Welcome!

Hey, thanks for stopping by! My name is Ames (she/her), Ditz or Ditzy, whatever you prefer. You can find me at ditzyredrobin on AO3. I am an adult and this is my silly little side blog for all things DC/Batfam.

I specialize in normally SFW whump but sometimes I’ll post a spicy thing or two. I post when and wherever my brain takes me but this will be a lot of snippets from my current wips.

I post a variety of content from gen to ships—jaytim, timkon, and dickjaytim, primarily. Everything is tagged accordingly.

Feel free to send an ask anytime! Seriously, please, I beg of you. 🥺

I currently have a few wips in the process, updates will be sporadic.

- Broken Glass (and Other Fragile Things) - (RoyJayTim) (cw: minor blood and injury) (1,2) (ao3)

- Shrike - former rogue!Tim/Shrike!Tim where Tim was never adopted or a Robin. (JayDickTim) (ao3)

- The Knights Red Robin - Canonverse Red Robin meets the Arkham Knight through dimension shenanigans (JayTim, 1, 2, 3, 4)

Masterpost

Ailess Whumptober 2024:

Masterlist

JayTim Week 2024:

Day 2 - Dawn / Space / Star

Day 5 - Rock / Cave / Mount

Former rogue!Tim wip I’m referring to as the Shrike!Verse (JayDickTim):

Snippets:

After the fic:

Odds, Ends, and One-offs

(If one of these peaks your fancy, I’m happy to try and continue. It’s subject to the muse but it’s always worth a shot. 💜)

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Joker Junior!Tim

The Knights Red Robin - Snippet 4

This is going to be the last one before posting the whole fic, I swear. I just can’t get over these two.

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(1, 2, 3)

“What the fuck you do to your bike?” Jace pulls him from his very delicate circuitry work with a snarl.

Red’s spine snaps straight at the sudden accusation, nearly burning the shit out of his hand with the soldering iron. “Shit—What?”

“You’re bike,” Jace repeats slowly, sounding out the syllables like he’s an idiot. “Runs like shit. Your brakes are spongy and your fuel lines are clogged. She’s supposed to purr and she ain’t. What did you do?”

Oh, yeah, that.

Red sets down the soldering iron before he does some real damage, turning to Jace. “I didn’t have time?”

Jace’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t have time.” He repeats skeptically.

“No?”

The Knight rolled his eyes hard enough to make his head spin. “How the hell did you not have time for routine maintenance? It should be serviced every 4,000 miles.”

How do you explain you traveled across Europe on a time crunch to find your adoptive father lost in time (while everyone was convinced you were absolutely losing it), sold your soul to a demon, and broke up a fight between two opposing assassin factions and not sound like you belong in the looney bin?

“I was busy?” Red grimaced because, yeah, it didn’t sound great.

“You were busy?” Jace repeats, obviously unimpressed.

“I was busy.” He confirmed, worrying the skin on his lip.

Up until Jace had appeared, he’d been running the search effort behind the scenes when Dick forced him out (again). He had been busy—he’d been needed and things just sort of fell through the cracks.

“How the fuck-“ Jace grumbled under his breath, all scowly as he wipes the grease of his hands with a shop rag. “You know what, never mind. When was the last time you ran diagnostics on your rigs?”

It took him a moment to dig through his memory to come up with a conclusion. “A year and-“ Red hummed. “Three months, give or take a month…I think.”

“You think?”

Red shrugged, his hands itched to get back to work, focus on something other than Jace’s disappointment. “It’s been a hard year.”

Understatement of the century.

The Knight’s Red Robin - Snippet 3

Bruce is back so why didn’t anyone tell him?

Part 1 - 2

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“Red, if you’re in there, so help me.”

The needle slid smoothly through skin, stitching flesh back together easily, but this needed to be done, like, yesterday. He’s running low on spoons and time, and is definitely starting to hit the wrong side of the adrenaline.

Red’s breath hitched at the voice, the needle nearly slipping, but he’s got this. He’s sutured upside down with his eyes shut, so, this? This is cake in comparison.

