“But if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.”

not even risking that shit

scrolled past this, re-evaluated my life, then SCROOOLLLED back up and hit the damn reblog button. 

Nope. I know better, have your reblog Madame Zeroni.

who the fuck is Madame Zeroni

Look at these stupid children who don’t know who Madame Zeroni is

Man lissen if you don’t know you better ask somebody AFTER you hit the reblog button

Idk who she is but I have an exam today so I’ll reblog her

idk who she is but i have an exam today so i’ll reblog her

^Haiku^bot^0.4. Sometimes I do stupid things (but I have improved with syllables!). Beep-boop!

Because wise, I am.

Oh fucks no she’s back lmao must reblog. I’m sorry guys

Reblogging Madame Zeroni because I would hate for my great-great grandson to get hit in the head by running shoes

Takin no risks I stg

Danny’s been summoned before. The first time it was Sam trying out a ritual she found in one of her goth books. She didn’t expect it to work, but when Danny was pulled in front of her–he’d been working on a rocket model thank you very much–they took the chance to test as many limits as they could think of.

The second time Danny was summoned it was someone’s sweet, old grandma, reading aloud what she thought was an old-fashioned cookbook. When Danny appeared in her kitchen she barely blinked, just asked if he wanted a homemade cookie. He did. He also took the cookbook and passed it over to Sam.

The third time it was an underpaid proofreader working on someone’s spicy witch coven manuscript. The spell listed to incite lust was supposed to be gibberish, but by dumb luck included the necessary phrases to yank Danny from his lunch and dump him in a dirty living room. The proofreader gave an eloquent huh, scratched out the spell, and kept going. Danny booked it and tried to block the phrase “sliding down a broomstick” from ever crossing his mind again.

I'm trying to think of a ritual that could plausibly be executed by accident in all three of those scenarios and all I've got off the top of my head is, like: The ritual does not require any words, drawings, or otherwise recognizable-to-earth-humans signs of ritualness. The ritual is instead based on some much more alien criteria. Like, the exact relative positioning of a certain number of objects of particular masses, regardless of the purpose or appearance of the objects. Or the ritual requires some kind of scent in the air, some kind of mood in the head of a person who is by themself, and something that is being read without being understood. Maybe it requires some pattern of shapes, but it's fine if there are also lots of irrelevant shapes, so it can be accidentally constructed by just having a few letters in the right relative positions on a page. Maybe the key is whatever each person was daydreaming about and what they ate for breakfast that day and weather there is a bird singing at noon exactly 3 miles away or something. Or the ritual words are very brief, but not commonly read yet alone spoken aloud. This could be anything from a very much forgotten but very short "nursery rhyme" that crops up randomly in various texts because it just has enough appeal to a few authors' eyes when they do find it, and it's just generic enough that an author can find a way to squeeze it into pretty much any book. Or else it's literally just the full name of a particular species of plant - one that can be used for or is associated with poison, maybe, so as to end up in goth book, cookbook, and "incite lust" spellbook. Scientific name of the blood blossoms? Rare flower, even rarer name, which somehow is tied to Pariah, and thereby to Pariah's ex-office, and thereby to the Ghost King more generally? Or just some other random poisonous herb. Whatever. If it's only a couple words, or a tiny rhyme, it would be infrequently used and summon Danny into entertaining circumstances, but if nefarious actors ever caught on, it'd be really really really easy to spread and use all the time everywhere, and it'd also be neigh impossible to hide that knowledge. If multiple malevolent cults/wizards/whatever try to summon Danny to different places at the same time, which event becomes exponentially more likely if the ritual is THAT easy, what happens?

The thing that catches me is intent. I think: it only works if you don’t know what it is. Sam wanted to know what the ritual did, if anything. The Grandma thought it was a recipe. The proofreader thought it was gibberish.

The trick is that Danny’s summoning (The Summons of the King) only works for those who do not expect it. The power of the Crown will never be manipulated, even in something as small as a summoning, by those who wish to use that power.

and with your help it can rack up 700k notes on tumblr in 2024

no tumblr this doesnt need tags im releasing it into the wild as god intended

Danny picked up some traits from his parents. He got his mom’s flexibility and reflexes, his dad’s love of anything chocolate flavored and abnormally great cardiovascular health. The trait they both passed on (to Danny AND Jazz) is an intense need to learn everything they can about what they don’t like.

Jazz remembers what it was like when Uncle Hammond passed and Aunt Alicia got different. She’s terrified of her own emotions effecting her like that some day, so studies psychology like there’s no tomorrow.

Jack and Maddie bonded over their shared fear and death and resulting desire to learn everything they could about it.

Danny can’t stand clowns. They’re dishonest and hide who they are behind heavy makeup and outlandish costumes. Freak show kicks that dislike into a full-on phobia though, so he goes all in on learning everything he can. How does clown school work? What are the requirements to be a clown? What rules do they have to follow? If he knows their limitations, he knows their weaknesses. He will not be caught off guard again.

That knowledge sits in the back of his mind like a comfort blanket. Every so often he’ll dip back in and research if there’s anything that’s changed. He wants to keep on top of any information about his greatest enemies.

Finally, he manages to graduate high school with a 2.7 GPA and 31 on the ACT thanks to his Math and Science scores (and a carefully managed brawling schedule with his rogues). Thanks to those, he managed to get a partial scholarship to Gotham U for Physics and Engineering. He still isn’t sure how he managed that, but he’ll happily take it.

What he won’t take is this FALSE Clown trying to cause trouble right before finals! He’d kept on top of his shit all semester and wasn’t gonna let anyone kidnapping him and some other people off the street get in his way.

Later, the Bats manage to find where the hostages were held because one of them waved down Robin. As in, all the captives had gotten free and when they found the right warehouse, it was to one young man berating the Joker.

“You’re nothing but a modern rendition of the town fool!”

I'm mostly on board with this idea except I'd prefer if the Joker stayed more in character and was angered or amused by Danny's diatribe. Like Danny's just there yelling at him about all the ways he's failing at being a clown ("Do you even have an egg?! You don't, do you??!!!"), and the hostages all get away either because 1) Joker now has it out for this one fucker in particular and doesn't care anymore about the rest, or 2) Joker is now fascinated with/entertained by this one loud idiot in particular and no longer cares about the rest.

Alternatively, the Joker doesn't care at all either way, just totally doesn't really give any reaction, and that makes Danny madder, and the hostages are freed because Danny frees the hostages while also yelling at the Joker. Then he punches the Joker in the face or something. (unrelated: I just now realized that people capitalize "Joker" even when it's phrased as a title - "the Joker" - like people might but often don't do for "the King" or "the God of" or "the Pope". Is there a word for this stylistic thing people do sometimes with certain titles when they want to emphasize or elevate them?)

Also - I could be mistaken because I'm mostly remembering someone else's post about this - but Freakshow wasn't really a clown either, was he? He had clowns under his thrall, but they were sad victimized clowns. He was more like a circus ringleader type, wasn't he? Even though people call him a clown all the time. To be fair, I suppose one could make the same argument about Joker. Not actually a clown. Maybe Danny realizes Freakshow isn't a clown, is actually on the side of the sad and much maligned clowns (they just get a bad rep like the ghosts do!), and is now mad at both Freakshow and the Joker for carelessly giving clowns a bad name by pretending to be one when they're not. And then he can yell at the Joker about that.

