Boston Brand, against his better judgement, came to the House of Mystery when John Constantine called.
“Ghost Business” he said, unhelpfully, when Boston asked. And Boston, nobly, and stupidly, found himself in John’s parlor not long later.
John sits him down at a card table (well John sits, he floats) and begins explaining. John seems in good spirits, which is unsettling enough that Boston chooses not to comment on it. He’s only half listening to John’s preamble when a boy who looks like he just woke up shuffles by the parlor door.
No— not a boy— oh shit, he’s—
“Your Majesty!” Boston floats back, startled stiff. He blinks in disbelief. That aura is nonsensical as it is unmistakable— that boy, the rumpled teenager in John’s hallway, is the High King of Ghosts.
The king looks up at Boston and blinks, slowly. “Hmm?”
Deadman freezes. Even though the king appears to have the form of a teenage boy in mismatched pajamas, his presence saturates the room with power. Boston feels the pull of it, tugging at him like gravity. He has to actively keep himself steady above his chair.
“Oi Danny, bring us a tea, would you?” John snaps in the kid’s general direction. Deadman stifles a whimper, and thanks his lucky stars that the king didn’t vaporize John on the spot. Instead, the boy tilts his head in a lazy nod and shuffles off toward the kitchen.
Deadman might dissolve into a ball of pure nerves. John couldn’t be so witless to not know the Ghost King was under his roof. Unless— it’s possible the king was purposefully hiding. Powerful things tended to be good at disguising themselves when they wanted to. That seems more likely than the alternative— that John knowingly addressed the king like he had an active death wish.
Boston bites his tongue. Was that little outburst enough to reveal the king’s hidden identity? He doesn’t want to imagine what the king might do if he blew his cover.
“Something the matter, Boston?” John smirks, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
His eyes shift between Constantine and the door the king disappeared through. He really should warn John. As much as he likes to joke that John deserved to go to hell, he truly didn’t deserve to be the petty plaything of the King of the Infinite Realms for all eternity.
“John— you—“ is all he can manage to clip out before the boy reappears. He slips over to the table with three steaming mugs in hand.
He sets the teas down with a thunk and takes a seat next to John. Boston had heard the king could interact with the physical world in a way that ghosts like him couldn’t, but seeing it for himself makes him twist with jealousy. The third mug of tea on the table—the one Boston would not be able to pick up— is a taunting reminder.
“Thanks, mate.” John takes a long sip. The king lifts his mug as well, before his attention shifts, finally, to Deadman.
“So, you must be Boston?” The king pins him with green eyes that glow with all the power of the in between. “John told me all about you.”
“He did?” Boston’s eyes go wide. He looks to John, who gives half a shrug, and Boston confronts another horrible possibility.
John sold him out.
Ghosts aren’t supposed to hang around on the mortal plane, and Boston has certainly overstayed his welcome. It isn’t far out of character for John to lure Boston here just to hand him over. He’s an offering, or a trade of some kind, a bargaining chip for good favor with a very powerful entity. Either way it didn’t matter much now. The king was here to collect his truant ass for good, and he could dunk Deadman into the afterlife simple as swatting a fly. It’d be nearly impossible for Boston to get back.
Pure panic ices through him.
“I promise I’ve done nothing but try to help. I don’t belong in the afterlife, please— I—“ the pleas fall pathetically out of his lips, but he can’t bother to protect his pride now. He can’t go to the afterlife permanently. Not yet.
“Oh, I know what you’ve done.” The king’s lips curl into a smile, hinting at sharp teeth. Deadman considers dissolving. “Honestly, I’m surprised that you, weak as you are, have done as much good as you have.”
“I—what?”
The king sips his tea. “You only do possession? Really? I guess you have to make do with what you’ve got.”
“I’m not sure I—“ Boston frowns. John’s shoulders shake, holding back laughter. “It’s not funny, con man, that’s the King of Ghosts.”
John nods, perfunctory. “That he is.”
Deadman blanches. “What’s he doing in your house?”
The king smirks. “It’s technically sorta my house, at least when it’s in the Infinite Realms.”
“What?!” Boston hisses, and Constantine does let out a chuckle then.
Constantine leans back in his chair. “Relax. Danny helped me with a demon problem in Gotham. He’s staying here for a while.”
“I helped you?” the king side eyes Constantine, grinning. John raises his hands in a gesture of concession.
“Danny?” Deadman practically squeaks, and oh god, did he just call the king by his first name?
