#and yes I did reference the sandman episode 11 with the 'you came' 'you called' because you can't tell me bruce wouldn't pull that

[devilfic]

could you do some more stuff on bruce with reader and dick ? the christmas one was ADORABLE AND I JUST CANT HANDLE okay thanks

a/n: you were probably hoping for something fluffy and I APOLOGIZE but I also really wanted to explore the relationship you'd have with dick when you first take him in and show how he grows to trust you ;-;;;;

imagine that it’s right after you and bruce take in dick. he’s angry, he’s grieving, he’s cold. it’s been a rough few weeks since the deaths of his parents. you and bruce had thought about having kids one day but it was never the right time, not until that night when it all happened and bruce looked at you and you just knew.

and then you’d somehow convinced this kid (this kid who looked the spitting image of your husband already, like he was destined to be yours) to let you keep him. not to be his parents because you could never replace john and mary grayson, but to give him a safe place to stay. dick is too young to be this angry but he agrees because he can’t find his parents’ killer when he’s too busy hopping from foster home to foster home with no end in sight.

and you expect that it’ll take time but it doesn’t make his rejection hurt any less. he never stays in the room long enough to talk to either of you, and when he does, he’s always asking about the investigation. it breaks your heart every time to tell him the gcpd are still looking, following leads that you both have a feeling lead nowhere. they don’t know where tony zucco is. you can see the frustration growing in him and the resentment too.

you try to be there because bruce can’t. how can he? he’s so busy looking, chasing those same leads as the bat every night. it makes it harder for dick to trust bruce. he’s a stranger to him. always working, never home. as far as dick was concerned, bruce didn’t give a rat’s ass about finding his parents’ murderer. but every night, from sundown to sun up, your husband was scouring the streets for the man that had ruined dick’s life. but you can’t tell dick that part. bruce isn’t ready.

and one night, it’s storming. it’s not uncommon in gotham but you feel your stomach flip at a crack of thunder. something pulls you out of your sleep, out of your empty bed and down the hall to dick’s room. the door is always shut and locked but now it’s cracked open. a peek inside and he’s nowhere to be found. your stomach drops at another crack of thunder.

you tear the penthouse apart and even alfred can’t tell you when he’d last seen him. it’s then that you notice his coat and shoes are gone, and you’re out the door with barely enough time to get dressed or to heed alfred’s warning.

your instincts are telling you that wherever he is, and god forbid he’s in a ditch somewhere with the kind of types that hang around the city this late, he’s close. even if you can’t see him. you keep searching the skies as if you’ll find him there when the bat signal flips on, and you realize that all this time, your instincts have been leading you right to it.

you reach the top of the building and find dick there, staring off into the sky, and you can’t help but demand to know what he was thinking running off like that. what if he’d gotten hurt or worse? what if you’d lost him for good?

and he’s got this look on his face like he’s freezing and doesn’t want you to notice because then you’ll just cover him in your coat and freeze too. because you would and have. you would do anything to protect him. “you won’t help me.”

“that’s not true, dick. these things take time. trust me, the gcpd is doing everything they can to find that man. we’re not letting zucco get away with what he did to your parents. you have to believe me.”

dick’s scoffing at you. If he wasn’t so small, still chubby-cheeked and rosy, his snark would put him beyond your years, “the police won’t find him. batman will.”

dick doesn’t know how right he is but you try to steer him away, telling him that batman is a vigilante and that there’s no way to prove if you can trust him, but it’s like everything you say goes in one ear and out the other. at some point, you tell him that bruce would be home soon and seeing dick missing would tear him up inside and, without missing a beat, dick tells you “he’d have to be around to care.”

and how do you reconcile with that? how do you make a child feel loved and cared for with nothing to show for it? nothing you can show for it?

