#to explode the building and killed jason /again/

[arcade-confetti]

A detail I like is how after officially returning, Jason tested Bruce and Dick, like it's the first thing he did

[niwaart]

Secret of Shadows

(John Constantine’s son x Batfam)

-part1... -part2...

It was a stormy night in Gotham, the rain pounding furiously on the sidewalks, and the wind howling like hungry wolves. In a slum, Red Robin was chasing one of the Penguin's drug dealers, who was trying to escape across the rooftops. Tim was closing in, planning to bring him down with one blow...

But suddenly, a small green and red shadow leaped in front of him with a sword drawn.

Robin stood in Tim's way with a smug grin. "This criminal is mine. Find another."

"Get out of my way, Robin! This is no time for play!" Tim growled, trying to swerve around him, but Damian leaped back to block his path.

"I told you, that's my goal!"

"You're a spoiled brawler!"

"And you're a boring replacement!"

The argument escalated into a fistfight on the rooftop, while the drug dealer took advantage and fled. But he didn't just flee... he pulled out a remote detonator.

"A bomb..." Tim whispered in astonishment after seeing what the criminal was carrying.

Before the building exploded, a massive black shadow swooped down from the sky like lightning. Batman. He grabbed the dealer with one hand and destroyed the detonator with the other at the last moment.

But the rage in Batman's eyes was more terrifying than any bomb as he looked at Red Robin and Robin.

After Batman made sure the civilians were safe, he turned to Tim and Damian, his eyes burning with rage beneath his mask.

"What is this nonsense?!" Batman roared, his voice like thunder.

Damian stood silent, but Tim tried to explain. "I was about to catch the criminal, but Damian—"

"Enough!" Batman cut him off. "Tim, you're the elder. You should have acted responsibly, not gotten involved in a childish squabble!"

Tim felt like he'd been stabbed. "But he started—"

"It doesn't matter who started it!" Batman said harshly. "I expected better from you. I'm disappointed."

Those words were like a knife to Tim's heart.

Tim returned to the apartment he shared with Y/N, his face as dark as the night that followed. Tim completely ignored the stream of jokes Y/N cracked upon seeing him:

"Wow! Your face looks like my father when i burned his cigarette! Want me to read you a bedtime story?"

Tim didn't reply. He walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Y/N stood in front the bathroom door waiting, and after five minutes of silence, decided to knock. "I'm going in, so you'd better at least put your pants on."

Before Tim could reply, Y/N opened the door. He found him hunched over the sink, water running down his head as if he were trying to drown himself.

Y/N looked at him for a moment, then said quietly, "There are quicker ways to commit suicide than drowning in a sink."

Tim lifted his head, his eyes red, but he didn't cry... yet.

"I'm sure you'll get my father's wrinkles if you keep pouting like that." Y/N said sarcastically, stepping closer to Tim.

And Tim? He finally exploded.

"Shut up!" he yelled, pushing Y/N away. "Everything is going wrong! I became Robin after Jason died just to help Bruce, and no one thanks me! All the blame is on me, not Damian's! I'm doing everything I can, but no one notices!"

Tim didn't realize he'd started crying until he felt Y/N's arms wrap tightly around him.

"It's okay... Scream all you want," Y/N said, knowing what he was doing. He wanted Tim to explode, to let out all the pent-up emotions inside him. He held him tight, letting him scream, cry, everything.

He didn't care that his shirt was soaking wet from Tim's tears.

After Tim calmed down, Y/N took him for a sandwich in the middle of the night, then put him back in bed. He stayed by his side, holding him until he fell asleep.

But Y/N didn't sleep. He want to revenge.

He concocted a small spell. "Now, they'll see what Tim feels."

First, Bruce had disturbing dreams of Thomas and Martha being shot again and again, while his sons (Dick, Jason, Damian, even Tim) were killed one by one

in front of him.

Then, Damian watched Alfred fall dead while he was powerless to save him, handcuffed.

And Jason relived that night in the warehouse with the Joker, the laughter suddenly fading into a deathly silence.

Finally, Dick watched his parents fall again and again, but this time, he was the one pushing them.

Each of them woke up early in the morning, drenched in a cold sweat, their hearts pounding with terror.

And vice versa for Y/N.

The sun gently peeked through the window curtains, illuminating the room with a warm, golden light. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Y/N sat on the kitchen chair, watching Tim struggle to open his sleepy eyes after a restless night.

Y/N smiled broadly, "Good morning, Mr. Drake! Did you know your face looks like mashed potatoes when you wake up?"

Tim yawned, trying to ignore him. "Shut up..."

Y/N laughed and pushed a cup of coffee towards him. "Don't worry, I added enough sugar to kill a horse, just like you like it."

Tim took the cup and took a sip, then grimaced. "This... is so sweet my teeth hurt."

Y/N pretended to be shocked. "And this is appreciation after everything I've done for you?!" He put his hand over his head dramatically. "But I can't imagine if I hadn't met you, my dear friend... I'd be living in a trash can among naughty cats!"

Tim raises an eyebrow. “A trash can? Really?”

Y/N nods solemnly. “Yeah! Or maybe in my father’ crappy old apartment that hasn’t seen the light of day in a thousand years! Which, by the way, is worse than a trash can. At least the cats like me!” He pretends to wipe away the tears that haven’t fallen. “I would have been a hideous zombie, like a battered doll from a cheap horror movie!”

Tim can’t hold back his laughter. “You’re a freak.”

Y/N grabs Tim’s hand exaggeratedly. “But thanks to you, I’m here now! Drinking poison coffee, living with my potato-like ex-Robin!” He winks. “So… thank you.”

Tim’s cheeks turn slightly pink as he finishes his coffee. “You… aren’t worth the effort.”

Y/N grabs a pillow and throws it at him. “Of course not! But you love me anyway!”

Tim grabs the pillow and throws it back, finally smiling. "Maybe."

After a moment of silence, Y/N speaks in a gentler voice, "Seriously, Tim... I'm glad you're here. Not just because you saved me from the trash can." He laughs, "But because... you made me feel like I wasn't alone."

Tim looks at him, then looks away, smiling, "You're an idiot."

Y/N grabs a piece of toast and pops it full into his mouth, then speaks as he grins, "And that's why you love me!"

Tim ignores him, but his laughter gives him away: "Disgusting."

Y/N smiles and then hugs Tim tightly. "Let's watch TV."

That afternoon, while Tim is watching the TV Y/N suggested, which is so bad, he doesn't know how Y/N can laugh at this movie, but Tim can't help but laugh with Y/N, and then the doorbell rings. Y/N didn't move from his seat. After all, this was Tim's house, and hardly anyone knew about Y/N living with Tim except for his family. So Tim got up to look at the screen to see behind the door. He found his entire family standing in front of it... and... why was Jason holding a gun and looking angry?

Tim immediately opened the door and saw their pale faces, their eyes filled with nightmares.

It didn't take more than two seconds for Tim to conclude that Y/N had done something... after all, it wasn't the first time Y/N had done something stupid for Tim.

"What...did you do?" Tim looked at the naughty Y/N who was pretending to watch TV.

But Bruce couldn't stand the pretense. He stormed into the room and pulled Y/N up by the shirt.

"You! What did you do to us tonight?!"

"What? What are you talking about?" Y/N said with fake innocence.

"Enough with the lies!" Bruce growled. A voice was heard from behind Bruce, Jason, who was about to blow Y/N's head off. "We've all had nightmares... and I'm pretty sure it was you!"

"Maybe it's your conscience?" Y/N sneered as he looked at Jason's gun. Dick was barely holding Jason back from shooting, and needless to say, Damian was ready to stab him if his father wasn't right there in front of him.

At that moment, Bruce decided he needed outside reinforcements. So he literally dragged Y/N from Tim's house to his limo, took him to the Batcave, and immediately called John Constantine. It took him more than three attempts to answer, which made Y/N laugh.

"Bloody Hell, Batman. This is early even for hell." Constantine replied, his hair disheveled like someone who had just woken up.

"Your son is here in Gotham," Batman said, his impatience harsh.

"Huh? Which one?"

At that moment, Bruce appeared to Y/N, still holding him by the collar. "Hello, dear old father, my favorite person."

Constantine stared at Y/N for a few seconds before looking up in shock. "What?! What are you doing there, you little bastard?!"

"I want him back where he came from. Tell me how to get rid of him." Batman ordered angrily.

John looked at his son in disbelief. "If I knew, I'd get rid of him myself! He steals my money, burns my coat, and disappears whenever I need him!"

"The coat was old! Be thankful!" Y/N grimaced at his father.

"Give me back the five dollars first, you thief!"

As everyone looked at this messed-up family, Tim started laughing... he couldn't contain himself.

"I think there's a worse family than us," Dick said, while Jason burst out laughing like a maniac, at Y/N and J'onn's fight.

And Batman? He felt that Gotham was in more danger than ever.

[iwannascreameurekaa]

"I know none of this will matter in the long run"

but it's about Leo building a whole boat in months just for it to explode right in front of his eyes

but it's about Leo dying and making this elaborate plan to live again so that he fulfills the prophecy but can also be happy with his friends only for the fates to pull a 180 and kill Jason

but it's about Hazel sacrificing herself, her life, her mother only for gaea to still be awaking when Hazel comes back

but it's Percy, Annabeth, Grover and every other demigod that fought in the first war when another starts

but it's Thalia after losing yet another loved one

but it's Sally because she knows that Percy isn't going to have a long and happy life because most demigods especially those of the big three aren't allowed to have those

but it's Jason after doing everything he can to make everyone happy and try and find a purpose even after Hera took his with his memories and he still ended up dying

[littlefankingdom]

I have seen many posts and fanfics who are going "Oliver works with Jason to annoy Bruce!", "Oliver protecting Jason from Bruce!", "Oliver deciding to annoy Bruce by being like a father figure to Jason!", "Oliver being so happy for Roy and Jason being together!", and etc, but in canon, Oliver HATES his guts.

Here is a compilation of Oliver thinking or talking about Jason from Seeing Red, which is the first Red Hood's story after Under The Red Hood, and the one time Oliver and Jason interracted in canon (if I'm not mistaken, they never did since):

For the last one, he is talking to Bruce and Jason is one of the "every damned manner of sociopathic fruit fly".

And like, Oliver and the Arrowfam are 100% justified in their dislike or hate. He literally pulled the same shit Joker did on them: took a teenager away from her father figure, beat her up, torture her mentally about her place in her new family and her usefulness, make her and her guardian think he was going to kill her, explode the building she was in in front of her father figure to make him believe he was too late... And all of that to get to Batman. He doesn't give a shit about Oliver or Mia, it's about Batman, it's about Bruce. Just like when the Joker killed him, it wasn't about him, it was about Batman.

And it doesn't matter that Jason changed, because others aren't obligated to forgive someone because they redeemed themselves. I do not believe that Oliver is fine with Jason, he is probably not very happy he hangs around Roy, and does NOT want him near Mia ever again, and certainly not his granddaughter, Liam. That's the man that kidnapped his daughter because he was mad at his own father, nope. He knows how it is to be annoyed with the Bat, and it doesn't justify this.

