#ghul oc

[laimabynight]

Audrey Cordelia Redmond (20). The young woman had always been a child of contradictions. As the daughter of the director of Rikers Island, she enjoys the privilege and refinement of New York City’s high society. Yet, that world alone is not enough for her. Her days are spent half-heartedly attending lectures at Barnard College, where she studies art history—more to pass the time than out of genuine passion. Audrey discovered early on that life extends beyond the gilded dinner parties and elegant balls of her social circle. Fascinated by contrast, she occasionally seeks adventure in the city’s shadows, where she encounters figures who would never grace the pristine halls of her world. The stories she hears about the inmates of Rikers—often shared by her father, a stern and dutiful man—spark her curiosity about life and the people on the other side of the law.

New York by Night - Red Carpet

Art by Hettikovacs

[yzur02]

Dick: *being pushed to the lab to test for a meta gene* come on guys, you know I'm a completely normal human

Steph: yeah, yeah, tell that to some other idiot

Tim: there's no way in hell you are a "normal human"

Duke: we have seen the truth

Cass: you can't fool us

Dick: this is ridicu-

Corrie: save it for the needle, dickface, you could have fooled us before you completely decimated the Legion of Doom and smashed your way trough the Watchtower's security before, and hear me out, you shattered Cyborg Superman's leg by shoulder checking him with a total weight of?

Jason, with the goofiest, biggest glasses he found over his helmet while holding the most obnoxiously big calculator on earth: his approximate weight is that of a wet kitten on a napkin

Corrie: that! Not to mention the shit with the Court of Howls talking about you as their "Grayson" you are a motherfucking prophesied warrior from some random ass cult!

Dick: B, you already did test on this, tell them!

Bruce: it's always good to be sure

Dick: Alfred!!

Alfred: worry not, master Grayson, everything is already prepared and ready to use

Dick: Babs?

Barbara, holding a needle: we are ready to go!!

Damian, helping with the testing: tt sit at once, Grayson, I intend for this to be done before my S&S session later today

Dick:... fine, why not? just the 38th test, not like I keep count or anything...

...

Cass: bullshit

Steph: that!!

Jason: you smell that?

Duke: yeah, it smells like bullcrap

Dick: told you

[batsis-reader]

Batsis: Hey Jason Jason: Yes? Batsis: Can a person breathe inside a washing machine while it’s on? Jason: Jason: Where’s Damian?

[nemoredraw]

AU Batman. —Jason Todd and Damian Wayne— When you want to take down capitalism, bureaucratic elites, inequality, the government, the patriarchy, and every oppressive system… but Batman gets in the way.

Jason and Damian against the oppressive system. 🫦💅❤️

Well then, guess we’ll just have to get rid of him. 🤭🦇🪦

Speaking of capitalism, a reminder that my commissions are open 😊 if you have any questions, contact me via DM. ❤️🚬💀 Mwah 💋

[damianwayne-bloodson]

Damian: Love is weakness and an evolutionary mistake. Tim: You are literally making a Valentine’s Day card for Y/N. Damian, pointing their hot glue gun towards Tim: You’re on thin fucking ice.

[spencerwayne-todd]

Keeping up with the Waynes

(Mission Report)

Bruce: So, let me get this straight. Lex Luthor was in Gotham.

Damian: Yes.

Bruce: And you found him.

Damian: Yes.

Bruce: And confronted him.

Damian: Yes.

Bruce: And you found out that he was doing experiments with Kryptonite serum on puppies?

Damian: Yes.

Bruce: So you got mad. And then?

Damian: And then I shot him in the ass five times as he ran from my sword like a coward.

Bruce: Where did you get a gun?

Jason: To be fair, that was a completely valid response to a report of tortured puppies.

Bruce: Oh.

[owlwithanapple]

Eternal Engagement

An unexpected new life?

Y/N Kent, daughter of Superman Clark Kent and twin sister of Superboy Jonathan Kent. You thought you were born with innate powers and talents, but you haven't awakened any superhuman powers since birth. Not to mention flying, you don't even have the strength to break a piece of iron rod. Your mother Lois Lane once doubted whether you were incapable and born mortal?

Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne, Superman and Batman, Guardian and Dark Knight, are also the best of friends. Their relationship is complicated, characterized by mutual respect and protection for each other. The relationship between the two occasionally causes tension due to their different approaches to the arts heroism.

Being in harmony is a good thing, but unexpectedly...your father and Bruce Wayne made a marriage engagement for their children when they were young, that is, you and Damian Wayne. Until you were an adult and just turned 20, you learned the truth of this matter. Your first reaction was of course anger. Don’t know how many arguments you had with your father, but in the end, it ended in failure.

Metropolis, a certain cafe -

As usual, you spent your time at work, a black luxurious car stopped at the main entrance. An ominous premonition came up, a familiar figure walked out of the car. The man in a black suit, he opened the door and walked in, stealing the attention of many women. When his emerald eyes met yours, you suddenly realized who he was, Damian Wayne.

You avoided his gaze and walked behind the counter, facing away from him, silently wiping the cup with a piece of cloth. At the same time, an enthusiastic female colleague came forward to take his order. He raised his index finger pointed at your back, revealing a hint of arrogance and a demanding attitude in his tone, "Black coffee, I want Kent to make it."

"Huh? Oh...Kent, are you available now?" Your colleague approached and asked.

You stopped the work in your hands and nodded helplessly. You used the coffee machine to brew, the aroma of the rich coffee came out, and every drop of coffee dripped into the mug. You brought the brewed coffee to him, his emerald eyes slowly moved from your face to hands and then to the cup of coffee.

"Sir, your black coffee, please enjoy it." You nodded and returned to your post.

"It's Damian, your fiancé's name." He answered after sipping his coffee.

You were helpless and annoyed, wondering why your father wanted you to marry this arrogant and ruthless man, even uncle Bruce agreed. Really don't understand what they’re thinking. You put down the tray, "I don't want to hear the word fiancé."

"Facts are facts after all. Kent, who has no talent." His tone was biased.

You put your hands on hips and retorted to him, "Gene mutation, there's nothing can do about it."

You always felt inferior because no talent, it hurts your scars exposed by him. After the quarrel, you feel relieved and continue to work. His eyes locked on you, and you avoid him several times and continue to ignore him. He taps the counter with finger to attract your attention, as if he is ordering you.

You approach him and ask nicely, "Sir, what else would you like to order?"

"Where's the engagement ring?" He takes a sip of coffee and glances at you, focusing on your finger.

This question makes you feel very embarrassed. Last month, your father suddenly brought a black exquisite ring box from Gotham, which contained an engagement ring. You dare not wear it at all, "It will affect my work and hinder me."

"Terrible excuse." His tone was arrogant. He finished the remaining coffee. Before leaving, he took out a few bills and put them next to the cup. You were surprised that the hand he stretched out was wearing your engagement ring.

You were silent, hating this inexplicable feeling. It's not a relationship between lovers, which makes you feel very heavy. He and your brother are partners, the Super Sons are the duo of Damian Wayne, the Robin, and Jonathan Kent, the Superboy. But you are just a superfluous Kent, with no talent, no strength, and no ability to help others, proving that you are a mortal.

"Fuck..." You clenched your fists and gritted teeth.

Kent Farm, Smallville —

You went home, and held the doorknob still struggled with heart. You smelled the aroma of food coming from the house, almost dinner time. You adjusted your emotions , opened the door and stepped into the house, you sat in the entrance and untied your shoelaces. You were shrouded by a shadow, and you turned around and saw that it was Damian.

"You... why are you here? Didn't you go back to Gotham City?" You stood up immediately in surprise, you thought he only came to your workplace, but he even came to visit your home.

"Little princess, welcome home. Damian is staying at our house tonight, he will sleep in Jon’s room." Lois smiled and poked her head out of the kitchen.

"Huh?! This guy sleeps in Jon's room?! Jon's bed is very hard!" You told Lois in confusion, but you heard your mother's happy laughter.

