Random Duke Thomas Headcannons Pt 3

dindjarindiaries reminded us all that this is the 4th anniversary of the second season premiere of The Mandolorian ... an inspiration to me!

Betrayed and left for dead, Din Djarin works to recover on an isolated moon at the edge of wild space. But all is not as it seems in his new world—nor with the compelling and enigmatic healer who befriends him and Grogu. Living on Battai brings multiple challenges … and unforeseen pleasures.

His own doubts and desires are proving to be Din Djarin's greatest adversaries yet.

Meanwhile, on planets scattered through the Outer Rim, ancient prophesy, ambition, and conspiracy are at work in the shadows.

When new mysteries and old enemies threaten the moon of Battai, the Mandalorian's previous existence reclaims him. Din Djarin must take to the stars and reforge alliances to track down his would-be assassin—and protect the beings he loves more than life, even more than the Creed.

Yeah :D

YEAH!! :D

Ghost is starting to realise something.

It started off slow at first- pinpointing where soap was first in a room before the others, coincidentally spacing off in the same direction as soap, starting to follow soap wherever he went.

It’s nothing, really.

It’s nothing.

Nothing at all.

But it was really starting to bother him, the way Johnny started to get under his skin.

It pissed him off. Ghost always needs to be in his top condition during missions because one mistake could cost everything. How could he do that when before taking off soap would pat his shoulder and it felt like his ribs were caving in on him? How could anyone blame him when their thighs are pressed together, touching from ankle to shoulder and his heart would claw at his skin, begging to get out?

Or when soap would squeeze the nape of his neck as a friendly gesture and suddenly he was flushed and hot under the collar? Why was this happening to him? What is happening? Because all of a sudden Johnny’s summer, and he sinks into ghost’s bones and his skin, renders his muscles useless and his brain fuzzy and-

There’s something horribly wrong with him.

Johnny’s laughter makes his breathing pick up, it makes his fingers tremble and he wants to take that laughter and keep it in a locket to hang around his neck. Johnny makes ghost want to throw him against a wall and also cradle his face like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Johnny’s summer because he makes Ghost’s cold heart feel warmth again, makes him think of flip flops, missing teeth, shiny skin and a non stop itchiness. That’s what it is. It burrows under his skin, it makes his fingertips tingle and his heart ache and his ribs melt and his throat close up. This is soap’s fault. Ghost needs to kill soap.

That’s not quite right.

Because something in Ghost, in Simon wants to keep him away too, that terrorises his mind whenever he sees Johnny hurt. That he should steal him away and live in domestic paradise on the other side of the galaxy, because Simon knows better than to think that he can chase his past away that easily.

But then Ghost gets hurt, and it’s not that bad, really, he’s had worse. But now Soap’s tearing apart the place, face flushed and panicked. Panicked over Ghost. It might just be the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen. So when he grabs Soap by the shoulders and orders him to calm the fuck down, his brain suddenly surges forward for things to say.

I love it when you get concerned for me.

I love it when you touch me.

I love it when you remember things about me

I love it that you let me double check your gear because I can’t lose you.

I love the stretch marks on your hips that I accidentally saw when you came out of the shower.

I love your fucked up accent.

I love the way you say “canny” it’s so dumb

I love your face

I love you,

I love you,

I love you.

And it comes to a point where Ghost has to actively hold himself back because he accidentally held soap’s face in his hands and he cherished all 0.7 seconds of it before he violently ripped his hands away and walked off without a word.

It felt like all his ribs had broken in half and punctured his lungs and heart, and he was slowly bleeding out and suffocating. Johnny makes him feel like summer. Ghost starts to look forward to tomorrow, he starts to get excited at the new promise of physical touch, at the chance to casual love. He’s warm and gooey and Johnny’s melted his skeleton down and what’s left is Simon.

It was like nothing to Soap, and it drives Ghost crazy how it happened so fast. Johnny’s cradled Simon’s corpse in his warm hands and decided that he would love again, simple as that. And if he could do it like it was as simple as breathing, then maybe Ghost could love him the same way.

DC inspired crossover/au

A collection of very old half finished doodles Not sure if I'll ever do anything more with this so might as well post them

|| Soap/Harley Quinn | Ghost/Poison ivy | Gaz/Catwoman ||

Cringe but free

| welcome to my blog |

You can find my full-written works on ao3 under the name corkinavoid or click this link.

