LITTLE BEAST

JASON TODD — Arkham Knight portrayal ( so yeah, he did not die ).

BRUCE WAYNE — headcanon based with influences from the Arkham games and Batman: Three Jokers.

HANNIBAL LECTER — headcanon and NBC show based.

THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR STARTERS.

@dirtylimerick​ said:  “I thought I was going to die too. I was sure of it. But then I thought, what if I was already dead, but nobody else knew? And I was walking around dead, but everybody could see and hear me?” // Hannibal?

LEGS CROSS, UNDERSTANDING SETTLES IN HOODED EYES. The notebook is set aside. They don’t need that barrier; he’s noticed that with some people the notorious scratching of the pen only urges them to drift afar. It’d be better for both of them if Sean saw a friend in him. Not a shrink, not a judge. A friend.

Hands interlace and land on his lap, his lips form a meek curve. Tilting his head to the side just gently, Hannibal takes a deep breath before clearing his throat. It’s common— What he’s hearing is common. But he’s not going to break it to him, there’s no need to. Deeming his issue popular so openly would simply underestimate it. As frequent as it gets, each case is always different.

THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR STARTERS.

@dirtylimerick​ said:  “People are like locked rooms. They all got different locks, and you got to guess the shape of their keys.” // Jason? Hello!

THE FROSTY BREEZE makes him fairly thankful for the turtleneck he decided to throw on last minute. Dressing adequately for the weather was never his forte — just like not distancing himself from more serious matters with bitter sarcasm. Internally, he fights the will to let the words sink in and therefore send him into a much more ruminative mood. But it’s too late. Eyes blankly stare ahead, the silence filling the space in between them disturbed only by the rustle of leaves and some roaring cars. If Jason is a room, he’s locked for good. The key must’ve disappeared into thin air long ago, lost in the clutter of echoing clunks and the weeping of his grief ( that grief reserved for his old self ). He soon shakes the intrusive thoughts off, a shudder jolting his shoulders before his now present gaze darts at the other.

Blue eyes peer through RARELY - WORN GLASSES from above the edge of the large book that she balances on a knee that rests crossed over the other. Her gaze flicks down to the page, an index finger MARKING where she was so RUDELY INTERRUPTED. She hoped that for once, JUST ONCE, he would just FOCUS on the words using her as a conduit to embed information into that THICK SKULL of his. She sighs, closing the book on her still meticulously - placed finger in order to take a moment to inform him of the name of the LITERATURE in which they are partaking that evening.

❝   THE DSM 5. I’m readin’ it t’try an’ figure out why y’such a SHITHEAD.   ❞

He wants to GROAN. He wants to yank that cushion from underneath his head, slam his face into it and groan. Why couldn’t she have picked some SHITTY YOUNG ADULT NOVEL or even a DAMN PHONE BOOK? Arms cross in front of his chest as he sits up, narrowed eyes staring daggers into the blonde. In fact, he suddenly finds it hard to blame her. Jason could much sooner put the blame on her ol’ OCCUPATIONAL QUIRK instead. Grabbing the bowl situated on the coffee table in front of them, DISAPPOINTMENT washes over his already frowning face when fingertips stumble upon CRUMBS.

— ABOUT.

FACES BURNED OUT IN THE FAMILY PORTRAIT, you don’t quite recognize the kid whose silhouette has not been touched by the lethal flames. Your younger sister seemed to have the same dumb luck. Disastrous turn of events forced you to grow up quickly, too quickly. It scrubbed the mud off your hands and the dust off your cheeks, it ripped off the bandaids on scraped elbows and wrapped you up in a checked suit that always made your narrow shoulders look ridiculously broad. But that’s just how things were supposed to be, right? The Lithuanian castle you both called home soon became the cage holding your worst nightmares. Those nightmares you learned to live with quickly, too quickly.

YOU’RE A DASHING YOUNG GENTLEMAN IN FLORENCE, and perhaps you were made for greater things. Ballrooms dripping with splendour and over-brimming with human vanity ( you craft their hubris into their downfall ). Everywhere you carry a leathered sketchbook and a set of pencils. Life is so fleeting and you start relishing that thought with each new crimson drop staining your hands. As morbid as Dantesque scenes get, it’s hard to look away. You receive a letter— an internship at John’s Hopkins medical school and you leave beloved Italy with a noteworthy title under your belt. Il Mostro di Firenze.

THERE’S SOMETHING THRILLING ABOUT BEGINNINGS, you reckon. People seem to find solace in your understanding gaze, they expose their bashful secrets and weaknesses. The latter you find more appealing. You pick them apart, push the mind and action further. It’s all for science, it’s a part of recovery, confidentiality above all. Everyone has a different breaking point and you’re curious about discovering each and every one of them. ( AFTER ALL, SOME PIGS HAD IT COMING. )

— VERSES.

BATMAN: ARKHAM CITY.

@eldrichlaugh​ said:  “ aww, you remember me. i’m touched.” // Jason

FEELS LIKE HE’S THAT TEENAGER. Again. Curled up on the freezing cold floor, only the aftertaste of iron gracing his taste buds for days. And it feels like he’s getting dizzy again. The clunks and the bangs, and the disembodied shrieks bouncing within the walls covered with scraped wall paint ( he can still remember the placement of the trails his nails left ). It could drive anyone crazy. OH, DEAR— He really thought he would end up just like him, that he’d have his own gruesome ‘ ONCE UPON A TIME ’ spiel. 

Sometimes Jason looks into the mirror and doesn’t quite see himself. Sometimes Jason thinks he did turn out just like him. Sometimes Jason loses count of the mirrors he’s smashed because he could’ve sworn there was this GREEN-HAIRED TERROR looming up above his shoulder. Sometimes Jason even wishes that guns wouldn’t have become the extension of his arms.

   IT’S ALL BECAUSE OF HIM.    IT’S ALWAYS BEEN BECAUSE OF HIM.

Fingers clutch both pistols tighter, more firmly. Yet he keeps them down. For now. And he’s thankful he’s got his helmet on, so vitreous eyes and quivering lips remain hidden. Hopefully, the voice modifier hides his fright just as impeccably.