#AND DICK SOOOOO WOULD

[everwalldigan]

I love hitting characters with the trans beam but I love it even more when the implications of that are 10 times funnier than their presumed cis identities. EXHIBIT A: Richard “Dick” Grayson.

Dick, filing his legal documents with Bruce: okay you’re gonna scratch that name and write down “Richard”. But everyone will call me Dick

Bruce: …are you sure about that

Dick: did I stutter

Bruce: it’s a… really outdated name chum the kids at school aren’t gonna be nice about it

Dick: I. don’t. Care. Are you gonna write that down or should I go do the paperwork with the WE lawyers tomorrow?

Bruce: okay okay fine… if that’s what makes you happy…

Dick: this is gonna be the funniest thing I have ever done in my life

[feyburner]

Concept: The Gotham Citizen app has a forum for posting candid photos of vigilantes and there’s an ongoing phenomenon where photos of Tim are impossibly gorgeous no matter the angle and photos of Dick (one of the most beautiful people in the entire world) look like when you take high-speed photos of Olympic athletes mid-sport

[awhoreintheory]

After reading about Tim Drake being Tony Stark’s variant made want to tell you the thought that popped in my head.

Here me out:

Barbara Gordon is May Parker. 👀

BARBARA AS MAY????

This one lowkey has some SPICE. Imagine the classic library scene of Peter meeting Babs, except, no fucking way, that's his aunt.

Extra spice if it's post dead aunt may. Conflicted spice if she's technically still alive in his home dimension. Because, while Peter may try to differentiate the woman who has his aunts face and fiery red hair, she's not his actual aunt. Except, what makes her any different from his aunt? Her memory is wiped, she doesn't even know she ever had a nephew to begin with. If anything, this librarian with her face has more memories of Peter than his real aunt. Imagine how badly that'd hurt.

Imagine Peter giving in to spending more and more time with Barbara, whose his aunts alternate self. He helps around the library as a part time job, and he jokes around with her, and she even teaches him a thing or two about coding.

You could ofc tag on a Richard = Dick for even MORE spice. because imagine the batfamily going from hearing about Barbara's protege that's attached to her hip, who literally picked a fight with 4 guys for being assholes to her, is also Dick's son??? Then is goes from Barbara having sole custody to split custody with Dick. Peter more or less notices Dick mother henning him, for lack of better words, but doesn't do much to stop it. What can he say? Alfred's cooking is one hell of a bonus.

Could be crack or angst/comfort and I LIVE for that

[twistpixel]

I feel like as a Jason liker I have to sit it out because obviously Jason is just straight up killing people and this is not about that BUT I do like roll my eyes when people are like “Bruce is just a normal parent who doesn’t want his kids to kill people” verbatim because he is NOT normal I don’t have the panels to prove it so just trust but Bruce very much deviates from what the average parent would want their kid to do in terms of sacrificing themselves. Like if we take a “there are no lose-lose situations there’s always a silver lining” view many parents silver lining would be that their kid came home to them and Bruce’s would be that at least his kid died not a murderer. This sounds like Bruce hate but it isn’t

[littlefankingdom]

"Tim's brothers check on him often to be sure he didn't became evil/insane."

Wrong. Tim is the one checking on every other batfam members to make sure they didn't became evil or insane, because that's always been his role. And also, y'all are really overestimating Tim's "craziness" in comparison to his siblings. He tried to make clones of his friends in his grief, okay. But like, the other shit isn't that more insane than any shit the rest of the Batfam has done or gone through. Even in Red Robin, he is acting very much like Bruce, but Bruce has done crazier shit.

Jean-Paul has done a ton of unhinged shit and being borderline evil (tried to murder Bruce multiple times, Dick and Tim) and Tim was in charge of monitoring him. Dick often switches fast from fine and cool-headed to angry and jumping into a fight, and Tim is often right by trying (and failing) to keep him in check. When Bruce is a fugitive for murder, when Tim tries to explain why he thinks Bruce could have done it, Dick loses his marbles on him, yells at him that he doesn’t deserve to be either his brother or Robin, and has to leave because he was ready to hit that kid (he confesses to Barbara that he wanted to hit Tim). And there are all the time they think Bruce got killed, where Dick jumps to attack like a rabid dog, totally forgetting about the people around and Tim, who has to try to stop him and save the situation. And Tim checking on Bruce. And Tim checking on Jason and Damian is less commun, but it does happen. And Tim not being able to handle Cass too.