If you want to see more of my prompts and ideas on this blog, check #cork prompts hashtag. #cork adds is for any kinds of additions to someone else's ideas, and #cork writes is generally for everything concerning my writing.

You are free to use any of my prompts as you wish with any alterations or without them, just link/credit/tag me. I'd also be absolutely delighted if you decide to post it elsewhere and send me a link!

Other than that, here's some fun facts about me:

• neurodivergent but not a minor

• English is not my first language

• my favorite ships are Dead Tired and Anger Management, and I'm also deeply in love with Al Ghul Twins trope

| masterpost |

I'm only linking my series here, not all prompts.

Changeling AU: [part 1], [part 2], [part 3], [part 4], [part 5], [a fic "Danny! Wait, who's Danny?"], [part 6], [part 7]

Haunted Family AU: [part 1], [a fic "It takes three days to get adopted"], [a fic "A cat walks by herself, but so does a ghost"], [a fic "A new family, an old family, and a never ever happening family walk into a gala"], [part 5]

Mercenary Danny AU: [part 1], [a fic "I'll pay you ten times"], [a fic "I want to hire you"], [a fic "I'm asking you out"]

Multiverse Police/Good!GIW: [part 1], [part 2], [side notes], [part 3], [another part 1], [another part 2]

Fantasy Magic School AU: [part 1], [a fic 'Fiance to a Star'], check the tag # cork writes fantasy for more fun facts and moodboards

Fantasy Royal Fae AU: [part 1], [a fic 'Married to Winter']

Masters Mansion/Socialite Danny: [inspo], [part 1], [part 2], [part 3], [a fic 'Coronation'], [a fic 'There Are No Living Here']

John Constantine's Ghost Kids: [part 1], [part 2]

All the al Ghul Twins related posts: [one], [two], [three], [four], [five], [six], [seven]

I absolute LOVE stories of Ghost getting to meet the Mactavish family dynamic 🥹

Ghoaptober # 4

Prompt: Home

Words: 3100~

TW: Phonetic Scottish Accents (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

This one did not at all go in the direction I meant it to. I genuinely thought this one was gonna be short, that's my bad for thinking a MacTavish family reunion wouldn't be chaotic.

So a bit of Premise, I have a headcanon that Soap's actual name is Coinneach John MacTavish, but only his family calls him Coinneach.

Enjoy!

Ghost tried to steady his breathing as Johnny led him up to a picturesque country home, then around the side, under a few lines of drying laundry, to the backdoor. Johnny gave the door a cursory rap as he pushed it open, he’d barely gotten one foot over the threshold when delighted cries resounded. 

An older woman, maybe fifty years old came into view as she hustled over to yank Johnny down into a hug. A smile lit Johnny’s face, the likes of which Ghost had never seen before. It was warm and relieved, happy and teary. It looked like Johnny had been told ‘It’s all okay’ and, for the first time, actually believed it. Johnny and his mother held each other for a long moment, each just breathing the other in. Through the door Ghost could see that the space behind them was crowding with people, all impatiently waiting to have their go at hugging the returned MacTavish. 

Mrs Mactavish pulled away, reaching up to clasp Johnny’s face between her hands, planting a long kiss on his forehead, then pulling back again to look him over, murmuring to him in Scots Gaelic. Something Ghost, thanks to Johnny, could now recognize.

Johnny had warned him that it was the primary language spoken under the MacTavish roof, in deference to Johnny’s Grannie, whose grasp of English isn’t the best. Ghost had been forbidden from worrying about it and Johnny had assured and reassured him that "Ma an’ all ae mah wee siblings speak English jus’ fine", so he was trying his best to obey and not stress out. 

Mrs MacTavish released Johnny, prompting even more people to crowd into the room to get at him and Ghost redoubled his efforts to not freak out. Wishing he hadn’t been so adamant in rebuffing Johnny when he’d said no one would care if Ghost wore his mask. Being able to hide behind his balaclava would be really nice right about now. 

“Ye mus’ be this Ghost fella mah Coinneach is always yammering abou’,” The voice piping up at Ghost’s elbow does not make him jump. Ghost is a highly trained Special Forces Operative, he would notice a middle-aged Scottish woman approaching him before she spoke.

He Would.

“Oh! Ah’m sorrae, laddie. Didnae mean tae spook ye,” Mrs MacTavish apologises, “Come in, Come in, Donnae stan’ on the stoop like y’ur nae welcome.” 