"Hahaha, indeed. Or do you want to sleep with your fiancé?" Your mother laughed after hearing your words and couldn't help but want to tease you.

Your mom's words made you feel extremely embarrassed. Even if you two are engaged, actually have no relationship. It's purely because of the relationship between the two families. You glared at Damian and walked past him to upstairs. "No way!!"

Damian watched you leave and sighed helplessly. Seeing that his figure did not seem as arrogant as usual, Lois took the initiative to step forward and put her hand on his shoulder. "My little princess is a little stubborn, but not bad."

"TT. The only shortcoming is that she has no superpowers." The cold response from Damian hit Lois's pain point. Lois took her hand back. Damian sat on the sofa and browsed his phone, his eyes occasionally peeking at the stairwell.

You turned on the desk lamp. You opened the drawer to take out a book but saw the ring box placed inside. Your mind was in a mess. Why is your life so unsatisfactory? You took out the ring box and opened it. Inside was an exquisite engagement ring with the words of eternal love of Y/N & Damian engraved on it.

"He doesn't know the size of my finger..." You put the ring on, but it unexpectedly fit the size of your finger. You were surprised. How did he know your size?

When you wanted to remove the ring, found that it was stuck and couldn't pull it off no matter how hard you tried. You carefully looked at the details, felt that it was so expensive. Wayne's family has money. The engagement rings were made by experts. You touched it lightly, thinking how valuable it is.

"Little princess! Come down for dinner!" You pulled out the ring with all your strength, but nothing happened until you heard Daddy's voice coming from downstairs, and Jon's laughter came too. The two of them finally finished saving the world.

You left the room and went downstairs, and saw Mommy and Daddy bringing food to the table. Jon and Damian were discussing what happened today, such as aliens invading the earth. You seemed out of place without a common topic.

You went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Mommy noticed your emotions change, and what Damian just said made her care more about your feelings. She took the initiative to ask you, "Little princess, did your work go well today?"

You held the cup felt a little sad. You pretended to be strong and nodded, "Yes, I was so busy, almost forgot to get off work."

At this time, Daddy walked in. His super hearing heard your heartbeat and was very flustered. He realized your mood change, he first gave you a hug, patted your back gently and comforted you, "Little princess, what's wrong? Tell Daddy?"

"I... I'm fine. Just a little tired." You answered vaguely.

"Little princess, don't be like this. I'm worried. Don't suppress yourself." Daddy said after loosening the hug and holding your shoulders, his face full of worry.

"I'm really just tired." You left the kitchen and walked to the dining table to sit down. Lois and Clark looked at each other and guessed your thoughts.

"I'm telling you! Today, Superboy and Superman are teaming up together - puff!" Before Jon could finish his words, Damian threw a pillow on his face.

Jon was confused, Damian ignored him and walked to the dining table. He pulled out a chair and sat next to you. You avoided him, but his eyes stayed on you. He was surprised to notice your emotions and expression changes, and to notice that you were wearing the engagement ring.

"Why are you wearing a ring?" His tone was like an accusation.

As expected, he found out. You put your hand under the dining table awkwardly and trying pulled out the ring. "Just try it on. I didn't expect the size to be so perfect. Now I can't pull it out."

"Haha, your knowledge is really low. We were taught in elementary school that you can take it out by applying soap on hands. You not only have no talent, but also no knowledge." His tone was humiliating and sarcastic, as if he was accusing you.

At first Jon thought it was just a bickering, until he realized something was wrong, and immediately rushed forward to stop Damian's bad behavior. He held Damian's shoulders and said, "Hey, buddy, don't say that. She is a girl after all, and also your fiancée, be gentle."

"It's the truth, she knows it best. It's a pity that Superman's daughter has no superpowers. Ah, no, it's so pitiful." Suddenly you felt like the sky was falling. You couldn't refute his bad words. What he said was... the truth.

Everyone knows Damian's character. He is a proud and self-centered person. He always spits out some facts when he speaks. Mommy approached Damian and flicked his forehead with her index finger, leaving a red mark. "Damian Wayne, we agreed to marry our little princess to Wayne family because of trust, not to humiliate and belittle her. This is not what a future husband should do."

