iphoenixrising

[iphoenixrising]

TimDickWeek 2025 Day 4: Obsession

Fake dating

No quite what I expected, but here we go.

When he tries to get down with a little detecting, his team has a bad habit of not leaving him the fuck alone. Kon hovers while he’s gathering evidence, Bart pretty much runs all over it, Cassie never wears gloves and touches everything. Raven and Gar leave it to him because they know all about the Robins. Even Miguel has a bad habit of tainting evidence just by leaning over while he’s eating something and getting crumbs or sauce in the samples.

So, little by little, Red has been trying to get his team on board with good detective practices.

Case in point: he’s got Kon with him tonight, a fake boyfriend to take in front of Gotham’s elite so they can hopefully dig up some dirt and have tasty hors d'oeuvres at the same time.

The hair stands up on the back of his neck several times in the first hour, his inner vigilante sense kicking in because he knows someone was watching him.

He leans into Kon, the arm around his back tightening as he leans closer to breath against Kon’s ear. “Pick up anything?”

Kon pushes his glasses up while leaning down to nuzzle at Tim’s ear. “A few blank spots, nothing substantial.”

“There shouldn’t be any lead down here.”

“Your office another story, Mr. CEO?”

“You know it. Keep your guard up. Some of these debutants are ruthless.”

“Glad I have you to lead me through this, Red.”

The two of them make rounds with Kon playing the sweet bumbling college student dating successful CEO Tim Drake, and the pressure of being watched follows them.

It gets more weird as the night wears on. 

Tim’s favorite finger foods come out on the next round, none of which were on the menus he approved two weeks ago. The TV screens around the ballroom with scrolling photos of Wayne Enterprises friends and family switch to just pictures of the CEO in his office, in R&D, doing paperwork, standing up to present at a board meeting. Cans of grape Zesti could be found on the beverage tables. An unsuspecting tablet sitting close to Tim’s hip just appears, catching their eye when a short code appears for just a moment and is gone. The perfect puzzle for a detective.

Tim finally gets the message and sweeps the tablet up, makes some excuses, and leaves Kon in the hallway while he slips into his office.

It takes about five minutes to unlock the tablet, longer than he thought it would, but still.

Tim sighs gently, waiting for something fucked up to pop up on the screen, a video from Ra’s or the General, hell, even Lonnie at this juncture.

(The criminals obsessed with him really should say something about his style of crime fighting, but Tim isn’t even going to focus on that now.)

Instead, the tables flashes with his own insignia and Tim gasps—

Because he can’t move.

Whatever hypnotic suggestion was programmed into the tablet is effective when he doesn’t have the domino with whiteout or the suit. He can’t move, talk, or yell, his office is enmeshed in lead, and Kon wouldn’t know any better.

Everything makes sense when the gloved hand sliding over the back of his neck pauses, squeezes tight.

Fucking Ra’s.

“You’ve been very, very bad, Mr. Drake,” warm breath against his ear. Everything in Tim freezes, gets cold, when he realizes who actually sprung the trap.

The hand moves down his back, down his spine, over the nice suit coat, grips at his hip.

“Bringing the clone?” Renegade pulls Tim’s hips back into the front of his body. “You wanted to get my attention that badly, did you?”

Tim can’t even swallow the acrid taste in his mouth as Renegade’s mouth brushes against his neck, tightens the grip on his hips.

“I know what you were trying to do,” the villain chuckles lightly against skin, sending chills down his spine. “Bring your little boyfriend out in society, maybe catch a criminal tonight, hm?”

Those hands move, slide around the front of Tim’s body, touch him with breathy moans. “Too bad, I’m the one that caught you instead.”

One hand cups him between the legs, the other slides up his chest.

“Did you like my gifts? I made sure you had all your favorites tonight.”

The gloved hand grips his chin, turns his face to meet the whiteouts, “I’ve got them all at home waiting for you, my little Robin.” And Renegade smiles, wide and white, pressing the gentlest of kisses to the frozen CEO’s mouth. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you never go anywhere alone again.”

When Superboy finally gets enough waiting outside for Red Rob to figure out the tablet, he pushes the door to the office open, ready to throw off the disguise and do a little punch-smack-grab rather than investigate-research-review—

—the office is completely empty.

Their Rob is nowhere to be found.

[iphoenixrising]

DickTimWeek2025 - Day 3: Rage

Prompt: Secretly a Meta | Forced Confession | Talon Dick

In a similar fashion to the Creature!Dick fic I wrote, this one is going to be a little scary, but we’ll see how it goes. Warnings for Dark!Dick Grayson.

The new criminals in town are on the down low killing off the minor gangs or pulling everyone on the wrong side of the law under their evil empire.

The Bats are all hands on deck to find every lead they can on the baddies taking over their city. Any criminal they catch won’t say a word, even to the Bat himself. No amount of threatening, dangling off rooftops, knuckle-cracking beat-downs will make anyone talk. Oracle even put word around town that the Batman is willing to put in a good word with the GCPD for anyone that would roll over on the new crime syndicate in town.

Matches met with some contacts in the local Goonion, tried to get some in with the new heat in town. All they have is whispers, nothing solid to give them a lead.

The body count keeps going up, and the Bats are all sleep-deprived, stressed, and snappish.

Alfred is the one to finally put his foot down. He sends Master Bruce out of town to check on Batman Incorporated, Master Damian out to hunt down his Nobody friend, Mistress Cassandra back to Hong Kong, Master Luke to hunt down some former thugs that had long moved on to Capitol City, Mistress Stephanie to work with Mistress Barbara to shift through digital evidence, and Master Jason off to look for his team to work a case out of town.

With only Master Dick and Master Tim, the household winds down, and he sends the two of them off to patrol the city. They may run down the sparse leads, but a slight respite from this case may prove to be what everyone in the family may need.

But when the night takes a turn, Nightwing and Red Robin find themselves running after someone in a creepy looking owl mask.

The absolute maze they’ve stumbled into does not at all bode well for an easy night in Gotham.

Time passes and the water from the fountain looks enticing for some reason.

N snags Red’s arm tightly, pulling him away from almost sticking a hand into the strange-looking water. “Don’t,” N warns in a growl, pulling the tiring Red Robin around by the wrist.

More than once, they’ve caught sight of more masks in the peripheral.

“We’re being drugged somehow,” Red Robin stands with his back to N’s, woozy and starting to recognize why it’s harder to think, hard to figure a way out. It’s too late but he slaps the rebreather over his nose and mouth. “Put yours on! There might be something in the air.”

N’s back is tense against his, face turned, not following the order. “Don’t worry, Red. We’re getting out of here.”

“You finally lured one of them here. Excellent work!”

The creeps in the masks line a hidden balcony above them in some weird ta-da, bad guys! moment. The next step is usually the monologue that ironically gives them plenty of time to make a plan.

Welp, sometimes it doesn’t pay to be wrong.

“That will be enough of this run-around,” the center mask squawks, “it’s time to reveal our little secret weapon.” 

The lean-in doesn’t bode well, and Red taps a finger on N’s gauntlet.

“Time to do your duty, Talon.”

Red looks for whoever this ass hat is talking about, expecting the next big bad to come out from the shadows.

“You said not him,” Nightwing calls out. “You said he would be safe.”

“What?” Red spins, a hand over his face when he realizes whatever is in the air is hitting him harder, even with the rebreather. “Big Wing?”

“Oh, come now,” lead mask guy waves a hand, “none of them can go free, now can they?”

“You said,” Nightwing growls again.

“Well,” another mask leans over the balcony, “we lied. Do what you were made to do, Talon! Kill him, right here, right now.”

“Talon?” Red Robin takes a shaky step away from Nightwing’s tense shoulder, brain slowly putting together what the hell he heard.

But something, something shifts and Red Robin fumbles at his utility belt for some kind of antidote along with the portable bo that would probably be welcome right about now.

But even as he’s reaching, flipping the staff out to full-length, Nightwing, the vigilante he’s fought beside, bled beside, cried on, carried home, been carried by, seen the worst atrocities imaginable with, his mentor and friend and even his former Batman, someone he thought he knew better than he knew himself —

— makes an inhuman noise and lunges into the air.

Red Robin yells as the screams start and N is tearing through the masks, more feral than Red has ever seen him before. It’s terrifying enough to take the strength from his knees and he’s sinking down onto the tile floor of the maze, dizzy as blood arcs into the shadows and the screams gradually die down.

Through hazy vision on the verge of unconsciousness, he sees N land it back down, dripping black blood. In both hands, wickedly curved blades instead of his usual escrima sticks, face painted sickeningly with death.

The whiteouts on the domino are up and Dick’s eyes are black, not-not blue.

(Anymore.)

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Timmy,” is gentle with each step closer he takes, and the terror at those footsteps, blood on those familiar boots, slides down Tim’s spine, and he can’t even move to try and get away.

“No…Not-not you. Dick…not you.”

“Yeah, it was me all along, Timmy.” And he’s crouching down so he can flip the whiteouts up on Tim’s mask, can bend down so he’s looking directly in Tim’s fading gaze. “I hated it. Everything they did, everything they made me do. I hated all of it…but, they said you would be safe if I followed orders.”

There’s blood on the fingerstripes. The knives slide in hidden side panels of the Nightwing suit, places Tim’s never seen or noticed before.

“You’ve always been mine, Timmy. They promised I could have you when it was all over and Gotham was back under their control.” And the edge to Dick’s tone, the residual anger in the back of his mouth, ready to spill out. “I only had to kill the others, but you? I would get to keep you. Just like we’ve always been. You never would have known differently if they had just kept their promise.”

“Dick…don’t hurt…please, don’t hurt…”

But gravity is tossed around and Dick lifts him effortlessly, suit and all. “Ssshhh, ssshhh, it’s okay. It’s okay now. We’re leaving.” 

Being held up like this, being carried away from this insane maze, from this night straight out of his nightmares, being helpless to get away, to fight back, and Red Robin can’t even look away from those black, black eyes.

“I’m going to take you somewhere safe, somewhere we can be together, okay? I’ll make sure you’re safe, and then I’m going to go for the rest of them. It won’t be hard, Timmy, I promise. They’ll pay for trying to hurt you. I might have to make sure the others don’t interfere, but as long as we’re together, none of them matter, okay?”

And in a terrifying turn of events, Dick’s grip shifts, bringing him closer, bringing them face-to-face. “I’ve always wanted to be with you. Not like this, but, in the end, beggars can’t be choosers. And I know I can make you happy, right? Without the others, you won’t have to be Red Robin and I won’t have to be Nightwing. We can’t just be us. Won’t that be nice?”

And Tim doesn’t hear anything else Dick might say, passing out cold in the Talon’s embrace. He doesn’t hear the shot of the grapple, or know he’s going to wake up tied to a bed in an unfamiliar apartment, with Dick Grayson, former Robin, former Nightwing, cleaned of blood and waiting —

—to finally claim what’s his.

[iphoenixrising]

DickTimWeek 2025 Day 2 - Seduction

I'm not getting ahead of this week very well, but still.

Cam Boy Tim for the win. Special thanks to @chippon for giving me inspiration.

Dick Grayson x Tim Drake

In a city like Gotham, it’s hard to make a living, and sometimes, people have to make choices.

He’s no different, really.

In order to get a real bead on the slew of missing persons, he spends time in between other vigilante-type activities and being in charge of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, doing the back end research to find some kind of link. 

The victims are from completely different backgrounds, have no family or friends in common, and live in completely different parts of the city. Two go to different universities, one is in his last year of high school, three more are in the job force in separate industries. Nothing is correlating, and the math isn’t mathing.

Once he gets a few days away from San Fran and the usual array of escaped convicts and crazy asshats, he has time to run down the digital footprint of each victim and look for something else the GCPD might be missing.

He finds it —

— on Cambabyboi.com

(He already has the ick before he even clicked on the Talk to me, Daddy link.)

Turns out, all his missing persons had profiles on the website and had specials for anyone wanting a “private party.”

Some slight hacking and he tracks an IP address that contacted two of the missing persons privately. He gets in one profile to check the DMs and payments, finds the profile he thinks he’s looking for.

The trail goes cold when he doesn’t get anything else from the IP, the user already scrubbed and gone. He gets into two of the other Cam Boi profiles, finds similar messages and payments, but it’s not enough to get him names and locations.

