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starry-bi-sky · 5 months ago

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my martha knight au in a nutshell:

Danny/Martha: see up here?

Danny/Martha: *taps skull*

Danny/Martha: intense psychological damage

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Danny/Martha: *upon finding out she's pregnant*

Danny/Martha: oh my god i cant be a mom, I'm fifteen and homeless--

Danny/Martha: im going to be a terrible mother--

Danny/Martha: i live in a cAR--

Danny/Martha: what if the baby inherits my powers? Oh no--

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Danny/Martha post giving birth: i've only had Bruce for a minute and a half but if anything were to happen to him i won't even need to fuse with Vlad, I'm razing this goddamn planet to the ground myself

Danny, to Baby Bruce: you are the last remaining thread of my sanity. I'm going to give you the world :)

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Danny/Martha prior to getting pregnant: Fuck it, if everything in my life has led to this moment, i'm allowed to make one stupid decision. I'm getting drunk and getting laid

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Danny/Martha while Bruce was a toddler: i swear to fucking god i am going to kill the next person who talks to me--

Bruce: hi mommy!! i brought you something!!!

Danny/Martha, immediately flipping on a dime: hi baby!! what do you have?

Bruce, a weird child like his mother: a spider :)

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Danny/Martha, talking to Falcone after he made an unsavory comment at her and Bruce: If you ever come near me or my son again, I will dig up your shithead father's corpse and make you eat his skin.

Danny/Martha: do you understand me

Falcone:... crystal, ma'am

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Danny/Martha new in Gotham: *getting mugged*

Danny/Martha: *grabs man's arm*

Danny/Martha: I AM GOING TO BREAK YOU IN HALF LIKE A TWIG, FUCK BOY, DO YOU HEAR THE WORDS COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH--

(she then proceeds to terrorize Gotham's night life for the next extended period of time, mostly unintentionally)

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Danny/Martha: Danny Fenton?? No. you must be mistaken, my name is Martha Knight.

Danny/Martha: this here is my littlest knight, Bruce.

Danny/Martha: I made him all by myself :]

#if martha could become the joker in one timeline if bruce died then she had to have SOMETHIGN going on up there mentally. im all for it #im a 'martha wayne may have been secretly batshit' truther. subscribing to bruciemilf's portrayal of the wayne parents #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc #fem danny fenton #female danny fenton #martha knight au #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpxdc au #dp x dc au #dp x dc #giving danny fenton psychological issues since 2022 folks #points at marthadanny: she's a hot mess with unprocessed trauma and psychological prblems. she's hanging on by a thread #LISTEN TO AFTER ALL BY CHRISTINE EBERSOLE THAT SUMS UP MARTHADANNY ENTIRELY #bruce your mom is even crazier than you. how is that possible. her trauma has trauma.#marthadanny: i dont wanna talk about my feelings OR my trauma i want to raise my son. go away #martha: who knew that being a child hero without any support would result in deeply rooted psychological issues and paranoia in spades #marthadanny: im fine (<- experienced liar. is not fine. please god someone restrain her before she claws someone's eyes out)#she has eyebags the size of the savanna and wields red lipstick like a weapon. she's going to rob a rich man blind. she has a baby to feed #what would a mother not do for her child? what heights would a mother not climb.#and you're shaken to your soul with an ache that you cant erase. like the tears you never cried but still keep scrubbing off your face.#there's a pain you cant imagine. the little talk that keeps you wide awake that somehow turns to bold determination that you wont ever make #the same mistake. so you've got to feed your little future and ensure her talent poise and charm might just grow up and save you after all #fun fact bruce and danny's birthdays are exactly one week apart. danny is Feb.12 and Bruce is Feb.19. take that as you will :)

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robiinurheart33 · 7 months ago

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I’m obsessed with ghost being obsessed with soap.

The way he knows tidbits and fun facts about soap is just unparalleled to everyone despite ghost seeming unbothered. They go on missions together more than anyone else in the task force or god forbid, any other military they’re working with. As much as military life would like you to believe, there’s just as much waiting and planning than there is executing.

Soap is notoriously not patient. Ghost is, but only when it comes to work. Anything else he doesn’t have the time nor patience to deal with it. Unless it comes to Johnny. But no one will ever know that except for Ghost himself. But back to the point, they’re mainly on missions together and they stakeout together, they hide in itchy bushes for hours together, they stay in each other’s space, no matter if they want the other to or not. Soap cannot keep his yapper shut for the life of him and he’ll go stir crazy if he has to stay still for 2 whole hours. So he talks. Whispers, really so as to not give their position away. Ghost is a professional after all, he can split his concentration between the mission and Johnny. It’s endurance training. (Or whatever he tells himself anyways.)