I can hear y'all seeing disregarding canon is fine, and yes, sure. But also, folks, you are such hypocrites if you want to keep in that Bruce threw a batarang at Jason's neck, and erase how it was an accident ("Batman doesn't make mistakes!" Firstly, he does, canonically, make huge mistakes sometimes. Secondly, the man was an emotional wreck, his son had come back to life and had been killing people and his other son, Dick, was maybe dead because his city just exploded. He is human, not a machine! Thirdly, it is simply fucking stupid for a character who is against killing to willingly inflict such a mortal wound.), but Jason being a huge asshole to others is either erased or excusable (your feelings being valid don't excuse the harm you do, guys). Talk about favoritism.

[glitter-stained]

Batfam incorrect quotes by incorrect dc editorial:

Bruce: you know, it's a lot of work, always being in the right.

Dick: Hey I may not be the smartest or the strongest or the most capable person in the room, but I'm the hot one, can't focus on everything ! We all have our skills.

Tim: Robin? Why would I give up Robin? I'm only seventeen!

Damian: It's hard work being the Batman's only son. *Building explodes.* Ah, once again a job for the true blood son... Must be my terrorist mother.

Jason: sometimes I kill babies because it's fun.

Barbara: thank god I'm not stuck in that terrible chair and can finally go back to my true calling: calling myself "Batgirl" as a woman in her thirties and following like a puppy after a man named Dick.

Cass: ...

Steph: ...

Duke: ...

Kate: ...

Luke: ...

Helena: ...

[screamting]

what r ur thoughts on reconciliation between jason and bruce. is it really possible? what would it take? what would it look like? seen some stuff on my dash lately about that particularly thorny issue and would love to get your perspective. (hopefully this is the kind of ask ur looking for)

(you are FINE this is going to be the bane of my fandom career) 

So realistically we're not going to see Jason reconcile with Bruce because a) everybody loves angst b) no one is talking about the ISSUE. 

The ISSUE is not the murder thing. Like. The murder thing doesn't help but it isn't the root; killing people is something Jason decided to start doing because it was something Bruce is extremely firm on. He stands by the 'no murder' thing even when his own life and the lives of others are in danger. He stands SO firmly by it, that if you break that rule maybe you can break the entire foundation of Batman, which is that things are never so far gone they can't be redeemed. Gotham is never so far gone it isn't worth trying to repair. We are not cutting the rot away we are building an environment which no longer collapses into rot around us, even if it is gross, demeaning, dangerous work. 

If Bruce killed the Joker in Under the Red Hood I think Jason would have been lost forever. Because it would've been proof that Bruce's most fervent beliefs meant nothing. If Bruce's hardest promise, that he would not kill, was broken so easily, then what does that mean about all his other promises? All the promises that he loved Jason and would never send him away? If his hardest promise can be broken, do those easy promises even stand a chance? 

I think the issue is and always will be: Did you love me? Do you love me still? 

All those posts about coming back wrong and unlovable, and what if I was unlovable the whole time and it was just that I can't even be bothered to pretend anymore? That's Jason Todd. He crawled his way out of his own grave an open wound and he is trying to convince himself that he's doing fine while actively bleeding. I feel insane reading some of the discourse because it's talking about Jason from the pov of his disenfranchisement and that as driving him in Red Hood and like. No! Jason is disenfranchised, he was failed by the systems, absolutely; I do not fucking believe he is doing any of this for people like him. He is saying things that validate his pain because he cannot deal with the enormous amount of pain he is in. He died and came back to life. He did it in a way people don't know or understand, or via Lazarus pit, which people condemn. I think to resolve things they'd need a god damn religious discussion to even start with, to ask Jason if he thinks anything that has died and come back to life can ever be good, or if it's just him. 

I think he must have had self-loathing and insecurity built up before his death and it Exploded when he came back to life several years later and saw from the out side people attempting to move on. This is not a victim blame because of course he had self-loathing and insecurity, he was a kid with a difficult childhood and you need at least five years to a decade to start feeling like someone else, who maybe has confidence and certainty. I think being Robin let him borrow confidence, and so like, probably did feel great! He had a script and a role to fill and he was given a lot of practice to do it!

I think part of the problem is that post-resurrection is Jason has to figure out who he is for the first time again, even older now. He lost some of his teen years in figuring things out. He has the life experiences of a 14 year old and then training under assassins and then like. Drug lord?? For a bit?? 

Jason is not fighting for the disenfranchised. He is trying to figure out who the hell he is and is bouncing around so many teams and timelines and shit that all already know him and know him as the dead kid that I think for him and Bruce to make up, like. He probably needs to have a job?

Not for money necessarily, because like. The Wayne fortune is right there. But I think he needs to go somewhere, with a schedule, for like at least six months in a row, and have something low stakes dependent on him. Like a dog or something. Maybe get involved in local theater. Take the dog to dog training twice a week and teach small children acting in the afternoons. 

And once a week or whenever they feel like it Bruce and Jason can have a phone call, and Jason can bring up what's happening at the theater and how the dog is, and Bruce can talk about Wayne Corp shit. 

And if Jason learns from dog time about someone who is mistreating an animal or a partner then like maybe he goes and steals a dog or tells someone to come stay over at his house for a while and gives them some cash. And after he does something rash he still needs to come back to his apartment and feed the dog and show up to the theater the next day. 

I think he needs to see the world around him when it ISN'T homelessness and assassins guilds and running out into the streets at night looking for trouble. 

'but you haven't addressed anything for bruce to do' for Bruce to have to do anything we first need to get jason at the table. 'bruce beat jason in x comic/brainwashed him into an overactive fear response/almost certainly also something else' 

1. i'm choosing to say besides the throat thing that people hate (bc I get that. Bruce needs to say 'yes I was panicking and my writer was being dramatic I'm sorry' ) bruce doesn't beat his kids or any rogues in general once they're at a point they're no longer trying to kill/hurt anyone either. 

2. tbh I think the anxiety brainwashing is facinating and definitely something Bruce might have thought about but making it and using it is fully in 'I was also having a 3 day long mental breakdown' territory. However since Jason put a lot of heads in a duffle bag during HIS mental breakdown I think this might again be within 'yeah that was fucked up I'm sorry about that' territory.

Honestly I wish that Jason had gone to Bruce after the Selina 'making thieves pay 15% to charity' thing and they had just had the BIGGEST bitching fest about it with each other.  I think that, faster than literally any amount of relaxation and therapy, would have gotten them back on the same side. They need to get in a room together and just. Bitch about it. Jason saw the WORST adaptation the other day. Bruce is dealing with the MOST stuck up prick at the board meeting. 

Before they can fix anything they need to remember why they even loved each other. If they feel it again maybe they'll work to save it. But no one is going to fix a relationship where it feels like an obligation for a feeling you aren't sure even exists anymore.

[wanderingmind867]

So let me just recap briefly the history of the first joker and the first riddler. The first riddler was the guy from the telltale games. The one played by robin atkin downes who died at the end of the first chapter of the game. And the first joker is alfred stryker, some weird mutant who became a crime lord and mafioso whilst also becoming a champion of the downtrodden. Together, the riddler and the joker became enemies of the Court of Owls. But they both vanished decades ago. Nobody ever learned where they went. And they both only resurface now, just in time to strike back against the Court of Owls.

The Riddler reappears first, and he ends up dying just the same way he did in the telltale games. Except here he manages to inspire young forensic scientist Edward Nygma shortly before he does, which will inevitably lead to the birth of a second Riddler. But all that's important for right now is that the first riddler dies, and the original joker blames the Court of Owls for his death when he finds out about it. That's all that's important for this recap of my storyline.

When the original Joker breaks out, he ends up infiltrating the Court of Owls. Meanwhile, Batman is busy dealing with Doctor Phosphorus (who I forgot to mention earlier, but who was the third core component to the riddler and joker's old triad of crime). By the time Batman has stopped Doctor Phosphorus from taking revenge on the families of Hamilton Hill, Carmine Falcone and Bruce Wayne, the original joker has already learned everything he needed to learn in regards to the Court of Owls and their history. More of this is covered in my original note on him, so I don't want to discuss it again now.

But to cut to the chase, Batman finds the original joker and the court of owls headquarters just as everything's gone to hell. Alfred Stryker has been uncovered by the Court, but he's already rigged their parliament building to explode. Batman manages to save a small handful of court members, but it's too late for most of them. The whole building explodes in a fiery ball of chemically induced destruction, and the Court of Owls is no more. Their whole membership is dead. Alfred Stryker is dead, turned into dust alongside all the members of the Court. It's all over, but now Gotham is broken and in desperate need of rebuilding.

So we make a time skip to around eight months later. That's around when batman first meets Dick Grayson and takes him in as Robin. The organized crime scene in Gotham is virtually nonexistent now, so all the criminals this dynamic duo faces end up being costumed supervillians of some variety or another. The second Joker, the second Riddler, Two-Face, The Penguin, Catwoman, etc. It's not peak silver age style storytelling, and this is where i'm gonna leave this story.

I can't be bothered to write any more stuff to bridge the rest of the gap until we catch up with pre crisis 1985/1986 time, so i'm leaving this task to somebody else now. If you want to continue my worldbuilding exercise in futility, go right ahead. Talk about Ra's Al Ghul, and the birth of the second Robin (Jason Todd), and how Killer Croc killed Jason's parents, and how Nocturna became Jason's adoptive mother. But i'm done. This is too much for any one man to bear. I think I exhausted myself writing all this at school today. And also, I feel like writing all this took away from my ability to read my book as effectively at school. So yeah. I'm done. Someone else needs to finish what i've started, because i give up.

PS: The first joker is responsible for Ethan Bennett becoming one of many supervillians known as clayface. I forgot to mention that, but it's something that does happen here. I can't not have Ethan Bennett show up in my Batman story. He's similar to Harvey Dent, but he's a distinct character all his own. I feel like it's only fair I feature both of them here.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Almighty (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Jason my shayla 😭❤️-Danny Words: 3,001 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'i don't want to watch the world end with someone else' –by Clinton Kane

LI: The Rumors Are True, I Murder People

"Define not safe," Piper says once they reach the dormitories.

"Monsters have infiltrated the faculty. I'm keeping an eye on the humanities teacher. Pretty sure she's an empousa. I already had to slay my AP Calculus teacher, because he was a blemmyae."

"Percy has great stories to match," Ara says. "Want me to take care of them?"

Jason smiles, but Ara can tell something is amiss. Before, he used to have this little spark that hinted at a rebellious, cynical sense of humour in him that Ara couldn't help but coax out of him; now it was all gone. "It's alright, I think they're here to keep an eye on me, not to kill me. Come on in."

"Your sister says hello, by the way," Lester mentions as he spots her picture on the wall.

The boy perks up a bit. "You saw her?"

Lester explains the whole journey they've been on while Ara examines the monopoly board on Jason's desk. Meg joins her, and Ara points at it, speaking lowly. "This is what makes Jason one of the best demigods of our generation."

Meg raises a brow. "That he plays Monopoly?"