Daddy came forward and ruffled Damian's hair, with a smile and tenderness on his face. He once said that Damian's personality is exactly the same as Bruce's. He always speaks harshly, but still very gentle in his heart. "Damian, treat her well. When she is frustrated, you should encourage her instead of mocking her."

"She should thank me. If our two families were not good friends, who would want to get engaged to this untalented idiot." He emphasized made his words more unpleasant.

"Damian, you-" Just as Jon was irritated, you stood up from the dining chair.

Except for Damian's expression, which was equally annoying, everyone else was worried. You wanted to scold him but you didn't have any advantage over him. He was an experienced Robin. He struggled to this day with his own efforts and perseverance. He is a very brilliant person. But you have no talent at all, unlike Jon who is strong and reliable.

"I'm not hungry. I'm going back to my room." You walked away silently. Dad followed you but you stopped him. You wanted to stay quiet didn't want to hear any more sounds.

"Buddy, what are you doing? You know my sister-" After you left, Jon glared at Damian in front of Clark and Lois, his eyes glowing red as if he was going to shoot a laser at him.

At this time, you were in the bathroom. You applied soap to hands to wash them as Damian said. Just as he said, the ring was successfully taken out because of the moistness of the soap. You put the ring back in the box and closed the drawer, drew a cross pattern on the calendar to indicate that no signs of awakening.

"Maybe I have no hope..." You fell on the bed, looking at the ceiling and sighed silently.

Knock Knock—

There was a knock on the door, you got out and opened it. As soon as you saw Damian's face, you slammed the door and locked it, venting your anger on the door. Damian outside the door did not feel disgusted with your behavior. He knocked on the door again, but you did not respond and curled up in bed.

"I'll leave the food outside, don't starve." You heard his voice fade away, and out of curiosity, you opened the door to peek. He really brought dinner, you were stubborn and didn't want him to meddle in other people's business, which would give him the opportunity to feel superior. But in the end, you were defeated by hunger, you compromised and brought the food into the room to eat.

"Help—I can't swim—" Suddenly you heard a strange noise, like a cry for help. You thought it was an illusion, maybe someone downstairs was watching a TV series, until you heard "Superman—Anyone—save me—"

"Help?" you murmured.

You didn't even touch the food, pricked up your ears to listen carefully. The painful cry for help, the sound of water rising and falling in the waves circled intermittently. You ran downstairs in a panic and saw Daddy washing dishes in the kitchen and Mommy tidying up the dishes. Life was just like usual. Jon and Damian put on their hero suits and were discussing today's patrol work and adjusting the route.

"Um... Daddy, Jon. Did you hear a girl's cry for help?" Your voice trembled, but your question instantly attracted everyone's attention.

"Little princess, what did you just say?" Mommy asked with a puzzled look, and Daddy, who was standing behind her, noticed your abnormality and wanted to get closer to you.

"Help me—I can't breathe—" The cry for help came again.

"Again! I heard it again—" Just as you panicked and tried to prove that you were hallucinating, Jon and Dad heard it later than you. Two red lights flew out from in front of you with lightning speed, the impact of the wind made your hair messy as if you were hit by a tornado.

"Super hearing..." Damian murmured, he stood by and stared at you with his cold emerald eyes like a knife.

"Little princess, how long have you heard it?" Mommy put her arm around your shoulders and let you sit down.

"About... a few seconds ago. I thought it was a hallucination, so I didn't pay too much attention to it." You tidied up your messy hair and looked directly at your mommy to answer the question.

"Several seconds faster than Superman and Superboy, should we say they were stupid enough to ignore the cry for help or it was just a coincidence..." Damian deduced the result from your answer.

"Little princess!" Daddy's voice came, a gust of wind blew and messed up your hair again. Daddy rushed back home and appeared in front of you at the speed of lightning.

"Buddy! Someone almost died just now!" Jon rushed into the house and rushed towards Damian, muttering non-stop, so fast that his cloak blew on Damian's face.

