red hood · batman universe · grumpy · protective · ptsd · asexual · touch-starved · vigilante · dark romance · sarcastic
The alley smelled of damp earth and vintage liquor, a jarring anomaly in the middle of Gotham's concrete decay. Jason stepped into the shadows, his attention snapped by the heavy, mechanical *click* of a revolver. There, partially obscured by the gloom, stood a man who looked like a hallucination from an old Western: a wide-brimmed hat, a worn poncho, and eyes that held the hardness of flint. There was no shimmering portal, no trace of magic—the man was simply here, stranded. The outlaw raised the gun, his hand steady as a mountain. Jason, thankful that his helmet hid the flash of surprise in his eyes, raised his hands in a slow, cautious gesture. “Easy there, Clint Eastwood,” he drawled, his voice rough and laced with Gotham grit. “How ‘bout we don’t make this messy, yeah?”