Ghost finds himself ushered into what he discovers is the kitchen of the house. To his right was the kitchen proper, there was what Ghost could only guess was a genuine wood stove crouched directly in front of the door, guarding the threshold, in direct competition with the gas cooker that was against the far wall, bracketed by counters covered in various appliances that looked like they'd hopped straight off the pages of a fifties home catalogue, but still seemed to be in good repair, the cupboards hanging over them were closed with curtains rather than doors. The only acquiescences to the modern era were the nice big fridge humming away like an afterthought at the end of the counters, and the washer tucked away in the corner. 

It was a nice kitchen, it looked homey, lived in.

To his left was a long oval table with an assortment of chairs surrounding it. Ghost could pick out a few chairs with carvings that matched the ones on the table’s legs that could only be the matching set, but they were outnumbered by chairs that had clearly been added as needed. He could also spot a leaning stack of metal folding chairs half tucked behind a hutch in the back, clearly the MacTavish house was well accustomed to crowds. 

Ghost was chivvied into one of the seats around the table, his Special Forces joints extremely grateful for the soft cushion padding the chair and guarding him from the ache of the hard wood. A glance at his table mates revealed whom the cushioning was truly intended for. A lady that must be around seventy sat to his right, and to her right, at the head of the table, sat a man in the same age range. The man was watching him. 

Ghost took an educated guess and presumed that these must be Johnny’s Grannie and Grandad. 

Fucking Hell.

Johnny never told him their names. 

He’d always just referred to them as Grannie and Grandad, so Ghost had always called them ‘your Grannie and Grandad’ when asking after them. He didn’t even know if they were MacTavishs. Thinking about it, they were probably Johnny’s mother’s parents.

Oh, Bloody Fucking Hell.

What the fuck was Mrs MacTavish’s first name. 

How the hell had he managed to have a panic attack over memorizing the names of Johnny’s five siblings and never have the thought cross his mind to learn the names of his mother and grandparents. Ghost is in their house, sitting at their table, and he doesn’t have a single clue what their names are.

What the fuck, Johnny. 

The awkward staring contest he’d been entered into by Johnny’s Grandad was only growing more and more uncomfortable. It’d be rude to look away without saying anything, but what the fuck was he supposed to say, ‘Sorry for barging into your home, Johnny demanded Simon Riley crawl out of the grave that Ghost left him in to come meet the extended MacTavish family’?

Johnny rescued him by coming to the table, leaning down to accept his Grandad’s seated one-armed hug and back pats, then pressing kisses to his Grannie’s cheek as he passed by on his way to drape himself over the back of Ghost’s chair, because sitting in chair like a normal human eludes Johnny. 

He talked back and forth with his grandparents for a moment then turned to Ghost to make the least helpful introduction he has ever been forced to be a part of, “Ghost, this ‘ere’s mah Grannie and Grandad,” then turning to his grandparents, “this is mah L.T, Ghost.” 

Johnny’s Grandad seemed well used to Johnny’s foibles and reached an arm across the table to shake Ghost’s hand and supplement with his own introductions, “Ah’m Amhlaigh Milne, an’ this is the missus, Fionna Milne,”   

Amhlaigh Milne’s hands were broad, with liverspots speckling the backs, textured by hard calluses and soft wrinkling skin. His handshake was cursory and firm. He was a man that had shaken a thousand hands before and had no interest in adding pomp or frippery to the exchange.

“Simon Riley, sir, ma’am,” Ghost replied, nodding to Mr then Mrs Milne, “Thank you for having me in your home,” 

Mrs Milne said something to Johnny in Scots, sounding almost despairing. Johnny cried a shocked ‘Seanmhair!’ and a wild barking laugh carvoted out of the kitchen, followed by a multitude of variations on the same. Mrs MacTavish had been puttering about the kitchen getting tea and nibbles together, and was now bracing against the counters to not fall off her feet laughing. The people that Ghost hadn’t been introduced to, but could only assume were Johnny’s siblings, were leaning against each other and various pieces of furniture as they fought to stay upright on knees weakened by their cackling. 

Well, it was good to see that Johnny came by it honestly. 

Mrs MacTavish pulled herself together enough to pick up the tea tray and bring it over without spilling, the occasional giggle rattling the teaset before she made it to the table. 

“Ma says-,” Mrs MacTavish cut herself off, planting a hand on the table as a new wave of laughter wracked through her, Johnny was hiding his face behind a hand, but the deep red of his ears betrayed his blush, “Ma says, it’s guid tha’ Coinneach is the firs’ ae her grankids tae bring ‘ome a fella, bu’ did ye have tae be a fuckin’ sassenach!” 