you don’t know what you and bruce were thinking. you weren’t ready. you must have wanted to be so bad that you mistook it for something it wasn’t. dick grayson didn’t need new parents. he’d told you as much the minute you’d offered to take him in. of course he’d run away. as far as dick was concerned, all you’d given him was a pretty house to mourn in.

you almost forget why you’re up here.

dick spots him before you do, the dark knight, and from where you’re kneeling you can imagine what he must look like to a child. a boogeyman or an angel, something other than human. dick runs at him as if he’s all that and more. completely enamored. bruce can’t ask with dick there but his eyes flicker to you and you must look pitiful.

it’s just that dick is so. starstruck. you’ve never seen him like this in all the time he’s been with you. it almost feels worth it keeping the secret, then. “you came.” dick sighs.

you’re thinking about all the things bruce’s eyes are saying. he’s focused on this little boy, too afraid to look away, almost too afraid to speak. what if dick could tell? what if he mistook this for some cruel joke? but then bruce puts his hand on dick’s shoulder and would you believe it? for the first time, dick lets bruce touch him, “you called.”

“I need your help, batman.” dick pleads. you shut your eyes, unable to look at bruce or dick knowing what’s coming next. “someone took my parents away from me. I need to find him. and I need your help.”

a few moments pass. you dare crack open an eye, ready to sweep dick out of there and suffer his anger on the way home. anything to avoid seeing the inevitable heartbreak in your husband’s expression. you couldn’t take it. but you falter when you see bruce kneeling before the kid. he’s schooled his expression into something reminiscent of the symbol, the impenetrable, immovable batman, “the graysons, right? the flying graysons. you’re the kid.”

you can hear the shock in dick’s voice, “you know me?”

“I don’t forget a face,” you watch bruce smile, “or someone as talented as you. your parents were good people. I’m sorry for your loss… which is why I’m doing everything I can to find him, dick. I promise I’ll find him.”

“let me help.” bruce laughs—or gasps—at how sudden and stubborn his request is. dick immediately takes offense, “I’m not kidding.”

“no, no. I know you’re not. you just… remind me of someone. I believe you. but not just anybody can do what I do.”

“I can fight! a little. I need some training. but I’m really flexible! and I’m fast.”

“that’s good. people underestimate you when you’re small and lean.”

“how do I get superpowers like you?”

“I don’t have powers.”

“then how do you fly?”

bruce drags his cape between the two of them, eyes sparkling, “physics.”

dick doesn’t even know what that means. he still says “coooooool” like he does. “can I have a cape?”

taking dick’s hand in yours, you try your best not to say bruce’s name when you mean batman (because let’s be honest, the man in front of you is more bruce than anything—all soft eyes, tender voice, careful smiles), insisting that it’s late and way past dick’s bedtime and that you both really need to get home before this storm gets worse when dick begs batman to take you both home in his “super cool” car. and really, how can either of you refuse him?

so you keep him in your lap on the drive home, watching bruce explain what each of the little knobs and buttons do, but dick never runs out of questions. “how fast can you go?” “do you have other cars?” “does it have a name? can I name it?” bruce meets every single one of them with the breathless, youthful kind of joy you get when a child trusts you, really trusts and likes you. even if it’s not really him, it’s enough.

it must be a sight, crawling out of the batman’s car onto the sidewalk. dick clearly doesn’t want to go with his hands on the door begging to see batman again.

“you will,” bruce assures him, looking over at you for just a split second, “I promise.”

it’s days later when bruce gives you the go ahead and you take dick down into the elevator, the one you’d always told him didn’t work anymore. the first thing he sees is bruce at his desk with his cowl in his hands and that shocking black paint across his eyes, waiting with more fear than you’d seen in him fighting his greatest enemies. you don’t think he could take the rejection if this went badly.

bruce steps forward, kneels before dick, tender and vulnerable and open. dick’s shoulders tremble beneath your hands. “I think I found him, but I need your help. so no more secrets.” bruce holds out his hand, shaky and bare, “deal?”