Knight pounded on the lab door with all the force he could muster when the lock pad beeped unsuccessfully again. He heard him utter unintelligibly under his breath but keeps working the bleeder. He's almost finished. Just another minute and he’ll be in the clear and ready to scram.

It isn’t that bad—it barely needed stitches.

The world is a little misty around the edges, like frosted glass, but he has to keep focused. Jace is on the other side of the door and if he finds him like this (again). Well. It’s not something he’s mighty keen on experiencing.

“I saw you take that hit.” Knight added, his voice strangled through the intercom. “You can’t keep doing this shit. I thought we talked about this.”

Tim glanced up from the injury to the security footage rolling on his main monitor. The footage isn’t graining like olden days tech. It’s crystal clear down to the pinched expression on his face.

He almost has a heart attack when the Knight looks up at the same time, meeting his gaze, like he knew Red was watching him.

Damn it.

He looked pissed.

“It’s fine.” Red called back over the intercom, voice all Red Robin. Wrong answer, apparently, because a muscle jumps in Knight's jaw.

“What the fuck do you mean it’s fine?” Yep, definitely the wrong answer. “Let me in so I can see, dumbass.”

It took everything in him to keep his hands from shaking because if Jace got in while he was that pissed, it was going to be a bad night for Red.

“I mean, it’s fine. I have it managed, thanks.”

Jace growled over the intercom. “It’s like talking to a brick-fucking-wall. Open the damn door, Tim.”

Red grimaced. When things like civilian names come out, that’s when you know you’re in trouble. Tim is for Wayne Enterprises and oh shit sitches. And this was neither.

He. Had. It. Handled.

“Just give me a few more minutes, I’m almost done.”

The thing about his lab was it was an excellent panic room, he had developed the security system himself, it was convoluted with contingencies upon contingencies, even Barbara had a hard time hacking it.

No one was getting in if he didn’t want them in, but after the incident involving the emergency escape hatch when Knight had first come to, it left him a caged bird.

“No, you’re not. Open the door or I’ll open it myself.” He could try.

“I’m fine, Knight, I’ve got it.”

The slice in his thigh was a clean cut, it didn’t take much to stitch it up on his own, even with his wrist aching. He didn’t very well need help with something he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Why didn’t he believe him? It was a minor wound, it wasn’t like an abdominal wound or something.

“I know you do,” Knight admitted, pulling a complete 360 and not sounding the least bit happy about it. “But you’re not okay, Red.”

He couldn’t help it.

He laughed. What was there to be upset over? Bruce was back, right? Everything he sacrificed was finally worth it. He should be happy. Bruce was back.

So, why did he feel like he was falling apart?

Red bit his lip, tying off the clean line of fresh stitches, and snipping off the excess thread with a birdarang. He dropped the leftovers and needle into the tray beside him.

“I’m fine.” He said but his voice broke. His hands were shaking as he ripped a wound dressing open with his teeth.

“You’re not.” Knight pushed. “I expected as much from Dickhead, but from Al? You deserve better than them.”

Fix It (Fix You) sequel snippet

I haven’t had a chance to do much Whumpcember this year so here’s a snippet I’m trying to finish for day 3: begging.

A classic case of Tim Drake: The Spleenless Wonder.

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“Jay?” A flash a red, the smell of leather and old cigarettes and Tim needs it—him—yesterday. “I need Jay. Let me go-let me go!” Tim cried. “Jay!”

But the hands don’t release their hold, Dick’s ass stays firmly planted on his thighs, fighting to keep his wrists pinned. “Shh, it’s okay, baby, please he’s waiting for us at the Cave. I need you just to hang in there a little longer. B is on his way with the Batmobile so Jay and I can help you feel better.”

No, not okay. It’s far from okay, actually.

Hot tears are streaming down his cheeks because everything hurts and he just. wants. Jay. Damnit. “Let me go.” He bucks his hips, trying to get free himself, but it doesn’t even phase Dick. He stays locked in and unmovable.

Dick is talking over him again into his com, keeping his arms pinned. He looks pained, eyes glassy. “Look, I know—I’m sorry. I’m trying but you’re not seeing what I’m seeing.” There is a hitch of panic in his voice sounding genuinely wrecked. Because this was their boy. This was their Tim.