“At your service.” The king- Danny- nods with a mock salute.
Boston opens and closes his mouth, as if that might help make sense of what the hell is going on. “So you’re… not here to drag me back to the afterlife?”
“Nope,” Danny replies, popping the p.
Boston puts a hand to his face, mortified, a whirlwind of anxiety still swirling. It seems John still was finding new ways to try to give him an aneurysm.
“I meant it when I said you’ve done good work,” the king continues. “You help people. I can’t say the same for most ghosts who try to make a life outside the realms.”
Boston sinks closer to the table, sitting beside them as much as he’s capable. He lets the warmth of the king’s approval sink into his chest, as well as the relief.
Boston will berate John for the panic he caused later. For now, he’s just glad to have gotten a royal get out of jail free card.
“Ah, we talked too much, your tea’s gone a bit cold.” Danny nods at Boston’s cup, and Boston bites back a bitter retort. But there’s no mocking edge to Danny’s face, only a kindness, and a familiar conspiratorial bend.
Boston can see why he and John get along.
He reaches for the cup, just to humor his king, and—
His fingers close around the mug, solid, real. He can feel the lingering warmth of the tea, the weight of the cup in his hand. Slowly, he lifts it to his lips to sip. It tastes bitter, and sweet.
He looks up at Danny in shock.
“How?” he whispers.
Danny shrugs. “Ghosts have an easier time interacting with the physical world when they’re around me.”
Boston might cry.
Danny just smiles. “You’re welcome. Oh, and also—“
Danny points over his shoulder to a door on the far wall. The wood of the door is so dark it’s nearly purple. Boston knew it hadn’t been there before, because now that it’s here he can’t ignore it. It pulls at him even stronger than the king does.
“That’s yours,” the king explains. “The House of Mystery agreed to let it stay here so you can have easier passage back and forth to the Realms. It’s not good for you to stay away for so long.”
Deadman understands the weight of this gift innately. But he can’t help the trepidation that tickles at the thought of willingly leaving the living world, even if it isn’t permanently.
“Thanks. I think.” he says finally.
“It’s nothing.” Danny smiles.
John grins, utterly too pleased with himself. “Oh don’t look so glum Deadman, you’re still the number one ghost in my heart.”
“Fuck you Johnny.”
John just laughs, and so does the king, and Boston, despite himself, joins them.
The door, his door, lingers, an open invitation. He’ll leave that journey for later.
Boston Brand, against his better judgement, came to the House of Mystery when John Constantine called.
“Ghost Business” he said, unhelpfully, when Boston asked. And Boston, nobly, and stupidly, found himself in John’s parlor not long later.
John sits him down at a card table (well John sits, he floats) and begins explaining. John seems in good spirits, which is unsettling enough that Boston chooses not to comment on it. He’s only half listening to John’s preamble when a boy who looks like he just woke up shuffles by the parlor door.
No— not a boy— oh shit, he’s—
“Your Majesty!” Boston floats back, startled stiff. He blinks in disbelief. That aura is nonsensical as it is unmistakable— that boy, the rumpled teenager in John’s hallway, is the High King of Ghosts.
The king looks up at Boston and blinks, slowly. “Hmm?”
Deadman freezes. Even though the king appears to have the form of a teenage boy in mismatched pajamas, his presence saturates the room with power. Boston feels the pull of it, tugging at him like gravity. He has to actively keep himself steady above his chair.
“Oi Danny, bring us a tea, would you?” John snaps in the kid’s general direction. Deadman stifles a whimper, and thanks his lucky stars that the king didn’t vaporize John on the spot. Instead, the boy tilts his head in a lazy nod and shuffles off toward the kitchen.
Deadman might dissolve into a ball of pure nerves. John couldn’t be so witless to not know the Ghost King was under his roof. Unless— it’s possible the king was purposefully hiding. Powerful things tended to be good at disguising themselves when they wanted to. That seems more likely than the alternative— that John knowingly addressed the king like he had an active death wish.
Boston bites his tongue. Was that little outburst enough to reveal the king’s hidden identity? He doesn’t want to imagine what the king might do if he blew his cover.
“Something the matter, Boston?” John smirks, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
His eyes shift between Constantine and the door the king disappeared through. He really should warn John. As much as he likes to joke that John deserved to go to hell, he truly didn’t deserve to be the petty plaything of the King of the Infinite Realms for all eternity.
“John— you—“ is all he can manage to clip out before the boy reappears. He slips over to the table with three steaming mugs in hand.
