#dr doom

[current-comix]

Gabriele Dell'Otto

[thenon-binaryone]

we had one good day as Marvel fans

[hatchetfield-scarecrow]

MCU Doctor Doom casting…

[pglang]

[jjmikka]

College dr doom sketches. I fear he has been on my mind.

[sugardells]

BOBLENA DOOMSDAY COMIC

Art by sugardells

[bebx]

Reed was literally the human equivalent of that sad hamster meme here I need to squeeze him

[mii-plsmstlstmn]

202506

[itsagentromanoff]

Rest In Peace, Julian McMahon

1968-2025

[bebs-art-gallery]

The Green Knight. Artists: Emile Corsi & Welder Wings

Special post: art that reminded me of Victor von Doom because today is the birthday of Julian McMahon, aka Doctor Doom himself

Dear Julian, happy birthday. I love you so much. You will always by my Victor and most importantly, my source of comfort and inspiration ♡ Words can never come close to describe how much you mean to me. I love you always.

[current-comix]

Adi Granov

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #27

Danny wasn’t trying to become a supervillain’s protégé. Honestly, he was just trying to survive another semester at MIT without spontaneously combusting from stress. At nineteen, between triple-majoring in Astrophysics, Mechanical Engineering, and Paranormal Biochemistry—and moonlighting as the occasionally-glowy, occasionally-exploding, semi-competent vigilante known to the public as Phantom—Danny was hanging on by a thread. A very frayed, very caffeine-soaked thread. So when one of his professors suggested a special “independent study project” with a visiting Latverian dignitary-slash-scientist, Danny said yes without thinking. He needed the credits. He needed the money. He needed the free lunch vouchers. What he did not need, apparently, was to accidentally apprentice himself to Doctor Fucking’ Doom.

At first, he didn’t know. To Danny, “Victor” was just this weird, intense European dude with a crazy sense of fashion (who the hell wore a green cape in broad daylight?) and a laugh that definitely belonged in a villain origin story. But Victor paid well, never judged him for falling asleep mid-sentence, and always had the best coffee imported from who-knows-where. Danny figured he was just some rich old nerd with a lot of quirks. Maybe a little murder-y, but hey, Danny was from Amity Park. His standards for “dangerous mentor figure” were catastrophically low.

“Daniel,” Victor intoned one day, standing over a schematic that looked suspiciously like a laser death satellite. “Tell me: what improvements would you make to a mobile interdimensional particle cannon capable of vaporizing Manhattan?”

Danny, who hadn’t slept in three days and thought this was just a theoretical design, squinted at the blueprints and muttered, “Uh… you forgot the phase stabilizer. Without it, the cannon would rip itself apart before you could fire. Also, your aim’s gonna suck unless you recalibrate the gyroscopic system.”

Victor went unnaturally still. “Explain.”

Danny yawned so hard his jaw cracked. “M’kay, so if you adjust the vibrational harmonics here”—he drew all over the deadly weapon diagram with a crayon—“and rework the mana-infused crystal lattice to resonate at a higher frequency… boom. Stable, precise, terrifying. A+ on your murder machine, Professor Von Evilcape.”

Victor stared at him for a long time. Then he laughed. Not just any laugh. A full, villainous, booming laugh that echoed through the lab and set off three alarms in the next building over. Danny didn’t even blink. He just kept doodling tiny ghosts on the margins of the schematic.

From that moment onward, Victor���Doctor Doom, actual dictator of Latveria, sorcerer supreme wannabe, world-class narcissist—decided Danny was his heir apparent. His secret weapon. His beautiful chaotic son who understood him better than any of the clowns in Latveria ever had. He didn’t ask Danny if he wanted the role. He just started sending Danny increasingly absurd “assignments” that Danny, running on Monster Energy and bad life choices, completed without registering how criminally insane they were.

Case in point: one evening, Danny stumbled into the lab with a Red Bull in one hand and a half-eaten burrito in the other. Victor handed him a device.

“Install this at Stark Tower.”

Danny blinked at the tiny, harmless-looking black box. “Uh, what is it?”

“A signal booster for quantum research purposes.”

Danny, who trusted absolutely no one and also didn’t care because he had a paper due at midnight, shrugged. “Okay, cool.”

He broke into Stark Tower that night with the ease of a sleepwalking raccoon, installed the “signal booster” inside one of Tony Stark’s servers, and left. The next morning, the news was screaming about a massive data breach that almost triggered World War III. Danny was too busy trying to finish his midterm essay on quantum entanglement to notice.

“Good work, Daniel,” Victor said approvingly during their next meeting, clapping him on the back so hard he almost faceplanted into a dimensional rift. “You have the soul of a conqueror.”

“Thanks, man,” Danny mumbled, chugging coffee straight from the pot.

Victor took it a step further. He started introducing Danny at fancy functions. “This is Daniel. He is my most promising apprentice. One day he will inherit my empire.”

Danny, half-dead from exams and not paying attention, just nodded absently and said, “Yup. Love the Empire Strikes Back. Great movie. Big fan.”

Victor beamed.

It wasn’t until six months later, after the “Study Abroad” paperwork (actually an all-expenses-paid trip to Latveria) and the suspiciously grand laboratory gifted to him “for his brilliance,” that Danny realized something was deeply wrong.

He was skimming through some documents on Victor’s encrypted network—because of course Doom had an encrypted network called “DoomNet”—when he found it.