Ooh yes. Tbh I know very little about DC canon (I came to dcxdp from the DP side of things) so I very much appreciate this addition.

Especially since Danny is shown to hate not being taken seriously, but instead of escalating he gets petty. I can do easily imagine him not getting a response and arguing “Fine, then I’ll let your hostages go! How about that?! You gonna listen to me now, you phony?”

With the characterization notes you added (again thank you) Joker probably thinks it’s annoying but is curious enough about why this kid a) knows so much about clowns, b) is so invested, c) is willing to verbally argue against him so ferociously, and d) got out of his own bonds.

Maybe Joker picks up on Danny’s Midwestern accent and catches that he moves to Gotham for something and, considering he’s college aged, the kid’s gotta be here as an academic, right? Maybe he could be useful.

DPxDC Afterlife, But It's A Bar

[discontinued, feel free to add on]

It was weird. Not wrong, alarming or dangerous type of weird. Not good or comforting either.

Just plain weird.

It all started a few days ago, on Wednesday, to be exact. On a rare occasion, Jason was patrolling outside of his territory ("cover for me, I have a date" my ass, Replacement), and he spotted something out of place. A neon green, almost toxic colored sign that read "Afterlife".

Honestly, who names a place like that? But judging by the placement and design, it was a bar, and Jason could almost appreciate the irony. Maybe it had a slogan along the lines of "our drinks will send you beyond the lines of life and death" or something. But at the same time, it could be interpreted as "alcohol can and will be the death of you," which, technically, is not the best PR campaign for a bar.

Jason decided to visit the place anyway. He was curious about the implied death joke, sue him.

Gotham’s Ghosts are an open secret. Outside the city, people think it’s a metaphor referring to how old the city is and the near-endless history carved into every corner.

Gothamites know better though. Some call it a joke, most refuse to say it out loud, but all respect Gotham and her Ghosts. She is a city that cares for and protects her own. Those who are hers never truly leave and those who are not can feel her desire that they do.

Out-of-town-ers tend to trip more, feel paranoid, always catch the red light and rain, and plenty other little things in Gotham that show they are unwanted by the city. The not a joke is that these are acts of her Ghosts, those who once walked her streets now working together to carry out her more subtle desires. The Bats and Birds are believed by some to be more powerful Ghosts, her elites, permitted to carry out more tangible tasks.

Truth is, the only thing Gothamites have wrong is the Bats and Birds. They’re helped by the ghosts who make bullets stray just right and keep their footsteps quieter than is possible. They have Gotham’s blessing and her Ghosts’ assistance, for they are hers and protectors of her others, but they do not yet hear her decrees.

So, when one Bird leaves Gotham, she frets and her Ghosts grow restless. When the news comes that only his corpse will return, they grieve with their knights, both hoping and fearing that their lost bird will join them.

Instead, he wakes up, he wanders, he leaves again (and oh Gotham, how she weeps to see him go, knowing how it had gone before, raining tears down on her people and sending her ghosts to make all feel the dread, if only that one might notice the danger of her missing bird, the danger of tragedy striking a second time.) Then! Then he returns. He returns strong and angry with a ghost of his own festering within but he is home and Gotham beams and her Ghosts all swarm to see him safe.

They aid him in his efforts to rid her of the Mad Clown, then show the Bat their displeasure when he harms Her Bird to stop those attempts. The Dark Knight hears his footsteps and feels his weight heavier than before, adapting as much as he can but only finding relief when he finally abandons his anger at Her Bird. Her ghosts gather around him in the night once more, but they decide amongst themselves that they will leave again if need be and far more choose to remain with the Returned Bird, rather than the Dark Knight.

Between their assistance to Gotham's favored and little tricks along the street, the City's Ghosts have a place to which they retreat. A place to refresh themselves and gather their strength before returning to the larger city. They have a bar where they go, formed by Gotham herself, her own Afterlife for her own Ghosts so that they need never leave her. It is a passable imitation of what they lost when they chose to stay and serve their City.

Gotham's Afterlife is too closely connected to the living Gotham, though, and garners attention from some of the living. Gotham is too deeply entwined with her people and struggles to keep this place of pride a secret from them, so calls to the Realms with a request of a gatekeeper. The Realms respond and send her their favored, a ghost who lives and is experienced in guarding the space between Ghosts and the Living. He becomes Gotham's only living Ghost, a caretaker of her Afterlife, and a friend to the other Ghosts. He even brings a few more who have worked alongside him before (an entertainer and her lover, who happily takes a position as the guard, a young couple who love to travel and take on the job of leading the bats and birds where they need to go, a cook who ensures the Ghosts all replenish themselves properly and regularly, and a worker who keeps additional watch over the warehouse district that desperately needs it. There are even more who flit in and out and Gotham and her Ghosts take to them all quite quickly.)

It is with time that this Gatekeeper and his friends become Gothamites in their own rights. It is also with time that Gotham's Ghosts share that the spirit in her Returned Bird's chest is slowly weakening with time, speeding up slightly when around other ghosts. It is with pride that Gotham learns her own Ghosts can rid him of this foreign influence.

Of course, the only reasonable course of action is to lead the Returned Bird to her Afterlife. Perhaps time with more Ghosts will speed up the process. Gotham has the Ghosts with her Returned Bird start leading him toward her Afterlife, night after night until he finally finds it. He doesn't go in, but he returns to study it, night after night. Then, finally, with enough prompting by the Ghosts, he approaches. He steps through the door, willingly entering himself into their world, allowing Gotham's Ghosts to finally reveal themselves to him.

And oh, what a reveal it is, to welcome the Returned Bird home at last. For even as he stands wary, Gotham beams with pride, her Ghosts all looking to the figure in the doorway, only some with recognition but all with respect for the Living soul who has earned Gotham's pride and the right to see their Afterlife, let alone walk in.

-=o0o=-

From the moment he steps over the threshold, Jason knows he's been drugged. He feels strangely calm, despite the unexplainable knowledge that he is being watched by everyone in the bar, a strangely full bar for a place nobody has gone in or out of, and the pits have quieted in a way he has never known since coming back to life. They're not gone, but for once he's only hearing overlapping whispers instead of the usual constant screaming in his skull.

All these strange people, clearly locals in how they carry themselves, make him feel like this is a sort of homecoming. Unwilling to draw too much attention or behave too strangely, he quickly moves on from the doorway and makes his way to the bar against the wall, settling onto a stool.

"Welcome to the Afterlife, how may I-woah! ...okay, hi, new guy... I'll be with you in a moment." The bartender, one of the few people in the bar who didn't look like he was going to a 'decades in history' themed party, had stark white hair, pale skin, and bright green eyes. They were glowing slightly, too, and his lips had a concerning green tint to them.

"Take your time," Jason said, leaning against the bar with a nod that the bartender returned before darting through a door that seemed to lead into a kitchen. While he was gone, Jason took the chance to take another look around. The people here were varied, some looking like they'd just walked in off the street but most looking like they were stuck in time and had been for a century or more.