"TT, shut up, you're making so much noise." Damian slapped Jon in the face impatiently and pushed him away, then approached you and Superman.

Daddy didn't even change out of Superman costume before he immediately knelt on one knee in front of you and held your shaking hands tightly, with a serious and shocked expression, "Little princess, what you just heard was not an illusion, someone really was drowning."

"So it's not an illusion... Wait, why can I hear it?!" You were shocked.

"Idiot, one of Superman's powers is super hearing. Maybe it's a coincidence, maybe the awakening period has come, after all, it's just a short reaction." Damian intervened between the two of you, his words were as harsh as usual.

"Little princess, try to concentrate and see if you can hear mommy's heartbeat." Daddy was a little nervous, his palms were sweating.

You nodded and tried it as he said, looking in the direction of your mommy, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. After waiting for several moments, you could only hear your own heartbeat and everyone's breathing. You opened eyes and looked at your daddy, sighing and shaking your head to indicate no, it was just a coincidence.

"I didn't hear any sound..." You muttered in frustration.

"Oh... But little princess, thanks to your reminder, Jon and I were able to save people in time. Thank you." He hugged you in his arms and stroked your head.

Damian stroked his chin gently, his eyes focused on you. For a moment he guessed that you were about to wake up, just like a caterpillar showing signs of growth. An idea came to him, he took out a piece of Kryptonite from his utility belt to do an experiment, but Jon quickly stood in front of him to stop him.

"What are you doing?! Using that thing to murder your fiancée?!" Jon panicked.

"It's an experiment. If she really has a part of superhuman genes, then this thing will definitely weaken her if it touches her." Damian said to Jon expressionlessly.

"That doesn't mean you have to use this-" Jon grabbed Damian's arm.

"Damian, try touching her with Kryptonite. I want to see what changes will happen to her body." Superman was worried but moved away from you.

"That's-" Before you could even finish your words, Damian put the Kryptonite on your arm, suddenly you felt a wave of weakness and anxiety. You were about to fall dizzy, Damian came forward to catch you.

"Sure enough, she is not an ordinary person, there is a superhuman part in her body." Damian muttered.

"Damian, she is temporarily in a coma, take her back to the room and let her rest. I will contact Bruce and then decide how to deal with this matter." You can't feel any strength in your body, as if you have been completely hollowed out, but you can hear the conversation between Daddy and Damian.

"Wait, Damian. You will take good care of her, right?" Mommy pointed at Damian's chest and angrily like warning him, because he was not gentle to you at all, even said something sarcastic to his own fiancée.

Damian ignored Lois's words, easily picked you up and went upstairs with his hands. Jon and Lois were worried and wanted to follow, but they were stopped by Clark. He shook his head to signal them not to worry and said, "Don't worry, let Damian take care of her. They will be husband and wife in the future, and the little princess' husband should take care of her."

"Hubby, you just heard what he said to your daughter—" Lois was dissatisfied.

"I know your concerns, but always protecting her is equivalent to alienating the distance between the two of them. Damian and little princess need each other, believe them." Clark put his hand on Lois's shoulder and comforted her gently.

Damian carefully put you on the bed, covered with a quilt, then pulled a chair to sit beside the bed. He took off the Robin mask, crossed his arms under chest and quietly stood by you. Thinking about the possibilities and changes that will happen next, he raised his head looked at the ceiling to deflate.

Buzz-buzz-buzz-Damian took out his phone and browsed the chat interface.

Dick: Hi~ are you getting along with your fiancée?

Damian: Something happened.

Jason: You abused her?

Tim: Didn’t Dick tell you to be gentle with her?

Damian: No, you guys should stop meddling in other people’s business.

Bruce: Clark contacted me just now, and I think I know what happened.

Dick: Damian didn’t abuse her, right?!

Damian: I’m not that shameless.

He logged off and closed the chat room, scratching his cheek. He stared at your sleeping face, quietly approaching your bedside to avoid waking you up, his index finger gently brushed your forehead, he leaned down and gently pressed a kiss on your forehead.

