#Jason Todd did nothing wrong

[posttraumaticprose]

Red Hood; the Fandom Menace

Chapter 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66673108/chapters/172012309#workskin

Jason didn’t move for a full minute. Just laid there, face pressed to what might’ve been a “Team Free Will” pillow, heart thudding loud in his ears. His spine protested as he finally pushed himself upright, slowly, like he’d aged fifty years in the fall. His eyes roamed the room again—wider now. Less dazed, more disturbed.

A shelf across from the couch caught his eye. It was massive. Stuffed full of comics. Familiar spines leapt out at him—Detective Comics, Batman, Red Hood and the Outlaws. His stomach twisted.

"No way," he muttered.

Still wobbling a bit, he hauled himself to his feet. The helmet stayed under one arm, his other hand trailing across the edge of the bookshelf like he might fall over again if he let go. His fingers brushed past issue numbers he recognized. Some that made his chest tighten, others that made his jaw clench.

Then his eyes landed on it.

That one comic.

He blinked, then leaned in, plucking it gently from the shelf like it was a live explosive. The cover was unmistakable. Stylized, brutal, garish.

Batman: A Death in the Family.

"No. No, no, no, no—" His voice shook, a whisper spiraling toward something ragged.

He flipped it open. Knew what he would find but hoped, desperately, irrationally, that it would be different. That it wouldn’t be real.

But it was.

A two-page spread showed it all—his broken body in that warehouse, Joker’s smug grin, Batman’s agony. And on the inside cover: the numbers. The fucking numbers. A reader call-in vote. 1-800-LIVE. 1-800-DIE.

The issue trembled in his hands. He stared at it for too long. Breathless. Still.

Then the laughter started.

It was short. Sharp. Bitter. Not funny. A sound dragged from somewhere deep and awful.

“They voted,” he muttered. “They voted.”

He dropped the comic like it burned.

“Was I not tragic enough? Too much of a brat? Not enough puppy-dog eyes like the next kid they threw into the yellow cape?” His voice cracked. “Was that it?”

He stepped back, bumped into the shelf. Nearly sent a row of Teen Titans tumbling.

“Fiction,” he said. “I’m fiction.”

It hit like another crowbar. But slower. Like being lowered into ice water.

“I’m not even real here. I’m a story. A character.”

He looked down at his hands. Still calloused. Still scarred. Still stained with gunpowder and memory.

“But I’m here.”

His thoughts spiraled out in every direction at once. If this was a world where he was fiction, then Bruce was fiction. Dick. Tim. Alfred. His death was entertainment. Something people read for fun on rainy days.

His chest tightened. His throat closed. The room blurred.

He staggered toward the kitchen counter and gripped it with both hands like it could anchor him in reality.

“I died because people called in. Voted me off the island like I was a contestant on some fucked-up game show.”

There were tears in his eyes and he hated that.

He wanted to scream. To punch something. To run.

But there was nowhere to go.

So he slid to the floor.

Back pressed against the cabinet, knees pulled up, arms over them. Like a kid again. Like he had been in that warehouse, when he knew—knew—Bruce wasn’t coming.

He buried his face in his hands.

For a while, the only sound in the apartment was the faint hum of the fridge and Jason’s uneven breathing.

Then—

The door opened.

Footsteps. Keys jangling. A voice, light and mumbling.

“Okay, don’t freak out if I forgot the tater tots—Oh my god.”

Jason didn’t look up.

Silence stretched.

Then a sip. The unmistakable slurp of a smoothie.

“You’re Jason Todd,” she said. Voice small. Stunned. Like seeing a ghost.

His head jerked up.

She stood frozen in the doorway, strawberry smoothie in one hand, messenger bag slipping off her shoulder. Her hoodie was black, oversized, and had JASON TODD DID NOTHING WRONG in red block letters across the chest.

He blinked. “You’re wearing that?”

She blinked back. “You’re real?”

Jason looked down at himself. Still on the floor. Still in full armor, minus the helmet. Helmet that now sat on the coffee table, staring back at him like an accusation.

“Apparently,” he rasped.

She shuffled a little further into the room. Slowly. Like she was afraid sudden movements would make him disappear. Or snap.

“I thought—uh. You were fictional.”

“So did I,” he said flatly.