So, instead of bringing it to the Bats for a deeper dive, he rents a room in a shitty boarding house down by the Narrows. Crap bed, random furnishing and decorations, a few posters, tapestry as a curtain, but nice sheets, and even better —

Some savory items he’s always thought of trying, but never had the motivation to actually buy.

Some fake streaks in his hair, contacts to change his eye color, some tricks B taught him to make his jaw look more pronounced and his cheeks fuller. A playful cat mask and ears as a schtick. The coup de grâce really comes when he breaks out some very personal, private lingerie he’s only worn for himself.

He’s got a few weeks to fish, and see if he happens to get a bite.

**

In the Haven, Detective Grayson is having a bad week.

The file folder on his desk should have been moved already, but something in him can’t let it go.

The college student found dead, a self-inflicted GSW — fairly open-and-shut in this line of work (not to be confused with the other line of work) — is missing something, something key. Something everyone else isn’t seeing.

Which means, he switches out suits to do a little more work.

Babs does him a solid and finds just about everything she can on the victim, including an online side gig that might be a little racy for his fellowship and pending post-grad internship. 

He is and isn’t surprised the victim is making sex videos for money, but he is surprised at the comments and amount of money his followers are paying him for special tricks.

He watches more videos than he realistically wants to, jotting down user names that seem to come up regularly over the span of a few weeks.

He ends up looking for other camsters the common users from the vic’s videos hunt down.

One in particular catches more than his notice.

The cam boy is probably early twenties, pale and defined, goes by the Cat Lad moniker. Detective Grayson watches the first video and gets a ping on one of the users from his vic’s list of favorite Daddies. He almost misses the interactions because of how the cam boi lays on his back and spreads his legs for the audience, bites his bottom lip, lowers his gaze behind the mask.

The next video is more intense. More comments and followers, more requests the cam boi shyly reads out loud in nondescript t-shirt and jeans. He slowly takes his clothes off this time, back to the camera, looking over a shoulder when he shyly drops the jeans and —

Lace and silk, red against pale skin—

Detective Grayson knows, knows, he’s too deep into this case to pull back.

The next few videos have similar users stalking the chat, so he’s got a line to follow and for the moment, the case doesn’t seem to be open-and-shut as everyone originally thought. 

Cat Lad goes live on Thursdays, talks about working at a small cafe, about how he’s going to move somewhere better some day. He’s shy and stunning, laughs softly at some of the comments, is always dressed at the beginning of the videos. He’s prime for someone looking to take advantage.

(Just like the vic.)

It’s not until week two that Grayson can admit this is going beyond getting justice for someone because if anything happens to Cat Lad, he’s going to put on a skin-tight suit and kick the crap out of some criminals with a righteous passion.

At week three, Grayson has the list of possible suspects forwarded to Babs to track down and can take the hour to just sit back in his apartment so he can watch.

It’s not until he catches the slight indent on the abdomen, something he’d missed multiple times before. Something familiar about a mark Cat Lad definitely meant to hide.

When he realizes he’s seen that scar before, when he realizes the pale hips, the pout of the lower lip, the curve of throat, and movement of hands is so achingly familiar, when he realizes who he’s watching sink down on a larger-than-average toy and ride himself to fruition is someone he knows intimately, someone that’s absolutely ensnared his audience by being more himself behind a mask than in his daytime usual —

— Dick Grayson shakes apart at the earth shattering orgasm the second Cat Lad, Timmy, comes all over himself and those pretty red panties, too.

[iphoenixrising]

DickTimWeek 2025 - Day 1: Breathless

I'm here late without Starbuck :/

Thanks to @chippon and @wolfsrainrules for helping with this. The ending could be better, but it's late and I'm pretty tired lol.

Dream sharing | Time loop

Dick Grayson/Tim Drake

Beware! NSFW under the cut

“We can’t—“ but he has to gasp in air, can’t finish the sentence, the sentiment they both already know.

There’s a rip and a tear, hands pulling without reservation, the air isn’t cool, his skin isn’t sensitive to it after being hidden behind Kevlar and Nomex most of the night. There’s no goosebumps, no shudder, no hair-raising.

Just palms sliding up and over scars, just knees pushing his thighs apart, just trying to get in a full breath. But he can’t, they can’t.  Hovering over him, the blue, blue eyes staring him down to the bone, chest shuddering against his becomes warm and wet over his pulse point, hips moving in tandem, the skim of teeth too close to even process how many times they’ve done this.

“We have to,” rumbling and deep in his ear, broken and breathless. “We have to finish… we have to—“

But it’s his hand gripping, pulling, wanting the entire weight spread across his front.

“Not like this,” even if his hands move down the broad back, grip the zipper to shove it down more, to shove the suit down and away. “You’re….we’re…”

The sharp edge of teeth against his collarbone, tight forearms and biceps, hands strong enough to pull him back from the abyss over and over and over.

How is this any different?

Because it isn’t want. It’s all about need.

Still, he hikes a knee up, wraps a leg to pull them closer, arches up, hips stuttering.

“Not ideal,” and the abrupt shift in gravity, pulled up and in, a mess of half-torn clothing sitting in the nest of legs so they’re pressed together. “But this isn’t the worst way to break out of someone’s nefarious plan.”

And Tim throws his head back when Dick latches on to his throat, arms tighten so he can’t get away, even in the shadowy backdrop. All they can see with clarity is the firm but messy bed. All they’ve figured out is when the dream resets and they have to start again.

Who knows how long they’ve been out in the dilapidated toy factory, stuck in the dream of the Mad Hatter’s making. Who knows if the Bats found their bodies already. Who knows if they’ll finally use the box of condoms innocently by the pillow.

Utility belts and boots discarded, a random gauntlet falling over the side, gloves with finger stripes wet from being in his mouth.

And even if they have to do this to break free, his eyes get hot and wet, hiding it because he can’t know, he can never know.

“Dick—“ but it stutters to a halt, the wind rushing out of him when the leggings come off and his boxers don’t hide a thing.

A hum or a moan, he can’t tell.

“Keep talking, Detective. Help me figure this out. We’ll have to reset soon if we don’t.”

And how. How can he keep talking when that big palm sets right up against where he’s straining.

Not again, not again, not again. He won’t survive much more.

(But that’s Hatter’s point, isn’t it?)

“T-Time loop. The dream resets to the beginning every time we-we—“ he has to gasp, to arch his back, to lose himself in the hand disappearing inside the waist band.

“Before we what, Timmy?”

“Don’t make me say it,” but it feels good, better than his imagination could spit out on the worst, lonely nights looking for Bruce lost in time.

One hand shoves his boxers down and away, the other grips his jaw, turns him so he can’t look away, he can’t hide.

“Say it.”

“Dick, please-“

“Say. It. Timmy.”

Warm palm, calloused fingers wrap around him, and he swears loudly. 

(Each time they get more, get closer.)

“Before we…before you..!” And his hips jerk, his air rushes out because no fake reality should feel like this.

“Before I what?” And those eyes are too much, too intense, can see through all his deflection and misdirections, all his walls and masks.

“Before you…before you f—“

“Before I take what’s mine.”

And in this round through the dream, from the start at the Wallstone apartments hunting the Mad Hatter, trying to get Nightwing off his back, trying to just work the case and be done with it all, trying to keep moving when he thought he was on his own now, when he’s got Dick Grayson all up in his business with broad hands and bare skin — wanted like he’s always dreamed of.

(It’s a trick, it’s a trick, it’s a trick. Or so his brain pan thought up until now.)

“Don’t do that,” but he doesn’t have control over his hands to push away, to get up. “I don’t need lies. We’ll break out of this.”

Dick’s hand tightens, speeds up, other hand pins Tim down at the center of his chest, the pressure of that palm drives his air out.

“The only lie,” and the hand pauses, slides further down, finds him,  “"is that you think this is your dream.” 

The realization hits him like a punch so he doesn’t feel anything but the slide, the stretch, fingers where he needs them. 

But it all makes some twisted kind of sense in the Hatter’s kind of world. A world where you have to give up control, have to give in.

He hears the wrapper rip, and he’s tossed on his stomach, pulled up to his knees so Dick can lay over his back. “This is my dream, my fantasy world.” The slick slide is maddening, thighs weak with the movement. “I finally get to have what I want.”

They’ve already come further than any other loop, have already made progress to get out.

(His dream? Dick’s dream? Does it matter as long as they break free? The real world needs them, he can’t stay here forever —)

“You’re mine, Timmy. Give in. Let me have you.”

All the fighting, all the old hurts, and previous pains mean nothing in the moment, and Tim’s half-functioning brain pan reminds him this might be the actual way out.

He collapses on his arms, muscles lax, thighs widening. “Dick. Dick, don’t…don’t stop.”

He closes his eyes at that hand sliding up his spine, settling on the back of his neck, grounding.

“That’s right, baby. Let go. Just let go.”

**

The Batman drives a fist into the Mad Hatter’s face one last time, knocking the villain out cold.

Hood and Robin are already untying their unconscious partners, trying to wake up Nightwing and Red Robin from the disturbing machines in the hidden room of the hideout.

Red Robin seems to be coming to while Nightwing swipes an arm out and pulls Robin into a hug while only semi-conscious.

Zip ties keep Hatter out of trouble while a single button press alerts GCPD to send a unit to their location, but B is already striding across the cracked cement.

“How are they? N? Red Robin?”

In a blink, his mini-detective is already on his feet, swaying but seemingly secure.

B latches on to one arm anyway, “Red? You know where you are?”

“Yeah, yeah,” groggy and loose limbed, Red Robin blinks behind the whiteouts, carefully not looking in the direction of a half-aware Nightwing with octopus hold engaged. “Hatter’s machine induces some kind of…fever dream. I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Fever dream? What was it about, Red?”

And since, well, he’s the Robin that gets away with lying to Batman, “not sure. It was… chaotic.”

“Control,” N seems to be aware enough to interject, turning to look up at B and Red without releasing Robin. “The dream was about letting go, giving in to someone else’s…control.”

And the Batman hums while N gets to his feet, staring Red Robin down from behind the whiteouts. The air between them gets heavy, a chill sliding up Red’s spine the longer N’s laser focused on him. His self-preservation instincts are about to kick in.

“Alright then, you two head back to the Cave. Call it a night and let Agent A look you over. We don’t want either of you to suffer any residual effects. We’ll wait for GCPD, make sure they dismantle the machine and get Hatter back to Arkham.”

Red takes a tiny, almost unnoticeable step back. “I’ll run a scan at the Perch, come by and see Agent A tomorrow before work. But, you should ask N about the injuries he got from Hatter’s goons. See you next crime.”

And in a breath, he’s got the grapple shot, pulling him up, up, up, through the broken skylight and into the night.

With an affectionate noogie, Nightwing releases Robin, ignoring the angry yelling. His escrima sticks are there on the table where he was hooked up, and he slides them home, already aiming the line in his gauntlet. 

“Nothing serious, B. I’ll have Agent A take a look after I wrap some things up.” It’s deceptively calm as he takes to the air, flings himself through the broken glass to land it right on top the base of the antenna, scanning for the flap of a cape and sole of reinforced boots. 

He spots the dive off the bail bondsmen, the duck-and-cover around crumbling mortar, the inevitable run to the closest safe house where Timmy thinks he can realistically hide.

N smirks, but his eyes behind the mask are locked in to the disappearing figure running like hell is at his heels. “It’s time, Timmy. I’ve waited long enough to get what I want.”

Like a shot, he’s off. He’s given Red Robin a head start, not that it will help, but knowing how Tim feels under him, responds to him, wants him, the only thing Dick can do from here —

— is give chase.

[iphoenixrising]

Do me a favor and spread this around to the younger people in the fandom. There’s a reason why we don’t do this at Ao3

I'm so glad to see AO3 making it absolutely clear that none of these things are allowed to even be HINTED at.

Here's some of the language from the new post about AO3's police on commercial promotion:

-

There is a wide variety of things that are not allowed under AO3's non-commercialization rules.

Any other language which one might interpret as requesting or having requested financial contributions, whether for yourself or others. This covers indirect references, euphemisms, or other language intended to get around the TOS. Some examples of this include:

Thanks for the coffee!