Jason hadn't seen anyone going in or out. They mostly looked like they'd been showing up and staying for a hundred years at least. Jason had tried reading Percy Jackson as a kid, and while it didn't hold his interest for long, he remembered some parts well enough not to like how this was looking.

"Here. Might not be what you were planning to order, but dude, you need it. I don't know what you've been up to but it left something rancid in your system." The bartender was back, skin flushed green and a crooked grin on his lips, doing nothing to hide the concern in his eyes. "I'm Phantom, by the way. Sorry about the wait."

"Call me Jason."

"Nice to meet you, Jason. You're gonna want to chug that, by the way. It's kinda gross, but what medicine tastes good?" Medicine? "Just trust me, it'll flush out all that grossness in your system. It'll make Gotham happy." The bartender, Danny, returned to tending the bar as if nothing was strange.

Jason had to get out of here. Fast.

as a phrase, “she [x] on my [x] til’ i [x]” only is funny if on either side of a spectrum. either the phrase ends so specific to a sexual action it’s a smart joke (for example, “she strogan me off til i beef” uses the word “beef stroganoff’ but also makes a “stroking off” joke, making it clever wordplay.) or it makes so little sense that it ends up funny from the absurdity of deciphering what type of sexual action could even be taking place. (example: when my roomate the other night asked to hand them a sanpelligrino and then said “she san on my pelli til’ i grino” which begs the question of what ‘sanning’ is, what a ‘pelli’ repersents in terms of human genitalia and what ‘grinoing’ could possibly be.)

DPxDC My Brother in the Mirror

Damian doesn't like mirrors.

He never mentioned the fact to other members of the family, but they are detectives and vigilantes, it's their job to be observant. Which, after so many years, becomes a habit.

Damian doesn't actively avoid the mirrors - he has a mirror in his bathroom, he didn't express any discomfort over going into a mirror labyrinth at some carnival they've attended (he expressed disgust over taking part in something so stupid, in his words, but that's a whole another story), and he actually spent a few minutes in front of the funhouse mirrors when no one was looking, watching his own reflection distort in various ways. He also has no problems with his self-image - he doesn't mind pictures of him taken at any time (unless it's Tim, but that's, again, a whole another story), he's drawn a few self-portraits that were rather accurate and he liked them.

He just doesn't like mirrors. For some reason.

His family, both close and extended, never questioned it. They did some gentle research to see if the dislike was caused by some kind of problem Damian was experiencing without telling anyone, but when they found no proof of that, they've just decided it was some quirk of his. Everyone has quirks. Dick doesn't like eating cereal like a normal person, Tim despises sleep, Steph is at war with any color other than purple.

That is, until one day, Tim witnesses Damian sitting in front of a mirror.

He is not even aware of it - the whole family is having a game night, and through some arguments and rearrangements on the couch, Damian ends up sitting on the left side of it, where his back is turned to one of the three mirrors in the room. Tim, who's lost the last round, is slumping in an armchair nearby, pointedly looking away from the screen where Damian and Jason are enthusiastically competing over the first place in Mario Cart. Of course, Tim can't just not watch it since he needs to know their strategies. But turning back around would also be admitting defeat.

The solution? Easy, watch the screen through the mirror.

Which is when he notices it.

Damian in the mirror doesn't act the same as Damian in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim can see the real Damian moving around, shoving Jason with his elbow, fully concentrated on the game, and yelling something. Damian-in-the-mirror is sitting unnaturally still, the back of his head over the couch unmoving.

Tim forgets all about the game when Damian's reflection starts to turn around. Slowly and carefully, eerie in the way the horror movies are, the boy in the mirror turns his head around like an owl, his neck twisting inhumanely.

His eyes are green. Green like the toxic waste, like Jason's madness, like acid in cartoons, like the Waters of Lazarus.

Damian in the mirror smiles, his unblinking, gliwing eyes fixed on Tim, and his teeth are sharp and pointy, and there are too many of them, humans can't smile this wide.

"-im? Tim!" A hand nudges him in the shoulder, and Tim looks away from the mirror, finding Dick standing over him. The noise of the game room returns all at once, and, wait, when did it become quiet for Tim?.. He must have a strange expression on his face because Dick's easy smile falls slightly, and he frowns, "Is everything okay?"

Tim looks back to the mirror, but the green-eyed boy in the mirror is gone, and the mirror only reflects Damian as he is: sitting on the couch.

"Yeah," Tim shakes his head and forces a smile on his lips, "I just zoned out."

"Okay," Dick pats him on the shoulder and gives him the controller, "It's your turn now."

Tim takes the controller and turns around, facing the screen. Tim throws a quick glance at Damian, who had slid down on the couch so his head would not be in the reflection anymore. Tim sees the cold, warning hint to his eye, a clear do not speak of it message.

Tim doesn't like that the mirror is now behind him.

During his time in the league, Damian never cared much to see the faces of those he killed. There were only two who stuck in his mind; the first, for being a milestone, and Danyal, for being his twin brother.

After Danyal’s death, Damian hadn’t liked seeing his own reflection, the ghost of his brother echoing in the shadows. It was Damian in the mirror, but after some time, he convinced himself it wasn’t. There were no cameras in the league, not for keepsake photos, anyway, so mirrors were the only way Damian could see his brother again.

When he wasn’t training, he would sit and stare at his own reflection, studying it to determine what features had been slightly different on Danyal. His nose wouldn’t have that crook in it from breaking, as he’d always avoided hits to the face, but he’d likely have more scars on his hands from that terrible instinct he had to redirect an enemy blade with his bare hands. Damian refused to believe Danyal had been truthful when saying he had a ‘secret technique’ that let him keep his fingers.

Damian spent only a few minutes in front of the mirror at a time, until a full year after Danyal’s death, his reflection was slightly different. No crook in the nose, more scars on the hands, deathly still, and bright green eyes. As Damian studied his reflection that no longer mirrored his actions, it smiled with a pull to its lip that Damian had only ever seen on Danyal.

“You’re not alive.” Danyal shook his head.

“How are you here?” Danyal started to shake his head again, then stopped in frustration.

“You cannot speak.” Danyal pointed at Damian, then his own ear while shaking his head again.

“Well if I cannot hear you speak, you must learn another form of communication.” All those languages they’d learned and not one that was silent.

Damian asked Mother if there were any tutors who could teach him silent communication, as Danyal’s ghost could not speak. When she questioned it, Damian walked to the nearest mirror, where Mother stared in shock for far longer than acceptable.

“Mother.” Her head snapped to look at him.

“Pack your things and tell no one. Tonight, you meet your father.” …what? But Damian knew better than to question Mother, who’d walked off as soon as she finished speaking. When he turned to see what Danyal thought, he was met with a reflection that refused to meet his eye.

With the Waynes, Damian knew from the moment he first heard of his father’s many false children that he would have to play things close to his chest. The thing he kept closest was Danyal.

