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#jason: deadly
puppetmaster13u · 2 months
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Prompt 271
“Grandmother is visiting,” Damian suddenly said with no warning and with his usual not-quite demanding tone. 
“Who?” Tim wasn’t the only one to startle, seeing as Bruce had practically froze, a downturn to his lips in a silent show of confusion. 
Damian scowled. “Are you deaf Drake? Grandmother is coming to Gotham to, quote, make sure I am being properly cared for.” None of them had known that Ras was with anyone actually. At least Tim was pretty sure that would have been in the files. 
“Oh?” Dick didn’t quite crouch to Damian’s height but it was a near thing. “She-” “He,” Damian corrected, interrupting him. They all exchanged a glance before Dick continued. 
“Is he coming to the Manor or…” 
Damian scoffed again, a tiny bit of a flush against his face. “No, Grandmother will most likely be staying with Akhi-”
Now wait one moment-
“YOU HAVE ANOTHER BROTHER?!” 
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spacedace · 3 months
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Got inspired by the below tiktok and the idea of the Rogues killing the Joker in revenge for Jason instead of Bruce and had to write about it.
Here, have probably way too many words (with more to come most likely, this really won't leave me alone) of the Rogue's feelings about Jason's death at the Joker's hands and everything that followed.
(also I know the timeline is a bit screwy, shhh just go with it, we're going on vibes with this one lol)
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Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.
The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart.
A kid could slit your throat as easy as a man grown in a place like their fine city, maybe easier even for those who still fell for the ideal of children being incapable of anything but innocence and sweetness. Children learned from the world around them though, they learned from the savagery that filled their world, the hard scrabble desperate attempts to survive. They learned what dark corners to avoid, which ones were safer to skitter down.
It didn’t mean there weren’t still some rules of decency to be honored though.
Most folks, even those in the circle of the Rogues, largely left kids out of the equation. Crossfire happened of course, hitting busy city centers always meant some kind of collateral. But there wasn’t much that they got out of purposefully hurting kids outside a black mark on their name in most levels of the grungy underbelly of the city and one hell of a big target on their back. Both from the Bat and those criminals in the dark with them that took offense to those kinds of things. They were crooks, but with few exceptions they weren’t complete monsters.
Robin had always held an interesting place in their grungy little ecosystem. Anything to do with the Bat was generally ruled as gloves-off, do what you do without hesitation. And Robin - both of ‘em - had no problem hitting hard and being ruthless. The first one in particular had a feral sort of rage to him that was a terrifying thing to be on the business end of.
But they were still kids.
Defending yourself from any kid swinging on you was fair game, a person had the right to defend themselves. Grabbing up Robin to hold hostage or bait Gotham’s local cryptid, that was all fine and dandy. You could even get away with roughing the kid up a little here and there, so long as you made sure not to go too far and always kept hits to where the kid’s armor was the thickest. No hard and fast written rules, mind, but general rules of thumbs. Lines indistinct due to the shaky ground a child dancing through the night as a vigilante left all of them on, but ones clear enough that you knew when you were at risk of going too far.
Besides, the Robins were good kids. Fucking feral little shits, of course, able to leave you bleeding just as easy from a kick as they were a sharp word. But good kids. Even most the Rogues in the Gallery liked em. It was hard not to be at least a little fond of a gutsy little punk like that.
Though they were all maybe a tad less nervous around Robin II than they were the original.
Robin I had a lot of anger burning in him, a lot of anger in him, but he was still a cheerful boy with a bright attitude that was refreshing in a world so bleak and dark as the one they all lived in. It was up in the air which was scarier about the kid: The smiled he gave when he was about to give a hands on demonstration about how much force a tiny ten year old could put into a kick when they had half a dozen spins shoved into a flip to wind up to 80 miles an hour, or the flash of his teeth when he was demonstrating the knife sharp brilliance of his belief that Batman was only as frightening as Robin was hopeful.