He sets the teas down with a thunk and takes a seat next to John. Boston had heard the king could interact with the physical world in a way that ghosts like him couldn’t, but seeing it for himself makes him twist with jealousy. The third mug of tea on the table—the one Boston would not be able to pick up— is a taunting reminder.
“Thanks, mate.” John takes a long sip. The king lifts his mug as well, before his attention shifts, finally, to Deadman.
“So, you must be Boston?” The king pins him with green eyes that glow with all the power of the in between. “John told me all about you.”
“He did?” Boston’s eyes go wide. He looks to John, who gives half a shrug, and Boston confronts another horrible possibility.
John sold him out.
Ghosts aren’t supposed to hang around on the mortal plane, and Boston has certainly overstayed his welcome. It isn’t far out of character for John to lure Boston here just to hand him over. He’s an offering, or a trade of some kind, a bargaining chip for good favor with a very powerful entity. Either way it didn’t matter much now. The king was here to collect his truant ass for good, and he could dunk Deadman into the afterlife simple as swatting a fly. It’d be nearly impossible for Boston to get back.
Pure panic ices through him.
“I promise I’ve done nothing but try to help. I don’t belong in the afterlife, please— I—“ the pleas fall pathetically out of his lips, but he can’t bother to protect his pride now. He can’t go to the afterlife permanently. Not yet.
“Oh, I know what you’ve done.” The king’s lips curl into a smile, hinting at sharp teeth. Deadman considers dissolving. “Honestly, I’m surprised that you, weak as you are, have done as much good as you have.”
“I—what?”
The king sips his tea. “You only do possession? Really? I guess you have to make do with what you’ve got.”
“I’m not sure I—“ Boston frowns. John’s shoulders shake, holding back laughter. “It’s not funny, con man, that’s the King of Ghosts.”
John nods, perfunctory. “That he is.”
Deadman blanches. “What’s he doing in your house?”
The king smirks. “It’s technically sorta my house, at least when it’s in the Infinite Realms.”
“What?!” Boston hisses, and Constantine does let out a chuckle then.
Constantine leans back in his chair. “Relax. Danny helped me with a demon problem in Gotham. He’s staying here for a while.”
“I helped you?” the king side eyes Constantine, grinning. John raises his hands in a gesture of concession.
“Danny?” Deadman practically squeaks, and oh god, did he just call the king by his first name?
“At your service.” The king- Danny- nods with a mock salute.
Boston opens and closes his mouth, as if that might help make sense of what the hell is going on. “So you’re… not here to drag me back to the afterlife?”
“Nope,” Danny replies, popping the p.
Boston puts a hand to his face, mortified, a whirlwind of anxiety still swirling. It seems John still was finding new ways to try to give him an aneurysm.
“I meant it when I said you’ve done good work,” the king continues. “You help people. I can’t say the same for most ghosts who try to make a life outside the realms.”
Boston sinks closer to the table, sitting beside them as much as he’s capable. He lets the warmth of the king’s approval sink into his chest, as well as the relief.
Boston will berate John for the panic he caused later. For now, he’s just glad to have gotten a royal get out of jail free card.
“Ah, we talked too much, your tea’s gone a bit cold.” Danny nods at Boston’s cup, and Boston bites back a bitter retort. But there’s no mocking edge to Danny’s face, only a kindness, and a familiar conspiratorial bend.
Boston can see why he and John get along.
He reaches for the cup, just to humor his king, and—
His fingers close around the mug, solid, real. He can feel the lingering warmth of the tea, the weight of the cup in his hand. Slowly, he lifts it to his lips to sip. It tastes bitter, and sweet.
He looks up at Danny in shock.
“How?” he whispers.
Danny shrugs. “Ghosts have an easier time interacting with the physical world when they’re around me.”
Boston might cry.
Danny just smiles. “You’re welcome. Oh, and also—“
Danny points over his shoulder to a door on the far wall. The wood of the door is so dark it’s nearly purple. Boston knew it hadn’t been there before, because now that it’s here he can’t ignore it. It pulls at him even stronger than the king does.
“That’s yours,” the king explains. “The House of Mystery agreed to let it stay here so you can have easier passage back and forth to the Realms. It’s not good for you to stay away for so long.”
Deadman understands the weight of this gift innately. But he can’t help the trepidation that tickles at the thought of willingly leaving the living world, even if it isn’t permanently.
