#red robin tim drake

[chocor0se]

when tim is working as the ceo of WE in public half of the time he’s the perfect figure, looking fancy and being respectful while also being intimidating when he needs to be. the other half he’s so tired he just starts cussing at annoying people and flipping them off.

[rube-too-many-fandoms]

Tim ‘the-world’s-greatest-detective’ Drake, 30 seconds after arriving on scene:

“The murder weapon was a golf club, the victim’s brother did it, and it has no connections to any of the Gotham rogues. Anyone have a pen?”

Tim ‘hasn’t-slept-in-80-hours’ Drake, trying to figure out why his frog shaped coffee mug Looks Like A Frog:

“what the ffukc are you” *blinks one eye at a time*

[priv-heree]

Just a reminder to y'all that Tim is actually THIS BUFF

I understand that as Robin he was a twink... But guys, he as Red Robin is just... just... 🫦🫦

Idk why in Fanfics people describe him as being so skinny

[jayson10traplo]

Tim angst 😞 sorry

[the-autistic-spider]

apparantly Tim Drake has burn scars

apparently in some comic he gained burn scars and over time the writers forgot

if this is real please show me

cause that sounds intresting

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

I've let this wolf into my home (I feed it even when it bites)

Blood nose and a crooked tongue (I always wanted to be someone) - series masterlist here

pairing: tim drake x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.5k

genre: fluff ??

warnings: you don't know red robin and timmy are the same person but he sure knows you, he's also so so awkward but he can't help it

a/n: alright alright alright here we go <3

The jingle of the coffee shop door opening startles you, your head snapping up from where you're sitting, slouched over in the corner. It's a 24-hour shop, yes, but who else would really be here at 3am? The barista behind the counter looks just as surprised, blinking rapidly and looking at the person who came in.

You, on the other hand, opt not to, sighing and looking back down at your table, instead. The coffee in your to-go cup is still hot, burning your fingers as you shift them over the label. It's bright, a cartoonish sort of thing that grins up at you like an old friend you should be happier to see. You've been getting this coffee for years. You're never quite as happy as you should be.

The chair opposite you makes a horrible sort of sound as it's pulled out and you look up to see who's sitting across from you. You purse your lips in annoyance while he just looks at you.

"All the other tables have just been cleaned. They're wet," he points out. You let your eyes flit around the cafe, the tabletops shining wetly in the dull glow of the lights, the disinfectant bottle still sitting abandoned on one of them.

"Lucky me," you bite back, taking a sip of your coffee. It's sweet - too sweet, but not enough to cover the bitterness of the burnt grounds. You always think that if you pile enough sugar into it, it'll mask what's wrong. You're never right.

The man sitting opposite you takes a sip of his own - he left it black, you notice. He grimaces slightly at the taste, but keeps drinking anyway. There's no effort there to pretend it's anything other than what it is - burnt, cheap coffee sold to him in a cafe full of ghosts, in a city that should be sleeping but never really does. It's interesting, you think, as you look out the window and into the dark street. You'd almost managed to convince yourself that you were really alone - that there was no one else in this world except you, until he walked in and broke the reverie of your 3am silence.

For what it's worth, Tim regretted it as soon as he'd walked in. He hadn't meant to stay, really - ending up in a part of Gotham he didn't often find himself in, in his civvies and in desperate need of a hot cup of coffee and a long sleep, he'd stumbled across the flickering, neon sign of a 24-hour coffee shop.

What good luck, he'd thought. Now, sitting across from you, there's a desperate little part of him that thinks maybe it wasn't just that - maybe it was intuition that drew him here. You don't know who he is, of course, all your previous meetings happening in the shadows of your home with his face hidden from you. Tim shifts in his seat, suddenly aware of how naked he feels, exposed to your wandering eyes. 

And you do let your eyes wander, narrowing them suspiciously as you take him in. Tim feels a pang of guilt that surprises him when he thinks that this is probably how you've always felt with him - like a lamb with a wolf at your door. As you lean back in your chair, swirling your coffee and letting your gaze trail away from him and towards the window, he feels his shoulders drop in relief. He's not the only wolf in your living room late at night, he realizes. You've got teeth of your own that he'd just never noticed.

You're good at this, Tim thinks with a start - you've got a foot propped up on the window sill next to you, your head resting in your hand as you watch the street outside idly. Or, at least, it's supposed to look like that. He thinks that if he were anyone normal, he would believe it. But Tim has spent enough time as prey to know when someone's pretending to let their guard down.