Soap doesn’t mind the mindless talking if it helps him concentrate, and if Ghost doesn’t seem to be bothered then it’s all good. He knows that he isn’t actually actively listening, which is okay. He’s not offended, per se, but he feels an uncomfortable tightness in his chest whenever he looks back at Ghost as if it were an actual conversation to be met with nothing. Soap is a professional and damn good at his job at that, so he doesn’t let that bother him. (He doesn’t.)

One hazy night, Soap and Ghost (Ghost and Soap) are staking out a warehouse across the street, a bone-deep exhaustion hangs in the air as they both slump in their seats near the open windows. Cicadas make themselves known and the humidity doesn’t let down even in the night. Soap’s eyes are hazy, blinking ever so slowly and almost slipping shut for good a few times before he jolts himself awake.

“Go to sleep, Sargent.” Sargent. Ghost’s rough but tired voice cuts through his mind as he slides open his eyes again, not knowing they were closed in the first place. He rolls his head over to Ghost, where he’s sitting rigidly upright. To anyone, it would seem like he’s the picture of alertness, eyes trained out the window, posture perfect. But to Johnny, he can see that his fists are clenched too tight, his gun is still strapped to his side, and he hasn’t even taken a shower yet, when Johnny already has.

Guilt pangs softly in his chest, and he purses his lips in thought. Ghost wouldn’t take a shower now seeing that Soap was so tired. He would probably stay up the whole night staring out the window, sweat trickling uncomfortably down his back but still endure it for the opportunity for Soap to rest. He isn’t stupid, he knows there’s something between them that they can’t name, a connection that isn’t quite friends, but crosses the line of professionalism. Whether Ghost knows that or not is still up in the air for grabs. He pushes himself off the chair with a soft groan, sliding his bare feet over the wooden floors to the bathroom. He splashes cooling water on his face and rubs his eyes, blinking harshly. He stares at Soap in the mirror, and Johnny bristles a bit. He looks like pure shit. His eyes are bloodshot and tired, eye bags threatening to pull his eyelids closed, and he hasn’t shaved in quite a few days. Definitely not up to military regulation. He doesn’t bother to clock in the rest of himself now, wanting to focus more on Ghost than himself.

He walks back out to the shared living room, which is also their bedroom and kitchen, and behind Ghost’s chair. He bends down to swiftly unclip his vest off.

“Wha’ are you doing?” He doesn’t even sound annoyed, just tired.

“Gettin’ all this shite offa’ ya.” Soap doesn’t need to look to know that Ghost is probably even more tired than him. His Lieutenant with all the responsibilities under the sky, and no one to share that burden with.

The vest falls with a heavy thump on the ground and Johnny continues to clatter the remaining knives and guns onto the table, right beside their haphazardly placed maps for future ambushes. He pulls a knife from the sole of his boot, and Ghost huffs in amusement.

“Didn’t know you knew about that one, Johnny.” He’s Johnny now.

“I know everything about you.” It scares him a bit how it slips out that easily, but it scares him even more that he doesn’t take it back.

Ghost’s eyes bore into the side of his skull as he throws the rest of the equipment onto the table, keeping a gun in the pocket of his cotton pants. Johnny juts his chin towards the bathroom, arms akimbo.

“Go shower.” he doesn’t bother with a jab now, God knows they’re both off the table for that. It’s come to a point in the night where jokes lay to rest and honestly is the only thing left to say.

Ghost doesn’t look like he’s going to move and Johnny won’t blame him. He knows how hard it is to leave your post, how you scream at your body to move but nothing works. Nothing happens. Johnny’s eyes eventually hone in on Ghost’s eyes, trying to get a grip of what he’s feeling at the moment. Brown. It’s stupid, but Soap’s never been good with all the metaphorical side of describing things. Ghost’s eyes are brown. It’s brown. And it looks soft around the edges, calm and present, moving ever so slightly as he looks back at him. And they look at each other. And Johnny melts. He wants to melt and be safe in Ghost’s eyes and there’s nothing wrong now, there can never be anything wrong. How could it when the stars and the moon crafted them to orbit around each other so perfectly and intimately? And how could anything go wrong when this is the most right Johnny has ever felt in his life?

He feels his hand rise like silk, cupping Ghost’s cheek, like he’s done it so many times before. He hasn’t. Johnny’s not so sure what makes tonight different, or what changed, but he doesn’t want to question it. He’s not jinxing or screwing anything up this time. The cheekbone of the plastic skull digs into the palm of his hand and Ghost’s eyes droop. His thumb drags up and down, up and down right under his eye, not breaking the eye contact he has with Simon. He watches in real time as his eyes dilate and flutter, his head tipping forward, as if he could feel his touch over the plastic and the balaclava. Before Simon’s head could fall forward, eyes finally closing, Johnny grasps his face with both hands, murmuring.