They weren’t sure if he realized that sometimes they felt a helluva lot more hope at the sight of the Bat when the little bird was putting the hurt on them, or if he’d simply folded that fact neatly into his core philosophy without issue.
Robin II on the other hand had this kind of quiet shyness to him - even as he was shouting the most inventive swears ever heard by human ear at someone while he kicked them in the balls hard enough to make ‘em see not just the face of their own god but a few dozen besides. He was just as unhinged as the Robin before him - seemed to be a requirement for the job really - but there was a distinct different in how the two birds flitted about the darkened skyline of the city. Where the first Robin’s smile was as much danger as it was dazzle, a fanged declaration of victory against the dark, Robin II’s was a sunny, stubborn declaration of perseverance. Kid was sassy and smart, and never - ever - flinched away from extending a hand to those he thought in need of it.
Even if the folks he offered that hand to were in the middle of an attack on some fancy Gala or Wayne Enterprises or whatever target of the week it was. Even knowing the offered hand was likely to be slapped away and followed by a right hook. Kid still always tried.
They all knew why.
The Bat was big on offering chances, on rehabilitation rather than damnation. Some of Robin II being the way he was came from the broody cryptid he followed around. But Batman couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for Robin II being the way he was, couldn’t even pretend to be the cause of most of it. Nah, they knew why the little bird was the way he was.
That unmistakable thick accent. That frame that was always a little too thin even as he got older and stronger. That unshakable, headstrong spirit.
Robin II was an Alley Kid.
A true child of Gotham.
Her polluted waters in his veins. Her smoggy air in his lungs. Her shadows clinging to his edges less like a beast looking to swallow a small bird up and more like a protective mother hiding her hatchling. He understood the world most of them came from. The one they all lived in. Knew it in a way anyone who hadn’t been swallowed up by the dark never really could.
Everyone had their favorite, but even those that claimed the first Robin as theirs couldn’t deny that Robin II was someone to be respected. Nor could they deny a fondness for the chain smoking, classic lit referencing, perpetually baby-faced little shit. They’d all had knock out drag out fights with the kid and knew how fucking unhinged the puny motherfucker could be in a fight, but he always tempered it with offers of resources, of a listening ear, of understanding.
He visited them after they’d been arrested sometimes. In Arkham, or Blackgate or wherever else they’d been locked up in after being stopped by the Dynamic Duo. The little bird would make the rounds whenever he had a broken wing or was stuck waiting as the Bat interrogated someone else or for any other reason he wasn’t out flitting about the city skyline at night. He’d bring cookies or snacks and even cigarettes from his own secret stash on the rare occasion, mask unable to hide the furtive glances around to check for the living shadow that was the disapproving Bat.
The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.
But childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham.
Bad things happened to good kids all the time.
And some of the monsters that lurked in the city’s darkest shadows took the black mark of a kid killer as a point of pride.
Robin II disappeared one day. Just after that piece of shit Garzonas took the fast way down from the top of a tall building. There were a lot of Rogues with doctoral degrees to their names but even those Goons that dropped out of school before they learned to spell their own names could do that math.
The big bad Bat had benched the boy after the fierce little bird had done what any decent member of the criminal underbelly would have. There were those that thought maybe it’d been an accident, that the kid was pulled off duty because of being too upset at unintentionally crossing the heavy line the Bat drew in the sand. Those voices were drowned out pretty quick though.
Sure, Robin II was all about second chances, of doing better, of redemption. But Garzonas had chances to spare and only ever spat in the face of those offering them. Doubled down on being a monster in a way very, very few of the Rogues Gallery would. The kid was a sweetheart, but he wasn’t no push over and there were some things so heinous that there was only one way of handling them. Crime Alley had its own kind of justice system, and when faced with a monster that was beyond even Batman’s jurisdiction, Robin II did what he always did: fell back on his roots.
Or so the rumors said, at least.
