I woulda thought you’d like the caterwauling, Selina.



6. A drabble about the first time the muse killed someone.

((Oohhhh goodness. You have good taste in prompts. I hope this does it justice. o-o))

His eyes were locked onto his opponent. Even so, he could feel the numerous pairs of eyes that were focused on him.

Damian knew that most of the looks belonged to his teachers. But one of those piercing gazes, he could feel it, was that of his mothers. He knew that they were watching, waiting, to see if the fruit of their labor was worth it.

He would prove that he was. Damian’s small fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his katana, and his already stoic face hardened in concentration.

"Finish him, descendent of the Demon’s Head! Prove you are a worthy heir to the al Ghul empire!"

The words rang out clear and crisp, and Damian recognized the voice of the league’s sword master. He had been training with him the longest, since he was two years old—and to think that had only been what, three years ago? Yes. Damian was currently five.

Damian’s opponent was older than he. Not a young man, but not quite as small a child as Damian was, either. His age is of no concern. All that matters is ending this, he reminded himself. The other boy was knelt in defeat, trembling arms held outwards.

"He presents himself as a sacrifice to you, young master, for the benefit of your upbringing. His life is being given for the greater good of the league."

The young al Ghul gave a curt nod, holding his sword high as he slowly approached. His tiny lungs were still heaving from the exertion of the battle. Yes…the good of the league. And Mama is watching, too. Damian thought, blade raising to aim at the other male’s chest.

I will make Mother proud of me. And the great Batman too!

It was the last thought he entertained before he gave a loud shriek, rushing forwards to pierce his katana through the other’s torso—right at the place his sensei had said to. The ‘sacrifice’s’ eyes bulged, breath hitching in his throat.

Damian tugged his sword free, and not a moment later his opponent fell onto the ground.

I did it! Just like sensei said to! I won!

Although he rejoiced in the inside, he remained composed, just like he had been taught. He stared down at the other as blood seeped from his chest, pooling slowly around him.

Damian waited for him to get up, so they could begin the second round. That’s what always happened when he practiced fighting.

But the other boy didn’t. He didn’t get up.

Why isn’t he getting up?

His eyebrows furrowed, but he dared not ask. His head turned slowly, gazing upwards to the sword master. The man gave him an approving nod, before turning away.

So this was…normal? It must be. That nod of approval made Damian’s heart flutter with triumph. That was all that mattered. He glanced back at his fallen foe one last time, before he exited the sparring room.

He would keep practicing. Sensei was proud, and he hoped mother was too. Damian would get better, and one day show his skills to the Batman, and make him proud as well.


"Only one parachute? Seriously?
"I’m normally the only pilot"
This is embarassing.”
"Only for you."


Damian: Son of Batman #3 by Andy Kubert and Brad Anderson


maybe I’ll cosplay Red Hood and find all the Joker cosplayers and we can take turns hitting each other with a crowbar and see how many people take pictures and how many just cry