quick from his performing, and the Drakes enrolled him in self defence classes anyway since this is Gotham. He’s got what it takes. But Batman refuses to see that, he just sees a little boy in too-bright colours carrying too much weight on his shoulders, so he does his best to make Dick step back and bring in his parent’s murderer for him. But he never unmasks him or finds out his identity, even if he has suspicions.

Maybe in this AU Dick and Tim are closer in age and roam the streets as a duo of birds. Either Jason is still taken in by Bruce and joins Dick (and Tim(?)) in causing chaos and grey hairs, or Dick is the one to catch him jacking the Batmobile’s tires and gains his trust through months of sharing food and resources like he’s befriending a stray cat, until he agrees to go home to Drake Manor.

B) Bruce is still in the crowd that night, Jack and Janet aren’t legible to be foster guardians for whatever reason, and Dick is still adopted by Bruce and becomes his sidekick as Robin. Dick and Tim only meet a few times in Galas, and while Dick remembers he has a half-brother his brain trying to shield him from the trauma of that day makes his memories very fuzzy. He can’t even remember his brother’s name, just his age and that Dick promised to teach him the quadruple flip someday. Jack and Janet do their fanon usual neglect as a way to grieve and distance themselves from that trauma. Maybe they bring Tim with them for the first year or so. Either way, Tim still has the photo(s) from the day at the circus, so he gives one to Dick (maybe leaves it on his windowsill since they share backyards) in the hopes that he’ll remember Tim and reach out. Dick is eternally grateful for the photo but only because it’s of his parents, he doesn’t recognise Tim (he’s too young to visibly share any features with John except skin tone) and just thinks he’s a kind fan. The Drakes do share unusual fondness for Dick but assume that he remembers them and has chosen not to reach out, and are respecting his boundaries. So Dick grows, becomes Nightwing yada yada Jason becomes Robin (part of Dick hates that the other person to wear that mantle isn’t his real brother), Jason dies, everyone angsts and Tim steps in. Tim becomes Robin, maybe realises Dick doesn’t know they’re related but chooses not to tell him because he doesn’t want them to feel obligated; he wants to earn Robin. So he does. And yeah, a lot of it really sucks, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. A year or two in Dick goes on some mission at Haly’s circus (or searches through the rubble after Blockbuster burns it down), and finds a bunch of old letters and photos belonging to his parents. The letters are from the Drakes. The photos are of them and Tim.

Maybe Blockbuster found the letters too and targets Tim. Maybe Dick finds out they’re related when Tim is in the medbay. Maybe in a mess of being very young + traumatised + no one speaking abt it Tim separates the facts of ‘I have a half-brother’ and ‘I watched the Flying Graysons die’, and only suspects the two are connected. Maybe Bruce always had a suspicion because of their similar features. Maybe he did a DNA test and either chose not to or forgot to tell anyone the results. Maybe Cass thought it was common knowledge because of how Tim acts just a little bit different around Dick, so she makes some comment years down the line when Damian is bragging about being the only blood son, and is more than a little startled when everyone other than Tim including Dick looks at her like she started speaking in tongues.

Either way, Dick eventually makes good on his promise and teaches Tim that flip.

[space-dreams-world]

Two Graysons for one:

So we all know that Dick Grayson is supposed to become the greatest Talon of the Court of Owls: The Gray Son, Dick wasn't Mary and John's first child.

Enter Daphne Mary Grayson (Danny Fenton) the firstborn Grayson who dissapeared during Haley's tour in Europe.

The European Court of owls (Ecoo) were impatient for their Gray son and couldn't wait until Haley's arrived in Gotham. So they end up kidnapping Daphne, taken to become the possible Gray son, unaware Mary Grayson was pregnant with Dick at the time. Daphne does get small doses of electrum, but the Ecoo are waiting until she is older to fully convert her in a Talon for the court. During one of the plots to assainate an wealthy business person, an earthquake occurs and Daphne, injured ends up falling through a crevasse that connect to a cave system that directly leads to an ectoplasm pool that she accidently falls in.

Now this where things get tricky. Dick life still plays out the same way (Bruce bait, Robin, Nightwing,etc...) As Nightwing, Dick gets into contact with a magical-infused virus that could very well kill him unless he gets the blood of biological family member (John and Mary are dead, William Cobb has more electrum than blood in him and they cannot synthetisize the virus out of his blood to try put his blood back in him) this looks like it could be the very end of Dick Grayson. Everyone in the Family decides to air out their grievances to their big brother, the bird who brought all of them together. It's also worth mentioning that someone has been murdering influential people that are part of the Court around the world but has started to make their way towards Gotham warning them that their time is up.

Now, last time with Daphne, she fallen in an ectoplasm pool. What we find out is that after that fall, she appears in the states (Meddling Clockwork) unaware how they got there. Daphne gets spotted by Jazz Fenton and decides to be her big sister unaware that Daphne is somewhat disoriented from the ectoplasm and electrum sort of melding together giving Daphne some enhanced abilities like, slight healing, speed and able to go longer without proper sustenance. Daphne's electrum is barely visible around her heart and her eyes are blue with a ring of amber or gold with flecks of green ectoplasm.

