Tim has a thing for buying sex toys (in bulk, Jason suspects) and Jason is constantly putting his foot in his mouth about what things his lover likes.

Twenty is probably too young to die, even for a shinobi, but if anyone can kill Sakura with sheer attractiveness, it's Kori.

Hardison is 100% certain that there is no way Bruce Wayne could possibly be Batman. But maybe they should check it out, just in case.

Five times Tim had a wet dream about his best friend, and one time he didn't.

“You know, just out of curiosity,” Red Robin begins, and Jason twists to face him, “are you from Gotham?” “What gave it away?” Jason drawls as fire sirens start up in the distance. “My anger issues, or my apathy in the face of the new supervillain flavor of the week?” (Or: That time Jason moves to New York and becomes a meme.)

It's a generally accepted fact amongst the members of the bat family that Alfred's cookies are the absolute best and that the last cookie is the best of all. The last cookie is coveted and fought over. The last cookie is important. When the Justice League needs to summon the Ghost King and every offering has been rejected, what else is there to try?

To be clear, Cassie is Wonder Girl. Very much so is she Wonder Girl. She likes being called that; she likes being called “she”. She likes being Amazon-adjacent enough to almost count as a sister to Themyscira. She doesn’t always like . . . other things associated with being Wonder Girl, though. Or even being a girl at all. Anyway, that’s why she just broke two pairs of scissors trying to get her stupid fucking hair to just fucking cut already in one of Titans Tower’s communal bathrooms. One of the girls’ communal bathrooms, which isn’t really helping how she feels right now.

"You're so fucking stubborn," Hood says. "It's infuriating." Red bristles, but fighting's like foreplay when he's got this much adrenaline. "Yeah?" He taunts. Can't help himself. Hood's grip around his wrist tightens, and it only serves to remind Red how fucking strong he is. Red's pulse somehow gets even faster, beating in his ears so loudly that he isn't sure how Hood doesn't hear it. "Yeah," Hood agrees. Tim's watching his mouth as it forms the words. "It drives me fuckin' crazy, babybird."

"Timmers sucked me pregnant," Jason blurts, and Tim watches in morbid fascination as Bruce goes through the five stages of grief in a millisecond. "I thought you said you weren't… sleeping together," Bruce says reproachfully. "He means that I, uh, impregnated him with my teeth. When I drank his blood. No sex involved," Tim explains. "It was an accident. I didn't even know I could do that."

Maybe it was because he didn’t have time to read the gossip columns; maybe it was because he seriously underestimated the audience’s power to “Ship It”, but Bruce didn’t *immediately* cotton onto the fact that his scheme made half the country think that his son was in love with, well, his *other* son.

Bernard laughed. A beautiful sound Tim treasured more than gold. “You want to get us into a cheating scandal?” “Correct. If we all get spotted on obviously romantic dates with each other then we have a chance to spread the stories across a few weeks and keep up public interest. It’s exactly what B needs, and we get to have a bit of fun in the process.” Or; 4 times Tim and his boyfriends screwed with the public and 1 time they told the truth.

So listen, Danny knew going into this PA job that it was a bad idea to work directly under Tim Drake-Wayne. He knows himself, and unfortunately that means he knows his type, which Tim was practically tailor made for. It's like whatever ghost is in charge of the cycle of reincarnation sat down with clockwork to pick out the perfect soul and genetic donors for his future King to fall in love with. He knows for a fact that didn't happen; Clockwork is too much a smug bastard to NOT have poked the two of them into each other's lives yet if that was the case.

“Repeat that,” Tim says slowly. Kon gives him a defensive look. “I panicked, okay?” he repeats. “And ‘panicking’ meant you decided to kidnap . . . how many kids, exactly?”

"Crap!" the food truck worker shrieks in alarm. "Don't hurt him, Superman, he's just a kid!" Clark . . . pauses, then looks up from the kid that he is currently pinning into the street as said kid struggles underneath him. "'Hurt him'?" he asks in reflexive confusion, and then realizes how batting a teenager around like a person-shaped cat toy and pinning him to the street hard enough to crack it probably actually looks to an outside observer. . . . um. Whoops. "Um," he starts awkwardly, and then the kid slips his pin while he's distracted and throws his arms around his neck with a gleeful laugh and a bright grin. "Dad!" he crows triumphantly, and hugs Clark harder than literally anyone has ever hugged him before.

“I need you,” Tucker blurts immediately as he bursts into the living room where he left Kon half an hour ago. Or maybe two hours ago. Hopefully not more than three . . . ? “Like in a sexy way?” Kon asks, sounding halfheartedly hopeful as he looks up from his position draped across the couch with one of Tucker’s mom’s blander gossip magazines, where he’s clearly been bored out of his mind. Tucker will make that up to him later, definitely, but right now– “Like in a rogue attack way,” he says, and Kon makes a face.