That was the thing about Gotham’s seedy underbelly. It was a grimy, wretched nest of vipers and cut-throats, but it was also worse than any beauty parlor when it came to gossip. No one actually knew anything other than that piece of shit motherfucker took a dive while Robin was chasing him and that he’d not been seen on the streets since. But most had a fondness for the kid, and a distaste for the kind of cruelty Garzonas reveled in and there was no proof that Robin hadn’t gone and done the world a favor by drop kicking that barbaric sack of shit off a roof. So as far as most in the Gallery were concerned, the little bird had stepped up and been a hero.
Time passed. Not a lot. But enough. The Bat disappeared too, popping up on an entire other continent in a way that was awfully tempting. Even with other Masks playing baby sitter while the local cryptid was away. Rogues were scrambling to set plans in motion, Goons getting hired en masse, weapons and weird chemicals getting delivered to shady places across Gotham by the truck-full. The criminal underbelly was abuzz with the same excited energy of children the day before a big birthday party.
And then the news came in.
There were people in the dark who made their living finding things out. Knowing things that no one else did or could. Some even specialized, keeping tabs on Batman and Robin better than anyone else in the business were able. And when the information they found wasn’t anything handy to have tucked into a back pocket or a secret they were paid extremely well to keep? They held on to with the same tenacity a sieve clung to water.
Robin II had run off across the globe and ended up in Ethiopia. Something to do with a doctor doing aid work, the same something that had the Bat end up there was the assumption. Kid ran off to handle things himself or was sent on a separate path on purpose for some plan or other the Bat had cooked up on his hunt.
Whatever the reason, the kid crossed paths with the Clown.
Alone.
Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham. The city was hard and cruel and she didn’t care about the ages of those that were ground up and spit out in her oily black heart. But Robin II was hers, the child of her heart, an exception to the rule. And besides, most folks - even those in the Rogues Gallery - largely left the purposeful harm of kids out of the equation.
The Joker wasn’t most folks.
And the little bird was a long way away from the protective shadows of his mother city.
The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. And Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of them from time to time. He was a good kid.
When the news broke, it broke most of them right along with it.
Plans stalled. Schemes ended. Gotham, for an unnervingly quiet stretch of time that neither its civilians or the world at large understood, went still. Crime continued, of course, but the big names weren’t seen. It was only right, by the standards of those that lived their lives in the dark, that they hold off and give the man that fought them all so relentlessly over the past years the time he needed to focus on hunting down the monster that killed his son. He didn’t need the distraction, and they all owed it to Robin II not to interfere while the Bat at last put a final end to the Clown.
And the hellish cryptid would need his full focus on this one. The Joker wasn’t one to take lightly at the best of times, but he’d set himself up neatly in the middle of a nasty bear trap. Ugly and complicated in the way everything with the Clown was. Interference from the CIA, from the UN, from Superman.
Shit went down. People heard about the Bat and the Clown throwing down in a helicopter plummeting from the sky in one hell of a water landing. Big Blue fished Batman out of the drink before he could drown but there’d been no sign of the Joker.
But the Bat would find him.
They all knew the relentless bastard would find him. It was just a matter of time. With the hellish drive of a demon straight from Gotham’s darkest shadows, the Bat would track the grinning, child killing ghoul down and make right the terrible wrong the evil motherfucker had done. Batman would hunt him to the ends of the earth and enact the justice he held up so fiercely. Robin II would have the vengeance the kid so rightly deserved.
It was just a matter of time. So they waited. And waited.
Days.
Weeks.
Months.
The Clown still lived.
The world, impossibly, began to move on. The Bat returned to his lurking in the night, picking off gangs and petty crooks and no-name gangsters as if nothing had happened at all. More vicious, more savage, but failing to turn that rise in brutality into the killing blow against the one figure that so rightly deserved it.
