Surprise Husbands + "How Are You Real?" ; Requested By @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff!

I think you can tell a LOT about a community/time era via books and arts. Especially unconventional media. We’re really deep into capitalist society, and you can ABSOLUTELY see it in fanfic and fanart, because why are some (most) fanfics i read about a person getting adopted by a rich person (coughcough DPXDC), and having their wellbeing taken care of? That sounds like a DREAM to me, and probably to a lot of people, so they try to find it in art and writing.

Maybe I’m wrong tho… you never know 🤷🏽‍♀️

finally done with the series that's been plaguing my dreams for a month

How fucking annoying is it when you feel so restless with creative energy but you can’t decide what to do with it and when you finally try to create something it comes out shit so you just give up and sit there being all creatively annoyed and jittery.

reblog if you’re a writer who’s very terrible at responding to comments from your readers, but has read them all and loves and appreciates each and every single one of them very dearly

After moving to Gotham and having to deal with a stressful job, Danny has started taking walks around the city as a way to destress.

Since he knows that he could get mugged, he just becomes intangible and invisible while listening to some loud music on his phone.

Unfortunately for him, his control on his Invisibility keeps slipping when he gets lost in his music, and the people of Gotham keep seeing a semi-translucent ghost man walking around at night aimlessly.

Some thugs think it’s just a meta with invisibility and try to mug him, but pass right through and he disappears completely. This convinces them that he is a ghost, since having both invisibility, and intangibility would be too big a coincidence. Not to mention he never reacts to them whatsoever.

The Bat’s get word that a Ghost has been stalking the streets of Gotham, and he looks scarily like Bruce Wayne from the little they have been able to see from him. Now Batman thinks his dad may have come back as a ghost.

Danny is oblivious to all of this. He just likes his nightly strolls.

please potato. get me a job. PLEASE.

WAIT!!! Annabeth and Dick same age AU = Damian being left with 19-year-old Annabeth and Percy and 5-year-old Estelle.

DP x DC Prompt

Danny was sent to the DC universe to save him from the GIW and the Fenton's by Clockwork

Doesn't know what to do here, but as an Experienced Vigilante:tm: he takes note of all the INexperienced vigilante's causing more danger than they realize.

Danny takes it upon himself to act as a low level villain so he can secretly train these vigilante's to be stronger. One day, a Bigger Villain decides to Fuck Around and Find Out.

All his "enemies" realize Danny could've folded them anytime he wanted when he effortlessly defeats the Big Bad.

Writing Prompt #15 (NSFW, Smut Below)

"Noo," Sam whines, head thunking back against the baseboard.

"Yeth," Danny says, hands gripping her thighs harder.

"No, I mean yes!" Sam says, legs spasming in Danny's solid hold, one hand grabbing his hair to push him further into her. "No to that!" she says, head turning towards the bedside table, where the flip phone is vibrating so hard it's about to fall over the edge. An apt visual metaphor Sam will think about when Sam can think.

Danny's large hands slide under her ass to pull her even deeper onto his tongue and she bites back a shriek as her thighs land on his shoulders. The dip where his trapezius muscle meets the bulge of his delts cradles each leg perfectly as he splays himself flat against the bed with a gentle grind and a harsh groan.

"Danny," Sam moans, hand gripping hair tighter. This does nothing to dissuade the man who, by all accounts, has decided to live between her legs for the past hour and into the next. Rather, if history proves true, all it does is spur him on.

"Danny, the phone—!"

One hand drops a leg as the cell finally falls off the table, snatching it out of midair. Sam recognizes the windup of a throw as his hand angles back and this time she yanks away.

Danny comes up for air with enough resistance to make his protest clear but not enough to hurt her, a frustrated frown already forming.

"Sam," he growls.

Her legs spasm again, and Danny's eyes dip down a split second before his head does.

She yanks again.

"What?" Danny snarls.