In School, Damian was required to learn a language. While he initially dreaded taking courses on a language he already knew, there was one he didn’t recognize. When he questioned it, he came to learn that this ‘ASL’ was exactly what he needed for Danyal. With confirmation that Danyal could still see and hear when Damian wasn’t near a mirror, it was decided.

With their newest language available to them, Damian and ‘Danny’ as he apparently preferred, could finally have some proper communication. There was still some difficulty working around their lack of fluency, but they managed. Danny was able to let Damian in on some things.

For one: he had been reincarnated as Damian’s Twin and, after dying, could remember his last life. He’d been from another timeline and begun amassing too much power, so was ‘cursed’ to live a human life elsewhere in hopes that it would delay his development.

Then Damian killed him and that delay was about 10x shorter than intended.

He wasn’t sure what response to give when Danny thanked Damian for killing him.

The one issue now was that Danny’s soul was tied to Damian’s as part of the curse. It was a fail safe to keep Danny from returning to his original timeline too soon. So Danny was now sort of stuck around Damian, hovering nearby until Damian had a visible reflection, which he would take the place of.

Also, the soul bond allowed Damian, and only Damian, to see Danny. Everyone else would see… still Danny, but the version of him that was sent to another timeline. The version with an ever growing power that was dangerous enough to threaten even the gods. The version that could drive you insane if you dared meet it’s gaze for too long.

To put it simply, Damian was the only one who could safely look at Danny.

That was proven once more when, a few years after Damian first moved to Gotham, Drake went wide-eyed and somehow paler than usual while staring at the mirror behind Damian during game night. Damian tried to make clear that Drake was not to speak of it, glaring at him in a way that should’ve kept his annoying little mouth shut.

“No way. I’m not sitting here.”

“What?” Grayson was confused. Drake should let him remain confused.

“There’s something wrong with that mirror! I’m not sitting with my back to it.”

“Something-?” Grayson turned to stare at the item in question. “That’s been there longer than I’ve been alive. Maybe longer than Bruce has been alive, too. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“There definitely is. If it’s not the mirror, it’s Damian.” Drake blinked for a moment before jumping out of his seat and gasping. “Damian, what the hell?! That was your reflection! What is wrong with your reflection?!”

“Oh for- Replacement, nobody is on the same page as you, here. Catch us up. The fuck are you going on about?” Todd was comfortably lounging on the couch next to Damian, pointing at Drake with a chip.

“Damian’s reflection smiled at me!”

“Tt. Is it truly so terrifying to imagine me smiling?”

“When your back is to the mirror and the smile has too many teeth and I can’t hear anything? Yeah, man, it’s pretty freaky! What was that?” Drake pointed wildly at the mirror.

“Too many teeth? That’s all it was?” Danny hadn’t known how to explain what he looked like to others. “That’s rather pathetic.”

“Yeah, no.” Damn you Grayson. “Damian, if you know something, you should tell us.”

“Tt. I hardly see why.” It’s not as if Danny is a danger to Damian.

“B hates magic. This sounds like magic. Should we go tell B what little we know,” Todd ate a chip before continuing, “or are you gonna tell us enough that we don’t?”

“Blackmail is below you.”

“I blackmailed a guy before breakfast today. Don’t pretend I’m better than I am.” Damian stared at Todd, lifted his head over the back of the couch to look at his brother, and received a nod.

“He is my dead twin brother who is now trapped as my reflection.” Danny raised a brow and signed ‘say more’. Very well. “He is also a minor eldritch god.” Danny gave a thumbs up. Damian looked at the other three in the room.

Drake looked almost triumphant, satisfied in being proven correct. Grayson’s head was fully buried in his hands, muffling a long, low groan. Todd was laughing.

“Bullshit!” He cackled.

Damian glanced back at Danny for his reaction.

‘I wanna say hi’ Well, if that’s what his brother wished. Damian stood up and walked to the mirror, angling himself so they would all be able to see Danny.

“If you need proof, feel free to see for yourself.”

Grayson and Todd both looked, slowly going from confusion to shared ashen-faced fear. Once Damian thought enough time had passed, he stepped next to the mirror so he would no longer have a reflection.

“That’s Danny.”

Anybody has ideas for a hero name for Jason in an AU I which he 1. Were trying to distance himself from his trauma and characterization as a villain, 2. wanted something that could be a symbol of hope for both himself and the people he helps and 3. didn't want something too associated with images of godhood or perfection (because of plot). Bonus point if there's a literature reference in there!

Oh this is right up my alley.

Before we address the Bird theme, Anchors are also a common literary symbol of hope, specifically the Mariner’s Cross, so “Mariner” could be an option that maybe intentionally misleads.

If you do wanna follow the ‘bird’ theming with the Gotham group, Doves are overused but Swallows are also used as a symbol of hope in lots of historical literature. So what are some options there?

I think Jason would be too self aware to call himself ‘Swallow’ because there are way too many dirty jokes to be made. Some Swallows are also called Martins, but that might sound a little awkward as a hero name. If you’re doing anything with the common idea that Jason is partly Chinese, you could maybe use the Chinese name for Swallows, “Yán” (More commonly the plural “Yánzi”).

If the literature reference isn’t too important (though you could argue any bird that’s a symbol of hope could be a reference to the Emily Dickinson poem, but I digress) there are plenty of other Hope representing birds but my favorite two are:

Cardinals: a solid option that stand for hope, new beginnings, loyalty, and forgiveness. They have that Red coloring that Jason is associated with! (I also don’t think it’s used yet in DC.)

Cranes: represent hope, luck, and resilience and are known for being able to switch what they eat depending on what’s available. They’re survivors that refuse to go down easy, which is a trait that fits well with Jason. Also doesn’t have that ‘overly good’ vibe that you might get with swallows or cardinals.

Hope this helps!

imagine the “Robin meets the JL while Batman is away” trope but it’s inverted. instead of being funny and interesting and extroverted all of the Robins just bolt. bolt, hide, or fight. B told them not to ever let themselves get cornered and to run if a meta sets eyes on them. so they run, they hide, and they fight back with a tiny shard of holdout Kryptonite B had embedded in their gauntlet. they dig their boots in, clench their fists, and prepare to be immovable at <100 lbs.

Of course Robin runs, hides, and fights. They introduced themselves as "Your Dad's friends."

Ra's al Ghul, caught in a rare moment of weakness, is being pulled apart piece by piece.

A pair of mad scientists, just the kind of deranged he would hire normally, had built weapons that were...far more effective on him than he'd anticipated. Also, he hadn't been there to fight them at all. They were a true unknown, coming out of nowhere equipped to deal with the Demon Head himself.

Ironically, from what they had started shouting, he wasn't who they were hunting.

He'd been knocked unconscious by what could only be described as pure dumb luck.

He woke up strapped to a table, as those selfsame scientists started peeling him apart with scalpels.

His torture is interrupted when a young boy walks into the basement, sees what his torturers are doing to him, and screams.

Then the boy pivots, and off the top of his head, creates a distraction to pull his parents away from trying to see how Ra's works.

It's admirable; someone so untrained able to think so quickly. It's clumsy; the equivalent of a child pointing at something and screaming as a distraction.

