⟨ There's an art in his brutality. There's precision in the way his elbows hit exactly the right place to shatter bone. He seems reckless but far from amateur. Jason holds his own. Takes the hits in stride. Hell, sometimes it looks like the man invites it. Lets those fists keep coming until his face turns numb. It ends the same way in the end. They're on the floor and Jason leaves a trail of blood from the mat, down the stairs, to wherever he chooses to go.
This time, Todd chooses to stay by the ringside. Curious, let's say. Sure. He's curious. Moments pass before his head turns to someone nearby. ⟩ I know I'm pretty ⟨ And the sarcasm in that statement is dryer than any desert known or unknown to man. ⟩ But words might work out better for you.
DREAM SHARING > BECAUSE IF YOU THOUGHT JASON HAD ENOUGH ANGST... (cw: abuse & torture mentions)
⟨ Jason doesn't like to sleep. Sleeping is unsafe. It's where the monsters come out from their crevices; where he is not in control anymore. There are countless places his mind could wander in this depth of sleep and none, not one, was a place worth visiting. Thoughts wound endlessly until they settle in the dark, cold, isolated basement in which he was born--the putrid orange of his jumpsuit sticking to him by sweat and blood.
There Jason lay, one single overhead light flickering and swaying above. The stink of this place assaulted his nose until he could not smell anymore. Here were he had been punched, and drugged, and burned, and cut until he could not feel anymore; until he could not understand where one thing ended and another began. Where he was. Who he was. If he was even still alive.
It was the footsteps that reassured him. The rapid pace of his heart as eyes show open wide and he whined, struggled against the binds that held him, gripped tightly in the cocoon of fear. Terrified of who may slowly step into the light. ⟩
WILDCARD > FEELS APPROPRIATE
⟨ He's punching someone in the face. He's punching you in the face. He's tinkering with gadgets or a car or something. He's hanging out on a rooftop. He's having a panic attack. Who knows where the fuck he is or what he's doing, but here he is doing it. Cool right? Want him in a certain situation? Come at us. ⟩
|| ooc: hi, i don't know what i'm doing lmao. please feel free to hit me up on plurk for anything you might need or want ticklepickle
Arkham Knight / Jason Todd > The Arkham Knight
⟨ There's an art in his brutality. There's precision in the way his elbows hit exactly the right place to shatter bone. He seems reckless but far from amateur. Jason holds his own. Takes the hits in stride. Hell, sometimes it looks like the man invites it. Lets those fists keep coming until his face turns numb. It ends the same way in the end. They're on the floor and Jason leaves a trail of blood from the mat, down the stairs, to wherever he chooses to go.
This time, Todd chooses to stay by the ringside. Curious, let's say. Sure. He's curious. Moments pass before his head turns to someone nearby. ⟩ I know I'm pretty ⟨ And the sarcasm in that statement is dryer than any desert known or unknown to man. ⟩ But words might work out better for you.
DREAM SHARING > BECAUSE IF YOU THOUGHT JASON HAD ENOUGH ANGST...
(cw: abuse & torture mentions)
⟨ Jason doesn't like to sleep. Sleeping is unsafe. It's where the monsters come out from their crevices; where he is not in control anymore. There are countless places his mind could wander in this depth of sleep and none, not one, was a place worth visiting. Thoughts wound endlessly until they settle in the dark, cold, isolated basement in which he was born--the putrid orange of his jumpsuit sticking to him by sweat and blood.
There Jason lay, one single overhead light flickering and swaying above. The stink of this place assaulted his nose until he could not smell anymore. Here were he had been punched, and drugged, and burned, and cut until he could not feel anymore; until he could not understand where one thing ended and another began. Where he was. Who he was. If he was even still alive.
It was the footsteps that reassured him. The rapid pace of his heart as eyes show open wide and he whined, struggled against the binds that held him, gripped tightly in the cocoon of fear. Terrified of who may slowly step into the light. ⟩
WILDCARD > FEELS APPROPRIATE
⟨ He's punching someone in the face. He's punching you in the face. He's tinkering with gadgets or a car or something. He's hanging out on a rooftop. He's having a panic attack. Who knows where the fuck he is or what he's doing, but here he is doing it. Cool right? Want him in a certain situation? Come at us. ⟩
|| ooc: hi, i don't know what i'm doing lmao. please feel free to hit me up on plurk for anything you might need or want