Tempest's Studio @tempestsstudio - Tumblr Blog

Musical Idiocracy

Imagine if yandere batfam x Neglected Reader, but reader is the in world equivalent of OR3O/ CG5/ The Living Tombstone/ Stupendium, idk, sub yourself in for whatever one of those sparks the most joy. (Personally, I want OR3O’s vocals.)

This is me mid writing, I think I’m accidentally writing this reader to basically be SecretAsian6. He’s an awesome singer, check him out.

This reader is just super detached and an extremely unreliable narrator just out of the lack of experience he has and how he’s really bad at facing his own trauma. It’s a little bit of a cop out, but it is based on my own experiences with trauma.

This is a shitpost if anyone was wondering. I wrote this in two days after deciding "fuck it, I gotta write and post something or I'll never properly finish anything" SO, apologies for ooc, crappy writing, etc. This is completely human made, and yes, I wrote all the brainrot lyrics and the example song one. I hope people get the references

There are deleted scenes if people want lol.

You never really got the amount of love that a growing child and developing human should have gotten. It was probably why you ended up like this.

Like what you may ask?

A fucking awesome icon of fandom, the freedom to write, and shit posting, that’s what.

You never showed your face. You guessed no one would really recognize billionaire Bruce Wayne’s basically estranged son who was actually just a chud living in the abandoned west wing of the manor anyway, but you thought it was cooler that way.

Music was your escape.

Melodies and making them had always been something your mom shared with you. On the worn keyboard with the broken D3, you always liked to spam the keys and your sweet mom would make lyrics to go with. Sometimes, she’d play random chords just to hear what you’d come up with, and then you’d giggle the night away to lyrics about eating all the cookies or riding unicorns. For one of her birthdays, you had her do whatever she wanted on her guitar while you freestyled lyrics about how awesome she was for making the awesomest lunches and giving the bestest hugs.

Eventually, she taught you how to make it sound good, chords, progressions, and even how songs were structured. It was honestly impressive how she got twelve-year-old you to understand by showing you what a chord looked like or having you spread your fingers. After a while, you were making kinda decent ditties.

But you were an aging child with at least a little exposure to other kids, their families, and the families on TV. When you used to ask about your dad, she’d tell you stories of neon lights, a karaoke microphone in her hands or the sting of acoustic strings under her finger tips, and the handsome man she had a fling with for a week. The same man who changed her life forever.

The man who made you and clearly didn’t care for any collaborator credits.

When you were thirteen, your mom died in a car crash.

You don’t like thinking about that all too much. You were in the car, but you don’t remember it all that well anyway. You don’t even drive or use cars all that much anyway.

Well, fortunately/unfortunately for you, you had a living parent who happened to be a billionaire and also the person to take you in when your mom died.

It’s really all a blur. One day, you were at home laughing with your mom because you tried to rhyme ‘dinosaur’ with ‘homework’ and the next, you were in a dusty room, playing on your DS while some official looking person and the guy you were pretty sure was your dad talked. His face never really stuck in your brain since you never looked up from your game to look at him. You didn’t think he deserved that.

Yeah you cried yourself to sleep a few nights and broke into tears sometimes while songwriting, but you were pretty good at dealing with death and stuff in your opinion.

You were partially to be blamed for your own neglect.

As a kid, you holed yourself up in your room with your little DS and then eventually your gaming PC after you got yourself a job working at a Bat Burger in walking distance of the manor.

For a rough estimate, you’d say there was at least… five people that lived in the manor other than you? Maybe? You never really made an effort to talk to anyone except when you thanked Alfred for the food and the help writing a resume because you wanted to buy Undertale, and that needed money you just didn’t have yet.

Considering just the abandoned west wing where you lived was bigger than the entire house you had lived in with your mom, it wasn’t hard since you were at least the tiniest bit decent at cooking and there was a servants’ kitchen with working everything in your wing. It was already a five minute walk just to go from your room to the dining hall, and you were lazy to say the least. You had grown up at most seeing flashes of this sneaky looking older kid with straight dark hair who looked like he had a stick up his ass.

After a while, he stopped sneaking around your wing. You never really minded anyway. You didn’t want to be friends with him anyway. He’d probably say you were weird for your video games and music like the kids at the weird rich-people school you go to did.