That meme of the guy struggling while holding multiple people with leashes? That Tim with the Batfam.

Nobody is thinking Tim is going to become insane, he is the one supposed to stop them from becoming insane.

[basalting]

a good fuckin' day

i tried so hard to have no angst in this but... alas

day two of @jasontoddweek2025 - joker - chronic pain - fear toxin

Jason is sleeping when it happens. OR, Jason Todd on the day the Joker dies.

jason todd & babs gordon, jason todd & bruce wayne - character death (obviously) - 3064 words

Jason is still sleeping when it happens.

Barely two hours after he collapsed into bed, still in his boots and jacket, a piercing alarm from the discarded helmet jolted him awake. Snarling curses and stumbling out of bed, Jason jammed an ear piece in, he and Babs had an agreement. She only ever contacted him if she had info on people fucking around in his territory or if there was an actually serious ‘all hands on deck’ type emergency, on pain of Jason destroying every bat bug he knew was planted and going to ground for at least 6 months.

After finally finishing rooting out a arms smuggling deal that included assholes trying to slip in faulty weapons guaranteed to explode and some idiot trying their hand at being the next Scarecrow, if this was anything less than the fucking apocalypse, Jason might have to break the duffel bag out again.

“Fuckin’ what?!”

“You haven’t heard yet?” Barbie’s voice was unfiltered for once, she sounded… Exhilarated? Shocked? There was some repressed emotion in the barely there tremble in her voice. Jason went still, mind racing. There hadn’t been any whispers of the big movers doing anything. When he’d finally dragged his weary ass home, Gotham had been at as much equilibrium as it ever had.

“Heard what O?”

Babs was quiet for a moment, Jason’s shoulders were starting to ache from how tense he was. “Jay… I need you to know that what I’m about to tell you is true, my Dad and B are already on the scene and they’ve confirmed it’s real. Okay?”

Oh fuck, Jason thought, Dick’s dead.

That had to be it, there was no other reason for Babs to ring the alarm. For B and the commish to be confirming T.O.D. Dickhead was dead.

His hands were shaking, his breathing kept even only by force of habit. Fuck. Dick was supposed to be coming to ‘Lian’s-giving.’ That stupid fuck-ass holiday Roy threw every year for Lian’s not-birthday that the old Titans and the Outlaws were all dragged into. Dick promised to teach her to juggle this year. Now he was dead.

Faintly he heard Babs talking, her voice getting louder and more urgent. He didn’t know if he could listen to it, if he could handle hearing how Dick had died. Didn’t know if he could handle not knowing.

“Jason!”

“Fuck!”

Babs’ voice was suddenly a roar in his ear, volume remotely increased so that it set his head ringing.

“Sorry,” Babs said, at a less ear piercing level, “you went dead silent on me Jay. Did you hear me?”

“Yeah…” Jason sighed, scrubbing his hand over his face and leaning back against the table. “So… How’d it happen?”

“They’ll need to do an autopsy,” Just the word made Jason’s skin crawl, “but it’s looking like a ischaemic stroke. There’s no wounds on the body. Well,” There was bitter amusement in Babs voice, “no fresh wounds.”

“Jesus…” A stroke. A fucking stroke is what got Dick? Not any of this cape life bullshit? Unless the stroke is because of all the head trauma that hard-headed ass has- had gone through.

“If you wanted to go see, maybe go piss on the body for me, I’ll send you the location.”

”What the fuck did you just say?” Jason snarled, “You think I’m gonna fucking piss on Dick’s body? You think I’m that much of a fucking bastard? You can go fuck yourself Barbara you fucking sanctimonious fu-“

Barbara’s sounded baffled as she, once again, overrode his volume - partially deafening him, “Who said anything about Dick?”

“What?”

“What?”

There was a beat of silence before Barbara slowly asked, “Jason… Why do you think I want you to… piss on Dick?”

“He’s dead isn’t he.” Jason said flatly, staring at the gloomy sky through his shitty cracked window. “That’s why you used the emergency line.”

“Oh Jay,” Barbara said with a soft laugh, “Dick’s fine. I told B to update him and he’s been blowing up my phone. He’s doing shots in San Fran’ right now to celebrate.”