My ☕ username is the same as my username here

This chapter is brought to you by my patrons

You know where to find me if you want early or bonus chapters

Check out my Twitter to learn how you can donate to me since I'm not allowed to discuss it here

If you want to hear more about my ideas, talk about fandom, or find more of my stuff for a coin, visit my Tumblr

Solicitation is not allowed, whether it's for yourself or on behalf of someone else.

[iphoenixrising]

man your fic is so good but I have to ask, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy do you write Jason's accent like that? it keeps ending up somewhere between vaguely illegible and SUPER offensively classist and makes it hard to keep reading. Nobody else gets written that way and it doesn't even read like a Jersey accent because it's so extreme and it doesn't even seem to match. This isn't canon-based, so why???

So. I’m sure sending this under anon gave you the security to tell me how to write my own fics, and a year ago, I hid most my works on Ao3 because of a series of shitty comments from people that don’t take responsibility for their own reading experience.

In that time, I consider just clean sweeping everything. This blog, Ao3, FF.net. Just vanish into the aether and kill more than a decade of writing in one swoop. The people that matter know how to find me outside these platforms, so whatever.

But in that time, I’ve become pretty familiar with Reddit and TikTok, so most people could find my work in r/deletedfanfiction anyway. And the absolute entitlement of some people on TikTok talking shit about writers got my back right the fuck up, so we not gonna do that.

More importantly, in the last two months, I’ve suffered an injury that will take about a year to overcome. While I’m learning to re-walk again, these petty opinions are very much not as important as they used to be, and not as hurtful as they were when I was struggling with depression and a slew of other things.

So, to address your shitty take, I’ve made plenty of posts on how and why I write Jason’s accent and I’m not going to go over it again. Do your due diligence and read those posts. Second, you don’t like the accent, fuck off and don’t read my work. Third, send an ask under your username and be an asshole with some backbone.

Have the day you deserve.

[iphoenixrising]

Hi, I read a alpha Tim, omega Jason and dick fic and I could’ve sworn it was written by you but I’m not able to find, did you delete it or is it still hidden? Just sorta been craving reading that particular fic atm honestly.

Either way your writing has been amazing to read through keep doing you! :D

Ah hi babe. This ask was from a long time ago when I was not necessarily in a good place tbh. Sorry it took so long.

So I did once upon a time get this urge to invert my usual dynamic and write Alpha!Tim, Omega!Dick, Omega!Jason. The main one is on Ao3 again https://archiveofourown.org/works/18615106 and there's the link to the tiny bit of plot that started it.

[iphoenixrising]

Hi! I just wanted to send you a message, firstly to wish you a happy new year! And secondly just to say that you’ve been providing incredible and free works of art for nearly a decade (probably longer, but it’s been nearly a decade since I first followed you!!) and I just wanted to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the tireless work you’ve put in. I hope writing has been as much of a joy for you as reading has been for us! Wishing you a wonderful 2025 :))

Hi babe.

Ah, thank-you for the loves! It's so amazing to think you've been with me that long, you know? There's many of the fandom peeps that text me or send me messages that have literally been there since the first Tim Drake fic went out. My daughter was still a baby back then and she's in sixth grade now and is almost as tall as I am tbh. Crazy how much time has passed.

And, you know, the years I haven't been writing much because ah work and other interests as I finally spread out my fanfic wings to devour content rather than create, I still come back here and be amazed at the amount of fics and ficlets and stories and half-baked headcannons people are still finding and enjoying today. In the shitshow the US has become in the last year, it's a welcome feeling to know some of the depressed and down-trodden can find some kind of comfort in ass-kicking vigilantes, Doctors with hobbies, Omegas that can only run from what they need for so long, the real feeling of Welcome Home, the owfucks and attitudes and steamy accents, the birds that can only go forward - never back, the absolute slimy creep Ra's can turn out at the most inopportune moments, the array of named concussions to make them seem a little less bad, infinite cups of coffee and Grape Zestis, the cliffhangers that might never get finished, and a plethora of other things hidden in the dark niches of this blog.

Hopefully, someday I'll go back for my MA in Creative Writing and get out of Tech to do this, or a version of this, in real life. But, until I do, I might as well share just a bit of the next installment of the TimDick (maybe TimDickJay...?) Sentinel/Guide au, right?

Hm, why not? You can check it below the cut ;)

After turning down any attempt of his Sentinel to contact him (i.e. actually duck and dodging said stalkery behavior he is intimately familiar with), it all comes down to the basics less than a month after the disastrous discovery in a hotel room right after he'd played Wayne Enterprises CEO with the likes of Lex Luthor–

who will always and forever be King of the Douche Canoes, seriously

– the breakout at Black Gate is the most all hands on deck that's happened in Gotham in the last year.

Since several members of the Rogue Gallery teamed up to set the explosives, well, every Bat is expected to set-up in Gotham, and Red Robin, for as much as he's stayed the fuck out of their business in the last year, finds himself already in the city for a few meetings with Lucius about next quarter when the night sky outside Wayne Towers lights up with the very familiar symbol.

"Dammit," he breathes out, pretty much aware he could just ignore it. Considering Nightwing, the Red Hood, Batgirl, Black Bat, Robin, and B were all in the city tonight anyway.

(What's one more body between the people of Gotham and the baddies? Well, depends on the body, doesn't it?)

Lucius gives the usual suffering sigh he gives Brucie Wayne when the other mask falls away and leaves the vigilante behind.

"I guess we can pick this up tomorrow," the head of R&D tells him idly, scrolling through text alerts on his phone while Tim visibly reins himself back in to the new line of motherboards going into their medical cradles for military aid.

Tim just stays quiet for once because even though Lucius and Tam both know the big secrets, it's still not something they talk about unless a thorough sweep for bugs has happened in the last thirty minutes.

(Ninjas suck sometimes. #facts)

"It's fine. We still have a few more things we can cross off the list–" Tim starts, jaw tight when he turns away from the familiar symbol, when some things still fucking sting even though he's been doing his level-best to move the fuck forward.

Lucius hums at him and holds out his phone with a tight smile.

The quick update on Gotham's Track the Crime Spree app shows him exactly what's going down, and his truly epic facepalm is the loudest thing in the office.

**

The Batcomm he hacked is on mute, voices in his ear to keep up with the criminals spilling out of Blackgate and swarming the city. Not to mention some of the classics had a hand in making it happen.

The initial plan changes when the Bats start calling dibs on bad guys, throwing out their locations, heading toward the more-than-usual amount of mayhem.

He doesn't throw in on the convo, instead starts picking off the small fries that just happened to be more concerned with escaping and hiding than doing a fair amount of damage the second they hit Gotham proper.

(Really noobs)

He's running through alleyways, easy, fast, and furious to take down the low-level escapees with quick double zip ties for wrists and ankles, not even really working up a sweat.

He leaves the big times to the official night crew, deals with the small fries and enjoys the burn in his thighs as he runs.

Batgirl spots him, yelling out something before he's off again, not interested in some kind of reunion.

(And her low level shields make his back teeth ache with how vulnerable she is, how much she needs someone to strengthen them for her, how he could do it without working too hard... Dammit, the Guide in him is drawn to her with those pesky instincts he's been trying to get under control.)

His first big bad of the night comes in the form of–

Condiment King.

And just. 

This guy.

He really wishes he had the time to enjoy witty banter and a long, drawn-out fight with some heavy hits. Anything to stop him from the low-level buzz on the edge of his shields he knows is Nightwing. He zip ties Buddy Sandler to a light pole and his backpack of condiments to another, he gets one good one before it’s time to move on. 

“Well, I relish the win, but you and the rest are going back to jail. See ya next crime.”

Then he’s off, shooting a grapple, taking off into the night.

Mortimer Kadaver was already kidnapping a victim, and he gets a satisfying crunch when he breaks the guys nose after a look at the torture implements in the back seat of the stolen sedan. The citizen takes off without a look back, completely ignoring him to wait for the police.

He jumps on another stolen car, riding a few blocks at breakneck speed before he punches out the driver’s side window and steers the car himself.

(It’s fun when the low-level thugs don’t know what’s going on. “How are you not driving?!” “Tell the hand in the window to give me the wheel back!”)

He doesn’t get thrown when brains kicks in and the driving thug slams on the brakes, but it’s a close thing.

Instead, he’s trying not to smile when they tumble out the other side of the car on unsteady legs. It’s an easy KO when the city is literally going to shit over the comm in his ear.

Things get real when O calls everyone in on the West side where the bigger, badder B is apparently ready for a round 2 of the “break Batman’s back” challenge.

(It’s the worst possible time for that guy. The flash of memory, of being Dick’s Robin for the short stint, of working with him while Bruce had to train his body again to take on the mantle after Jean Paul had to admit defeat. The best times, the most painful memories. All of it swirling in his chest with the buzzing on the edge of his senses getting sharper, cutting into his shields. All the bullshit stories about True Pairs and here he is, tempting the bond with things like proximity and ass kicking.)

He hits the top of the water tower to check out the sitch, trying to stay out of sight, out of the way of the main family doing their things while Bane is hepped up on venom and swatting at Robin and Black Bat like flies.

No one has to say it while calling out strategy, but it’s a pretty obvious distraction play. Keep the Bats busy while the bulk of baddies get ghost. It’s classic Bane, really.

Since the venom is highly flammable and there’s a lot of vigilantes he doesn’t want to face, he does the next best thing - makes a plan.

It easy to drive KG Beast and the Baffler right up his grill without ever being seen by the Bats as the three big baddies smack into one another on the down swing of some stunning blows. 

A combination of smoke pellets, knockout gas, and bo to the back of the head puts them out for the count in a move even he didn’t think was crazy enough to work.

Slam dunk. It’s buy two and get one free day.

Even better, Black B and Rob were back far enough to miss him through the smoke even though his rebound was a top notch move even for a season vigilante.

Which is why it sucks when Polka-Dot Man actually gets the drop on him because honestly, that guy. He does deliver a stunning back kick to put the B-lister down, but it does make him see double for an important enough second.

“Daw, takin’ alla the fun outta my night, Pretender,” the Red Hood drawls from a rooftop above him, the glint off shiny .45s too bright in his spotty vision. “Nice a’ ya ta actually show the fuck up fer once.”

“Honestly,” he banters back while the woozy sensation fades to a low grade headache, “how many asses in spandex does one city need?”

He gets a chuckle rather than a bullet to the head, so that is most certainly a win.

The drawback of gaining attention of the Red Hood, however, is the lack of duck and dodge that really is part of his new pseud.

Hood literally throws him over a shoulder and dives off the Wallstone Apartments while Red is still reeling from the blow, bellowing out when a meaty arm clamps on the back of his kicking legs in a very subtle warning.

“Leggo!”

“My ass. Stop yer squirming, fucker.”

“How about we compromise. Let me go and you can kick someone else’s ass?”

“Nice try. Like I dunno who yer really running from?”

“I’m fighting crime, not running you asshole!”

“Sure, sure. Ya know what they say. De Nile ain’t just a river in Egypt.”

“I don’t even live here anymore!”

“Oh? Can’t wait ta tell B ya just said that, Timmer.”

“I’m not his responsibility, didn’t you get the memo?”

Wind in his hair over the bad section of bail bondsmen and sleazy villain insurance. The plan forms while Red Hood arches his back to throw them both high in the air before the second grapple *zings* and latches on.

“I said th’ same thing at one time. Ya already know bout that shit, an’ how B didn’t give one fuck ‘bout what I hadda say.”

“The difference is you’re actually part of the fucking family, Jason!”

“Mmhm. Keep onnit, Replacement. M’comm is gettin’ alla this, n’ ya know it.”

“So what? No one’s bothered giving a crap  so far!”

Did he get hit with a truth serum or is this just the concussion talking? 

(R - Randal, Randal the concussion is awful and he should really stop this messy truth shit no one needs to hear.)

“Come off’n it, Timmy. Like ya don’t already know B gotcha tracked within an incha yer life? Think he just gonna let the smart one run off wi’ Shiva fer fuck’s sake?”

Even with Randal being a pain in the ass, Red has a terrifying moment of panic. They know. They all know.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, sure. Tell that ta Dickie why dontcha? I ain’t seen ‘in that pissed off inna hot minute.”

