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#tim is so obsessed with them
starrrbakerrr · 1 year
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HSMTMTS Appreciation Week Day 2: Favorite Dynamic
"Nobody amuses Gina like Ricky and nobody makes Ricky happy like Gina." -Tim Federle (creator)
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ew-selfish-art · 1 year
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Dp x Dc AU: Tim doesn’t rest, not even in Death.
It’s a heart attack that gets him, well, that and the insane amount of fear toxin flooding his system. He was dead for a full three minutes before he watches (how was he watching?) his eldest brother get his heart going again and get his unconscious body to the cave. Alfred gets him onto bat-life support and Leslie looks gravely at his family after she’s done her best to heal him. They decide to keep trying, they don’t want to believe he’s gone.
Tim watches in fury. He’s more useful than this, he’s not just going to die and let the family mourn him! Tim sets to work trying to understand what’s happened to him and he realizes he must be a ghost. Therefore, if he wants to understand ghosts he needs to go where ghosts are, and thankfully he just read a JLD doc saying to avoid Amity Park at all costs.
It’s takes him a second to get used to flying at full speed, but he finds himself surrounded by strange people in a strange town and… he notices himself becoming more visible. He’s able to interact with more and more objects, he even picked up a pencil! Poltergeist is a step forward in his plan, Tim accepts this change of pace.
Then Tim meets Danny, a normal human kid who looks like he could be brought into the manor and given a cape, who looks straight at him.
“Wait, who are you? You didn’t die in Amity did you?”
“No, I died in Gotham. I came here to understand how I’m a ghost and how I can get back to my dying body. I just need a few answers.” Tim explains, and notices that his voice isn’t his own, like it’s a different language entirely that comes out.
“Well, uh, I dunno about going back to your body but it’s not safe for you to be here. The GIW are looking for lost souls like you that people won’t notice go missing. So get back to your family and find peace. Im sorry but that’s really the best advice I have.” Danny answers.
Tim begs him for answers on the GIW. Begs him for any answers at all. Danny shrugs him off each time, tell him that he’s just a ghost and he needs to move on before he gets hurt or becomes a problem.
Tim decides if he’s a problem, he’ll probably get more answers.
Soon enough, he’s stepping into the end of a battle where Phantom is getting Skulker into a thermos, and demands answers, and if not answers help.
They brawl, and Tim’s training as Red Robin gets him farther than a lot of ghosts. And then, when he knows he’s beat and he’s about to share thermos space with the robot jackass (who he can interrogate and then build his own robot) Tim realizes something.
“You’re still alive, aren’t you? You’re Danny, black hair and blue eyes.” Tim says and suddenly Phantom is as still as the dead despite the accusation.
“How the fuck- dude. Okay, you know what? Fine. Lets go talk, you’re clearly not giving up and I need you to never say that shit out loud ever again.”
Because blackmail works in life for Tim, blackmail also apparently works in death.
He’s given all of the info they have on the GIW, he’s introduced to ghost technology and how it works with ectoplasm. He’s told about the portal (although they refuse to sneak him into the house to see it- he can handle a few lasers, ugh) and he’s told about the general sequence of events in Danny’s life/death.
And then Tim is suddenly back in his body in Gotham.
The family found a way to bring him back and he’s 100% alive, no longer ghostly, but he retained all his memories.
“We have a war against the government to start” are not the first words his family expected to hear from Tim post death.
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fuumiku · 6 months
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Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization
The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.
If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:
Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.
Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.
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It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.
Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.
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hawktims · 9 months
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FELLOW TRAVELERS (2023) 1.03 | HIT ME
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scarlet-herring · 3 months
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love brainstorming reverse robin aus. like how do i replicate early batfam’s wild dynamics but in reverse. jason, cass, and dick generally have good relationships with the older group, while duke, damian, and bruce cannot be in the same room together without exploding at least one head through sheer willpower, and tim rotates between hellishly controlling and completely unattached
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necrotic-nephilim · 9 days
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"I think you need a little something to remind you of who you belong to." - JayTim
send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!
god this one is so good. this idea just. sat in my brain goo for days until i had the time to write it. this takes place like. right around Search For A Hero and before Battle for the Cowl, i would say, with dead Bruce and all, but before Red Robin. very fucked up one-sided feelings bc Jason is Jason and i love him. it's like 3.6k words and my partner edited it for me so. enjoy <3
It took Tim longer than it should’ve to notice the change.