“Oh…” The relief almost made his head spin, Dick was still alive to be an annoying (and annoyingly helpful) shithead. Still alive to teach Lian how to juggle and to scream a little sense into B’s dense fucking skull and to fuck around at the edge of Red Hood’s territory on quiet nights until they ended up in a game of city-wide tag.

“Then what the fuck Barbie? Who’s fuckin’ dead??”

“The Joker!” Babs burst out, delighted and vindicated and shaking with relief. "That's what I was trying to tell you!"

Jason fully collapsed, legs giving out from under him. It didn’t seem real, couldn’t be real. Finally, after years of torment and a mountain of bodies and so much fucking pain. The Joker… dead?

“You’re sure?” He asked urgently, hand coming up to cup his ear, as if it might disappear before Babs could talk, “You’re really sure? He’s dead? And it’s him? Not a fucking clone or a- fuck a body double or- or- a shitty cosplayer? Or-“

“It’s him Jason.” Her voice was soft, throwing him back to his Robin days, to one of the serial killer cases they’d worked, to Batgirl gently pulling out of a room soaked in old blood and stinking of rot. (Cass and Steph carried her mantle well, but Babs would always be Jason’s Batgirl.) “I’ve got CCTV of his cell leading back to when B dropped him off after his last break out. I’ve scrubbed through all of it, there’s nothing missing. Dad’s already sent off for a DNA test and B’s got his own samples to check. But yeah Jay, it’s really him.”

Tears, hot as blood, carved burning lines down his cheeks. He inhaled shakily, “Can you- Can you send it to me? The footage. I need to- I need to see.”

“Of course Jay.” A beat of quiet, “Do you want to see him? To go check yourself? Dad’s holding people off until B clears out, we can get you in to see him before he’s taken to the morgue.”

Jason was tired, he fucking stunk to be honest, he needed a shower and a meal and about sixteen beers and a nap, in no particular order.

But he needed to see. It wouldn’t be real, until he saw.

“Yeah… You want me to pick you up? I’ll brace him so you can run him over.”

Babs laughed, too loud with relief, “Nah, I’ll go once he’s at the morgue. I want to make sure the coroners report is done before I let Harley know.”

Jason’s smile was wide and tear stained and bloodthirsty, at the thought of Harley finding out the Joker was dead. For real, not coming back, was exhilarating. He’d never like Harley, knew she was a victim of the Joker’s as well, but part of him would always wonder if she would’ve laughed at the Joker killing him if she’d still be with him at the time. But he knew she helped Babs out. Occasionally moonlighted as one of Babs’ Birds of Prey, and - from one Joker survivor to another - he wouldn’t begrudge her this joy.

“I’ll head to Arkham then. See ya later O.”

No time for a shower, Jason dropped the ear piece on the table as he hauled himself over to the sink to wash his face. Bruce would just have to deal with him, stinking and lightly bloodstained and all.

—————

Arkham was a rotten shithole, as always. The Bridge was closed off, cop cars blocking the entrance, but when Red Hood rolled up an officer muttered into her radio, waited a moment then motioned to one of the cars.

“Hey Hood,” Her voice was the harsh rasp of someone who smoked a lot, tired eyes squinting at his helmet above where his eyes were, “Give the bastard a kick in the nuts for me would ya?”

Hood nodded, riding between the cars as soon as the gap widened. Arkham’s gates were open, unsurprisingly, the floodlights on bright even against the gloomy morning and, more surprisingly, RR’s bike was parked by the entrance. Hood skidded to a stop, spraying some of the gravel over RR’s bike as he parked.

“Seriously?” The doors to Arkam swung open and Red Robin stomped out, a matte black bag almost invisible under his cape. “You can’t not be an asshole for one fucking day?”

“I never take a day off.” Hood responded, voice scrambler disguising his smirk from everyone except RR himself. “Is that-?”

“Yes.” RR said business-like, brushing the larger pieces of gravel off his seat and making a face at the dust. “Batman is still with the commissioner but he asked me to do a pick up so we can start analyzing the evidence as soon as possible.”

Translation: B’s a paranoid fuck and if this isn’t the real Joker he wants to know as quickly as possible. If it wasn’t the Joker, somehow. Then B would want to start investigating who might be helping the Joker fake his death and go to ground. Not that Jason could blame him, he fully intended to take his own samples. Just to make sure.

“Surprised he could even reach out,” Hood said quietly, ducking in close to muffle his words from the asylum workers and cops milling about, “Thought you kept your shit on DND when you’re at your boyfriends.”

