Someone Give Me Ideas On What To Write About.

Yoo skull how are ya? Also love this whole thing you got going! Also question do you write Duke Thomas?

I can if that is what you want! just pick from the menu of where I have the different pastries (genres) I can bake!

It's an average day in Gotham, and you are the horrible Duck-master of Disaster

(I read your batfam x neglected!villain!reader, and they already give me untitled goose vibes. there to mostly cause chaos)

I already like it a lot!

I'm going to be honest, this confused me for a bit when I first read the message.

If you're implying that Neglected!Villain!Reader is giving chaotic and like to cuase trouble, then yes. Yes, they do.

I might give the reader a nickname or something so I don't have to keep refering to them as Neglected!Villain!Reader. I'M OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS!!!

I"m glad you like the fic! Let me know if there's a specific scenio you want me to write about for the fic, I'm open to ideas!

I LOVE THIS CONTINUATION! Thank you for adding the girls!

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.

do u still take requests ?

Yes! I do!

I just don't get a whole lot of them. But if you have any ideas for a fic, I'm more than happy to learn what the idea is!

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.”

Not the Celebrating Type

Logan Howlett X GN!Reader

You didn’t expect much for your birthday. You never really made a big deal out of it, and most people at the mansion were too busy dealing with mutant crises to remember dates anyway.

Still, part of you had hoped for something—maybe just a “happy birthday” from someone. Anyone.

So when the day crawled by without a word, you quietly slipped out of the mansion before dinner and wandered into the woods behind the estate, the place you always went to think. The trees were beginning to bud, that early spring scent soft in the air. You settled on your usual log, tucked your knees up to your chest, and let your thoughts drift.

The crunch of boots on dead leaves snapped you out of it.

You turned just in time to see Logan pushing through the trees, a paper bag in one hand, a six-pack of root beer in the other.

You blinked. “How’d you find me?”

“Instinct,” he grunted, setting the stuff down and eyeing the spot beside you. “This seat taken?”

You scooted over, still quiet, still unsure.

He sat with a grunt and handed you the bag.

“…What is it?” you asked cautiously.

“Birthday gift.”

Your brows rose. “Wait—you remembered?”

“I don’t forget important things,” he said, cracking open one of the root beers. “Don’t let the grumpy act fool you.”

With slightly shaky fingers, you opened the bag and pulled out the contents: a worn paperback of your favorite book. The exact edition you lost months ago. You stared at it for a beat too long.

“…You tracked this down?”

“Had a contact in town. Took some digging,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

You hugged the book to your chest. “Logan, this… this is perfect.”

He just nodded, eyes fixed on the treetops like he couldn’t handle looking at you too long. “Ain’t big on birthdays myself. But I figured if anyone deserved a quiet one, it was you.”

You smiled at that, eyes stinging a little.

“Thanks,” you said, leaning your shoulder against his.

He stiffened for a second, then relaxed, letting you rest there.

For a long while, neither of you said anything. Just two weird souls sitting in the woods, sipping root beer and watching the sky shift to a soft gold.

Eventually, he murmured, “Next year, maybe I’ll get you two books.”

You laughed, warm and light. “I’m holding you to that.”

Oh I am most definitely implying that they like to cause chaos and trouble!

I read "Villainy, Coffee and other minor inconveniences", and the 'duckmaster of disaster' just made me think of the untitled goose phrase 'its a lovely day in the town, and you are a horrible goose' :D

In terms of nicknames, I'm maybe a bit biased, but I like Duck, or something akin to that. The duckmaster of disaster just stuck with me for some reason

And I'll come back to you with scenario ideas, since I need to get my thoughts in order.

Keep up the great work, and keep yourself hydrated!

First off, I can tell you're gonna be one of my fav anons so feel free to give yourself an emoji to make it easier to know who I'm talking to!

Second, that phase is the embodiment of our lovely Neglected!Villain!Reader. I do like the nickname but if you have any other ideas, tell me!

I also look forward to any ideas you have! It might help come up with ideas to write about as this is not a fully flushed story yet so anything can happen!

THE BAKERY IS OPEN FOR BUSINESS

HELLO! HELLO! COME ON IN!

Welcome to my little bakery. Most of what I'll 'bake' (write) will relate to whatever hyperfixation I have at the time.

I shall keep my irl name a secret but feel free to call me Insomniac or any nickname you can think off based of that!

I am not a writer but I wanted to get my random thought about stories out of my head and what better place than the internet!? (def won't regret this later)

Feel free to request any pastery (asks) and I'll see what I can make for you!

Lists of what I will and won't write will be made eventually.

Welcome and I hope you all stay awhile!

Masterlists:

The Genre Bakecase (start here)

Current Menu Items

The Making of a Villian

I'm head baker but if you wish be a helper (an emoji-based anon) below are the emojis already taken:

🌃🪼👩🏻‍🍳🐇

The Genre Bakecase:

- Salted Silence Scones (angst) - Bittersweet Brioche (angst w/ comfort) - Sweetheart Shortbread (fluff) - Mend-Me Macarons (hurt no comfort) - Cherry-On-Top Cheesecake (romance) - Wildcard Whisk Cupcake (a make your own, mix genres etc) - Poisoned Passionfruit Pie (Enemies to Lovers / Lovers to Enemies) - Wasteland Wedding Cake (au versions of TMoaV) - Bitterlayers Tart (The Making of a Villian fic)

SKULLY!!!!

YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD OMFG

I LOVE IT!!!!!

-🪼

My bad for just getting around to this

THANK YOU THOUGH!