With Bruce gone, Gotham was in upheaval.
No matter how much Tim did, there was always more. A new villain to fight, a new gang to take down, a new murder to solve. Gotham knew that the Batman was gone, for good this time.
Which meant they knew someone, something, could kill Batman.
That made Tim the fresh meat to go after. If the Batman could be killed, it shouldn’t be any harder to take down his Robin. Tim knew that every villain would want a piece of him and he had to prove himself. And for a while, he did. Tim was personally targeted by rogues, ready to be the Joker to his Robin.
Then it changed.
No one was pulling their punches, necessarily. But there was a change. Gangs that once had no problem facing Tim down were running in the opposite direction. Rogues gave up too easily, with an amount of fear in their eyes that didn’t quite match Tim’s reputation.
He should’ve noticed it sooner.
Tim knew something was wrong, at least. But he’d been so slow to notice it; now he was scrambling for answers. He’d interrogated half a dozen thugs and none of them gave him anything. Tim used every trick Bruce had taught him and still. He had nothing. It was just confirmation that they were hiding something. He was missing something, and he had nothing to show for it.
It reminded Tim of how the tide receded right before a tsunami- a quiet, deadly calm rolled over Gotham.
Someone was pulling strings. Someone was going right over Tim’s head, probably planning a big attack to sweep Tim undertow to drown in the chaos. And Tim didn’t have a single lead.
Waiting was always the worst part.
And still, the fires in Gotham burned. Whatever was going on kept getting pushed to the back burner so Tim could stop everything from human trafficking rings to street muggings. He knew he was stretched too thin, too exhausted to hold himself up.
It was a matter of time before Tim got pulled into a merciless riptide.
He just didn’t expect it to be in some grimy alley, losing a fight to a second-rate mob that jumped him.
Tim should’ve gone back to the Batcave when his shoulder got dislocated an hour ago by Harley Quinn instead of just setting it and carrying on.
He should’ve called for backup an hour before that, when he had to face all the Gotham Sirens on his own, leading to the chase with Harley in the first place.
And he definitely should’ve stayed home from patrol altogether, with ribs that were still cracked from a run-in with Solomon Grundy less than a week ago.
But Tim didn’t do any of that. Because if he was going to carry on any part of Bruce’s legacy, it was this: fighting until his body gave out under him.
Tim just hoped if this mob killed him, they wouldn’t dump his body somewhere embarrassing.
Though it was starting to look less like if, and more like when. Tim didn’t like to be pessimistic in a fight. There was always something more to do, one final trick to pull out of his arsenal. Just like Bruce taught him.
This time, though. Tim wasn’t so sure about that.
There was blood in his mouth. Blood in his eyes. He could barely stand, let alone hold his bo staff. It took every ounce of worn-out effort to block the endless blows raining down on his battered body, let alone try to punch back.
Tim always figured he’d meet a violent end.
He wasn’t sure where his comm link had skittered off to. It got knocked out of his ear under a particularly vicious blow to the head, cutting Tim off from any hope of backup. He was in this one alone.
Someone kneed Tim in his already brutalized ribs. He doubled over and groaned, falling to the ground.
He needed to get back up.
Tim’s arms were too shaky to support his weight. He just collapsed again. A steel-toed boot was raised above his head, ready to come down. Tim just closed his eyes and covered his head as best he could with his hands. Better broken fingers than a broken skull.
The boot never connected.
Instead, Tim heard gunfire.
He knew some of the men had guns, but this was a different kind of gunfire. The automatic kind, coming from a different direction. All Tim could do was watch with wide eyes as his attackers started to drop like flies tinged with red.
The ones who managed to survive the first volley of bullets were scrambling around, yelling at each other in a foreign language. Russian, maybe? It was hard for Tim to tell with his head swimming from blood loss, eardrums pulsing to the infernal beat.
