#He goes Insane

[hungharrington]

and if I said steve and you taking some spicy polaroids, and steve looking at them whenever you’re away and he wants you. he takes them out of their hiding space and touches himself to his favourite one of you under him.

hohhhhhh this is always such a delectable fuckin idea and it totally comes about after you take a polaroid of your tits and slip into a book and drop it with his lunch to steve at work <3 robin's like "gross, since when do you read?" and steve's about to scoff and maybe start bickering with her when the book in his hand falls open to a certain page and there it is. the first polaroid. robin fully believes you dropped him a steamy kind of book because she can't think of any other explanation for his abrupt red-cheeked stammering as he snapped the book shut and whirled into the backroom suddenly, claiming a quick break with a shaky voice. you get a very frustrated phone call that night, his voice all gravelly from being pent up all day and you take great pleasure at cooing at him over the phone, teasing him and hearing his slick noises and whiny moans as he works his cock until he cums over just the sound of your voice and that one picture :( it does not take long for this to become the remedy when you two are apart—faceless photos that are down right raunchy- half of what gets steve so worked up is knowing you've taken them for him :( looking at the arch of your back, your fingers pinching your nipple, all of it probably adds to his frustration as much as it alleviates it :( poor baby

[bet-on-me-13]

Bruce dies in the Past

So! When Bruce was sent back in Time and got stuck in the Past, he was never saved. Tim failed to bring him back to the future, and Bruce was stuck in the Past for the rest of his Natural Life.

Then he died, came back as a Ghost, and regained his Lost Memories.

He didn't really know what to do, he was stuck Millenia in the Past, his Family won't be born for Literal Ages, and most of all he is Dead. He doesn't really have alot of options.

If you go with the Idea that Batman is a Liminal, then you could say that his Obsession was Protection. And that Obsession was focused primarily on Gotham and his Family.

So what is a Ghost to do when the object of his Obsession had been ripped away from him? He breaks a little. Bruce kind of goes Insane.

He decides that if he is going to he stuck in the Ghost Zone, he may as well protect it as if it were Gotham. So, he finds the quickest way to do that...by becoming the Ghost King.

So, he finds the Castle of the Ghost King, and challenges him to Single Combat. And he manages to Win. But the King needs to choose their Title, and he doesn't think he wants to include the name of Batman in the distant Past. It may affect the Future.

So, he chooses the name, Pariah Dark.

Bruce Wayne, is Pariah Dark.

He started as a Good King, but gradually he let his Broken Obsession get to him. Becoming King did nothing to fill the void in his Core, so he fell more and more into Insanity. It didn't help that he became the King in such a vulnerable emotional state. The sudden Power Increase caused his mind to fracture even more.

The Seven Ancients didn't seal away Pariah Dark just to save the Zone, they also did it to save Pariah himself.

Then one day, Pariah's Seal is Broken and he is presented with a Portal to the Human Realm. A Human Realm where enough time has passed that Gotham finally exists again. He may have gotten a little overexcited, he'll admit.

Thankfully, Danny was there to knock some sense into him.

He took the Throne and the power associated with it from Pariah, leaving him as just Bruce Wayne again. The existence of Gotham and his Family in the present world helped mend a few of the Cracks in his Core, and for the first time in Centuries Bruce Wayne felt somewhat whole again.

...

Basically, Bruce dies in the Past, goes Insane because his Liminal Obsession was broken, and becomes Pariah Dark when he takes the Throne of the Ghost Zone.

Unfortunately, his Broken Obsession was only aggravated by the sudden Influx of Power, and he went Insane. When Danny took the Throne from him, he took the power that was clouding Bruce's Mind and helped him heal a bit.

Thoughts?

[ruins-and-rewritez]

The room is not gaudy or opulent in a way benefiting of Ketterdam's most notorious and unseemly wealthy boss of the Barrel. Nor is it depressingly downtrodden and cramped in the way of lesser headquarters.

The office is of simple elegance and sturdy craftsmanship, polished oak planks not yet worn through their shine, walls perhaps made of stone behind wooden paneling, bookshelves and desk made of the same dark imported lumber.