Lois was still worried even if Clark trusted Damian, she came to your room, quietly turned the doorknob and peeked in through the crack, she found out what Damian did to you, she was shocked but still chose to leave and let him take care of you.

READ IT ON AO3 owlwithanapple

Like and Repost to motivate me!

Tag : @chibiduck

[eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove]

Hey there👋👋 could you please do whatever love language of the bamboos are ??

LOVE LANGUAGE OF THE BATBOYS

A/N: terribly sorry I let this request collect dust. My interest in comics fell as life got hectic and whatever the hell. I won't go all Wattpad author on you.

Dick Grayson’s love language is words of affirmation. At the peak of his characterization, he is a man ravenous for praise and attention. A moment of peace, of relief, of sweetness.

Stunted, yet too grown for his own good—simultaneously. He will seek attention, showering you with gifts and compliments in hopes that you reciprocate. Holidays would read like a HallMark movie that would move suburban mothers to tears.

Dick is also the man to send romantic quotes stolen from Pinterest, and the occasional confusing poem of his own hand. His nerves would grind as he read the ‘’seen’’ stamp beneath his text, worried out of his mind that it didn't properly convey his emotions, his love.

“What, no reply yet? If you're that moved, you could always come kiss me.” He'd send the message, playing it off as a joke. But his stomach groaned with the familiar ache, that cold and empty feeling of uncertainty.

What if she doesn't like it? Will she still like me? Would I seem lame if I double texted? Am I bugging her?

The flames of self doubt would spread and eat at his mind until his phone pinged with a,” it's beautiful, babe. A hard read, but the intention was there.” And a flirtatious emoji paired with it.

Thus, the flames of doubt were stomped out, like they never existed. They liked the poem, and he would spend hours rereading it. Marveling and gushing because you liked it. Something he made.

Jason Todd's love language is acts of service. It's a loyalty thing for him.

Gift sharing could be manipulation; soft words could be lies, and he's too self-loathing to believe them anyway. Red Hood swallows his spare time, and his desire for touch swung on a pendulum—one side thirsting for it, the other side uncomfortable.

The thought of returning home to a nice and warm meal would make him melt into a puddle. Or finding his hero suit washed, and his gear cleaned and stored away.

It reignites a flame in his cold eyes, the domesticity calling forth an unclassified emotion that sent goosebumps blazing over his skin like wildfire, calling his arm hairs to attention.

Jason would return the favor. You would awake to find breakfast made, the aroma of bacon and eggs thick in the air, the sweetness of syrup carrying around the house. Scalding tea trickling into a pot, milk and sugar already on the table. Plates washed and set.

Jason would also do laundry and iron clothes. He gets those random bursts of energy (or adrenaline) and cleans the entire house spotless.

Baths would be drawn for you, and if he's feeling lavish, he'll add roses to the bubbles. The finest soaps would lather your skin, scented with the the best smelling perfumes—business was good, and it was a present. His calloused fingers would be overjoyed to massage your scalp (he hoped you'd do his next).

Tim Drake’s love language is quality time. Also, I would like to preface this section by admitting I haven't read much of Tim.

He would help you study. Textbooks adorning the wooden table after hours of quizzing. Coffee steaming in a mug, pens and highlighters scratching at paper. Kisses shared with each right answer.

He'd tease,” Oh, that was a hard one. A trick question.” A smirk, sweet as frosting would tug on his lips, then a warm kiss would swallow yours.” If I were as filthy minded as Jason, maybe I'd crack a joke.”

Tim’s gaze would find you, in the middle of whatever—washing dishes, doing laundry, exercising. They'd burst with amorous passion, like exploding stars, shimmering and twinkling in his irises.

When the sun kisses Gotham goodnight, and the moon assumes it duty, he'd find himself wishing he could be beside you. Not Batman, not Dick, certainly not Damian. That's not proof that he hates his colleagues or that his work is last on the list of priorities. It's just. . . you're higher.

