I Got Too Excited While Playing Chess And Told My Opponent That I Was Going To Slit His Throat And Slaughter

[for the last time || в последний раз]

chapter warnings: n/a (damian just rambles a bit on how much he dislikes reader lol)

01. | 02. | » you are here | ... |

From the eyes of [ Robin ]

Roughly 20 hours before the events of 01.

The morning was dull and overcast, the pale light filtering through the manor’s tall windows with the insistence of a persistent fog. Damian descended the grand staircase with deliberate, measured steps, his sharp gaze sweeping over the pristine foyer before turning toward the dining room.

Breakfast was always a tedious affair, but tolerable with Alfred’s efficiency. And—most days—endurable by the girl’s silent presence. She would usually be seated already, picking at her plate with the nervousness of a bird, her eyes darting between her food and whatever book she’d brought to the table.

Today, the seat across from him was empty.

“Good Morning, Master Damian,” Alfred greeted, setting down a neatly folded napkin beside his plate. “Eggs, toast, and sliced fruit as usual. Would you prefer tea or coffee this morning?”

“Tea.” Damian slid into his seat, gaze flicking to the empty chair again. “Where’s the girl?”

“The Miss has not made an appearance yet.” Alfred’s brow furrowed as he poured the tea with steady precision. “Have you seen her this morning, sir?”

“No.”

Alfred’s fingers tightened slightly around the teapot before he resumed his usual elegance. “I shall send her a message, then. It’s unlike her to miss breakfast without a word.”

Damian scoffed, already cutting into his food. “Perhaps she finally decided to skip the unnecessary pretenses.”

Alfred’s look was a measured thing, the kind of quiet reproach Damian had grown adept at ignoring. “Very well, Master Damian.”

The room lapsed into silence, punctuated only by the soft clink of silverware against fine china. Alfred moved about with his usual efficiency, though there was a new stiffness to his movements, something Damian noted and promptly dismissed.

Minutes later, Grayson strolled in with all the gracelessness of a man who’d only just dragged himself from bed. His hair was tousled and he was already smiling, as if he expected the world to greet him with the same warmth he poured into it.

“Morning, Damian. Alfred.”

“Good morning, Master Richard,” Alfred replied, setting down another plate.

Damian didn’t bother with a greeting, his attention already straying from the room. He finished his meal quickly and rose from his seat, ignoring the curious glance Grayson shot his way.

“Going somewhere, Lil’ demon?” Dick asked around a mouthful of toast.

“My morning stroll,” Damian replied curtly, already turning toward the hallway. “Try not to do anything foolish while I’m gone.”

The hallways of Wayne Manor were vast and labyrinthine, but Damian knew them all by heart. It was a routine of sorts, to walk them every morning. Familiarity bred comfort, or perhaps it was more a matter of asserting his own existence within these elaborate, yet hollowed walls.

He passed the gallery, a corridor adorned with paintings and photographs from every era of the Wayne family. Damian rarely gave them much thought, but today his steps slowed, eyes narrowing as he studied the long line of frames.

One of the oldest photographs showed Grayson at twelve, smiling with infuriating exuberance beside his father, who looked decidedly uncomfortable with the forced cheer. Jane was there too, small and stiff at six years old, her posture awkward in a frilly dress that didn’t suit her.

Another photo showed the three of them, with Todd newly added to the lineup. Jane was probably nine, her eyes brighter with her lips curled up into something much genuine, more attuned to the cheerful energy Todd brought with him. Grayson had been fifteen then, already growing into his role as the dutiful eldest.

The progression continued down the line. Jason’s surly adolescence then absence, followed by the portraits with the appearance of Drake, Richard’ steady maturation, to then the doe-eye’s awkward transitions between childhood and whatever she was attempting to be now. And then Damian himself, glaring with unhidden suspicion in his first formal photograph, Bruce’s hand a heavy, yet not an unwelcome weight on his shoulder.

They were all there, framed and preserved like insects under glass.