No one knew what was happening. There were rumors and theories, as there always were in the underground. Some thought that it wasn’t the Bat at all back in Gotham but someone else pretending for awhile, looking after his neglected city while he continued his pursuit of the Joker. Other held that it was the Bat but the whole thing was a ploy to draw the Clown out into the open. A pretense at not caring meant to get under the Clown’s skin, make the asshole mad enough to get stupid and sloppy and reveal himself.
That the man simply had given up was beyond comprehension. Beyond what any upstanding Rogue could accept. So it simply couldn’t be true. There was a trick being played. Some brilliant game of 4D chess that none of them had been able to parse out. It’d be revealed in time, and they see the brilliant trap that had been set. The Clown would be lured out, the Bat would put him down for good, and then they’d all at last raise a glass to the little bird that had been shot down far too soon and smoke shitty cigarettes and quote literary masters and mourn the loss one of Gotham’s own true children.
They just had to play along. Stumbling forward back into their usual habits, pretending that it was a choice and not the world just forcibly dragging them along. It’d make sense, eventually. The Bat had a plan. Robin II wasn’t forgotten, his killer not left free to roam and ravage unpunished for what he’d done.
And then one day there was a new bird flitting across the rooftops.
Chasing the Bat’s looming frame like a reverse shadow. Bright flashes of color in contrast to the bleak darkness of Gotham’s grimy nights. Small and thin and young.
Not the first Robin. With his showman bright grin and bloody rage and unwavering belief in the terrifying power of hope. Not the brilliant, vicious little boy that they’d seen grow over the years into the fierce and fearless Nightwing.
Not Robin II either.
Not Gotham’s soft hearted little bruiser with his unshakable belief that people could be better if given the chance, shinning so bright in the dark as he held out a hand that even the Rogues had no choice but to believe right along with him sometimes. Not the tough little songbird they’d never get to see grow up. Unavenged and unhonored. Put in a box and buried in the ground with a name none of them would ever know carved into a stone they’d never be able to visit.
No.
It was a new Robin.
A new child with the R emblazoned upon his chest.
Sharp and quick and young in the way the birds always were when they started flying at the Bat’s side. Every inch of the boy’s tiny frame a tragedy and an insult. One very, very few of Gotham’s vicious underbelly were willing to tolerate.
Childhood was not held universally sacred in the dark streets of Gotham, but there was a damn big difference between holding something sacred and not giving a damn about it at all. There were rules unspoken but understood, a way things were done. Nothing so solid or concrete as a code of conduct, more a collection of time honored traditions. Blood for blood was among the oldest and truest, and the more precious the person taken the more vital and vicious payment was to be made in kind.
The Clown had killed Robin II.
Beaten the kid half to death and then finished the job with a bomb.
Everyone knew he’d done it laughing all the way.
The Bat should have done the same in kind. Done worse. It was justice, it was what was right. You kill a kid you’re marked forever. You kill one so well liked and kill ‘em like that and you’re destined for a cruel and cold death. The Bat had first dibs. It was his kid. It was his right to put an end to that awful laughter and let his son have peace at last.
But he never did.
Nightwing had. For a bit. For a moment.
Robin I, who half the time had scared them all more than the Bat ever could. Dazzling and dizzying and dangerous. Gave back the pain and hurt the Clown had forced upon him with clenched fists and bone shattering hits. They were glad for him, that he was able to beat the monster who had taken his little brother from him to death, that he was able to have such justice.
And then the Bat stepped in.
Revived the fucking Clown.
A slap in the face. The snapping crack of a spine beneath one straw too many. The final, unforgivable insult the man had dared visit upon not just the child taken from him but the entirety of Gotham.
The Rogues and their Goons always had a soft spot for the Robins. Respected their ferocity, admired their moxie, marveled at their ability to keep shining in the dark like they did. Robin II made it especially easy to let fondness bleed out of the city’s dirty criminal underbelly from time to time.
He was a good kid.
He deserved better.