From the darkness, a figure jumped down, landing in front of Tim, holding an automatic rifle over their shoulder. Tim blinked hard, trying to make out who it was.
“I only gave you miserable fucks one rule,” a cold voice growled. “Who wants to remind me what it was?”
Damnit. Tim knew that voice.
He was beyond screwed.
All the men froze. Stuttered apologies and pleas came out of half of them, messy and incoherent. They all sounded positively terrified, cowering in front of the figure.
“We didn’t know it was-”
“-just wanted to scare him-”
“He came to our territory first-”
“-but we weren’t going to kill him-”
Jason Todd fired a few shots into the sky, silencing all of them. Tim swallowed a mouthful of blood, his own heart reverberating against copper-stained teeth.
“I asked what the rule was,” Jason repeated slowly. He cracked his neck and pulled a knife off his belt, flipping it around for show.
One of the men was brave enough to step forward. “No one’s allowed to touch Robin. Sir.”
Tim’s breath caught in his throat.
What the hell?
Jason nodded slowly. “And last I checked-” he made a show of turning back to look at Tim. Under the helmet, Tim couldn’t begin to guess Jason’s intentions. “-there’s only one kid with a big R on his chest fighting with a bo staff. I was being pretty generous with all of you. Protection from the cops, from other gangs. All for one fucking rule.”
“Why are you protecting him, anyway? Vigilante freaks cause us nothing but problems-”
The man’s yelling was abruptly cut off by the bang of Jason’s gun and his brains splattering across the alleyway. A smear of pink landed on his bo staff; there was no coming back from that one.
“I guess I should’ve had two rules. No touching Robin and no asking questions,” Jason hummed lazily, as if he hadn’t just taken a man’s life. He shrugged. “I’ll add it to the tab.” He reloaded the gun.
Tim grabbed Jason’s ankle. “Don’t…” he coughed up a mouthful of blood, “don’t kill them.” It was pathetic. He could hold his own in a fight against Jason. He had before. But now, Tim couldn’t even stand and was left with barely enough strength to even grab Jason.
Like shooing away an insolent child, Jason pulled his leg free and clicked his tongue at Tim. “I’ll get to you in a second. Wait your turn.”
Then, he let loose. And there was nothing Tim could do but watch in horror.
Jason tore through every single one of the men like paper. their bodies dropped one by one because instead of the gun, Jason jumped in with his knife. For the fun of the fight, Tim guessed. Because it definitely sounded like Jason was enjoying himself, flipping through the crowd and throwing out a vile quip now and then.
In seconds, it was over. A pile of bodies with Jason as the indisputable victor, wiping his bloody knife off on his jacket. He walked over to Tim, perfectly casual.
Maybe he was saving Tim for the finale, to be killed by Jason’s own hand around his neck. That was the only reason Tim could think of for Jason being the reason rogues had pulled back so much over the past few weeks. Jason wanted Tim’s blood for himself, so he could make some kind of statement out of killing Robin. Or something like that, anyway.
“Up we go,” Jason said with a grunt, leaning over to Tim up like a sack of potatoes. Tim was hauled up with Jason’s hands under his armpits, then tossed over Jason’s shoulder, with an arm supporting him around his thighs.
At least the dead bodies couldn’t judge Tim for how utterly embarrassing he must’ve looked.
“Put me down,” Tim tried to say, but the words were so slurred they sounded like one long syllable. His head was spinning. Tim had heard of double vision, but never triple. Was that a bad sign??
“It’s pronounced thank you, actually,” Jason said, walking off with Tim in tow. Each step made all of Tim’s injuries feel far worse and he hissed, uselessly trying to claw at Jason’s back, the material of his gloves squeaking pathetically. “As in, thank you for saving my sorry ass, Red Hood.”
“Fuck you,” Tim sputtered. He was getting blood all over Jason’s jacket and it was the only thing he could see, as his vision got more tunneled by the second. “Where are you…” everything hurt and consciousness was slipping away from Tim.
Jason said something. Tim didn’t hear it. His hands went slack, followed by the rest of Tim’s body.
His last coherent thought was a long string of expletives cursing Jason Todd out.