He looks away from you almost forcefully, staring down at his cup and running his tongue over his teeth as he thinks of the burnt taste of it. He wonders if you were smart enough to put sugar in yours - wise enough to bury the bitterness with something nicer. It's something he always thinks he should do. He can never quite make himself. 

"I'm sure those other tables are dry now." Your voice makes him flinch, a hard, forceful thing that cuts through the silence of the night that's blanketed the two of you. Tim looks around at the dull, streaky tabletops and shrugs. 

"I'm already comfortable here," he offers. You cock your head to the side and look at him, but make no move to fight him on it. He thinks it's probably stupid of him, inviting a lion into his home like this. He wonders if you feel the same way every time he slides in through your balcony door.

There's a silence that, once more, overtakes the two of you as he shifts in his seat. Tim wonders if he should drink faster, if he should pretend to be finished so that he can leave. It's funny, he thinks, how he finally felt like he'd stopped running away when he started running into you. It's funny that, now, he's itching for it, his hands gripping his cup in an attempt to still his heart - his need to escape.

You look back at him just in time to see him squeeze a little too hard, the cheap plastic lid popping off and hot coffee sloshing a bit over his hands. A mild, bemused sort of look crosses your face as you watch him curse and splutter as the coffee burns his hands and spills onto the table. Then, without a word, you stand up and begin to walk away.

Tim, in the meantime, is rubbing his hands against his jeans, his eyes squeezed shut in mortification as he wonders how he ruined it all so quickly. Not for the first time, he wishes he was in the mask - thinks maybe the only way to hold onto you is to make sure that's all you ever see. But then your cup scrapes across the table and he opens his eyes to see you sitting opposite him again, sipping idly and watching. There's a stack of napkins that he swore wasn't there before and - oh.

"Thanks," is all he can make himself say as he grabs them, cleaning up the mess he's made. As he goes to pop the lid back onto his cup, he looks at the dark liquid inside and grimaces, deciding that maybe it's not worth it.

"It's shit coffee," you say, and he slams his hand against the table, crushing the plastic lid in the process. Truly, he's not sure if he's ever acted this nervous before. You pay it no mind. He thinks maybe he could take off his mask, just this once, and reaches up to his face in time to remember that he's already exposed to you. "You're better off finding something else… or just going somewhere else." Tim smiles, then, a charming sort of thing that has you narrowing your eyes.

"I dunno,' he says. "There's something I like about right here." You glance down at your own cup, at the label that you've picked and peeled off until it's unrecognizable, the colours torn and cracked.

"There's nothing good about right here. And things like that don't change." Tim looks at you for a long moment after you speak, letting the words tumble around his head before he stands, taking his cup and squished lid and pile of wet napkins with him. 

"Well, I've never been big on change, anyway," is all he says as he walks away, dumping everything in the bin and letting the bell on the door jingle as he walks out. Looking back down to the table, you notice the card he's left behind - the Wayne Ent. logo flashing behind his name. Flipping it over, his number's been written in a hasty scrawl.

As you thumb a corner of the card, you wonder when he'd slipped it onto the table - when he'd written on it. Mostly, you wonder what kind of person he'd have to be to do it without you noticing. You trace the numbers with your finger and think that something, far in the back of your mind, is telling you that there's a familiarity about it all. 

But what's familiar about seeing someone in a place where you never should? What's normal about that man, appearing like a ghost in the night and disappearing just as fast? As you pull out your phone to add his number to your contacts, there's a part of you that thinks maybe you should run away - that maybe you're not the only thing stalking the streets of Gotham this late.

[dae-15]

ok so I just finished reading "I’m Pretty Sure Tim Steals Clothes: An Elaboration In The Form Of A Long Fic by PrinceJakeFireCake" and in here Tim like counts the amount of hugs he's ever received in his life right? Now last week I also read "Moon Jellyfish by xApricityx" which has Damian doing the exact thing...

So now I'm here begging someone to pls write a fic where they both do this like this stuff is what they bond over...

Just imagine the batfam and the justice league and whoever y'all want there just watching horrified as they talk about it... Like...

Damian: I have been hugged a total of 78 times 35 of which was before I came to Gotham

Tim: Huh, that's higher than mine I've only been hugged 74 times, and only 5 of those were from my parents

Damian: Talia indulges me very often

LIKE PLS?! IT WOULD BE SO GOOD!!!

[msfcatlover]

Tim, how has this happened to you twice?