Better than the silence and peace he should be granted in death to be marred by the mad cackles of his killer still running around alive and unpunished. Better than his father giving up, returning to the same old routine as if nothing had happened at all. Better than the Bat snatching up a new bird less than a year later.
Gotham and her Rogues had given the Bat time enough to do what needed to be done.
It was their turn.
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teeth-haver · 5 months
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My friend (@webboygirl) bought Ace Attorney keychains that look like those fucked up popsicles, so I made a joke that I should make them with my favorite guys (Herbert West and Norman Bates). But I was having fun and it got a bit out of hand...
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Look in tags for characters you don't immediately recognize. This is my first time drawing most of the characters.
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sanguineterrain · 1 month
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save me jason todd competency kink. jason todd competency kink save me. save me ja-
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YOU GUYS STINK!
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(Danny 0.3 seconds away before smelling the Heroes he just met.)
So I've been pondering about how ghost have the ability to sense one another out when close enough, but now I've been thinking of something for the living. Fanon has something like this in a few fics, making it how Danny can tell who the Leaguers are in/out of costume by calling it Death Touched.
I offer: The Stench of Death.
When a person comes close to a deadly encounter, the event becomes a smell is akin to the near experience. Say if someone survived a fire? The smell would be close to burning the materials being burnt and the smoke for example.
Think like food and how you can smell all the things that go into the dish.
The more you get into deadly situations, the more smells you can pick up on as well as getting stronger. Ghosts can sense the Touch of Death on the living, but not the Stench. Danny, who is a Half alive, can. If he focuses hard enough, he can pick up the scent and sniff people out like a bloodhound.
Now take the Justice League and all their branches/allies, organizations who fight to stop bag guys and world-ending events every couple of months...their smell is prominent enough for Danny to easily pick it up.
Now enter one Daniel Nightingale who has left Amity for [reason] and in [Hero's City], trying to keep a low profile because heroes exist now, he's retired now after sorting out the business between the ghostly and living worlds, and wants to have as close to a normal life as he possibly can before taking the throne.
But one day, he stops a known rouge that would've caused some serious harm to the populace if someone didn't stop them, gaining their attention. They try to get information on Danny, but there's nothing out of the ordinary on his file, so they decided to do the next best thing; watch him.
The young man is very guarded and observing his surroundings often, so the idea of him being a new meta struggling to handle his newly awakened powers or a new alien on Earth are possible theories.
The only problem is that, when they get they close, he tends to leave the area and head home. It's like this for a while until they realize they haven't seen him in some time now and find out he packed up his things and moved to another town...a different city a Leaguer call their hometurf, so they notify that hero of Danny's presence and the cycle repeats itself a few times before Danny is getting tracked by multiple Leauge members.
The latest Leaguer is trying to keep an eye on Danny without spooking him until Danny gets the jump on them and calls them by their civilian name while peltong them with hygiene products.
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yonemurishiroku · 5 months
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Seven as the seven deadly sins. Jason and Percy in the role of lust and anger... It's poetic and romantic.
I once had this prompt you know, the Seven = 7 deadly sins. Well granted it's more like a poll of who would be what and I barely remembered anything rn but anw who's lust are we talking here bc I'm imaging it to be Jason and oh isn't it exhilirating---
Percy fits in with anger bc. well. the guy probably has anger issue where he hid most of it adversary to gods contemplating strangling ppl left and right. "the ocean is tumultuous" blabla that sort of thing.
Jason is lust bc I said so. Just kidding. actually no. I'm just suddenly interested in a character who's often aroace-coded in fanfics being a depiction of lust. Probably has st to do with the fact that the aroaces I know are the kinkiest ever.... Isn't it exotic? To see lust as the pure carnial desire it is, with no emotional attachment.
also yeah possessive percy x flirty jason is a thing of a lifetime and i'm not letting go of this chance
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g0thnico · 5 months
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I could be wrong buuut
pride - Leo or Jason
greed - Hazel
wrath - Percy
envy - Frank
lust - Piper
gluttony - Annabeth
sloth - Nico
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sk4rlette8008 · 6 months
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me when i finally get a hold of James Hetfield.