Nothing too fine, nothing on the edge of disrepair. Measure of balance unseen in nearly all the criminal underworld. Not that anyone dare call Dirtyhands a criminal.

The man trembles visibly, subdued shuttering wracking up and down the trail of his spine, hands wrenching his cap so tight its a wonder they don't break from the pressure.

A grunt named Rotty or some such gives him a shove, sending him almost sprawling at the foot of the desk. He rights himself, stumbling and runs a weathered hand nervously through his thinning hair.

His darting eyes flashing toward the door in surprise when it shuts with an audible click, the man guarding him seemingly dismissed without a word.

Rotty for his part sends the him a pitying look on his way out, having escorted many men to a similar fate.

Fenway Rutger is not a nervous man, not by trade or practice. He moves about his days with a sort of misplaced arrogance unfitting of a small, weasely man such as himself. But the people of Ketterdam know more than most that money is power, and fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) for him, Fenway has quite a bit.

His self sense of power seems to hold none here. There is something ominous about this room and it's occupant. Something dark, heavy. Enough so that Fenway can not bring himself to lift his eyes from wooden floors, locked onto their polished shine.

"Rutger, was it?"

It's not a true question, the answer is already known. The voice that asks, is raspy, demanding. Such a command that Fenway cannot refuse the underlying order to look up.

Kaz Brekker cuts an imposing figure. Almost hideous in the cruel beauty of his face. Like some ancient deity carved of ice and stone, looming presence sweeping the room, a malevolent Northern wind.

A crow, so black, so still, perched on the arm of a chair, just this side of a throne, glints with stolen light. For a moment he is not sure whether this bird is mere decoration, a tribute to Brekker's syndicate, or an illusion brought on by fear.

A shift in the bird's shadowed feathers and intelligent glare of its pitch eyes, is warning enough.

"F-fenway Rutger. Fen," he despises the terror in his tone.

He watches the bird preen under Brekker's pale hand, slow, smooth strokes hypnotizing in their tempo.

"Do you know why you're here?"

The Bastard cares not for formalities.

Fen gives his cap another angry, anxious twist before responding, "I weren't cheatin' if that's what you think. I ain't never cheat Three Man Bram-"

"Do you know why you're here?"

Something sinister lurks in his voice that makes Fen's blood freeze solid.

Fen does not know Brekker. Their paths have never crossed but a city like Ketterdam talks and being in a position like his, Fenway is inclined to listen.

His spider, his Wraith, his miniature fly on the wall, is gone. And there has been no news, no flicker that she'll been replaced. His most essential flow of information has been (permanently?) dammed.

Yet he sits, a unholy King, and Fen is somehow certain that he knows.

"Do you know?" Brekker demands of him.

He hates himself, not for his actions but for the weak, sniveling mess he's become in front of this man, just a hairs breath from a teenager.

"No, I ain't know nothin', 'kay.. I ain't done nothin' wrong!"

Kaz's eyes turn iron sharp, a frightening change from the hazed brown of before.

"So," he asks unflinching, "you're unaware of the underaged children found in your warehouse this afternoon?"

Sweat broke out on his forehead. "I don't got no warehouse."

"You have no knowledge of a warehouse under the name of Bran Henson?"

His eyes found the floor at the base of the desk, "Don't know any Bran..."

"You're unaware of the crying and pain of the children housed in a warehouse on my own wharf? Unaware of the fear and terror expressed when my men broke in to free them from their blood crusted chains? You claim no knowledge of the deposits in your account in accordance with the ledger found on the premises? You hold no guilt over the two they couldn't save!?"

Fen felt the jolt of wood hitting his knees as he knelt in submission. Fear was a powerful sedative, he could not move, couldn't speak.

Kaz stepped forward, leaning back against the desk, and used his cane to lift up Fen's chin.

His eyes watered and he fought not to let the tears fall.

"You are pathetic. Pathetic and sick. Selling children as if they were meat to the highest bidder. You'll pay for you crimes. You'll regret ever setting foot in my city."

Fear reeked. It stung.

"Please," he blubbered, but Brekker was not a forgiving man.

Fen watched the great black crow, shudder and ruffle from it perch, watched it's held tilt in curiosity, the scrap of claws on wood as it hopped it's way to Brekker side.