“Thanks. I think.” he says finally.
“It’s nothing.” Danny smiles.
John grins, utterly too pleased with himself. “Oh don’t look so glum Deadman, you’re still the number one ghost in my heart.”
“Fuck you Johnny.”
John just laughs, and so does the king, and Boston, despite himself, joins them.
The door, his door, lingers, an open invitation. He’ll leave that journey for later.
Peter, captured by goons and in the body of a kid: wanna play two truths and a lie? i'll go first: my parents were assassinated by nazis and made it look like a crash, i watched my uncle be murdered in front of me during a mugging, and my eyes are brown.
Harley Quinn: kiddo, you gotta try harder than that to-
Peter: my eyes are hazel
the goons:
Peter:
Oracle, who hacked into the comms and broadcasted that across the bat channel:
Red Robin, who did the dna analysis and knows who Peter's parents are:
Red Hood, who saw a kid being threatened and saw green:
Robin, who started his teenage rebellion by going to live with his dad in Jersey:
Batman, who knows what a young Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon looked like and knows that Peter is his grandson:
Harley: THEY DID WHAT TO DICKIE AND BABSIE??????!!!!!!!!!
Bruce was in a gala when he received the distress alarm from a few blocks away, he didn’t even stop to think or even change, one of his children were in danger, he went there and when he arrived he saw
Before he arrived there he heard battering but it wasn’t one of distress in the middle of action, it was one of pure panic at being in trouble and with that Bruce started running faster and angrier
The Batmobile wash crashed with a tiny kid car tied in the back, Nightwing was pulling Red Robin who got stuck in the mini car, his belt stuck in the window, probably pressed by accident, at the sight of Bruce Nightwing started to pull harder, Robin was about to scape but was quickly stopped by Bruce
So he started to scream at the batkids, how could they? He can’t even leave for a day without them making a mess, it’s like they get dumber the second they are together
Bruce got recorded by civilians attracted by chaos, the scene was an odd one, the famous Brucie Wayne, the air headed philanthropist, someone known to be very chill and smooth, was screaming at the local cryptic vigilantes?
Not only that but the vigilantes looked like poor kicked puppies, it really seems that Brucie was acting like a parent to them
The internet went wild and with that the fujoshis were already asking the important questions: who tops and who bottoms? And most importantly Can Batman get pregnant?
This is my doppelgänger, Danny, I met him on the internet
Damian Wayne has always been deeply invested in animals, especially endangered species. This is not new information. If there is an animal somewhere on Earth that is critically endangered, Damian Wayne has probably read at least three academic papers about it and has Opinions™ about its conservation status.
So naturally, when an article comes out about a female purple-backed gorilla named Delilah, Damian reads it.
Because of course he does.
And then he notices something interesting.
Apparently, some kid named Danny Fenton was the one who figured out that Delilah was actually a she.
Damian is intrigued.
He looks Danny up.
And then Damian just….
stares at the screen.
Because Danny Fenton looks strikingly like him.
Same dark hair. Same general facial structure. Same resting expression that suggests he is perpetually one inconvenience away from committing a felony. The only difference being Danny’s eyes are blue instead of green.
Damian’s immediate conclusion:
Someone has cloned me.
Obviously.
There is no other explanation.
Except, unfortunately, there is.
Danny Fenton is not a clone.
He’s just Damian’s unwitting doppelgänger.
And Damian, being Damian, decides that this is something he absolutely needs to investigate.
So he finds Danny online.
And Danny, who is apparently completely unfazed by some random Gotham teenager contacting him because they look alike, goes:
“Oh hey! You look like me too!”
Damian:
“I look like you?”
Danny:
“Yeah?”
Damian:
“You are aware that I am objectively more attractive.”
Danny:
“I literally don’t know you.”
And somehow this turns into a friendship.
They become internet friends.
Like, genuinely good internet friends.
They send each other pictures of weird animals.
Damian sends Danny articles about endangered species.
Danny sends Damian pictures of Tucker doing increasingly stupid things.
Damian complains about his siblings.
Danny complains about ghosts.
Damian: “My brother is insufferable.”
Danny: “My sister once threatened to throw me into a river.”
Damian: “Understandable.”
Danny: “I WAS SIX.”
And neither of them thinks this is weird.
They’ve been talking for ages.
They’ve never met in person.
Until Danny Fenton somehow ends up at a Gotham gala.
Maybe Vlad dragged him there because apparently Danny is being forced to attend another rich-person function.