But there was another photograph Damian hadn’t noticed before as it was placed far up the wall, it's dimensions small that it could easily be overlooked unless one had the stature of a person who'd gone through puberty. It was old, in black and white, the edges faded and worn with time, encased inside an intricate silver frame. It was a photograph of a woman standing alone, her hair elegantly styled, eyes alight with something Damian couldn’t quite define. Curiosity, perhaps. Or amusement.

The initials engraved in the plaque beneath the frame read.

M.W.

He frowned, tilting his head. The girl’s mother? That was unlikely. Her lineage was no secret within these walls, though it was a matter so rarely spoken of that it had taken Damian time to piece it all together. She was Bruce’s blood. His half-sister. Although he could never bring himself to call her that out loud.

Damian regarded the photograph again, his eyes narrowing as he studied the woman’s features with the meticulous scrutiny he applied to all things. The curve of her eyes felt familiar, their shape mirroring the girl’s in a way that left an uneasy knot in his chest.

But there was something wrong about them.

They were bright, yes, yet clouded—somehow. As if some unseen weight pressed upon them, shadowing the edges despite her composed smile. It was a gaze that seemed almost distracted, as though the woman were looking at something far beyond the camera’s lens.

For a moment, Damian felt something like recognition. A restlessness he couldn’t place, an unsettled thread that frayed at the seams of his thoughts. But he dismissed it as quickly as it came.

Whatever ghosts lingered in those eyes were of no consequence to him.

He scoffed, tension coiling in his shoulders. The resemblance, if it existed, was irrelevant. She was soft—fragile in a way that grated against everything he was taught to value. The others spoke of how she’d been indulged: by Grayson, occasionally by Todd before Drake took the mantle of Robin, and even by Pennyworth. Curiously, never by his father. He'd come to realize there was a void there—an absence of interest, as if the girl, his daughter, simply didn’t register.

He would not waste his thoughts on shadows.

She had never earned her place here. Not like he had.

With a huff, Damian turned away from the photograph, his brisk footsteps echoing through the empty hall. Whatever Alfred’s concerns were, they weren’t his. The girl would show herself when she decided to stop hiding away like a coward.

And if she didn’t, well—Damian couldn’t bring himself to care.

Taglist: @kneelforloki

... and that's why I stick to fanfics and fanarts these days.

If you spot a shit cat, Beat him.

kind of hate my stupid caustic pussy for dissolving my underwear over time but it's kind of cool, like, scientifically

And this is how religious people should react when someone comes out to them

HELP YOURSELF

summary : in a family filled with intriguing members of their own right , duke has a particular interest in a certain vigilante in the family that everyone seems to overlook . this interest leads to the family to spiral into obsession .

When he was first introduce to the Wayne family , Duke was overwhelmed , everyone was so talented , so special and unique and came from such - complex backgrounds , it was hard to ever find something or anyone dull in the family . Duke had his highs with the family - from patrol , to movie nights every Saturday , food fights on Monday mornings because of course Jason had to rile up Damian but he had his lows - particularly the fact that he was the only sole meta in the family .

Something so minute shouldn't affect him , I mean come on isn't badass that he's in a family that can accomplish so much with sheer willpower without powers ? Though , it hurts every time he sees Conner teach Jon how to use his super strength without hurting himself in the process . He seethes in envy every time he witnesses it because he swears it ensnares him in a painful grasp - reminding him that he's the bystander in this family and that he's the only odd one out.

He shakes away the chill that runs up his spine and returns his focus back to the scene in front of him , a young woman is desperately trying to yank her purse away from some lacky burglar. ' Easy' Duke thinks to himself as he effortlessly swoops down from the rooftop he is perched on and landed on the thug . " Leave this poor woman alone " Duke commands as he pressed his legs onto the burglar's back. The burglar growls and pushes himself off the floor - practically making the woman scream . Duke immediately goes to jump away and reassess the situation when the burglar spins around inhumanely fast mid air to face the vigilante .

Bewilderment and confusion was all Duke felt but regardless he goes to land a sucker punch to the burglar's mask face when suddenly the burglar takes out a bomb from his inner pocket and throws it at the woman behind them. The woman screams as the bomb makes a beeline towards her and Duke wants to scream in frustration at how utterly stupid she's being and the fact that the burglar has outplayed him.