It's just what was required for the boy to remove his restraints and hand him...a vial of the purest Lazarus Water he's ever seen.

"You're already like, really liminal, so it shouldn't kill you, just heal you. But you need to drink it fast, before they come back!"

And like that, it clicks.

The mad scientists are hunting someone as 'liminal' as him. Their son's eyes are glowing green.

Normally, Ra's would drink the Lazarus Waters and slaughter the scientists and anyone they were allied with.

But.

This is a debt.

He'd been waiting for the two scientists to leave so he could free himself, but this boy had stepped in.

Now he owes the child.

He can tell just by looking at the boy that killing his parents is not going to be considered paying back the debt.

However.

This boy is in clear and present danger with those two lunatics about.

So.

As the adult, is it not Ra's responsibility to make sure the boy is safe, whether he wants it or not?

Instead of killing the scientist parents, he knocks the boy unconscious and takes him to Nanda Parbat.

After all, there is nowhere safer than under the Demon Head's protection.

Just to be sure, he adopts the boy as his grandchild.

Now nobody will dare to touch the little hero.

~~~~~~

Danny wakes up in an assassin compound so soaked in Ectoplasm that he can't phase through it, and the ectoplasm in question is so contaminated that it's making him sick, so he can't punch or blast through it either.

He's trapped in a gilded cage by a madman who's insisting that it's all "for Daniel's own good", and his only chance at escaping is telling the little kid, Damian, stories about Amity. Stories about his friends and family.

Stories that he can't make obvious are cries for help, but entertaining enough for a kid to pay attention to.

Stories that will, hopefully, make it to the kid's father.

Who is, apparently, the Goddamn Batman.

Somewhere along the way, the kid starts calling them brothers. It sounds like the kid believes it with his whole heart.

And Danny...Danny's too selfish to correct it.

He lets Damian believe that Danny is his older brother by blood.

~~~~~~

Damian has an older brother, hidden away in Nanda Parbat, who is sickly and weak, and to whom the Demon Head himself is indebted.

Damian has always thought that Danyal was in the best place for him; away from the unnamed hunters that Grandfather said stalked him outside of the compound.

Recently, though, Damian is. Rethinking this.

Why was Danyal so sickly? Why did he always look so sad and desperate?

Perhaps it is time to tell father of his sickly older brother who physically could never meet Grandfather and Mother's standards to meet the Bat.

I tried drawing Danny with dead mom hair style. No colors though

Sorry if it doesn't look good

Ancients, how long has he been stuck here? He lost track somewhere around the eighteen month mark, and that feels like it was a while ago. But it was the last mark he could remember. So even as his hair grows longer and he trains more and more with the assassins that run this place and gains more scars, one of which costing him his left eye, he tells himself it's just been eighteen months.

He's too weak in this place to keep up with the standards the assassins try and hold him to, though the madman that brought him here won't let them hurt him too badly. What made it worse was that, when he'd lost his eye, he'd been taken to a pool of contaminated ectoplasm and dunked in it.

It hadn't saved his eye. It had just made him weaker.

He couldn't go ghost, couldn't heal, or fly, or anything he used to be able to do. He almost felt completely human again, save for the constant ache of his core at being around so much contaminated ecto. It reminded him that he was far closer to the dead than the living.

The only upsides to his days were the letters he'd get from Damian every so often. He talked about his father ("our father," he said in the letters), of the training he was receiving. Of how his father cared for him in ways the assassins had not, and how he didn't care in the ways the assassins had.

Damian talked about the rouges he fought, calling them Joker and Scarecrow and Two Face and the like. It reminded Danny of when he'd been Phantom, when he'd been home in Amity.

He loved living through Damian's letters.

His little brother (he couldn't bring himself to think of Damian any other way, after all this time), spoke of other siblings. Adopted by his father over the years. Victims of tragedy, or neglect, wanting more than anything to make a difference, change the world so that no one was hurt like they were. And if not the world, then just that one city.

The only name of them that he recognized was Todd. He'd been at the compound during Danny's stay, but they'd never seen each other. Danny had only heard of his training, how well he was doing. Apparently he and Damian had known each other during their time here, and were still close in Gotham.

Danny was glad he had people to talk to out there.

But his most recent letter was concerning. It left Danny tossing and turning in his cot for days.

Damian had told his father, had told the Batman, about him.

Of how he was sick.

Of how he was weak.

Those did not bother Danny. They were true statements, after all. He'd forgotten the feeling of strength that came with being healthy, let alone what it felt like to float weightless in the air, looking at the stars. Oh, how he missed the stars.