Maybe Sam invited him as her plus-one because she knows exactly how much Danny hates these things and thinks watching him suffer is funny.
Maybe it’s a Wayne Foundation gala and Danny is there for some completely legitimate reason.
It doesn’t matter.
Because Damian walks into the room.
Sees Danny.
Stops.
Danny sees Damian.
Stops.
They stare at each other from across the ballroom.
And Danny slowly points.
Damian slowly points back.
Danny:
“No fucking way.”
Damian:
“Fenton?”
Danny:
“WAYNE?!”
And suddenly the entire Batfamily is watching as Damian Wayne, the child who has been raised to be suspicious of everyone, runs across a ballroom to greet some random teenage boy like they’ve known each other for years.
Bruce is standing there like:
Who is that?
Dick:
Oh my god, Damian has a friend.
Jason:
Why does that kid look like a civilian Damian?
Tim, already pulling up his phone:
Holy shit.
Steph:
DID DAMIAN GET A SECRET BOYFRIEND?!
Damian:
“He is not my boyfriend.”
Danny:
“We’re not even dating!”
Steph:
“I DIDN’T ASK”
And Danny and Damian immediately discover the most important thing about having a best friend who is also your physical double:
You can weaponize it.
They start switching places.
Danny puts on Damian’s jacket.
Damian takes Danny’s tie.
They swap phones.
They start answering to each other’s names.
Someone asks Damian a question and Danny answers.
Someone asks Danny something and Damian answers.
And because they look so ridiculously alike, nobody knows what’s happening.
Except Dick.
Dick knows.
Dick is watching his little brother actively participate in the most elaborate identity-based prank he’s ever seen and is having the time of his life.
Bruce, meanwhile:
“Damian.”
Danny:
“Yes, Father?”
Bruce:
“…”
Danny:
“…”
Bruce:
“Damian.”
Damian, from across the room:
“Yes, Father?”
Bruce:
“What.”
Danny:
“What?”
Damian:
“What?”
Bruce:
“I am going to bed.”
And the best part?
Damian and Danny aren’t even trying to be malicious.
They’re just having fun.
Because they’ve spent months talking online, and now they finally get to hang out in person, and apparently their shared hobby is causing problems for everyone around them.
By the end of the night, Gotham’s wealthiest families have absolutely no idea which Wayne child they’ve been speaking to.
The Batfamily has collectively decided Danny is part of the family now.
Sam has discovered that Damian is somehow exactly as insane as Danny.
And Damian has come to the deeply unfortunate realization that he has finally found someone who can match his energy.
Danny Fenton was supposed to be Damian Wayne’s internet friend.
Aragorn courting someone with ADHD would include...
Okay, so I have Autism, which can be similar to ADHD at times, but I still really hope I didn’t misportray this in any way. I spent like an hour going through ‘ADHD Moods’ on Tumblr trying to get this right, so I really hope you appreciate it!
Aragorn was a wise man who didn’t think any different of you for it at all
He just saw you as the person he loved, though over time he began to pick up on the subtle hints of your condition
How disorganized you were at times
Your rambling and how excited you got when somebody mentioned a thing that interests you (which he found absolutely adorable, btw)
How you seemed to never be able to tell the time right
The constant stimming
It puzzled him, but not in an offensive way. He was more just genuinely curious about you
So he approached you about it one day, and you bashfully told him that you had ADHD
Aragorn immediately went to Elrond, knowing he’d know what to do, and began researching the symptoms and treatments for your condition
He scoured the library and asked Elrond all sorts of questions, looking for any kind of information about ADHD
He wanted to learn more about you, but more importantly, learn how to help you when your symptoms became particularly tough
He basically became an expert on it by the time you’d been courting for a couple months
And he found that he actually quite loved your disorder, given how it made you unique and all the more knowledgeable about your hyperfixations, for instance
But really he just loves everything about you, so that was hardly a surprise
He’d let you ramble to him for hours about your special interest, loving every second of it and asking questions the whole time
And when the Sensory Input in a place became too much, Aragorn would be right beside you, holding you against him, letting you bury your face in his chest, rubbing your back or arms and softly mumbling a song to you
Whenever your executive dysfunction got particularly bad, he’d be right there by you, helping you get through tasks, providing constant reminders and trying his very best to be accommodating and understanding
Aragorn loves when you explain more about your condition to him
He sees it as an extension of your wonderful self, and it helps him try and understand what life must really be like for you, so he always asks you to describe what it feels like for you and how you’d put it in your own terms
Overall, he understands that ADHD is not the entirety of your being, but it’s still a bit, important part of who you are. He’s very supportive about it.