“Hey, big guy. Not yet.” Simon’s eyes open again, looking up at him and Johnny wants to cry at how desperately he wants him to just relax right now, but he knows that if he isn’t completely safe and comfortable he’s be screaming awake 2 hours later.

“Shower.” He whispers. Ghost seems to snap back into reality slightly, standing up straight and towering over Johnny once more. Like this, his eyes seem black in the shadows, and things are jagged and sharp again. He grunts once, stepping out of their safe bubble and sliding into the bathroom, closing and locking the door with a click.

Johnny sighs softly as he sits down on Ghost’s seat, the wood still warm as he looks out the window. The gun burns where it’s pressed against his thigh, but maybe that’s just the absurd heat at the moment. His eyes are trained on the warehouse, leaning his elbows on his knees and letting his mind drift off for a bit. There’s no one in the warehouse at the moment, and any movement would be extremely obvious in the dead of night so he figured it would be okay.

Johnny thought of his family. He thought of the soft yearning he felt whenever he wanted to be small and tucked in his mother’s arms again. he thought of how accepted he felt if one of his older sisters threw an arm around his shoulder. He thought of his home back in Scotland, an empty living room with an aging woman who would spend the rest of her life waiting for children that were not guaranteed to come back. The sadness plagued his mind whenever he was alone, wishing he could come back as soon as possible to his home. To what? Put on the obnoxious military persona and acting as if he were immortal to not worry his family? He knows better than that. He knows he’s soft and pliable, that no matter how many muscles he builds, his body will always cave to a bullet. He knows his family will always worry and he can’t do anything about it.

Ghost steps out of the shower and Soap’s thoughts dissipate, head tilting in his direction. He’s swapped his hard skull mask for a clean balaclava, traditional hoodie and sweatpants. He looks…domestic, in a way. A too big man standing in a too small hallway, hunched over and fatigue evident. Love, Johnny realises, comes in many shapes and forms, but it all takes root in the same place.

Simon lumbers over to stand behind his chair, eyes boring down to meet his. Their positions have swapped now, Simon looking down while Johnny reaches up to meet his. Love is a gentle thing. Soap realises with a calmness that shouldn’t be there that he couldn’t pick between his family and Simon. His family meant the whole world to him, but Simon was his sunlight and his saviour. They floated in a nice limbo between everything, Simon and Johnny. Johnny and Simon. Love is a gentle thing.

“Go to sleep, Johnny. you’re tired.”

“You don’t kno’ that.” He’s slurring.

“I know everything about you.” The line is thrown back into his face, and Johnny’s eyes widen. He can feel the butterflies in his stomach, twisting in an exhilarating way. He swallows and watches Simon stare at his Adam’s apple bob up and down, eyes crinkling. Johnny’s a bit speechless, partly due to overwhelming fondness and partly due to his body screaming for a rest. Simon cares. He cares for Johnny. He thinks about him. He cares. He cares. He cares.

Love is a gentle thing.

“Aye.” John whispers.

All is right in the world, because Simon cares and his mother is at home waiting for him, and he is loved. Johnny is told to sleep, and so he will.

#*channeling my inner thirteenbullets*#can you guys just ignore that the pov changed from ghost to soap thanks a bunch #and that the plot point completely changed haha #sweats nervously #I listened to velvet ring by big thiefs over and over again while writing this #it really helped with the gooey sappiness #im gonna take a nap now #i wrote this all in one shot 💪💪#call of duty #robs ramblings #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghoap #ghostsoap

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arkhamsbrat · 1 day ago

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you were robbed of summer, i was robbed of you

jason todd x civilian reader

when jason left, your light did too. six years of your life spent attached at jason’s hip crumbled around you with one knock on your door, and a small shoe box of old journals and trinkets was placed in your hands. they told you the funeral was that next week. you barely had time to register that they told you how he really died. asked you to keep it to yourself.

that boy you spent your childhood with, running through dark allies and making the best of your shitty little lives was gone. the boy who read to you, sat in the gamestop and played the trial of mario kart with you til you got kicked out, gone. you didn’t even get to say goodbye. they didn’t even let you see him before they buried him.

at least the bastard pitied you was kind enough to let you visit Mr. Wayne’s graveyard. you left letters, flowers, anything that reminded you of him. there were too many times that Mr. Wayne found you passed out against his tombstone. you’d wake up back in your own home, unsure of how you got there. it didn’t matter.

the next four years were miserable, barely scraping by without a few trips to the hospital from your constant exhaustion. you made it, at least. got a little cat to give you something to motivate you. her name was robin. a little stray you found on your fire escape. jason would’ve loved her.

you could see it when you closed your eyes. jason sitting on your couch, crooked smile wide as robin climbed all over him. how he’d whisper to her when he thought you couldnt hear. you saw him everywhere, doing everything. because that’s where he should be.