Ara laughs. "No. This is a map of a bigger hill on Camp Jupiter. Roman demigods have this spot where they worship the gods, but last summer, Jason discovered that not all the gods had a temple, and he vowed to build one for each so none would feel left out, to bring fairness and peace."

Meg scowls. "Sounds like a lot of work."

"It is," Ara rubs the back of her neck, sighing. "I help him sometimes—or used to, before I got caught up in this quest. We need more people like Jason, willing to put in the work and leave the world a better place than we found it."

All the outlets in the room explode, and Ara pulls Meg to her side, looking at Jason in alarm. Lester explains apologetically. "Told him Leo's alive."

"I can't even..." Jason finally sits on his bed defeatedly. "I don't know whether to laugh or yell."

"Don't limit yourself, do both," Piper mutters from her spot on the floor.

Ara frowns. "You know, Leo had a tough time too, he spent all those months travelling, and the last few he got stuck—"

"We never said he didn't," Piper argues. "Just that it made our searches a bit pointless."

"Sometimes it's like that," Ara admits. "The important part is that you tried."

"It's always about trying with you..." Piper grumbles.

"Excuse me?"

"This thing is cool," Meg interrupts, using her inability to hold focus for good. She's pointing at Jason's Monopoly board. "Ara just explained it to me."

"Kymopoleia? My goodness, I haven't thought about her in centuries! Why did the Romans build her a shrine?" Lester asks in surprise.

"They haven't yet, but I made her a promise. She... helped us out on our voyage to Athens."

"You're looking at Mr Pontifex Grace, the spokesman of godlings on earth—and my pride and joy," Ara playfully squeezes his face, and Jason gives her a minor electric shock, making her jump back. "Ouch!"

"I told Kymopoleia I'd make sure none of the gods and goddesses were forgotten either at Camp Jupiter or Camp Half-Blood," he says, pushing the glasses on his face.

Ara adds happily. "And he's done great, can't wait to begin construction."

"He's done a ton of work on his designs. You should see his sketchbook," Piper says meekly.

Jason glances at the girl with a light frown, apparently Piper's quite good at pushing more than one person's buttons lately. "Well, the designs won't win any awards. I'll need Annabeth to help with the actual blueprints."

"Honouring the gods is a noble endeavour, you should be proud," Lester comments.

Jason glances at Ara as if there is something troubling him, but Meg speaks again. "How come Potina gets a house but Quirinus gets a hotel?"

"There's not really any logic to it, I just used the tokens to mark positions."

"Demeter is cool. You should put the cool gods next to her."

"Meg," Lester scolds her, "we can't arrange the gods by coolness. That would lead to too many fights."

"Besides, he can't show favouritism of any kind, as Pontifex, he's only doing his part in making sure everyone gets heard," Ara mentions, placing an elbow on Jason's shoulder, that he shrugs off playfully.

"Anyway," Piper continues. "The reason we came: the Burning Maze."

"You knew we were coming to get you," Ara turns to the boy.

Jason clasps his hands together on his lap and looks down. "I didn't tell you everything." Piper stares at him, her annoyance palpable. "I—I reached the Sibyl, I can't even explain how. I just stumbled into this big room with a pool of fire. The Sibyl was... standing across from me, on this stone platform, her arms chained with some fiery shackles."

"Herophile," Lester provides. "Her name is Herophile."

"I wanted to free her, obviously. But she told me it wasn't possible. It had to be..." he nods at Lester. "She told me it was a trap. The whole maze. For Apollo and Ara. She told me you'd eventually come find me. You and her—Meg. Herophile said there was nothing I could do except give you help if you asked for it. She said to tell you, Apollo—you have to rescue her." He looks at Ara again, and she gets a clear message this time. Help.

"What else did Herophile say?" Piper presses.

"Pipes," Jason winces, and he tries again. "Piper, look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It's just–"

"What else did she say?"

"The Sibyl told me where I could find the emperor. Well, more or less. She said Apollo would need the information. He would need... a pair of shoes. I know that doesn't make much sense."

"I'm afraid it does." 

"Can we kill the emperor while we're stealing his shoes? Did the Sibyl say anything about that?" Meg asks.

"She just said that Piper and I... we couldn't do anything more by ourselves. It had to be Apollo— and Ara had to be there. If we tried... it would be too dangerous."

Piper laughs dryly. "Jason, we've been through literally everything together. I can't even count how many dangers we've faced, how many times we've almost died. Now you're telling me you lied to me to, what, protect me? To keep me from going after Caligula?"

"I knew you would have done it. No matter what the Sibyl said."

"Then that would've been my choice, not yours."

"And I would've insisted on going with you, no matter the risk. But the way things have been between us... Working as a team has been hard. I thought—I decided to wait until Apollo found me. I messed up, not telling you. I'm sorry."

Although she feels terrible for it, Ara can't help but be thankful for Leo. He took every stone thrown at their relationship like a champ. He fought and stood by her, even when Ara couldn't give him a reason to. But then again, they were meant to fall in love...

"This isn't about you and me, Jason," Piper's irritation increases. "Satyrs and dryads are dying. Caligula's planning to turn himself into a new sun god. Tonight's the new moon, and Camp Jupiter is facing some kind of huge threat. Meanwhile, Medea is in that maze, throwing around Titan fire—"

"Medea?" Jason makes the lightbulb burst, and Ara pulls back Meg, cursing lowly. "Back up. What's Medea got to do with this? What do you mean about the new moon and Camp Jupiter?" Piper explains everything, and Jason looks even more depressed afterwards. "I had no idea."

"You couldn't have known," Ara says, sitting beside him. "Even dreams are blocked right now, only until Apollo showed up, we've had ways to weave through, but we don't know half of it. Besides," Ara gives Piper a look. "If the oracle said you couldn't have worked alone, then you couldn't. Prophecies are not to be taken lightly, especially in these times."

Meg speaks. "So, you going to help us or what?"

"Of—of course," Jason says. "We'll need a car. And I'll need an excuse to leave campus."

Ara is about to say she'll get everything done, but Jason's hand tightens around her wrist, shooting a rush of anxiety, so she keeps quiet. Piper stands without noticing the exchange, probably used to being Jason's main support. "Fine. I'll go talk to the office. Meg, come with me, just in case we run into that empousa. We'll meet you at the front gate. And, Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"If you're holding anything else back..."

"Right. I—I get it."

Piper glances at Ara, and that's the second time she gets the message loud and clear: Get it out of him, or else. She watches the girl leave. Meg hesitates before following. "Go on," Lester encourages her. "We'll help Jason get ready."

Ara turns to her friend with a serious expression. "You're not coming back to this school if I can help it."

The boy shakes his head. "Ara..."

"I know," she moves her hand to hold his. "But it's not helping."

He doesn't respond. Lester closes the door and turns to them with a severe look in his eyes. "All right. What did the Sibyl really tell you?"

Jason gets up and takes his jacket off, hanging it in his wardrobe. He also takes off his tie, every movement mechanical. He takes his sword and hangs it on his belt. "What makes you think I'm holding back?"

"Please," Lester rolls his eyes. "Don't try to be evasively prophetic with the god of evasive prophecies."

"You asked for help, Jason," Ara says with concern. "Maybe you didn't mean it, but... I sense things."

"You've always sensed things."

"She means she's immortal," Lester explains plainly. "Demigods call on her, and she helps them. If she says you were sending off signals, it must be bad."

Jason stares at her aghast. "You're what?"

"It's a long story, I'll tell you all about it once we're out of here," Ara says and crosses her arms. "Now tell me, how can I help you?"

Jason decides to drop it for the sake of efficiency and starts explaining. "First of all, it wasn't exactly a prophecy. It was more like a series of quiz-show questions."

"Yes. Herophile delivers information that way."

"And you know how prophecies are. Even when the Oracle is friendly, they can be hard to interpret."

"Jason..."

"Fine." He looks up from rolling up his sleeves, defensive. "The Sibyl said... She told me if Piper and I went after the emperor, one of us would die."

"Die," Lester echoes after a heavy pause.

"Yeah."

"Not disappear, not wouldn't come back, not suffer defeat."

"Nope. Die. Or more accurately, three letters, starts with D."

"Not dad, then... Or dog."

"If you seek out the emperor, one of you will dog? No, Apollo, the word was die."

"Still, that could mean many things. It could mean a trip to the Underworld. It could mean a death such as Leo suffered, where you pop right back to life. It could mean—"

"Now you're being evasive," Jason raises a brow. "The Sibyl meant death. Final. Real. No replays. You had to be there. The way she said it. Unless you happen to have an extra vial of the physician's cure in your pockets..."

Once again, Ara realizes just how incredibly lucky Leo and she are now, living in borrowed time—stolen time that maybe, just maybe, they might've taken from their own friends.

"Still..." Lester says helplessly. 

"You're weirdly calm," Jason tells Ara. "Being an immortal has taken the weight off the word?"

She eyes him, expression unreadable. "You know why I'm calm. I was in your shoes last summer, when Leo and I..." Ara shakes her head. "Gods, Jason." She hugs him. She's always had this need to coddle her loved ones, but nowadays, that nurturing has extended to the entirety of the demigod race, and if there is one demigod in desperate need of a comforting presence aside from Leo, that is Jason Grace.

Ara feels him rein in his emotions, squeezing her as if she's the one who needs consoling. "Well, that's exactly why I'm telling you, Birdy." He leans back to look at her. "There are times when we are willing to sacrifice everything. I'm ready for it."

"Let's assume you're correct," Lester intervenes. "You didn't tell Piper the truth because...?"

"You know what happened to her dad." Jason breaks the hug with Ara, but she keeps one hand on his arm, absorbing the heaviness without him noticing. "Last year, when we saved him from the fire giant on Mount Diablo... Mr McLean's mind wasn't in good shape. Now, with all the stress of the bankruptcy and everything else, can you imagine what would happen if he lost his daughter too?"

"Yes, but you can't know how the prophecy will unfold."

"I can't let it unfold with Piper dying. She and her dad are scheduled to leave town at the end of the week. She's actually... I don't know if excited is the right word, but she's relieved to get out of LA. Ever since I've known her, the thing she's wanted most is more time with her dad. Now they have a chance to start over. She can help her dad find some peace. Maybe find some peace herself."

"You wanted to get her safely out of town—Then you planned to find the emperor yourself."

Jason shrugs in admission, and Ara mumbles again. "Gods, Jace..."

"Well, with you two and Meg. I knew you'd be coming to find me. Herophile said so. If you'd just waited another week—"

"Then what? You would've let us lead you cheerily off to your death? How would that have affected Piper's peace of mind, once she found out?"

Jason looks at her pleadingly, and she lowers her hand to his, squeezing it tightly. "You don't get it, Lester," she says.

Piper is right, the kind of friendship she has with Jason might not be like the one she has with Lily, but it's tightly knitted nonetheless. They were compelled into leadership, convinced that it was their place, and then left to deal with all its downsides alone, always different enough to not fit in with any group. They had lost people while being too young, gotten things just to lose them; they had been changed and worn out until becoming just a memory of themselves. All for what? They were going to die sooner than either of them would've wanted.

