#this rumor was started by a baby dick grayson who wanted to be flung off ALL the things

[mckinlily]

You’re a Gotham teenager playing FMK on your neighbor’s stoop as you do.

“Hmmmm… and marry Red Hood.”

“Red Hood?” says one of your friends. “Doesn’t he kill people?!”

You consider.

“That’s not a deal breaker for me.”

And then, from somewhere above, a distinctive mechanical voice:

“IT FUCKING SHOULD BE!”

You look up. Red Hood is dangling a spitting and hissy Robin over the edge with one hand and gesturing helplessly at you with the other. You stare at him. He stares at you. You don’t know how his face emotes “baffled but concerned for you horror” seeing as it’s covered completely by an expressionless helmet, but it does.

Robin chomps down on Red Hoods fingers.

“FUCKING FUCK!” Red Hood drops Robin over the edge. “DID YOU BITE ME?!”

Robin lands one roof over like a feral cat. He stands up with just as much offended dignity. “I was trained to make use of every tactical advantage,” he states.

Then he waves something small and indistinct from your distance. “Unlike you.” And swings off the roof.

Red Hood roars and chases after him.

There is a moment of distinctly Gotham silence.

“You made the right choice.”

You jump a foot and find Red Robin perched on the railing like some kind of overgrown parrot.

“Hood’s the only one of us who can cook,” explains Red Robin. 

He gives you a single nod—and disappears.

…

Just another day in Gotham.

[breadandblankets]

[Image ID: screenshot of tags by mckinlily reading: "#at this point most gothamites believe throwing/dropping/flinging Robins is vital for their development #*yeets a robin* it’s enrichment #this rumor was started by a baby dick grayson who wanted to be flung off ALL the things #and continues strong with Damien and his many big brothers /End ID]

You’re a Gotham teenager playing FMK on your neighbor’s stoop as you do.

“Hmmmm… and marry Red Hood.”

“Red Hood?” says one of your friends. “Doesn’t he kill people?!”

You consider.

“That’s not a deal breaker for me.”

And then, from somewhere above, a distinctive mechanical voice:

“IT FUCKING SHOULD BE!”

You look up. Red Hood is dangling a spitting and hissy Robin over the edge with one hand and gesturing helplessly at you with the other. You stare at him. He stares at you. You don’t know how his face emotes “baffled but concerned for you horror” seeing as it’s covered completely by an expressionless helmet, but it does.

Robin chomps down on Red Hoods fingers.

“FUCKING FUCK!” Red Hood drops Robin over the edge. “DID YOU BITE ME?!”

Robin lands one roof over like a feral cat. He stands up with just as much offended dignity. “I was trained to make use of every tactical advantage,” he states.

Then he waves something small and indistinct from your distance. “Unlike you.” And swings off the roof.

Red Hood roars and chases after him.

There is a moment of distinctly Gotham silence.

“You made the right choice.”

You jump a foot and find Red Robin perched on the railing like some kind of overgrown parrot.

“Hood’s the only one of us who can cook,” explains Red Robin. 

He gives you a single nod—and disappears.

…

Just another day in Gotham.