It took over a liter of blood to stabilize Tim. Stitches on his arm, stomach, and forehead littered his battered body. He was still unconscious on Jason’s coffee table, with a makeshift IV drip giving him fluids, stripped down to his boxers.
Jason was torn between being supremely pissed off at Tim getting jumped and being sickly fascinated by the sight of Tim being bruised and bloody. Perfectly laid out for Jason.
Maybe he should’ve thanked that Russian mob before killing them.
Jason knew it was just a matter of time before that mob caused him issues. They were no real loss to his empire. He was lucky he caught them in the act before it was too late.
One simple rule and some idiots went out of their way to ignore it.
Tim was Jason’s meat and no one else’s. Jason hadn’t been ready to mark his territory yet. This sped up his plan. There were so many steps Jason had to skip to save Tim. He had been waiting for Gotham’s trust in Robin to grow secure and rooted down, putting Tim on top of the world. Then a new Batman would step up, probably Dick. It’d leave Tim aimless and vulnerable, quickly forgotten by his city the moment they had someone in a Batsuit to worship instead.
And that was supposed to be the moment Jason swooped in and claimed Tim. Protecting him from all the big mean supervillains who were salivating for Tim’s blood that Jason had been holding back for so long.
He would be Tim’s fucking savior.
But a no-name Russian mob had to go and screw it up. Leaving Jason sitting on his couch, feet propped up on the same coffee table Tim was sprawled out on. Every now and then Jason nudged Tim with his boot, just to check how out cold he really was.
The latest boot nudge to Tim’s hip actually got him to stir.
Tim groaned, trying to move. His attempt to sit up failed pretty spectacularly. His arm gave out and he slipped, head loudly bonking on the coffee table. With the concussion he definitely had, that had to hurt like hell. Jason smirked, lighting a cigarette. Another pretty groan out of Tim’s mouth before he managed to open his eyes, blinking hard to adjust to his surroundings.
Jason didn’t rush him. He just watched as Tim looked around the safehouse, craning his neck. He ran his hands over his body, feeling the neat bandage work. Finally, his eyes settled on Jason, widening slightly. Jason could see the wheels turning in Tim’s bright mind, remembering what had happened.
Tim opened and closed his mouth a few times, presumably trying to decide where to start. Jason took a long drag and blew the smoke in the direction of Tim’s face, making him cough.
“Why?” Tim finally said. His voice sounded a little raw.
Jason arched an eyebrow, playing innocent. “Why what?”
“You know what,” Tim snapped. He gestured to himself. “Why are you… doing this? Telling everyone I’m off limits and…”
“And saving you?” Jason finished, earning him a lethal glare. About as lethal as a kicked puppy could be, anyway. Jason snorted and shrugged. “Because I can.” No point in sharing a plan that was all fucked up.
“I don’t need your help,” Tim said through gritted teeth. He tried to sit up, slower this time. He still didn’t manage it.
Jason stared at him. “I’m sorry, would you have preferred Nightwing scrap what was left of you off the pavement after those asshats were through with you?”
“I can fight my own battles.”
“And lose them too. Clearly.”
An angry noise came out of Tim’s throat. “Did you just want to save me for yourself, or something?” Tim prodded, fist clenched at his side.
“Probably not in the way you’re thinking,” Jason said. He flicked ashes off of his cigarette onto Tim’s skin, pulling a hiss out of him.
Tim frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Figure it out yourself. Isn’t detective work your whole thing?” Jason made a show of adjusting how he was sitting on the couch as if he was getting comfortable. He moved to prop his feet up on Tim’s leg, one of the few places on his body that wasn’t covered in injuries. Using him like a little footstool.
Oh, that really pissed Tim off. Jason grinned wickedly, watching Tim try and fail to pull himself free. There wasn’t much weight on his leg, but he was still too weak to get his body to cooperate, leaving him to sluggishly struggle.
Tim’s face twisted. “If you think you could convince me to be your sidekick, you’re out of your mind.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a lap dog, actually,” Jason tilted his head back. “Much more submissive and obedient, that way.” He didn’t hide the obvious innuendo in his voice.
Tim recoiled. “Very funny.”