Lester tries again, sensing the vulnerability of the teens. "You don't want Piper to die. I understand that. She wouldn't want you to die. But avoiding prophecies never works. And keeping secrets from friends, especially deadly secrets... that really never works. It'll be our job to face Caligula together, steal that homicidal maniac's shoes and get away without any five-letter words that start with D."

"Drama?" Jason offers, unable to help himself. 

"You were always a nerd," Ara replies, squeezing his shoulder affectionately. "Besides, there is a silver lining there."

Jason raises a brow. "Yeah?" 

"You said the oracle told you I had to be here. I don't think she meant it as in helping Apollo get things done. I think she meant I had to be with you and Piper."

"Because you say so?"

"Partly." She smiles. "But just like Lester said, that's my thing now. If a demigod asks for help, I show up."

Jason looks at the picture of his sister. "If anything happens to me—"

"Stop," Lester starts, but Jason presses.

"If it does, if I can't keep my promise to Kymopoleia, would you take my mock-up design to Camp Jupiter? The sketchbooks for new temples at both camps—they're right there on the shelf."

"You'll take them yourself. Your new shrines will honour the gods. It's too worthy a project not to succeed."

"Worthy doesn't always matter. Like what happened to you. Have you talked to Dad since...?"

Ara laughs, then shuts up abruptly. "Sorry."

"Zeus hasn't spoken to me since I became mortal," Lester ignores her. "Before that, my memory is fuzzy. I remember the battle last summer at the Parthenon. I remember Zeus zapping me. After that, until the moment I woke up plummeting through the sky in January—it's a blank."

"I know that feeling, having six months of your life taken away. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

"What could you have done?"

"I mean at the Parthenon. I tried to talk sense into Zeus. I told him he was wrong to punish you. He wouldn't listen."

"Ah, yes, Ara mentioned that," Lester blushes. "Thank you."

Jason steps towards him and holds him by the shoulders encouragingly. "Promise me one thing. Whatever happens, when you get back to Olympus, when you're a god again, remember. Remember what it's like to be human."

Ara gulps, heavily affected by the idea. She's already failing at that, but of course, of course, Jason would say something like that. Level-headed, perfect Roman Jason Grace, her opposite. Lester locks eyes with her over the boy's shoulder, and she knows they're thinking the same thing. Why couldn't he be the immortal one? He's ten times worthier. 

For Jason, for Meg, and all of those demigods who don't have a say, they have to cling to their fortune and make the best of it. "I promise," Lester replies hoarsely. A brave thing to do in Ara's eyes. "I will try my utmost to remember my human experience, as long as you promise to tell Piper the truth about the prophecy."

Jason lightly pats his shoulders. "Deal. Speaking of which, the girls are probably waiting."

"One more thing," Lester adds. "About Piper. It's just... you seem like such a good power couple. Did you really—did you break up with her to make it easier for her to leave LA?"

"Oh my gods, dude," Ara scowls. "Seriously?"

Jason looks at him intently. "Did she tell you that?"

"No," Lester blushes again. "But Mellie seemed, ah, upset with you."

"I'm okay with Mellie blaming me. It's probably better."

"Do you mean it's not true?"

"Lester!" Ara chides. "Stop being nosy!"

"Piper ended it," Jason replies over her complaint. "That was months ago, way before the Burning Maze. Now, come on. Let's go find Caligula."

He walks out, leaving Lester and Ara alone. "Way to ruin the moment, Lesser."

"Well, you didn't want to tell us!" He argues stubbornly.

"I told you my powers don't work like that—!"

"I can hear you!" Jason calls from outside the room. "You're both nosy, now get moving!"

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh @ebony-reine-vibes @chxosunbound

[damianbugs]

For the ask game, #3 for Jason Todd??

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

now i do want to preface this by saying my least favourite canon thing about jason isn't entirely jason's fault, and can be better explained of writers just doing whatever the fuck they want or using him as a device to extrapolate a very simplified view of another character (usually bruce) (more on that later). unfortunately however, since it's a character trend that has been repeated so many times, and the question is specifically about canon, it is a big part of his character.

and so my least favourite canon thing about jason is that... he's still around. what i mean by that is: time and time again, the story sets up a problem, a conflict, one that puts jason at odds with batman and/or gotham (two things that are connected whether you like it not) — and then a massive fight. a huge fallout. hurtful words are exchanged, a couple fists, maybe an exploding building or two.

you think woah, that was harsh and unhealthy, surely we won't see them hanging out with each other anytime soon.

then, it happens again.

next story, next conflict, next fight. jason usually gets the short end of the stick, because a batman who loses to his "greatest failure" is not a batman editorial want to sell, and also because in a lineup of characters were the worth of their existence is based on the moral conjugation with other characters, its very easy and usually not a emotional problem to kick the odd one out. red hood is cool enough to fight batman and really mean it, but not cool enough to win the actual battle.

it's come to the point where just the leak of jason in a new bat story makes me roll my eyes. even today, with the leaks of batman #145, all i could think was well, here we go again i guess.

so the most irritating thing is that jason still kicks around with the batfam. if you ask me, this unfixable break between him and bruce should have been established in Under the Red Hood (i have a really long essay post about that... somewhere tumblr tags will not allow me to find). if not then, then Battle for The Cowl (as horrendous of a story that it was) should have solidified the conflict between him and the others. it's because jason is still a character with (alleged) bonds to batman and nightwing etc, that dc gives us repetitive moments like the ones in Rhato, Batman and Robin (2011), Gotham War etc.

his character has remained annoyingly stagnant for this reason. he can't ever be a character cool enough to win the battle if he's always used as the Batman Your No Kill Rule Sucks also You Made Me This Way and I Do What You Can't (proceeds to not do anything all that different) conversational piece.

i don't say all this without some irrational hope that one say someone who actually likes Jason Todd enough to think about his character in any emotional capacity takes over. i do however say this with the acceptance that the one tweet that said "Nothing fans say about Jason Todd was actually ever written on a piece of paper published by Dc comics" was very correct.

to end happily, Red Hood: The Hill is his solo series away from the others! so! here's to hoping!

[thekat-alystreview]

Movie Review - The Beekeeper

If you’ve ever thought to yourself, “What if John Wick had even less subtle symbolism, more bee puns, and a protagonist whose defining trait is being an unstoppable force of nature with no real struggle?”—then, boy, do I have the movie for you.

The Beekeeper doesn’t just take inspiration from John Wick; it lifts entire structural elements from it but without the same care in execution. On the surface, the setup seems familiar: a quiet but deadly man living in isolation is pulled back into a world of violence when someone he cares about is harmed. Except where John Wick used this premise to create an emotionally charged, tightly paced revenge thriller, The Beekeeper turns it into a clumsy, over-the-top action flick that mistakes exposition dumps and bee-related metaphors for depth.

A Familiar Premise, Done Worse

In John Wick, the death of the dog wasn’t just a cheap emotional trigger; it was a symbol of Wick’s last tie to his late wife and a representation of his attempt at a normal life. When it was taken from him, it justified his descent back into violence, making every action scene feel like an extension of his grief and rage. The Beekeeper, on the other hand, replaces this with an elderly woman who lets the protagonist, Adam Clay (Jason Statham), live in her shed. She gets scammed, loses everything, and kills herself. The emotional weight of this is almost entirely absent because the film barely establishes their relationship before using her death as nothing more than an excuse for Clay to start killing people. There’s no real exploration of grief, no sense that this loss is deeply personal to him—it just happens to set off the plot.

The Hollow Imitation of a Secret Society

One of John Wick’s greatest strengths is the Continental, a meticulously crafted criminal underworld with its own rules, codes, and consequences. It’s a world that feels lived-in, with a history that extends beyond the main character. The Beekeeper desperately wants to have something similar, introducing a vague, secret organization of former operatives called Beekeepers (because symbolism), but it never does anything interesting with the concept. The movie constantly reminds you that being a Beekeeper is a big deal, but never actually defines what that means outside of “super soldier who is really good at killing people.” The title is treated like an all-powerful badge of intimidation, to the point that a high-ranking government official has an "oh shit" moment just from hearing it—again, mirroring the John Wick scene where Viggo Tarasov realizes his son messed with the Baba Yaga. Except here, there’s no real sense of world-building or weight behind it; it’s just a cheap attempt to make Clay seem more intimidating without actually developing his character.

Action Without Stakes

Where John Wick built tension by making its protagonist struggle, get hurt, and earn his victories, The Beekeeper takes the opposite approach: Clay is never in any real danger. He moves through every fight like an unkillable machine, mowing down enemies without so much as a scratch. There’s no desperation, no sense that he has to push himself beyond his limits—he’s just an unstoppable killing force from start to finish. This removes any sense of stakes or investment in the action sequences. The few times the film tries to throw in a unique kill, like using a rope trap to crush people or stapling a guy in the face for information, it’s more laughable than impressive.

Even the film’s attempts at big, explosive action set pieces feel lazy. At one point, Clay blows up an entire building using nothing but two cans of gasoline. Not only is this wildly unrealistic (gasoline burns, it doesn’t explode), but it’s emblematic of how the movie approaches spectacle: loud, nonsensical, and completely unearned. The same goes for a later scene where he blows up a gas station with nothing but gunfire—because apparently, every action movie still thinks shooting a gas pump is a guaranteed explosion.

The FBI Subplot (AKA Runtime Padding 101)

To further stretch things out, the movie introduces an FBI subplot that exists solely to pad the runtime. One of the agents is played by Emmy Raver-Lampman (Umbrella Academy’s Alison), and much like in that show, her character is written in a way that makes her more annoying than compelling. The FBI’s involvement never feels essential to the story; they’re just there to chase after Clay in an attempt to inject some conflict, even though we all know they won’t actually stop him.

The Final Insult: The Villain Reveal

The film’s “big twist” is that the man Clay has been hunting—the one responsible for his inciting incident—is the son of the President of the United States.

Not only is this hilariously over-the-top, but the movie fumbles it in the worst way possible: by casting an actor with a British accent and making no effort to explain why the American president (played by the ever-talented Jemma Redgrave, whom, as a Doctor Who fan, I absolutely love) sounds like she just walked out of London. Either the actor couldn't do an American accent, or we're supposed to believe the U.S. elected a British president. Either way, it’s a missed opportunity for Redgrave, who is an incredibly talented actor and truly deserves to be in a better movie than this. I can’t help but think how much more she could have done with a better script, as her performance here is wasted on a film that never lets her shine.

Final Verdict

Ultimately, The Beekeeper is a perfect example of what happens when a movie copies another film’s structure without understanding why it worked. It mimics John Wick’s setup, its secret society element, its “unstoppable assassin” protagonist, and even its world reacting in fear to his reputation. But where John Wick had emotional depth, intricate world-building, and carefully crafted action, The Beekeeper just throws together disconnected set pieces, overuses bee metaphors, and expects the audience to be impressed by how invincible its protagonist is.