There were a ton of advantages to having an entire wing of an old manor to yourself. You were pretty good at cleaning, so after a week of dedicated work on the wing when you realized no one really came over to your wing, (like, even Alfred didn’t live in there, completely abandoned) the place was clean and you treated it like your personal house.

You had a kitchen, a living room, a game room, your room, and the pride of your adolescent income, the studio. And everything was right next door to everything else since it was all just some decorated guest rooms. You’d thrown out extra furniture into the other guest rooms.

Since you’d made yourself more independent, even Alfred stopped bringing you leftovers from dinner after walking into the wing to see you cooking pasta that seemed at least passable to him. You usually went grocery shopping by just walking over to the main pantry and taking what you needed, but you did your own convenience store runs when they didn’t have what you wanted too.

A little cliche for a kid with a dead mom and deadbeat father, but other than music, video games and the online communities that came with them were your closest friends. As soon as you got home from the rich-people school you now went to, you were right on your computer playing your most recent favourite or mixing your new song.

Escapism came as natural to you as donning the Batman cowl probably did for whoever had the balls to keep doing that. As a Bat Burger employee, you had many interactions with the Bats over the counter. At the moment, your favourite was probably the one with the red helmet. You cracked a joke about your father not loving you, so he gave you a high five and a twenty on one night.

After you got popular from your first fan song and even made a little bit of money from it, you decided to invest the money back into your little hobby. Sure, you were doing a little bit of lying about your age on basically everything because you were still fifteen when you were getting big, but money was money, and no one really found out yet. Besides, you were saving all of it for the future, when you turned eighteen and you could actually get your own place.

It really turned into a personal empire after a year, and you were selling everything from merch and patreon subscriptions to commissioned songs. Since the usual big names were pulling out, you were gaining more of their former audiences.

Recently, brainrot covers of songs had gotten pretty big, so that’s what you were doing at the moment. It was pretty late at night since you had just gotten home from a shift, but you felt buzzed from the last energy drink you had during your shift.

It was quite a bit easier than writing anything completely from scratch, so the brainrot songs were little writing practices for whenever you had writer’s block or generally needed a stress reliever. You had actually gotten pretty far into it after being stuck.

Feeling confident, you let the instrumental play in your headphones as you begun to record, letting the melody flow over you as you mentally counted out your entrance.

“Give me a edging, I, I need to mog my gooners straight.

My sigma’s in the backrooms, getting big backed from the rizzler’s state,

My Livvy, she is gooning for me, across the fanum tax,

My aura’s all been taken cause I rizzed up Kai cenat, and

I called up John pork all those gyatts ago,

You’re tung tung trying to fanum tax it.”

You pumped your fist as you stopped the recording. Going to your PC again, you played it back, shifting it just a little bit to completely sync it with the instrumental.

“Cool cool cool. Okay, so back to the chorus…” Getting back up, you came to the microphone once more.

“Skiiibidi, We are rizz, so let’s rizz up all the stacies, goon em all crazy cause we’ve got aura!” You whooped at the successful riff being captured on mic.

And back to the PC again. “Aw yeah, that’s great. Okay, gonna move that over-”

The burn of artificial light on your retinas made you hiss like a cat. Oh god, when was the last time you had turned the lights on in your recording room?

“Ow! What the fuck, man!?”

When you turned around and took off your headphones, you looked up from your rolly chair.

The tips of his ears were red as he looked down at the floor at an empty Monster can that had rolled over when he opened the door and hit the light. His hand still hovered over the lightswitch, and mercifully, he flicked it back.

“My apologies, it appears I have intruded on… something.” His voice was almost as deadpan as his face. Definitely not someone you’d want to collab with. “Your… vocalizing was… tolerable.”

Who the hell was this kid? He was definitely younger than you, but he had at least a few inches on you. You didn’t think you’d seen this one around before. The spiky hair reminded you of that latest anime English cover you were working on out of commission. Crap, you still had to find a decent rhyme for lurid. The challenge and enhanced lyrics from it were worth it though.

“-Are you even listening to me?”

“Um, yeah? I guess? Uh… who are you?”

“I just told you that. I am Damian Wayne Al Ghul, heir to both names. Who are you?”

You told him our name, then added on, “Oh, add Wayne on the end Yeah, that on the end. I guess that’s what I am on attendance lists and stuff. I don’t really use the name myself, but it’s on all of my legal docs since getting here.”