The Drs. Fenton decide to "adopt" Daphne to please their daughter, and Daphne becomes Danny Janus Fenton. Canon episodes happen, except I want to say that Phantom Planet may have caused the Metahuman appearance. Danny's parents, while not to hate him anymore , can not get over their guilt that their passion killed their child. Danny is still close to Jazz, Tucker, Dani (Ellie and the clones), Valerie and Wes, surprisingly. Danny and Sam sort of split because Sam could understand that Danny was a murderer and Danny thought that Sam reminded them too much of their court days.

Danny would be genderfluid ( somedays it's Danny, others it's Daphne) since Danny always felt she lacked some control over her life.

Now, how do the Graysons meet? Two days before Dick possibly dies, someone is at the door. Alfred or possibly Tim opens it to inform them that they werent taking visitors before being shocked as the person at the door looks almost exactly like Dick (Tim would know as he has seen John and Mary Grayson before their demise) Danny goes to say that they are here to help their Baby brother as it was announced publicly that Dick Grayson has caught something terrible and was possibly on their last legs. Tim and the rest of the family want to get the validity that this is an actual relative of Dick and not some fake. Danny's D.N.A is uncorrupted enough that they can 100% tell that Danny is actually related to Dick on a much closer scale than they realize like an uncle or second-cousin, and they don't want to risk it. And if it didn't work, Danny wanted to see her baby brother alive before he died.

[thebat-musicman]

wait so you're telling me that Dick kept the photo of him hugging Tim (or a random sweet kid from the audience, as he remembers it) for years, in a safe? <3

Yes, but not because he’s hugging Tim in it.

The Drake family gave it to Dick after he was adopted because it’s the last photo of him with his parents.

Like this photo was taken just a few hours (or maybe less than an hour) before they died, so as far as we know it’s the last photo of the Grayson family being alive.

Tim stole it in order to verify his story, since the Drake family is also in the photo (Janet and Jack are standing by Mary and John, Tim is in Dick’s lap).

[hisaribi]

Reverse robins brainrot but not to the side even I expected

So Tim aged eighteen goes to circus with his father, because that was one of the last happy memories they had with Janet. Bruce also comes with sixteen years old Jason, who weren't in the field, just adopted by Bruce, because he uncovered student of his orphanage to criminal pipeline and was mostly training under Bruce and Damian to follow them, Damian is a part of covert operations team under the Justice League, he couldn't come because Arkham had an escape this day and he needed to come here to deal with it.

Apparently Mary Grayson remembered Drakes and specifically Janet, and seemed really sad that she died. Drakes and Graysons made a photo about ten years ago, and well, somehow they decided to make another photo together. Back than it was Mary, her brother Rick, his wife Karla and their son John, who at that time was six and didn't act on trapeze. Now they expanded with Mary's husband John and their child Dick. The kid was very enthusiastic, telling Tim he was allowed to family's routine for the first time (which was a lie, he just tells it to everyone who aren't really deep into the following circus circles on media or whatever, because people get worried if they hear he's been doing it for a couple of years already). But this time he was mostly to do some tricks in the begining with cousin John and at the end with his parents, because he was still getting better from a bad cold he had, and he was only allowed to act out the less risky parts of their show. Tim told him he would watch for his performance, even though this whole thing still left a bittersweet taste in his mouth, but the kid didn't need to know that. Dick was a very tactile kid and hugged Tim closely. What neither Drakes noted was how Dick stole Tim's wallet, and how cousin John got it back to exactly the same pocket. He promised not to tell parents, but for that Dick would have to bring him an ice cream after the show.

Tim and Jason were sort of friendly in a way that our father's get all over each other but not in the romantic sense and we have to awkwardly stand next to them while they talk to each other and catch up for literal hours. Jason also shared that Damian couldn't come, but was somewhat indifferent to that, because Damian had always called Jason a charity case, so their relationship were strained, he didn't know about the current Arkham escape, while Bruce did. They politely talked about school, circus and some tv show that was big lately.

From time to time they made jokes or comment about the act on stage, sometimes framing everything as a reference to some meme or show just because they could.

And then the Flying Graysons came, a closing act, and Tim told Jason about what he knew about the family and their youngest member, Jason sort of frowned about the kid this young being allowed to risk so much, but both just decided that circus people were crazy just like that.

And then they saw the family fall during the difficult trick Dick didn't participate in.

His only alive Grayson relative from the group was Rick, all the news were about it, and well, Mr Wayne was somewhat invested, and well, Tim followed news, all movements and threads, he almost ready to reason with his father to adopt Dick, because... there was some other player that didn't let the kid stay in circus' care, and it surely wasn't out of his best interests, because he ended up in juvenile.