[ambriel-angstwitch]

My Robin Wars Commentary

The Brothers of all time. I love them. They understand eachother better than any of the other siblings. Their relentless need to feel good enough to be Robin to feel as good as their predecessors. They show their affection through insults just ahh I love them.

Um Roy you’re building a life with a man whom you call your partner? You have a teenage girl you’re taking care of together? Kinda gay 🤨

Once again the brothers of all time. Literally says he’s his favorite but will throw him under the bus no hesitation

Ahhh! So Dick and Duke have been bonding love that! I love that he called him family (though it is a bit undermined by the fact that he just betrayed all of them to the police)

Once more the brothers. They’re insulting eachother during a fake fight to the death that they’re making look real and that is so valid of them.

This family and their self sacrificial tendencies! Stupid Damian went and joined the owls in order to stop them from killing all the robins. On another note. Call him out Duke! That’s the family you’re going to join later. You need to start making sure that they don’t get themselves killed (though tbh you’ve also been displaying self sacrificial tendencies so you’re going to fit right in)

Once again this family and their self sacrificial tendencies. He joins the owls in order to stop them from killing Damian.

[catb1tez]

🪺 The Robins and Their Birdhouse 🪺

Honestly, I’m really proud of this. Even though I feel like the drawing itself could’ve ended up better, I just love the concept for it.

[chocor0se]

tim drake can either have a perfect lie that’s either planned or improvised or he just freezes up and doesn’t know what to say. there is no in between.

[skylathescholarly]

Being able to FINALLY write Tim doing some justified shouting is therapeutic

[n1ightw1ng]

Jason accidentally shoots Tim out of the sky. When he attempts to retrieve him, he finds he has mysteriously disappeared.

[no warnings | T | gen | 432 words]

He was sick of this ninja bullshit. Sure, he could be swift and agile and all that, but he wasn’t built for it, and it was a real pain in his ass when he was facing down a bunch of slippery little assassin-types who wouldn’t stay still long enough to take a punch. He shot one in the foot, which slowed him long enough to distract Jason and leave him open for a throwing star to the thigh. That stung. 

What he’d really like was for the fuckers to actually get tired, or reveal why they were here, or something other than being a pain in his ass. There were three of them, probably, but it was hard to tell with the identical uniforms and all the jumping and running. One was injured. He…wasn’t doing so well solo-ing this, but they hadn’t killed him yet, either.

Down the street, a shadow flicked across the alley, faint over the street lights. He lined up the shot and took it. Bang.

In a flash of yellow and green, his target whirled to the ground.

Yellow. And. Green. Oh, fuck. He sprinted over the rooftops, grappling when he couldn’t clear the gaps on his own. And when he finally reached the scene–nothing. All that remained was a smear of blood on the concrete. “Robin?” He called out, hoping, desperately, that the kid was quick enough to pull himself into the shadows, but there’d be a trail. The alley and its dark corners yawned on in silence. Gone without a trace, and with him, the assassins.

That…couldn’t be good. For the first time in weeks, he clicked on the communications channel in his helmet, and the whole thing sprung to life with the crackle of voices. Oracle read out an address, Steph responded that she and Orphan would be there. Bruce–ugh, Bruce–warned them that Poison Ivy was wreaking havoc at the Gotham Butterfly Garden.

He took in a deep breath. “This—this is Red Hood.” Sharp silence. “I think I just shot Red Robin.”

“Do you have eyes on him?” Oracle asked. She didn’t miss a beat.

“No. I came to recover the—the—him,” not the body, not the body, “and he’s gone. Like, gone-gone. Not here.”

“Did you shoot him on purpose,” Damian snarled in his ears.

“Fuck–no, I’ve been fighting these Goddamn ninja fuckers all night and I thought he was one of them. Now he’s gone, and they’re gone too, and I have a bad fuckin’ feeling about that.”

Another silence. “League of Assassins,” Damian said, finally, “they wouldn’t take him if he wasn’t alive.”

[bonniesfamiliar]

Tim Drake doesn't belong to just one category. He goes from a punk skateboarder who gives 0 shits about gender to a well-behaved society child to a high-school dropout to CEO of Wayne Enterprises to a caffeine addict who hasn't slept in 4 days to a better detective than Batman himself to a eldritch creature that seems possessed to a cute stalker child who knows everything about you to-

[caffinecommander]

He would bite you

[jayson10traplo]

Poor Tim.

Art is from Clambuyance