Feb 23
Lmao Batman is daddy, clown is mommy. 1000% correct, Chip! Also this is extremely funny Joker writing
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Lmao Batman is daddy, clown is mommy. 1000% correct, Chip! Also this is extremely funny Joker writing
I’m not planning to make a new reader, but I love imagining No. 2 (Riddler’s assistant that creates legit businesses and keeps riddler from being broke) and how they are so unimpressed with him and force him to do legit work.
Riddler, in his cell with his arms crossed: “I don’t want to do it.”
No. 2, about to steal the guard’s baton and whack riddler with it: “If you don’t finish this escape room design by 5 pm today, I will tell Penguin about how you were the one who scratched his car.”
Riddler, terrified and angry as he works on the escape room designs.
I heard we were slandering headmates?
(Also you can tell this is rushed because I NEVER FRONT...I didn't want to lose out on the idea)
PT under cut
19,08,2025
back to my roots
Everything in Transit
An accident leaves Natasha without her memories, without anyone to guide her, and the Red Room chasing after her, the odds are not in her favour… unless those that love her find her first.
Whumptober 2025: Day 2 - Taking Accountability
Warnings: self blame, injuries, worry(?)
Word Count: 1.2k
Summary: everyone panics, it’s what happens when bombs go off in a wedding, the ensuing chaos leads to confusion, and the question; where is Natasha?
Whumptober Masterlist/Masterlist of Fic / ao3
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LONDON / OCTOBER 01 / 16:37PM
Sirens wail.
It’s all Tony hears. The rise and fall of it seems to be as panicked as he is.
“Sir, we will have to sedate you,” the paramedics starts.
“Your wounds they need surgery, the arch crushed your leg, we need to make sure it didn’t do anything else,” he continues.
“Pepper?” he asks again.
“Natasha,” he starts, the thought lost amongst the grief that threatens to drown him.
“Rhodey?”
“Happy?”
He continues to list the names of people he loves, but the paramedics look at him blankly.
“Give him something for the pain,” the other decides as Tony’s voice cracks, and he shudders against the pillow.
“We’re almost there,” they say. He’s not sure which one, as the drugs drag him under.
“Wait.”
“Tell them,” Tony starts.
“Tell them… Natasha….”
But the drugs take hold before he finishes his thought.
.
“I’m fine,” Steve growls, “just get me some more pants, these ones are burnt.”
It still feels hot agains his skin, though he’s sure, judging by the way his skin feels new and tight that his body is already healing.
The smaller man nods, his police uniform too big on his skinny body. Steve tries not to draw any parallels.
People are everywhere and he’s sure a helicopter just landed somewhere in the park.
“Get me a phone, mine was fried in the flashbang.”
His hands are still shaking.
He can’t get images of war out of his head.
The explosions.
Again, he didn’t move fast enough.
Again, he let people down.
It was his fault.
Quotes from “John & Paul: A Love Story In Songs”
CHAPTER 2: I LOST MY LITTLE GIRL
“Around the time he heard Paul’s song, John came up with what he later regarded as his first song: ‘Hello Little Girl.’ [...] ‘Hello Little Girl’ is a more fully formed song than ‘I Lost My Little Girl.’ It stayed in the repertoire of the Quarry Men and then the Beatles for years. [...] There is an echo of Paul’s song in its title: a suggestion that even at this stage, the two were borrowing and building on each other’s ideas.”
“As 1957 turned into 1958, the friendship deepened at an accelerating rate. [...] Liverpool College of Art was on Hope Street, not far from the city center, and it happened to adjoin Paul’s high school, the Liverpool Institute. [...] John and Paul now spent their weekdays divided only by walls. They met frequently and illicitly, skipping their respective classes, exiting their respective buildings and meeting up on Hope Street. John would have his guitar. They’d walk to the bus stop and catch a double-decker to the southern suburbs. Up on the top deck they would smoke, strum, and talk. Half an hour later they would be inside Paul’s house, usually empty during the day. Paul would grab his guitar, and the two of them would sit in the small living room, or ‘front parlor’, face to face.”
“Paul pointed out that John’s banjo chords were different from guitar chords, and showed him the right shapes to make. Paul’s reversed guitar meant that the two of them could act as mirrors for each other. Years later, Paul recalled that John had beautiful hands. [...] Lennon’s humor, savage and silly, cracked Paul up, and John realized that in Paul he had not just an audience, but a foil.”
“They went to John’s house too, though less often because it was rarely empty, and Aunt Mimi was rather strict. [...] She didn’t welcome noise inside the house and insisted they stood in the front porch, or vestibule. The porch’s high roof and tiled floor endowed their voices with an Elvis-like echo. They worked out harmonies, John taking the lower part. One boy stood with his back to the outside, the other with his back to the house, close enough to feel the other’s breath.”
“They were playing the rock and roll songs they loved, but they were also doing something extraordinary: coming up with songs of their own. [...] John or Paul might come to the other with a scrap of an idea, a chorus or a title, and together they would try to make it into something. This meant overcoming another barrier. Anyone who has created something knows how exposed you feel when showing someone your unfinished work. Yet these two trusted each other enough to do so, even when the work they shared was full of feelings. The more they shared, the closer they became.”
“John did not talk about his mother’s death with Paul but the event cemented their bond. It’s common for someone who is bereaved to want to be with someone who knew and liked the one who has passed away, and John knew that Paul understood something of what he was going through. McCartney later said: ‘Each of us knew that had happened to the other… at that age you’re not allowed to be devastated, and particularly as young boys, teenage boys, you just shrug it off.’ It shattered them, he said, but they had to hide how broken they felt. ‘I’m sure I formed shells and barriers in that period that I’ve got to this day. John certainly did.’
Shells and barriers are defensive fortifications, but for John and Paul this shared trauma also blasted open an underground tunnel through which they were able to communicate in secret from the rest of the world, and even from themselves. In music they could say what they felt without having to say it. The songs they wrote and sang together were not ‘about’ their feelings — they were their feelings, including those for each other.”
“The 1969 group rendition of ‘I Lost My Little Girl’ that was captured in Jackson’s Get Back happened toward the end of the January sessions, in a studio the Beatles built for themselves at the headquarters of their then-new record label. [...] [Paul] says to John, ‘We’re in a recording studio again, in London, making another album… It’s just funny to realize that after this is all over you’ll be off in a black bag somewhere, at the Albert Hall.’ The mildly derogatory reference to Lennon’s peace tour with Yoko Ono hints at how McCartney feels about where his partner’s attention is now focused. He knows that what John and Paul make together is no longer the central concern of John’s life, and although he does not admit it, he is hurting. John can tell; he feels it too.”
Chosen One
@whumptober prompt no.2 - Prophecy
TW: beating
Ice cold water brought him gasping back to consciousness. Arthur looked around, water streaming down his face. He was sprawled on a hard, cold floor, the room dimly lit. Not a room. A cell.
A pair of boots came into his vision, and he slowly followed them up until he was looking at a guard. As soon as he made eye contact, the man kicked him squarely in the stomach, rolling him onto his back with an ‘oof’.
“He’s awake,” the guard reported.
“Got an observant one there,” Arthur muttered.
He didn’t need to ask where he was. The raiding party that had surrounded them in the forest wore Cenred’s livery. He gritted his teeth as the memories came flooding back: the ambush, his men falling, fighting for their lives. They’d been outnumbered almost five to one and although the Knights of Camelot were good, they weren’t infallible.