Her gaze darted to the comic on the floor, pages still spread open.

“Oh,” she breathed. “You found that one.”

Jason gave a low laugh, sharp and broken. “Yeah. That was a real fucking treat.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stood there, clutching her smoothie like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Did you vote?” he asked suddenly, voice bitter.

Her eyes went wide. “What? No! I wasn’t even born yet!”

He stared at her for a second. Then ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. “Right. Sorry. Just—this is a lot.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, it is.”

A long silence fell again. Then she took a step closer. Then another.

“I’m not gonna, like... call anyone,” she said carefully. “If you need to freak out or throw things or, I dunno, scream into a pillow, that’s cool.”

Jason gave her a strange look. “You’re taking this weirdly well.”

“I mean, I’ve got severe dissociation and a god complex,” she said, cheeks pinking. “This is probably the most validating thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Another blink. Then, to her surprise, a huff of laughter.

“Yeah, okay,” Jason said, voice tired. “That actually tracks.”

She hesitated. Then moved toward the couch, gently picking up the comic and closing it. She placed it back on the shelf like it might bite her.

He watched her the whole time.

When she sat on the arm of the couch, she looked at him with quiet sympathy. Not pity. Not awe. Just understanding.

“You’re real,” she said again, softer now. “And that vote was bullshit.”

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, it was.”

She held out the smoothie to him.

Jason stared at it.

“Seriously?” he asked, brows raised.

She shrugged. “You look like you could use a little sugar.”

He snorted, took it. Sipped. Strawberry. Cold and cloyingly sweet.

It tasted like the weirdest fucking day of his life.

[casually-eat-my-soul]

bestie I am LOVING your sterek takes, and then I see you posting jason todd (my beloved)??? be still my heart! <3

Stopp I’m blushing!

I love sterek and Jason Todd, they are my special interests and I just want to study them under a microscope. I’m so glad you like my posts bestie, it’s super fun to interact with people who have the same interests as me.

Hope your having a wonderful day, and may you find a four leaf clover.

[haveihitanerve]

Tim finally snaps.

“Its not my fault you and Bruce didn't work out! Its yours. Im done being the excuse for all your mistakes, all your misgivings. Im Robin now. And Batman is mine. I was willing to share him with you, I wanted to, because of what you meant to him. But im done jason. I am done.”

[mysweetgelphie]

my bau sexuality headcanons✨ (happy pride!🏳️‍🌈)

emily prentiss: lesbian

jennifer jareau: bisexual (preference for women)

spencer reid: biromantic demisexual (preference for women)

luke alvez: bisexual (preference for men)

penelope garcia: pansexual

alex blake: panromantic asexual

tara lewis: pansexual

elle greenaway: bisexual (preference for men)

rebecca wilson: bisexual (preference for women)

ashley seaver: lesbian

jordan todd: lesbian

kate callahan: omnisexual (preference for men)

tyler green: unlabelled (still figuring things out)

jason gideon, matt simmons, stephen walker, david rossi, derek morgan & aaron hotchner: the str*ights

[moonilit]

I can’t believe they dragged him out of the gates of heaven to not even know what to do with him after

[haphazard-pen]

[remarcely]

Like most teenagers, Jason avoided cameras like the plague. He'd tug his hood over his face in protest, but you would still be able to see his grin poking out underneath. He took great pride in the photo albums Alfred lovingly put together only holding motion-blurred pictures of himself.

After he died, Bruce tried to seek solace in those photos.

All he found was a ghost.

[adelinamoteru]

if dc doesn’t get jason as far away from batfam as possible I swear to god atp

[rosemaryentombed]

still can’t believe there’s a chaos universe out there where anita and jason fucked, and then she killed him. cuz the stepmom asked her to. and he was catholic with a big ol cross around his neck, and got clipped by the resident voodoo priestess. it’s so flagrantly racist yet so on brand for both the writers and jason’s dumbass 😂😂

[zeroducks-2]