“I was already awake,” RR muttered back, fussing with the bag as he settled on his bike.

“Oh my,” Hood grinned, “gettin’ it early Red? So was it your wake up call? Or his?”

RR’s face didn’t twitch but Hood saw those ears turning red. “Goodbye Hood.”

Hood cackled as he watched RR race out the gates and down the bridge, before shouldering his way through the doors. A shrink tried to stop him as he stalked through the halls, but Red Hood simply ignored them. Babs directions were pulled up on his HUD and even the rabbits warren that was Arkham wouldn’t keep him distracted.

The Joker had been hidden away in the isolation cells of the high security (HA!) patient ward, it was eerily quiet when Hood finally approached the open door. Commissioner Gordon looked like shit, exhausted and coffee-stained, his tie mostly undone and a fresh cigarette clenched between his teeth. He nodded at Hood when he stepped into the cell.

“Any other bats or birds I should expect this morning?” He said it with the tired amusement of someone who didn’t expect an answer.

“No.” B slowly lifted his head, still crouched over the body that looked like it had fallen off the bed. “Red Hood is the only one coming to Arkham.” A pause. “There will probably be break ins at the morgue.”

“Fuck me.” Gordon sighed. B and Hood shrugged at him, the Joker had a lot of enemies and a lot of people who’d love to take a swing at his corpse.

Hood crouched next to Batman, snapping on the gloves Batman silently offered him. The body was almost skeletally thin, greasy hair a sickly green and the bright orange Arkham jumpsuit made the pale skin almost ghostly. Hood grabbed a fistful of hair and tilted the head towards him.

The body was stiff, rigor mortis keeping the neck tight and inflexible, Batman braced a hand on the body’s shoulder - helping move it without adding more damage. The Joker’s unpainted face grinned back at him. Hood almost jolted back, almost expected the Joker to pop his eyes fully open and laugh in his face. Batman shifted, pressing his knee into Hood’s thigh.

The helmet captured the sound of his shaky breath before it could be heard. He nodded slightly at Batman, letting him brace the Joker’s body while Hood pulled out a small samples kit.

“Seriously?” Gordon groaned, “Is there going to be any fucking blood left for my coroner once you’re all done with him? I thought you were trying to prevent the vampire accusations Batman.”

B grunted, tapping a gloved hand to the puncture wound he’d taken his sample from. “The average male adult body has 5.7 litres of blood, I highly doubt your coroner will notice a few vials of blood missing.”

Hood side-eyed Batman through his helmet, somehow he thought Batman had taken more than a couple vials of blood on his own. The blood was thick and dark in the vial, already coagulating in the veins. Hood tucked his (single) vial into the kit, bagging some hairs he carelessly ripped out of the scalp and swapping the inside of the clowns mouth before he nodded for Batman to let go. Batman lowered the body gently, more to preserve the scene than out of respect for the body.

“Y’done then?” Gordon asked, ashing his cigarette into the small toilet in the cell.

Hood started to nod as he and Batman rose to their feet when he paused, grinned, and then said, “Well, O did have a request for me.”

B went still at his tone, and Gordon frowned at him. Gordon knew who Oracle was, even if everyone politely pretended he didn’t, “What’d she want?”

“She asked me to piss on the clowns corpse so-“ Hood hooked his hand in the waistband of his jeans, Gordon jolted cursing before Batman sighed and put a hand on his elbow.

“Please don’t tamper with the crime scene Red Hood.”

“Fine.” Hood send turning on his heel, more than ready to be out of this cell, out of Arkham as a whole. Dick had the right idea, he’d set the samples analyzing and then get spectacularly wasted. “Later Commish, B.”

Without looking back, without stopping, Hood left the Joker’s corpse in it’s pathetic cell.

——————

Jason made it out of Arkham, into the city proper and most of the way home before his hands started shaking too hard for him to stay straight on his bike. His chest was tight, dizzy as if he couldn’t breath properly. He dumped his bike in one of the hidden cache’s he wasn’t supposed to know about and hunkered down on the roof of a nearby building. Below him Gotham was alive with people, cars honking and people chattering and it was a dizzying, frenetic mess that he couldn’t quite focus on.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he freaking out??

Shouldn’t there be less shit to freak out about? The clown was dead. Why was he still freaking out?

There was a soft scuff on the ground.

“Hood.”