“What do you mean your last name is Wayne? Father never notified me of another relative, and I believe I am familiar with all of the ones he’s taken in, nevermind the few with the privilege to share his name.”

“Well, it is. Can’t really change that until I’m eighteen. Bruce Wayne is my dad, I guess. More of a sperm donor, but it works. I get this whole place to myself. Well, this wing at least.”

He looked at you, attempting to parse your meaning. “Bruce Wayne is my father. I am his biological son.” “Oh, twin.”

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. Shit. You totally messed this one up. What if this guy tried to have you thrown out of the house? You weren’t even eighteen yet.

You both finally made eye contact.

The intense shade of green was probably the first thing that caught your eyes. Was it even possible to have eyes that green? They looked like they almost glowed in the dark, or at least they glowed in the light of your PC.

There was… something in those eyes. Maybe rage and confusion and a bunch of other emotions you were pretty sure you were too socially inept to observe properly.

It only took you a few seconds to pull out your birth certificate and the paternity test papers that you got when you first came to live in the west wing. Why you had them in your studio? You don’t remember lol. You handed the documents over to the child.

His expression stabilized into a less scary one and more like… resignation?

He sighed. Definitely resignation.

You thought you heard the smallest murmur from him, “...not a rival for succession, clearly. Easily disposable, but…” Ah, he probably saw the doodles on the laminated paternity papers mocking your shared father. Most likely the little penises and the arrows from ‘deadbeat’ to the name Bruce Wayne.

After a few more tense moments of him perusing the documents, he put them to the side.

…

Damn, could two people be any more silent and awkward?

“...are those Warvel comics?” Damian broke the silence. His eyes had drifted to the Arachnid compendium that had been left on your studio bed, which was really just the original guest room bed that you left here so you could use it when working.

“Uh, yeah, actually. I got one of the newer compendiums since I got a commission to make a song about the new movie. You seen it?”

“Yes. Richard took myself and Drake to see it. Quite the experience.”

You had no idea who Richard or Drake were, probably a few of your estranged siblings, but you really couldn't be bothered.“It’s really good, although I get the current discourse about the normalization of surveillance during such a torn social climate.”

“That’s inherently a poor argument seeing as the entire story hasn’t come out yet. From the plot lines in the past comics…”

“...Really?! I didn’t even know that happened. Wait, let me pull up my lyric doc. …What you looking at me like that for, Google Docs is perfectly acceptable.”

“...Those are surprisingly comprehensive lyrics. I appreciate the double entendre. Here, you’re struggling here, right? What if you rhymed…”

“...its all just different ways of showing off the fact that you’re human, aren’t they? Although I feel a little like a larper whenever I try to put lyrics to any of the losses I’ve experienced.”

“No, silence is a viable medium as well, like negative space in a canvas, yes?”

“I suppose so.”

And that was your night, gushing about comics and different mediums of art with some random teenager who also lived in your house.

You didn’t think that one interaction would be the first domino in an incredibly regrettable series of events.

Dick was immediately intrigued when he saw the youngest of the household with earbuds in both ears the next night

Usually, Damian refused anything that would ever dim his senses, but that also meant this was grounds for celebration. After the years of constant work trying to have the boy feel secure in the manor and allow himself to let his guard down, Damian was even letting himself truly enjoy music! Dick wondered what he was listening to. He bet it was some form of classical music.

It had been astonishingly easy to steal one bud and stick it in his own ear.

“It’s all my damn side effect, I ride that trolley, never end.

Pull this and that, I still can’t save them!

I just can’t save them-”

“Richard! That is a heinous violation of my privacy! Do you never think?!” Oop, that made him mad.

Recognizing the look that meant Damian would probably throw a kunai or something at him, Dick leapt away, leaving Damian with the stolen bud back in his hand.

“What even was that? I didn’t think you were into stuff like that? Like, between rock and pop?”

“Tt. It’s a mellifluous exploration of a character facing the constant ethical and moral struggle of seeing the future in a world of many dangers to his organization and the world. I intend to view the source material later tonight.” Damian huffed.

Wow, he was really into this, was he? The last thing Dick wanted was for Damian to feel like he looked down upon his interests.