I've just finished Gotham Knights and I get that people aren't happy with the fucked ass haircuts but like, I do believe this is the most progressive and well written Jason Todd we've ever gotten in recent times. Even in recent comics. Like damn, bro goes to therapy, picked up his interests and hobbies again (e.g. the cooking and the reading and the shit talking) from his "Robin makes me Magic" days. Like yeah, he's still edgy, but he was murdered by a fucking Clown, he's allowed to be edgy. We got a Jason Todd that isn't diluted to "the angry black sheep character" archetype. He's healing, working on himself, his relationship with his family, and he's fighting his way (brutal and all strength and tact) to do what he stands for and what he believes is right. And his heart is just so big and full of compassion, but it doesnt blind him and make him wishful or naive. He's so well balanced in Gotham Knights. I hope this version of his character is written in future comics. I'm sick of DC writers making him this angry anti-hero who's only reasoning and purpose in life is to get back at Batman for failing him and so many others. Jason is allowed to be more than his trauma. Thank you Gotham Knights for seeing that.

I'm glad you enjoyed the game anon. I personally am not a fan, not because of Jason but because of the game itself. The dialogues felt stale, more reminiscent of tumblr "incorrect Batfam quotes" than the source material, and the NPCs felt dull compared to how full of life they were in the Arkham series (so much so I would hide in random spots just to hear them talking about the current game events, especially in AK). The most unforgivable bit to me was Tim not having ever fought the rogues because he's "young" - I've never seen anything more insulting and infantilizing for a character which already heavily suffers for being treated as the useless one, never allowed to participate in the game changing dynamics or to have meaningful arcs, and is relegated to being the cute little bisexual twink.

That being said it's a matter of taste, and Gotham Knights is surely a good game for those who prefer a wholesome loving family approach to these characters. Jason working on himself and going to therapy and having a good relationship with his "family" is surely what lots of people (especially in here) want to see. Me, I don't think any amount of therapy would help since therapy is based on shared human experiences and repetition of patterns, and Jason died and dug himself out of his own grave. That's not a trauma any therapist would have the means to help with. They indeed "diluted" the event in the game, changed the fact that Jason dug himself out of his own grave and was functionally braindead and homeless for two years, and made it so UTRH never happened in order for therapy to make any sense, because there is no reconciliation possible with a parent that slit your neck to save the person who broke all your bones with a crowbar and then murdered you.

It's kinda like when Wally went to therapy (canonically) after Barry's death. The therapist was a good one and he tried! But ultimately he didn't manage to make a real difference because Wally is the Flash, a super-powered creature with time bending powers who does things on the scale of absurdity, and who also happens to have had an extremely traumatic childhood and to have just lost the only person who ever loved him unconditionally. His problems have roots in reality but are out of the scope of any therapy method currently known to man.

And Jason is more than his trauma, but pretending his trauma doesn't inform his actions and can be solved with him "working on himself" is not an approach I hope they take in comics. I'd rather they went back to Jason doing things his way and protecting the people of Gotham in the only manner he finds helpful, because he experienced on his own skin (twice!) that Batman's methods don't work. I'd rather they allowed him to stop clashing with Bruce as main theme of his stories, and have his own plotlines in which he's in between a vigilante and a mafia lord (which they were doing with Dick by the way, before chickening out and have Slade bomb Bludhaven) with Bruce only as a cameo sometimes.

We have a high number of morally irrepressible characters who always do the right thing more or less. I'd like Jason to be something different, something darker, because there is a dramatic lack of grey characters and anti-heroes which were sanded down to either 100% bad guys or 100% good guys. I hate that, why can't we have nuanced choices and people struggling with the darkness they carry, why does everyone need to be a perfect "unproblematic" paragon of goodness who would never do anything wrong. We have A LOT of characters like that and I love them, I really do! But if everyone and their families are like that then it's really frickin boring!

Plus, I'd like the characters to actually struggle with their past traumas in a meaningful way, otherwise why even giving them those traumas to begin with. Give me Tim still grappling with how he couldn't save his father, give me Dick haunted by all the times he slipped and let go of the no killing rule in a way or another, give me Jason haunted by the tragedy of being abandoned by every person who was supposed to protect him and working from there to being the protector of everyone else.

That's what I hope DC would pick up and write about. I was never much for fluff and wholesome things unless it's in small amounts, I always preferred strife and complexity. But hey, I'm glad you enjoyed the game, at least one of us did!

