#the first robin

[chaoswiththeprettyspine]

*plays slipping through my fingers by ABBA*

This was made for this tumblr post I made a while ago.

[mikyapixie]

𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 & 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐝

[nightwingsjockstrap]

hi birthday boy 🫦

[catscraftsandcommentary]

Someone (idk who, hit me up with ideas...maybe de-aged Tim?) decides that they don't WANT to call their oldest Bat-brother "Penis" and they don't want to be formal, so they...improvise.

They tried "Duck" for a while, but that sounded too much like an order to "GET DOWN" (imagine multiple bats hitting the floor over NOTHING), so now Dick is Ducky.

I *NEED* Dick cuddling a smol child who very stubbornly calls him Ducky. Followed by the rest of the family (and friends, and wider vigilante/hero community) also calling him Ducky.

(Then people start gifting him stuffed animal ducks and rubber ducks and carved wooden ducks and duck-themed clothing and Nightwing has unwillingly become Duck Man. He dresses as Daffy Duck for Halloween and Jason dies laughing. Then Tim appears as Bugs, Dick hands Jason a hunter's cap and prop hunting rifle and tells him "your move, Elmer." It's the silliest, most fun patrol they've had in YEARS.)

[youngjusticerulez]

Wally: no cause like...how did 'for real' become 'fr'

Wally: and how did 'brother' become 'bro'

Wally, grinning: and how did 'you' become 'mine'?

Kaldur: ...wha..

Dick, tearing up: bro..

Their bromance is peak

[quotidian-oblivion]

It's funny how easy it is to push Dick away as a happy-go-lucky sunshine and rainbows and unicorns man when he's really the angriest member of the whole Batfam.

Like, it took Jason 15 years and a reasonable cause.

Dickie was ready to murder a bitch at 8.

This boy arrived at the manor with nothing but a simple suitcase, a toy elephant, sass, and 500 pounds of spiteful anger.

And the only thing that's changed now is the suitcase.

@sardonic-sprite

[who-ishana]

‧₊ ᵎᵎ Dick Grayson x Female!Reader ⋅ ˚✮

"My interest is to lay with you

To laugh and have nothin' to do

How else can it be proven to you

That I'm devout? I spill right out"

Summary: Dick never planned a big romantic gesture for this— but something spur-of-the-moment feels more real than anything else. So he proposes in the most unexpected way, out of nowhere, on a lazy Sunday.

A/n: Second person pov :( I'm dying, send help. I was this close to crashing out while trying to figure sure how to write in third person without addressing the reader. Ooc ig??? Idk? I'm still getting through some of the comics (because I'm rushing everything and want to know everything about the fandom already). I ran into a comic store a few days ago and saw Green Lantern comics, and I may or may not have gotten obsessed with those green fellas (especially Kyle Rayner) I'm definitely writing for Kyle next giggling.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Dick had always imagined proposing with some kind of plan in his mind. A string of fairy lights. Maybe a quiet dinner by the waterfront. A ring in a velvet box. Something worthy of you. Something memorable for both of you. But this… this was just a lazy Sunday morning, the kind where sunlight filtered through the cheap curtains and made everything feel softer than it actually was. The kind where you didn't have anywhere to be, and time stretched out like warm taffy, slow and syrupy.

The apartment smelled like coffee. Not the good kind, either. The kind Dick brewed half-asleep, too stubborn to admit you made it better. He stood in the kitchen barefoot, wearing flannel pants, watching the old toaster struggle with two slightly burnt waffles. You sat on the counter behind him, legs swinging, oversized hoodies—that was definitely his—swallowing you whole, hair a mess.

You were mid-sentence about something—a weird dream, maybe, or that one episode of a show you'd both half-watched last night—when he turned around and just… looked at you.

And in that moment, it hit him.

There wasn't going to be a better time. There didn't need to be. He didn't need fireworks or orchestras or some rooftop setup with candles. He just needed you—all real, and true self—here.

So, before he could talk himself out of it, Dick set down the plate and walked over.

You stopped talking when you saw the look on his face. Your head tilted, curious, but not nervous. Just wondering.

"Hey," he said, voice scratchy with sleep and something else, something a little more serious.

"Hi," you replied, lifting your eyebrows slightly. "What’s with the face?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just stepped between your legs and rested his hands on your hips, thumbs brushing the soft cotton of your hoodie. He smiled, kind of lopsided, kind of dazed. Like he couldn’t believe it took him this long.

"You wanna get married?" he asked, like he was offering you the last bite of his waffle. So casual, soft, and real.

You blinked.

"...What?"

"I mean it," he said, his voice lower now, steadier. "I know this is probably the least romantic way to do it. And I don't have a ring right now. And I haven't asked your dad or planned some big thing. But I’m standing here looking at you—hair a mess, sitting on my counter, probably judging my breakfast skills—and I just… I can’t imagine doing this life without you. Like, any of it."

You stared at him for a second, then another. And then you laughed, that kind of startled, delighted laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep.

"Dick Grayson," you said, eyes shining, "are you seriously proposing to me while I’m wearing your clothes and you’re burning waffles at the back?"

He grinned. "Yes, obviously."

You shook your head like you couldn't believe him, but your hands slid around his neck anyway. You kissed him, soft and smiling, and he felt it in his chest; that slow warmth, that ease, that rightness. Like coming home.

When you pulled back, you rested your forehead against his. "Okay," you whispered. "Let's get married."

He didn't need a ring right then. Or a big speech. Or a plan. Just this.

Just you.

[violentbat]

I know kid Dick Grayson completely lost his shit once in a while, convinced between sleep deprivation and the millions of activities he's doing at school that somehow his misplaced pixie boots or domino mask or some incriminating evidence is at school or on that elevator button he pressed or maybe one of his snack wrappers fell out of his pocket at a crime scene. When the kid finally cracked at some point of near insanity, Bruce would drive him to crime scenes and show him how to destroy evidence and calm him down or Alfred would drive Dick between activities so he could relax and retrieve a domino mask from a gym locker.