be nice sharkies says the guppy

im here to talk and have fun

[yarttalk]

How old mentally would you say the reader is? I find this au really interesting thus far.

This was such an interesting ask! It had me genuinely thinking for a minute about what made sense for my idea, so thank you for this!

Mentally in the logic department, I'd say reader is an intelligent 9 year old. At the end of the day, they graduated high school with good grades. However you want to envision them, sure; but they're not a failure. Socially, however, I'd say closer to a 6 year old. Of course, they were groomed into the child their mother needed, but these ages are what worked closer with my ideas when envisioned from a “how would this be genuinely possible in a way” perspective.

6 year olds align with 9 years old in the sense they want to do things, but 6 year olds seek the attention of others. Regardless of how much their mother told them not to, they long for their father. Coming to the manor was exactly like their mother explained their time with Mr. Wayne all those years ago: a blessing as much as it was a scarring curse. Watching him with his actual children was almost impossible, but they knew better.

The 9 year old knows their mother’s version of right and wrong. They were able to help around their tiny apartment and listen to everything their mother said. They didn’t complain when mommy took her tooth and not the supposed fairy, or when their mother would switch from the lack of Bruce’s features being the problem to the apparent superiority reader feels due to those same ones. It was their world, and they would live it.

They have the ability to be mature, and can convince people they're just a weird teen like all quiet kids seemed to be; but when in a too-stressful situation or comfortable, they're a six year old through and through. Angry, explosive and emotional when stressed; needy and dependent when comfortable. Even if the audience wants to envision them mentally older, they’re going to be unruly and need a lot of management to help. 

In the future, or right now if you'd like to submit another ask, I can explain it better with a little dabble? I’m not sure if this answers your question, but this certainly helped me!

[yarttalk]

I really like the yan reader concept and how you wrote it :D don’t think I’ve seen someone write reader’s mother as the original yandere so it’s really interesting ^_^

I can imagine a situation where reader protects the family during a crisis or something, but the family doesn’t protect the reader. The reader doesn’t mind at all and keeps doing it. It is only after the reader collapses does the family realize the lengths reader took to protect them

Anyway, I like your work and I can’t wait to see your future stuff :>

Hiii, oh my gosh!! thank you so much! im soo excited to actually turn my passion for writing into a hobby. I was worried it was already used or it’d be a flop, but im so proud of how it’s doing! I hope I see you some more too, so don’t be afraid to drop more asks

im sorry if this isnt specifically what youre asking for, but until i further develop the story with actual chapters & see where this idea leads, i dont really envision yanreader ever becoming a vigilante; they don’t even know at first— hence why it would be hard for a scenario like this to play out in a like more physical-protection type of way if you understand what i mean? I really love this ask, though, so its definitely canon

Warning! The actions interpreted within this work of media are not intended to be deemed acceptable or a recommendation of action; please care for yourself and others at all times!

There always seems to be blood bags on hand.

It’s something Damian Wayne can’t help but notice. He knew where they came from, when he was in the league— parasites. Those his grandfather deemed unworthy. Innocents at the wrong place at the wrong time.

At the time, it didn’t bother Damian. It kept him alive, and why would he care for those who he didn’t need to name? Why name them at all when it was his that should be ruling the world? Now, however, he knew he had to leave those ideologies behind. Batman had taught him better.

So when despite how many bullets pierced through their skin, or blades cut too deep, they always had a pack of blood waiting for them. The blood was always O-; something none of them were, at least from Damian’s knowledge. It led him to wonder, but ultimately came to the conclusion that his father must purchase the blood. Of course he would. He wouldn’t be so careless, after all. 

That’s why Damian’s never got anything other than angry when his little stature got to his disadvantage, and some lowlife thugs manage to get the jump on him. He knows that despite how much blood he loses regaining his ground— the way that’s familiar despite his teachings; by proving your worth— his father will get him standing once again in no time.