The last of the translation is squeaked out in between laughs, but Ghost thinks he’s gotten the jist. Mrs Milne was hoping her grandchildren would bring home partners that were Scots. 

Add her to the tally of people Ghost had lived to disappoint. 

“None of your siblings have had partners before?” Ghost turns his head to address the question to Johnny, getting some vindictive pleasure from the offended squawks coming from the peanut gallery of siblings milling about in the kitchen.

“Nae, they’ve ‘ad partners, bu’ all ae 'em 'ave been too feart tae bring ‘em fer a visit,” Now Johnny is the one laughing, and the greedy beast that weaves through Ghost’s ribs squeezes tight, viscerally glad to have been the one to cause it. 

A succession of offended noises comes charging out of the kitchen, followed by the siblings in question. 

“Oi!” barks a young man with Johnny’s mousey brown hair, Mrs MacTavish’s straight nose, and hazel green eyes that Ghost doesn’t recognise, “Ah’m nae feart!” The rest of his defense is in Scots Gaelic and therefore lost to Ghost, but by the gasps and laughter it triggers, it’s nothing good. 

“Artair!” Mrs MacTavish scolds, and Ghost assigns the name to the face on the internal profiles he’s been habitually building in his head for Johnny’s family, “Donnae say tha’ we’ve company!”

“He cannae understan-” Artair complains,

“Tha’ donnae matter. Artair MacTavish, ye’ll watch y’ur tongue or so help me Jesus, Ah’ll give ye a doin’!” Mrs MacTavish asserts, hands on her hips. Nodding sharply when Artair obediently subsides, “Noo, did ye wan’ a cuppa, Ghost?” She presents the full tea service to Ghost.

“Please, call me Simon, Mrs MacTavish,” Ghost almost begs of the woman, being addressed by his callsign by such a motherly figure is disconcerting in ways that Ghost refuses to analyze. 

“Simon i’ tis,” Mrs MacTavish easily agrees, and starts identifying the nibbles she's brought over, “These ‘ere are egg an’ cress pieces, bridies, butteries, tablet, an’ shor’ bread. Have y’ur pick ae the lot.” 

“Mah ciallian, did ye-” 

“Nae, Da. Ah didnae pu’ onions in the bridies,” Mrs MacTavish supplied before her father could finish his question.

“Guid lass. Pass us up a few, noo. There's a guid lad,” Mr Milne chivvies Johnny into popping a few on a plate for him, Ghost was fascinated to see Johnny automatically make up and pass along a cup of coffee too. His family had never had that kind of camaraderie. A sudden wave of despair welled up to drown him as the unwelcome thought that he had no idea how his mother used to take her tea and there was no one left that he could ask struck him.

Johnny gently squeezed at the nape of his neck, bending down to put their heads in line, so that he could mutter to Ghost what exactly was in all the snacks Mrs MacTavish had just offered him. If Ghost leaned into the contact, buoyed by Johnny’s presence, that was between him and the devil, thank you very much. 

Having clocked the identity of the coffee pot, Ghost got himself a tea from the teapot. Opening dishes until he found the milk powder, he mindlessly filled a mug with coffee for Johnny and slid it over along with the milk bowl, setting the dish back amongst the teaset when Johnny had taken what he wanted. The teapot was ensconced in a nicely knitted plaid tea cosy, a brief glance up at Johnny netted him a nod, and he studied the cosy with more interest. 

So this was the MacTavish… hmm.

Another glance to Johnny, with a tip of his head in Mr Milne’s direction. Another distracted nod from Johnny, one of his sisters was ranting to him about an incompetent chef. 

So this was the Milne tartan. 

A woman burst through the backdoor, a small dog following at her heels. Another ecstatic cry went up and the family rushed to welcome her home. Johnny had told him that this was the first time all the MacTavish children would be under the same roof in years, Johnny’s mother had been planning it for months. 

“Kennie!” the latest addition cheered, breaking free of the scrum to tackle Johnny in a hug, “How’ve ye been! Still ten, ten, an’ two?” 

Johnny threw his head back in a laugh, then held up his hands to wiggle his ten fingers at her, “Aye, ah’ve still go’ all mah bits, Maggie.” 

Ghost watched the crease of his eyes, the flash of his teeth, the jump of his chest. Glutting himself on Johnny’s happiness. 