“He already knows-“

“Does he really now? Why don’tcha tell ole’ Jace all ‘bout it, hm?”

His voice through the synths sounds very not inviting.

“Randall is a fucker and he needs to lay off,” which has Hood laughing even if he doesn’t know what Red means by any of it.

They land it with a jolt — right in the middle of a brawl.

Which is just about the speed he really needs right now anyway.

Black Bat swings by with a screaming escapee dangling from one hand by his ankle while she smiles under the stitched-up mask and gives him a happy wave. The comm in his ear hasn’t fallen out so he knows the others are spaced out, corralling the others with the help of GCPD.

So, the fight is on a little more than he originally thought.

But still, the burn feels better than the low-grade concussion and the pulsing heat of Sentinels (of his Sentinel), close by. He knows Jason’s shields are fractured, held together by pure stubborn will. He knows Steph is a few blocks down, whooping it up with her shields scarily open for her senses to reach far enough out to track stragglers. B is held together the best of them all, but Dami is developing his senses now and his control is sporadic at best.

Punching the shit out of thugs takes some of the weight off the knowledge, doesn’t completely distract him from his own instincts, but distracts his brain just enough.

Leg sweeps, palm to the nose, kick to the back of the knees, a spinning whirlwind of ass kicking, back-to-back with Hood, spit blood when he takes a hit, clench his teeth when he feels the strain on Nightwing close enough to make his skin burn with it.

His chest is heaving by the time the groaning pile of bodies is down for the count and the red and blue is lighting up the night on their way. He scrambles for a grapple gun while Black B and Hood are finishing up the zip ties. But when he points it the way he wants to go, his finger won’t squeeze the trigger.

“Clean-up’s goin’ all right,” Hood reports, nudging his shoulder with the hand still holding the .45. “Lookin’ like B’s gotch some a’ th’ bomb residue ‘case ya wanna get in on that, nerd.”

“Like you’re much better,” Red rasps out, grapple in his lowered hand trembling, the pounding in his head worse than any concussion.

He knows what this is, the only thing it can be.

“Mmhm. ‘Least I don’t need a fuckin’ engraved invitation ta come back ta the Cave.”

Red’s head whips around, the whiteouts on the mask narrow in a who the fuck are you talking to? kind of way.

Hood crosses his arms over his massive chest because the guy knows when he’s feeding someone a line.

Welp, since everyone already knows apparently.

Right in front of the helmet, Red Robin shoves the grapple back in his belt and deactivates the right gauntlet with his left hand. The helmet cocks to the side in question, but Red moves with fluid grace and speed, even with Randall riding his cape, and slaps his palm on the only bare skin available, on the side of the Red Hood’s neck.

His instincts jump immediately and reach out to the dangerous cracks and crumbles in the Red Hood’s shields, the painful red throbbing of shields crumbling.

He might hear a noise out of the synths, might imagine it because what does Jason Todd owe him really?

But it’s easy, just like putting together the pieces of evidence from a crime scene. The fractured plates protecting Hood are hot to work with, a sharp sting across his brain pan (something that could be from the Pit or be just natural Jason Todd, zombie Sentinel extrodinaire), eases down with the pieces coming together, strengthening, forming a stronger metaphysical shield to give Jason a measure of peace from his own overwhelming senses. It’s a  the relief of relaxing a clenched fist after the fight.

The reason Sentinels need Guides.

(Well, there’s more to it than just that, isn’t there? And Red’s brain can’t help but flinch back to those dreams, to a voice in his ear and hands on him — Guide mapping, his dream Sentinel whispered against skin.)

Red doesn’t manage to stop Hood from sinking to his knees in the aftermath, downed criminals, things on fire, GCPD almost on top them, and Black B nearly vibrating out of her mask next to them, hands hovering and afraid to touch.

Instead, he feels the reverberation of that deep noise coming straight out of the Red Hood’s chest. The relief under the constructed shield thick between them while they stand in the middle of the street.

That growling purr is almost enough, almost enough, to stop him from turning on his heel.

But the gloved hand snags the hem of his cape stops him in his tracks. his eyes blow wide behind the whiteouts and he sees a second of Hood's emblem before his literal savior, Cass, snaps him up and throws him over her shoulder before she takes off.

The night takes a turn for a "what the fuck?" when he and Black B take a few pauses to double team some of the baddies when the Red Hood loses them close to Robinson Park.

Things got more dicey when N spots them taking out Joyful Noise before the sonic blaster destroys yet another pointless sculpture. The comms erupt in a whole lot more noise in the shit show his "duck and cover crime fighting" night has devolved into.

(He's not going to focus on how his head is just a little sore instead of Randall being a right pain in the ass, isn't going to think about the implications here. He can't focus and keep moving through the baddies if he has a sane moment to wonder if it was that easy because he also...Jason-)

They manage to evade the Bats (mostly), ignoring the cajoling and usual back-and-forth once they realize Red Robin is part of crime time.

Cass does him an absolutely solid, driving them to his other, other underground bunker, letting him hang his head against her back while the air hitting them reeks of smoke, burning plastic, and gasoline. He doesn't get the underlying tinge of metal, blood, and fear -- that was from Jason's head while those shields were coming together nicely.

(When he's a full continent away, he'll have him moment of panic, but until then, Cass is totally not addressing the very obvious elephant in the bunker.)

She stays for post-patrol snacks, producing a family-sized box of Cheez-Its and some Alfred sandwiches that are somehow still cold.

They do the usual throwing off sweaty top layers, domino and mask, stare at two episodes of The Office with Zestis from the mini-fridge in the corner.

One-handed signs while they chew, hit a quick patch up job, and the night is finally over.

Cass checks the Batchat to make sure everyone made it out of the city after one hell of a night and gives no reply to the questions about Tim, much to everyone’s dismay.

The next shift of GCPD is coming on, so the city is secured for another day. She produces a backpack and changes into soft leggins, runners, and a hoodie he's pretty sure is Bruce's.

Tim does a good job on her knuckles, and she gives him a kiss on the forehead, makes him promise to stay away from screens and not to sleep for a few hours yet.

After she takes off, he breathes out a long, breath, collapses on the overstuffed couch a minute before going to the lower levels, thinking about catching up on paperwork before he's got to meet with Lucius again. A nice shower, some coffee, and he could do some work, take an actual moment --

("True Pairs, an honest Sentinel and Guide relationship, can include sharing such effects of injuries.")

He shakes the thought out, rolls his neck, and picks up his discarded utility belt, trying to find as many things to divert his attention to as possible.

The door to his lower levels slides silently open under his fingerprint and an intensive alphanumeric code, but some premonition sends a familiar chill down his spine, the vestiges of the old Robin instincts.

[iphoenixrising]

Ok so. I stumbled upon your Doctor!Tim Fic and absolutely adored it - and I just saw that your other works are now public again and let me tell you, I am *SO* stoked! Cannot wait to start the fracture verse - have to postpone this though since finals week is currently upon me and I shall not start this universe and your works for fear of getting stuck in them. Just wanted to let you know, how excited I am to read your works and to thank you for making them public again! <3

hi babe <3

Thank-you for the kind ask. I'm so glad you found Dr!Tim and it was the apparent gateway to my other fics now floating around again :D

I hope you do well during finals week, so no worries. Fracture will be there when you're done.

[iphoenixrising]

This is both flattering and hilarious. I tend to have a vernacular with Tim stories 😂

[iphoenixrising]

If things are difficult today

If you're reading this in the US, and you're heartbroken and scared, it's okay to take care of yourself and come back when you can. Drink water, take a break from the media and news, read things that make you happy, and keep fighting when you can stand.

I love you babes <3

[iphoenixrising]

I really loved your stories. Glad to see Doctor Tim is still around, he was always a favourite of mine.

Hello babe! I'm so glad you enjoy the works :D I have another chapter of Dr!Tim to finish it off tbh, and someday I'l finish it ;)

[iphoenixrising]

Oh hi! I didn’t have a tumblr when I first started reading your fics and I only got a tumblr account after I got engaged with other fandoms. But I saw your account pop up on my fyp and I remember being completely obsessed with your fics and wanted to see how you were doing!

Also obsessed seems like a weird word but your fics were one of the reasons I made it through high school with shitty mental health so it’s weird to say but thank you for just being you and writing. ANYWAYS! I wanna say I do remember you and your fics fondly and I hope you’re doing well ❤️

Hi babe <3

Aw! I'm so happy you found me here. I've got some content here I don't have on Ao3 just in headcannons and observations, so I hope you find things you enjoy :D

I feel for you since I also had a hard time in school, but hopefully you made it out and can be happy in your life now. It took a while before I could write again after school, well, write creatively, and then sharing it online was terribly nerve-wracking to post content.

Tbh, I am taking a leave of absence from work. I've been at my current job for four years now, but things have been stressful for a while, so I'm taking a few weeks off to try getting myself in better shape and maybe even writing again, who knows?

Still, thank-you for your loves.

[iphoenixrising]

Something God/Messanger of the Gods/WhattheFuckEvenIsThis, HowIsThisMyLife au

I refuse to lie about it. This? Totally got the idea from a yaoi. 

**

From the Heavens, the Father of the Gods looks into the seeing waters at the realm of mortals. The young man with a soft smile, raven black hair, and shockingly violet eyes draws Bruce’s sighs, his son long denied him.

A promise to the boy’s mother while she carried their halfling child, that he would allow their son twenty-one years on Earth to live among other mortals. Once he came of age in their world, then he could be told about the Gods and brought into his power.

The more his three other sons clashed nowadays, it’s become obvious the boy is sorely needed.

Alfred, his second-in-command of their heavenly armies, stands by his right hand, watches the boy smile at a customer and hand over warm beverages humans seem to enjoy.

“He is certainly your blood, Sire,” Alfred comments idly, wondering how the mortals could be so dense as to not see the blatant appeal of the boy behind the counter. His face, while handsome with his father’s strong jawline, is pale with otherworldly beauty. His eyes shine with peace at every person that steps up to speak with him.

“Indeed. It is finally time for him to come home and take part in his birthright, old friend.”

Alfred turns away from the half-God they’re observing, “it has been a long time coming, hasn’t it, Sire?”

For a moment, the Father of the Gods, the former Titan, Bruce, looks sadly at the boy, hands fisting on the edge of the seeing water’s cradle. Even stone here in the Heavens would crumble under his fists.

“It is beyond time, my old friend. It is time he comes home.”

**

He is back to sitting on the throne when his three sons answer his call.

Dick, his firstborn, the God of Rebirth and Renewal.

Jason, his second born, the God of the Underworld.

Damian, his youngest, the God of War.

When the three appear before the massive door to his throne room, their voices echoing, the surge of pride in them fills his chest to near overflowing. His sons all grown into Gods of valor and might.

“Damn, Goldie,” Jason teases, a salacious grin at his brother’s normal tight body suit perfectly outlining every salacious inch. He pinches the material between two fingers, a contrast to his sharp, black, three-piece suit and the Demon’s intricate armor. “Betcha get all hot n’ bothered when it’s time ta hunt, ya feel me?”

Dick just snorts at his younger brother, knocking his hand away to sweep the taller God up in both arms and hold him off the ground.

“I know that just means you missed me, Jay. We haven’t seen each other since that last fight in the Underworld, when those underlings tried to overthrow you. We made a great pair, remember?”

Damian removes his helm, rolling his eyes at the antics of his older siblings, tries to remember he is the bright one of the family. (Even though he would obviously say Barbara is the smartest and Cassandra the most fearsome.)

“Yeah, yeah. Good ta see ya, too. Now pum’me down.”

“Aw, you’re no fun anymore. Where’s the snarky little hellion I used to give noogies?”

“See, that’s what policin’ damned souls does ta ya, yeah?”

Grinning behind his hand at their bickering, the Father of the Gods stands from his throne, strides down the white and gold steps, waves a hand to open the massive gold doors to his throne room to take in each of his sons into his arms, warm to his core at how well each still fits into his embrace even all grown up.

“Not to worry,” Bruce interrupts their banter. “Your sisters will see to everything while you are gone.”

He has their attention, and sighs, palming the side of Dick’s face, ruffling the white streak in Jason’s hair, and finally rests a hand on the back of Damian’s neck.