dick is silent for a long time; lips pursed, eyes blown wide. you think he even stops breathing, his chest refusing to rise and fall. you brush a hand through his hair, whispering his name, and catch your husband’s worried eyes. was it too soon? had he scared off dick altogether?

but dick places his hand in bruce’s, so small in comparison. it’s such a shy touch that bruce doesn’t even close his hand around it, too afraid. doesn’t want to scare him. doesn’t want to indulge too much in this kid, so much like himself, finding safety and solace in him. because dick isn’t looking for parents. he wants answers, revenge, justice, whatever he called it to sleep better. and if all you and bruce could do for him is give him that closure, you would. and if dick wanted to leave when it was all said and done, you would let him do that too.

that evening, dick takes dinner with you two and alfred. you take heart in the fact that dick allows you this much. it’s one step, small as it may be, in the right direction.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @angxlictexrs @moonlightreader649 @geekyfer @thescarletfang @navs-bhat

[the-homicidediaries]

Terry Jo Duperrault

Alone: Orphaned on the Ocean

Hi guys!

So as most of you know, I love true crime. I love learning new stories I’d never heard about and trying to break down why evil, sociopathic people do the things they do.

I started writing essays on my wall after I was laid off from my job, and it low key kinda blew up, haha.

I haven’t been on it lately, but that’s changing right now!

I want to share crazy, true stories that most people don’t know about.

Most of us know Bundy, Ramirez, Ridgeway, Gacy, Dahmer, etc.

I want to talk about the lesser known, the most evil. Muahahaha.

The story I am telling now is quite literally unbelievable, but it is fascinating. And it has a (sort of) happy ending.

This is the story of Terry Jo Duperrault.

(I first heard this story on one of my favorite podcasts, My Favorite Murder. It’s episode 28 - His Liver With Some Fava Beans and A Nice Chianti.)

I really tried to find out where Terry Jo was born, but I can’t find anything about her childhood or what city in Wisconsin she’s actually from, so I’ll start from what I did find.

Terry Jo was the middle child to Arthur Duperrault and Jean Duperrault. Together they had three children; Brian, 14, Terry Jo, 11, and René, 7.

Arthur was an optometrist, Jean’s occupation wasn’t disclosed.

Arthur had been dying (lol pun) to take his family out sailing. His plan was to sail for an entire year, all over the world.

In 1961, Arthur had become so successful that the opportunity to sail with his family arose and he seized it. Instead of spending the winter in Wisconsin, he decided he and his family would sail to the Bahamas.

The plan was to rent a boat, sail for a week, like a trial run, and see how everything went. If they enjoyed their time, they would extend the trip further.

I’m not even good at geography, but I know you can’t get to the Bahamas from Wisconsin, so Arthur and his family traveled to Fort Lauderdale, FL, and rented the ship, Bluebelle. They hired Julian Harvey, a former Air Force fighter pilot and a very experienced sailor, to man the ship.

Julian’s wife, Dene Harvey, would also accompany them.

On Wednesday November 8, 1961, the Duperrault’s and the Harvey’s began their voyage.

Eventually, they all reached the Bahamas safely, an island called Sandy Point to be specific, and Arthur was completely astounded by how beautiful the beaches were.

The Duperrault’s and Harvey’s spent the next four days snorkeling and collecting shells.

(Honestly, goals.)

Early Sunday, Arthur and the Harvey’s stopped by the office of Sandy Point village commissioner Roderick W. Pinder to fill out forms for leaving the Bahamas and returning to the United States.

“This has been a once in a lifetime vacation,” Duperrault told Pinder. “We’ll be back before Christmas.”

That night, Dene prepared a dinner of chicken cacciatore and salad. It was to be the last meal ever served on the Bluebelle.

(Just for reference, because I’m a foodie too, cacciatore is an Italian dish that’s prepared with braised chicken or rabbit and a sauce made of tomatoes, onions, bell peppers and herbs. It looks heckin’ good on Google images. 😂)

‘Kay anyway.