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thejasontoddarchives · 11 months
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Just a little guy saga continues
He was still so young and small when he first unofficially began his tenure as the Red Hood.
Red Hood: The Lost Days #3 (2010)
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vodrae · 7 months
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"Jason Todd originally should have died of AIDS"
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puppetmaster13u · 2 months
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Prompt 266
Back on my Danny & Ras frienemies/rivals/maybe-lovers-nobody-can-tell-their-signals-are-very-mixed train. 
See, Danny has gone through time a lot. Often. It comes with being Clockwork’s charge-son-thing and honestly he finds it fun. And several times he’s used this time travelling to get some training in. Enter Ras, stage left, also a teen at the time and also learning swordsmanship from the same person. 
And they… utterly despise each other. They would kill the other for an apple slice, if the other one would die! But also, only they can kill the other, as it is obviously their right! 
And well, they keep running into each other. It has been a hundred years, surely the other would die by now? But of course their rival would live through utter spite. Probably to spite them specifically. 
The amount of times they have ended up sparring- trying to kill each other or not- the moment they see the other is actually ridiculous. But time is also passing. And… Danny understands, not having another to talk about things people are forgetting, or have already forgotten. 
How they ended up actually talking without a murder attempt was a long story that included a demon, a dragon, a pair of fae, some bandits, and a lot of alcohol, but it happened. And then it happens again. And again, and now it’s just kind of normal to share a drink after their spars, talking about things that no longer exist, and things they miss. 
Sure Danny can go back in time again, but he knows better than to do it willy nilly. He’s matured, he’s been an adult for a hundred years now, he knows there’s consequences for messing with time, even with Clockwork’s blessings. 
The first time they got married was technically for an undercover assassination. Well, Ras was there to assassinate someone, Danny was there to grab an artifact that should Not be in the realm of the living. And they got divorced after, it was fine. 
They just, also got married again when they met a few years later, for another job. And… okay, so maybe they have gotten married over a dozen times now and only divorced like half of those times. Half of those were for the bit or while drunk! 
And even if technically they’re married or shared a bed, it’s not like they're exclusive! As Ras’ daughters’ existences attest to (adopted in one case or not). They don’t exactly have a label for their relationship, despite others asking for one or trying to put a name to it themselves. 
Now Danny knows Ras isn’t exactly a good dude, or at least on the side of ‘good’ as he’s a literal assassin. But he also knows that good? Bad? Rather relative. He had gotten labeled as a villain when he was just trying to help all that time ago after all, and really who was he to tell someone else how to live their life? 
Which brings him to now, where he’s run into his old frienemy-rival and his youngest daughter. Who has a braindead teenager and a small toddler. Which is fine, really- but also, Talia dear, why are you using a brain dead teenager to guard your three year old son? 
Okay, Talia dear, Ras (Derogatory), why are you using your brain dead son and grandson to guard your younger son and grandson? Do you not have the Pits, which you were soo proud about Ras? Yes, he will spar with you, but for Realms’ sake, heal, what’s his name? Ah yes, go heal Jason and he’ll actually stick around for a few years, deal? Good. 
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lilislegacy · 4 months
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The real question is: who would ✨you ✨ be the most scared of if they were coming towards you angrily?
honestly i’d be freaking terrified of all of them. they’re all terrifying and any of them are valid choices.
but for me personally, percy. without a doubt. and here’s why
reyna, i’d be terrified, but i also feel like she wouldn’t waste any more of her time on me than she needs to. she’s got shit to do. she might slam me against a wall and call me some roman insult, maybe break my wrist or something, but i’ll live.