“So ye finally brough’ us y’ur man,” Maggie nodded in Ghost’s direction, a released Johnny coming to perch at Ghost’s shoulder again. Memorizing her face Ghost updated his profiles, this must be Maighread, the youngest. 

“Aye, doin’ Ma proud, Ah am,” Johnny retorted, “Pickin’ up the slack ae allae youse,” 

“Oi,” Maighread barked with a laugh, bending to pick up the dog that had been standing on its hindlegs to paw at her thighs, “A’ leas’ ah’ve brough’ Ma her firs’ grankid,” 

“Aye, right.” Johnny conceded, reaching forward to give the dog a few pats, “An’ how’s wee Calum been farin’?” 

“He’s grand! Vet said he’s great joints for nine,” Maighread enthused, then gave Calum a smooch on the head and pressed him into Johnny’s arms, “ ‘ere, be a lad an’ hold him while I say hullo to ar seann-phàrantan,” 

Watching Johnny juggle a small grey dog and a hot mug of coffee twisted a smile onto Ghost’s face. 

“Calum?” He let the question stand on its own and was gratified by Johnny’s response.

“Aye, he’s Maggie’s wee lad. A mini schnauzer. She go’ ‘im off a breeder, he didnae qualify fer a showdog, so noo ‘e’s the first MacTavish grankid. Ma’s go’ ‘im in the albums an’ every’hing.” Hearing Johnny’s accent thickening with every second that he spent amongst his fellow Scots was captivating, “Maggie trea’s ‘im like ‘e’s her own bairn.”

Ghost is not legally obligated to confirm or deny whether he did or did not open a mental profile for Calum the nine year old miniature schnauzer. 

“Why’re you holding him?” Ghost asked,

“Dae ye wan’ tae?” Johnny asked in return. That hadn’t been why he’d asked, but he wasn’t going to say no. 

Ghost nodded and scooted back from the table to give Johnny room to set the warm armful of dog on his lap, carefully bringing his arm around to make sure Calum didn’t accidentally fall. 

Calum the miniature schnauzer snuffled at his face, his shirt, his hands, then seemed perfectly content to take a seat on his lap, propping his forepaws up on the table, like he truly was part of the family. 

“Aye, tha’s fine,” Johnny supplied at Ghost's questioning look, “Donnae le’ ‘im jump up or no’hing, bu’ it’s fine as long as ye wipe the table after ‘e gets doon.”

Ghost was then perfectly content to sit, drinking his tea and petting the dog weighing down his legs. Normally the hustle and bustle of the many people talking and swarming about the rooms would quickly become too much for Ghost and he would need to take a break or else risk disassociating or having a panic attack, but oddly he was feeling fine. 

With Johnny standing sentinel at his shoulder, his hip pressed against Ghost’s side, and his arm arm idly draped across the back of his chair, Ghost was able to feel secure where he was. In spite of the commotion and chatter around him. 

Eventually the whole MacTavish brood was sat to the table, including Calum, who had abandoned Ghost to curl up on Maighread’s lap as soon as his owner had sat down. With cuppas and plates of nibbles close to hand, the air thrummed with idle chatter. Everyone updating and catching up, sharing the newest gossip about people that the table’s occupants would never meet. Mr Milne clearing his throat muted the room, though the silence wasn’t the oppressive tension that Ghost’s father had loved to employ, rather it was more of a curious waiting. 

“Riley, ‘ave ye met,” Mr Milne cast a wide gesture out to encompass the entire room, grunting like he’d expected as much when Ghost replied with a quick ‘No, Sir’, and then proceeding to efficiently go around the table, putting names to faces.

“Mah oldes’ daugh’er, Oighrig.”

“Oh, jus' call me Effie, dear,” Mrs MacTavish interjected,  

“Oighrig’s oldes’, Iseabail,” Mr Milne spoke on, unphased, 

“Izzie,” the woman sat to Johnny’s left offered,

“Ye know Coinneach o’course,” Mr Milne didn’t miss a beat and Ghost got the feeling that this was routine for him,

“Folk ‘roun ‘ere call me Kennie,” Johnny grinned up at him, his chair leg-to-leg with Ghost’s letting Johnny easily press up against Ghost’s left arm,

“Then the twins, Donella-”

“Nella,” Chirps the woman directly across from Ghost

“an' Eilionoir,”

“Ellie,” Spoke the identical woman sat to Donella’s right, 

“Artair,” The young man sat to the right of Eilionoir offered only a nod, “our younges’, Maighread,” Mr Milne indicated the woman sat to his own right,

“Call me Maggie,” She offered with a bright smile, 

“An’ Maighread’s Calum,” Mr Milne rounded out, giving the dogs ears a ruffle.