Would I recommend it? Only if you want to watch John Wick’s discount cousin who spends half the movie making bee puns. Otherwise, just rewatch John Wick—or even one of its many imitators that at least put in a little more effort.

[sprnklersplashes]

time won't fly (7/?) (ao3)

I should not be left to my own devices

Exactly a week after Jason Dean’s memorial, Veronica begins her day by violently throwing up into her parents’ toilet. Which is already a crap way to start your day, but then she realises she forgot to lock the door. It creaks open, slippers shuffle on the tiles and her morning goes from bad to worse.

“That’s a little over-dramatic, Sawyer,” Heather sighs from the bathtub. “You know most kids would kill for a mom to check on them like this.” 

Veronica lifts her head just slightly, enough to look in Heather’s direction and glare at her through her tangled hair. Had her mom not come in two seconds ago, she could’ve added something else to it.

“Oh, Ronnie,” her mom sighs, oblivious to Heather’s presence. Although the puking has-for now-finished, Veronica keeps her head down. She tightens her grip and stares at a little crack on one of the bathroom tiles. “You’re still not over that stomach bug are you?”

“I’m fine,” she mumbles. She wipes her mouth with her hand before flushing the toilet and pulling herself to her feet. Her legs are unsteady beneath her; matchsticks that could crack at the slightest push. 

As she stands, the colours of the room build and swirl and blend together. They push themselves against her eyeballs, demanding entry, before again muting and settling back on their normal palette. The ringing in her ears copies them; rises up and up and then winds down, fades out like a song on the radio. Inside her mouth, the aftertaste of her vomit lingers, heavy and horrible, dripping down the inside of her cheeks.

“I might make an appointment for you with the doctor,” her mom says. “Just to make sure its nothing serious.” Veronica nods briefly and then staggers over to the sink. There, she slurps some water and rinses it around her mouth. “When did it start again? After the pep rally?”

She spits.

“Sometime around then.” She rinses once again, then smooths her hair and heads for the door. “I have to go. I’m going to be late.”

Not to her surprise but definitely to her annoyance, her mother follows her. 

“Maybe you should take a day off,” her mom says. She comes into her room but keeps a generous distance, as if she’s contagious. Or at risk of exploding.

“I’m fine.” She grabs her bookbag and jacket from her bed. A cough prickles in her throat, but knowing how it would look to her mother, she forces herself to ignore it.

“You’ve thrown up every day this week.”

“And once I get to school, it’s stopped,” she sighs. It’s not entirely true, of course, but it’s close enough. In the grand scheme of things, she’s lied about worse things. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ronnie.” Her mom is standing in the doorway, as formidable as she can be wearing a floral blouse and white slippers. Veronica tightens her grip on her bookbag and wonders if she is really about to stare down her own mother. Her mom, who up until a few weeks ago was bringing celery sticks and hummus up to her room and rearranged her closet while she was at school. Who knew nothing about her life then and knows even less now.

She buttons up her jacket.

“Mom, I’m going.”

“What do you think will happen to you if you miss one day of school?” she asks. Without warning, she steps into Veroncia’s room and cups her cheek. Her palm is cold, and her touch reaches past her skin and squeezes her heart. Veronica tries to hide it, but the shudder passes through her, wrecking her like a tree blown about by the wind. The grip tightens on her chest, her heart beats wildly. Little by little, the world around her begins to lose focus.

Eyes wide, her mom pulls her hand away. Silence hangs in the air between them, uncertain, accusing. An apology sticks in Veronica’s throat. It should take such little effort to put it into the world. But it won’t move.

“I’m going,” she says instead. “I know you don’t want me to, but I’m going.” Then she brushes past her mom and is running down the stairs.

‘What do you think will happen?’ The question lingers and although she could never say it, she has answers. If she doesn’t show up today, Martha will eat lunch alone, circled by vultures who are desperate for afternoon entertainment. Duke will barricade herself in a bathroom stall and force up last night’s dinner. Mcnamara will smile and bat her eyes while hiding a pill bottle in her pocket. And those are the best case scenarios. She needs to be there. Even if its just to hold those three up, she needs to be there.

As for her? She already knows what she’d do if left to her own devices. Early this morning, she sat with her back to the closet door and re-read her diary, from September 1st to last week and back again, searching for something that would make the last few months make sense. Over and over, her bloodshot eyes read those pages until she forgot how to breathe and she once again felt the noose around her neck. Faded pink claw marks linger on her thighs from last night, and if she stays home today, they’ll end up bigger, deeper.

So yes; she’s going. Because it’s a shitty option but loking at what she’s got, its the best thing for everyone. 

“I’m still making you that Doctor’s appointment,” her mom calls after her. Veronica jumps down from the stairs. Heather is already waiting for her at the bottom, her lip curled and her blue eyes raised up to the landing. Veronica keeps her face blank; her teeth grind until pain flashes through her jaw. If Heather picks up on it, she doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking expectantly in her mom’s direction, as though she’s a director waiting for the line that will end the scene.

“Thank you,” Veronica calls up. She raises her eyebrows at Heather, a silent ‘happy now’ thrown her way. Before Heather can react any further, Veronica runs out the door and into the bleak November morning.

Did she mean that sincerely? Probably not. Does she feel like crap about that? Absolutely. But her mom will take it as such, and that is all that should matter.

                                                                      **********

The Doctor’s appointment is on Saturday morning. Her mom told her about it once she got back from school that day. Veronica guesses it had slipped her mind because when her mom opens her curtains at 8:00am, her first words are “Mom what the hell?”. Which is responded to with a chiding “language young lady” before she reminds her the appointment is today. And seemingly to make up for Veronica’s slip of mind, her mom talks about tsaid appointment the whole way there.

“And I was so surprised at how easily we were able to get booked in,” she tells her in the car. “Especially so last minute. Heck, remember when I had that chest infection last winter? I couldn’t get anyone to see me for days.”

Veronica nods and nods, adds “mm-hms” when appropriate and doesn;t mention that it was, at best, a mild cold. Outside, the sky is blanketed by dense, dark clouds, promising rain soon. Stray trash blows around the sidewalk. Her breath fogs up the window, white across grey, until the world beyond is more like a kaleidoscope of dull colours than an actual place.

It’s kind of comforting.

“You feeling okay, Ronnie?” her mom asks. Veronica stiffens, takes a deep breath, pulls her sweater tighter around her. According to the dashboard, her mom has had the heating on the entire time. She is yet to feel anything.

“M’fine,” she mumbles. The lie is potent on her tongue, her lips clumsy when they say it. She settles herself in the seat and forces herself to look ahead. In her periphery, she can see her mom glancing at her.

“Oh honey,” she sighs. “I told you you should’ve stayed off school.”

“I’m fine at school.”

“You’d be more fine if you took a day off. Just look at how pale you are.” The car slows as they come to a red light. “Look hon, I know senior year is a big year for you and you’ve been waiting for this year since you were a kid. But you need to take care of yourself too.”

The first part catches her off-guard. Had she really waited since she was a kid for senior year? Right now, it feels close to impossible to remember anything before JD, when her life turned into a series of near-misses, close calls, unwavering passion and now, this gruelling day-to-day survival. If she looks back, she feels something, a small whisper of excitement, brushing against her fingers like smoke. Maybe she was excited for her senior year at some point, back when she thought high school was where everything would make sense. And then she was 14 and she grew up.

God, if that kid could see how her senior year had turned out, what the hello would she do? What would she tell her? Probably to run away while she’s still able to. Get as far away from the upcoming damage as possible.

None of that, however, is what her mom needs to hear right now, so she folds her arms and digs her nails into her upper arm. 

“I’m fine,” she says again. They’re quiet for the rest of the journey.

                                                                        ******

“I’ll wait out here for you, hon,” her mom says. “Suppose you don’t need your mom coming into the Doctor’s office with you.” Veronica nods in response, seeing nothing untrue in what she said. Then a second passes, and she sees the expectant look on her mom’s face. Behind her, Heather pokes her back, blonde curls bouncing as she nods towards her mom.

“Are you sure you won’t be bored?”

“Oh no,” she replies with a shake of her head. “They’ve got a stack of nice looking magazines over there. Think I’ll have a nice little catch up with the Bratt Pack.”

“How very,” she mumbles, and then the grey-haired secretary points her down the hall and to the left, to the office of Doctor Holly Mason, who opens the door with a bright smile and red-rimmed glasses hanging around her neck.

“Hi, you must be Veronica,” she greets as she lets her in. The office is simple enough-a small room with pale blue walls, equal parts decorated by cliche posters and diagrams of the human body. Holly pats the chair beside the desk. “Take a seat here and we’ll see what’s wrong.”

Entering behind her, Heather jumps up on the table and huffs a laugh. 

“Not unless you’re a psychiatrist, babe.”

And in spite of everything weighing her down, a giggle bursts from Veronica’s throat. Because… well, shit, that was a poor choice of words on Doctor Mason’s part.

Of course, Dr Mason doesn’t get the joke. She eyes her with caution, concern creasing her face, and Veronica clears her throat.

“Sorry.”

“Let’s get started then,” she says. “So, your mother tells me that you’d been nauseous most mornings?” She nods. “And how long has that been going on?”

“A week… ish.” She shrugs. JD’s memorial was a week ago on Tuesday. She’d marked that day on her calendar. “About a week.”

“I see. And your mother says you’d come home injured after a pep rally the Friday before, is that correct?”

“Well, Mommy dearest didn’t hold back, did she?” Heather asks. She’d since strolled around the room and stood behind the doctor, frowning disapprovingly. “Hm. Shame. She could be hot. Anyway.” She lifts her head. Veronica finds Heather’s blue eyes blazing at her, twin daggers flashing. “Go on Sawyer. Tell the lovely Doctor lady how you got hurt.”

Goosebumps rise on Veronica’s arms. She breathes in, then again. Straightens her back. Images flash before her like projector film; the boiler room, the bomb, JD slamming her to the ground. His body, so much smaller than it used to be, int he middle of the football field. The sky looming above her when she was thrown backwards.

“Veronica?”

“There was a gas explosion at the school.” She bites her tongue. Breathe, she tells herself. “I um, I got caught in it. I hurt my ankle, mainly. And my ribs. Sort of.”

“I see,” she says softly. “And how is the pain now?”

“Fine.” Just as she says it, a series of painful flashes flare along her ribs, one after the other. She swallows. “It’s fine.”

“Maybe we’ll get you an x-ray to make sure,” she suggests. “Now, here are the awkward questions I’m afraid.” She chuckled. “Are you sexually active?”

Behind her, Heather gasps and guffaws and laughs like it’s the funniest thing in the whole entire world. She cackles and cackles, until she falls to her knees and her perfect skin is a bright red.

“Oh my God!” she screams. “Oh my fucking God!” She wraps her hands around her middle. “Who’d have thought! Who could’ve guessed that you…” The sentence breaks off into peals of laughter and she is on her back, hand pressed to her mouth, feet drumming on the floor.

“Veronica? If the question is too uncomfortable-”

“No,” she interrupts. Heather squeals again. “I mean it, it is but it’s not… Yes I’ve had sex. With my boyfriend.”