“I’m dead serious,” Jason shot back. “I don’t kill for just anyone.” Contrary to popular belief, murder was purposeful, with Jason. If he killed a lot of people, it was for a specific reason. It was a careful image of the unstable madman to make people fear him. But in reality, it was all planned. Every single body in the grave was carefully counted.
“You’re psychotic if you think I’d ever… submit to you.” Tim’s mouth twisted just having to say the words, utterly disgusted by them.
Jason scoffed. “I think there’s a misunderstanding here, Drake.” He pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket, flipping it open. “You already belong to me. Every criminal in Gotham knows you’re mine. You’re alive because I’ve allowed it. You’re protected because I called for it. It’s a done fucking deal.” He took his feet off of Tim’s leg and brought them to the floor so he could lean up close to Tim’s pale face. “Understood?”
Like a perfectly rational person, Tim tried to headbutt Jason.
Jason pulled back, more for Tim’s sake than his own. He caught Tim’s head with his hand, forcing it back down on the table.
“I didn’t ask for your protection,” Tim hissed, breathing hard. “You can go to hell, Jason. I can handle this city just fine on my own.”
“I don’t really care if you can or not.” Jason pressed the knife to Tim’s throat, a dangerous warning against any more stupid attempts to fight Jason. “You can be Robin all you want. You can crawl back home to that disgusting cave and play house with all the other bats. I don’t give a shit how you live your life, Drake. So long as you know you’re mine at the end of the day-” he shrugged- “we can take all this slow. I was planning to anyway.”
“You were planning to…” Tim echoed, turning the words over as it sank in for him. “You were planning… what? To make me fall in love with you or something?”
Jason gave another nonchalant shrug. “If that’s how you want to dumb it down, sure.” The plan was far more sophisticated than that. Jason didn’t just need Tim to love him. He needed Tim to crave Jason, need him down to the marrow, and dedicate himself wholly to Jason. Be by Jason’s side as a strategist and partner.
They would get there eventually. Soon Tim would see and understand things from Jason’s perspective. His approach just needed to be a little more head-on.
More fun for Jason in the long run.
It was hard to read Tim’s expression. Maybe Jason was too hopeful to believe there could be some kind of arousal or intrigue there, but he could at least tell there wasn’t nearly as much anger as he expected.
Nor was there any disgust.
For a split second, anyway. Then Tim seemed to snap back to reality, trying to pull away from Jason and the knife.
“Over my dead body,” Tim said with as much venom as it seemed like he could muster.
“You know, I’ll do you a favor, Drake.” Jason lifted one leg over the table so he could sit on Tim’s midsection, making him yell in pain. Jason was a heavy son of a bitch, and his body weight did no favor for Tim’s sore ribs.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tim tried to shove Jason’s chest. He looked a little panicked, like a caged animal.
“I think,” Jason dragged out the words, just for show, “you need a little something to remind you of who you belong to. So I’ll be nice, to make sure you don’t forget it.”
He grabbed Tim’s jaw and jerked his head to the side. Tim cried out and tried to get away. He hit Jason in the chest as hard as he could. Which given his current state, was about the same as being smacked by a toddler.
“You should probably stay still if you don’t want a knife in your eye,” Jason warned. He lifted the blade and pressed it into Tim’s cheek, going deep enough to scar.
He didn’t even have to think about it. Jason knew exactly what he was doing the moment he pressed the blade to Tim’s skin.
A mark that anyone would recognize.
A mark just like the one Jason had been given, years ago.
The letter J could stand for a lot of things. And right now, it stood for marking Tim as Jason’s territory.
Jason dragged the knife down and curled it upward. Then he went in for the second cut, dragging across Tim’s cheek.
Tim had the sense to stay perfectly still while the blade moved. Pained noises came out of his throat and he was giving Jason a death stare, but he stayed still.
A perfectly obedient lap dog.
Jason hummed in satisfaction when his work was done. He flicked the knife closed and slipped it back into his belt, watching fresh blood pour down Tim’s face.
Now they matched.
For good measure, Jason bent over and pressed a kiss against the cut, holding his lips there and feeling Tim’s breath on his skin.