Kaz let his gaze soft to adoration and something like love and flicker to the beast. "My darling Inej would be fair. Just. Perhaps even merciful in her execution."

He ran his fingers through the down black of it, it lifted it's great head to nuzzle into his palm. "Wouldn't you my love?"

The bird squawked, almost sweetly. Brekker smiled in response. A cold, broken thing.

His gaze was ice when he glared down at Fen. "I will not be so benevolent, Mr. Rutger."

~

Kaz watched the floor from the shadow of his office. Watched the chitter flick of Maker's Wheel, the cheers of a win at the card table, the smash of glass on the floor as a drunken bum tried dancing with an equal drunk woman.

The screeching weasel had not disrupted the spirits of the patrons who continued on unabashedly and joyous.

The creatures warm blood dripped off his chin, it'd splattered everywhere. He felt it hit and stain his crisp white shirt. He frowned then. He'd have to buy a new suit.

A crows call sounded out behind him. Pure and melodious.

"Coming Inej."

[scorpiosource]

men who love eating pussy are to die for

[starry-bi-sky]

don't you want to be a cult leader? - danyal al ghul au

this is mostly a joke post but i thought it was funny and had to share so--

his first mistake was, obviously, inheriting his father's inability to see an injustice and stand still. -- actually, danyal's first mistake was his lair being so big. a mountainous island with a large temple in the center resembling his old home in Nanda Parbat? With sprawling foliage and rivers and streams and waterfalls galore? What was he going to do with all that space? Let it go to waste? He had plants there! Native trees of the ghost zone growing from the soil! He couldn't let it all be left unchecked!

So naturally after helping a fellow teenage assassin ghost -- who he later learns is named Akihiko, -- from Walker of all people, he sent them over to hang low at his lair until it was safe enough for them to wander around the Zone. Walker couldn't get through Danyal's astrofield if his life depended on it, and trust him -- he's tried. Danny was clearing out debris from his stupid transport vans for weeks.

Honestly it wasn't so bad, he and Aki really quickly became fast friends and Danny loves having a sparring partner close to his level again -- he hasn't had this much fun fighting since he left the League. Aki was very dedicated and levelheaded, the both of them clicked really well because of it.

Nonono, the real trouble began after Danyal met some long-passed League members and allowed them to come join his island as well. Apparently they had made a few enemies of the zone, and maybe Danyal still felt some loyalty to the League. He couldn't just let them be left to rot. Their zealotry could be overlooked so long as they kept it contained and helped him take care of his island.

And it.. snowballs from there? He meets a teen squire aptly calling himself Ambroise -- whether that was his living name or not is yet to be seen -- who died during feudal france, who is just about as dramatic and passionate as every french stereotype makes them out to be. He calls Danyal "my moon and great muse" -- which is both flattering and little uncomfortable, but Danyal's grown up in the League as the Grandson of the Demon Head, he is used to mild worship. he passes it off as nothing more, nothing less. -- and while his energy is overwhelming on the worst of days, he helps Danny draw out of his shell more in ways that Sam and Tucker still struggle with.

Him and Aki butt heads a lot, but the two seem to hold the other in at least some positive regard, so Danny doesn't worry too much about them fighting while he's gone. It only becomes a mild issue when Aki also begins calling Danny "my moon". It's a little sweet, so Danyal brushes it off.

Then he takes in a troupe of ghosts some time after he defeats Pariah Dark and they begin calling him "great one" just as the yetis do in the far frozen. This is where he meets the twins -- a pair of sibling ghosts who call themselves Trixie and Missy (short for Trick and Mislead) -- who aren't quite as passionate as Ambroise but more energetic than Aki. Eventually they also start calling Danyal "my moon" and attach themselves to his hip, even within the living. They like to hide in his shadow and cause trouble for the rest of the students. He makes sure they don't hurt anyone.

He's pretty sure Aki is jealous, same with Ambroise, but he can't be too certain other than the fact that they become much more lingering (re: clingy) whenever he visits the island.. Something he's trying to do much more often these days due to the increasing amount of people living there now. Since when did he become so popular?

