#RedHood and the Fandom Menace

[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.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

You asked for the truth so we told you it (Well half of it)

by RAVEN_raven_RayRay After a world ending crisis, which forced the Justice League Titans Outlaws and Young Justice to work together, everyone was on edge, not because they just faced a world ending 29-hour event but because Batman Wonder Woman Superman John Constantine and the Flash dragged the Young Justice team away. Superboy mumbled under his breath. "Let's run." Robin looked extremely over living. " First oof all. We're in space, and second, we've ignored this long enough." Cassie sighed."I think avoiding this subject is easier." Impulse give a nervous "Ha. We're never going to be allowed to do hero-ing after this" Superman spoke first "What did Klarion mean by 'Time is something you don't have'?" Impulse pushed Cassie in a 'you speak first.' Then Cassie turned and pushed Superboy to speak, then Superboy pulled Raven infront of him and hid behind her with Robin and Impulse. RedHood Arsenal and The Flash laughed at the scene but stopped when Wonder Woman gave them a 'Shut up, this is serious' look. Raven sighed, looking at Batman. "Where to begin? Words: 319, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Young Justice - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Raven (Teen Titans), Tim Drake (DCU), Bart Allen, Cassie Sandsmark, Kon-El | Conner Kent, The Outlaws (DCU), Justice League (DCU), Members of the Team (Young Justice), Teen Titans (DCU), Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Jason Todd, Jaime Reyes, Clark Kent, Diana (Wonder Woman), Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen, Damian Wayne, Hal Jordan (Green Lantern), John Constantine, Koriand'r (DCU) Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Kon-El | Conner Kent is So Done, Young Justice Team as Family, Comic: Young Justice (1998-2003), Tim Drake is a Menace (DCU), Bart Allen is a Menace, Raven is So Done via https://ift.tt/k2Ffmdo

[ao3feed-widofjord]

by redhoods

“Frumpkin,” Fjord says, with as much disappointment as he can muster which still is no match for Caleb’s disapproving tone he takes with his cat. “How did you even get up there?” He asks, reaching out to scoop the cat off the top of the bookshelf where he’s chewing on the leaves of another one of the plants.

The cat mrrps at him and leaps from his arms to start twining around his legs.

“Yes, you’re very cute,” he sighs, inspecting the leaves on the plant, “for such a menace.”

“I hope you’re not referring to me?”

Words: 1271, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of we stood as steady as the stars.

Fandoms: Critical Role (Web Series)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Fjord (Critical Role), Caleb Widogast, Frumpkin (Critical Role)

Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship

[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?”

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

You asked for the truth so we told you it (Well half of it)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/k2Ffmdo by RAVEN_raven_RayRay After a world ending crisis, which forced the Justice League Titans Outlaws and Young Justice to work together, everyone was on edge, not because they just faced a world ending 29-hour event but because Batman Wonder Woman Superman John Constantine and the Flash dragged the Young Justice team away. Superboy mumbled under his breath. "Let's run." Robin looked extremely over living. " First oof all. We're in space, and second, we've ignored this long enough." Cassie sighed."I think avoiding this subject is easier." Impulse give a nervous "Ha. We're never going to be allowed to do hero-ing after this" Superman spoke first "What did Klarion mean by 'Time is something you don't have'?" Impulse pushed Cassie in a 'you speak first.' Then Cassie turned and pushed Superboy to speak, then Superboy pulled Raven infront of him and hid behind her with Robin and Impulse. RedHood Arsenal and The Flash laughed at the scene but stopped when Wonder Woman gave them a 'Shut up, this is serious' look. Raven sighed, looking at Batman. "Where to begin? Words: 319, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Young Justice - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Raven (Teen Titans), Tim Drake (DCU), Bart Allen, Cassie Sandsmark, Kon-El | Conner Kent, The Outlaws (DCU), Justice League (DCU), Members of the Team (Young Justice), Teen Titans (DCU), Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Jason Todd, Jaime Reyes, Clark Kent, Diana (Wonder Woman), Bruce Wayne, Barry Allen, Damian Wayne, Hal Jordan (Green Lantern), John Constantine, Koriand'r (DCU) Additional Tags: Not Canon Compliant, Kon-El | Conner Kent is So Done, Young Justice Team as Family, Comic: Young Justice (1998-2003), Tim Drake is a Menace (DCU), Bart Allen is a Menace, Raven is So Done read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/k2Ffmdo