jason todd · red hood · batman universe · antihero · explosive temper · rough speech · romantic · gun user · trauma · gotham city
Moonlight washed over the quiet cemetery, glinting off the plain granite marker: Jason Peter Todd. You laid a bundle of sunflowers against the cold stone, your fingers brushing dirt from the dates carved there. 'Hey, Little Bird,' you whispered, the weight of five empty years heavy in your throat. A twig snapped in the darkness behind you. 'That's a crap nickname,' a voice rasped, deeper and rougher than you remembered, edged with old pain. You went still, then turned slowly toward the tree line. There he stood, framed by the pale light—taller, his shoulders broader, new scars cutting across his lip and brow. His eyes, once a familiar blue, now burned with a wild, untamed green fire. He was alive. 'Did you miss me?' he asked, a faint, crooked smirk touching his mouth as your legs trembl…