“Gone?” Damian’s immediate reaction is suspicion because Father gives the utterly worst tasks. 

“Barbara can handle being the Goddess of the Elements. Cassandra will make a formidable Goddess of War, and Helena will… enjoy taking on Goddess of the Underworld.”

“Not likin’ th’ sound’a this,” Jay straightens, slides his fingers over the lapels of his suit, smoothes out the lines. 

“If this is anything like the last few adventures, Bruce, you can just send someone else–“ Because, yeah, Dick has other things to do than run all over the place on another crazy God hunt. 

No thanks.

But rather than use the usual methods to gain their agreement, their great Father instead… sighs.

“The truth, my sons, is that I have called you all here because this undertaking is of the utmost importance. I can trust only you three, no others.  But, more to the point, I don’t think any but all of you together can accomplish it in time.” And it’s jarring to see the Father of the Gods look sad, tired, worn in the way of mortals. “In many ways, I am…torn that you will learn the truth in this manner, but come! Let me show you instead.” He leads them to the viewing pool where Alfred stands idly watching. 

The younger Gods crowd around the delicate bowl seemingly grown from the floor, full of the prophetic waters, a gift from Barbara.

For Father to need them like this, a task only his first sons could accomplish, they’re all a bit breathless wondering what this could possibly be. 

“A mortal?” Dami sounds less insulted than surprised, staring into the image in the waters. “A mere mortal, Father? It takes thousands to wage a decent battle.”

A second glance when Jason’s eyes narrow, when Richard leans further over the waters, licking his lips, and Damian pauses, tilts his head to be certain he is not imagining it.

A blink, a glance at his enraptured brothers, and the gentle glow about the mortal man, the curve of his pink mouth in a welcoming smile, the vibrant blue-violet of his eyes, the curve of biceps and shoulders, the way he merely moves is –

Mesmerizing.

“He ain’t a mortal. Can’t be. N’ I’d know if he was one a’ mine masquaradin’ on Earth,” Jay leans his forearms down on the water’s vessel.  “I can letta demon be beautiful, don’t geddit wrong. But that sweet lil’ innocent is something else entirely, ya feel me?”

“But he’s in the mortal world,” Dick reasons, looking back at what he assumes is their next prey. “He functions like he belongs there,” he gestures to the man taking money from customers, talking with a soft grace, a kindness they can feel through the waters without hearing a word.

“He should not be,” Damian’s hands tighten on the vessel, delicate gold and white creaking with the strength of it. “Mortals cannot see what he is as we can. They could–“ cause him harm, take him, own him, almost leaves the God of War’s lips. He balks at that line of reasoning, but still, his mouth waters in anticipation, his eyes cannot look away.

The Father of the Gods nods sagely, a worn sigh raising his chest, “unfortunately, he has borne many burdens from living in the mortal world. Some that would have broken a lesser creature. But, as you can see, my sons, he remains steadfast.”

Dick hums, still watching as the mortal is now apparently taking a large stack of cups from a plastic sleeve and putting them back down on some kind of holder. Seemingly ordinary as they come, but if this is the subject of their father’s attention, there must be more than meets the eye. As the eldest, he’s very well aware of their Father’s tendencies for a good, dramatic quest.  

“As much as I enjoy watching him,” and that is no false statement, not with how beautiful and soft and sweet this mortal absolutely is, “what does he have to do with us?”

Their Father breathes in sharply, “the matter is…complicated. What I want you to do is bring him here before me. I wish to finally see him with my own eyes.”

All three of his sons straighten, yell out denials of such a thing.

“It would kill him!” Damian raises a fist.

“Ya know a mortal can’t take alla this,” Jay waves a hand in B’s general direction.

“It would be kinder to end him with one shot,” Dick’s tone is flat, but he unconsciously positions his body between the viewing vessel and his great, powerful Father.

And Bruce, under the angry eyes of his sons, looks away. “It’s true he is mortal, but… he is only half.“

And now the boy’s ethereal beauty, softly glowing aura, the very subtle allure is answered when his sons look back, and their want for him doubles.

(A halfling. A mixture of man and God that could be a spectrum of delectable creatures. Most were brought to the Amazons for safe keeping, as the eventual maturation into their power as a divine event would surely give them away to mortals and other less ethical Gods. In a word, a truly earth-shattering awakening.) 

“This is why I can only entrust what must be done to the three of you.” Bruce looks between them at his long-missing son, long separated from him, and back to his beautiful Godlings. He pulls at the strings he knows are connected, “Only another God can bring him into his power so he is strong enough to stand before me. But, he is…unique. A single God cannot do it alone, but the three of you together. You, my sons, may be strong enough to awaken him. As it is, I fear another could come upon him first…and possibly takes him for themselves.”

As he predicted, Jason’s eyes narrow, a deceptively casual flip of his fine suit coat. Damian’s mouth raises in an over my bleeding corpse sneer, hand hovering over his sheathed weapon. And Dick arches a brow at their Father, arms crossed over his bare chest. While he absolutely sees through his Father’s ploy, he can’t help the throb in his veins to hunt, catch, keep when he thinks about any of his fellow Gods or Goddesses coming upon this apparent halfling before they do.  

“All right, all right,” Jay flips a half-assed salute, “we getcha, B. Ain’t gotta be a manipulative asshole ‘bout it.”

Dick snickers because well, it isn’t a lie.

Their great Father shrugs a shoulder, “I’m giving you the evidence you need to understand how important this is, Jason. This halfling is…special. Even I do not know what power he may bring forth once it is his time to awaken. The water itself will show no further future for him,” and an arm gestures to the view of the mortal. 

All three of his sons noticeably perk. Nothing like a good mystery to reel them in.

**

It’s a totally normal, sane day. 

And you know what? That’s nice once and a while.

With the tips he got yesterday, he’s going to be able to make his rent on time and being, you know, not homeless really is a thing worth celebrating.

Steph hands him the next order, and the two of them move around one another behind the counter in that comfortable way when you work so well with someone, it’s like the two of you share a brain. 

When it gets busy in the evening close to closing time, they get a nice little rush of people to close out the night.

They’ve got ten minutes, but most the machines at καφές (or ka-feys) are already cleaned and ready for tomorrow morning’s shift. Steph is whistling behind the counter while she counts out the tip jar, smoothing out wrinkled bills and cashing out the change for more dollars.

“It never fails,” she bemoans while he wipes down the back counters, “we make bank any time you are front and center, Timmers.”

His face gets pink where she can’t see and he scoffs for appearances, “people like seeing you more than they like seeing me, you know.”

“The bouncy, energetic vibe doesn’t always do the trick. Apparently the boy-next-door Hallmark type really does.”

He turns, clearly offended here because he works out when he can, was a gymnast in high school and everything!

He’s not a Hallmark throwback, fuck you very much.

“This is why I hate you.”

“Lies. You love me,” she makes kissy noises while he rings out the bleach rag and carries the bucket back to empty in the kitchen sink. 

Toss of the day rag in the dirty bin, wash up a few remaining dishes while he hums to himself, stoked about having enough in tips to splurge for a pizza with some left to go into savings for the someday when he can go back and finish college.

He thinks about his lonely little apartment buried in a tenement building a few blocks away in the infamous big city. Just one more sad story in a building of sad stories trying to make the next day count. 

If anyone had asked him five years ago where he’d be on his twenty-first birthday, this probably wouldn’t have been the answer.

The bell chimes with incoming, and he groans to himself as he’s on way through the swinging door, wondering which machine he’s going to have to dirty up to make whatever this asshole–

(The three men at his counter immediately zoom in on him, three sets of incredible eyes make him pause a moment, and luckily not melt into a proverbial puddle on the floor because this trio of man sandwich? Are the most breathtaking men he’s ever seen outside of a magazine, movie, or tasteful porn. He finds his heart picking up, beating harder in his chest, his face getting warm, his mouth watering when a quick mental flash of clothes on his bedroom floor is just the birthday gift he’s been waiting for.)

-wants.

Tim puts on his best how can I help you smile with his pulse thudding dully in the back of his mouth.

“Welcome to καφές,” and Steph totally appears magically by his side, like her inner wingwoman instincts called, staring at the buffet in front of them. “What can we make for you?”

**

Jason, Damian, and Dick.

This feels like a joke somehow.

It’s a joke because all three of these god-tier hotties seem to be…flirty? Kind of super obviously?

Steph sighs as she makes the Americano, watches Tim over her shoulder as he rings up the customers, and the one with the smooth accent literally puts a $100 bill in the tip jar.

In the tip jar

Without looking away from Tim.

The younger one has attitude for days, but he’s putting on the charm when he asks for Tim’s name (c’mon, we have name tags) in a low purr, and what would Timothy suggest for someone who likes light and sweet, hands on the counter close to Tim’s in a perfectly casual way.

The leaner one, who has an ass that could be considered out-of-this-world-hot, literally puts a hand on Tim’s, nodding with attentive eyes while Tim gives them the specials of the day (for the third time), and Steph comes very close to burning the shit out of herself while making his latte.

(They are so obvious. Tim what are you even doing right now? Why, whyyy isn’t her best friend telepathy working RIGHT. NOW?!)

They’re from out-of-town, on some business, and know nothing of the sights. Would he happen to be from Gotham? Could he suggest a nice hotel where they might get accommodations?

It’s right then. Right. Then.

She has to do something.

Because they? Are best friends. And she is invested as hell getting him laid. 

(After that awful break-up with Conner last year, he hasn’t gotten back on the proverbial horse. And this? Is his opportunity of a literal lifetime.)

“Tim! Could you help me just a minute–“ is sweet and soft, her smile warm and welcoming. “If you guys wouldn’t mind having a seat over there, Tim can bring your drinks in a jiffy!”

The looks are absolutely sinful and even her sweet best should be picking up on the UST less than a foot away from him.  She bites the inside of her cheek at how pink his face is when their customers finally take a few steps away from the counter.

She pulls him back around the set-up to the sinks by one wrist, almost hopping up and down with excitement.

“Wh-what did you need help with? Did the espresso machine go down again?”

“Are you fricking kidding me right now?” She whispers furiously, “Tim. Timmy. Honey. Sweet Summer Child. You are going to listen up and do exactly as I say.”

Now he’s rolling his eyes because something is definitely coming that he isn’t going to like.

“You are going to take out their drinks, and tell them you know a perfectly nice hotel not far from here. If they seem interested, you’re going to tell them you’d be happy to give them directions or maybe show them where. Le Grande is only a few blocks away, and you might have a chance to be the jelly in that sandwich.”

“Are you serious?” He deadpans. “They’re just…being nice. It’s late, they want coffee,” he shrugs awkwardly, “you know. Just really friendly people?”

“This is Gotham,” she deadpans back, “there are no friendly people. But they? Are so into you. Take their drinks, tell them you know where they can stay the night, a place with a nice bar and good reputation. If they invite you to have some birthday drinks with them, then, for the love of God, Tim, say yes. Maybe if you get a few in you, they’ll invite you to their room for a game of hide the salami. If they do, you’d better come back with stories for days.”

“I love you, but you make me crazy,” and he walks around to finish up the drinks, shaking his head with a grin. “C’mon, like I would even show up on their radar? I’m betting CEOs or Hollywood kept husbands.”

And now the game has begun. Steph goes around behind him to clean-up the mess. “Tallest is an underwear model. I’ll accept nothing less, not with an ass like that.”

“Unless they’re in porn,” he comes back with a lowered voice, chancing a glance over his shoulder to find the three beautiful men looking back at him from the only table still with chairs on the ground. 

“I can see it,” she returns with a laugh, “I mean. They are off the charts.” But she gives him the side-eye, bites down when he is completely gone.

And Tim doesn’t answer, can’t for the way his breath is literally taken away. His crazily eidetic memory spits out Damian when their eyes meet from across the mostly closed shop, Jason and Dick are talking low, glancing at him with flirty, interested smiles, but Damian hasn’t looked away, those green eyes incredibly intense. 

Like picturing someone with their clothes off, tied to his bed, third orgasm ruined, and the next one carefully planned out for the execution, kind of intense.

Damian licks his lips, making it obvious, while those eyes take a slow sweep down his body, and Tim can’t help the abrupt strike of heat that shivers up his spine. 