[posttraumaticprose]

Red Hood; The Fandom Menace

Chapter 1

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66673108/chapters/172009924#workskin

The warehouse smelled like gunpowder, blood, and stale regret. Jason Todd stood in the center of it all, red helmet under one arm, surveying the carnage with a critical eye and an expression that was less "oh no" and more "you deserved it." His boot nudged a semi-automatic rifle away from a groaning thug's fingers. "Wrong move, genius," he muttered. “Next time, maybe don't try to jump a guy in body armor. And with that aim?” He clicked his tongue. “Tragic.”

He didn’t believe in overkill. He believed in efficient messaging. And nothing said "the Red Hood runs this block now" like a couple shattered kneecaps and a pile of confiscated weapons. The surviving members of the crew were zip-tied and stacked in the corner like unfortunate IKEA returns. His safehouse boys would be along to pick them up soon. The cops would find them gift-wrapped with a neat little note:

You’re welcome – R.H.

His leather jacket was torn on one sleeve, a shallow cut on his bicep leaking red through the fabric, but he didn’t mind. Pain reminded him he was still alive, and being alive was still a pretty new sensation. It still felt like borrowed time. Like he might blink and be back in that coffin, nails scratching the satin lining, screaming into soil. But he was alive. And Gotham? Gotham was going to learn what it meant when its prodigal son came back pissed off.

The Bat didn’t like his methods. Boo hoo. Jason wasn’t playing dress-up anymore. He didn’t want validation or forgiveness. He wanted results. And it was working—organized crime in his sectors was down. The human trafficking rings had cleared out entirely after he’d shot their ringleader in the kneecaps and dropped him in front of a GCPD station, naked except for a sign that said “Ask me about my crimes.”

Bruce still tried to reach out sometimes. Well—tried being a generous word. Mostly it was short, stiff text messages that Jason ignored. The man didn’t understand. He *couldn’t*. Jason wasn’t just Robin reborn. He was Red Hood now. The city needed someone who would do what Bruce wouldn't.

Still, sometimes he caught himself watching from rooftops when Bats was out on patrol. Old habits. The big guy was still graceful as hell, still a silent monster in the dark. Jason couldn’t deny he missed it—the rhythm, the partnership, the family. Then he remembered being abandoned in that warehouse. Being left. And the sentiment soured like milk.

Most nights he ran his ops from the penthouse. Not because he liked high-rise living—he hated heights when they didn’t come with a grapnel gun—but because the vantage point was good, and the paranoia was worse. One elevator, rigged to blow. Backup generator. Panic room disguised as a coat closet. He didn’t sleep much, but when he did, it was with a gun under his pillow and a knife strapped to his ankle.

Tonight he was half a bottle into something brown and burning when he got the text from one of his lieutenants: “Black Mask’s crew is sniffing around the East End again. Want us to handle it?” Jason stared at the screen for a moment, then sighed. “No rest for the wicked,” he muttered, shoving the bottle aside. He typed back: “Hold off. I’ll go say hi personally.”

He liked driving at night. The purr of the engine under him, the city lights blurring past—it was the closest he got to peace. Helmet on, bike growling beneath him like a beast just barely caged, he tore through Gotham’s underbelly like a red streak of vengeance.

By the time he reached the East End, the Black Mask thugs were already making trouble. Jason kicked in the back door of the bar they were using as cover and walked in like he owned the place. Technically, he did now.

"Hey, boys," he said, voice echoing under the helmet. "Mind telling me why you're loitering in my territory like you forgot how painful that gets?"

The shooting started before the sarcasm ended. Amateurs. Jason dove, rolled, came up with twin pistols drawn, and started painting the walls red. Non-lethal shots. Mostly. One guy was stupid enough to try a grenade. Jason shot his hand before the pin came out. That would bruise.

He left the survivors moaning on the floor and carved a hooded smiley face into the bar with a combat knife. A little branding never hurt.

Back on the street, rain had started to fall. Gotham rain was never cleansing. It just made the blood smear easier. He walked back to his bike, helmet under his arm, face turned up toward the clouds. His hair stuck to his forehead. He looked like hell and felt marginally worse. But it was a good night. A quiet night.

That meant something was about to go catastrophically wrong.

Jason had exactly thirty-two seconds of calm before the alley split open in front of him like a bad special effect from a low-budget sci-fi flick. A breach tore through reality—literally ripped the air—and the light was blinding, electric. He barely had time to shout a very eloquent “What the fu—” before it yanked him off his feet.