"Do not destroy the Justice burner," Sam tries to scold, landing on breathless. Danny blinks at the phone in his hand, as surprised to see it as he is to see himself about to yeet it into the plaster.

"Oh," he says, opening his palm to let it drop unharmed to the floor. "Fine."

"No," Sam says, pulling at his hair and stifling a whimper when he goes with it, biting his lip. "You need to, to answer it. It's the, the,"

"Shhh," Danny says, bending down to nuzzle her stomach, nibbling under her belly button and making her shiver. "Only one thing I need to do—"

"It's the emergency, tone, ah! It's an emergency."

Danny presses an ice cold kiss to the top of her that sends shudders of heat through her body, before a warm tongue trails languidly, lingeringly...

"I'll get there when I get there," he says, muffled. Sam gives in for a minute (or two, or three) before biting back a sob as the phone begins to ring anew.

"They keep calling—fucking fuck!" She arcs up over the arm clamped across her lower belly, using both hands to grab his face and kiss him as she shakes through an orgasm. Her eyes refocus to the soft awe in his, at odds with the smug, lewd smile slowly unfurling on his face.

A smile that immediately drops at someone pounds at their front door.

"Ignore them—" Danny starts.

"They can pick locks."

"—frick and a half!"

Sam's hit with wind that sends her hair whipping across her face as Danny speeds through the wall. She scrambles up herself, almost tumbling off the bed in her haste.

"Danny!" Damian Wayne says, bursting into their living room. "We require your assist—what was that?" he asks as Sam slams the bedroom door closed.

"Two words: security. deposit." Danny says, blocking the entryway.

"The door's fine," Tim says, leaning against the frame. Danny would poke fun at the teen's posing if he wasn't two seconds from punting him out the window. "Just because we don't often use a gentle touch doesn't mean we don't know how."

"Um," Dick says, uncharacteristically subdued. His eyes bounce from Danny to the bedroom door behind him. "Sorry to barge in like this."

"What? Of course we're not! You were ignoring a Justice League communication! It is all hands on deck!"

"You know if you keep showing up like this my landlord is going to seriously raise my rent right? I'm up for renewal in two months." Danny crosses his arms, willing his teeth to remain un-fanglike. "When I told you my identity it wasn't so you could visit whenever."

"Our mistake," Tim snarks, "next time we can drop by in full costume. Landlord will definitely like that one."

"How about you don't drop by at all?" Danny says, smiling and by the way both boys flinch back, failing to unfang. It's a testament to the relationship he's cultivated with them that that's all they do, startled rather than fearful.

"Okay, okay, Phantom, Danny, seriously, we're sorry about this," Dick says, shouldering in front of the two boys. "Definitely didn't mean to intrude, or interrupt—"

"Interrupt? Interrupt what?" Damian asks.

"Nothing!" "Nothing." Dick and Danny say simultaneously, Dick in a loud cry while Danny says it firmly, glowering. Tim blinks, shoulders dropping.

"Oh," he says, eyes bouncing to the bedroom. "Oh." His face flushes red. "Um."

Danny turns ever so slowly to stare accusingly at Dick, who's buried his face in his hands.

"Interesting," Damian says, leaning forward. "I was unaware you could turn your legs into a tail while still in human form. Is this something you do often?"

"It better not be," Danny says.

"O-kay!" Dick all but shrieks. "Phantom, we'll see you when we see you!"

Danny grunts.

"Um, it is important for what it's worth," Tim offers weakly, "Yeah, he's got it," Dick hisses at him, shoving him and Damian out the door as the one behind Danny creaks open.

"Grayson," Sam says. To her credit, only the way her hair is teased up indicates anything amiss. She tosses the Justice burner, still ringing, to Danny. "The world better be on fire."

Dick winces. "Take it up with Batman!" he yanks the front door shut behind him, and they listen to the sound of his footsteps fading before Danny takes one very purposeful step back towards Sam.

"Danny."

"Sam."

"The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back."

Danny deliberates.

"Deal." And he's gone.