Last Will and Testament of Victor Von Doom: In the event of my death, all of Latveria, my scientific research, all proprietary technology, magical artifacts, nuclear launch codes, hidden doomsday devices, and the title of Supreme Monarch will pass to my chosen heir: Daniel Fenton, aka “Phantom,” aka “My Beautiful Disaster Child.”

Danny read it three times.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Am I—AM I A VILLAIN PRINCE?!”

Cue the world’s most pathetic breakdown.

“NO NO NO NO NO. I JUST WANTED A DAMN SCHOLARSHIP!” He hurled a coffee mug at the wall. It phased through because he lost control of his intangibility again. “THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR TRUSTING ANYONE IN A CAPE.”

Danny spent the next two hours panic-researching Victor Von Doom. It was bad. It was really bad. It was, like, world-endingly bad. Murder records. Wars. Kidnapping Reed Richards’ kids. Banning Beyoncé from Latveria because she rejected his dinner invitation. BAD.

And it was too late. Doom had gone on international television that morning and announced Danny’s name as his successor.

“I have chosen my heir,” Doom declared, standing proudly atop his gold-plated balcony while cameras flashed below. “The boy shall inherit everything I have built. Bow before your future king, Daniel Fenton!”

Meanwhile, in his MIT dorm room, Danny choked on his cereal.

“Oh my God,” Tucker screamed over Facetime. “YOU’RE DOOM JUNIOR!”

Jazz was furiously typing. “Danny, that’s treason. Like, actual treason.”

Sam just stared at him with unholy glee. “So… when are you conquering America?”

“NEVER,” Danny screeched.

Too late. The Avengers showed up at MIT the next day. It was not subtle.

Tony Stark crashed into Danny’s quantum physics lecture, kicked open the door, and pointed dramatically at him. “YOU!”

Danny, hunched over his notes and running on negative hours of sleep, blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, Doom Boy,” Tony said, stomping down the aisle while half the class screamed and ducked for cover. “You hacked my servers, hijacked my satellites, and installed a literal doom-signal into my mainframe. Care to explain, junior dictator?”

Danny held up his hands. “Okay, look. In my defense, I thought it was a Wi-Fi booster.”

Steve Rogers leaned in. “Are you actively trying to destroy America?”

Danny’s eye twitched. “Sir, I am actively trying to pass Organic Chemistry.”

Natasha Romanoff clicked a pen menacingly. “Are you or are you not plotting to overthrow the world?”

Danny hesitated. “I mean… define ‘plotting’?”

There was a long, painful silence.

Tony sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Kid. You’re on, like, several different international watchlists. Half of SHIELD thinks you’re planning to nuke New York.”

Danny’s voice cracked. “I didn’t even know how to do laundry until last month.”

And thus began the most chaotic custody battle in history: Doom versus the Avengers versus Danny versus himself.

Victor, naturally, was thrilled. He sent Danny monogrammed armor. A custom throne. A letter that read “My son, all great rulers are hated before they are loved. However feat not. Seize your destiny.”

Danny sent it back with a post-it note that said “pls stop.”

Tony tried to recruit him instead. “Work for me. You like tech, you like coffee, you’re already better at hacking than Peter—”

“HEY,” Peter Parker shouted from across the hall.

Danny groaned into his hands. “I don’t want to work for anyone! I just want a nap!”

Sam Wilson patted him on the back sympathetically. “Welcome to adulthood, kid.”

Things escalated horrifyingly fast. Latverian officials tried to smuggle Danny out of Massachusetts under the cover of night. Doom built a life-sized gold statue of him in Latveria’s capital square. The Avengers started putting “Phantom Threat Level: High” on their briefing files. Nick Fury cornered him in a diner and deadpanned, “Son, you’re one bad day away from becoming an international incident.”

Danny, shoving pancakes in his mouth, muffled, “I don’t wanna.”

Of course, life didn’t let him off that easy.

When Doom inevitably “died”—allegedly vaporized by a malfunctioning time machine because of course he did—Danny woke up to find a legal team at his dorm room.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” the lead lawyer said with an evil smile. “You are now King of Latveria.”

Danny fainted on the spot.

He woke up fifteen minutes later to find Sam fanning him with a Doom flag and Tucker wearing a Latverian general’s hat he stole from one of the lawyers.

“So…” Tucker grinned. “Wanna invade Canada first?”

Danny screamed into his pillow.

And somewhere, deep in the void between worlds, Doom—very much alive and sipping espresso—chuckled darkly.

“Atta boy, Daniel,” he whispered. “Atta boy.”

[incorrectsmashbrosquotes]

I promised myself I wouldn't let the MCU hurt me anymore but I cannot tell you how angry I am about them casting RDJ as Dr. Doom.

Look, I respect RDJ as an actor. I think he's got some serious chops and is good at what he does. but he does not have what it takes to play Victor von fucking Doom.

Dr. Doom is the ultimate comic book villain. He's a conniving schemer who fucks around and finds out on a daily basis. He's a grandiose and epic Wagnerian antagonist. He's a Saturday morning cartoon character. He's literally prophesied to be the only person who can bring lasting peace to the world as its conquering king.

You can't just give a role like that to someone like RDJ who, while a good actor, is not suited to that role. The only person who can pull of Doom is either a classically trained Shakespeare performer or a community theater amateur.

Someone who can pull off both this:

AND this:

[strawberrycables]

[fruitreka]

so-called "free thinkers" when

[alphacomicsvol2]

Dr. Doom by Bill Sienkiewicz