#The Surface of Things

[zhelin-thames]

A Ghostly Text Mishap

Danny flopped onto his bed, phone in hand, glaring at the screen. Another long day of dealing with Vlad's manipulative nonsense had left him frustrated beyond belief. He opened his messages, found the contact labeled Trucker, and began furiously typing.

Danny: You will NOT believe what Plasmius did this time. The absolute NERVE of this guy. You’d think being half-dead would make someone LESS petty, but nooo, this man’s ego is bigger than the Ghost Zone.

Danny: He tried to "buy" my parents' company AGAIN. He offered to “help” with ghost containment tech but really just wants to snoop around for weaknesses in the portal.

Danny: AND he had the audacity to call me “Little Badger” like it’s a term of endearment. I swear, if I hear that ONE MORE TIME, I might go full ghost and dropkick him into the Fenton Thermos.

Satisfied with his venting, Danny tossed his phone onto the bed and buried his face in his pillow. Unbeknownst to him, he had made one critical mistake.

Jason Todd, aka Red Hood, was sitting in his safe house, polishing his guns when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen.

Unknown Number: You will NOT believe what Plasmius did this time…

Jason raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is this?” he muttered, scrolling through the tirade. By the time he got to “Little Badger”, he was smirking.

He typed back:

Jason: Kid, I think you’ve got the wrong number. Unless this “Plasmius” guy is a Gotham villain I’ve somehow missed.

Danny’s phone buzzed, and he rolled over to check it. His heart dropped when he saw the reply.

Danny: Oh no. This isn’t Trucker, is it?

Jason: Nope. But you’ve got my attention. Who’s Plasmius, and why does he sound like the type of guy I’d shoot on principle?

Danny hesitated, then decided to just roll with it.

Danny: Short version: he’s a half-ghost fruitloop billionaire who’s obsessed with ruining my life, becoming my creepy stepdad, and taking over the world. Think Lex Luthor but undead and ickier.

Jason burst out laughing, earning a curious glance from Roy Harper, who had just walked in.

“Who’s got you laughing like that?” Roy asked, setting down a bag of takeout.

“Some kid who texted me by mistake,” Jason replied, showing him the messages.

Roy skimmed them and snickered. “Plasmius? Sounds like a knockoff vampire villain.”

Jason’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

Jason: Okay, kid, you’ve officially got my interest. I don’t know who you are, but if this Plasmius guy’s half as bad as you say, I’ve got some creative ways to deal with him. You in Gotham?

Danny stared at the message, blinking. Who even was this guy? But... he did sound like he knew how to handle problems.

Danny: Uh, no. I’m from Amity Park. It’s kind of a supernatural hotspot, so I’ve got it covered. But thanks for the offer, I guess?

Jason smirked.

Jason: Supernatural hotspot? Kid, you’re talking to someone who’s been resurrected. Ghosts don’t scare me.

Danny froze. Resurrected? Oh no. This guy might actually know about the supernatural.

Danny: ...Wait, who ARE you?

Jason: Name’s Jason. Most people call me Red Hood. Ever heard of me?

Danny blinked, then groaned. “Of course. I text a vigilante. Just my luck.”

Danny: ...Yeah, I’ve heard of you. So, uh, thanks for not tracking this number and showing up at my house or something.

Jason: Yet.

Danny felt a shiver run down his spine.

Danny: That’s not funny, dude.

Jason: Relax, Little Badger. Your secret’s safe with me. For now. But hey, if you ever need help dealing with your undead billionaire problem, hit me up.

Danny sighed, shaking his head.

Danny: Sure. Thanks, I guess?

Jason leaned back, grinning as he saved the number under Ghost Kid.

“Roy, I think I just found the weirdest contact in my phone.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Roy replied, tossing Jason a burger.

“Not bad. Just… different.” Jason chuckled. “Plasmius, huh? Sounds like fun.”

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (page 82-85)

THAT LAZYBONES!!

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[lotrmusical]

poll time. yes this is just a ploy to get people to recommend me poems

if yes, let me know which poems/recite some for me in the tags!

[beesleeps]

"kabru doesn't even like laios"

meanwhile, kabru:

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I know those eyes.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[lyss-butterscotch]

Iterators but theyre a massive fackin war llama from the hit game Ultrakill

[5mcsinatrenchcoat]

So funny to me that when Harding tells you that Leliana once offered her a nug out of the blue

Most Rooks just go "??? why tho"

But a dwarf Rook is immediately like "ugh if I had a copper for every time someone just assumed that I eat nug 🙄" and Lace has to clarify that Leliana did not, in fact, racially stereotype her, she's just like that about nugs

[anastacialy]

guys, i think the hermits are going to accidentally start a prank war again. because just like last time, a game of telephone has begun. first, false made iskall's build into ''false beans,'' her shop from the previous season. however, to give herself plausible deniability, she signs it with "love, Joel. x" due to his username, smallishbeans.

next, iskall sees this, and completely believes it. he thinks it was joel who pranked him, and as he says to pearl while showing off the sign, which he kept even after tearing the prank down, "joel gave me a kiss." in his most recent video, he pranks joel by sending him loads of anonymous messages in order to completely spam and fill his inbox, preventing him from getting any more mail, with notes such as "thinking about you. x"

of course, joel is going to have absolutely no context for this, because he didn't make the initial prank. so who is joel going to assume sent him all those messages while he was away on holiday? well, i have a guess.

etho.

