you know that panel from the robin comics with tim and bruce tells him to “think of any more reasons he’s worthless and he’ll shoot them down too?” can someone send me that panel? i need it for something
so @powerfulweak sent me this post, proposing that this is how Holster and Shitty make fun of Jack and Ransom - they insist that all Canadians eat their ice cream from pine cones. It happens frequently enough for the chirping to become casual and sound serious. So much so, that they manage to convince Chowder that it’s true: ”Brah, no lie. Canadians discovered that the pinecone is the perfect shape to naturally form the spiraled swirls around.” “They’ve been doing it with snow for centuries.” “But how… How do they eat it?" "Chowder, my boy, that’s just part of growing up in the wilds of Canada; eating pines cones, fighting moose, surviving on nothing but Tim Horton’s coffee-” "Holster, STFU! That’s not true!" "Ransom, you’ve driven 4 hours for a cup of Tim Horton’s, don’t play that shit with me”
“… well, it’s good coffee"
Shitty even goes as far as getting a soft-serve machine for the Haus. Chowder loses his shit when everyone’s gathered around it and Jack goes outside and comes back in with a pinecone and asks for a serving, because he’s a Canadian Troll™ (*shows Chowder an old peewee hockey scar* "My first moose fight… that guy was a scrapper.” *cue Holster barely keeping it together and Shitty having to leave the room bc Jack’s so straight-faced*)
Can I request one where reader is best friends with Red Robin, not knowing it is her crush Tim, and asks him for advice on confessing?
“Firebird, come in. This is Batman. We need you immediately at the intersection of Third Street and Vector Avenue. Clayface is heading there and you’re the closest superhero.”
Of course you received the call now. At school. In the middle of a test. Just great. But saving civilians came first, so geometry would have to take a back seat.
With practiced ease, you rolled your eyes back and slumped sideways, hitting the floor with a loud thud. As expected, the other students screamed for the teacher. You opened your eyes slowly, leaning against the hands propping you up, and mumbled a few “m’fine”s at the faces surrounding you. The teacher suggested seeing the nurse, and you answered with a feigned groan.
A voice piped up beside you. “I’ll take them to the nurse.”
You double-taked. Was that Tim? Someone draped your arm over a pair of nice shoulders and gently guided you out into the hall. This was definitely Tim Drake, adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, and the most adorable nerd in the school. Come on, focus. Now is not the time to be fawning over your crush.
Having him support you down the hall was pretty nice, but you had to lose him. He couldn’t know that you were a superhero, for both his sake and yours.
“Hey, uh, Tim. I’m feeling a lot better now. I think I can make it to the nurse, so you can go back to class and finish your test.”
He blinked. “You sure? You fainted in class.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. If Ms. Bouef asks, I shooed you away to go to the bathroom.” You smiled your most winning smile at him, and he hesitantly let you go.
“See you, then.”
You saw him off with a small wave and ducked into the bathroom to change. You levitated to the ceiling and removed a vent, flying off toward Third and Vector. “On my way, Batman.”
From the air, you saw Clayface pulling himself out of a sewer grate. You shouted, “Clayface! You are under arrest for breaking out of Arkham Asylum!”
He growled and lunged at you. You flew out of his grasp and blasted him with fire. “Last chance, Clayface! This doesn’t have to be violent!”
“He probably can’t understand you, you know. Even your voice can’t get through all that sludge.”
You smiled. Of course Red Robin was here. Your friend always seemed to show up a little bit after you.
“Reeeeeeeeeeed Robin! Yum~!” The jingle never ceased to annoy him.
“Seriously? Now? Firebird, we gotta get your priorities straight.”
“Why don’t you help me with that over some takeout after this?”
You sat next to Red Robin on a rooftop, munching on some takeout. Fighting fugitives was hard and dangerous, but at least school ended before you took down Clayface. It was the small pleasures in life that counted.
“So, Firebird. Your priorities.”
“Ha! I did say you’d get them straight, didn’t I?”
“Me? No, we.”
“Dude, I said ‘you can get them straight if you buy me food.’“
“I hate you.”
He sighed. “Ok, so name your priorities. Let’s get em straight.”
You laughed. “Let’s see. In no particular order, my priorities are: I have to make up a test I missed today because of Clayface; I need to clean my room; I have a training session on Friday; and uh, I think that’s it. Wait, no. I should talk to my crush too.”
Red Robin choked on his spaghetti. “WHAT?!”
“My crush. Is that so surprising?”
“Yes–no! I mean, it’s not surprising that you HAVE a crush, it’s surprising that YOU have a crush. Tell me about him. Or her. Or they, or ae, or whichever pronoun they prefer–I need to know the details.”
You laughed. “It’s a him. He goes to my school, and I don’t really talk to him much. But I really like him and I feel like I should confess to him soon.”
“Who is it?”
“Promise you won’t stalk him?”
“Who? Me? I would never.”
“Ok ok I promise I won’t stalk him. What’s his name?”
“His name is Tim.”
“How did you–?”
Your friend choked on his spaghetti again. “Tim Drake?! You like him?!”
“Is there a problem with that?”
He sputtered, “No! There’s no problem! It’s just that…he’s a bit lanky, isn’t he? Kinda nerdy too. You sure you like him?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound almost jealous of him.”
If he had food in his mouth, Red Robin would have choked for the third time that evening. “I am not jealous!”