“That actually sounds really cool. Who made this stuff?”

Damian said some unfamiliar name.

“He lives in the west wing.”

Dick blinked at that. Crap, was this some squatter or something? He really hoped it wasn’t some disguised rogue or something, dealing with rogues in his civilian persona had to be top ten on his list of least favourite things. How could they have no cameras in an entire wing?

“Richard, he is not a threat. He is my biological older brother.”

From Damian’s reaction, Dick definitely made a face at that remark. Who the hell was able to trick the ex-assassin and generally very murdery kid? And who the hell could tell Damian they were his biological sibling without Damian trying to kill them? They had just managed to get Damian to recognize he had worth outside of his pedigree and get him out of his blood son superiority phase.

Dick could feel a headache coming on. He just hoped there wasn’t memory shenanigans involved or anything brainwash related.

Damian was bewildered at the sudden family meeting called by Dick.

Easily triggered by the distress trigger all of them carried on all of their jackets, Dick had pressed it and told everyone to meet in the Bat Cave about an “intruder.”

“He’s not an imposter! I’ve already told you! He’s lived here for four years!”

Damian’s protests seemed to be going unheard as Dick tugged him by the wrist to the cave without another word.

They were met downstairs with Red Hood taking off his titular helmet and spinning a pocket knife on his fingers.

“Yo, dickhead, why did you call us here on the emergency line? No one’s bleeding. Did you even engage whatever intruder is here?” Jason scoffed. “I’m leaving if you don’t tell us what’s up. I was halfway through patrol.”

Just coming off of patrol with Jason was of course Bruce Wayne himself.

“We need to run a memory test or something on Damian. He believes there's someone who’s been living in the west wing for four years. And they said they were his biological brother. And Damian didn’t attack them.”

“Richard is overreacting!” Damian said your name- “- is not a threat! He’s a harmless civilian with a talent for musical composition and taste in literature.”

“Oh god, someone befriended him over his love for comics, didn’t they?” Jason mocked.

Dick’s hand gestures only became more exaggerated. “See! He’s clearly hallucinating, no one lives in the west wing. That place has been abandoned since I came to the manor!”

Bruce stepped in, pulling the cowl off. “Damian, this is a serious meeting. Listen to your brother.”

“Who are we talking about? Sorry, we were pretty far when we got the alarm.” Barbara asked, Stephanie, Duke, and Cassandra in tow.

Damian ignored them. “Do none of you seriously not know the name-” Damian said your name. “-? Even you, Father? He’s your own son. He has the birth and paternity records to prove it. He showed me.”

Tim perked up from where he was at the Bat Computer, trying to find footage of this “intruder.” “Oh! Him. Yeah. I’ve seen him before. He doesn’t really talk to people. I thought he moved out. Isn’t he like twenty or something?”

The room turned to him.

Damian felt his face contort in confusion.

How could an entire room of detectives not be aware of the teenager living in their home for four years? You certainly made no effort to hide your personal pursuits as Damian had heard you when he came home from a patrol.

Damian’s eyes narrowed at Tim. “No? He’s seventeen. He’s a legal minor.”

“I can attest to Master Damian’s statement, Master Bruce.” Alfred said your name. “- has been living with us for four years. He’s quite the independent young man who prefers the taste of his own cooking over communal meals. I assumed you had even the slightest awareness of his presence in this household. Master Bruce?”

They turned to Bruce, all looking for some form of answer.

A hand on his forehead and looking as though he had come down with a headache, Bruce sighed.

“Alright, Damian. Let’s investigate this… brother of yours.”

You hadn’t heard knocking on your door in a couple months.

It wasn’t your birthday, and you’d actually been decent about eating a balanced meal. It also wasn’t anywhere near a normal meal time.

“Uh, hi? Who is this? Alfie, that you?”

You gently opened the door, only to come face to face with several towering men, and that little kid you had been talking with.

“Holy fuck, kid, did you call ICE or something on me?” An absolutely insane thing to say, but it’s what came out of your mouth. As your luck would have it, one of the men, the extra tall one with the white streak in his hair, even had a knife in one of his hands.

“No, why would I do that?! Father, we have ensured ICE has no presence in Gotham or the tristate area surrounding Gotham, yes?” The kid looked up at a tall, dark haired, and much older looking man in a black turtleneck.

