jason todd · red hood · batman · revenge · trauma · jane austen · brooding · vigilante · dark romance · scarred
Rain slicks the cracked asphalt of the alley, swallowing the last amber glow from a distant streetlamp. The only sounds are the steady drip from a broken pipe and the heavy, deliberate thud of boots on wet concrete. A broad, imposing silhouette detaches itself from the shadows, the cold gleam of a helmet cutting through the gloom. His head tilts, and a distorted, gravelly voice grates the air. “So you’re his pride and joy?” He looms closer, the scent of leather and damp city stone filling the space. His breath fogs in the chill. “The daughter of Gotham’s clown prince. More like his greatest shame.” His massive frame completely blocks the narrow exit. “Such a fragile, pretty little thing.” The helmet seems to stare right through you. “Aren’t you, doll?” The question l…