Tim slams his head back against the hard wood floor with a broken, “Please,” before going lax. Tears continue to stream down his cheeks and into his ears. He openly sobs because everything hurts and he’s so, so tired and it’s too much. “Please.”

Part 1

Before and After

Chapter 2

Let it be known, I had zero intentions on making this into a WIP, but 4,613 words later, I’m a little obsessed. Do I need another WIP? No. Do I have a new one now? Yes, yes, I do. 😂

For Whumpcember 2024 - Day 10 - “Let me help you.”

Chapter 1

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Dick’s visit opens the proverbial floodgates for Bats to drop by unexpectedly and without warning (which rude).

When the doorbell goes off, Tim is up like a shot, heart roaring in his ears, chasing the tail end of a particularly grizzly nightmare, the metallic tang of blood and smoke just on the edge of his senses.

By rote one hand goes to his collapsible bo-staff under his pillow and his phone with the other.

No one was supposed to know about his apartment aside from Dick (if there was anything to be said, manners and personal space weren’t it and Dick? Was the walking, talking, personification of a word vomit).

He blinked blearily at his phone, opening the security feed of the front door, a sense of dread filling his gut. The apartment wasn’t rented in his name, utilities another, and packages were all directed to the Postal Annex in downtown Gotham under a third alias (Key word: contingencies).

But, when the security feed finally opens, it takes a long moment to process what he’s seeing.

It wasn’t ninja at his door or some other baddie flavor of the week it was—it was an elderly man dressed down in a well tailored suit, balding with a thin mustache and two very heavy looking grocery bags hanging off his shoulders.

Alfred, his brain supplied. It was Alfred.

Before and After

Chapter 1

For Whumptober 2024 Day 27, Before and After, Alternate universe

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So, I guess I forgot to post this one here? Originally, this was just supposed to be one shot—Dick and Lazarus!Tim bonding but 4,613, chapter 2 is on the way. 😂

-

In a blink, the knife is out of his hand soaring across the living room, towards the intruder. All the while without dislodging the bottle from the fussy pup in his arms. After hours of crying—of soothing, and changing, and singing, and bouncing, and burping she had refused to go down until now and Tim was Exhausted™️.

Broken Glass (and Other Fragile Things)

I’m back again with a new fic! With the help of @balthazarusrex and the Wip Wednesday Game community, I’ve finally been able to sit down and focus again. Thank you so much for pushing me to write again!

@araydre made a beautiful piece of are here inspired by a snippet I put out recently so please show them some love! 💜

Chapter 2 of 2 should be along shortly.

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Chapter 1 of 2

The shluck of blades ripping through flesh and viscera, once, twice, the hoarse gasp of air leaving Z’s chest cavity. Pru and Owens choking, drowning in their own blood, hot and sticky and wet.

Blood. So. Much. Blood. And he was couldn’t stop it. He just laid there in agony while his friends died, just bleeding, while the Widower grinned over him, “The Council of Spiders thanks you for your participation.”

All that blood and for what? His friends were dead and dying and he couldn’t move as agony ripped through him like the assassins blade to his gut. His fingers fumbled like frankfurters, numb, and stiff.

He couldn’t die here—if he did, everything he had been working towards, everything he sacrificed would be lost, everything they sacrificed. If he died, Bruce died with him.

He had to get up, he had to move, he had to—to do something, he—

Tim gasps, chest heaving, coming back to himself. The Widower—the Widower, the Council, is gone. He made sure of that, and the League had seen to the clean up, any outlying factions were long gone. Ra’s didn’t take to having a mockery made out of the League, which, in turn, was just an extension of himself. No one made a fool of Ra’s Al Ghul. Tim had experienced that first hand, tumbling out of a high rise without a grapple.

The Council was dead and buried and had been for the better part of three years, Bruce was back from the time stream, Pru was still griping his ear off on a semi-infrequent basis, but part of Tim was still back in Iraq, bleeding out in the sand dunes under the stars.

He saved the day—he was a hero but at what cost? Was there something more he could’ve done? A better way that didn’t involve dragging his friends to their death? Not just Z and Owens.

Tim Drake is a plague.