Batman folded himself down, crouching well out of Jason’s reach. Or- No, crouching so Jason/was out of his reach, with his freaky long ass gibbon arms. Jason pressed harder against the air conditioning unit against his back, the firm pressure forcing him into the here and now.

“Jay-lad…”

Batman flicked the opaque lens away from his cowl, tired and worried blue eyes tracked over him. “You’re alright lad.” Bruce said quietly, “You’re safe.”

“I don’t- I don’t get why,” Jason gasped out, clawing at his helmet and dropping it at his side. The sweat from wearing a full cover helmet and the sweat from this- this fucking panic attack made him feel kind of like he was drowning with it on. “I was fine! So why-“

“It’s alright,” Bruce soothed, his eyes cold and gentle. Bruce was always easiest to understand when you looked at his eyes. Privately Jason thought that was why he developed the opaque lens, why Brucie Wayne was defined by his lazy half lidded gaze. “You don’t-“ Bruce hesitated a bit, eyes pinching at the corners. “You don’t have to be fine, Jason. It’s okay if you aren’t. I-“ Bruce inhaled, set his shoulders.

“I’m not fine.”

Despite himself, Jason barked out a laugh. “That’s obvious old man.”

Bruce huffed a laugh, “Guess I walked into that one. No Jason, I mean I’m not fine about the Joker. Being dead.” Bruce’s fists clenched, “I’ve thought he was dead before, been sure of it. I hope all the samples prove it’s him. I hope he’s really truly dead. But I’ve bet on the Joker being gone before and I don’t know if I can ever trust that he’s truly gone. And that’s okay.”

Bruce shuffled closer, inch by inch, until he could hold Jason’s hands. So gently that the rough textured material of his gauntlets didn’t hurt at all. “It’s okay if you can’t believe it yet Jason. Or ever.”

Jason sighed, tipped forward until his forehead thunked onto the hard line of the Batsuit. Breathed.

“Yeah.” He said eventually, “It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get ya, right old man?”

Bruce huffed again, “That’s right Jay-lad.” He lifted a hand up, gently stroked it through Jason’s hair. On any other day Jason wouldn’t of allowed it, would’ve already snapped at B and run off.

But today the Joker was dead.

Today he could let his- his dad comfort him.

They stayed together, in the bubble of quiet on the roof, until Jason’s hands stopped shaking. Until breathing felt less like a fight.

“I should go.” Jason muttered finally, leaning out of Bruce’s hold to pick up his helmet. “Need to go shower ‘n’ shit.”

“Well,” Bruce said, “I didn’t want to say anything lad, but you are smelling a little ripe.”

Jason paused, then lunged. Bruce rolled away from the wild grab, pulling out his grapple. “Come back here mother fucker! You want ripe, I’ll fucking show you ripe you old fuck!”

Bruce leapt off the roof, grappling away. Towards the batmobile and off to return to the manor.

And Jason turned away, leaping off the roof towards home. Towards his bed and his shower and the six-pack of beer in his fridge.

Before his feet Gotham pulsed with life, the story must of broken because he could hear people gasping. Snippets of conversation. All saying the same thing.

’He’s dead-’

’The Joker’s dead!’

’Found dead in Arkham-‘

’-good riddance-‘

’about fucking time!’

’-today’s gonna be a good fuckin’ day.’

Jason laughed, arched into his next swing. The Joker is dead, he thought. It was a good fuckin’ day.

[mikakuna]

i don't think we talk enough about how genuinely fucked it was that people called in to vote on a child character's death. like yeah he's fictional but also what the fuck

[zuzuzuko]

hopefully other comic runs will just continue to ignore whatever the fuck Zdarsky is doing because the whole batfam moving in with Bruce is such a cringe idea

[justgleekout]

Blaine looked up at his boyfriend, his mouth agape. “I never thought you’d like to bottom,” he said in a breathy voice.

“Only with you,” Kurt panted.

