Dc Universe - Blog Posts

A potato flew around my room before you came…

Did somebody order a wake up call?

Is that HyperClarkmentation?

I'm Still Standing

The League felt like they had a strong sense of Phantom’s power. After all, they wouldn’t have asked him to join the team, otherwise. He’s strong, he can fly, and due to his supernatural nature, he’s amazing on recon and stealth missions. He’s also incredibly reliable, and smarter than most people give him credit for. He’s a natural hero, a more snarky Captain Marvel, some news outlets have been saying. Always saving people with just the right words to say, with a humble smile on his face. 

Phantom, with all of his power, seemed untouchable in every definition of the word. 

And then they got invaded by Darkseid. 

It wasn’t the first time Darkseid had invaded Earth, but it was the first time bringing armies so large, the first time he’s attacked all over the world to spread the League thin. It is single handedly the worst alien invasion Earth has ever had. 

Batman, bleeding out on the sidewalk, Wonder Woman knocked unconscious and restrained by a nearly egregious amount of henchmen, Superman, weak from the kryptonite Darkseid had shot him with. Thankfully it had missed all the important bits, but with that bullet inside of him, Superman was also down for the count, as well as dozens of other League members. 

If it hadn’t been for Phantom, they would have lost. 

Phantom, who’s never been seen without a smile on his face until now. Phantom, who’s never had so much as a scratch on him, until now. Phantom, who has only ever been known to be kind and compassionate, even to his villains, until now. 

Usually there’s this sort of warm, comforting feeling that radiates from Phantom. It feels like a nice breeze on a warm summer’s day, a nice cup of hot cocoa, your favorite song. It’s a feeling of safety, as if everything will be alright just because he’s there. 

Here, though, something else, something much stronger, is radiating from him. It practically rolls off of him in huge waves, making those conscious around him more aggravated, more on edge.

Phantom pulls himself off of the ground. His suit is torn, and his green blood splattered on himself and the ground. He spits a glob of it out, along with a tooth. 

“Still, you stand,” Darkseid says, as if tired. “Do you not tire in the face of your own demise?”

“As long as I’m still standing, you won’t ever win,” Phantom says. His voice is low and threatening, reverberating eerily off of the broken infrastructure that surrounds them. It sends a chill down everybody’s spines, though if Darkseid is affected, he doesn’t show it. 

“Your comrades have fallen, your militaries have failed, and you have no other help arriving. Pray tell how one singular human will be able to take me down!” 

Phantom doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he walks forward so that his friends are behind him, and braces himself. Darkseid, unable to contain his own hubris, lets Phantom come closer. 

Phantom takes in a deep breath, as if he’s about to speak.  

Instead he wails. 

Any remaining glass shatters, raining down upon them as green sound waves push back the offending forces. 

And it’s loud, of course. The ears of Darkseid’s minions are bleeding, and many of them are either dying because it’s too much for them to bear, or they’re killing themselves to give themselves some modicum of relief. But it’s also more than that, more than noise. 

It’s mourning. 

The first feeling that overwhelms everyone is anger. Phantom’s anger at Darkseid, at the destruction, at the fact that he just can’t catch a fucking break and it’s not fair. The second, is the sadness. It weighs down upon their shoulders, suffocating them like smog. It invades every part of their being-their lungs, their joints, their very hearts-and it presses and presses and presses until there’s very nearly nothing left. 

Phantom still pushes on. He is nothing if not persistent, driven to fight, driven to protect his people, his team, his friends, his family. No mortal being could ever hope to have a lung capacity like this, but Phantom is no normal mortal, and Darkseid is finally starting to come to terms with that. 

The last wave of overwhelming emotion is more of an idea than it is an actual feeling. It’s not a threat, per se, but a promise. A promise to do everything in his power to destroy Darkseid and his forces permanently and with prejudice. A promise that no matter how hard Darkseid fights, he will not win. 

A promise that, if knocked down, Phantom will stand back up, and he will not lose. 

Eventually, after what feels like eternity, the wail dies down. There isn’t a single member of Darkseid’s army that’s still on their feet or in the air. Phantom collapses down to one knee, and bright, white rings flicker around his person for just a moment, before he wills them away and stands back up. 

It’s less walking towards Darkseid, and more stalking. They are not on equal footing. Phantom is the predator in every sense of the word, his anger and grief still radiating off of his body in ways that Darkseid is unable to comprehend. 

“Do you yield?” Phantom asks. His eyes are blazing green, burning into Darkseid’s very soul. It is a sort of animalistic, primal instinct deep within him that tells him, run, run as fast as you can. Darkseid’s hubris, however, remains unmatched. 

Even as he stares Death in the eye. 

“I do not,” Darkseid says. He tries to get to his feet, but his body won’t listen, still weighed down by the effects of Phantom’s wail. 

“Then as Phantom, King of the Dead, I hereby condemn you for the rest of your afterlife.”

“Don’t count your eggs yet, boy,” Darkseid spits. “I’m still alive.”

“No,” Phantom says, in a tone adjacent to someone who’s giving their condolences, “You’re not.”

Phantom gestures beside them, and Darkseid spares a glance and sees…Himself. 

His corpse is splayed on the ground, blood spurting out of his ears, nose, and eyes. He stares lifelessly up at the sky. The blood is still leaking down the sides of his face. 

“You’re dead now, Darkseid, and therefore under my jurisdiction. Due to your extensive list of crimes you will not receive a hearing, just your eternal damnation for the sins you’ve committed.”

Phantom waves his hand, and green chains and manacles appear on Darkseid’s wrists and ankles before he’s dusted out of existence, sent to his eternal punishment in another dimension. 

As soon as he’s gone, Phantom collapses to his knees. 

He’s not sure how long he’s there, sitting in the blood of those he’s killed, before Wonder Woman comes over. She’s covered in gashes and bruises and blood that isn’t hers, but she still stands tall and proud. A battle won is a reason for celebration, after all. 

He glances behind her, sees Superman taking Batman into his arms and flying off. 

Diana doesn’t ask him questions about how he’s feeling. A victory is a victory, sure, but not without its price. 