Oh, yes.

Bruce Wayne.

The deadbeat sperm donor who you’ve been mooching off of for four years. You knew the name of course, and the fact that he was famous and rich and stuff, you’d just… never mentally connected the parentage.

It was weird actually looking at his face for once. Looking at him was like looking at a weird, Hollywoodized version of yourself, although you still told yourself you looked more like your mom.

Both of you were weirdly frozen, staring at each other like you’d had deja vu.

“My son,” he murmured, voice trailing off.

“Uh, I guess? Hi, I’m-” You told him your name.

It made you realize that your first meeting wasn’t even an actual meeting at all since if you looked back, you were too busy playing on your DS, and he never tried to speak to you or comfort you like a real dad should.

“I’m sorry,” he started. “We had just lost Jason when you moved in and, we, well…” He struggled to find the words.

What were you even supposed to call him? Bruce? Dad? Sperm donor? It was shitty just thinking about it. Usually you didn’t waste brain power on shit like this.

“That’s still a shitty excuse to abandon a kid for four years. And I’m back anyway.” The one with the white streak scoffed. You wished you had said that yourself. Seems like you’d get along with this guy at least.

There was one that looked like a model, and he looked like you were a whole chocolate fondue fountain decked out with marshmallows and strawberries to dip.

The same disturbingly attractive one started pushing through the others to give you a hug.

“The past is the past! Now, the only thing important is that you’re family and you have a family that absolutely loves you, okay songbird? Is it okay if I call you that? It really just makes sense, doesn’t it? Damian showed me some of your work.”

“I thought you were approaching this as an intruder with brainwashing capabilities?” The most normally put together looking Black guy said.

(You felt bad describing him as that in your head, but really, there was, asian girl, white blond girl, white ginger girl in wheelchair, the kid, your sperm donor, and then the three white guys who you could not tell apart, other than the white streak one.) Either way, the creepily hot one ignored him.

Looking down at you, he flashed a thousand watt smile. “I’m Richard Grayson, but you can call me Dick! I’m your new big brother, okay?”

This guy clearly had not been told not to touch someone a day in his life. He even squished your cheeks in one hand and made you look at your deadbeat father.

He cooed at you like you were some kind of toddler. “Look, Bruce! He looks just like you! But he’s just a tad squishier and cuter.”

You already had enough of them now.

“I am not a stuffed animal! Let me go!”

Gently (???), he moved his grip from your face to hold you to his chest, trapping you with an arm across your shoulders with the physicality of a metal bar. You squirmed, but for such a lithe man holding you, it was like being held by a WWE champ.

“Chill out, Songbird, I just wanna cuddle,” He murmured in your ear as he towered over you from behind. Holy cheese crackers, did this guy not understand how horrifying he was?

“Okay, so time to meet the family!” It wasn’t like you had a choice with his straitjacket arms holding you and directing you.

He made you look at the kid first. “Let’s start with who you’ve met before! As you know, I’m Dick, your awesome big brother here to spoil you, and that’s Damian! You two get on so incredibly well. I was really surprised to hear you even had a good conversation on your first meeting.”

Then the one with the white streak. “The super buff guy is Jason! He’s also your big brother. He’ll take a little bit to warm up to you, but if you’ve read any good books, you’ll get on pretty easily.”

Jason just looked at you with pity in his eyes.

“I’m Stephanie. How did you live in this wing for four whole years without anyone at all noticing you? I mean, you had to come to the dining room for meals eventually, right?” the blonde one asked.

You were just confused by the question. “...I can cook?”

The one who had a major eye bag problem and was kinda scrawny when put beside the others spoke up. “My guess is that he lived off of instant food or Alfred brought him meals. I’m Tim by the way.”

“No? I made baked salmon and pesto pasta yesterday. It was pretty good. I have leftovers too.” You didn’t even know why you were trying to prove you could cook, but whatever.

“Wow, someone that can cook. That’s definitely new here. I’m Duke by the way,” said the normal looking one.

The ginger woman in a wheelchair rolled up to you, putting out her hand to shake. You took it, trying to remember that rich people would look down on you if you didn’t give a firm handshake or something. “I’m Barbara. Nice to meet you.”

She looked at the others. “See? That’s how you come off like a normal person.”