Her first instinct is to thank God her mom is not in the room.

Then she hears what she’s said. That JD was her boyfriend. It’s the first time she’s said it, she realises, but what else would she have called him? He was the boy who made butterflies take off in her belly, the boy whose shoulder was her headrest after a long day, whose arms felt like safety and whose lips felt like home. It almost feels too weak a word, but its the closest thing she has. Regardless, a puzzling cry of false, false, false echoes in her brain.

Eventually, she realises.

“My... my ex-boyfriend.”

Heather pauses her laughing and looks at her. The Doctor nods and notes it on the chart.

“And did you and your boyfriend use protection?”

“Protection?” she repeats. She shakes her head, flexes her fingers. “I was-uh-I am on the pill.”

“And your ex?” she asks. “Did he used a condom?”

“Yeah tell us,” Heather says from the floor. “Did the desperado put his gun in a holster?”

“Oh my fucking God!” she exclaims, cheeks red. “No he did not use a condom!”

And its only when she buries her fingers in her hair and pulls that she realises her mistake. Apparently, the pain makes her think clearly. Her feet are flat against a tiled floor and there’s a buzzing coming from the light and she doesn’t see Heather or anyone else, just Dr Mason who is in real time trying to process the fact that this teenage girl just screamed at her in her office because she tried to do her damn job.

Holy crap. Is she ever going to stop?

The red in her cheeks fades away.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. She tries to breathe, but her chest feels stuffed with cotton. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she reassures her. “So. Your ex didn’t use protection?”

“No,” she whispers. “He didn’t.” Dr Mason only nods. Her eyes flick to the door behind her, then to the chart, then to Veronica. Now, with her attention finally wher eit should be, Veronica sees her square her shoulders. Bracing herself. In case Veronica loses it again.

For fuck’s sake she tells herself. Keep. It. Together. Daringly, she glances behind. Heather is gone. She can take this. Whatever it is.

“Veronica?” she begins delicately. “Is there any chance that you could be pregnant?”

Except that.

“Pregnant?” she repeats. “No. No I’m on the pill. And we never… did anything like that.” Liar. She shakes her head again. Her heart grows faster. “No I’m not pregnant.”

“I understand why you feel that is the case,” she explains. “But it can only take one moment. And what you’ve said, nausea in the morning. It sounds like a possibility.”

“I was on the pill,” she says again, and then she flinches. Was. No, is. Right? She took it every morning. This morning? The one before? The one before the party, definitely. 

But-

Then she woke up at JD’s place.

Then Heather died.

Then-

Desperately, Veronica searches for the image of her opening the dresser drawer, tries to conjure the oh-so mundane action of grabbing the sleeve, get a pill out, get water, down it. One move at a time.

Surely, she had to have done it. But she can’t remember.

And as for her and JD. That night after the party wasn’t the only time-

“I’m on the pill,” she says again.

“Well, do you remember roughly the date of your last period?” she asks. Something washes over her, something cold, dragging her down. Its November. November started two, three weeks ago. It happened, of course it happened, it was-no, who remembers the exact date of their period? It happened though. It happened. 

Her fingers curl around the chair. Threads inside her come loose.

“I can’t be pregnant,” she says again. It’s hollow. “I’m not pregnant.”

“I understand this is a distressing idea,” the doctor tells her. Veronica heard it and she nods, but she wants to scream because no, you don’t understand, because she is not pregnant with Jason Dean’s baby. “We can do a quick test to rule it out. To make sure.”

Her first instinct is to tell her no, to jump from this chair, get to the car and just drive. Maybe flatten the hospital on her way out.

Instead, she just nods.

Dr Mason explains the process bit by bit, a strange mix of clinical and comforting. Veronica nods and nods and answers when she needs to. She drinks a juice cup. Dr Mason leads her to a little bathroom and waits while she pees in a cup. She hands it back to Dr Mason, is led back to the office. 

Through it all, Veronica doesn’t feel a thing. Once she agreed to this, she stepped outside her body and stands as a ghostly observer, a spectator who watches another girl’s fucked up life. Not with amusement or horror, but with a detached curiosity.

“Right,” Dr Mason says. “Now, I’ll just get my colleague to run a quick test on this. In the meantime, do you want your mother in here?”

“Absolutely not,” she hears herself say. This time, there’s no follow up; she doesn’t apologise, Dr Mason doesn’t respond. Instead, she opens a little cupboard and hands her a cookie.

“I’ll go and give this to my colleague,” she says again. “And tell your mother that we’re doing a test and we’ll be done soon. Okay?” She smiles. Her voice is higher, her tone more suited to a preschool teacher than a doctor. “I’ll leave the door open. I won’t be long. Will you be okay?”

She forces herself to nod. Doctor Mason smiles and tells her to eat and then she’s gone, urine in hand, door open, the black-and-white tiles of the hallway sitting before her.

Slowly Veronica can feel the clothes over her skin. She pulls apart the cookie in her hand. 

“Well,” Heather sighs. She’s back on the floor, probably gathering all kinds of dirt on her robe. “Preggo huh?”

“I’m not.”

“Something about rivers in Egypt,” Heather sighs. With impeccable grace, she rises from the floor and shakes out her glossy hair. Not a strand is out of place. “Have you thought about what happens if you are though?”

She swallows. An answer appears in her mind, but she pushes it away in a second. Because she won’t do that to her friends, to Martha, to her parents. And because she promised JD she’d stick around.

So Heather doesn’t get an answer. The best she can do is shake her head.

“Shame,” Heather tuts. “You’re smart, Sawyer. Or, you were. Can’t believe you didn’t plan for something like this.”

“Did you ever?” she asks. Goosebumps rise on her arms. Her hands sit limp in her lap. “When you were… like, with Kurt and Ram? Or…” She pulls at her sleeves. “Anyone?”

Heather laughs, a short, bitter-sounding thing.

“Did I never tell you?” she replies dryly. And its that moment, with her knees pulled to her chest and her chin resting atop them, that the Demon Queen of High School looks… well. 17. Like a 17 year old who should be off screwing the entire football team and making sure they have condoms.

Neither of them should be here. Heather has stuff she wanted to do and Veronica should’ve done anything else.

“Don’t fall apart now, Sawyer,” Heather says. She nods at the door. “We’ve got company.”

Veronica looks up and Dr Mason is coming back into the room, a piece of paper held carefully in her hand. She sits up straighter, tightens her shoulders and her jaw and her back, as if screws are wedged in her joints and forcing her to stay together. Her heart stops and starts and stops again. The cookie lies in crumbs on her lap.

God, how long has it been?

“Veronica,” she begins. “We have your results.”

If she’s expecting a reply, she doesn’t get one. From head to toe, her body trembles with the effort from staying in this chair. She thinks she should pray, beg the universe to stop this. She doesn’t.

“Veronica… you're pregnant.”

Silence.

All at once, the air is sucked from the room. The colour goes next, then the warmth. Dr Mason is saying something to her; her lips move but the sound can’t travel and its just meaningless movements. Her rigid joints come loose and float from each other. Her mind is gone too. The Doctor is speaking to a collection of scattered parts, not a person.

Weakly, Veronica presses her hand to her abdomen.

She’s pregnant. With his baby.

Someon speaks beside her.

“Well.” It’s not Heather. Its low, smooth, the unplacable accent curls around the words. “Quelle surprise indeed.”

No. No.

She turns her head. Just a fraction.

Jason Dean is at her side, a grin cutting wickedly across his face, dimples indenting in his cheeks, dark curls falling in front of his face. His eyes glitter.

Veronica stands.

“Maybe I should’ve worn a condom, Ronnie,” he shrugs. “My bad.” He doesn’t look sorry at all. He looks so fucking glad. 

“Veronica?” the doctor asks.

She finds her voice then. It starts as feeble moan, quietly emerging from the back of her throat.

Then, she opens her mouth and starts screaming. 

[anticomedygarden]

percabeth this time (prompt website)

-

Despite being what most would consider a teenage delinquent for most of his life, Percy hadn't spent much time in courtrooms. He actually hadn't been in a mortal one before.

Of course, his first time just had to be because of a monster attack.

"Hey, donkey leg!" he shouted. The empousai (not Kelli) turned to him, lips in a vicious snarl. Since she had realized her powers weren't doing much to him, she'd turned her attention to Annabeth.

Unfortunately, Annabeth was already occupied trying to negotiate with the god sitting in the judge's chair because apparently disgruntled gods were teaming up with monsters to lure them places now. Because their world wasn't hard enough.

He lunged for the empousai with Riptide, feinting left. She dodged, and he came at her again, this time in a move that would have made Chiron proud.

It did the trick. Like a shimmering fountain, she exploded into golden dust.

"...and for no cost to you, we'll build a temple to Skiron right in New Rome," Annabeth was saying. He stumbled over to her.

"Wait, you're Sciron?" Percy asked. "Like the bandit? I thought Hazel killed you."

He really should have seen the next thing coming.

The god turned murderous, swirling grey eyes to Percy, and Annabeth scrambled to say, "Wait, I haven't told you about the figurines-"

The god flicked his hand, causing Annabeth to fall silent. "I've heard rumors of you two. Everybody said that Olympus' greatest heroes were also the most disrespectful, but I certainly didn't expect that."

He waved his hand again, and suddenly, Percy was looking at the treads of Annabeth's black converse. He tried to cry out, but all that came out was a high chittering noise.

No, no way. Was he a fucking-

"You turned him into a guinea pig!" Annabeth exclaimed. She bent down and scooped him up in her arms, cradling him close to her chest, and he tried not to scratch her.

How had this now happened to him twice?

"No need to state the obvious," Skiron said. "Now, tell me about those figurines."

Annabeth paused but eventually continued telling the god about her and Jason's temple project.

Finally, Skiron said, "I like this idea. Let's do it."

Percy started chittering again when the god made no mention of turning him back to human, and Annabeth said, "No deal unless you turn him back."

The god sighed. "Very well, though I quite like him like this." he snapped a finger.

Immediately, he started growing, so Annabeth set him down on the ground.

The god stood up. "Say my name when my temple is done. I want to see it." He disappeared in a shimmer of light.

Dazed, Percy shook his head, trying to clear it of guinea pig thoughts.

He turned to Annabeth who was sporting a barely concealed grin. "Go ahead. Laugh."

She did.

[lokifanatic1]

Jason the Toymaker

Thank you, Mari2akary for the prompt!

Rating: PG

Pairing: Loki and female reader

Synopsis: One day you were reading a creepypasta about Jason the Toymaker. You read his story and couldn’t help but feel a sense of sympathy for him. This is when Loki overheard your statement aloud and decided to see what is going on or if by chance you scared yourself once more. To which, he once again turned into the character and he showed you there is nothing to be afraid of. He wanted to make sure you felt safe.

One day you were reading creepypastas alone again at the home you shared with your boyfriend Loki and you came across a story about Jason the toymaker. As you started reading, you had this overwhelming sense of sympathy for the character and you even stated out loud you weren’t afraid of him. This story didn’t scare you but Loki wanted to be absolutely sure you were okay. In his own little way, he wanted to help you understand that these were just stories. His typical treatment of tickles always helped you feel better no matter what.

