fiend for the clean

Bruce would be at his wits’ end with Damian and punish him with cleaning the ENTIRE Manor.
But joke’s on him because Damian spends most of his free time with Alfred and has been cleaning the Manor regardless so he even knows the proper way to fold a fitted sheet.
Imagine Alfred and Damian in the kitchen, cooking (Damian has a little splotch of flour on his cheek).
Imagine Alfred and Damian dusting, employing Titus by wrapping a duster to his tail so when it wags back and forth it cleans the low walls.
Imagine Alfred and Damian window washing, Alfred inside and Damian outside, hanging by a rope connected to the roof’s chimney.
And it’s basically Bruce against the Cleaning Fiends. (And Alfred spoils Damian very badly, so he can nearly always wheedle his way with Alfred against Bruce. It’s shameful and yet very adorable.)

Round Faces

Justine ran into our room around 3 a.m. again. Third time this week. She was screaming and sobbing about the “things with round faces” staring at her from the window. I turned on the lamp and looked over at Carla, whose scowl was telling me it was my turn. So, off I went with Justine into her bedroom. No monsters. I kissed her forehead and told her to go back to sleep.

Carla headed off to work the next morning and brought Justine to school on the way. I was left at home, like usual, to clean and do other housewifely chores. It’s not that I particularly minded; Carla makes great money and we both agreed it’d be good for Justine to have one of her moms around when she got home from school. Still, it was boring to be all alone in the house for so many hours of the day. Cleaning like a fiend helped, though. I like to keep the place spotless.

Once I’d finished the downstairs, I trudged up the steps and took care of our room and the bathroom. As I cleaned Justine’s, I noticed the window nearest her bed had some nasty smudges on the outside. Greasy stuff. I took the Windex and leaned out the window and got as much of it off as I could. I figured a bird must’ve hit it or something. When the outside was clean, I closed the window and saw it was still greasy. It took me a second to realize the same stuff was also on the inside. I made a mental note to ask Justine what the hell she was playing with, which I promptly forgot about.

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Once upon a time there was a queen who lived in new York. However she wasn’t a regular queen. She was the dope-fiend queen. She was only 17 but she loved snorting many lines of dope at a time and would shoot fire dope into her veins. She was running shit till some bitch snitched and now she’s sad and clean and not a fiend. She has hope but longs for dope.