There were enough to keep Jason alive that one time.

All Red Hood could feel was pain. His side thrummed with the pulses of some sort of meta-bullet— and he internally swore to personally use his own weapons against him, whoever pushed this into the streets— releasing a shock through his abdomen every few seconds. Not enough to kill; it was meant to stun. This was either some lousy bullet meant to be a test run or a targeted attack, and Red Hood didn’t know which one sounded more annoying to deal with.

He wasn’t stupid, though. He knew he had to get out of here, and to Alfred. The man was always willing to help Jason out, and despite Jason feeling guilty about it, he tried to make it up in the small ways he could. With a loud grunt thankfully drowned out by the noise of the men leaving the scene, Red Hood launches himself up and out from behind his cover, gritting his teeth to prevent any more noise. Jogging to his car was the blessing of pure adrenaline, and he doesn’t give himself the blessing of expelling the throw-up until his motorcycle hazardously stops in the batcave’s driveway, narrowly avoiding filling his helmet with the pasta he cooked before his slow starting patrol. Alfred was waiting since Jason pressed the emergency button he kept for situations just like this, helping the disoriented man to the med bay.

The process is dizzying, and even all the drugs Alfred pushes into him fails to completely drown out the pain. It’s when he wakes up 37 hours later, too hungry to do anything but eat and listen to the explanation of how vital his healing process is due to the extent of his blood transfusion— something that was lucky enough with his blood type. Jason Todd tiredly thanks Alfred as he places his bowl once filled with a hearty soup down before knocking out right after, and Alfred is none the wiser that he meant it more than the impromptu life saving surgery and food.

No one knew?

That Tim tried his best to improve himself everyday. He understands his previous behaviors: the stalking and, at that point, obsessive following. The things he has done in the past are concerning for the best terms, but he does try his hardest. Which is why he doesn’t abuse his powers. As a Robin, retired or not, it was important to be just.

Abusing his powers, sadly, included using the bat computer to stalk everyone in the family online at most hours of the day. So, yes, he has improved at this point. What they do is their responsibility, and he understands the betrayal that’ll include. He would hate to be online-stalked himself, after all. From the random animals Damian will snag from whatever Bruce frets about— from the materials or even ideas of their gadgets or the stacks of emergency items looking like shipments over bulks— were none of his business. He didn’t need to know every one of their acquaintances, and maybe it was for the better. It was better to be safe than sorry.

So, yes, he was getting better at privacy and respect. Everyone could have their secrets. He has his, after all. The weight of not backseat driving to keep everything steady, to ensure people’s happiness, was freeing. Besides, it helped his guilt when enemies got too close— when his smarts still couldn’t match up to the sheer skill of some, and he had to retreat. It was his most embarrassing secret. He was a runner.

He wasn’t brute strength like Jason, or overtaking skill like Dick. Even Damian was carefully woven to be able to stand through even the worst storms— literally. So, yeah, Tim Drake was embarrassed when he had to run back to Batman when too hurt; like he was still that little Robin.

But it was Batman who was always a step away as soon as he arrives, sweeping him up and into the med bay every single time, like he was remembering that same baby bird. So when he wakes up to Bruce still in the room watching over him despite his apparent time knocked out, he’s just glad he’s alive another day.

The source?

Was never questioned from Alfred’s end. He was tired of Bruce’s escapades not only wearing the man himself, but Alfred along with him. Leaving gave him the calmest week he had in a while, but since returning for his— regardless of everything— child, Alfred wasn’t as worried for his health as he was Bruce.

His friend took his departure in full stride, immediately improving and welcoming Alfred back with a warm hug. Since then, Alfred was no longer in charge of transfusions for Bruce or stressing over their lives; when Bruce straightened himself out, his kids followed like magnets.

Even the new one fell in line quickly, every bit of Bruce’s kid with the gloomy silence and knowing eyes, even if a bit more unsettling. Alfred would say he knew troubled kids well, and that young soul was definitely different from his usual bunch; definitely a trouble for his son.

