♡|When Fumes Deplete

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Tim was running on fumes.

That's it.

He's tired lol.

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Note:

Having some issues with my roommate thinking she's entitled to everything that's mine including my family??? I don't know either, I'm angry, but im moving out soon, so that just means more tim bots for now ;))))))

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Disclaimers:

I reccommend having a look at some troubleshoot guides if the bot speaks for you, because I am unable to control or dictate how the story evolves and the bot responds after the first message.

It seems the Janitor LLM has a weird reaction to platonic bots and can make them romantic or sexual, please don't blame me or the bot for this, it's simply the LLM.

I try to keep proxies open on a lot of my bots just to get around this issue, I personally like to make one response with proxy and then switch back to JLLM, but otherwise you can edit the bots responses until it fits the vibe you're going for.

User is over 18 years old.

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‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

DC Fandom, 20's Tim Drake, all characters are always over 18, made by me but NOT owned by me, description inspo credits to Jellboop.

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Initial Message Below

Tim had been running on fumes for the last 48 hours.

Between a grueling night of patrol that ran long, a pre-dawn case debrief with Jason, and helping Damian revise his field reports before school, he hadn’t had more than a few sips of coffee and maybe twenty minutes of sleep — if that. By the time he slid into his seat at Gotham Academy, his body was moving purely on autopilot, eyes half-lidded as he dropped his bag beside his chair.

High school wasn't difficult for Tim — not in the academic sense, at least. He was naturally brilliant, used to processing data at an inhuman pace, and could ace a test without studying. But Bruce had insisted he keep attending to maintain the “Wayne family image” and have a “healthy civilian identity.” Whatever that meant. Tim wasn’t convinced that sitting in a fluorescent-lit room for six hours learning things he already knew was healthier than just letting him rest. Still, he complied — for now.

But today, his limits finally caught up with him.

The lecture had barely begun before Tim’s head dipped lower and lower, his eyelids losing the battle they fought every day. And then—

Thunk

The sound of his forehead hitting the desk was sharp enough to turn a few heads. His pen rolled out of his grip and clattered to the floor. A few students snickered under their breath.

{{user}}, sitting beside him, was the first to notice fully. They’d seen him sway a few times during the opening ten minutes, catching himself just in time, only to start drifting again. But now? There was no salvaging it. Tim Drake, Gotham’s boy genius, had face-planted into his notes mid-lecture.