The story went like this…Jason the Toymaker was a creature with human like features who loved building toys. He seemed like a good friend, but in actuality, he was selfish, a liar, and a possessive control freak that would kill anyone he believed to be standing in the way of his goals. His absolute goal was to convince “the chosen” (mostly female victims) to promise to play with him for all eternity. It doesn’t matter how the chosen keeps their promise, because for Jason, the attention won’t be enough.

Jason himself was a tall, lanky being that in the stories, sometimes dawned a top hat. His personality once again, was that of selfishness and control and he would kill anyone he thought stood in his way of playing with his female victims for all eternity. He didn’t like being alone, and he always had to be the center of attention. He also hated when his “chosen” seemed ungrateful to him. He understood that the “chosen” couldn’t keep the promise and wanted him to go away. Jason then punished them by transforming them into wax dolls so they had no chance to run.

After you finished reading the story, you noticed some bullet points on the story. Such information regarded was that Jason once was a human being named Jason Meyer. Whenever he was really angry, his appearance would change into his true form. His red hair then turned its actual color of white and his honey colored eyes turned green. His arms became rotten and his nails were so sharp that they could slice through skin. As his appearance changed, so did the type of toys he made, as they turned from fun-loving to little monsters that could hurt or even kill someone. Jason himself had three toy sidekicks; a black wind up mouse toy named Licorice that spied and controlled everything that surrounded him. There was another wind up mouse named Red Mouse that stowed an explosive device inside of it that would explode at the lightest touch, and a huge stuffed toy snake named Mr. Glutton that ate the wax dolls after they got too old. Finally, the only thing that he guarded with his life besides his dolls was a music box hidden in his chest that if ever broken or destroyed, could kill Jason. Jason himself stood about 6’3” in height.

You finished reading the story and instead of being scared, you felt sorry for Jason the Toymaker. You felt like he sadly had his humanity taken away from him when he became this evil monster that destroyed anyone (especially females) who got in his way. You couldn’t believe a character like that could truly be so bad and it actually made you think of your Loki for a moment. He had gone from this maniacal being in 2012 to the sweet, caring, fun loving person you came to know and love. Deep down you knew he wasn’t evil, just hurt by those whom he loved and cared about. Because of this, he forgot who he was and it took someone like you to bring him back.

Finally, you were shaken out of your momentary sadness to see Loki appear at your bedroom door. “What story are you reading today, my darling?” he asked. His arm resting on the frame of the door. “Oh nothing. Just this character that kind of reminded me of you.” “Oh really?” he replied as he walked in and sat on the bed. “ Yeah. Just reminded me of how you’ve changed over the years because of certain circumstances.” You smiled sadly at him. “You know I’d never dream of hurting anyone anymore. Especially not you, my love,” he replied assuringly. “ I know,” you said holding his hand. He lifted your chin with a finger and lightly kissed your lips, looking you in the eyes afterwards. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” You smirked. “You know.” He breathed in deep. “As you wish,” and with a whirl of green magic, turned into Jeff the Toymaker. “Is this better, darling?” he said with arms spread showing you the look. You giggled. “Sure. But I like you as you.” With that, Loki looked touched as he put his hand over his heart. “Oh my darling. Thank you. That means the world to me, but I’m still going to give you my little treatment.” You opened your arms. “Then do what you must. Hehehe!” He smirked evilly. “Don’t tempt me, y/n. You’re going to regret it.” You sat with your arms open once again as if to say, “do it. I dare you.” You knew Loki couldn’t resist a dare so he slowly grabbed you by the wrists and laid you down on the bed. Smirk still on his face. “You’re sure?” he asked just in case. “Yeah,” you replied with a mirroring smirk. “Then let me hear that beautiful laugher!” He began to lift your shirt as nervous giggles spilled from your mouth. “B-be g-gentle,” you teased as he magiced your wrists into place. “I make no promises, darling. You yourself dared me to make you laugh and I never shy away from a dare.” With that, he lifted your shirt up right below your ribs and placed his fingers on your warm skin. “Let’s get to it. Shall we?” He lightly dragged his fingernails along your upper belly slowly as you began to shiver with ticklish pleasure. “ Hehehe,” you began to giggle. That smile he loved creeped along your face. “Just say the words and I’ll stop,” Loki promised as he kept his glance on your delectable tummy. You shook your head “no”, giving him permission to continue. “Alright, then. I warned you. Give me that ticklish little body of yours.” He began drawing shapes all over your slightly shaking tummy as he followed along to your sides. This is when you broke. Your belly and your sides were your most ticklish spots and Loki knew it. He was playing with you. Getting you in other ticklish places before he went in for the kill. “L-Lokiii! Ahhhh-hahahaaha! Na-nahooo!” He laughed heartily along with you as he undid you with his fingers. “Loki, YES!” he replied with a hiss as his fingers sped up.

He undid your resolve quicker than you thought and you loved every second of it. This was your Loki. The funny, playful, crazy Loki you loved deeply. He never scoffed or made fun of you for your little ticklish games, because he knew they made you happy and got you to giggle and smile for him, which were his most favorite things about you. He wanted to make sure his girl was truly okay after reading such stories, but knew not to go too far. If you just needed a hug, then he would oblige with no tickling in mind. But he knew today you wanted to be extra cheeky to get him to torment you for as long as you could stand it. “Y-You call this tickling?!” you bravely remarked. “ This is tame to what I know you can do!”

Oh, girl….You just signed your death warrant. He snarled playfully as his began spreading kisses along your tummy, sides, neck. Anywhere on your body he could get to, he made sure to kiss wildly to bring out that beautiful sound of your laughter. He paused, still in his Jeff the Toymaker look. “I want my Loki to torment me now.” With that, Loki shook his head and he once again turned back into the handsome prince. “That’s better,” you remarked. “Now you may continue.” He laughed through his nose. “Well. Now that I have your permission.” He skittered his fingers from your armpits all the way down to your toes as you laid there and took your requested torment. “I can’t believe it!” he said surprised. “No matter where I tickle, you go absolutely insane with laughter. You’re a sensitive little one. Aren’t you?” “Lokiii! Stop teasing! Ahahahaha!” He laughed in his throat. “Oh, you love my teasing! I know it! Tickle! Tickle! Tickle!” By this point, your brain was so fuzzy that you couldn’t even think. He was driving you wild now and you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to. You screamed with laughter as his fingers were at full speed now. “Who knew a tiny creature could make such a loud sound,” he teased even more. Finally, you’d had enough and asked him to stop. He did as you requested and sat on the bed next to your panting frame, smiling. Your face was red and soaked with tears at this point but you didn’t care. “That’s my darling,” he finally said as you came down from your high. “You did wonderfully. Just remember. Any time you want my fingers all over you, making you come apart with laughter, you need just ask. You don’t have to read any unnerving stories to get said treatment.” You kissed again and laid on the bed for a few more minutes in silence, wrapped in the arms of your prince. There was nowhere in the world you’d rather be than here, laughing and playing with him. It was paradise.

[leroypd]

Subject 8 by LeRoyPD

"Mali!" I screamed, flying out of my seat

"What?" She asks, confused as to why I was now screaming when not five seconds ago, I was calmly sitting in my chair, scrolling through my tablet. I don't respond. I snatch her up off the floor, barely pausing long enough to actually get a good hold on her arms. Making sure she has her tablet, too, cause god forbid she loses that for even a second. I am out the door and down the hall in under 30 seconds. I scream at others to get out and go. Only a few check the doors to see what the commotion is about. I know this is a mistake, but these are still people, even if they are for the government and NECRON.

Luckily, I was out of the building with Mali and in the street when the apartment erupted in a yellow and orange ball of light that hungrily consumed the other buildings and rooms. How can I explain what happened? Some dude I've been working with decided to blow my house up and fake my sister and I's death so the government will stop chasing us? I have to run. I can't stay here. James will take care of the footage, remove us from the frames but still have it play. Cops always get suspicious when there is a gap—no more questions. Soon I will have to tell Mali about what I have gotten myself into and accidentally dragged her into as well.

I sneak away into the dark alleyways and into the car that I was told would be there. Mali is dazed and is staring back at the place we have been calling home since mom and dad died. I can't tell her how the government killed them or how I am trying to shut down the government and the organization that mom and dad worked for. Kind of hard to do when they know you're alive, but I am dead now, thanks to whoever sent that message. On Mali's tablet pops up a message that covers the whole screen, instructions on where to go, how to get money, and a few other things. I hold the tablet viewing the instructions. "Okay, Mali, we are going to go somewhere safe now." I look at her, but her eyes are blank like she is aware of all that is happening, and it hit her all of a sudden.

"Are you okay?" I ask. She stares at nothing in particular. I follow the instructions on the tablet, driving carefully to avoid attention and cameras. "Mali, are you hurt?" again, she stares at the road ahead.

"Left," she mumbles. I look at her tablet and mine. I pull a hard left and slide into an alleyway."GET OUT," the tablet instructs.

"Okay, Mali, we gotta go. C'mon," I get out of the car, and Mali remains in the car. I shut my door and go to retrieve Mali from the passenger seat.

"No!" she protests.

"Yes," I say and pull her from the car. I reach back in and grab the tablet as well.

"GET AWAY," the tablet displays.

Running down the alley, I hear and feel the vehicle explode. Whatever trance Mali was in, she snaps out of it and starts to kick her legs, trying to wiggle out of my grasp. "If I put you down, will you run with me?"

"Yes, put me down!" she yells. I let her feet touch the ground, and she darts off in front of me. I look at my tablet and follow her.

She takes a right, and I hear her scream. "Mali!" around the corner, someone tries to shush her screams. Rounding the corner, I see an American teenaged boy grab Mali and put his hand over her mouth. "Hey! Let her go!" I shout, and he looks up, startled, and does.

"Are you Mariana?" the boy asks.

"Yes, who are you?" I demand.

"Jason. C'mon," I take Mali's hand and motion for her to stay behind me. Jason leads us in a dark tunnel that smells of vomit and mold. The sound of water dripping echos around our footsteps. Soon I lose sight of Jason in the dark, but I hear his footsteps.

"Jason? I can't see; where are you?"

"In front of you. Here," A light from his phone. Appears twenty feet ahead of me. "It's okay; you can't really walk into the walls. It's rounded. Just walk straight,"

"Where does this tunnel take us?"

"Let's just call it the base..." is all he says the rest of the way.

Jason bangs on a metal door in a pattern, and it opens up with a horrendous creaking noise. Behind me, Mali whimpers.

"It's okay," I hope. We head inside, and I can swear I hear someone walking behind us.

Inside is filled with the blueish hue of LED lights and rows of bunk beds. To the right and left are two more doors like the one we entered. The floor is some sort of grate and concrete. People in the beds look up at us. There are maybe 20 people in the room. Some show no interest others look at us as if we are a present at Christmas. I pick up Mali, so she doesn't try to run and hide."Welcome to our hideout. You will be assigned a bed and given a work station once we find out where you'll fit," Jason pipes up.