Jason pulled away, licking the blood off his mouth. His first time tasting Tim. It definitely wouldn’t be the last.
“I’m going to kill you,” Tim bit the words out through grit teeth.
Jason just smiled. “Don’t you have pesky bat morals about that?” He climbed off Tim, flicking more ashes onto Tim’s skin from the cigarette that had stayed between Jason’s fingers the whole time. He lifted it to his lips, breathing in. “Your suit is over there.” Jason gestured vaguely to the heaped pile of Tim’s suit.
“You’re-” Tim sputtered on his words. “You’re just going to let me leave?”
“I told you,” Jason hummed, wandering toward his fridge, “you can go live your life. I don’t care. You’ll crawl back to me when I want you to.”
“Like hell.” A loud grunt came from Tim and Jason looked over his shoulder, watching Tim slowly move. Every inch looked painful for Tim, but slowly, he managed to get his stiff joints to obey him.
All while Jason watched, offering absolutely no help.
Tim got dressed with a lot of swearing and groans of pain, occasionally shooting Jason a dirty look. He put a small bandage on his cheek, then limped away, leaving behind the shreds of his dignity.
Jason just smiled, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out on the floor with his heel.
Tim would be back. He would make damn sure of it.
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princessanneftw · 2 months
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Sir Tim Laurence’s trousers seem to be the Balmoral tartan 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿
Source: @cosmo-macaroon’s eagle eyes
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temeyes · 9 months
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just a ramble dood but i woke up in this exact position earlier and it was like,, the best sleep i had in weeks (so sorry plushie soap for suffocating u,,,)
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frogaroundandfindout · 3 months
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Tim: you’re really on your own here. I couldn’t handle that.
Dick: sure you could.
Tim: No, I couldn’t. We’re not the same kind of Robin.
Dick: what’s that mean?
Tim: you’re a natural athlete. I have to work at that. I mean it’s like you’re at home 10 stories over the street.
Dick: you’re more cerebral. You’re better at the computer stuff.
Tim: he’s got Oracle for that. And I’d trade my computer literacy for your street smarts in a hot minute. And I’m not half the detective you are.
Dick: funny. In a lot of ways, I think you’re the better partner for him. I was always a little impulsive; impatient. You complement him more.
Tim: yeah but that was later. after you’d been on your own a bit. You’re forgetting the early days. You guys were like—
Dick: “A well oiled machine”
Tim: yeah. Besides, all I ever wanted to be is his partner.
Dick: hey I volunteered for the “robin thing” too.
Tim: no, he invited you. I invited myself.
Dick: are you saying I didn’t want to be Robin as bad as you do?
Tim: you wanted to be a hero. I’m happy being Robin. You left the cave and became Nightwing.
Dick: so?
Tim: That’s not me. I don’t plan on taking over for him someday. I won’t be out there on the rooftops ten years from now. I do my shift as Robin and then go back to my “normal life.” That’s why there’s always friction between you two these days.
Dick: why?
Tim: you’re different. But you’re also way more alike than you’ll ever admit. Either of you.
Dick: Hmmm. got it all figured out, huh?
Nightwing Vol. 2 #6
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megaerakles · 2 years
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Tim Drake be like…
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melschenford · 10 months
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one of my favourite chenford soft moments🥹
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timdrakeslawyer · 2 years
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yes i’m still talking about this and no i don’t care this will forever be stuck in my mind i LOVE what dan mora did with these homage covers
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saturnerens · 14 hours
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did any of you guys watch fellow travelers 👀
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hawktims · 9 months
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No. I wanna be with you. Sleep in the same bed with you all night. Not get kicked out at midnight so the neighbors won't see me leaving in the morning.
FELLOW TRAVELERS (2023) 1.03 | HIT ME
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sophiethewitch1 · 5 months
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www!reader WILL call batman a pussy for not killing on her private twitter. she does it like every other day. its cathartic
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ghost-bxrd · 7 months
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me, taking a short nap:
Brain: what if you sketched some TimBer art with Bernard hiding a Court of Owls mask—
Me, waking up in cold sweat: … god FUCKING DAMMIT
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