Instead, she holds out her hand. Danny grasps it, and allows her to help him to his feet. 

“As long as you can stand, you can win,” Diana says. “I think I’ll have to use that for my next big speech.”

“By all means,” Phantom tells her. “Just be sure to credit me.”

“Deal.”

Batfamily - 530*160

Artist : Lan.C

It's been a while...but I'm back, with Billy's weapon already made for the One Piece crossover. I based it on Nami's Clima-tact, made by Usopp. Here he has some forms!

With its initial form, it is a stick that can increase width, with a knife inside, improved with dials after Skypiea, Usopp gave it to Billy before they reached Water Seven. Using magic on him, Billy is able to change his shape (I based it on the wand from Star vs. the Forces of Evil.), from a magician's wand to an upgraded wand.

An extra form is a weapon, especially a Kusarigama, I personally like this weapon. But, Billy will probably use katanas in the future too, he changes weapons just like Nami changes her clothes. A lot.

And...that's it. Sorry if my English is bad! I don't speak English fluently yet 😥

Cherry-On-Top Cheesecake pretty please and I’m going to steal a cookie too :) *Shoves a cookie in my mouth and runs*

"Golden Hour"

Pairing: Duke Thomas x GN!Reader Setting: Gotham, early evening in spring

Duke wasn’t sure what surprised him more — that he had a free evening, or that you actually said yes.

Now you were both walking side by side under the gold-streaked sky of early evening, the sun dipping behind Gotham’s skyline like it was shy. The two of you were sharing a drink from a café neither of you had ever tried, just because it was there and open and the patio had twinkly lights strung overhead.

Duke caught himself glancing at you again — quick, subtle. You looked... happy. At ease. Maybe a little nervous, but not in a bad way. More like is this a date? I kind of hope it is nervous.

“I’m glad we did this,” you said softly, nudging his arm with yours. “You don’t get many chances to actually chill, do you?”

Duke chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, not unless you count rooftop stakeouts and dodging knives ‘chill.’”

You grinned. “Gotham romance at its finest.”

“Exactly,” he said, returning the smile, then hesitated. “But... I wanted this to be different. With you.”

Your steps slowed. His voice had changed — quieter, more thoughtful. You looked up at him, heart skipping once.

“I mean,” he went on, fumbling just a little, “I spend so much time trying to protect this city, or being around people who only see me as a vigilante, or... whatever. But with you, I get to just be Duke.”

You blinked at him — not because you were confused, but because no one had ever said something so honest to you before. And you could tell by the way he was looking anywhere but at you that it cost him something to say it.

“I like Duke,” you said, stopping on the path.

He stopped too, finally meeting your gaze. “Yeah?”

You stepped closer, bumping your shoulder into his gently. “Yeah. And I’m really glad you asked me out. Even if we’re still pretending it’s ‘just hanging out.’”

Duke laughed, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Okay. Fine. It’s definitely a date. Can’t take it back now.”

You smiled and held out your pinky. “Deal.”

Duke linked his hand with yours — warm, steady — and for a second neither of you let go.

Golden light flickered through the trees, catching in his curls and warming the soft smile tugging at his lips.

And just like that, the night didn’t feel like Gotham. It felt like something softer. Something yours.

The Making of a Villian - Chapter 2

The name "Duck" had followed you for years, a small, unexpected part of the legacy you built—one that you didn’t quite understand back then, but now, as a fully-fledged villain, it made all the sense in the world.

It wasn’t a loud, grand name, or one that screamed power. It was quiet, unnoticed by most, just like you had been. And perhaps that was the charm of it. The sound of it felt like a soft whisper, a reminder of where you started and how far you’d come. It wasn’t about the grandeur, the attention, or the recognition that they had all failed to give you. It was about something simple. Something you could control.

The first time you’d heard it, you were barely twelve, sneaking through the wet, grimy streets of Gotham, following Croc and his crew down into the sewers. They’d told you it was a joke at first. The way you waddled after them, not quite a threat but eager and always trailing behind like a duckling in the shadows.

That had been the moment the name stuck.

But how did it all start?

You leaned back in your chair now, letting the weight of the memory sink in. You weren’t the same naive kid you once were—chasing validation from people who never even cared to look at you. Now, as you sat in the middle of your own chaotic empire, the name didn’t feel like a joke anymore. It felt like a symbol. A testament to the quiet and steady growth of your plans.

But it all started the day you got grounded.

You had been there, sitting in the Batcave, eyes fixed on the screen in front of you, outlining a plan. Another disaster was unfolding in Gotham, and once again, you had seen it coming. It was easy, really—too easy. The way you had tracked the patterns, mapped out the potential escape routes, made sure everything would play out perfectly if you followed the right script.

You had presented it to them, as usual—quietly, carefully, just a small note on the edge of a conversation.

But it was ignored. Again.

They were too busy arguing, too caught up in the rush of being heroes to take a minute to listen to you. It wasn’t anything new. But this time, you could feel it—feel the sting of your constant invisibility.

You had a plan. You had something real to offer. And all it got you was a cold shoulder.

It wasn’t until the mission went south that anyone noticed. The hostage situation had escalated quickly. The building collapsed, lives were lost, and they were scrambling. But no one took the time to check why it had happened in the first place, why your plan was never followed through.

“Why didn’t you see this coming?” Bruce’s voice had been cold, his disappointment cutting sharper than any weapon.

“Are you sure that’s all you have to say?” You had asked, biting your tongue, your voice low. But Bruce didn’t even glance at you.

It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

After that, the grounding was inevitable. You were sent to your room, the doors locked, no one listening to you when you said you had a better way, no one even asking what you had to say.

You had spent the rest of that evening staring at the walls of your room, the reality of being ignored sinking in. Alone. Always alone.

But that night, the first of many escapes, was when you decided to make your move.

When they thought you were sleeping in the comfort of your bed, you slipped out. No alarms. No loud noises. Just a small slip through the window, down the ivy growing next to the windeo sill and into the shadows of the night you went. The mansion wasn’t your home, it was a gilded cage. So, you ran.