In the glow of Gotham’s lights you could just barely make out red dusting his cheeks. Perfect. He’s flustered. You chuckled at him. “Alright then, hotshot. How do I confess to him? It’s not like I can just waltz up to him and go ‘yo dude I kinda really like you even though we don’t talk much. Wanna go out?”
“Actually, I think you can.”
“Say that again. I don’t think I heard the sarcasm properly.”
“I’m not being sarcastic! You should make it quick and simple, like tearing off a bandaid.”
“Have you never heard of rejection, friend? It’s like tearing off a bandaid and letting someone pour vinegar on the wound.”
Tim paused, tilting his head. “I don’t think he’d reject you.”
“And what makes you so sure?”
“I…trust me, ok?”
“Last time you said that we ended up–”
“Last time was a mistake. But trust me this time. He won’t reject you.”
Sighing, you stood up. “I don’t know, Red. I’ll give it a try, but you should have the ice cream ready, just in case.” You leaped over the edge and soared away.
Tim stared at your retreating form, watching your flames melt into the night like a star going out. “I don’t think you’ll need that ice cream tomorrow, Y/N,” he whispered.
“See?” said Damian. “I told you I heard footsteps. He didn’t go to sleep.” Which was impressive enough, honestly, given the amount of pain medication that Jason had literally seen Tim take— he should have been out for hours. But what was even more impressive was the mess he’d made of his room. Tim’s walls were papered with pictures and notes. There was barely any blank wall left, but extra pages were still spilling out of Tim’s printer. He’d run a spool of yarn through a set of thumbtacks, movie style, until it crisscrossed around the entire space in a spiderweb of connections— Jason had to duck underneath it to fit inside the door. Tim was sitting at his desk, surrounded by stacks of paper and rolls of tape. He didn’t seem to notice either one of them until Jason tapped on his corner. “Hey. Everything okay in here?” “Shut up,” Tim told him. “I’m working.” “Oh, that’s what this is,” said Jason, gesturing to the walls, “Work. You sure about that?” “Obviously.” Tim pulled a sheet of text from one of his piles and moved over to the wall, searching for a place to hang it. He settled on an empty bit of space and tacked it on— Jason was pretty sure he was leaving tiny holes in the paint. Alfred wouldn’t be happy. “I’m making a network.” Jason pointed to the center of the mess. “This is a picture of a slice of pizza.” “I was hungry.” “It’s connected to a drawing of me.” At least, Jason assumed it was a drawing of him— in reality it was a stick figure wearing an oversized red helmet, complete with tiny guns and “pew pew” written out beneath it, but Jason was willing to be generous. “I was asking you to bring me pizza.” Tim said, like it was obvious, and he looked around his room like he was hoping Jason had actually brought him one. “Oh, okay. So instead of texting me like a normal person…” Jason trailed off, waving a hand in Tim’s direction— Tim frowned at him for a few seconds, clearly concentrating, before he sighed and walked back to his desk. “You’re right. I can do that now, if I can find my phone. Where did I put my—” He started digging through his piles of notes, knocking stacks of them off the desk. After twenty seconds of silence, Damian tapped out a text on his own phone and followed the tone to Tim’s mini-fridge. He pulled open the door: an alarming selection of Red Bull products and Tim’s cell phone, laying across the shelf. He passed it over to Jason with his text still on the screen (Just when I thought you could sink no lower). “I can’t believe he’s the one that survived,” Jason told him. He was pretty sure it violated natural law. “This is embarrassing. Hey, Tim? You don’t have to text me. I’m standing right here.” Tim was busy straightening out his yarn, so he didn’t answer. “Just out of curiosity, how many of these things do you drink every day?” Jason pulled an empty can from the carpet and tossed it at Tim— it bounced off his chest and fell back to the ground. “More than one?” “One. Five. I don’t know.” “You skipped a couple of numbers there.” “Hm.” Tim dropped his voice into an imitation of a GPS. “Recalculating.” “Oh my god.” Really, Bruce? Jason thought. You replaced me with this? Whatever. Didn’t matter. “Pass me the post-it notes.” “Fine.” Jason grabbed the stack off Tim’s desk, read the top, and handed them over. “What is ‘Theseus’ supposed to mean?” “The Court of Owls has a labyrinth beneath the city.” “Why didn’t you just write that?” “Because it’s a code.” Tim stuck his post-it to the corner of the pizza slice and wandered back towards his desk. “I don’t want Damian to read my stuff.” “Okay, Damian is also standing right here.” Jason pointed behind him. “See? Try to focus. I really don’t think you want to start a fight right now.” Damian didn’t look mad— more amused than anything— but who knew how long that would last? Jason was surprised Tim could walk at this point. He definitely couldn’t defend himself. “Damian?” Tim asked. He looked shocked, like he really hadn’t seen Damian before Jason pointed him out. “Yes?” “You’re alive?” “Yes.” Damian raised an eyebrow in Jason’s direction. “Really, Drake, try to— No. Drake no do NOT—” He tried to duck away, but he was too late; Tim grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him into a hug. For the first few seconds, Damian stood frozen in shock— mouth open, arms at his sides— and Jason was frozen too. Then he remembered that he was still holding Tim’s phone, so he snapped a picture and ran, out the door and down the hall, as fast as he could. He was halfway down the staircase when he heard a thud behind him (presumably Tim hitting the floor) and Damian’s steps on the landing. “TODD!” But really, with that kind of lead, there was no way he could catch up.
for the anon that requested another round of Tim (very high) on pain meds