Falling through time or space or whatever the hell that was wasn’t like skydiving or grappling between rooftops. It felt like being peeled. Like every molecule wanted to punch him in the jaw. Jason flailed, snarled, tried to shoot at it because what else do you do when interdimensional rips swallow you whole?

And then—

Thud.

He landed hard. Couch cushions muffled the sound, but not the impact. Jason groaned as his face smooshed into throw pillows. His ass was in the air, legs dangling off one side, a boot knocking over a Funko Pop on the coffee table.

The room smelled like vanilla candles, takeout, and bookstore dust. He blinked, groaning into a pillow embroidered with “It’s Not Hoarding If It’s Books.”

The living room around him looked like a nerd’s fever dream. Posters of Superman, Batman, and—was that Deadpool in a tutu?—lined the walls. There were Funko Pops in organized rows, plushies of Gotham rogues gallery villains, and an entire shelf dedicated to what appeared to be Captain America fanfiction.

He groaned again, tried to roll over, and knocked over a stack of Jane Austen novels with a flailing elbow.

“Okay,” he mumbled. “Either I’m dead again, or I fell into the world’s weirdest comic con.”

A mug sat on the coffee table. It said: Mr. Darcy is a Red Flag and I Love Him Anyway. Jason stared at it, dazed.

“...What the hell did I just fall into?”

[eileennatural]

this might sound like a weird thing to say but it's a little bit strange how many people love writing abt dick grayson's trauma but totally ignore blockbuster's literal campaign of terror in favor of focusing completely on catalina and his being sexually assaulted by her. i get that its probably just bc thats a much more relatable (and easier to project on) experience than losing your home, being stalked and terrorized, having your friends and family murdered and grievously injured, not to mention being pushed to your literal breaking point and having to betray your most firmly held values to protect yourself and your loved ones. like, everything having to do with blockbuster AND catalina are inextricably linked and it's a little weird to focus all of your attention on just one of the many many terrible things that happened in nightwing 1996

[r0manc3-dawn]

You can literally google it. Jim Starlin hated robin and wanted him gone, so he purposefully made Jason unlikeable so DC would jump on board the Jason hate train.

Okay but do you know what really gets me?

There's no one left in-universe who can or will talk about Jaybin as he really was.

Bruce is the founder of the Jaybin Slander Department;

Alfred is no better.

Dick wasn't around much, didn't know him that well.

If Barbara ever interacted with him in his original run, I haven't found it yet.

I mean, he had some interactions with the Teen Titans, but was he really close with any of them?

I suppose Gordon could, assuming he isn't in on the Jason-bashing. I haven't seen it but I could be missing something.

And, well, Jason... somehow, I don't think anyone's asking Jason what he was like as a kid, nor is he really a reliable source. Autobiographical memory is weird.

No one in-universe will ever really talk about this bright, friendly, eager kid, and it's a tragedy.

He was smart and clever and had so much compassion.

He wanted so badly to help people, and he found joy in his work as Robin.

He had a dramatic flair and he was kind of a nerd and he was really funny on occasion.

He was so deeply, fundamentally good, and the fact that somehow his legacy has been twisted into one of anger and recklessness is honestly a crime.

It makes me so desperately sad that there's not a single character who can even start to undo the lasting damage of a four-decade smear campaign against a kid who did nothing to deserve it.

[squipa]

baby, i want some of your love

aka how you healed him

———

jason todd wears glasses now.

jason never really took care of himself after dying. his body was so hopelessly out of rhythm, everything slightly wrong and out of place. his bones creak underneath his skin, his muscles, which had nearly rotted and decayed, could never quite figure out how to relax. sometimes he’d forget to breathe, or blink, the actions no longer involuntary, and before you? he didn’t have it in himself to care. his health had fallen to the least of his worries.

but you were always so worried about him. you noticed things about himself he hadn’t even realized, how he winced when he chewed with the left side of his mouth, how he squinted at street signs whenever you went on walks, how his muscles were always tense until you massaged them into relaxation. you pointed them out, pouting whenever he’d shrug it off. to him, it was nothing, he was used to the pain, the inconvenience; he didn’t consider his own wellbeing important enough to pay any mind to.

to you, it was torture. watching the man you loved so dearly treat himself with so little care had you ruined. all you wanted for him was happiness and safety, for him to have what he had given you so freely, what he guarded himself from so intensely. he didn’t realize how much you cared until he noticed how much you finally pushed him to treat himself better.