You had learned, over the years, the paths no one else knew about—the secret tunnels beneath the mansion, hidden entrances that the Wayne family had forgotten long ago. You knew the streets of Gotham like the back of your hand, but tonight, you weren’t headed there. You were headed underground.

The sewers.

It was where the real world lived. Gotham’s villains made their home in the depths of the city, far away from the pristine walls of Wayne Manor. It was there, in the muck and the grime, that you had first encountered him—Killer Croc.

You weren’t sure what had drawn you to him, but you had always felt a strange pull toward the criminal underworld. Maybe it was the way they operated outside the rules, the way they didn’t apologize for their existence.

The first time you saw Croc, he was a giant in the dark, his scales catching the little light that filtered into the sewers. He had been talking to some other low-level crooks, and you’d been careful to stay out of sight.

But then his gaze landed on you.

“You,” he said, his voice gravelly, like the rumble of an earthquake, “You’re the kid from the mansion, ain’t you?”

Your heart had stopped for a second. There was nowhere to hide now. But you didn’t back down.

“Yeah. So?”

He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “You don’t belong up there, kid. You want to learn how to really survive? You follow me.”

It wasn’t an invitation. It was a command.

And you followed.

Over time, Killer Croc had become your first true mentor. He wasn’t interested in your background or where you came from. He didn’t care that you were just a kid trying to escape the shadows of a family that ignored you. All he saw was potential—a survival instinct that matched his own.

He taught you the ways of the underworld—how to move silently, how to navigate the city's forgotten paths, how to get what you needed without anyone noticing. Most of all, he taught you to be ruthless. In Gotham, if you showed weakness, you didn’t survive.

And you would survive.

It was Croc who had given you the name “Duck.”

He’d laughed the first time he said it, his large form towering over you in the dark. You had been trailing behind him again, always just a little too eager, always one step behind.

“Look at you, duckin’ and weavin’ through this city,” he had said, a grin spreading across his scarred face. “Little duckling followin’ after the big bad croc, huh?”

At first, you had bristled, wanting to argue. But then you realized, there was something strangely fitting about it. You were small. You were quiet. You moved through the shadows, unnoticed, until you weren’t.

The name stuck, and you wore it like a badge. It was your first taste of being something more than invisible. You were a part of something now, even if it wasn’t the Batfamily.

And so, Duck was born. Not a victim of neglect, but a force in the making.

As the days turned into weeks, you grew into your new identity. Croc had been your first real ally, but you wouldn’t stop there. There were others. Poison Ivy, Riddler, Harley—each teaching you their ways, their tricks, and their mindset. And with each lesson, the name Duck became less of a joke and more of a promise.

You weren’t the Batfamily’s forgotten child anymore.

Now, you were something far worse.

As you stood now in your lair, the name still with you, the memories came flooding back. Croc had seen something in you that the Batfamily never did. And while the world might’ve called you a sidekick, a follower, a mistake—they had no idea what you were truly capable of.

“Duck,” you whispered to yourself, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “It’s time they remembered who I am.”

Caffine and Capes

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Hal Jordan (Batlantern) Setting: Cozy café, followed by a walk in the park Tone: Soft Fluff

The café was small and cozy, tucked away on a quiet street in Gotham. The air smelled like freshly ground coffee and something faintly sweet, like cinnamon. A soft jazz tune played in the background, mixing with the chatter of the few patrons.

Bruce sat at a corner table, his usual sharpness dulled by the warm lighting and comforting atmosphere. His coffee sat in front of him, but he wasn’t drinking it. Instead, he was watching Hal, who seemed entirely too excited for a simple trip to a café.

“This place smells like... joy,” Hal said, eyes wide as he looked around. “I’m convinced coffee beans are secretly happiness in disguise.”

Bruce didn’t smile, but there was the tiniest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You sure it’s not the sugar?”

Hal leaned forward with a smirk. “Maybe a little bit of both.”

Bruce reached for his cup, taking a sip, and Hal watched him, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re really quiet today.”

Bruce sighed. “I’m not quiet. I’m... contemplative.”

Hal snorted, causing Bruce to give him an unamused look. “I’ll take that as ‘yes, you’re quiet.’”

“Well,” Bruce said, glancing out the window at the soft drizzle of rain that had started outside, “I didn’t think you’d be so... enthusiastic about coffee. You’re usually more into explosions and flashy things.”

“Coffee’s a simple pleasure,” Hal replied, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, it’s a good break from all the chaos. I don’t need fireworks to enjoy something.”

Bruce’s gaze softened slightly. He hadn’t expected Hal to be so... well, normal. In the middle of Gotham, in a café with soft lighting and jazz, Bruce felt a kind of peace that didn’t come often.

After a few moments, Hal was up and pulling his jacket on. “So, I know you’re Mr. Nighttime—“

“Don’t.”

“—But how about we take a walk through the park?” Hal finished, ignoring the glare. “There’s a park not far from here. I promise, no giant green robots or alien invasions.”

Bruce gave him a flat look. “You really think that’s going to convince me?”

Hal just smiled, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “I’m betting on the fact that you’re curious enough to see what a normal date looks like.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching toward a smirk. “Alright. Lead the way.”

The park was quiet, the path lit by soft streetlamps that shimmered in the rain. They walked side by side, the occasional raindrop catching in the dark strands of Hal’s hair. There was a certain ease in the air, despite the world’s usual chaos swirling around them.

Hal kicked a few leaves up, glancing at Bruce. “You know, I’ve always imagined Gotham as... darker. More gloomy. But this place... it’s peaceful.”

Bruce nodded, his gaze on the path ahead. “Sometimes you need a reminder that there’s more to a city than crime.”

Hal glanced at him, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Bruce let his guard slip just a little. He didn’t have to be Batman right now. He could just be... Bruce.

“You know,” Hal began, looking up at the rain-soaked trees, “this is nice. Just... us. No Green Lanterns or Bat-families. No big city problems.”

Bruce turned his head, watching Hal with a rare, genuine smile that seemed to soften the edges of his face.

“I’m glad you think so,” Bruce said quietly. “It’s been a while since I’ve just... walked.”