No, what worried him was that the Bat was coming. He was coming for Danny. He hoped it would be to sneak him out, somehow. He knew it was a foolish hope, no one could manage to sneak into Nanda Parbat let alone back out again.

~~~~~~

It irked Bruce to no end that Damian had convinced him that he'd be a necessary part of the rescue operation. But he didn't know precisely where Daniel was being kept like Damian did, nor would he be a truly comforting presence like his youngest would. No, he needed Damian here. Which was terrifying because he was flying them both back to where the boy had been raised and trained.

What if the League saw him coming? What if he fell and Damian was left stranded in that place? Worse, what if he made it out and Damian didn't?

He shoved those thoughts to the back of his mind as they arrived, landing the plane out of direct sight of the compound and opting to sneak it. It would be better if he managed to get his son out without attracting the attention of hundreds of trained assassins.

He allowed Damian to lead the way once they got inside, running silently through stone halls and going deeper into the compound. Daniel was close to the center, a place Damian seemed to think was a high honor.

It was close to Ra's, which meant it would be well guarded. An easy way to keep a prisoner from wandering about while convincing them that they were an honored guest.

The door they finally arrived at was ornate, decorated with white and green designs. There was an air of staleness around it, as if the sickness of the room's inhabitant had spread to the hall outside. The whole compound was silent, but here it was even more so, the kind of silence that left your ears ringing, searching for some kind of input that must be there because nothing natural was this quiet.

Damian opened the door to a dark room, a figure curled up on the bed beneath plush blankets. A desk sat in one corner, covered in sketches of people that Bruce couldn't make out. Next to the bed was a cane.

"Brother. Daniel, wake up," Damian whispered, nudging the figure on the bed. There was a groan and a shifting of blankets and...

God, what had they done to him?

Danny's face was scarred on his left side. Not from blades or poisons, but electricity. Lichtenberg scars traced around his left eye and down his neck, and Bruce saw the way the scars trailed down to his hands as he reached for his brother.

"Dami, Akhi, is that you?"

"Yes, Daniel. I'm here. And I brought Father with me." Bruce did his best to hide his horror and outrage as his son, who he hadn't known existed three weeks ago, turned to him. His left eye was clouded over, a faint scar in comparison to the electrical ones crossing over it and making clear what had happened to him.

"Oh, he-" whatever Daniel was going to say was cut off by a coughing fit strong enough that he doubled over. Bruce was there in a moment, steadying his son as he tried to regain his breath over the next few minutes.

"It's nice to meet you. Damian's told me a lot about... about you, and what you do. But... why are you here?" he said between gasped breaths. Whatever illness Daniel had, it was a wonder he'd lasted this long in the League. They were not known to tolerate weakness.

"To get you out of here. You're sick, Daniel, and you need proper medical care and a better environment than this to recover." Daniel just nodded, moving to pull himself out of bed. He grabbed the cane, pulling himself to stand and moving to gather the sketches on his desk.

"Okay. If you think you can get me out of here then... then I'll go with you."

They made their way out, much more slowly this time to keep Daniel from pushing himself. Every step seemed like it exhausted him, and when they paused to let him catch his breath Bruce couldn't help but notice the way he winced when he moved. Eventually he offered to carry him, which Daniel seemed grateful to take him up on.

They managed to make it to the jet before alarms were raised, thankfully. Now they just needed to get home. Then Bruce could work on getting his son the help he needed. Damian was chatting to his older brother, filling him in on his life since coming to Wayne manor, what it was like to be Robin, the menagerie of pets he'd collected, and of course what his siblings were like.

"Richard will likely be the most annoying about meeting you. Cassandra and Brown will be much more restrained in their enthusiasm. Todd and Drake will likely try to interrogate you for some reason or another, but it is simply to ensure you are of no threat to the family. Thomas will meet you later, as he patrols during the day."

"They sound like a... a fun bunch. I can't wait to meet them."

"They're all quite excited to meet you too, Daniel. I promise, they aren't as bad as Dami makes them out to be," Bruce said.

"Please, call me Danny." Bruce looked over his shoulder at his sons. Damian was clinging to Danny's hand and sitting as close to him as possible. Danny, for his part, looked exhausted, but was trying to smile nonetheless.

"Of course. Now, you should get some rest. It's a long flight back to Gotham, and you could definitely use the sleep."

Danny nodded, squeezing Damian's hands before closing his eyes and letting his head rest against the seat. It wasn't long before he was out, and Damian followed not long after.

Going a little bit back, but what if Danny was Tim's twin that the drakes gave away at birth cause they only needed one heir. That would definitely increase Ra's obsession over both of the boys. Perhaps Ra's would boast about Danny like a trophy that he won.

Once Damian makes the connection between Tim and Danny, it may haunt or fuel Damian's drive to save Danny. Like there is a healthy version of my brother. If he can be healthy then so can mine. I must bring him here. He'd definitely get better here cause there's a healthy version of him. Or allow Damian to give Danny the experience he once told to a younger Damian, back when they were in the LOA together.

Tim on the other hand would freeze. All of those only years he spent alone, yearning for acknowledgement. That could have all been prevented had his parents not decided they only wanted one child. He could have grown up with a brother.

Damian slammed into Tim's room.

This was unusual for multiple reasons; first, Damian usually tried to be quieter when entering someone else's domain. Second, Tim did not live in Wayne Manor, and on top of that was currently in a safehouse.

That no one was supposed to know about.

"Uhhh..." Tim said, trying to find out what to say at the same time as what to do.

But Damian did not appear to be out for blood.

"Drake."

"No, that was a very badly thought out hero name, I don't use it anymo-"

"Timothy."

Tim froze.

Oh no.

Oh shit.

"Who died?" Tim hissed, launching to his feet.

"No one, I....are you well?" Damian said haltingly, eyes searching Tim for...something.

"What, like physically or mentally? One of those has a lot of different answers." Tim tried to joke, buying time while he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

"Physically. Do you suffer from routine sickness? Did your parents seek out a cure for a rare disease when you were younger?" Damian asked, getting more and more intense as he walked further into the room, circling Tim and inspecting him.

"Uhh...I had the Clench? Other than that, no. What's-"

"Are you prone to sickness in general? A weak immune system, perhaps?"

"I...well, I don't have a spleen, but I've never really been prone to getting sick. Damian what is going on?"

But Damian stilled, barely breathing.

"You do not have a spleen and I have never seen you ill."

"I take pretty good care of myself, actually? I'm on top of it."

"Then it is not an illness, and is instead a shackle."

Tim blinked, still lost but starting to put some pieces together.

"Wait, is there like, a clone of me trapped somewhere?"

"I must leave; I need to tell father."

"Damian, wait!"

Tim took too long to grab for Damian, and Damian was long gone by the time he managed to stumble out of the safehouse.

Oh no, poor Damian. Just that one realization.

“It’s not an illness.”

Damian remembers how his brother used to be able to walk around. He used to keep up in training, in fact he was Damian's primary instructor. And if he really concentrates, he can faintly remember nights before Danny was forbidden from seeing Damian at night and before guards were posted outside his door. Of nights pressed to a larger man’s chest as he rushes through the halls of Nanda Parbat. Of a calm voice telling him to be quiet as they snuck around and attempted to climb walls….almost as if….they were trying to get away from something.

“It’s not an Illness.”

Damian remembers how his brother would slowly get weaker over the years. Soon he couldn’t spar for as long or needed more breaks. Then he wasn’t as fast and his reflexes dulled. He eventually stopped sparring at all. Danny just remained on the side and shouted pointers to Damain, then his visits from his quarters grew limited until he couldn’t leave his room at all and Damian had to come to him in his final year at the League Base.