[rotisseries]

pre calamity era zelink was so funny. the legend of miss hatergirl and her one-sided feud with the king of minding his own business

[galedekarios]

i can't believe that one of gale's new idle animations in the epilogue is just dropping everything, making a beeline from his cozy corner with tara to the banquet, where he just starts munching on a plain mushroom

baby please

[archiepelago]

alternate surface au inspired by a few ive seen around on tumblr :3

[zhelin-thames]

Wrong Number texts #1

Danny: So then Skulker decides the best way to catch me is by building a giant robot suit. But he forgot to calibrate it for the Ghost Zone’s gravity, so it immediately toppled over and crushed his entire lair. Absolute genius, right?

Jason: I’m torn between laughing and feeling secondhand embarrassment for him. Do all your villains suck this much?

Danny: Hey, I don’t pick my rogues’ gallery. But yeah, most of them are either weird, incompetent, or trying way too hard. Vlad’s the only real threat, and that’s just because he cheats.

Jason: Billionaires always cheat. It’s in their DNA.

Masterpost

[starry-bi-sky]

this just in: danny fenton is just as much of a mask as Brucie Wayne? - another danyal al ghul au

Turns out, being placed in a civilian family who have no knowledge of your background is actually detrimental to the health and development of a child assassin due to lack of proper support! Surrounded by strangers in a foreign city, Danyal Al Ghul does as assassins do best. He hides. Espionage is one of many teachings one learns in the League, and it only takes half a day for Danyal to construct a new persona to hide behind: Daniel Fenton.

By the time dinner rolls around, Danyal al Ghul is safely and securely tucked behind the face of Danny Fenton; brand new adoptive child of the Fenton family who came from overseas. A shy, quiet little boy with a thick accent and curly hair, with brown skin and blue eyes, and an avid interest in the stars. The best fictions are always cobbled together in a little bit of truth, it's some of the only truth he ever lets through. He apologizes in a meek voice for his behavior early, he didn't mean to be rude, and he watches the three of them eat it up with coos.

Lies roll like silk against his lips, he struggles to meet their eyes and offers them his weakest, shyest smile. It's too easy. It's easy to go from there.

Danny Fenton, adoptive son, shy and awkward and unconfident but friendly. Who struggles in his classes and isn't the brightest, but tries his hardest. He makes bad jokes and has a quick tongue and a sarcastic mouth. He wants to be an astronaut. He's got the best aim in school, and is a terrifying dodgeball player. He's one of the least athletic kids in his grade.

It's like playing two truths and a lie, but there's only one truth, and the rest are lies. It's easy to pretend when he knows it's insincere.

Danyal Al Ghul, grandson to the Demon Head. Deadly, trained assassin. Has spilled blood, has had blood spilt from. Environmentalist, animal activist. He loves the stars. He owns a calligraphy set. A sharp tongue, an even sharper blade. He's clever, quick-witted, he would be top of his grade if he tried harder. He purposely doesn't.

He misses his family. He misses his mother, and he misses his brother. Mother visits a few times a year, so few times that he can count it on both hands. He cherishes every visit, as brief as they are. It helps remind him who he is.

Sam and Tucker are Danny's best friends. They've never met Danyal, but Danyal's met them.

It becomes routine to become Danny Fenton. As familiar and as easy as pulling on a shirt in the morning. Danyal wakes up and is always first to the bathroom in the mornings; stares at himself in the mirror until he can finally see Danny staring back at him. At night, he locks his door and sheds the mask.

Dying throws a wrench in his mask; splits a crack straight through the porcelain. He's able to smooth it over with sandpaper and liquid gold, but it's a little hard keeping his ghost form under wraps. It instinctively wants to shift to show his true self. Danyal can't have that, he's spent four years as Danny Fenton, he'll spend another four as him as well. Even if the feeling of the hazmat suit in his ghost form feels restrictive, like a too-small shirt suctioned to his skin that needs to be peeled off.

He'll live. Er-- well, you know what he means. It's frustrating however, trying to keep his Danny Fenton mask up even as Phantom - fighting in the air is something he needs to get used to, and the sudden propping of powers throws him off. But he is nothing if not adaptive, and he hates that he needs to slow his own skills down in order to keep pretenses up in front of Sam and Tucker.