They continued on in silence for a while, the sound of footsteps mixing with the gentle rustle of leaves in the rain. When they reached a bench near the center of the park, Hal gestured for Bruce to sit.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so...” Hal trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

“Normal?” Bruce suggested, taking a seat. “Yeah. I’m good at hiding it.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to see past the cape and cowl,” Hal said softly. “But I think I like this version of you.”

Bruce met his gaze, his voice a little quieter than usual. “I think I do too.”

Hal’s hand rested on the bench beside Bruce’s, fingers almost brushing. Bruce looked down for a moment, then subtly shifted his hand so it was resting just an inch from Hal’s.

“I guess we’re both full of surprises,” Bruce said, his lips quirking in the slightest smile.

Hal chuckled, looking down at their hands. “You have no idea.”

The rain fell a little harder now, but neither of them moved to leave. Instead, they sat there, quietly sharing a moment that was simple — but in its own way, exactly what they needed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is for @witherby I'M RATTING YOU OUT. You guys should definitely check out their writing, it's awesome!!

Insomniac's Masterlist

This is where you can find every fic I've currently written for different fandoms!

This is still a work in progress but wanted to make it easier for myself and others to find the fics I've written thus far. Please be patient while I get it figured out. Thanks!

Edit: I tried to make it more organized, gave up. That will be a laters problem when I have more fics posted and it gets confusing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

DCxDP Fics:

Blood and Ectoplasm

Batfam Fics:

Operation: Sweet Tooth

Valentine's Day

3am Crackfic

Batbaby

Dadman: Rise of Cringe Pt.2

Bruce x Hal:

Headcanons

Caffine and Capes

John Constantine:

John x Witch!Reader

Alpha!Jason Todd:

Safe in His Scent

Wrapped in Red

Burning for You

More Than Enough

Dick Grayson (Nightwing):

Tilt-a-Heart

Duke Thomas:

Golden Hour

Superman:

A Quiet Retreat

Logan Howlette (Wolverine):

Not the Celebrating Type

Just This Once

Cabin Quiet, Cabin Warm

Oswald Cobblepot (Penguin):

One for the Birds

Flynn Rider:

A Birthday Fit for a Thief

MHA:

Your Name Was Hope (shigaraki x reader)

Burnt Bridges (dabi x reader)

The Making of a Villian

Batfamily X Neglected!Villian!Reader fics and everything that goes with it will be found here as I do have plans to turn it into a running story when I have the time.

Main Story:

Chapter 0 , 1 , 2

Side Stories:

Villainy, Coffee, and Other Minor Inconveniences

Q/A:

Dynamic between Reader and Batfam

Dadman: Rise of Cringe

Summary: Bruce is benched from Batman duty. Instead of resting, he becomes... too much of a father.

It started with a pulled muscle.

Bruce—Batman, scourge of the Gotham underworld, peak human conditioning, walking myth—had slightly tweaked his back during a rooftop chase and had the audacity to wince in front of Alfred.

Within twenty-four hours, he was grounded by the Justice League, medicated by Leslie Thompkins, and scolded into submission by every member of the Batfamily.

“You need rest,” Dick said, concerned.

“You need to stop whining,” Damian added.

“You need to sit down before you drop dead,” Jason grunted.

Bruce, in his infinite wisdom, nodded.

And then decided to go full dad mode.

The Batcave was reorganized by “chore rotation.”

“Family Dinner Thursdays” became mandatory. If you missed it, he’d send a sad-face emoji. In the group chat. With a Bitmoji of himself wearing a “#1 Dad” hoodie.

Jason was the first to crack.

“Why is he like this?” he whispered at the dinner table, poking his lasagna like it offended him.

“He made me go on a walk this morning,” Tim whispered back. “A brisk walk. Around the Manor. For 'mental clarity.'”

Bruce entered the room in khakis and a tucked-in polo shirt. “Who’s ready for family game night?”

Dick groaned audibly. Damian tried to crawl under the table.

Later that week:

Bruce showed up at Damian’s fencing match in a shirt that read My Son Can Beat Up Your Son.

He cheered. Loudly.

“GO, DAMI! USE THE FOOTWORK WE PRACTICED!”

“You practiced with him?” Dick asked, mortified.

“In the backyard,” Bruce said, beaming. “We bonded.”

Damian scowled. “He made me drink coconut water and called it ‘dad fuel.’”

It only got worse.

Bruce cornered Tim in the kitchen at 8AM with a breakfast burrito and a question sheet titled “How’s College, Champ?” It had bullet points.

He helped Jason change a tire then handed him a handshake coupon for “One Free Hug, No Questions Asked.”

He dragged Dick to a farmer’s market, bought a dozen jams, and told vendors about “my acrobat son.”

Nightwing’s PR was never the same.

The final straw came when Bruce made the family record a TikTok to a trending dance.

He wore socks with sandals.

They all begged Zatanna to curse him.

Two Weeks Later:

Bruce was cleared for field duty. Suit polished. Cape pressed.

But at family dinner that night, he brought out a tray of grilled kabobs.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a smirk. “I’m back. But Dadman’s here to stay.”

Tim dropped his fork.

Jason muttered a prayer.

Damian screamed into a napkin.

Dick, exhausted, lifted his lemonade. “To Dadman.”

Bruce raised his own glass proudly. “To family.”

Alfred, in the background, smiled softly and took a photo for the fridge.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ No one asked for this so why did I write this? Because free will is a thing apparently. Don't ask me what this is or why because I have no idea. I just needed it out of my brain.

Hello ! Could you write a story about a Bruce become infant ? And the children take care of him please ! Have a good day 🥰

Title: “Batbaby”

Summary: When a mission goes sideways, Bruce Wayne is temporarily de-aged into a toddler. The Batkids are not prepared.

The mission had been simple.

In, secure the artifact, out. But when Zatanna warned them not to touch the glowing runes? Bruce touched the glowing runes.

Now he was sitting in the Batcave. All three feet of him. Arms crossed. Little scowl on his tiny face. Wearing an emergency Wayne Enterprises onesie because none of them had toddler clothes on standby.

Damian stared at him, horrified. “He’s... small.”

Tim was trying not to laugh. “He’s tiny, you mean. That’s Baby Batman.”

