#look up purple hyacinths in flower language for a fun little peek at dick’s feelings that he’s NEVER going to communicate lmao

[ofbatsandballads]

so I guess I’m writing for Dick now? i’ve been nonstop listening to “the secret of us” by Gracie Abrams and while every soft, sweet song reminds me of Jason, every brutal, heartbreaking song reminds me of Dick. i was zoning out listening to “us.” and “blowing smoke” and this just…appeared. so have my first Dick Grayson blurb!

The secret of you and Dick Grayson might kill you.

It’s the little things that destroy you in the aftermath. He bought you poetry books. Age old love stories lie abandoned on your bedside table now. He’d read them to you, melodic voice waxing poetic with someone else’s words about the lovers of Greece and Babylon and Rome. And you, in all your great wisdom, truly believed that he meant it. That somehow he’d made those words his own. Bullshit. False prophets led you blindly into love with him. And the worst part? You’d gone willingly. Whatever, it’s fine. It’s all ashes now anyways.

But one thing stands true; Dick Grayson is incomparable. You can’t kiss anyone else without the taste of him haunting you. You can’t let anyone else touch you without closing your eyes and seeing ocean blue that isn’t there. It felt like fate to you the day you met; for him it was just another Monday morning. But sometimes, just sometimes, you swear it wasn’t. Sometimes when there’s purple hyacinths left on your windowsill at 3am, you can think that he held it for that brief moment in time too. And when he shows up on your rooftop, shining brighter than all the stars in the midnight sky? Well, maybe then you know he felt it too.

[strangepoppy]

Damn, such beautiful imagery.

so I guess I’m writing for Dick now? i’ve been nonstop listening to “the secret of us” by Gracie Abrams and while every soft, sweet song reminds me of Jason, every brutal, heartbreaking song reminds me of Dick. i was zoning out listening to “us.” and “blowing smoke” and this just…appeared. so have my first Dick Grayson blurb!

The secret of you and Dick Grayson might kill you.

It’s the little things that destroy you in the aftermath. He bought you poetry books. Age old love stories lie abandoned on your bedside table now. He’d read them to you, melodic voice waxing poetic with someone else’s words about the lovers of Greece and Babylon and Rome. And you, in all your great wisdom, truly believed that he meant it. That somehow he’d made those words his own. Bullshit. False prophets led you blindly into love with him. And the worst part? You’d gone willingly. Whatever, it’s fine. It’s all ashes now anyways.

But one thing stands true; Dick Grayson is incomparable. You can’t kiss anyone else without the taste of him haunting you. You can’t let anyone else touch you without closing your eyes and seeing ocean blue that isn’t there. It felt like fate to you the day you met; for him it was just another Monday morning. But sometimes, just sometimes, you swear it wasn’t. Sometimes when there’s purple hyacinths left on your windowsill at 3am, you can think that he held it for that brief moment in time too. And when he shows up on your rooftop, shining brighter than all the stars in the midnight sky? Well, maybe then you know he felt it too.