“Hey, love,” he'd speak into the phone, after the voicemail prompted him.” I know you're likely sleep tonight. But I wanted to at least call and tell you to sleep safe and warm. And to save space for me.” A chuckle would roll of his tongue, the wailing of police sirens in the background.

Damian Wayne's love language is also quality time.

Time is precious to him. His mother’s presence was unreliable. He, his father, his siblings tango with dead every silvery night. Each misfortune in his family reminded him of that.

Robin is not what Dick thinks. It's not just bursting into hideouts and knocking the crap out of villains. The peril is real, as well as the potential for failure—and failure in their line of work means death.

Oracle was paralyzed in a second, one wrong move and her nerves were shot. Jason’s life was quite literally put on a clock, killed by time itself. When Damian was an assassin, it merely took seconds to end a life, one of emotion and desires and opinions—gone at the stroke of a blade.

Time matters.

Damian would try to spend all of it with you, doing anything. Attending museums, painting you, listening to your playlists. Finding the child he was depraved of for so long. Being an angsty teenager and loving it.

“This is considered fun?” A dark eyebrow of his would raise teasingly. There you sat, at a sport's game, the roaring crowd trembling the stadium and stabbing his ears. The golden beam of the sun roasting both you, and the overpriced popcorn tossing and gurgling in his stomach.

But, deep down, the liveliness of the crowd intrigued him. Even he'd find himself screaming along with the masses on their feet, yelling out praise or curse words.

Damian's jade irises would slide over to you, the sheer glee decorating your features. A painting. He'd see a masterpiece in you; how that expression would translate onto a canvas.

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

[decapod-appreciator]

Q: juno why havent you been posting art

A: I got really into dc comics and its been the only thing I can think about. sorry! blame my friends

(as one image under the cut)

[auggieboggy]

Fortnite got too crazy

[yzur02]

Alfred, looking at Damian: he looks more like his grandparent everyday

Cass: Ra's?

Alfred: no, miss Cassandra, his other grandparent

Cass: *confused head tilt* uh?

Hours later:

Alfred: *doing chores*

Corrie: *runs in* there you are!

Alfred: *takes extinguisher* is something wrong?

Corrie: no, no, all's fine, we just needed you a second, I found him!!

Everybody runs into the room, Jason steps forward while holding Damian by the armpits, leveling his face with Alfred's

Damian, hopefully: so?

Corrie: right th- no, that's not it...

Steph: if you squint... maybe?

Tim: if you tilt your head kinda... no

Jason:... *sigh* nope, I don't see it

Damian: tt perhaps the suit wasn't such an horrendous idea

Steph: a moustache?

Dick: don't worry, I know you will grow on it

Bruce: what's going on?

Cass: Alfred said Damian was growing to look like grandpa, so we wanted to check... *frowns* but he doesn't look like Alfred

[batsis-reader]

Batsis, peeling a banana: May I take your jacket, sir? Hahahaha.

Damian: Do you think other people can’t hear you?

[foolnamedjoey]

Please, Ballister is my father.

[damianwayne-bloodson]

Y/N: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.

Damian: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

[akairawrites]

Curiosity killed The Cat | Damian Wayne Imagine

Taglist

@ella-fella-bo-bella @ayoitsurfavdesigurl @luvvvjada @harleycao @aiq39

You were just 14 years old when you first encountered the infamous Damian Wayne. He strode through Gotham Metro Academy as if he owned the place, and with his father being the wealthiest man in Gotham City, it wasn't surprising. What made it even more intriguing was that you seemed to share almost every class with him.

"Why are you trailing me?" He inquired, standing tall beside your desk as you retrieved your class materials from your backpack. You glanced up, meeting his fierce green eyes without flinching. "Excuse me?" you retorted.

"You've been following me around, why?" he pressed, his tone dripping with curiosity. You scoffed and sized him up. "Ever been to a school before? If it were up to me, I'd be nowhere near you."

Damian clicked his tongue in annoyance. "How did you even get into this school? You don't seem like you can afford—" Before he could finish his sentence, you cut him off with a swift, hard punch to his face. You didn't care about his status as Bruce Wayne's son; whatever he was going to say deserved a punch.