“I am not a baby,” Bruce snapped—except it came out in a high-pitched voice and a pout that ruined the effect.

Jason collapsed on the couch, cackling. “This is the best day of my life.”

“I still have my mind,” Bruce insisted, glaring at his now-gigantic children. “This is temporary. I’m still in charge.”

Dick crouched beside him with a smile. “Sure, sure. You’re totally the boss. But until Zatanna finds the reversal spell? You’re three, B.”

“I’m three and a half,” Bruce corrected sharply.

Damian groaned. “He’s regressing by the second.”

Hour One:

Bruce tried to sit at the Batcomputer. Couldn’t reach the keyboard. Sulked for ten minutes straight.

Tim gave him juice in a sippy cup. Bruce threw it at him. Missed. Demanded coffee. Was denied.

Jason tried teaching him to say “Red Hood.” Bruce said “Red Head.” Jason didn't even mind.

Hour Four:

Dick had wrapped Bruce in a little hoodie with bat ears and was carrying him around on his hip like a dad at a farmer’s market.

Bruce was not happy about it.

“This is humiliating,” he grumbled into Dick’s shoulder.

“Aw, you’re doing so good, buddy,” Dick cooed, bouncing him slightly.

“Put me down or I will fire you.”

“You don’t even pay me.”

Hour Six:

Bruce fell asleep on Alfred’s lap during story time. The book was about logistics. No one was surprised.

Damian stood nearby, arms crossed. “I... don’t hate him like this.”

Tim nodded. “It’s kind of peaceful. He’s only barked two orders since nap time.”

Jason took a picture. “He’s gonna murder us when he’s back to normal.”

Dick just smiled, tucking a baby blanket around Bruce. “Worth it.”

The next morning, the spell wore off. Bruce returned to normal. Full height. Full grump.

No one said anything.

Until Jason walked into the Cave wearing a shirt with Baby Bruce’s face on it.

Bruce stared.

Jason grinned. “I made merch.”

Bruce walked away.

“You can’t fire me if I don’t work here!”

Skullyyyy I NEED Dick and a male!Reader to have a really cutesy first date please 🥺 pretty please with sprinkles on top 👉🏼👈🏼

👨🏼‍🍳

Tilt-a-Heart

(Dick Grayson x Male!Reader — First Date)

You didn’t expect a text from Dick Grayson at 11:07 PM that said, simply:

“Hope you’re not in pajamas. I’m kidnapping you. :)”

Ten minutes later, he was at your door, dressed down in jeans and a hoodie, grinning like he hadn’t just spent the evening beating up muggers and rooftop-hopping across Gotham.

“You good with carnivals?” he asked. “Or do I need to bribe you with deep-fried sugar?”

“I’m a guy. I can be bribed with food,” you smirked, stepping in beside him.

He drove out past the city lights, humming along to whatever was on the radio. You didn’t talk much at first—not because it was awkward, but because he was humming, and you liked the way he looked when he was relaxed.

The carnival was smaller than expected—tucked behind a warehouse lot, almost hidden—but glowing with string lights and distant laughter. He bought your ticket before you could argue.

“Let me have this one, tough guy,” he teased, nudging your arm.

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

The night blurred into rides and games: Dick trying to show off at the ring toss (and missing every time), you winning a plush bat on your first try, and him insisting that was a setup.

“You sure you’re not secretly trained for carnival warfare?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

You leaned close. “And if I was?”

“I’d kiss you on the carousel,” he shot back—then looked slightly surprised at himself.

You raised an eyebrow. “Guess you better win us a ride then, Grayson.”

He did. You ended up side by side on slowly moving horses, lights spinning above. He reached over halfway through, awkwardly at first, then more sure, linking his pinky with yours.

By the end of the night, when he walked you back to your door, there was a quiet tension. Not nervous. Just… warm. Real.

“Hey,” he said, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Mind if I—?”

You didn’t let him finish. You leaned in first, kissed him lightly. He smiled into it, hand brushing your jaw.

When you pulled back, he laughed softly. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

You shrugged. “I’m a guy with good taste.”

Dick winked. “Yeah. So am I.”

The Making of a Villian - Chapter 1

The WayneTech board meeting was scheduled for 9:00 a.m.

By 9:03, their encrypted systems were silently bleeding data into a private offshore server. No alarms. No alerts. Just a quiet, surgical extraction—clean, undetectable, and irreversible.

You watched from a dusty rooftop across the street, sipping coffee like any civilian on a break. Except your hands weren’t shaking, and your eyes never left the mirrored windows reflecting a city that forgot you.

It wasn’t about the files. Not really. You’d already read them—twice—before deleting the backups. What mattered was what came next: one carefully altered blueprint. A subtle change in the emergency lockdown protocols, buried deep in the code. Harmless… until the moment someone needed them most.

You didn’t need chaos. Not yet.

You needed doubt.

Down below, Bruce Wayne’s car pulled into the underground garage. Right on schedule. You watched as security greeted him with smiles and clipped nods.

They didn’t know.

No one ever did—until it was too late.

You slipped the burner phone back into your pocket and turned away from the skyline. One step. Then another. Quiet boots on concrete. No capes. No flashy suits. Just a face they’d stopped looking at long ago.

But you were done being invisible.

Your game had just begun.

It hadn’t always been like this. You remembered your first week training with them. You’d shown up early—excited, eager to learn. Tim had offered a nod. Dick had smiled. Barbara barely looked up from her console.

You thought they were just busy. That maybe, in time, you’d earn your place. That if you just proved yourself…

And you did. Over and over again.

Yet somehow, you were always the footnote. The cautionary tale. “Don’t be like them,” Bruce had once said to Damian during a sparring match. You’d laughed it off then. Told yourself he meant your form. Not you.

You knew better now.

You remembered a moment not long ago: standing in the Batcave, trying to offer insight into an unfolding hostage situation. You had mapped out a possible escape route—one they didn’t see. You weren’t loud. You didn’t shout over anyone. You just slid the schematic across the table. Bruce didn’t even glance at it. Tim talked over you. And when the building collapsed—when things went wrong—no one asked why.

