#superbatjr

Memories that will last a lifetime

They were standing in line at a small convenience store just off the main street, the kind that smelled faintly of coffee grounds and printer ink. Lara was rocking back and forth on her heels, bored out of her mind, watching everything around them the way she always did.

That’s when she noticed it.

The guy in front of them had a tattoo running down his forearm in flowing in what looked like Arabic script. It looked elegant, carefully inked, the letters curling beautifully against his freckled skin.

Lara leaned closer to Damian, lowering her voice.

“Hey, Dami” she whispered, nodding subtly toward the man's tattoo. “You can read Arabic, right?”

Damian glanced once. Barely a second.

“Yes.”

“What does it say?” she asked, genuinely curious. “It looks really meaningful.”

Damian’s mouth twitched.

“…It isn’t.”

Lara blinked. “What do you mean?”

He looked again, this time a little longer, his expression flattening into something between irritation and disbelief.

“It is complete gibberish,” he said calmly. “Grammatically incorrect, misspelled, and structured like someone fed random characters into a ai generator and trusted it blindly.”

Lara’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not.”

She stared at the tattoo again, then back at Damian. “So… what does it actually say?”

He sighed. “At best? ‘Strong fire heart destiny.’ At worst? ‘Chair moon running eat.’

Lara clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “Oh my god.”

“The calligraphy looks aesthetically pleasing,” Damian added, almost thoughtfully. “Which is how these tattoos survive scrutiny. People assume beauty equals meaning.”

“That’s… kind of sad,” she said, glancing at the guy again. “He probably thinks it says something deep.”

“Undoubtedly,” Damian replied. “And correcting him would be cruel.”

Lara nodded solemnly. “Yeah. We don’t do unsolicited truth.”

She paused, then grinned. “So if I ever get a tattoo in Arabic”

“I will personally design it,” Damian interrupted immediately.

She laughed. “You’re really serious about this.”

“I refuse to let you walk around with ‘spoon destiny warrior’ permanently inked somewhere on your body.”

The line moved forward. The guy with the tattoo paid and left, none the wiser.

Lara leaned into Damian’s shoulder as they stepped up to the counter.

“Good thing I have you,” she said lightly.

Damian huffed. “Good thing you ask before committing to irreversible mistakes.”

Lara Kent she's 17 in this and so is Damian. I'm on a mission to popularize Lara Kent and make more mainstream she's the daughter of Lois Lane and Clark Kent

The living room was quiet, the kind that settles only in Wayne Manor during the late hours, the friends were comfortable, shadows was streached through living room. The soft hum of the game console filled the silence, blending with the faint buzz of the TV screen and the rhythmic clicking of controllers.

Lara Kent slouched comfortably on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, her messy ponytail slipping loose over her shoulder. She was focused. eyes narrowed, lip caught between her teeth, the faint reflection of the TV painting her face in hues of blue and white.

Beside her, Damian Wayne sat cross-legged, posture perfectly straight as always, controller steady in his hands. His brow furrowed in determination, the corner of his mouth set in thatswt into a scowl since he is also focused. His character a silent assassin lunged at Lara's character from the shadows.

“Look at what you’ve done to my character,” Lara teased, leaning toward him just enough to bump his shoulder. “You’re literally hunting me down, is like muscle memory to you”

Damian didn’t answer not at first. His eyes stayed locked on the game, his thumb moving quickily over the joystick. But then, so faintly Lara almost missed it, his shoulders lifted just slightly the smallest, most human crack in his perfect composure.

Then came the sound.

A quiet, breathy chuckle escaped him. So soft it almost didn’t seem real.

Lara froze, controller halfway in motion, the playful grin on her face faltering into something warmer. For a moment, she didn’t even look at the screen just at him. Damian Wayne, the most scariest person she knows, the son of the Bat, laughing.

It was quiet but sounded genuine.

She didn’t say anything; she didn’t want to ruin it. She only smiled, turning her eyes back to the screen and letting the moment stretch between them.

“Mm, you think you can get me?” she murmured, half under her breath, letting her thumbs fly over the buttons. Her character vaulted over a wall, rolled into cover, barely dodging a throwing knife.

Damian’s gaze flicked toward her for just for a moment, catching the glimpse of her grin before focusing again on the chase. His movements grew sharper. The air between them ricocheed with the competitive tension of two people who didn’t want to loose to one another.

Unnoticed, Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over his chest. The faint light from the television flickered across his face, softening the lines on his face.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

He just watched his son, usally guarded and often withdrawn, and the daughter of the man he trusted more than most, finding something pure in each other’s company.

Lara laughed again, loud and unapologetically, as she narrowly avoided a virtual dagger. “You’re enjoying this way too much,” she said, glancing at him with a playful squint.

Damian’s mouth twitched again that half smirk that, for him, might as well have been a full grin. “You’re the one who challenged me, Kent, not the other way around” he said quietly, voice low but teasing.

“Yeah, and now I’m started to regret it” she fired back, laughing again.

The warmth of her laugh seemed to linger in the room long after the sound faded. Damian didn’t laugh again, but his shoulders were now relaxed, and something unspoken passed the freinds, a shared lightness neither of them often allowed themselves to have.

In the doorway, Bruce exhaled quietly, almost a sigh.

For once, the huge manor didn’t feel haunted by silence. It felt like a home.

And as Damian’s faint smirk remained and Lara’s laughter echoed through the room again, Bruce allowed himself a small to smile. Some bonds, he thought, didn’t need rules. They simply happened.