This isn’t about Arthur. This is about Terry Jo.

Around 9 pm that Sunday night, Terry Jo headed down the the sleeping quarters. Normally her little sister René would sleep with her, but this particular night, René went upstairs to sleep with her parents and brother in the cockpit.

In the middle of the night, Terry Jo was abruptly awoken by her brother, Brian. He was yelling, “Help, Daddy! Help!” (Completely horrifying.) She heard footsteps and someone running around, then silence. She laid in her bed, shivering, terrified, and disoriented for about five minutes.

When she finally crept out of the cabin, she saw her mother and brother lying in a pool of blood and she instantly knew they were dead.

Just a uh, a friendly reminder. She’s 11.

She slowly climbed the stairs and saw more blood and what she thought might have been a knife.

Suddenly Captain Harvey lunged at her and shoved her down.

“Get back down there!”

She quietly went back to her quarters. Once she reached her bunker, however, she realized the ship was sinking. Her room smelled of oily water and she was sloshing when she walked. Once she realized the ship was sinking she was too afraid to move.

Suddenly she saw the captain’s dark form silhouetted in the cabin’s doorway. He had something in his hands, possibly her brother’s rifle, and stood looking down at her.

Then

He turned around and went back to the upper level of the ship.

Thinking fast, she climbed to the top of the stairs again. She noticed the ship’s dinghy and a cork life raft floating in the main cabin.

She called out to Harvey. “Is the ship sinking?”

“Yes!” he yelled back. “Hold this.”

He handed her the line to the dinghy but she was so shocked by what she just witnessed, (and who wouldn’t be?), the line slipped right through her fingers. As the dinghy floated away, Harvey jumped in after it and disappeared into the night, leaving a, (AND I AM REITERATING HERE), an ELEVEN. YEAR. OLD. CHILD. On a sinking ship where he had just murdered her entire family and his wife. (Yes, his wife. We will get into that. Did I mention they had only been married for a few months?)

This smart girl, dude. She’s so smart. She remembered the cork life raft and quickly ran to the main cabin to retrieve it. It was barely above water when she reached it. She scrambled for a bit to untie it and just as the float came free, the boat deck sank beneath her feet into the ocean. Half crawling, half swimming, she pushed the float into the open water.

But right as she was getting used to floating on this cork float, one of the lines got caught on Bluebelle and she began sinking with the ship.

SOMEHOW it came loose and she was floating all alone, in the dark, in the middle of the ocean. She huddled low though. She was so afraid that Captain Harvey was waiting for her and was going to kill her next.

She had no water, no food, and, in her thin white blouse and pink pants, nothing to protect her from the cold night.

She could hear the wind but couldn’t see anything. The waves kept hitting her like a ton of bricks and the salt was stinging her eyes and lips.

SHE WAS ELEVEN.

Okay. Got it? Get it got it got it good?

Okaaaaay

The next morning, Monday, she went from freezing cold to being scorched by the 85° weather. Her float was beginning to disintegrate and her legs were being bitten by parrot fish. Her tongue was becoming drier and drier.

On Tuesday, a red plane flew by and she waved her blouse for what seemed like an eternity hoping they would notice, but they didn’t. At one point it dove in her direction and she could reach the print on the underside of the plane, but it was at an angle and the pilots couldn’t see her. 🥺

Okay so this is the part of the story where I cry. And if you don’t cry, you’re heartless.

This also seems unbelievable, but my heart of hearts tells me to trust it.

That afternoon, about 30 yards away, Terry Jo noticed these figures in the water.

What were they?

People coming to rescue her? No.

Sharks? No

Octopi? No.

Dolphins? Y E S

FRIGGIN

🐬DOLPHINS🐬

They swam closer to her and stayed by her side for hours.