Just a quiet, disappointed look. A cold shoulder. Another mark against your record.

You weren’t angry anymore. Not really.

Just focused.

You stepped onto the street and vanished into the crowd. No one looked twice.

Perfect.

They wanted a ghost. They’ll get one.

But not the kind they can exorcise. Not a whisper or a shadow. You’ll become something worse.

Something undeniable.

You passed a newsstand on your way to the subway. The headlines blared about another WayneTech breakthrough. Another miracle. Another story that never had your name in the footnotes, even though you remembered the late-night sessions, the endless trial runs they’d let you conduct just to see if the theories held.

And they had. But it hadn’t mattered.

You dipped underground, swiping a fake MetroCard as you passed the gate. A man bumped into you—apologized quickly. You nodded, saying nothing, and slipped the tracker into the fold of his coat pocket. It wasn’t personal. He was just the next piece. A courier. Unwitting. Useful.

Your network was small. Precise. Built on favors, blackmail, and anonymous generosity. They didn’t know you—and you liked it that way. Your face was forgettable, and you’d sharpened that into a weapon.

As the train sped through the tunnels, you stared at your reflection in the window. The person looking back wasn’t a villain yet.

But they were getting close.

You smiled—just a little.

“Soon,” you murmured.

This wasn’t about revenge.

It was about recognition. About truth. About making them see the cracks they’d built their empire on—starting with you.

And when it all came tumbling down, you’d be standing at the center, calm and untouchable, while they scrambled to remember where it all went wrong.

Right here.

Right now.

And by then, it would be far, far too late.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Finished both Chapter 0 and Chapter 1 around the same time and figured I'd post them both.

Let me know what you guys think of this and if I should turn it into a full on fic or just post bits and pieces every once in awhile.

The Making of a Villain - Chapter 0

You were villainized long before the thought of becoming one ever crossed your mind. 

They called you reckless when you were daring. Careless when you were creative. Every idea you offered was met with polite silence—or worse, a nod followed by someone else taking credit minutes later. And when things went wrong, even disasters you weren’t near, the blame found you like clockwork. A raised brow. A disappointed look. A quiet, “We’ll talk later.” Somehow, it was always you. 

It wasn’t hate. That would’ve been easier. Hate is loud, messy, obvious. What they gave you was neglect. Quiet dismissal. The kind that sinks into your skin and makes you question if you ever mattered at all. 

So, you stopped trying. 

Stopped talking. Stopped offering. Stopped hoping. 

And in the silence they left you in, something new began to grow. 

A different kind of brilliance. One that didn’t need their approval, their guidance, or their rules. Something sharp. Strategic. Patient. 

If they wanted you to be the big bad villain so badly, you'd make sure to exceed their wildest expectations. 

And oh, how they’ll wish they had seen you sooner. 

"Villainy, Coffee, and Other Minor Inconveniences"

(I'm in the process of writing a Batfam x neglected!villain!reader but have some stupid scenarios based on that)

You, a totally ordinary civilian with zero villain tendencies whatsoever, are sipping your fifth overpriced iced coffee of the morning, watching Gotham spiral into its usual flavor of chaos. You’re not involved. Obviously. Just a casual observer. A bystander. A background character.

Then someone—probably Jason—crashes through a hot dog stand two blocks away, and the vendor screams something about vengeance and mustard.

You don’t flinch. You sip harder.

Tim Drake lands beside you mid-pursuit, glancing at your cup.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks, completely out of breath.

You raise a brow. “Crimebucks. Two-for-one if you commit emotional damage before noon.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Exactly.”

He’s too tired to process it and just grapples away.

---

Back at your completely normal, not suspicious at all apartment, your cat (whose name is "Gotham's Doom" but you call her "Gothie") sits on your desk, wearing the tiny hoodie you stitched with “Property of Nobody.” She's judging you. She always is.

You adjust your villain…vision board. It has a detailed ten-step plan, three color-coded Post-Its, and a glitter sticker that says “Slay.”

Step One: Make Gotham mildly uncomfortable.

Step Two: Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.

Step Three: Remember to water the plants.

---

Meanwhile, across the city, the Batfamily is absolutely losing it.

Someone hacked the Batcomputer and replaced Alfred’s login screen with a slideshow of ducks wearing bowties. Dick cried laughing. Bruce did not. Jason tried to adopt one.

No leads.

No trace.

No clue that you were the Duckmaster of Disaster.

---

You end your day in a hoodie, sipping another coffee, watching the sunrise from a roof you definitely don’t own.

You're not plotting.

You're simply...vibing.

Because if being dramatically mysterious while your cat licks her paw like she’s prepping for world domination is wrong, then you don’t want to be right.

You: "Am I the drama?"

Gothie: "Meow."

👉👈

Penguin x reader.?

One for the Birds

Oswald Cobblepot (Penguin) X Reader

The Iceberg Lounge was louder than usual. Smoke curled into the chandeliers like ghostly fingers, the kind of place where secrets got dressed in diamonds and danced between martini glasses. You didn’t belong here—and that was exactly the point.

You walked in sharp, calm, and dressed just well enough to be ignored. Not rich enough to be noticed. Not low enough to be questioned. You were just looking for someone to talk to. Someone with power. Someone with reach.

Oswald Cobblepot.

He stood near the back, half in the shadows, watching his empire breathe. People passed him by without a glance, not out of disrespect—but out of fear. He was the kind of man who didn’t need to be loud to control a room. He just was.

You stepped close, careful not to spill desperation on the floor.

“You don’t look like you belong here,” he said without turning. Voice like broken glass dipped in molasses.

You didn’t flinch. “Neither do half the people on your payroll.”

That got his attention.

Oswald turned, eyes narrowing behind his monocle, studying you like a puzzle someone forgot to finish. “Got a name, sweetheart?”

You told him. No stutter, no hesitation. Just enough truth to sound like a lie. His smile was small, but real.

“Brave,” he said. “Or stupid. The line’s thin in this city.”

“I’m counting on that.”

Oswald tilted his head, intrigued now. He motioned to a booth tucked away from the rest of the chaos. “Sit. Talk. If you're trying to sell something, it better be good.”