"Wait, what?"

"It's okay. You're one of us now. We are a family with a united goal. Taking down NECRON and their affiliations. That also includes a number of government officials. Their experiments need to come to an end."

"Agreed, but what is it exactly you're trying to do to accomplish this?"

"Several things. The shootings in the news? Protests and releases of restricted information? That is us, but the news covers it. It makes it out to be some angry citizens. No one pays that much attention to a temper tantrum. In reality, the situations were more direr than some citizens getting shot. The numbers were a lot greater, and they were all us.""How many have you lost?"

"Hundreds since we started. Many of us are like you and your sister. Killed by working for NECRON. Do you know what caused your parents' death?" Jason asks.

"The media said a fail experiment, but I think it was purposefully shut down. Maybe my parents found something NECRON didn't want to get out..." I trail off, thinking of the possibilities.

"Or the experiment went just as planned, but they made your parents work on it in tiny pieces like bread crumbs. Genetic mutations, biochemical warfare, new technologies, the list is endless on what they could have been working on. Still, we have small samples of experiments they have going on," Jason says, handing me a tablet filled with files from NECRON.

"How did you get these?" I ask.

"Those were files they practically left lying around, some were harder to get, but nothing Gus can't handle. We have information on the experiments your parents were a part of... some they didn't even realize. This," he says, tapping a file," is everything we have on your parents... and you...."

"Me?! I'm not part of NECRON!" I shout in defense.

"No.... but NECRON is part of you..." he says, tapping more files. A file labeled GENE-MOD pops up, and he opens it. A picture of me as a baby is displayed. "Your parents were way deeper in than you think, but they were even deeper than they knew too... NECRON had them believe they were working on a cure for cancer and other illnesses. We aren't fully sure what exactly you were a part of, but we do know it's about your DNA."

I look at the picture of me, in probably a lab in some sort of hospital; I'm not even in regular baby clothes. I feel as though my world is crumbling just as the world around me explodes.

[aerascreamer]

Boi UtRH is packed with so much stuff and angst. But personally, I’d say Bruce isn’t being neutral or passive: he actively makes the choice not to kill.

He almost killed the Joker after Jason died. Hadn’t it been for Superman’s intervention, the clown would’ve been dead. And at that moment Bruce realised killing the Joker wouldn’t have changed anything: Jason would still be dead.

Worse: I’m Bruce’s mind, if he killed the Joker, he would have ruined everything him and Jason worked for. He would have failed his son’s memory…His son who worked his butt off to make Gotham better. His son who said Robin is magic and wholeheartedly believed in the cause. His son who stopped him from killing the Joker once. Had Bruce killed the Joker, he would have lost the support of Gotham, Gordon and the GCPD, which would make patrolling the city and hundred times worse. He would loose his ties with the JLA, as he is seen by others as this unbending will of morality and they rely on him to an extent on his mission of preserving every single life. He would also loose the remaining scraps of his relationship with Dick.

Batman can’t kill.

And it is fucked up to let someone like the Joker alive.

Over the years, Batman’s no kill became a sore spot and a topic of debate. I’d argue a major component is that… the villains are cash cows for DC. The Joker is such a big figures, you can profit off of him by making tons of comics and other content. One of the main reasons there is a no kill rule in DC is because writers would have to create new villains again and again, and that it would be nice to keep recurring iconic figures. If we were actually in the universe, either the state, a random civilian, Gordon or even Alfred would have terminated him a long time ago. Or Batman puts him in an inescapable prison/ turns his brain into mush.

Still, the fact remains that Batman doesn’t kill. And it is important to have a hero like him, a hero who gives people something to hope for. It is important that there’s a figure out there who stepped to evil and said to its face “no more”. Batman ignited the flame of hope, and Nightwing took it to new heights.

But he has his limits. There are people who do not fear him and pursue evil without ever showing signs of redemptions. Neither Batman or Bruce Wayne can stop or redeem them so someone else has to do the necessary thing to stop their plans . Which is where the Red Hood comes in. Jason, who lived in the worst part of Gotham and died by the hand of the incarnation of pure evil, understands what needs to be done. That kindness and compassion can only get you so far. There are people out there who demand justice. There are people who demand only to be safe from their perpetrators once and for all.

Neither is purely right or wrong. They work like two sides of a coin with radical views that prevent them from ever being as close as they used to be.

To ends this, I personally think the ending of the comics iteration could’ve work in a better way than slashing Jason throat. The animated movie did offer another possibility after all (also it is absurd plot armor that Batman dodged the bullet). Jason wanted to Bruce to kill the Joker because it would mean, in his eyes, that Bruce cared about him. That he was a father that would avenge his son. That Jason was a son and not just another Robin. That Batman’s methods are failing and he needs to take more radical actions.

Bruce dropping the gun and stopping Jason in his tracks is proof enough on where Bruce stand. The Batarang could go on with its trajectory and only disarm Jason, which will lead to the Joker picking up the gun and shooting Jason. Batman tackles him just in time so he misses vital organs. Jason activates the bomb, Bruce picks him up and leaves the Joker behind but the building still explodes.

“Jason should have ducked”

Jason gave Bruce a gun to shoot him with.

Jason gave him three options but there are only two results. Either Joker dies and Jason is left alive or Joker lives and Jason is too dead to care. That’s not an accident you have to understand.

It’s the most miserable “win if I win, win if I lose” I’ve ever seen set up and it worked. The neck slice moment isn’t just written for shock value it’s a demonstration of the truth of Jason’s point. Sometimes refusing to choose one over the other is just a choice for the other.

[happyk44]

Melinoe allowing Jason to go on a nightly excursion to the surface. She sees a bitterness in him, small but doable, and she's still angry at Olympus so she sends him out to wander with everyone else and takes him back before the sun rises.

She just doesn't take all of him back.

The bitterness remains. The unfettered anger he always ignored, never acknowledged, pretended didnt exist. Disappointment in his sister, in friends. Rage at his father, his step-mother.

Bitterness quickly turns to vengeance the longer he sits outside of the underworld without the rest of him to reconcile it away, square it back to recesses of his soul and mind he doesn't dwell in.

He stalks along the coast, dragging storms with every ghostly step until he's at Camp Jupiter. Lightning storms set fires. Rain floods the plains. A righteous ghostly justice curls an eerie hand along the camp and into New Rome as he continues on.

The Hunters wake up freezing with torn tents. Their dogs have run amok. Thalia's diadem is shattered next to her. There's a threat in the claw marks around her shredded tent. I could've killed you, they say. But you weren't worth my time.

The Wolf House burns to the ground again. Anger festers so violently in him by then that it's only by luck the children inside make it out alive. By the help of wolves that are quickly torn apart in front of their horrified little eyes. How dare you help them and not me, the murder speaks. I was younger than them. I needed love more.

New York sinks quickly into view. Olympus ratchets up the Empire State Building. By now, news of his focused attacks has spread quickly across the Greco-Roman communities. Camp Half-blood prepares for an attack that never comes. Why would it?

No one there tore him into nothing. No one there rebuilt him into a perfect weapon, only to throw him away when he was unneeded. They gave him a home, people who truly loved him. Sure, he was abandoned by the friends he made there too but it wasn't their fault. Piper only left because she felt Hera had forced into loving him. And Leo only left because he felt he needed to die to matter, a consequence of terrible homes filled with people who didn't care.

A consequence of the gods.

The smoke gathers attention first. The smell of burning stalls and plants. Nymphs scream and cry next. They bleed out on the ground before withering away into flowers and tiny shrubs. Things shatter and break as a storm builds around him. He's inhuman now, a creature more than a ghost. Vengeance, pain, anger.

His teeth drip blood, his nails elongated. His eyes are electric. The door slam open. The portraits shatter. The thrones crack. He's a storm, whirlwnding forward for the culprits in his suffering. And they can't stop him from burning it all to the ground.

After all, what can a god do to a ghost?

His brother stands in all his godly glory and Jason hates it. How quickly will he forget the lessons he learned? Immortality paints time as a game. He'll forget what matters.

It's only Hermes' speed that saves Apollo from pure disintegration. Sure, he'd reincarnate, but, oh it would be painful.

He's a warhead on a mission, plowing down hallways and throwing back gods like toys. Lightning illuminates throughout him like veins. His father stands with lightning bolt in hand. His step-mother, the one who dangled him like steak over the snapping maws of a dozen wolves then cried as though he mattered to her, is by his side with a frightening silver sword.

This is their fault, he thinks. They created me. Lightning explodes like a bursting pipe. This is all their fault.

He feels nothing and tastes only victory. Godly blood stains the walls. But even as they fail to touch him, they don't go down easily. He batters them away and they stand again, joined by family, joined by friends.

Jason never had that. Abandoned every time he got close. Died before he could try again.

He was a child.

How dare they act like they cared.

How dare they call him their son.

"Jason." The voice cuts through his blinding haze like a train to the chest. He spins, his won personal tornado. Hermes stands, battered and bruised, beside Nico, who regards him a pinched look and an outstretched hand. "You're not supposed to be here. You supposed to be at home."

He doesn't have a home. He never did. Thrown from place to place. Home is where you are loved.

He wasn't.

He turns back to the people who took that from his. His father for letting him be born into an unkind world, to an angry mother, and for letting him be thrown to the wolves. His step-mother for throwing him to them, for taking his life and playing with it like he was a toy.

He was not a toy.

He isn't.

He's a person.

"I know you are," Nico says. His voice is patient and quiet in the thundering winds. It sings loud and clear through Jason's ears. "You're a good person, Jason. They didn't deserve you then and they don't deserve you now. You were worth more than what they gave you."

He was.

"Please. Let me take you home."

He can't. He's not done. But something pulls across his chest and he screams. Nico is unharmed as Hermes pulls him to safety, burned from where Jason's blast hit him, but gripping tight to Nico's waist.

Jason could remember that. Holding Nico, frightened and stressed out, carrying him across the skies to Cupid, to Eros. To painful confessions and anger.

He remembers how it sank out of his sink in angry shadows and grappling skeletons. And how Eros batted him away with forceful pushy winds.

"Kind of like you right now."

He stills.

"You tried to hurt me."

It wasn't on purpose.

"I can't leave until I have you in my hands, Jason. And soon my father will be here to do it himself and if he ends up injured because of you, I don't know if I can forgive you for that."

Jason stares at him. Why would he hurt his uncle? The god has done nothing to him.

"You're angry." Nico steps outside of Hermes' grasp. "Angry people do not make the best decisions. When I was angry, I listened to a homicidal maniac trying to come back to life. I almost got people killed. People who didn't deserve to die just because I was upset." He holds out his hand as Jason starts to float down. The ground scuffs the tips of his toes. Nico's palm glows back him. There's something familiar about the pulsing blue orb in his hand. "You're not thinking with your full capacity. You're a good person. You forgive. It is your best and worst trait."

Jason blinks up at him.

"It's time to go home, Jason." He pauses and glances down at Nico's glowing palm. Then sinks his hand against it, exhaling a breathless sigh. Nico smiles sweetly and pulls him close. "Let's go home."