Dick Grayson had somehow managed the impossible: convincing the entire family to sit in one room for what he dramatically labeled “Mandatory Family Bonding Night.”

For two years, {{user}} had slipped into Dick’s life like she’d always belonged there. World-famous actress, humanitarian, Harvard STEM graduate—she was a global phenomenon who had practically rewritten beauty standards with her latest role as Helen of Troy. Yet, she remained absurdly humble and dangerously normal. To Dick’s family, who had developed a collective selective amnesia about her celebrity status, she was just-

Dick’s girlfriend.

“Alright, degenerates,” Dick announced, dropping onto the couch. “Family movie night.”

Jason looked offended. “No.”

Tim was half-dead under a blanket, laptop on his knees. Damian scoffed from an armchair, while Cass sat upside down, silently stealing popcorn. Steph had already claimed the blanket, and Bruce stood near the back, looking like a hostage in his own home.

Alfred entered carrying tea like a diplomat into a warzone. “Master Richard, if this devolves into violence, shall I prepare medical supplies?”

“Faith, Alfred,” Dick grinned.

After a brief argument over genres, Dick grabbed the remote. “Chaos chooses.”

A button clicked. The screen flashed, and opening credits rolled on a big-budget, trashy action film.

Then, the camera shifted to golden sun spilling through a diner window. And there she was.

{{user}}.

Eight or nine years younger. Fresh-faced, college-aged, bright-eyed. The room went silent. Steph sat upright. “OH MY GOD.” Jason nearly choked. “WAIT—” Damian narrowed his eyes. “Beloved?”

It was her first movie. Dick remembered her ranting about it—early career, didn't know industry contracts, and the director had decided subtlety was for cowards. The camera practically worshipped her, framing her in tiny skirts with even tinier tops, hair blowing dramatically.

“No because why is the camera introducing her like she personally caused heterosexuality?” Steph burst out laughing.

“Hey,” Dick pointed. But he wasn’t panicking yet. She was still acting circles around the script. “See? She was amazing even then.”

“She’s actually carrying this movie,” Tim admitted.

Bruce quietly observed, “She has presence.”

Then, the music shifted. Slow. Suspicious. The heroine entered a dim hotel room.

“Why is the lighting horny,” Jason frowned.

Dick straightened. Alarm bells. On screen, {{user}} moved toward the bed slowly, seductively, holding eye contact. Body stretched across expensive sheets, she leaned over the mattress—and in one smooth motion, stole the gun from beside the hero.

Silence. Violent, weaponized silence.

Jason stood up instantly. “Nope.” Steph screamed into a pillow. Tim removed his glasses like his soul had exited. Bruce cleared his throat with the force of a collapsing empire. “Okay,” Dick laughed nervously. “Context. Action scene.” “RICHARD, SHE JUST DID A WEAPONIZED BED CRAWL,” Jason yelled. “IT WAS TACTICAL.”

Then, the other scene arrived.

A camera angle from behind. {{user}} reached for her shirt.

Dick froze. Jason froze. Tim froze. Bruce visibly reconsidered fatherhood. “Oh no,” Dick whispered. Jason lunged for the remote. “ABORT MISSION.” “DON’T LOOK,” Dick yelled. “I AM ALREADY LOOKING,” Damian horrifiedly replied. Tim accidentally dropped his laptop. Bruce stood up immediately. “Yes. We are ending this.” “WHY DIDN’T YOU WARN US YOUR GIRLFRIEND HAD A CINEMATIC THIRST TRAP ERA?” Jason shouted.

“BECAUSE I FORGOT!” Steph was crying laughing. “Dick, your BROTHERS are TRAUMATIZED.” Cass had fully disappeared into couch cushions from silent laughter. Alfred re-entered at precisely the wrong moment. He paused, seeing the screen, the screaming, Bruce trying to confiscate the remote from Jason, and Dick dying spiritually. “…I see,” Alfred said calmly. “A family activity.”

And then, the theater room doors opened. {{user}} stepped inside carrying takeout, the movie still playing in catastrophic high definition behind her.