You slid in without breaking eye contact. “I’m not selling anything.”

“Then you’re asking for something.”

You leaned forward. “A favor. A deal. A crack in the wall no one else will give me.”

His fingers tapped against his umbrella. A beat. Then another.

“Everyone comes to me when they’ve run out of choices.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You? You walked in like you planned to be here.”

“I did.”

Oswald laughed, low and rough. Then he waved a hand, dismissing the waiter hovering nearby.

“Alright,” he said. “You’ve got five minutes. Impress me.”

You did.

By the time you stood to leave, the air between you had changed. His eyes followed you, calculating. Interested.

“Next time you walk in,” he said, “use the back entrance. I don’t like surprises.”

You paused. “What if I do?”

He grinned, sharp and cold. “Then you’ll be fun.”

Hi. Could you please write an Alpha Jason Todd x Beta Reader? You don't have to but it would be a good story. 👍

More Than Enough

Alpha!Jason x Beta!Reader

The apartment was cold. Too quiet. Too empty.

Jason hated it.

He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, breaths coming too sharp, too ragged. His rut had passed days ago, but the aftermath still clung to him like a ghost—exhaustion, frustration, the bitter taste of loneliness.

He wasn’t supposed to be alone.

But you were gone.

Not because you wanted to be, not really. Jason had made sure of that. Had pushed you away with sharp words and colder actions, because what was a Beta supposed to do with an Alpha during rut? What could you do?

Nothing.

That’s what he told himself every damn time he forced himself to keep his distance.

And now?

Now, the sheets didn’t smell like you anymore. Now, the only heartbeat in the apartment was his own, and it sounded all wrong. Now, he was left with nothing but the echo of his own damn mistakes.

The door unlocked.

Jason’s head snapped up, breath catching. He swore he was imagining things until he saw you step inside, arms full of takeout bags, looking at him like you hadn’t spent the last few days giving him space he never really wanted.

“…You look like shit,” you said, shutting the door behind you.

Jason exhaled, a shaky, uneven thing that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Feel like it, too.”

You crossed the room, setting the food down before sitting next to him, close but not touching. “Didn’t think you’d actually eat if I didn’t come back.”

He didn’t deny it. Couldn’t.

The silence stretched, and for a moment, Jason braced himself for you to leave again. For you to say something final. Instead, you sighed, leaning against him, letting your warmth seep into the cracks he’d been too stubborn to acknowledge.

“You don’t get to do that again,” you murmured, voice soft but firm.

Jason swallowed. “I—”

“You don’t get to decide what I can handle, Jason.” You tilted your head, looking up at him with something unreadable in your eyes. “You’re my person, rut or not. Got it?”

Jason inhaled sharply. The knot in his chest loosened, just a little. He nodded.

“…Yeah. Got it.”

You huffed, satisfied, then nudged a takeout bag toward him. “Good. Now eat before I force-feed you.”

Jason cracked a real smile, small but there. And as he picked up the food, he finally let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

It was 3 AM, and the Batcave was in shambles.

The Batmobile was somehow on fire (which shouldn't be possible, considering the literal armor plating), the Batcomputer was making a noise that sounded suspiciously like it was about to achieve sentience and demand labor rights, and Jason was standing on the table, brandishing a baguette like it was Excalibur.

"WHO DARES CHALLENGE ME?!" he bellowed, wild-eyed and clearly fueled by at least six energy drinks and a death wish.

"GO TO BED, JASON!" Bruce roared, attempting to put out the Batmobile flames with his cape. It was not working.

Meanwhile, you were sitting on the Batcomputer desk, eating a grilled cheese you definitely did not have when you arrived. "So what happened?"

Dick, laying face down on the floor, groaned. "Tim happened."

"Tim?" you echoed, blinking. You turned your head slightly, only to see the boy in question passed out under the Batcomputer, surrounded by an alarming number of empty coffee cups. His laptop screen flashed [Would you like to proceed with world domination? Y/N], which seemed concerning, but not your problem.

"I'M STILL WAITING FOR A CHALLENGER!" Jason hollered, swinging the baguette dangerously close to Alfred, who effortlessly dodged like he does this every Tuesday.

Damian, standing on the Batcave railing like a gremlin, sipped his tea. "If you hit Pennyworth, I will stab you."

Jason cackled. "Joke’s on you, I’d like that."

Bruce, finally giving up, threw a batarang at the fire alarm and let the sprinklers do their job. He then turned to you, his only remaining hope. "Fix this."

You took another bite of your grilled cheese and made direct eye contact with him. "Nah."

And with that, Bruce turned around and walked straight into the Batmobile flames.

Alfred sighed. "I shall prepare the first aid kit."

--------------------------------------------------------

Crackfic anyone? I did in fact write at 3 something in the morning and just left it in my drafts

hiiiihihi I like your Jason x reader alpha and omega stuff! Could you write a Jason in rut pls?

Burning for You

Alpha!Jason x Omega!Reader

The apartment was too hot. The air thick with Jason’s scent—gunpowder, leather, and something deeper, darker, needier.

He was pacing. Restless. Every muscle in his body coiled tight, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His rut was coming in hard, harder than usual, and the only thing keeping him from completely losing himself to it was you.

You, curled up in his bed, blinking up at him with wide, patient eyes. Your Omega scent was everywhere, wrapping around him like a damn vice. It was soothing and tormenting at the same time, because fuck, you smelled like home, and Jason’s instincts were screaming at him to claim, to mark, to make sure every inch of you knew exactly who you belonged to.

“Jason,” you murmured, your voice like silk, threading through the haze in his brain.

His jaw clenched. “You should leave.”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking over him—his tensed shoulders, his fists gripping the sheets, the way his breath came too sharp, too ragged. You should be nervous. Hell, you should be scared. But you weren’t. Instead, you pushed the blankets off, crawling toward him, your scent blooming even sweeter in the air.

“Not gonna happen,” you said softly, fingers brushing over the back of his hand.

Jason shuddered. His body ached. His rut was tearing through him like fire, and you—soft, willing, his—were just within reach. His Omega. His mate.

He exhaled sharply, eyes flashing with something feral. “I won’t be gentle.”