However, Bruce rose up like the man knew his growing boy would, and he was proud. There weren’t any second questions— Alfred barely cared to ask the first one. Wherever his son got it from, he knew it was safe.

Who was there?

Well known knowledge about Nightwing was that he was at a lot of places at once. A less known fact about Dick Grayson is that he’s at even more places. Balancing all that he has to do, from nightly jobs to the ones during the day, and heaven forbid the familial duties plaguing him. He doesn’t have the time or the want to be a mini-Bruce: anxious and obsessed with knowing. He was content when answers went unanswered, when people didn’t know what to say or how to say it correctly.

Dick Grayson was known for bouncing back even better than ever. From when he was a flying Grayson to now as he fights for the streets of Gotham— as an officer this time. Nightwing was known for bouncing into battle, something The Titans picked up quickly despite Dick’s best efforts. His team was strong but not invincible, so when they took a leap too large and missed the bar— his mother’s face flashes within his mind, blurred from time(forgetting! Youre forgetting!)— there he was on the other side, like the act promised; like he promised, ready to catch them, Bruce’s blood supply stocked within their own tower.

“—shut up, Cassandra is speaking.”

Cass noticed a lot of things. She learned everyone's passcodes from glances of the person’s finger movements, favorite family members from how loose someone’s shoulders got around therm— least favorites, even, from the mental debates she could practically hear. Yes, even Bruce’s— and even the one less crate in Bruce’s shipments. One thing Cass was confused about, however, was the enigma that was Bruce’s eldest child. His oldest biological child, anyways.

They arrived at the manor suddenly, like a gust of Gotham air knocked the doors open: heavy and lingering with the glum following the smog haunting their lungs. Cass watched silently, sticking to the shadows before slipping into rooms to hear her siblings. They were firm with their belief, and she would stick with them. She observed on her own, and slowly built on that, but her siblings were allowed their own hypotheses.

She could never find a firm hypothesis for why their eyes seemed dulled; a life they barely seemed to have drained from them even more somehow.

“…I didn’t know my shipment stopped.”

They knew the voice like the lines on their palm, but every scratch and scar lingering on their skin somehow felt more telling than whatever was coating his words. Their thoughts are knocked sideways when hands help them up to take two pills and a bottle of water, their eyes wearily peeling open to the figure of Bruce Wayne looming at the foot of their bed. They don’t understand what’s happening. All they know is that judgement day has arrived and for the first time, their mother isn't there.

“Take those. Then, we’ll talk.”

whewww. can we see i love my em dashes?

other asker, if youre here, im almost done with yours! ive just been a bit busy and all the time i had by myself finally i just couldnt write too good. this was forced out so please lmk if it needs editing or if it doesnt seem like too realistic. thank you everyone for the support, and lmk if you wanna hear some other ideas i have or have any of your own

[yarttalk]

Warning: This concept delves into heavy themes and sensitive topics. It is a work of pure fiction meant for creative exploration; not an endorsement or reflection of real-world beliefs, ideas, or practices.

ᴅɪʙʙʟᴇ ᴅᴀʙʙʟᴇ/ʙᴜᴅᴅɪɴɢ ꜰɪᴄ ɪꜰ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ; 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞 ⋆˚𖤓˖° 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 & 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

hai... gulp

main idea; neglectful!batfam & yandere!reader. i dont know if this has been used yet, but hear me out:

yandere reader doesn’t truly understand they’re a yandere—they grow to have a vague understanding that it isn't necessarily normal; but is anyone really, truly normal? if not in the world, then most certainly not in Gotham for heavens sake! yandere reader was raised by an aspiring mother with an inkling to Icarus— but instead of dying in the flames, she was unable to grasp the hand of the clouds.

Bruce Wayne. Certainly as pale as a cloud; and just as untouchable, high in his place above Gotham’s filthy streets. Or maybe that was Brucie Wayne she met, and hoped she charmed the day she was sent to photograph his gala for the paper.