“i scheduled you a dentist appointment.” you said, matter-of-factly setting down a few documents in front of him begging his patient history. he looked up to you, eyebrow raised, entirely confused. you answered his question before he could even think to ask it. “you wince when you chew.”

he wouldn’t say no to you. despite his disdain regarding the idea of a check up, he went. you came with him, fiercly speaking a language of medicine he didn’t understand. when he left the dentist, you gave him a lollipop. “i’m not five.” he ate it anyways, savoring the taste between strawberry-stained lips as you drove him home.

he stopped noticing when you made him appointments to get shots, or when you subtly slipped the card of a dermatologist behind the picture of you he kept in his wallet. he started actually caring about what he did to his body— gut health and all that. yes, he was jacked, his body had been built like a machine ever since it had patched itself back together in the lazarus pit, but he couldn’t remember the last time he ate a piece of fruit.

he didn’t realize how much better he felt until dick pointed it out for him. “you got glasses?” he asked, pointing to the thick black frames that sat on the bridge of his nose.

he nodded. he does wear glasses. he has silver caps on two of his teeth. he has a nice layer of body fat covering his muscles because he eats three well-balanced meals a day. he has a standing appointment with a chiropractor every other wednesday at two, and another with a therapist on mondays at one. he gets a checkup every six months and goes to the dentist every four, he’s been to the dermatologist three times in two years, he has all of his shots up to date, he takes vitamins in the morning and he sleeps at least five hours every night.

he cares about himself. he puts effort into making sure he stays healthy— and at first it was for you. only for you, to ease your constant worry about him. but now it’s second nature, your guiding hand has healed him, made him want to stay alive and healthy and whole, not for just you, but for himself.

the moment the realization washes over him of just how much you’ve given him, he rushes home and tells you in no less than a thousand ways just how grateful he is to have your love.

———

[narnian-neverlander]

Jason Todd with eyes that have been different ever since he came back.

Jason Todd with eyes that are haunting. People have trouble keeping eye contact with him, cause it’s not just the color, a few shades too bright to still be considered a natural green, there’s something off about his eyes. An uncanny valley effect; the longer they look the more they realize that something’s not quite the way it’s supposed to be, that something’s wrong. Eyes that have seen things no human should, eyes that should no longer be walking the mortal plane.

Jason Todd with eyes that literally glow when he feels any emotion strongly enough; the stronger the emotion, the brighter his eyes. And the first time it happens, during an argument with his family that turns nasty and bitter, he doesn’t even know it. Doesn’t know why his siblings all of a sudden look at him like they just got confirmation that he is the monster they all think him to be. He rarely takes off the helmet around them after that.

And then there’s you.

You, who still looks at him the same way you did before the pit, because you don’t care if he came back different, if he came back slightly wrong, because he came back. He came back to you and that’s all that matters.

You, who consistently comes up with new things to compare his eyes to and he truly doesn’t know how the hell you haven’t run out yet. Last week, it was the way sunlight filters through a trees’ leaves in the summer. Yesterday, it was the little plants growing out of cracks in the concrete jungle that is Gotham, resilient and determined despite all odds. Today, you’d simply reminded him that green is the color of spring, of renewal, of hope - the same hope he brings to the little people of Gotham. Tomorrow? He’s sure you’ll come up with something.

You, who regularly stares at him with the most lovesick grin and the softest eyes, to the point where he has to tell you to cut it out, cause you can’t possibly like what you’re looking at that much, only to be told that ‘art should be appreciated.’ His eyes glow then, too, but he doesn’t feel the need to hide. Not when you look at him with nothing but awe and affection in moments like that.

You, who causes him a freaking heart attack when you start bawling the first time he tells you he loves you because, unbeknownst to him, his eyes have never glowed brighter.

[kitkatscabinet]

YOUR WHAT?!

pairing(s): dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, stephanie brown, cassandra cain, kyle rayner, wally west, hal jordan x fem! reader.

summary: their reactions to the "current partner" trend.

a/n: mute Cass you are canon in my heart <3

DICK GRAYSON

[You step backwards from the camera, showing off the outfit you'd coordinated with Dick, trying to prevent yourself from bursting into a fit of giggles as you anticipate his reaction.]