**

“He is more beautiful in person,” Dick says low in the old language. “Father was right to send us.”

Jason glances at their older brother, sitting back in the rickety chair with deceptive ease, the very picture of beg me to fuck you. For the last ten minutes, he’s been picturing that cute little barista panting under him, eyes dazed and desperate in the same breath. 

“Kinda begs the question howz he been able ta live with mortals like this. Someone oughta found ‘im out by now.”

Without looking away, catching the curve of cheek go pink with his attention, Damian smirks behind his hands. “Father said twenty-one years. Perhaps he was be-spelled as an infant. That would explain why he was forced to stay here with mortals rather than live among other halflings sired by Gods.” 

And in their world, curses are more common than one would think.

“If the spell had an anchor date, no one would notice him until the duration.”

“’S already hard ta take m’ eye off’n him,” Jay admits low, rumbling deeply in his chest, “gonna be soon if he ain’t already there, ya feel me, boys?”

Dick hums an affirmative, eyes narrow on their prey.

“Should we discuss an actual plan to bring him into his power?” Because Damian is already salivating for the man moving behind the counter.

Initially, Damian had been against father’s wishes. He was in no way prepared for the first glance in the waters, only slightly less enthralled now that he’s been in the mortal’s presence. His soothing nature, his song-like voice, the pink of his lips, the deep darkness of his eyes, the radiance and calm Damian felt immediately soothes something desperately angry that has always animated him as the God of War. 

In that moment, not having this man is unacceptable. He has every intention of joining Richard and Jason in bed with this Tim, aiding them in pleasuring this man over and over and over. The need is compounded after facing Tim’s easy smile and soft laughter. Damian finds himself hungry, arousal burning him from within, replacing the fire of his rage with something more primal. He immediately imagines that softly smiling face to be twisted with unbearable pleasure, bare and beautiful with his thighs over Damian’s shoulders, voice hoarse from moaning, crying, begging. 

All that in his mind’s eye while watching Tim’s moving mouth, imaging how he would taste. 

Dick’s mouth quirks when he catches the very intense vibe his youngest brother is setting off, sees their important assignment get adorably flustered. The other mortal behind the counter is talking with flailing hands and easy to read lips, his senses reach out with the wind to catch as much of their conversation as possible, gathering information on their prey. 

He smirks when the female mortal seems to be on their side. The hunt won’t be as difficult as he’d first imagined when he had answered their Father’s call. 

Jay laughs at their younger brother, “thought that one was obvious from how hard yer cock is in yer pants, Demon.”

The God of War doesn’t bother to look away from their eventual conquest, “tt. Crude as usual. Unlike you, I do not usually have a taste for mortals. He is the first I’ve come across to elicit this…reaction.”

Dick smirks when the female rightfully compliments his ass, tuning back into the conversation while he subtly watches their assignment come back around the bar and work the machines. He’s already formulating a plan, not counting on their individual power to simply overtake Tim with eye contact. Commands might not work either, but they would need to test it on him to know for sure. Jason’s usual seduction didn’t make Tim speechless with desire, Damian’s intimidating aura didn’t terrorize him or incite him to violence, and Dick’s mostly-feral predator vibe didn’t trigger Tim’s fight or flight. Come to think of it, their usual effect on mortals didn’t seem to happen to Tim at all. 

“Ta be honest…halflings like him,” Jay hitches a thumb in the direction of their prey, “are at least prepared fer what’s ta come, see, ‘cause most halflings are on Paradise Island with the Amazons. Gods n’ Goddesses can find ‘em there, n’ the Amazons keep ‘im all safe. ain’t like that until after a full God brings ‘im ta power. This?” and Jay gives a sweep of one hand to encompass everything, them, the mortal world, the coffee shop. “Well, this ain’t ‘xactly the precedent.”

“Surely, since he is still technically mortal, he is...fragile. How can we take him without killing him before his power manifests?���

Dick’s eyes narrow, “simple. He already has an aura of a godling. It’s only getting stronger, and will be more so as long as we are close. By the time he’s ready, he’ll be strong enough to take us.”

“I feel that,” Jason smirks a lil, crossing his ankle over his knee, chair facing toward the pretty thing just waiting fer ‘em. “He’s further along than any I ever felt not pantin’ under a God.”

Dami shifts slightly, rolls his shoulders back. “You say this as though he is ...different, Jason.”

“Come offa it, Dames. Why else would the big man hisself call alla us fer one halfling, eh? Like that ain’t so far under his usual, yeah? I’m thinkin’ this pretty boy might be Daddy’s dirty lil secret.”

Damian straightens, finally taking his eyes off their conquest to glare at his half-brother, “you believe our Father has lain with a mortal and born another child? This man?”

Jay shrugs a careless shoulder, “Only explanation as ta why he asked alla us ta be in on the deal. Way it’s s’pposed ta go, ya only need one God ‘er Goddess ta bring a halfling. So, why’s B called in the big guns unless he’s somethin’ more? C’mon, Demon. Unique my ass.” His forefinger makes a circle around their table, putting the bigger question out there.

“If he is half blood of our Father,” Dami’s voice goes low and thick, thoughts churning dark behind his eyes, “then taking him to bed–“

Jason laughs out loud again, eyes glittering in the overhead lights, flecks of jade in a sea of blue. “–is gonna be the fuck of yer immortal life, Baby. Anyone with ‘im is gonna ride ‘im like an animal ‘till he screamin’ an’ all that power is gonna fill ‘im right on up like a cup runnin’ over.”

It’s very obvious when Damian’s eyes dilate, slide back to their pending conquest.

Dick looks over at his middle brother with a frown, “don’t count your chickens, Little Wing. The hunt isn’t over.” He turns back to their prey, “we have him in our sites, but we have to actually catch him.”

Jason clicks his tongue, “I got it on good authority we can convince ‘im. I mean, ya lookit us lately? Mortals are all over me on any standard day.”

And, it’s not a lie. Of the three of them, Jason directly interacts with mortals the most. Whether in the Underworld overseeing punishment, or in his high-end nightclub in Los Angeles, Jason lives among mortals with Father’s blessing (as long as the Underworld is kept closed and the guilty submit to justice). 

“Well, we gave him a backstory, so the next step is having a den to secure him. Jay, that female mentioned Le Grande. Sound familiar?“

“Oh yeah, it does. No worries, Big Wing, I’m onnit,” and a salacious grin the working barista happens to catch. 

While Jason Todd now lives in the City of Angels, Gotham was always his first stomping ground. Whenever he wants a vacation from his nightclub or the hell loop management he’s got going on down below, he comes back to Gotham to live a little in the old style. He pulls a phone from his inner jacket pocket, makes a quick call, his voice low and hypnotic, watching as the female puts all their drinks on a small tray for the halfling to carry to them. 

He hangs up when the Penthouse is on the way to being prepared, any time Mr. Todd, and a slow smirk slides over his face while he imagines that pretty boy ready ta be debauched in all right ways, laid out against blood-red sheet in a very impressive bed, that pink mouth open and panting their names like a prayer.

(Fuck, he’s getting more powerful. We ain’t gonna have much time. He and Dickie share a side eye while their Dames gets caught further under this boy’s spell. Fer a first mortal, their lil murder muffin picked one hell of a time ta get a taste.)

“No worries, boys. Nest is gonna be swanky as fuck ‘cause I got standards n’ all.”

“I’m more concerned about whether it’s safe, Jay. I don’t want anyone else finding him for a while, at least not until he is able to go before Father.” Dick subtly watches their prey, keeping tabs on the beauty coming so close to his time. The faint power humming like an aura is a drug to any full God in the area.

“We can make him agreeable enough to keep others from finding him.” Damian waves off, unconcerned. “Once he is fully awakened, his stamina will increase exponentially. Then it is a matter of keeping him in bed long enough to acclimate accordingly.”

“Not if he’s immune to our sway over mortals, Little D.” Dick’s eyes narrow, his gaze turns shrewd, “So we are going to keep him agreeable by being on our best behavior and seduce him the right way, slow and gentle until he gives us some indication he can take…more. Everyone understand?”

The scoff from their God of War includes a roll of the eyes because this man is their spoils. Things like slow and gentle aren’t necessary when you are claiming what you’ve rightfully taken. 

Jason, however, smiles wide and white, “ya said the secret word, Dickie.”

(No one has to verify it is indeed seduce.)

“Just keep in mind. We’re here to help him, not hurt him. The sex is going to be fantastic considering how innocent he looks, but we’re also keeping him safe.” 

“The only true concern is Chaos. If any of them get a hint of him, we will indeed have a battle on our hands,” Damian idly observes, just the thought of what his Chaos Grandfather would do to this beautiful being makes his fists clench, makes fury find root in his heart where the the urge to claim what is his, theirs, grows stronger. 

Dick immediately straightens, has a second to shutter at the image of Ra’s appearing before this (their) mortal and seducing him out of his innocence, Ra’s keeping him chained to a bed with jeweled restraints, Ra’s taking advantage of his power, his body, his very essence.

Dick seethes just thinking about it.

“We’ve already found him,” Dick tries to keep his voice steady, eyes all for the boy laughing at the female’s antics, moving around the machinery with knowledgeable hands, “the plan is we keep him secure until he’s stable enough with his power to enter Father’s presence, then they won’t be cause for concern. Chaos cannot enter the Heavens. There, he will be the most safe.”

Jason and Damian both give him their attention.

“C’mon, Dickie,” is smooth in the way Jason can be, their bringer of punishments. “Ya ain’t tellin’ me alls yer thinkin’ ‘bout is keepin’ that lil piece safe? Wid’ an ass like that? Getting all pink just talkin’ the talk?”

Damian hums softly, “he will be exquisite.”

“Like I already said,” Dick smiles widely when Tim finally picks up the tray with a last few words to his co-worker who is cleaning the machines they just used. “The sex is going to be fantastic.”

 **

The three hottest men on the planet have unfairly low standards, or he’s being fed a line. Tim can’t really decide which.

Steph was just telling him to take them to a hotel in hopes they wanted him to come up for a drink. 

And that is literally happening here.

Right in his face.

After handing out their drinks, Jason’s low drawl (and God what that is doing to Tim’s brainpan should be considered a crime here) casually name drops the most expensive hotel in Gotham, just like so Timmy, we jus’ godda nice room there. It ain’t far, but ya could take us th’ easy way. Maybe come up fer a drink after yer shift?

“We would absolutely love to have a drink with you, Tim. A thank-you for staying open long enough to give us a place to orient ourselves in a new city.”

“I agree with Richard. We owe you quite a debt, don’t we? It is only polite we…compensate you for the inconvenience, yes?”

He knows his face is pink with what is absolutely nothing less than an invitation to a foursome with three gorgeous men he has a hard time looking away from. 

Their eyes feel like hands moving down his body, under his clothes, and in a crazy kind of way, he’s not having paranoid thoughts of kidnapping and human trafficking that could possibly explain why these men wanted ordinary, every-day, boy-next-door him.

His hand unconsciously tightens around the tray he’s holding by his side, “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think this-“ he makes a circular motion with his free hand, “is going to happen. You guys are, ah, a little above my level, and not in a bad way. The flirting is…nice. It’s been a while okay, and I’m weak, but whatever. Anyway, Le Grande isn’t far, so not hard to find, and I’m sure anyone would be happy with some of that um…compensation.  So, please enjoy your drinks and have a good night,” he gives him his professional, glad to help you smile, turns on his heel, and walks away without a backward glance.

(Even if he’s mentally facepalming himself to Mars the whole way.)

**

Steph is beyond disappointed. She’s literally radiating some kind of what the fuck are you thinking energy while they finish up with the machines, doors now securely locked, main lights out, and the night is finally over.

Their last customers took their drinks with a disappointed air and left not long after his little speech, casting glances at the counter where he was stocking things up while Steph watched them mournfully go.

She had about five minutes of incredulous ire, but he literally lays it out for her.

“What do you think men like that want with someone like me?” 

Knowing her, she’d be picturing him naked with a collar around his neck in some rich guy’s mansion somewhere, and she relents a little because yeah, he has a pretty valid point.