I just die, that’s so cute. 😭😭😭

Anywayyyy, so Tuesday came and went. I believe we are up to 36 hours at sea now? I’m bad at math but it sounds good to me.

Wednesday came and the sun was burning bright on her tight, sunburned skin. Her eyes were also dry from the salt and the heat. Her lips were dry and swollen, probably from being dehydrated. At this point her float had all but disintegrated and she had to balance herself to stay afloat. She also began hallucinating this point. She saw a tiny little island with one single palm tree and frantically swan towards it. But it disappeared.

She fell unconscious.

When the sun rose on Thursday, she did not feel its burning rays. She was in a deep sleep close to the threshold of death.

On the fourth day of this eleven year old little girl being lost at sea, she suddenly woke up to see a huge shadow being cast over her. When she looked up, she saw arms flailing and she could faintly hear screaming.

And at last, she felt herself being suspended into the air and rescued.

Wow anyone else feel like a huge weight has been lifted off their shoulders?

I’m going to copy and paste this next section from https://www.rd.com/true-stories/survival/orphaned-on-the-ocean-the-unbelievable-story-of-terry-jo-duperrault/ because they describe this better than I could.

(It’s late fam. Leave me alone.)

“When Julian Harvey was hired as skipper of the Bluebelle, not a lot was known about his earlier life. The 44-year-old was a retired Air Force lieutenant colonel married to Mary Dene Jordan, an aspiring writer and a former TWA flight attendant.

The day after the Bluebelle went down, the lookout on a Puerto Rico–bound oil tanker spotted a small wooden dinghy floating in the middle of the broad and deep Northwest Providence Channel. When the captain pulled the tanker closer, a man in the dinghy yelled, “My name is Julian Harvey. I am master of the Bluebelle.”

In the days that followed, Harvey told the Coast Guard in Miami that he was the sole survivor of a grave accident. In the middle of the previous night, he reported, a sudden squall damaged the sailboat. His wife, Dene, and the Duperraults were injured when the masts and rigging collapsed. Gas lines in the engine room ruptured, and the ship caught fire as it slowly sank. Harvey said he had managed to launch the dinghy and raft and dive overboard, but tangled rigging trapped everyone else on board.

A few days later, installed at the Sandman Hotel, Harvey heard that Terry Jo had survived. The next day, a maid at the hotel saw blood on the sheets in Harvey’s room. When she couldn’t open the bathroom door, her manager called the police. They forced the door open and found Harvey’s bloody, lifeless body on the floor, a suicide.”

Coward.

After Terry Jo was rescued, she was air lifted to the Miami hospital. After a week of recovery, she was questioned by police and she told them of her interactions with Harvey and how she saw her brother and mother lying dead in their own blood.

Her father, mother, brother, and younger sister, along with Dene Harvey, had been slaughtered aboard the Bluebelle, at the hands of Julian Harvey. The police suspect that Harvey killed his wife to collect money from her life insurance, and one theory suggests that Arthur caught Harvey in the act, prompting the other murders. No survivors to rat him out, butttttt.

Why leave Terry Jo, though?

It almost seems like a game of cat and mouse to me. He could have easily killed her and gotten away with this, (it was 1961 ya know). But he didn’t. He even tried to get her to help them escape the sinking ship.

Miraculously, Terry Jo did not have any permanent damage to her body and made a full recovery after 11 days. (Coincidence?)

When she was 12, she changed her name to Tere and moved in with her aunt and three cousins.

And wanna know something crazy? She JUST came forward about all of this in 2010. She wrote a book called Alone: Orphaned on the Sea, which I will eventually be buying.

She also had an interview with Oprah.

She seems to be living a normal life and moving on the best she can. I’ll post a picture of her today.

And that is the insanely true and utterly unbelievable story of Terry Jo Duperrault.

Pictured below her Terry Jo in the raft that the rescuers took and her in the hospital. Also a more recent picture of her.

Thank you for reading. ❤️