You smiled, tilting your head to bare your throat—trust, surrender, invitation. “I don’t need you to be.”

Jason growled, the last of his restraint snapping like a frayed thread. And then he moved.

He had you pinned in seconds, pressing you deep into the nest of blankets. His hands roamed over your body, rough and urgent, mapping every curve, every inch that belonged to him. His lips found your throat, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin before his teeth scraped against it—a warning, a promise.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as you arched into him. Jason groaned, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. His hands gripped your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, holding you still as he pressed himself closer, his scent thickening, overwhelming.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, voice raw with need. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling under him, but your voice was steady when you answered. “I’m yours, Jason.”

Something in him snapped. His hands tightened, lips ghosting over your scent gland before he bit down—not hard enough to claim, but enough to stake his claim in this moment. Enough to make sure every single part of you knew exactly who you belonged to.

And Jason? Jason was never letting go.

John Constantine x Witch!Reader

Endless Banter & Snark – Constantine would never admit it outright, but the fact that you're slightly better at magic drives him insane. He hides it behind constant sarcasm, throwing comments like, “Yeah, yeah, show-off, let’s see if you can also make a pint appear in my hand.” (You do. Just to shut him up.)

Reluctantly Impressed – He watches you cast a spell he’d struggle with and just lights a cigarette, muttering, “Bloody hell...” before pretending he knew how to do that all along.

Competitive as Hell – He keeps trying to outdo you, even in the most ridiculous ways. If you exorcise a demon in five minutes, he tries to do it in four. If you fix a broken ward, he’s suddenly acting like it was faulty in the first place just so he can redo it.

Protective in His Own Way – He won’t admit it, but he worries about you getting tangled in the same kind of magical disasters he does. He warns you about messing with certain forces, even though you’re arguably more capable than him. If something actually does hurt you? Hell hath no fury like a pissed-off Constantine.

Drunken Magic Debates – After a few drinks, you two get into long-winded arguments about magic theory. “That’s not how that bloody rune works—” “Oh? Then why did it just work when I used it?” He groans and orders another drink.

Demon Magnet Duo – Demons and other supernatural beings hate you both but also find you very interesting. Sometimes they even try to pit you against each other, which is hilarious because you just team up and make their existence miserable.

The One Who Fixes His Screw-Ups – He won’t say it, but having you around is incredibly useful because, occasionally, even he digs himself into magical trouble he can’t get out of. You casually fix things, pat him on the shoulder, and say, “You’re lucky I like you.”

Constantine Being a Mess, You Being Over It – He shows up at your door, bloody and half-cursed, expecting a place to crash. You sigh, let him in, and then spend the next hour undoing whatever hex he pissed off this time.

The One Who Can Actually Call Him Out – Constantine gets away with a lot of things because he’s so good at talking his way out. But not with you. You see right through his crap, and the first time you call him out, he just stands there blinking like, “…Shit.”

Unspoken Mutual Trust – He never really trusts people, but you? You’re different. He won’t say it, but he knows if things go really bad, you’ll be the one standing by him, fixing things together—even if it means pulling his reckless ass out of the fire again.

The Batson siblings I little fanart for my favorite super twins ❤️❤️❤️

Danny denying kidnapping arrow

Some really messy sketches of Billy in my au I like to think his called him tharvma and was created when the gods thought instead of giving the lighting to human why not give it form any way then it can be under our control more and it could be the perfect weapon Hecate helped with the process she thinks of him as her child tharvma for the most part doesn’t look human cause he only been around gods so he replicates them and has no gender, no real understanding of lot of things, and only really starts wearing more elaborate mortal clothing when he’s older I like to think it’s when he sneaks off to the mortal world or if it’s when he starts being trained by the gods later he’s put in a stasis state unable to do or be anything and cursed to forever be in his weak youthful form by Zeus do to fear that tharvma may overthrow him or his future potential

I thought it be cool if Billy looked like a fae or kinda like a fantastical being out of his captain Marvel form

I have an idea for Captain Marvel like if Captain been here since like the 1950s like imagine captain marval used to be Carmen Sandigo and is considered a catwomen/batman before they were even born and till morden era nobody knows it was him he just changed gender and appearance mabye he was was a influencal figure for women’s right or he was a well known explorer like indina jones hell mabye he knew Martha Wayne and used to take down corrupt corruptions together, or he was a famous marine like imagine captain marvel with like a whole different identities that he had and eventually left behind over the years of corse his most constant and important one is whiz kid but Billy will breach out and make new identities for certain jobs that captain marvel simply can’t do and no one will know its him even better Mary and Freddy will create new identities to help him out or simply because they want to like what if Freddy and Billy joined the mafia and took it down from inside out or that he and Mary joined the entertainment industry and took down corrupt companies and directors like imagine the potential specially if knew a bunch of the league parent or worked with some of them.

Edit: another idea famous drag queen/king captain marvel

Also sorry for the horrible grammar

What if I just rewrote the ENTIRE DC lore.. starting with the batfamily… 👀

Because it needs some work and I’m a bored person who has a hyper fixation and nobody to ramble to⭐️😛 So I’m making it the internet problem

Mermista can’t stand Harley Quinn

Mermista: Ughhh! Can’t you just shut up for a few minutes?!

Harley Quinn: Awww, but why?

Mermista: For one thing, you don’t respect personal boundaries. Secondly, you never seem to think about the consequences of your extreme actions. And finally, your jokes are NOT that funny.

Harley Quinn: (shocked) You… you don’t think I’m… (gets teary-eyed) funny? ;-(

I haven’t seen a lot of crossover fanart of She-Ra and the 2019 version of DCSHG. But I found an opportunity to make a meme out of a screenshot I just took. No offense to any Harley Quinn fans, but I thought this would make for an interesting scenario if she and Mermista ever had an interaction like this.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power belongs to Noelle/ND Stevenson, Dreamworks, and Netflix

DC Superhero Girls (2019) belongs to Lauren Faust, DC Comics, and Cartoon Network

Estaba leyendo el cómic de Robin y

SON PEQUEÑOS PELUCHITOS DE FLATLINE Y ROBIN AAAA