heroes came back all the time. the flashes, superboy, impulse, even batman. what did you need to do to bring him back? what did you have to give up? did you need to tear yourself in two all over again just to get your best friend back?

these thoughts played over and over, every single day that passed. it got to the point where you could see little silver hairs sprouting out of your head after april passed. they got thicker in august, when you kneeled by the edge of your toilet and sobbed so hard you got sick. he should be 21 now, piss drunk on your ragged old couch and cackling at how you stumbled around.

you felt pathetic when robin came and nuzzled at your leg, meowing for your attention. you ran your fingers through her fur before pulling her into your arms, feeling her purr. “how dumb do i look right now, jayce?” you muttered to yourself, bitterly. “makin’ you real proud, i bet.”

you didn’t hear the boots hit against your fire escape, nor did you see red hood slink down to peer through your smudged windows. it’d become a habit of his, though he was disappointed you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should’ve been.

jason watched. almost nightly. thats more than what he thought he deserved. nearly threw up in his mask the first time he saw your grey streak, stress induced.

the two of you were strangers now, he reminded himself consistently. the boy you knew was long gone, and he strongly doubted you would ever accept any of his changes. he’d hoped you’d changed for the worst. maybe he’d find something he could move on from. something to hate you for. maybe he could throw away the letters he wrote to you in hopes that one day he could come to you. in hopes he’d be able to come home.

thats what he’d always found in you. he craved it- the simplicity of you. hell, he’d even take you yelling at him for being stupid. for leaving you. he’d find a home in that, as long as it was your voice raising at him. before he came back, he was afraid you’d forgotten. he’d hoped you didn’t, in a fucked up way he hoped you’d hurt the same way he did. that you’d never forgotten him.

he regretted those wishes the minute he saw you crying over a cheap cookie with a candle stabbed through, drunk off your own ass. the date didn’t even cross his mind when he landed, only looking to check in on you. he had to fight back his own tears when it dawned on him. even now, you cared about his birthday?

if he wasn’t so stupid you wouldn’t be alone. if he didn’t care so much, if he didn’t go to-

you looked up before he got to finish any of his thoughts, letting out a shrill scream when you saw the masked vigilante on your fire escape. if he wasn’t so upset he would’ve laughed at how fast you grabbed your cat and raced to your bedroom, nearly tripping against the toys strewn about the floor. he’d wanted to mock you about how you spoiled that cat. jason wanted to be with you again. to be normal with you.

he’d never see you again if he could just tell you that you’re what got him through it all. it’s always been you, always will be. thirty minutes pass while he contemplated if he deserves to be selfish with you before he just said fuck it. he slid your window open and slipped through, searching for your room.

he’d get on you about actually locking the damn window later.

jason couldn’t find it in him to care about hiding that it was him. it was you he was telling. no matter the fear blooming from deep withinin him, he knew you’d see him. trust him. love him, if he let you.

the red hood mask got thrown onto your couch while he scrambled to your door. he knew you could hear his footsteps, probably scared shitless. how was he supposed to start this?

“been a long time…” he spoke, barely able to mask the shake in his voice. “i didn’t… i didn’t think you’d still think about me, honestly. i hoped you did, but… everyone else seemed to replace me. shoulda known you never would’ve…” jason couldn’t feel how his whole body shook as he kept speaking, barely remembering when he slid down to the floor.

“thought about you every god damn day, y’know? always wanted to tell you that. wondered if you went to school. if you were still damn awful at chemistry… did’jya start workin’ at that little cafe? said y’would once you turned sixteen…” he rambled on, tears spilling down his scarred cheeks. “i know y’don’t know me anymore… y’lost your jason… but i probably lost my you too… y’look miserable. that my fault too?”

jason heard the floorboards creak from the other side of the door. a quiet shuffling, alongside a very upset meow as a cats paw swiped under the door, catching at his jeans. he laughed quietly, setting his hand down so the cat could paw at him instead of the jeans that he just stole off some douchebag that tried to mug a mother thrifted. he felt his whole body tense when you finally spoke. “her name’s robin… thought jason would’ve liked that. none’a this is his fault.”

“i do.” he pressed his head against the door, seconds away from begging you to open it. a cat… you named your scraggly ass cat after him. you sounded exhausted- if he could snap his fingers and take it all from you, he’d do it in a heartbeat. “jason’s dead… they said he got killed by…” he let out a sharp sigh. “i wanted to come back to you, i swear. it’s a real long story.”

he heard more shuffling behind the door, and then a click. your head peeked through the crack. “…i never make plans on your birthday…i have time?” for the first time in a long time, jason felt a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth. “are you gonna remember any of this in the morning, drunkard?”

his grin widens when you shrug, teary eyes boring into his. “then i get to see you for the first time all over again. jackass.”