The streetlights glow softly in the night as Tim waits while Steph locks the door, and they walk the usual five blocks to her building. Talking about the end of the night is taboo by now, especially when they pass the street leading to Le Grande and just keep walking.  They talk about their plans for their next two days off–

(“I have a hot date.”

“Mmhm, Dungeon and Dragons, Tim?”

“What? Hello, D&D was so last year…. It’s Warhammer, actually.”)

– and Steph bemoans his fortune one last time.

(“But like, what if-“

“I don’t think I want to speculate. If I do, then I might realize that was a bonehead move.”

“Aw, Timmy. The next time hot guys flirt, give them the benefit of the doubt. You could have at least said yes to the drink.”

“Well, I am twenty-one today.”)

He waves, waits until she’s in the building before moving deeper into the Gotham night. He’s careful about staying in the shadows with his head down to avoid notice. It’s not great here in the Narrows, but he loves his place above the old theatre even if the rent is just this side of ridiculous, especially for this part of town.

Still, it’s always a 50/50 walking home. 

The several creepy alleyways between the shop and his penthouse could house just about anything, from a robbery to a shooting to kidnapping most nights, and he hunches further in his hoodie, keeps his head low. Against his better judgment, he’s thinking about them instead of the pitiful cupcake waiting in his fridge with a candle on top and ordering a fresh pizza.

He thinks about the humor in Dick’s eyes, and the interest in Jason’s. Not to mention how…intense Damian had been. He’s helpless to wonder if those gazes would be the same if they were all in bed together…

His face is suddenly a little hot, and he firmly decides he’s totally allowed to speculate about what-if he’d legit said something like, “a drink? That would be really nice actually.”

Yeah, that would have led them to a very nice hotel room with a minibar, and maybe some making out to start.

(He might be sitting on Dick’s lap once he’s had a few drinks in him, getting hotter with each new purposeful brush of hands against him.

Pressed up behind him, Jason would tip his head back for dirty, deep kisses, pulling off his mouth with an audible sound.

“Yer birthday, izzit? Well, me n’ my boys def’nitely gotch the perfect present f’ ya.”

Damian would lean in to talk against his ear, make him shudder in their arms, “It’s easy to unwrap, Timothy. I can promise you would enjoy it.”

And if he whines when Dick bites down on his throat, then only the three hottest men he’s ever seen would be able to say for sure.)

He’s completely into the what-if and is probably why his resident-of-Gotham-fight-or-flight instinct doesn’t kick in.

Before the man with the gun ever turns around to face him, Tim can tell he’s dangerous because he’s scared. Desperate and scared are such a bad combination.

But even if the man with the gun is desperate, the small family huddled in terror have so more to lose. 

Tim's eyes go wide because his night just changed forever, and his automatic reaction is to take a half step forward, to reach out a hand, to a "don't do this, please don’t do this," rolling right out of his mouth. 

He’s helplessly looking from the gunmen to the family pinned down in this dirty alleyway leading to his place and the theatre, heart throbbing in fear for the little boy in a nice suit clutching his mother and father with tight fists.

And something in Tim firms, cements, in the immediate, abrupt belief that this is going to end in his favor. Something inherent in him knows he has control of the situation. 

The gunman’s barrel is aimed dead center. 

(A killing blow.)

"You aren’t going to do this," something in him pushes and pulls, something that makes him so sure, so fucking sure, no one in this alley is going to die tonight. (But, his knees still knock with fear and adrenaline while his brain pan works in overdrive.) 

A shudder goes through the hand holding the gun, eyes he can't really see in the dark, narrow from below the brim of a dirty hat.

"Get lost, kid.” But the guy plainly swallows, sweat beading off the side of his face, muscles tight with strain. “This isn’t any of your business." 

Tim grits his teeth, doesn’t move forward in case he sets something off. "All of us can identify you, and you aren't going to get enough shots off to kill everyone, not without being noticed, even in this neighborhood." His eyes slide back to the family when the motion of the father pulls the small, blue-eyed boy behind them, shielding him. 

You are going to go home tonight, alive and together, Tim promises the little boy with his eyes. Everything is going to be fine.

(And if he could stop it from happening to that little kid with a trembly lower lip and three-piece suit because he got to go with his parents for a night at the movies, then he damn sure isn't going to run.)

"So you?" His own voice goes deep, dark, and from somewhere past all his own fucked-up pain and trauma (his past scars buried in grief and mourning and moving forward because for fuck's sake, there was nothing to go back to) . "Aren't going to hurt anyone." 

“You seem pretty fucking cocky, you little shit.”

“Only because you know I’m right. GCPD always has patrols here, so you won’t get far.” 

The gunman sneers, his arm starting to get tired holding up the shiny automatic. 

The mother over the gunman’s shoulder has a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and wet, but the small family is subtly shuffling slowly backwards. Tim gets it. He needs to keep the attention on himself, give them time to get out of the line of fire. "The way I see it, you've got two options here." 

He slides his wallet out of his back pocket, holds it up over his shoulder between two fingers. "Take this as a door prize and run. Or, try to shoot us, potentially miss because that .38 special is a piece of crap, and have a pretty nice cell at Blackgate for the trouble. Robbery is one thing, but murder? Definitely a whole different type of crime."

The father keeps slowly hedging his family back, trying not to make sudden moves while Tim keeps his wallet waving back and forth, keeps the motion so the gunman stays trained on him. 

The tension is palpable while he waits for the gunman’s decision, the next move, the next flinch, the resounding blam as the gun goes off, his pulse thudding in the back of his mouth even while he knows everything is going to work out in their favor. 

Take the wallet and run, he keeps thinking over and over and over. Don’t look back at them. Take the wallet and run.

A huff in the night between them, and the gun barrel disappears inside a ratty coat, the gunman darting up to snatch the wallet out of Tim’s hand and hightail it the fuck out of the alley.

Once he’s gone and the echoing footsteps fade, the relief is palpable.  The father lets out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank-you,” he tells Tim gravely from across the alley. He turns to scoop up the little boy, weave an arm around his wife’s waist, and steer them back toward the theatre and into the light. 

Tim, heart thudding in his chest, turns to put his back against the rough brick and mortar. His knees feel weak with relief and adrenaline now that the obvious surge in bravery (reads as stupidity, tempting a guy with a gun and all) has left him panting and shaky.  “Sure, it’s fine. Being shot in Gotham isn’t really a big deal.”

He’s pretty sure he muttered it to himself because the small family fleeing their almost-demise doesn’t turn. But the voices from the mouth of the alley gasp in outrage.

“What almost happened?!”

Tim jerks because he didn’t think anyone else was behind him when the gunman took off. Imagine his surprise when his customers are standing there staring at him with wide eyes.

“Shot?” Jay is already striding forward, hands all over the barista to look for injuries because dammit, were they too late and someone already got at him? 

Dick has a hand on Damian’s shoulder, pushes the youngest toward the running gunman in an obvious message before joining Jay at their halfling’s side. 

He notices how big those blue eyes are with Jay’s long fingered hands pulling and tugging and touching. He catches the pink in Tim’s face when Jay’s hands finally wrap around his hips, thumbs in the niches. Their prey is in their trap now, theirs to reel even closer. All they have to do is keep him cornered and wait for the right moment to strike.

“N-no, nothing, I’m fine, really!” Tim sputters, stepping back out of grabby hands, face hot with how strong Jason’s hands are. “I mean, that’s-that’s pretty standard for Gotham, actually.”

Dick has no qualms palming the side of Tim’s face, tilting his eyes up, using just a bit of influence in his tone when he asks, “still, did he hurt you, Tim?” 

“No! No, I’m okay. Situation defused. I just had to give him incentive to leave without firing the gun.”

Dick hums, thumb moving over the cut of Tim’s jaw. “He was dangerous. Standing up to him was very brave, Tim, but you could have been seriously hurt. I’m a little worried about letting you out of my sight with guys like him running around.”

Jay’s eyebrow arches because wow, Dickie. ‘At was nice. But even if he knows the oldest is trying to push, trying to make Tim fall under his spell, become more..open...to suggestion as Gods have sway over mortals. It takes Jason a second to realize their little mortal ain’t looking all dreamy-eyed n’ dazed with Dickie’s influence. 

Means, they’ve godda play this the way Dick said from the beginning. Tricks ain’t gonna make it easy fer any of ‘em.

Not that he’s got a problem chasing when they play hard-ta-get. 

“I mean, I made it this far in life,” Tim jokes weakly, breath shuddering when Dick’s thumb feathers over his lower lip. “I don’t – why were the three of you passing over this way? I know I gave you foolproof directions earlier.”

Instead of answering, Jay wants to give it a go, lets himself pours on the voice, “Ya look shakin’ up a lil’ there, Baby. Lookit this,” wrapping his long fingers around one of Tim’s hands, thumb rubbing over the softly beating pulse in his wrist. “Yer hand’s tremblin’. Might wanna come back ta th’ hotel n’ get a drink after all, feel me? Getcha nice n’ calmed down. Ledd’us drop ya off once yer better. Make sure ya don’t run inta no more trouble. ‘Course we want ya ta be safe n’ sound, don’t we?”

With the darkness in Jay’s eyes, the possessive hold Dick has on him, Tim can barely swallow, can barely catch a breath.

Luckily, his mouth catches up before his brain has time to process the logistics of where the hell did you come from again?

“I can’t, sorry. I kind of gave up my wallet when–”

“After what you went through, it’s our treat,” Dick soothes, his other hand itching to touch skin, “consider it a birthday drink.”

The two of them give a more overt push.

Tim sucks in a breath to decline, but when Dick takes his hand, the what-if in his brain pan flares to life again, and everything feels so much like fate or destiny. Like he was meant to say yes the first time and here he is getting some kind of divine do-over.

(Does he even believe in all that shit? Probably not, just his brain trying to help him get laid is more likely the case.)

Either way, how can he say no a second time?

**

The answer. 

He doesn’t.

In less than ten minutes, he’s packed between Dick and Jason in a booth at Le Grande’s very posh digs, a place he’d probably never see in his life considering only the Gotham elite had a place in the VIP lounge.

He’s nervously wiping the condensation off his drink, trying not to think of Jason’s massive thigh pressed up against his or Dick’s hand casually on his knee on the other side. Jay has some ridiculously tall beer, and Dick is sipping on a blue drink from a martini glass. Tim has a water with lemon since, you know, his wallet was taken and he literally has no identification to prove he’s of age.

Out of the dim, Damian stalks toward them like a sleek panther stalking prey, those jade eyes zeroing in on their table. With a smirk, he slides into the other side of the booth and holds Tim’s wallet between thumb and forefinger. He places it in front of their...night’s acquisition, already eyeing the barista’s soft t-shirt and jeans, calculating how fast they can strip him of the clothes.

Tim’s mouth drops open when he opens his wallet to find money and identification still there, “h-how did you…?”

“I am very persuasive,” Damian purrs over the music, “it is a gift.” He has a moment of satisfaction, recalling the thief’s absolute terror when Damian took on his godly form, full height with spiked armor and flaming sword, glowing green eyes behind his helm, ready to strike the criminal down with one mighty blow.

“Return the wallet and never seek to harm another soul as long as you remain on this mortal coil.” Was like ground glass, the flaming blade scant inches from the criminal’s nose.

He didn’t kill the mortal, hadn’t seen the point really.

Tim’s soft smile and awed, “thank-you, Damian.” made dealing with another pesky mortal worth the trouble. “Did you call the police? Turn him in?”

“Unfortunately, he threw your wallet at me and ran. I chose not to follow.” A small lie but Damian will take Timothy’s appreciation nonetheless. “However, I believe he will refrain from petty theft from here on out. You must have made…an impression.”

He gives Jason a side-eye to make sure his brother understood.

Before Tim could ask more questions, Dick winds an arm around his shoulders and cheers. “Great job Baby Bat! You saved Timmy’s wallet!”

“Of course, it was my pleasure to assist our beloved barista.”

Tim’s face goes warmer, even without a drink.

“All right,” Jay grins down at their little halfling, “now’s ya can have a drink wid’ us, yeah? Gonna celebrate turning the big two one in style, feel me?”

“Don’t worry,” Dick soothes, “we have a place upstairs if we celebrate too hard. Have to warn you, I’m a cuddler and I sleep naked.”