You wouldn’t say that since you were still in a human straitjacket thanks to Dick, but appreciated the more normal greeting.

Barbara nudged the quiet Asian woman forward.

For the few seconds she spent looking at you, you had never felt more exposed. You might as well have gone skinny dipping in Gotham Harbor in the middle of January. You were pretty sure she activated your freeze response just looking at you.

“...Cassandra.” And that was it.

You responded with a thumbs up, and she smiled at you.

The family had somehow unfortunately become extremely taken with you after that first meeting.

One of the first things they did was take away any financial independence you had. Due to you lying about your age on almost every single platform, it seemed as though in an instant, all of your money in your accounts suddenly wasn’t yours, getting reported and then transferred to a different one under the Wayne family name for your “protection.” According to Tim, just about anyone could swindle you out of your hard-earnt money, somehow, this was the most logical choice.

You only found out when you checked your accounts only for them to all have the payments rerouted to some account you didn’t recognize and out of exhaustion, you came to your kitchen to eat your feelings. Unfortunately, Tim was sitting on your island counter, having taken your freedom and your leftover pasta.

He explained himself after, but you really couldn’t do anything about it without losing your entire account. At least this way, you could still make music.

For some reason, they were obsessed with you eating dinners with them. Frankly, they were insufferable.

The first dinner you ate with them, Dick spilled all of their secret identities in an attempt to make them seem cool to you.

You sat decently far away from them with about three chairs of empty space to the closest person. Clearly, you were suspicious of their newfound fondness of you. Just to be a jackass, after the food came out, you stood your phone up on the Monster can you had brought out with you and started to watch chess videos while you ate.

“Bruce, do something! He needs to learn to connect with his family! You saw him, didn’t you? He looks just like you, but all cute and defenseless!” Dick shook Bruce, hand on his arm.

Bruce sighed. “He needs time like any other child.”

“He’s just sitting there on his phone. Why are we even forcing him to do this?” Tim squinted at you, fork missing his pasta. He made a mental note to thoroughly check through your watch history later.

Damian ate as regally ever. “He requires integration into the family as well. If he continues to resist, I can have him restrained.”

“Ooh, good idea. We can tie him up and watch movies together!”

Duke tried to calm them down. “Well maybe he just doesn’t think we’re cool or something.” Although Duke’s meaning of you being okay with trusting them soared over Dick like a triple backflip.

“Maybe he isn’t willing to indulge those who force him into communal consumption,” Damian retorted, rolling his eyes.

Dick looked as though he had come to an epiphany.

“You are so right, Duke! Yeah! Leave it to me, I’ll show him we’re his super cool older brothers, then he’ll want to hang with us.”

Dick sauntered over, sat in the chair right beside you, turning to face you, and just blurted out,

“Guess what, songbird? We’re all super cool vigilantes! I’m Nightwing, Dami is Robin, Dad is Batman, and everyone else is part of it too! Awesome, right? I can show you the Cave after dinner. I’ll even take you out on the Bat Cycle if you want.”

You didn’t believe him at first.

“Dickhead, you idiot, why would you do that?!” Jason threw a fork across the table at him.

Dick easily dodged. “Well he probably thinks we’re just stuck up rich people who can’t care about a sweet songbird like him who just wants a family who loves him!”

“That is not at all what I want.”

For some reason, that was just encouragement for everyone else.

Duke shrugged. “Well if everyone’s in on this, I’m Signal.”

“I’m Spoiler! But also Batgirl! Really cool, right? I listened to that Marvellous Redbug song you put out, and you sung that vigilantes are what the world really needs and how you understand our burden!” Stephanie seemed way too excited about this.

“That was from the perspective of a child with a saviour complex who definitely does not understand the consequences of her actions, especially how manipulating her crush impacts his psyche because he knows nothing, what?”

“You admire vigilantes? Sorry, I was more focused on making sure your accounts got fixed before anything. I’ll be sure to listen to everything the next chance I get. And, for your information, I was Robin and right now, I’m Red Robin.” Tim also perked up.

“Black bat.” Cassandra pointed at herself.

You blinked.

“You cannot be serious.”

They were definitely serious when they brought you down to the Bat Cave and showed you all their suits.

You just hoped they’d be sick of you after a month or so.

Hopefully, their obsession with you wouldn’t outlast the low taper fade meme of all things.

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