Full artwork on Ao3

[fourswords]

"blue would hate shadow" WRONG did you people even SEE how devastated he was when shadow died. blue's entire THING is going "ARGH WHATEVER I DON'T CARE" and then he proceeds to care so fucking deeply about everything. RED, on the other hand, ABSOLUTELY has a precedent for pulling some shit like. idk. locking shadow in a room full of light energy (or something like that) and then when the other three links are yelling at him to let shadow out he's just like "oh but isn't it so much more peaceful around here like this? teehee!!! :3 alright alright i'm just kidding!! i'll let him out now <3" like that little shit didn't even have the barest minimum of a REACTION when shadow died and he canonically holds grudges even if it's not for very long. blue and shadow would not be at each other's throats bro shadow would be hiding behind blue every time red comes into his line of sight for at least a week and a half because red keeps smiling and waving at him in a manner that somehow manages to be both cheerful and threatening at once. except nobody notices it but shadow so blue thinks he's fucking nuts but keeps letting him hide behind him anyway

[lemon-russ]

I can't live anymore. All I think about is fictional man dick. I really need to start socialising and stop writing. I visited my hometown and one of my childhood friends brought up some of my crushes. I felt comfortable enough to go on a rant about 40k putting emphasis on how hot are the Astartes and the Primarchs. After I ran out of breath, my friend said "You really haven't changed". Memories fucking hit me like a truck at that moment. As a 14-year-old, I fell in love almost daily with celebrities or characters from books and video games. It's just that those feelings turned sexual when I got older. I am in bed currently, remembering one time when I was 17, after my first breakup, crying my ass off not because of my ex but because I knew any of the men I simped for wouldn't do that. I calmed down by writing and reading some very fluffy fanfics about War from Darksiders. In 4 weeks, I got over the break up and fell in love with Woods from the old Black Ops series. I guess I was always 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

Anon.

Anon. *takes you by the shoulders*

I used to carry around and sleep with an Itachi Uchiha plush like it was my lawfully wedded husband. When I was like 13 I cried because Itachi Uchiha from Naruto was not and could never be a real person.

I remember breaking up with my highschool girlfriend and thinking "if (fictional woman i dont even remember who at this point) was real SHE wouldn't have done that"

I had a hand drawn pillowcase (drawn by my best friend who was also so mentally ill with me) of a niche Utau (knockoff vocaloid) character that I thought I lost in the wash and cried so hard I almost threw up.

Im putting myself on blast here but yeah no I get you LMFAO I've always been Not Good about fictional people ✨️ you're among unwell friends here hahahaha

[pattydia]

for the post about fic prompts in the inbox - maybe something about tappert? 👀

It’s not something Eugene mentions to the others as he’s recounting the story — its likely something he’ll take to his early grave — but when he first found Tappert sitting there, stock-still and smiling, surrounded with viscera and blonde hair dyed red, he hadn’t felt frightened, or disgusted, not really. Just sorry. Sorry in the way that he feels sorry for the emaciated dogs who descend on the cold battlefield like vultures to lap up the gore, their ribs showing through patches of burnt, hairless skin.

Because Tappert is the smallest guy in the squadron, stature-wise, but his raucous laugh and go-to-hell drawl and skill with a gun all give him the wherewithal of a much larger man. But when Eugene knelt beside him in the dirt, turned to mud by blood and piss, he had looked like a child. Pink-cheeked. Skin and bones. As if Eugene could have folded him inside his coat and carried him away from the wreckage.

So Eugene hadn’t felt frightened until Tappert held up his hands, big and bruised and pulpy, and said your move. He hadn’t felt frightened until he saw the red string laced between his fingers, a child’s plaything, delicate and complex and impossible to recreate alone.

Hey, he’d said, voice thick and faraway sounding, Tappert. Come on. It’s alright. You’re alright.

He wasn’t alright, of course, but Eugene didn’t know it then.

Now, in the attic, Tappert looks the same as he did on the day he killed all those boys. Fragile. Folded into himself. Eyes enormous and wet and gleaming. Eugene looks at his dirty, freckled face and swallows dryly and feels ill.

My father was a milkman, Tappert is saying. My mother was my dead mother, now a memory. When he grabs Eugene by the collar Eugene can feel the heat pouring off him in waves, heavy with the scent of dirt and rot.

“Are you sick?” Eugene asks, pressing a palm into Tappert’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Quit your worrying,” Tappert drawls thickly. “You sound like my wife, nancy boy.”

“You’re married?” Eugene didn’t know that. He doesn’t know much of anything about the guy, even now.

“Not anymore,” Tappert says, grinning. It’s not a nice smile; his eyes are fixed and glazed. “She died with my baby in ‘er belly.”

“Oh, god.” Eugene looks at the ground so he doesn’t have to look at Tappert’s twisted face. “I’m so … sorry.”