Tim doesn’t know if his face can get any more red.

While their little halfling looks about ready ta bust, Jay takes advantage of the distraction, motions to the cocktail waitress making rounds. She scurries right on up to their table, squints at Tim’s ID for a few minutes and then back at him. 

Dick orders a round for the table in a tone that is mesmerizing and she assures them she’ll hurry back with their drinks.

Tim only downs three drinks that night, but the soft buzz is nice enough to take the edge off.

He learns Jason manages a nightclub, Damian is a weapons enthusiast, and Dick apparently does some kind of contract work for environmental agencies. All of it is pretty vague and none of them go into detail as to why they’re in Gotham in the first place, or where they’re originally from. Instead, they ask him numerous questions about his life and his job. His parents and family (all of them long gone. He’s got Steph and Ives now). Why he stays in one of the most dangerous cities on the planet. You know, understandable questions if not a little intense.

While he’s pleasantly sinking into the soft feeling, the three men around him don’t seem to be affected by the alcohol in the slightest but are intently listening to him talk about his life.

(College was a pipe dream. Right now, he’s just keeping afloat, squirreling away every dollar he can for the inevitable move out of Crime Alley. One day his shitty laptop will be a state of the art system. One day, he’s going to get into social work or something to help other kids like him, so another doesn’t slip through the cracks to live a partial life. He’s rambling like fuck when he tells them this, keeps going past it without noticing the look passing between the three.)

Their attention is...odd. Nice but odd.

He hasn’t felt important to anyone since Conner broke it off, breaking his heart without trying to hurt him. Theirs was just another tragedy that is his life.

Jay disappears for a moment and brings him water when he declines another drink, not wanting to walk home with stumbles, not after that situation with the gunmen could have ended horribly–

The night changes when he admits he’s never seen a room in Le Grande, never been through the doors before tonight no matter how long he’s lived in Gotham, and accepts the invite up to see the penthouse. All of it happening so easily is terribly close to what he’d imagined in his secret fantasy, that his tongue doesn’t know how to say anything other than yes.

[iphoenixrising]

You know, this is such a unique idea. I'm not a horror fan (that's kiddo tbh), but I know the premise of A Quiet Place. An AOB au with Gotham invaded by these baddies, I'm here for it.

Not-quite-back-to-the-pack Tim Drake coming back after a long absence and this is the first emergency to hit since he's made a few new nests around the city and decided to set up new roots.

Quiet Night AU- Tim's return

Turns out I WILL be writing a quick blurble of a thought about Tim coming back to the Cave, unedited and more stream of consciousness moments than a sit down thought out writing lol. This one is @tobicup's fault. Link to the first info dump for Quiet Night AU found HERE. 

And again- feel free to send in asks about the AU, just make sure you mention it’s for Quiet Night AU for me. @iphoenixrising Not sure if you wanna be tagged here too BUT STILL

Gotham was in ruins. 

Buildings partially or fully collapsed, smoldering remains of fires visible across the city skyline from the rooftops, dead civilians left where they fell. Traffic in a gridlock, cars abandoned in the chaos, or holding the bodies of those who died in them. 

The thick scent of death, fear and rage hung in the air, burning Tim’s nose it was so strong. 

The scent of the cause, faint, almost invisible, but as alien as the creatures that had invaded the Earth and caused this blended with all of it. There were so many of them.

It was everything Tim could do to stay alive, save who he could, and try to make it back to the Cave. He ached, and with the way these creatures hunted, he couldn’t even check over comms if anyone else was alive. 

He wished he’d accepted the pack bonds the other Bats had offered to him before, but he hadn’t been ready for it. He bit his tongue on a keen, an omega trying to summon his pack, smothering the sound down. 

He needed to be silent, or risk the creatures swarming him. 

At least if Tim had a pack bond he would be able to feel them  on the other end, even if they were blocked to prevent distractions in the field. Instead he was alone, no bonds to check, terrified to consider a world where one of his should-be-packmates had died and he didn’t know yet. 

His body ached. He was nauseous and lightheaded, dizzy. It was everything he could do to make sure he landed silently as he ran over the rooftops that remained, and navigated the ground where he had to. 

He kept his grapple-gun strapped to his hip. He’d already been almost killed when the damn thing had been too loud and drawn the attention of the creatures to his flight.  

He tried not to think about the others, if any of them had been caught, had been- To follow that road, to consider that he was the last one standing, was to flirt with madness. 

No. Instead, he turned his attention to making it back to the cave on foot. Navigating the destruction, helping where he could, mourning where he couldn’t. 

***

Crossing Gotham on foot, pausing to save whoever he can, and needing to do it all as silently as possible takes time. Especially trying to balance the unknown factor of anyone or anything in the city making a sound that could lead to Tim getting caught in the crossfire. 

He hurts. 

Worse- he’d had to slip into the cave using the natural entrances, didn’t dare to chance opening the cave  and grabbing anything’s attention. Worked his way towards the cave using the memorized routes, moving slowly and carefully, praying that none of the creatures had found their way inside. He wandered the dark caverns mourning the statistical probability that one of his should-be-packmates had died being the vigilantes they’d chosen to be. That at least one of them had made too much noise somehow. 

He couldn’t help but think about Jason in those moments. Think of the pack alpha with his loud personality and guns. Jason could operate with stealth of course, every Bat could, but… Jason used his guns most often, explosives, and-

And Tim was terrified that he may have died. 

He wasn’t the only one Tim worried for, but he was the most statistically likely to have trouble and-��

Tim closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in the damp air of the cavern, and forced himself to still the shaking in his hands. 

***

The lights of the Cave come into view and Tim feels sick with it. 

What if he’s the last? What if the others didn’t make it? What if he has to see B fall apart all over again, and fall with him this time? What if he lost any of the others before he ever- 

The cave is quiet, aside from the bats quietly rustling through the cavern, and Tim knows it should be, of course it would be, with the creatures tracking sounds, but it makes his stomach swoop and his lungs constrict. 

He has to squint, as he breaks from the tunnels and into the Batcave, his lungs tight and hands shaking all over again. The urge to keen and call for pack crawls up his spine and sits heavy in his throat, but he doesn’t dare, wary of the sound carrying. 

The sight that meets him, when he can finally see properly, sends him staggering, knees weak and tears in his eyes. He counts, one by one, each of his small family gathered together. They’re silent, their hands flying sign language keeping their voices unused, eyes flickering over each other and the computer they’re gathered around. 

Usually Tim would jump right into what looked like a planning session, but in that moment-

In that moment he could only stagger closer, breathing heavily, hands shaking and tears in his eyes. Jason sees him first. 

Tim is already reaching for the pack alpha when Jason darts across the space to sweep him off his feet. 

Tim is choking back keens, as he clings back, burrowing into his alpha’s chest. Jason is nuzzling him, rubbing his scent all down Tim’s spine and brushing their cheeks together, Jason’s hands holding tight, one pressed to feel Tim’s pulse.  

Tim hadn’t been ready to join the pack officially, but each of them had given Tim permission to claim them as his pack when he was ready to join it. In the aftermath of this disaster, Tim is certain he is. That he never wanted to go without the bonds again. Was certain he wanted the bounds wound around his ribs and heart, anchored in his head. 

Tim clings hard for a moment, lets Jason scent him, basks in the safety of his pack alpha’s arms, before turning his face to tuck into the right side of his neck. He breathes for a second, but doesn’t hesitate to drag his tongue over the right side of Jason’s neck, claiming the alpha as pack, and baring his neck to allow Jason the chance to reciprocate the pack claim. 

He can feel Jason’s body tense, and then shudder hard, his hands tighten around Tim, but he doesn’t hesitate either. 

Feeling the first of what is soon to be many pack bonds bloom to life in his mind takes Tim’s legs out from under him. 

Jason doesn’t let him fall.

[iphoenixrising]

Fracture lives in my head rent-free. I always wanted to know how that ended. I daydream about it. 😂 Everything you write is beautiful.

Lol babe. The biggest secret to Fracture - I wrote the ending before I wrote the ending. Several of the smaller fics all have clues how Fracture was supposed to end so I wouldn't forget the biggest plot points. One of them has the scene I had in my head for the last chapter so many things were leading up to. Man, I probably just killed it for everyone else, didn't I?

[iphoenixrising]

(6am / Prime Girl back with a hit of randomness hehe)

hi babe!! It’s been a long time since I’ve been around ;; I’m sorry about that! I saw your recent post about some health and family things that have been happening, and I am absolutely heartbroken for you. I really really hope that you’re doing well, and that you and kiddo’s year will be able to finish off well!!!<3 ;;

I’m actually back around bc I thought about you when I was driving home from work today and!!! I just really really wanted to come and tell you how much I look up to you as an author and how much you’ve inspired me even after these years since I first found your beautiful works ><

the way you write about emotion and intimacy and how it interweaves in so many different ways is something I think about every time I write something - I always think about the emotions you made me feel with your writing and how wonderful your works are I also post fics on AO3 now, but it’s particularly my ABO fic I wanted to mention to you because I’ve had multiple comments being like ‘I didn’t like abo before this’ or ‘some other fics I read were weird but this one made me give the genre a chance’ and in my head I’m always like OMG THATS HOW I WAS WITH WINTER BABE!! it makes me so SO incredibly happy and I’m always thinking about and am so grateful that you and your wonderful works literally changed not just the genre for me forever and made me ADORE the concept, but showed me that it can relate to love and yearning and intimacy in such incredible ways ㅠㅠ (I also get tons of comments abt people begging for mercy bc they cry every chapter but that’s not the point LOL)

Thank you so so much for being such an amazing author that not only produces beautiful works, but that has always interacted with me so kindly ㅠㅠ I was going through a lot of things when I was reading your works and they always brought me so much comfort (they still do btw!) and really showed me a way of writing that let me escape from my world for a bit and would have me in tears at 6am ><

Anyways, my life is surprisingly busy nowadays and I know yours is too, but I just wanted you to know that this blog will always hold such a special place in my heart and you inspire me always!!! much much love to you and to kiddo! I am seriously wishing you guys all the best, and I’ll try to be around a little sooner than this next time! 🥺

(p.s. IM SO SO SO SO INCREDIBLY HAPPY YOU LIKED THE CEO TIM PROMPT I WAS GIGGLING KICKING MY FEET ECSTATIC THAT YOU ENJOYED MY TAKE ON IT KDNDKDNSKSNKDNDKSMSKSJSK AND YOUR THOUGHTS???? JUST ABSOLUTELY AMAZING AS ALWAYS???? YOUR BRAIN IS AMAZING ISTG I WAS DEAD AND IM JUST SO HAPPY YOU LIKED IT ><)

BABE. Babe <3 I'm so happy to hear you're writing things and it helps you with everyday life. Oh I'm just so, so happy for you. I've missed you as well and everyone else in the Tim Drake fandom, but the fact you're putting works out on Ao3?? You're writing wonderful things?? You're making people cry because you've pulled them out of themselves to feel things?? This is wonderful babe! This is the best news EVER! I'm so proud of you I can't even stand it. Writing is so hard and it can hurt so much to put things out there to people, and you are so, so brave and amazing to find your way. I'm thankful you've found the strength within yourself to do daring things.

Babe. Congratulation.

Send me links, I beg! I beg. I will read ALL THE THINGS AOB.

I still read the fuck out of fanfics but I've moved into BL (my fandom blog is a mess because I love too many of them) instead of DC, but releasing my fics back into the wild might have spurned something, might have brought back the muse a bit, so I might try to give it another go! I've got some very important chapters to things I promised people and maybe it's time I keep those promises. (Because @satire-please deserve a final ending to Dr!Tim).

I even went on the Capes and Coffee Discord just to talk out some ideas and that's a pretty big step to be honest.

But, even tho life is busy and you're moving into new, exciting things and people are rightfully in love with your fics and your brain, I will always have a spot for you here. You can always come back to me and read or talk out ideas or tell me how life is going. I adore you and hope only great things in your journey <3

(YOUR IDEAS ALWAYS INSPIRE I SWEAR I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH BECAUSE THIS THING WAS EASY TO WRITE AT THE TIME AND I STILL FEEL LIKE I COULD FLESH IT OUT MORE SOME DAY)