Sam stretches til she hears her back pop, heads for the kitchen and pulls out a bag of popcorn. She opens the microwave door then reconsiders, shutting it. He won't be gone that long, after all.

[ HOSPITAL ]

Now. You might be wondering why on earth my first thought was that I was a reincarnate rather than—well rather than something normal like coming out of a coma or being miraculously saved at a hospital. 

(Miraculously—heh. You’ll get that joke soon enough). 

But let’s review the facts, shall we? 

Firstly, I got stabbed and bled out. I felt myself die. It was horrible, and agonizing, and quite frankly horrifying, but there’s no mistaking that sensation. Nothing else would compare, and I knew that I’d carry that feeling for the rest of my life. (Would that be the appropriate term, if the way I was alive counted for anything? The rest of my existence, maybe?)

Secondly, I woke up somewhere cold and unfamiliar. Not in an ambulance, not in a hospital bed, but rather with the strangest bone-deep conviction that I was somewhere warm and all-encompassing and suddenly wasn’t. This confused me the most, because­­—as I said—there was no possible way for me to have survived in any normal sense. It would take a miracle and a half, and evidently that hadn’t come up if the way I was carried around in the arms of strangers as though I weighed nothing had anything to say about this absurd situation.

And thirdly. This was the most damning part of it all: the last words I’d heard before I’d fallen asleep.

“Félicitations, c'est une fille!”

With my limited high-school French, even I could understand this.

Congratulations—it’s a girl!

So, with all these clues, with everything adding up the way it did, is it even a mystery that my first thought was reincarnation?

***

When I wake up from my impromptu nap, it’s to warmth. Cosy, pleasant warmth, the kind that makes you want to burrow further under your covers and maybe kick your feet due to the sheer contentment you feel, and drift lazily to sleep.

I was set on doing that—determined, even, to push away all thoughts of the sheer magnitude of this situation, and the absurdity of it—but my stomach decides that it’s going to rebel and make me aware of the fact that I was starving. The sensation is overwhelming, my tiny body wracked with hunger that felt devastating, and I do the only thing that this tiny body is capable of doing. I scream. I cry.

This is vastly different from my last outburst. That was the confused, panicked wail of an adult-turned-baby, and with the confusion and overstimulation and bright lights and cold and the smell of hospital disinfectant and being wet and slimy and being slapped on my rear­—

Yeah, there was nothing left for me to do except scream; no recourse available apart from distress that was devastating in its intensity.

This cry of mine is instinctual. It’s what this body decides to do, and before I’m even aware of it, I’m doing it again. Louder, even, as though my mouth and lungs have remembered what to do and are compensating for the initial delay. My limbs are trapped in fabric, and before I can panic at that, I’m lifted. Cradled.

My eyes are closed, squinted, and I’m sure that even if I could open them, I wouldn’t be able to see anything. But my ears don’t have that problem, and I can hear a soft voice murmuring in that same musical language—which I can now tentatively identify as French­—and I can hear the snap of something, a strap loosening and then—

Oh.

Oh.

Warmth. A new kind of warmth. It’s sweet, and rich, and flows down my throat like I’m starving. (As an aside, this was my first taste of food in this new life, no matter the source. No wonder I felt euphoric, almost drunk on finally filling my stomach, when this tiny body had never even felt so much as a hunger pang before).

I don’t think; I just act, latching onto the offered source of food and drinking as though my life depends on it. It’s humiliating. It’s weird. It’s something that I adamantly don’t want to think about, my mind shying away from exactly where I’m greedily guzzling from.

The voice above me hums softly. It’s a lullaby I don’t recognise, and it sounds soothing. My eyelids droop, a deep satisfied sleepiness creeping in again. This body betrays me by falling asleep, and honestly? I don’t fight it. I don’t want to think about what happened. I don’t want to process all that’s happened. Not now. Not yet. 

I sleep.

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***

FIND THE REST HERE:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64262899/chapters/164948017#workskin