“You know God don’t love us, right?” Tappert continues, bony fingers hooking beneath Eugene’s chin and lifting it so they’re nose to nose. Eugene shivers wildly. “You’re dyin’ for your country and He still don’t love you, turtledove.”

Eugene nods. They’re so close that he can smell Tappert’s sour breath, can see the stains on his teeth from years of cigarettes and weak coffee and bile.

“I know.”

This answer pleases Tappert; he pats Eugene on the cheek. His eyes spark.

“That’s good. Real good. Now take off those fuckin’ glasses, pet. Lemme see your face.” Tappert’s voice is low, lower than Eugene has ever heard it.

Eugene’s stomach twists. He feels his face go hot and red.

“Tappert, come on. You’re sick. You’ve got a fever, you’re not well, lay down.” He thinks of calling down to the others for help. He thinks of the rifle slung across Tappert’s lap.

“I’m right as rain,” Tappert says, still grinning. He reaches up and takes the glasses off himself; Eugene hears them clatter to the rotting attic floor.

“What are you —“ Eugene asks, heart jackrabbiting in his sternum, mouth filling with saliva.

“There,” Tappert interrupts, licking his lips. Self-satisfied and cruel. “Knew it. Pretty as a picture, you are.”

“I don’t …” Eugene can’t think. Tappert’s gaze is so intense, pupils blown, tear tracks shining pink and clean through the dirt on his cheeks. Eugene is distantly aware of something terrible happening under his own kit, below the belt.

“God don’t love us,” Tappert repeats, “so it ain’t like you gotta worry about fallin’ out of His favor.”

“Tappert,” Eugene says thickly. “I’m not —“

“Christ,” Tappert groans, irritated, hands massive and deft on the tarnished buttons of Eugene’s jacket. “Neither am I. It’s wartime, pet.” He laughs like that explains it, explains everything. The noise goes right between Eugene’s legs.

Tappert puts down the rifle and gets on his knees. Eugene wonders if he’s hallucinating as Tappert hooks purple fingertips beneath his waistband. Eugene wonders if he’s snapped, fully and finally, when he feels Tappert’s mustache scrape over the skin below his navel.

Tappert reaches into Eugene’s military-issued trousers and takes his dick out; Eugene stares at the ceiling and tries to quiet his breathing. Tappert’s calloused palm is so hot around him that it feels like a brand.

“Oh,” Eugene breathes, and Tappert laughs.

“Anybody ever did this to you before?” Tappert doesn’t wait for an answer; instead, he seals his mouth around the head of Eugene’s dick.

Nobody ever had done it to Eugene before, so the feeling — warm and wet and tight as any woman — forces a shout from him, makes his hands come down and grip frantically at the thick wool of Tappert’s cap.

Tappert makes a little snorting noise and when Eugene dares to look down his shining eyes are crinkled like he’s laughing. His lips are red and his ruddy cheeks are hollowed and he’s gazing at Eugene through his thick blanket of eyelashes as he works his head up and down.

Eugene’s hips buck up; he can’t help it. He can feel himself hit the back of Tappert’s soft palate and the hum that vibrates through him as he gags.

“Jesus Christ,” Eugene whispers. He reaches down and thumbs a tear off of Tappert’s shining face. He feels numb. He feels like he’s watching himself from the corner of the room. He thinks of acrid smoke and bombs and the sounds men make before they die. He thinks of skinny dogs and red string and blonde curls on detached heads. He digs his fingernails into his palms and comes down Tappert’s wet throat.

“There we go,” Tappert says afterwards as he gets up off the floor, wiping his swollen lips. “It’s alright. Don’t you cry, turtledove.”

Tappert shoulders his rifle and disappears down the creaking staircase. Eugene reaches up to wipe his face. His fingers come away wet.

[pfctipper]

where was the bastogne musical number

[silverchainbee]

Growing up is revisiting Kingdom Hearts in my 20s and realising that Riku had the better character arc and was a much more complex and detailed character after being a serious Sora girl for years.

[umbrellajam]

sure would be nice. if people could debunk a dumb exaggerated/incorrect fanon without people immediately turning it 180° and happily hauling ass right into another dumb exaggerated/incorrect fanon. while gleefully crowing about how canon and correct this opposite take is.

sure would be nice 🙃

[pastempomat]

if i was born with a penis i would be unstoppable and that's a quite popular opinion amongst people who know me irl