She had gotten nothing but bad luck after that— “the cost of a bad seed”, she’d say. Her stunt in the back room of the gala lost her the opportunity of the best shots, and her fangirlish focus on Bruce Wayne made her deemed incompetent for their paper company. The only thing she could feel, however, was the joy from the opportunity she was given. She had gotten a chance to be with the Bruce Wayne, as a normal woman. It was only later when she realized she was pregnant did some of her walls crumble; but the idea of something of his being hers, too, did she decide her fate.

“A blessing it was, to touch his skin…”

“I should’ve done more!”

“You’re like a sunburn; proof of my exploration.”

“…You’re lucky I let you mark my skin. You’re blessed to be him; his essence, his fire. If you weren’t, I would get rid of you even now.”

yandere reader was their mothers’ obsession as much as they were her ire; and maybe that’s where their twistedness stems from. It’s the only form of love they’ve seen— their mother is obsessed with their “father” for all he is (or what yanreader’s mother made them believe he is, along with the short parts where they’d see the money he’d donate to help people in need from the photos and articles her mother has taped in her walk in closet— hazardously shoved in there once it got too big in her dresser drawer), and yanreader as-well for all they have from him. Is it Bruce himself, or is that just love?

Maybe it’s both, they come to think as their mother’s suicide over Bruce’s other, acknowledged family— or just the biological kid, they had tried to explain— sends her into too far of a depressive dip too fast. yanreader’s world completely flips during this time, unable to understand life outside their mother’s teachings and more deluding than guiding words, trying to find their footing in a house so unfamiliar; it feels like a church, more than anything. Big and empty, waiting for something larger than life to fill it; the need to be perfect and prove it to the eyes watching, actually or not. Alfred was the one who picked them up, after all, and the deathly glare their half-brother sends them as soon as they enter throws them into a loop. Did he see their impurities too? This soon?

The idea of that fills them with horror. How would Bruce act when he sees them?

(Their mother never let them call him their father; they couldn’t pass the gray, not if she couldn’t— they weren’t enough to bask in that light. They had to rot with the rest of Gotham in the shadows, if only so their mother could have an ember.)

Their mother lives under their skin, rotting their mind. There’s no voices, or info-chan(is there…?). It’s the illusion that their mother is there next to them, reminding them of the opportunity they were presented with, and how they couldn’t let it slip through their fingers like she did. Freshly 18 and uneducated about college, to the batfam(batkids, specifically) they seem… like a freeloader. They were their mother’s attempt at forcing Bruce into a relationship, in the family’s eyes, and yanreader being a bit reserved only helps the kids solidify their opinions about them being there for that quick cash.

They float around the house, deepening their own delusion and the distance between themself and the family. Yanreader, admittedly, never tried with Bruce. They never seeked him out in the hall, never ate a meal with him, and never told him about things he needed to do at the school. They told Alfred, but Alfred’s plate was full, just like they hoped, and a simple call day of when yanreader reminds him sadly just as it’s too late is enough for the school to wave a forgiving hand.

Of course, that’s where it stops within the family, too. Damian gets caught in their webs; guilty by association, in a way. If Bruce lets him in, and he’s his blood son, it’s obvious to Bruce that he’s the full son, and yanreader is stuck as the half bastard to their family. But the others? The adopted kids? They’re chosen to be family to Bruce, which means they’re safely tucked under yanreader’s ribs— but yanreader wouldn’t hesitate to rip out their own heart at a look from Bruce Wayne, so that doesn’t mean too much.

They’re content in the shadows, lurking through Gotham and continuing their life in the gunk; keeping tabs on whatever rot tried to reach the manor. They might not be protecting the world like their family, they’ll come to realize after they uncover their identities, but they’re protecting their world, which is close enough to whatever Mr. Wayne was spieling to them.