Suddenly , a figure clad in black with red accents jumps in front of the lady and catches the bomb effortlessly and throws it aside like it was nothing. Duke takes this time to sucker punch the burglar into the floor while he was distracted with the bomb's dentation , causing the man to groan in pain . While Duke is handcuffing the burglar , he eyes the figure in the corner of his eye handing the woman her purse before approaching him.

" Thank you ..... " Duke trails off as he watches the figure properly . He notes that they adorn a black body suit but has a red spider symbol in front near their chest . They adorn black helmet that covers the entirety of their face , only showing the user's dark brown eyes.

"Widow "the figure answers before leaping away from Duke . " Wait ! Who are you , I've never met you before !" exclaims as he extends his hand in attempt to reach out to them . " Just stay safe kid you don't know what you're doing " the figure says , directing a glare at him before they vanish.

That afternoon , Duke returns back to the mansion , he slumps against the kitchen table , the weight of patrolling all day and the situation of meeting a strange entity named ' Widow'. Alfred gently pats him on the back and serves him a plate of snadwhiches.

" I take it that today's patrol was exhausting Master Duke" , Alfred asks him as he begins to wash up wares in the kitchen. " You have no idea , met some weirdo who called me a kid like what the hell " , Duke complains as he takes a bite of the sandwich . " Weirdo ?" Alfred questions as he dries a plate. " Yeah some named Widow " Duke replies . Alfred drops the plate.

He feels every muscle on his body tense at the mention of her name , a name that may have been a bygone memory to many but not to him never him . Duke scrambles out of his chair and approaches Alfred . " Hey are you okay ?" Duke asks as he holds the elderly man by the hands. Alfred tries - he tries to talk but is too shocked to say anything - he fears this is a dream , a cruel dream that god bestowed upon him as a punishment - a reminder of his failure .

"Widow - are you sure they said Widow ?" Alfred asks the boy frantically , panic old eyes watching Duke's intently. Duke stumbles back but answers , " Yeah that's what they said why does it matter ?" . Pin drop silence fills the manor as Alfred registers Duke's words. Alfred crouches to the ground , his hands run along the jargoned edges of the broken plate - the rough feeling grounds him , reminding him that all of this is real .

" It matters because that is your sister young master " Alfred forces out. Silence consumes them again . " What ?" Duke questions as he holds onto Alfred tighter. For the five years he has lived with the Waynes - no one never mentioned a Widow or a sister not ever so why is it now that he finds out that he has a sister and one that he has not heard or known about.

Alfred can feel warm hot tears running down his worn cheeks as nostalgic memories of him making a younger you a hot chocolate in the afternoon as you sit in the same chair as Duke had , coloring whilst simply blabbering about your day. He recalls how every night , he can feel your tiny figure sneaking into his bed to hug him with your stuffed bunny You were practically his daughter .

He also remembers that you weren't particularly liked by the Wayne family , at the time only consisted of himself and Bruce - a younger much fragile Bruce that had no idea how to raise a kid - a kid that was just put into his custody because their parents got too drugged up and k*lled themselves in the living room.

The situation wasn't ideal , Bruce was immature , till learning how to navigate his own feelings , his own anger , his own loss and so were you , a small , fragile thing that didn't quite yet understand why mommy and daddy were being put in a box .

He also remembers that tragic day - the day he lost you - . It was like any ordinary day , he dropped you off at kindergarten and watched you run to your teacher , excitedly showing her a drawing you made. He watches you smile and wave him goodbye as the teacher escorts you to your classroom. Alfred does what he usually does , returns back home and begin his preparations when he receives a call from your teacher . He remembers the dread , the sheer panic , the bone chilling anxiety that consumed him when he picked up that call to hear your teacher utter the words

" two government officials barged in class around recess and they took ( name ) I'm so sorry I tried to stop them - tried to grab the tiny thing but they had her really tight and - and they left "