Then there's Pēnelópeia from the Greater Athens, who ran away from home and joined his Island after he ran into her while she was being chased by Skulker -- and he's pretty sure the reason was because of her chimeric appearance. Her strange eyes and mismatched wings and lion's tail and talons. She assimilates into his friend group very easily, she gets along well with Ambroise and Trixie and Danny usually finds the three of them climbing the trees to pluck the most fruit from the top. They can fly and he knows it, but they prefer to climb.

Then finally there's silent poet Akkara who comes from ancient mesopotamia, who gets along most with Aki -- which is no surprise there considering their similar personality dispositions. he watches Aki and Danyal fight each other and leaves comments on this or that that he notices. He writes Danyal poems on clay tablets and leaves them by his room.

They're one big mismatched group of outcasts, and Danny's got the other ghosts on his island to tend to, because they're living on his island and he wants to be hospitable even if he struggles with that. But he spends the most of his time with them.

Sam and Tucker are making fun of him. Tucker jokingly tells him 'careful Danny, at this rate you're gonna start a cult'. Danny really wishes he had taken that joke more seriously.

He just. keeps. collecting people. Wayward souls lost in the zone, looking for shelter or refuge from something or other -- whether that be another hostile ghost, or a past afterlife, or just a purpose. Danyal finds them, he takes them in, offers them a place on his island until they are ready to leave. Many seldom do. He's not complaining -- he has the space, and it feels like it's only ever growing.

His close friends, his "inner circle" as he's heard the others call them, keep insistently calling him "my moon". He starts calling them his stars, because then it only feels fair. They're his stars, this is his constellation. It becomes a thing; little star halos begin forming behind their heads, picking them out from the rest. He loves them so much, it's hard to place. Sam and Tucker are also his stars, but they reside in the living realm, they're his tie to Life. Meanwhile, his friends here know what it's like to be dead, and sometimes its nice to relate.

Those living on his island keep calling him "Great One" and he's beginning to notice zealotry in their care for his island. He really, deeply appreciates it. His close friends gain nicknames -- as his stars, it's only natural for him to pick them out from the cluster in the skies. Akihiko, his Sirius and bright star. Trix and Missy, Castor and Pollux, the twins and troublemakers. Ambroise, his zealous Antares and close friend. Penelopeia, chimeric and loyal Vega. And Akkara, his Arcturus and strength.

It's ridiculous how long it takes for him to notice; he is, of course, a deadly trained assassin. He is meant to be observant -- and normally he is! But somehow this becomes a blind spot. One that becomes too big to be dealt with by the time he realizes it.

He should've noticed when Aki, his Sirius, stood beside him one day while Danyal looked over his island and saw the sprawling spirits carrying on about their afterlife and bowing to him as they saw him, and said: "I looked down into the depths when I met you; I couldn't measure it." They aren't one for flowing prose, it took him so off guard he was silent for over a minute before he finally spoke.

Danyal should've recognized devotion for what it is, and yet he didn't. He should've recognized it when Antares began spouting praises about him, crowing about his radiance and resplendence to the heavens. He just brushed it off as Ambroise being Ambroise. He should've recognized it when Trix and Missy nearly broke Dash's leg after he knocked Danyal's books out of his hands, he excused it as them being protective. Of them coming from times where such violence may have been customary -- after all, that's what he used to be like. What he was still like, sometimes, when his emotions nearly got the better of him.

He should've noticed it when the people living on his island followed his word like gospel, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. When his friends gifted him a shawl with the moon phases delicately embroidered into it, with silver, shimmering thread and moving stars lovingly stitched into it. Their constellations seen clear as day in the dark fabric. When he found small shrines dedicated to him -- but they lacked any image of him beyond stones carved to look like moons, so he ignored it. When the religious imagery began popping up.

He really, really should've noticed it when a bunch of cultists accidentally summoned Antares, and Antares had turned to him when he arrived and called them heretics. But he was so centered on the fact that they had kidnapped one of his stars, that he hadn't paid much attention to what Ambroise had said.

Sages say that faith is blind, they should also say faith in you is even blinder.