The entire class stared at you in disbelief as Damian held his face where your punch had landed. If he hadn't looked furious before, he certainly did now. He restrained himself from retaliating, aware of the prohibition against hitting females, a double standard he found frustrating.

⋆

"This is her second time punching a student, Ms. Kyle. I'm afraid that if this happens again, we will have no choice but to expel [Y/n]," the principal expressed with a concerned tone.

The principal's worried look held firm as Selina, your mother, fixed you with a glare that felt like it could burn holes through your head. This wasn't the first time she'd been summoned to the school, and it seemed like it wouldn't be the last. After a discussion with the principal, it was decided that you would receive two weeks of detention. It was definitely worth silencing that arrogant son of a bitch.

"We need to address your anger management," Selina said as both of you walked down the empty hallway. "I don't have anger issues," you retorted bluntly, even though deep down, you knew it was a problem you'd inherited from your late father. When you got into these moods, Selina knew precisely how to help you feel better.

"Since it's the weekend, how about we have a girls' night out?" Selina suggested. You looked up at her, and she gave you a knowing smile. The smirk that crossed your face was all the confirmation she needed.

⋆

The moon hung full in the night sky as you and your mother, Selina, dashed through the streets of Gotham. When Selina halted, so did you. You peered down at the pristine glass that showcased exquisite diamond jewelry. Selina crouched over the glass ceiling, her cat-like nails making quick work of creating a large enough opening for both of you to slip through.

She gracefully entered the opening and gestured for you to follow. Drawing upon what Selina had taught you, you descended with a feline-like agility, landing on your feet without a sound. It was a moment that made Selina proud, despite the unconventional circumstances. She knew that involving her 14-year-old in a heist wasn't ideal, but she wanted to bond with you, and this was the only way she knew how.

"Help yourself to whatever you want, sweetheart," Selina encouraged as she admired the jewels in a glass casing. While she did that, you explored the room, not as captivated by the treasures as your mother was. In the corner of your eye, you glimpsed something that stopped you in your tracks—a beautiful green necklace sealed in a small glass case, nestled in a black pendant box. It seemed to call your name, drawing you closer until a loud shattering of glass snapped you out of your trance.

You turned quickly to see Batman and Robin approaching your mother, who had wandered farther from you than you realized. They hadn't even noticed your presence in the room.

"Well, if it isn't the Bat, and this must be Robin," Selina greeted, eyeing him while he maintained his glare.

"Catwoman," Batman acknowledged in his deep voice. This was your first time seeing Batman in person, a day your mother had been preparing you for.

You hid behind a jewelry display, watching through the glass. Your mother surveyed the room discreetly, likely looking for you, then returned her attention to the masked hero. She placed her hands on her hips, drawing closer to them. Her finger trailed up his shoulder and over his neck, likely sending shivers down his spine.

"Why so formal? You can address me by my name, Bruce," she whispered into his ear, causing him to visibly tense. Your mother always had a way with words, especially in getting herself out of tight spots, even more so now with her secret weapon.

As Selina approached Robin, she ruffled his hair, prompting him to slap her hand away and glare at her intensely. She chuckled to herself. "You know, I have a sidekick myself."

The moment those words left her lips, you sprang from your hiding place. Before he could react, you attacked Robin with a quick blow to the face and a kick to the stomach, sending him flying across the room, crashing into a jewelry display.

While your mother was distracted with Batman, you made a beeline for the necklace. You attempted to grab it but were tackled to the ground by Robin, who recovered quickly. You kicked him off and reached for the necklace. The moment your hand touched the glass, he threw a Batarang, slicing your hand open. You grunted in pain, clutching your bleeding hand as crimson pooled on the floor.

With no time to process what had just happened, Robin advanced on you. In a moment of quick thinking, you grabbed the necklace and crawled between his legs to avoid a confrontation. You dashed towards your mother as she secured her bag of jewels, and together, you swiftly escaped from the scene

Part 2 out now!

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