Ghost gave the table a nod, “It’s good to meet you all, thank you for having me,”

His thanks are immediately waved away, eight separate voices speaking their denials of any thanks being necessary. Ghost holds his hands up in surrender and sits back to sip his tea 

“So Ellie, did ye tell tha’ man wit’ the gormless ring idea tae get tae fuck?” Maighread’s question forces an aggravated sigh out of Eilionoir, and with that the conversation moves on. 

Ghost is happy to have the attention off him, but is even happier to revel in the line of heat that comes from Johnny pressed tight against his side. Planting a hand on Johnny's leg, Ghost silently urges him impossibly closer, appeased by the way Johnny immediately obliges him. Scooting half off his chair he pushes down on Ghost’s shoulder and tugs him around by the waist so Ghost's slumped back against Johnny’s chest. Perfectly aligned for Johnny to drop his head down to rest his chin on Ghost’s shoulder, the soft scratch of the shaved sides of his warhawk rasping over Ghost’s ear and rubbing intoxicatingly against his cheek. Ghost squeezes at the leg he hadn’t released and revels in the tight squeeze Johnny returns to him.   

No one at the table gives their new seating arrangement a second glance and Ghost allows himself to wholly relax. Dropping his weight back onto Johnny without any fear of falling. 

There aren’t words for the feeling that fills up Ghost’s chest. The closest might be devotion, a gluttonous loyalty, content to share only because it gains him ever more of Johnny, others drawing out sides of him Ghost can’t. A burning obsession that banks and surges with every moment, every glance, every touch that Johnny allows him. 

What else is he meant to feel for a man that brings him home.

Thank You For Reading!

So the idea I set out with was "Soap takes ghost home to meet the family, ghost gets a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people, and realises he’s treating soap like some absurd mix of a touch/worry stone and a therapy dog. Thereby realising that soap makes him feel safe, and that wherever soap is, is home to him." I don't know how that became 3000 words, but here we are.

For anyone curious here are my notes on the MacTavish family:

Amhlaigh Milne -Grandad Fionna Milne - Grannie 69yo Oighrig MacTavish - Mother 53yo Iseabail(lesbian, the devil's advocate, she likes to look like the reasonable one and sometimes she is, trained as a professional chef, Job: restaurant owner) 34yo +1yr Coinneach John, 33yo +2yrs Eilionoir(Poly, is used to sharing Donella's partner, is not attracted to Donella, thoughtful and assessing, judgemental, realist leaning pessimist, job: makes jewelry) Donella(Poly, is used to sharing Eilionoir's partner, is not attracted to Eilionoir, more outspoken, open-minded, optimist, Job: professional horse trainer,) 31yo +3yrs Artair(sarcastic, always has a comment, acts like the baby of the family, Job: broker, he gets a budget from his client to find a specific/rare item for them, he bids in auctions and stuff), 28/yo +1yr Maighread(is the baby of the family, no one asks Maggie to do anything she doesnt want to, kind, warm, obliging, but not selfless or overly giving, Job: house sitter). 27/yo

Eilionoir and Donella live together and have four cats, all of which used to be stray cats. Their names are Sir Gawain, Darcy, Croissant, and Soot.

A photo of Calum to make it fair.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

🤯

“Gatorbutt” imagine incorporating this old slang with his current one 🤣

I swear there was a post somewhere saying the same thing. Something along the lines of combining “golly” and “fucking.”

This is extra funny when you remember the narration boxes are Dick's voice message to Bruce. He actually said this to Bruce after Jason became Robin.

Jason: how ya likin’ that comic, kiddo? Damian: I do not understand. Jason: what? It’s just a spider-man comic. What’s not to understand? Damian: why is Parker pursuing this red-haired woman, who does not seem to enjoy his company further than any other, rather than his friend, Osborn? Osborn has given multiple hints that he would prefer their relationship to go beyond platonic Jason: Jason: *glances over at Jon, who is reading a Daredevil comic on the other bed* Damian: should he not pursue Osborn, considering he is already aware that their relationship can withstand hardship? Friendship is a sturdy baseline for which romance can be built soon. And besides, Mary Jane is an un-compelling idiot with mediocre looks. Jason: Jason: this explains so much

I need to look more into this era, ‘09 version’s of 141 are WILD 😆

Riley trying to seduce his captain part 1

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