“It’s not an illness.”

Domain always wondered why his brother was so wary of Ra’s when the man would only sing his praises. Surly it couldn’t be fear of being cast aside or failing. Danny didn’t even go on missions. (Why wasn’t he allowed on missions. Why had he never seen Danny leave the base?) He knew his brother was skilled. Danny absolutely refused to allow Damian to participate in the rituals taking place at the Lazarus pits. Something about him being too young? Is that what his mother said when he asked her? Damian can’t remember. It was one of the few times his brother actually fought fellow league members for that right. (One of the few times Damian saw a glimpse of the man who saved the demon head’s life.) Damian only ever caught a glimpse of the pits, once during Todd’s resurrection. Even then he didn’t stay long. Danny was always protective like that. But why

Like why his brother would always check Damian’s food before letting him eat. Or always made sure he was the one doing medical on Damain’s wounds.

Damian felt sick as those memories he always thought of sweetly as just his brother fussing over him now had a potentially darker meaning,

Damian knew Danny and Ra’s often had private chats together in the center of Nanda Parabat. Where the heart of the biggest Lazarus pits were located. The most honorable place. He always thought Danny seemed just a little more tired after those talks alone. A little more pale. His eye bags just slightly darker. But he always assumed that was because talks with the demon head were draining and he obviously didn’t enjoy them. But then again…why was he so reluctant when they should have been a great honor? (Why could Danny never refuse them? Wasn't he an honored guest?)

Oh god. All this time.

It wasn’t an illness.

His brother was poisoned.

dpxdc: we all go on about how the Ultimate Enemy means that Phantom could kill all of Earth's Heroes because Plasmius Phantom must have succeeded in doing so in his timeline. But what if it was less a matter of raw power, and more that he stole Batman's contingency plans.

Danny: How did you get his contingency files dude?

Dan: For a man as paranoid as he is? He did NOT have enough magic defences in place. Clearly doesn't trust it enough. Even when he should know better.

Danny: Right. Shit. We gotta go give him ghost shields.... If you stole them? What's to stop any other ghost?

Dan: And invite that crazy bastard into our lives????

Danny: Picture this; Vlad vs Batman.

Dan: Sold! ELLIE, sibling bonding trip. Let's go get a paranoid furry to set on the Fruitloop!

Bruce: …I sense an incoming adoption

I feel like Bruce Wayne projects the kind of amiable playboy 'fun' vibe that he'd be the type of celebrity that certain interviewers feel comfortable surprising with puppies.

You know the kind of shows I mean.

The late-night talk show situations where they're making benign small talk with their smiling guest, and there's a segment where animals get brought out, usually to talk about some sort of ecological relief effort.

So you're watching your trash TV talk show late at night, and you get to watch billionaire pretty boy Bruce Wayne be begrudgingly talked into holding a (relatively) harmless creature which inevitably gets a lot of delighted shrieks from the audience as it starts being a lot more active than the handler promised. And to his credit, Bruce doesn't flinch, he doesn't freak out. But his eyes are a little wide, and his voice a little tight as the smile on his face takes on a slight rictus quality before he's inevitably rescued by an apologetic handler who is also laughing because they all know there was no real danger, it was just funny to put Bruce, who is an undeniable good sport and already laughing along, out of his comfort zone for the sake of charity.

Meanwhile, up in the Justice League headquarters, several founding members of the League are wondering how fast they can get a fake Oscar award shipped to the space station because fuck off. Absolutely fuck off, Bruce. Where the fuck did he study? Juilliard? (Probably.)

(Clark ends up going to a novelty store during the commercial break. It's faster than trying to get anything shipped, even with the infrastructure Bats built for them. He finds it several days later taped to his console in a conspicuously empty briefing room. It's gaudy and awful, the words "Best Actor" engraved on the plaque. No one's around to see him smile. No one comments when it vanishes. Everyone thinks it's been yeeted out an airlock. Dick absolutely comments when it shows up in the manor, stashed in one of the trophy cases that sprung up for all the bat kids' school awards. Bruce has no idea how it got there. Must have been Alfred. (It was not.))

Anyway, consider, for your amusement, Bruce Wayne getting highjacked on The Gotham Toight Show with a handful of wriggling puppies and, for a split second, not having to pretend he's delighted to be there.

I need you all to know this was in my queue, so it jump scared me when it popped up on my dash, but that I also misread "puppies" as "puppets," and now I'm choking to death on my water imagining Bruce Wayne on a guest panel with Kermit the Frog and Ms. Piggy whose puppeteer is absolutely shooting their shot through the medium of puppetry.

"Bruce Wayne, everyone. What a fantastic guy. All right, don't go anywhere, folks, we'll be right back after the commercial break when we'll be joined by the legendary Kermit the Frog and the effervescent Miss Piggy as they promote their latest movie, The Muppets Take Metropolis!"

The applause is deafening for a moment as the live band behind the podium strikes up a lively tune, ushering them into a commercial break.

"Really, thank you, Bruce," Murray Franklin says over the noise, angling his mouth away from the microphone on his desk. "You couldn't have got me to hold that fucking thing for all the money in the world."

Bruce inclines his head, a benign smile ever in place. "Oh, you know me, Murray. I'll try anything once."

"Well, that sounds promising," says a shrill, familiar. Bruce turns in time to find stagehands working rapid-time to construct a staging area behind the couch. And two humans holding two very distinct puppets aloft. Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy.

"Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here." The frog puppet extends a hand toward him, causing a ripple of laughter to go up from the audience. Bruce arches an eyebrow at the puppeteer but reaches out to take the felt-green hand being offered to him. Apparently, he's not supposed to engage with the humans. "This is my companion, Miss Pigathia Lee."

"Mr. Frog," he greets the muppet formally, feeling the first hint of a genuine smile tugging at his mouth. "Charmed to meet both of you. I'm a big fan of your work."

"Oh, gosh! Really?" The Frog gushes, emoting the pure joy Bruce remembers from watching television as a child. "I could say the same to you! All that good work you do for the city! It's really something."

"Thank you." Don't cry, Bruce thinks suddenly. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Christ, it's like Mister Rogers telling you you did a good job.

"All right, save it for the camera," Murray interjects good-naturedly, pressing a finger to his ear and listening to whatever the producer is saying on the other end.

"Mr. Wayne?" Bruce turns to find his handler waiting for him, a makeup artist behind him. "Can we ask you to move over for this next part?"

"Of course." Bruce shuffles over. As he leans back, arm stretched out across the back of the couch he realizes what they're doing. They're using his bulk to block the sight of the puppeteers from the angle of the fourth camera. Clever.

He sits placidly as the makeup artist dusts powder over his face, listening to the instructions about how to talk to the muppets. Don't look at the puppeteers, look at the puppets. Treat them like real people. Try to keep it pg-13. Just act natural.

Natural, he thinks, his eyes skirting up to the stage beams and the shadows hovering above them. There's nothing natural about being Bruce Wayne.

"And we're live in five, four, three, two, one..."

The music swells to rising applause, and his smile slips back in place, as firm and solid as his armor. He zones out as Murray goes through the introductions. He's learned that no one minds if Bruce Wayne looks a little checked out at times. Christ, he's tired. He's half tempted not to go on patrol tonight. There's a dull ache building behind his eyes, and his ribs still hurt from getting hit with a crowbar. He hopes Dick is all right. Last night's patrol had been hard on both of them, hard enough that Dick had to miss school and spend the day in bed. Though he'd gotten up before Bruce left, adamant that he wanted to watch him make a fool of himself on television. He hopes no one else is watching. He hopes there's a mild disaster happening somewhere, and he won't have to listen to Clark ribbing him about how good he is with children and animals. Again. It's like being made fun of by a slice of apple pie.