He’ll gladly beat up or scold anybody who calls you annoying or mocks you for it
He just hopes you accept yourself like he’s accepted you
Because he really does love you, mental conditions and all
I wonder if the Bats ever answer honestly if a goon/villain/etc asks “what is wrong with you???” while on patrol. Like.
Dick, 10 years old: “A bunch of my classmates decided to play a racist prank on me and my teacher punished ME for reacting. I got detention!”
Goon: *taking a moment to look him up and down*
Goon: “…but you’re white.”
Dick: *looks into the camera like he’s on The Office and sighs before KOing the guy with a single punch*
Dick, talking to the unconscious goon: “I wasn’t always this white you know. I can’t help that Gotham is allergic to the sun! But also racism can be against an ethnic group! It doesn’t have to be just skin color!”
Goon: *unconscious*
Dick: “Unbelievable! Twice in one day. Today’s the freaking worst!”
——————————
Tim, 15 years old, looking haggard as he types away on his wrist computer, *sighs*: “Some jerk attacked me on my way home from buying a Father’s Day gift and it was ruined! It was expensive, too! And my girlfriend thinks I’m giving her the silent treatment, and like, I am, but not on purpose.”
Goon, tied up: “Oh…um…well, is it really the silent treatment if it’s not on purpose?”
Tim, pausing: “…you know…that’s a really good question.” *turns to Dick lurking in the corner* “Hey Nightwing—“
Dick, immediately: “—if it’s been at least three days after a few months of dating, yes, otherwise you’re fine.”
Tim, 25% more relaxed: “Oh cool! We’ve only been together officially for a month so I’m good!”
Goon: “Uh, I don’t think that’s how that works.”
——————————
Stephanie, 17, loudly fake crying to make the goons uncomfortable: “Batman was being mean to me while I’m literally on my period! How could he? He knows when my periods are! Or…at least he should! Don’t you think he should? He’d know Nightwing or Robin’s if they were girls!”
Goon 1: “Um…”
Goon 2, side whispering to Goon 1: “Yeah I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole.”
Stephanie, deadpan: “Pussy.”
Goon 1: “Wha—“
Goon 3: “How dare he. What a bitch.”
Stephanie: “RIGHT???”
——————————
Jason, 20, holding a goon in a headlock during an interrogation: “As in right this very moment or in general?”
Goon, wheezing: “Are those different answers?”
Jason: “One is significantly longer than the other.”
Goon, incredulous, not expecting this in the middle of an interrogation: “Whichever’s shorter!”
Jason: “I’ve got a permanent wedgie going on right now because I bought the wrong sized underwear and honestly it’s kind of making me want to shoot you in the face if you don’t start talking in the next thirty seconds.”
Goon: “Can I change my answer?”
Jason: “Sure but the longer one’s gonna make me want to shoot you in the face in only fifteen seconds.”
Goon: “…damn.”
Jason: “It’s a hard-knock life, buddy.”
——————————
Bruce: …
Goon: …
Bruce: 😠
Goon: 😰
Bruce, backing goon up against a wall, towering above him, growling: “Your mom.”
(The goon’s mom is in fact the big bad of the night and she interrupted a very nice dinner planned with Selina.)
Self-indulgent lotr imagine, but I love picturing the Fellowship (and other lotr characters) reactions to dating someone who is absolutely brutal with insults. Like maybe they're a poet and they're really sweet most of the time but they randomly deliver the most vicious verbal ass beatings ever and everyone around them is completely shook. Bonus points if they were isekai'd there or something because insults from our world seem pretty next level sometimes.
Like just imagine-
Reader: The sperm that made you should have been wasted on a crusty sock instead because at least then your mom wouldn't have wasted 9 months of her life making another cunt then the one she pushed you out of
It happens very rarely but Batman being at a scene with all of the vigilantes is a sight that triggers two responses.
"We're fucked" because why does Batman need all his backup. Robin, yeah that's normal, Batgirl too, maybe but Nightwing? Red Hood? Spoiler? Red Robin? And The fucking Signal too??? "We're screwed".
"awww" because look it's a big Mama Bat, look at his babies following after him like ducklings (they're arguing, complaining, one of them is snacking, one looks barely semi-conscious)
yousharknotpass
gummygunk