And then somehow an alive relative resurfaces, a sister of Karla living in the Gotham, Harleen Quinzel. Mind you that she isn't Harley Quinn yet, even though she already works with Joker and other mentally unstable villains as an Arkham therapist, and while she's single, she can afford take a good care of a child. She didn't have a chance to meet him in person yet before all of that happened, but they were both aware of each other, and even talked like once over video call, mostly because Harleen's nephew John was showing her some moves and Dick also wanted to show off with his cousin who he loved dearly, so yes, they were practically strangers. She was to come to their performance, but got caught up in an Arkham escape attempt.

And yet she was his relative, even though they didn't share any blood, so she took him in. Aunt-in-law and all that.

And then the Joker and Harley era came, and while Harleen really tried to make sure Dick stays out of it, he was searching for ways to avenge his parents. So it all turned into a big mess. Tim followed what was going on, he learned that the kid everyone called Pierrot, after he got caught on camera doing a trick no even much of adult athletes could do, was Dick Grayson, and well, he didn't kill, but he acted as a decoy more than once, he taunted police, other goons, Batman and Wraith, while at the same time leading children away from the craziness and harm's way. Also he was as likely to help bad guys as he (though everybody thought Pierrot was a girl, and more than that, Harley and Joker's daughter) was likely to help good guys.

Was as likely to take victims to safety as to danger. Show vigilante and police a way to ruin Joker's plans as to lead them into traps. Do what he was told to do by Harley and Joker as to do exactly opposite.

He covered his face with two-sided black and white mask, one part was smiling. Some said that it could be understood what he was going to do by the way he tilted his head, but so far it wasn't ever accurate.

And then Harley and Joker got caught and put to Arkham. At that point Tim tipped Batman on who the kid possibly was, and he told that to Jim, because having a tiny child running errands for super-vilains wasn't really sitting with any of them well.

So Batman was let to talk to Harley.

"Where is your nephew-in-law, Richard Grayson?" Batman said. Harley looked a bit out of it, but then smiled.

"He's in the walls." But then Harley surprised everyone when she grabbed Batman, he was expecting her to steal something from him, but he still let her do so. "There is a Talon after him, Bats, don't let him take little guy away."

First thought they got was that they killed a child and put him literally inside some wall, but then some records showed Pierrot from time to time coming to Harley, and that was how they caught him. And the phrase about Talon sort of made sense, as there was a figure in black following the kid.

Tim was the one to actually follow and find Dick. Mostly because Dick remembered him from circus and became curious why Tim was jumping on roofs without funny costume.

So ye, here we have this brainrot

[mysterycitrus]

I'm forever thinking about persephone pt2 when dick talks about robin as a mantle and how mary grayson's death haunts it and how now so many kids have used the name and died with it, and so when I was reading through New Teen Titans #55 recently, kory's thoughts about dick when he goes to bruce after finding out about jason's death really just ripped my heart in two in a whole different way...

"He hasn’t been the same since he found out about Jason. Oh, Dick- I know you were Robin. I know what this means to you that the new Robin died. I know you feel like part of you died, too- but it wasn’t you, honey. Robin died. But you didn’t. You’re still alive!"

yes!!! yes!!!!! im very very happy that connected with u — death in the family + lonely place of dying + new teen titans + war games were big big rereads for me when i was writing that part. my regret is that i haven’t been able to include an interaction with steph (im committed to keeping her as far away from bruce as possible) but yeah it was so crucial for dick to know that robin had literally gotten children killed. partially because it proves that bruce is a hypocrite, and partially to show how divorced robin has become from its original meaning and purpose. my intention was the same as my version of the pearls falling — to change the context enough to give the actual text new meaning!

i did a lot of reading about romani funeral/practises of mourning, because i think how dick and bruce grieve differently are big parts of their respective characters, and also a significant factor in their estrangement post-robin and post-jason. bruce is trapped in the alley metaphorically, but he also maintains his family home as a mausoleum. he spends a lot of time looking at family portraits, thinking about the pearls, seeing himself as a child in the house. jason’s suit remains in its glass box. he is unable to process his grief, nor does he want to. that pain is the driving force behind his desire to do good.

dick is transient by comparison — he’s never shown to have a lot of worldly possessions (he arrives in bludhaven with a duffel bag and nothing else) and his one point of physical connection to his parents is usually just the poster that shows up sporadically in canon. i didn’t want to misinterpret romani practices for a gd batman fanfic, so i tried to introduce different motivation for how dick utilises his own grief to take action. he uses his family to create a legacy for himself to protect their memory.

with that in mind, it becomes even more devastating that bruce has taken that and given it to others, without explaining the reasons behind its creation. literally, like what if dick used the wayne portrait for kindling? that’s probably the closest point of comparison.

dick actually explaining to donna and roy what robin meant vs its legacy that is totally out of his control was also really important. they still call him robin a decade later! he’s their robin! it’s so important to know that that name persists for him, no matter how many others have worn the cape!