Slowly, he becomes aware of the presence beside him. Bruce looks down to find Miss Piggy staring up at him, snout turned upward, head tilted in a manner that heavily suggests flirtation. Oh God

"Not that you have anything to worry about, Mister Wayne," the high, piping voice of Kermit the Frog informs him. "Gotham's far too damp for us Muppets to want to take over Wayne Tech, too."

Bruce smiles. He's vaguely aware of the plot of The Muppets Take Metropolis. Something about taking over LexCorp. He's surprised Luthor green-lit it. The other billionaire is normally so precious about being taken seriously.

"Oh, I don't know about that, there are lots of nice swamps around here," he says, gaze still on the amorous pig puppet inching closer to him. "Mud baths, too."

"Really?" Miss Piggy drawls, flicking her blonde wig over her shoulder, much to the amusement of the audience. "And are any of these mud baths on Wayne ground?"

He can't help but smile properly at that, mouth crooking to the side. He supposes he should have seen this coming. "Oh, yes," he says, inflecting the famous Bruce Wayne charm into his voice. "More than you can shake a stick at."

When the puppet's hand comes to rest its hand on his arm, his laughter is genuine. This might be the surrealist fucking thing that's happened to him in a while. And that's saying something because he got dosed with fear toxin last week.

"Now, Brucie," Miss Piggy drawls, "Don't tempt a girl with a good time."

Some absurd instinct makes him angle his body toward the muppet, smiling down at it like a real person. "Oh, Piggy Lee, you should know I never tempt. I can call you, Piggy Lee, can't I?"

"Honey, you can call me a cab because I'm ready! Let's skedaddle!"

"Well, how about that!" Murray exclaims, drawing the attention back to him as the audience loses it. "Kermit, he's trying to steal your girl!"

The Frog turns to look at him, to Miss Piggy, then back to Bruce. "Y'know something, Murray, I don't mind. Say, Bruce, are, uh, are any of those swamps nearby?"

Oh, he's never going to live this one down.

***

"So what's it like?" Clark asks, tone deceptively neutral.

"What's what like?" Batman asks, tone sliding like gravel over sheet metal.

"Meeting the Muppets?"

He thinks about it. "Surprisingly hard to look at the humans."

Clark nods sagely. "I've heard that."

The amount of psychic damage I'm taking from the tag "Bruce Wayne Muppet Threesome" is not insignificant, but I suppose I had it coming.

Also, because I might as well ride this crackfic into the Lazarus Pit:

The Muppets eventually do make a film with Gotham in it. The premise starts not unlike the other Muppet movies, where the Muppets are fractured, and Kermit is trying to get the gang back together. For this, he must travel around the US, finding the location of the other Muppets.

When the time comes to find Miss Piggy, the screen cuts to Wayne Manor, the other Muppets standing outside the imposing iron gates.

"Well, we tried," Rizzo intones nasally, already walking off. Gonzo catches him around the neck, hauling him back.

"Where are you going?"

"Home! What, you think she's going to leave Bruce Wayne?"

Kermit's face goes through numerous stages of grief before squaring into the kind of grim determination that can only happen when you have a fist for a jaw. "We have to try," the Frog affirms, then stoically presses the gate buzzer.

The scene cuts to inside the manor, where Miss Piggy is shown lounging on an opulent chaise, surrounded by immense wealth and luxury. Empty bottles of champagne everywhere and an inordinate amount of food. It's clear there was a party last night. She is dressed not unlike Debbie from the Addams family, her face covered by a fluffy pink eyemask embroidered in gold thread that reads "Wake Me In Paris" in gaudy, swirling font. In the background, a picture of Bruce Wayne and Miss Piggy can be seen on a table. The frame is neon pink and shaped like a heart. Bruce looks happier than he's ever done in his entire life. (Probably because he couldn't stop cracking up when it was being taken.)

There's a knock at the door, and she wakes with a snort, ripping away the eyemask. "What?" she demands harshly before correcting herself into a more ladylike twinkle. "I mean, who is it?"

Alfred appears as firm and imperious as ever. Perfectly straight-faced. "Forgive me, madame, but we appear to have a common rabble at the door."

"So? Release the hounds. Brother, do I have to think of everything around here?"

Alfred clears his throat, the slightest twitch of a smile on his face. It's gone before the camera can narrow in on it. "It appears they are friends of yours, madame. Ah, one Mister Kermit the Frog and, um, associates."

"Kermi!" she exclaims before she can stop herself. "I mean, uh, very well, send them in."

The Muppets traipse into the opulent room, googly eyes roaming everywhere in astonishment. "Wow," Gonzo breathes.

"Food!" Rizzo exclaims, lunging toward the comestibles and shoving his face into a bowl.

Gonzo hauls him back, glancing at Alfred apologetically. "Sorry.

But Kermit only has eyes for Ms Piggy. "You look well, Pigathia," he says solemn and sincere.

"I do? I mean, of course, I do." She harumphs, turning her back on him. "How could I not? I'm only the wealthiest pig in the world." She turns back, expression coy over her shoulder. "What do you want?"

"Well, we're trying to get the old gang back together. Our old theaters being shut down, and I just thought that maybe one last show might--"

"That's why you're here. For the show?"

Kermit takes a deep, shuddering breath. "No. That's not why I'm here. Gosh darnit, Piggy Lee, I want you back. I love you, and I know deep down" -- "way down," Rizzo supplies before getting elbowed -- "that you love me too."

She turns slowly. As though drawn by some invisible string. Her expression falls. "I do. I did. Once upon a time. But Kermi... Bruce takes care of me."

"I'll say--" "Rizzo!"

She carries on as if the others hadn't spoken. "I know you love me. But I also know I'll only ever be second best to the show. With Bruce," she sighs dreamily. "He's rich, handsome, and most importantly, dumb as a rock. I'm the most important pig in town. I'm practically running the joint. You really think I'm going to give up all this." She gestures around the grandeur. "For a penniless Frog who can't see past the next show?"

"Well..." Kermit hesitates, face falling. "Yes. I guess... I guess I did."

Gonzo and Rizzo share a look. "I think we better go," Gonzo says, placing a consoling hand on Kermit's shoulder. "Come on, guys. It was nice seeing you again, Piggy."

"Yeah, real nice," Rizzo intones, shoving as much food into his pockets as his little rat hands can grab.

Kermit shakes himself. "No. I refuse to believe it! This isn't you, Piggy Lee. You might think it is, but it isn't. All this wealth, the silk robes, the fancy food. I know you, Piggy Lee; I know you better than anyone, and you're not this shallow. You're a performer, a star. You were made to be loved by the stage. Not just some... some billionaire playboy who can give you whatever you want whenever you want. I have to believe that because otherwise, what the heck has it all been for? What have we been for? So what do you say, Pigathia? Will you come home? Come back to the show where you belong. For me?"

There's a long, heavy pause, and Miss Piggy sighs.

The following scene cuts to the Muppets flailing down the Wayne Manor driveway, yelling comically as several snarling rottweilers chase them.

"And stay out!" Miss Piggy yells after them. When she turns back to Alfred, she resumes her ladylike poise. "Alfie, be a dear and tell Brucie I'll be home late tonight. Mama's got some shopping to do."

"Very good, Madame."

She eventually shows up at the Muppet show at the last minute to save the day, a happy, bumbling Bruce tagging beside her. Later, when the Muppets are all on stage, the human protagonists, who are in the audience and seated next to Bruce, remark, "Wow, I can't believe they raised the money to save the theater!"

"They didn't," Bruce says with a small, knowing smile. His gaze turns to Miss Piggy adoringly, sighing wistfully. "But I just can't say no to that pig."

Henceforth it becomes Muppet canon that Miss Piggy and Bruce Wayne are in a heated on-again-off-again relationship. Neither Kermit nor Bruce seems to mind each other, leading to an episode of Sesame Street several years down the line where Elmo explains that sometimes a child can have one mommy and no daddy, or one daddy and no mommy, or have one daddy and one mommy, or two daddys and no mommies or vice versa, and sometimes if you're the Wayne kids, a daddy, a frog, and a pig.

Bruce will never live it down, but it's worth it. Letting the Muppets into his life is possibly the best longcon of his life. Who the fuck is going to believe he's Batman now? No one. Not even the butts matching can hold up to him being Miss Piggy and Kermit's sidepiece.

I'm dead. Deceased. This is simultaneously cursed and my absolute favorite thing in the world. I'm serious, this made me laugh so hard. I am kissing you on the mouth op!