The first time Danyal summons a sword when he's alone, is one of the few times Danyal gets to grin instead of Danny. He's fighting Skulker, and from an invisible hilt he draws a katana from thin air. It startles them both. Skulker takes a step back at the smile that spreads across his face.

They're both silent as Danyal examines his new sword.

"Do you know what people like me do to people like you, poacher?" Danyal finally asks him, the accent he began to hide a few months in slipping through. He drops all pretense, dragging the flat end of the blade slow and appreciatively against his palm. It's a good make, and when he cuts it through the air, it slices through like butter. He looks up at Skulker with a smile; "are you ready to find out?"

When Sam and Tucker ask about why Skulker seems so skittish around Danny now, Danny shrugs at them and says with a playful smile; "I don't know, I guess I kicked his butt too hard after our last fight." and he watches as Sam rolls her eyes exasperatedly, and Tucker snickers with his own joke.

By the time he reunites with Damian before their 15th birthday, Danyal is buried beneath so many layers of Danny Fenton that his brother will need a shovel to dig him out. He's not sure what he'll find.

[very-uncorrect]

I click off immediately

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY FIVE: overstimulation with ino takuma.

kinktober masterlist

overstimulating ino to the point of tears is more common an occurrence than you'd thought it would be when you first started dating. you knew he was in tune with his emotions—that he was a sweetheart, but you didn't know how pretty he looked when he cried for you.

whether it's with your hands, your mouth, your pussy, a vibrator, a dildo... you know how to spur him over the edge over and over and over until you've rendered him beyond stupid with lust and longing for more.

you had asked him once, after washing his face for him and kissing the lash lines that had just been pooling, whether the tears were emotional or purely a physical response to being overstimulated. he had replied, albeit sheepishly, that it's a very even split of both.

because there was the physical aspect of being overstimulated:

the laying of himself down to you, subjecting his body to a sexual torture he so often craved. placing his pleasure, and sometimes pain, directly into your hands.

the weeping of his cock, all pretty and leaky and swollen with overuse—the electric jolts that would run from tip to base each time you'd press further, coax another orgasm out of him. the way it would twitch and jump at the slightest of touches anywhere else, how neglected it would feel if you weren't devoted to milking him dry.

the tightening of his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, as he cums over and over again under your ministrations. the sheen of glossy release that covers his belly, the trail of hair that runs down his navel towards the base of his cock. the contraction of his muscles with each time you make contact with his burning skin. how he folds forward in his instinctual attempts to run away from the overwhelming stimulation.

his ass, if you so choose to tend to that too. the way he writhes when you stimulate his prostate, fists clenching and back arching off the bed. how he moans as you fuck him with your fingers, or a toy if he's feeling extra desperate to be filled.

his lips, how they tremble with need. the way he babbles, any eligible words lost in the moans and groans of pure ecstasy. he speaks gibberish, can't get half a word out without breaking into a sob.

his hair, how it sticks to his sweat-soaked forehead. how pretty it looks when you push it out of his face and expose those pretty blown out eyes of his.

and then there's the emotional aspect of being overstimulated:

the loss of self, the melting of his being into the mattress as he slips into total focus on how you make him feel. being so intact with the physical stimulation, being a man who gets his ass beaten for a living, is daunting.

the intimacy it leaves, to let himself be worked over the edge so many times by you. how your body is the only one that could bring him pleasure, and you give it to him full force over and over again. in a display of ownership, perhaps. or care—ino knows he'll always be taken care of by you, maybe to a point of nearly passing out, but never neglected.

the love he feels when you touch him in any regard. there's no difference to the way his heart swells when you hold his hand or when you sit yourself down on his cock. he's in love, heart eyes and all. and exuding every last ounce of his physical stamina to give you as many of his orgasms as he can is, in fact, a display of his love. he empties himself for you, offers his physical and mental wellbeing to you on a platter to lick clean.

the safety of it all. to be so vulnerable with you that he's barely sentient in thought by the time you're done with him, in a world so dangerous? it's an aphrodisiac in itself. there's a real deep sexual intimacy to a lack of danger that ino feels in full force when you're pulling a heinous amount of orgasms from him.

it's his favourite thing, to be laid bare both physically and emotionally. of course he cries—he loves you and he loves the way you can pleasure him so overwhelmingly that it hurts. he cries tears of pain, of love, of joy, and of unbridled lust.

and you kiss them away each and every time.

taglist:

@medusamara5 @echodead @aliisinwonderland @curiositykilledthecatx3 @hirainne

@plinkuro @sooouth @megumiiiswife @nyxiswrites1200 @yveiscringe

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@veraiku @niinistudies @jexx233 @logoleptic-since-06 @kirishimasboobs

@samaraxmorgan

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

When in doubt, Soup it out.

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