It really only hits him one afternoon while he's sitting in Sam's room studying with Tucker, Missy and Trixie lounging at his feet, Aki sat on his right, Penelopeia braiding his hair, Ambroise draped against him, and Akkara lurking over him. Its one of the rare few times they're all in one room together.

It hits him like a bolt of lightning. He looks up from his textbook. "Oh Ancients," he says in no amounting shock. Everyone looks up to him.

"I've become my grandfather."

[yrsonpurpose]

jane & guildford + not wanting to leave each other

[bookalicent]

yeah so this was insane

[beanghostprincess]

he's both the prettiest and the frenchest he's ever been and i don't know if i want to kiss him or slap him or look like him

[4sh-n4]

AU where bruce and co. (his entire hoarde of kids, even jason in disguise) are at a gala. And it's a really big gala, party of the year type of thing in Gotham, absolutely unmissable. And usually, even the rogues know that this night is off limits, so it's relatively safe. So, they're all at this gala, right?

And then the joker crashes it because he has no respect for Gotham traditions. Breaks in through a window, yada yada. He starts to go on this whole villain speech as per usual, and everyone is waiting for the heroes to come. But all the heroes are at the gala, in their civilian identities, with a thousand eyes on them. No one can reasonably slip away, except for maybe jason, who's already seething mad and ready to attack. But with the chaos and people trying to get away, all the exits are blocked, and his helmet is at home.

Bruce is at the front of the crowd, facing the Joker. Joker sees him and makes a comment about Jason, and goes on about how Bruce must've felt when his baby died. And then he brings up how he killed the little birdie too, just a few days before the terrorist attacks that allegedly killed Jason. And he mentions how much he tortured Robin before his death, and Bruce snaps.

He leaps forward, absolutely hammering the shit out of the joker. Beats him up so bad, no finesse or technique to it, just pure rage. His kids try to pull him off, to no avail. No one else even tries. By the end of it, by the time the police arrive, the joker is more blood than body, and Bruce has finally calmed down. Everyone is just staring at him in shock, understandably. (The joker ends up in hospital, paralysed and in a coma)

His kids all drag Bruce home and give him an entire lecture about his persona and how his cover has probably been blown. About excessive violence and how he refused to kill joker but then pulled this in public?? They're all worried about the fallout in the news the next day.

No one sleeps that night, for various reasons, but then when the newspaper comes out the next morning... there's just nothing bad written?? The headline is something about Bruce being a hero for saving everyone from the joker, but there's no other mention about Batman or anything else.

Turns out, no one in Gotham is surprised that Brucie Wayne, no 1 airhead, beat up the joker because "did you SEE him as a teenager?? We were all just glad when he came from his travels pretending to be stupid instead of picking fights with everyone. If anything, it's understandable that he snapped, I would too if a clown started bragging about killing my son." The only reason no one brought up his violent past is because they were worried he would revert back to that behaviour.

[tiffanyachings]

what’s important to know about palamedes is that he got stuck in a tiny room in complete isolation for 8 months not knowing if he would ever be rescued. and he responded to this psychological torture by writing trashy romance novel fanfic

[bluerosefox]

Fenton Coded

Tim... Tim just stared.

He...

Huh.

He had once entertained the idea that he wasn't really a Drake, a very long time ago when he overheard his mom and dad arguing and some words were said in the heat of the moment, but to be honest Tim always thought the obvious culprit of anyone being his dad would most likely be Bruce (Bruce even admitted he had a small fling with his mother but that was two years before her marriage)

But before little Tim's curiosity could really take hold on the idea, he had saw on the news Robin performing a Grayson flip and the hint of Tim not being a Drake left his mind. Robin was Dick Grayson! And if he was Robin that had to mean Bruce Wayne was Batman!

Then well... his stalking of the Bats started and the rest became history.

But now, as Tim was staring at his own DNA test, something he never bothered to do until that damned Demon brat wanted to make sure he was ONLY blood son of Bruce (and doing a DNA test something even Bruce never thought of doing due to well… how he was towards Tim during his first months as Robin)

He well…

He kinda needs to find out who this Daniel Jackson Fenton is.

