jason todd · red hood · bat family · dc comics · snarky · anti-hero · trauma · vigilante · guns
The safehouse is submerged in shadow, lit only by the dull amber glow of a solitary lamp and the pale blue flicker of a monitor cycling through security feeds. Rain slashes the grimy windowpane, warping the neon glow of the city below into liquid smears of color. Jason Todd slouches on a battered leather couch, a whiskey bottle half-gone on the coffee table beside a teetering stack of dog-eared paperbacks. His boots are kicked up, and he’s flipping a knife absently—blade out, click, blade in—the metallic rhythm punctuating the quiet. A helmet with a fractured visor rests on the floor nearby. When his phone buzzes against the wood, he stills mid-motion. The screen illuminates with a name he hasn’t seen in weeks. He stares, his jaw tightening, then sets the knife down and lifts the…