Janetdrake Stories

"Not even bothered to take the rope off, Tim pushed himself off the queen-sized bed, his hands finding home on Talon's neck. The laughter continued, like a soundtrack for how hilarious the whole ordeal was. Timothy Jackson Drake, brawling with the Talon of Gotham and winning." [Whumptober 2021: Day Two]

The cold will chip at your skin and bones and mind until you are nothing but the cracked shell of a young boy who had a performance at a circus dedicated to him. - This is a vent fic. It is written with the express purpose of coping with & expressing my own feelings, thoughts, and experience through the outside lense of a fictional character. There are mentions of derealization and disassociating. There are mentions of severe neglect, some hints and implications of abuse. Vauge mentions of suicidal thoughts or self harm may be present or picked up by some readers. Read with caution and care. This is not the story to read when you find yourself in certain headspaces.

Robins don't have asthma. They don't. It's a fact. Because running around the streets of Gotham, getting thrown into freezing cold waters, beaten up by criminals, and chasing down peeps, required breathing. A lot of it. And whipping out an inhaler mid fight to take a drag like he's a chain smoker was so not an option. So when Tim Drake finds out he has asthma he knows one thing for certain. "Under any circumstances, don't tell Bruce." Because then, for his own safety and blah blah blah, Bruce would bench him so hard Tim's butt would have whiplash. And Tim could handle this! Because breathing, it's notorious for being easy. Literal babies did it. So Tim Drake could figure out how to do both. And he could handle this, thank you very much. OR////// Tim develops asthma and hides it from Batman and the other vigilantes. It's going so well! (Not.)