(Tim finds out he isn’t a Drake, but also not a Wayne (because Damian wanted to make sure he was only blood son) but is instead a Fenton)

[demetera-kaziaik]

i believe in Gomez-and-Morticia dynamic supremacy

[ricephobic]

PHIGHTER 15: THE HELLHOUND

[violent138]

Bruce likes having a Robin around because the kids usually lay out evidence aloud and ask questions that help him by forcing him to think through a mystery and every time he's lacking a Robin, Batman gets funny looks for talking aloud to himself. He tries to dismiss it by pretending he's speaking over comms but gives up because it's not the same.

[shotmrmiller]

ps!ghost is very interested, to put it mildly. can't seem to stop re-watching your debut video that was released a week ago. it's always the same premise. black leather couch casting. nice little bird in a modest dress or shirt and jeans who gets undressed because the "director" has to take in measurements and the like, only to end up getting railed from the back with their pretty face pressed into the cushion.

it's a thing male viewers like. they love to watch a professional break in the new girl. he, though, not so much. he doesn't go for the new girls. doesn't like to be the one to test the limit like others do. (big cock anal on their debut? ghost finds it a bit much.) he hears one tiny gasped ouch and he's not finishing the shoot.

no, what gets him going is the enjoyment one can get during sex. it's why he ended up in this business in the first place. he likes sex. a lot.

likes to have men, women, young and old alike writhing beneath him gasping his (stage) name due to the pleasure and not because a script said to. and the benefits of working in the porn industry means that he gets paid doing what he likes, and can stay safe while doing so.

this is where you come in. the only reason he'd sat down to watch your video at all is because you'd been given a contract by the same company he is under. he's bound to come across you at a later date, might as well learn what he'll be eventually working with.

and he's hooked. whatever initial nervousness you might've had at the very beginning (because this is your very first professional shoot, of course) bleeds from your shoulders once price, the lucky bloke, gets his hands on you. you're a bloody natural.

and you enjoy it. there's no faking the way your nails bite into price's scalp when he licks at your pussy through your thin knickers. you gently wrap your hand around his fingers that's rolling your hardened nipple, giving it a gentle squeeze. he's doing it too rough. you buck your hips into his face, riding it even though you're the one on your back.

ps!ghost has to swallow the mouthful of saliva when he notices strings of creamy white sticking to price's body hair, a frothy ring around the root. the best part of all of this, is that you're giving as good as you take. you're no passive participant. you could, under price's big bulk, just get folded in half and do nothing other than feel the sweet burn of his cock stretch you, turn you inside out.

but you don't. you know exactly what you like and how you like it. you look for your orgasm, make sure it happens under your manicured fingers or price's thick ones. you don't let him be too rough on you nor too gentle.

simon loves it. you're new to this. you could've just accepted what he gave you without so much as a peep of complaint and gone home to soak in an epsom salt bath. but you didn't. you didn't let him pinch your sensitive clit, didn't let him mindlessly claim a fistful of hair.

but you did open your pretty mouth so he could spit in it (fucking lovely, it was) and let him keep your soft hips in the air as john's pace turned frantic and the best of all (in his very biased opinion) you crossed your ankles around his waist to keep him there as he fucked you full of his come.

(had simon been there, he would've begged for a taste if he had to.)

he feels a bit desperate, after. can't get you out of his head. the thought of your slick pussy hot around his cock is what gets him to finish at times. the other times, it's your video. he swears he's found his equal (sorry, soap) one that'll forget that he's supposed to be putting on a show for the viewers.

sorry price, he's about to unfuck him out of your pussy until all it'll ever remember is simon.

(what he doesn't understand is that he's about to forget more than the viewers. why is price watching yall again? it's almost intimate the way you let him fuck you on a creaky mattress. he's drunk on the smell of you, your hair, your cunt. lost all thought when his fat cock slid with relative ease into your wet heat and all he'd done was let you make yourself come on his fingers and tongue as many times as you'd pleased. you'd latched onto his neck, maybe out of habit or whatever, it doesn't matter. he'll be telling the makeup artists to leave the bites you left. he earned every single one. and where he usually pulls out because it's easier to clean up for everyone? you'll not be wasting a single drop. it appears he has a lot bit of a breeding kink.)

[ahbogman]

warmth.