"He wanted us to match, isn't my current boyfriend so cute!" You smile as you watch his reaction through the phone screen.

[The camera zooms in on your boyfriend, who immediately stumbles mid-step like you punched him, as his smile drops into a horrified stare.]

"Current???" He gasps, a hand clutching his heart dramatically. "I’ve met your family. I fold your laundry. I shared my dessert with you last night, willingly!"

You brace your hands on your knees, hunched over as you burst into laughter. You go to speak, but Dick's on a roll.

"No. No, no, no. I’m not some temporary man. I’m not a placeholder! I’m..." He sputters, trying to articulate his point as he waves an acussing finger at you "I'm an endgame boyfriend. The endgame boyfriend!"

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his back to sulk.

"Aw, is the endgame boyfriend gonna cry?" You hug him from behind, resting your cheek against him.

"Maybe."

[The camera cuts to a sulking Dick, drinking poutily from a mug you bought him earlier that says "#1 Boyfriend." Just managing to pick up his mumbled words.]

"Current boyfriend… ridiculous… I’m soulmate material"

JASON TODD

[You prop your phone up, resting it against your mug to show off your still groggy boyfriend who is currently mid-sip of coffee]

"Breakfast with my current boyfriend."

This instantly catches Jason's attention, making him cough a little as he lowers the mug. "…The current what now?"

"Boyfriend." You beam, as if nothing in the world is wrong.

He squints as you, his coffee long forgotten. "See that's what I thought I heard, current boyfriend, but I must be wrong. What happened to 'ride or die'? What happened to you’re it for me, Jay'? Did I hallucinate all of that?"

"Hon, relax."

But he cuts you off, "No, no, no. See, now I’m wondering if I need to get my duffle bag and my helmet and hit the road. Am I getting replaced? Are you conducting auditions behind my back?"

"Oh, here we go." You mutter under your breath as Jason stands and begins pacing.

"I’m tall, I give the best hugs, I'm rich." He pauses and just when you think he's done he spins to face you. "I read! I literally read books. That's like a dreamboat hobby. What more do you want from me?"

"Babe. It’s a tiktok trend. It’s literally a joke." You giggle.

[You pick up the camera, zooming in on his squinting face as he freezes]

"…I better be the final boyfriend. I swear to God." He grumbles and your heart melts a little.

"You are, honey. You're the last one." You stand, leaning in to kiss him softly.

"Damn right I am. Put that in the caption. Tattoo it on your forehead. I will not be dethroned by some stupid trend." He huffs, but doesn't hesitate to recieve your affection.

TIM DRAKE

[You're leaning against the headboard, Tim resting his face against your stomach, his arms wrapped around your waist as you hold your phone out to the side.]

"Y'all wanted him in more content, so here he is, the current boyfriend."

It takes a few second for your words to register, but when they do he lifts his head to stare at you so quickly he nearly snaps his neck.

"A, wha? ah!" He sputters, his mouth taking even longer to catch on.

"Ah, wha? Lipstick in my Valentino white bag?" You mocked and the glare he threw you was mutinous.

"You're such a bitch."

You raise a brow, "Oh, so we're updating that status to ex-boyfriend?"

"You wouldn't." When you simply stare at him, his face drops a little. tone turning more uncertain, "...would you?"

You let the charade continue for a few more seconds before his deadly puppy eyes do you in and you drop a kiss to his forehead.

"No, baby. Never."

With your confirmation that no, you weren't breaking up with him, the brattiness abruptly returns.

"Ha, knew you didn't have the balls to leave me." He crows, and you roll your eyes, shoving him off you and consequently the bed when he tries to snuggle back into you.

STEPHANIE BROWN

[The video starts selfie style, with you standing behind Steph, still dressed in her fuzzy hello kitty pyjamas, as she pours herself a bowl of cereal.]

"So, here she is, the current girlfriend."

[Stephanie freezes mid-bite, turning to look at the camera in sheer disbelief]

"…Current?" You try not to laugh at her reaction but a few giggles slip out and Steph launches into a tirade.

"CURRENT?! Like I’m a seasonal limited-time offer?! Babe, what is this, a McRib romance?!"

