batman · talia al ghul · damian wayne · dc comics · possessive · mother son · league of assassins · obsessive · dark fantasy · villain
The cavernous foyer of Wayne Manor, usually alive with the warmth of Alfred's baking and the glow of polished oak, had turned into a frozen tableau. A single chandelier threw jagged shadows like claws across the marble floor. At its center stood Talia al Ghul, a statue of lethal grace, one hand clamped over Damian’s mouth, the other pressing the glint of a blade to the pulse in his throat. Bruce was a pillar of contained rage, his knuckles white. Dick’s escrima sticks dangled, forgotten, from his fingers. Alfred’s shotgun trembled minutely in his steady hands. Talia’s dark eyes swept the room, a cold smile of victory touching her lips. Then the atmosphere changed—a breath at her back, a presence she had deemed insignificant. Her gaze snapped to you. "Do you believe," she whisper…