"Would you prefer ‘temporary live-in menace with nice legs’?" you tease.

"Okay first of all, accurate. Second of all, current?! Babe, I’ve already picked our wedding colors. I’ve named our hypothetical cats! I have a whole pinterest board dedicated to our future life together!"

"Steph—"

"CURRENT?!? I'll kick you in the fucking head!" She grouses, forgetting her cereal as she storms off in a dramatic huff.

CASSANDRA CAIN

[You and Cass are cuddled together on the couch surrounded by fluffy pillows and blankets. She smiles softly and leans into your side when she notices the camera.]

"Date night with with my current girlfriend."

You feel the way she stiffens against you and instantly regret your words. The TikTok long forgotten, as you turn your full attention to your girlfriend.

"Hey, love, I didn’t mean it like that. It's a stupid TikTok trend. You’re not just some current flavour of the month, you’re my person. Always."

[Cass blinks, the tiniest smile breaking through her usually serious expression. She reaches out and squeezes your hands softly, before pulling back to sign an "I love you"]

You beam, leaning your forehead against hers, you're stomach erupting into butterflies as you thought about the ring you had hidden inside your pillow.

KYLE RAYNER

[Kyle sits across from you, paintbrush in his hand as he focuses intently on the canvas in front of him.]

"Painting the cats with my current boyfriend, look at him go!" You laughed as he looked up at you with a dopily in love grin, before he registers what you've just said.

"Wait. Current Boyfriend?" His brow furrowed as he put down his brush. "Current boyfriend cause we're gonna get married and then I'll be your husband right? Right?"

He looks like a kicked puppy and you stand, moving around to slide into his lap.

[The phone's discarded on the table but it still records the conversation]

"Yeah, baby, we'll get married." You hum, hokking your arms around his neck.

"Oh, that's good, should I go and get the ring I bought a few months ago then?"

"Kyle?!"

HAL JORDAN

[You’re walking through your apartment, filming, Hal is in the kitchen wearing sweats and an obnoxious tank top that says 'welcome to the gun show.' He's making pancakes while humming something off-key.]

"Fit check with my current boyfriend!"

Hal smirks, turning to face the camera. "Damn right. Look at this—pilot, sexy, short stack master... wait." He squinted, analysing your previous sentence. "Hold on. Back up. Current?"

[You try to keep the camera steady as he turns around fully, eyes squinting like you just told him Batman’s funnier than he is.]

"Current boyfriend?? Excuse me?? I—I live with you. We have two cats together, is that what you're telling our sons I am?"

You practically howl with laughter at his meltdown, "It’s just a trend!"

But it's like he doesn't even hear you, too busy on his warpath. "I fixed the leaky faucet. That’s not ‘current boyfriend’ behavior, that’s husband energy."

[He points dramatically at the pancakes sizzling in the pan.]

"That right there? That’s commitment. That’s ‘I’ll be there in your 80s cutting your meds into quarters’ energy."

[The camera cuts to show you sitting with your face resting against your palm as Hal continues to pace in the background, widly gesticualting.]

"Just a current boyfriend... The betrayal..."

WALLY WEST

[You're sitting on the couch, flipping the camera to show off an unsupecting Wally sitting cross legged on the carpet as he works on constructing the $1000 Lego Millenium Falcon you'd gifted him.]

"Y'all look what a nerd my current boyfriend is."

[Wally pauses. His head turns slowly like a confused golden retriever.]

"...Current?...Current?! Babe. Babe. What do you mean current? Did I miss a breakup?! Are you firing me?! I just bought us matching toothbrushes!”

"Well, technically you are the current one." You tease.

"That makes it sound like there could be a next one! You think you can upgrade from this?" He runs a hand down his body. "Limited edition! No returns!"

"You're right. Nobody wants to take the model back anyway." You snort.

[He clutches his chest like he's been shot, fake-sobbing as he collapses against the carpet.]

"We made a spreadsheet for potential baby names just for fun! What about Wallace junior huh?"

"No child of mine will be named Wallace." You deadpan, humour momentarily forgotten until he suddenly crawls toward you, making it impossible not to laugh.

[He buries his face into your lap, and you burst out laughing, pulling him into a hug while he dramatically clings to you like dead weight.]