annabeth is very scary, but she also is a logical and level headed person. if she knew i didn’t mean to do whatever she’s mad about, she’s not gonna judo flip me or stab me. i think more than anything i’d just feel really bad about myself cause she’d lay it on thick about how stupid i’d been. but i def wouldn’t go anywhere near her anytime soon
nico is very powerful and very creepy scary, but he gets worked up so easily. and then never handles it well himself. i’m kinda just used to seeing him mad to be hoenst. he also gets drained so easily, it would take a LOT of his energy to do something really bad. so he’s probably by 2nd biggest worry, but i know hurting me would hurt him too, so he’d think carefully about it.
jason i’m not that scared of tbh. not becasue he’s not powerful, but becasue it usually takes a lot for him to actually, like, do something worth being terrified. he’s calm and level headed. he has to build up to deadly-level actions, it doesn’t just happen.
percy jackson however… he’s too powerful for his own good. he’s the most powerful AND the least in control of his power. the worst mix possible.
first off, we know his “however bad you are, i’m worse” wolf glare is terrifying. when percy glared at leo in MoA, leo was shaking, and said percy’s look felt the same as when jason summoned lighting.
let that sink in.
a single look from percy feels just as dangerous as the son of zeus summoning an ear-piercing, earth shaking lightning bolt. like… HELLO?? i’d throw up and pass out the second he glared at me.
but also, when percy’s mad, water reacts before he does. toilets explode, geysers shoot up out of nowhere, oceans and lakes form 100 foot tall deadly waves, hurricanes dominate, need i go on?that’s not even including the most brutal stuff he’s done. and the most terrifying part: he does a lot of this without even thinking. they are all aquatic and earthly reactions to his emotions. there’s a certain uncontrolled brutality to percy that none of the others possess. the sea cannot be controlled.
so if the others are mad, yes i am very, very scared about what any of them might do on purpose. but with percy, i am most scared of him because he’s an untamable powerhouse, and his emotions unchecked might kill me on accident.
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a little bit of inspo to keep me afloat.
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xysidhequeen · 2 years
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So- for the Red Knight AU I was thinking
What if Danny has in the past accidentally popped into the Lazarus pit in the League Of Assassins? Like what if they're not quite portals but more leaks in the GZ to the human realm and Danny, exploring because he's bored, slips through using a portal he made.
And when he does he sees this small child, probably nothing more than a toddler and he just ends up visiting sporadically to meet this kid.
Later when he and Jason go back to Gotham Danny runs into a very familiar face one day in the manor.
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psychologeek · 4 months
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The cyclist
Day 3: A deadly accident / Snowboard
In the empty road in Wisconsin Jason pushes the gas full, trying to see how fast this motorcycle can get.
It's feels good, that wind in the hair.
The adrenaline in his body rushes like lightning, and he endorse the high.
He probably shouldn't drive that fast, but it was his gift, and he wants to feel it.
(Need to feel that he's alive.)
Hour and a half past the “Welcome to Illinois” sign, he takes the exit to the gas station. The old shop looks like it has stayed there since the road was built. The bell ring as he enters, but the bored cashier doesn't even look up from her phone. He carefully checks the snack's back for the “best before” date. He put the snacks and and a bottle of soda on the counter.
“How much?”
The cashier slowly looks up from her phone. She sighs and starts scanning the products.
“Anything from the souvenir shop?” She asks, clearly waiting for a no. “take a look, we have a special offer on magnets and stuffed animals.” 
Her voice is dead just like her eyes, as she cites her sentences. 
Uh, the joys of customer service. One of the things he's actually happy he didn't have to live through. 
“53$, not including service.”
Heis eyes glances behind the cashier as he opens his wallet and takes out the notes.
Well, actually. His eyes stops, fixed on a certain object behind the cashier's back. 
Fuck it, he never got the chance before. But this is a mission, so he could probably add id as an expense.
Why the hell not?
He never got the time, before.
“How much for the staffed ghost?”
“19.90$, you want one?”
Fuck it. He'll use the league account for this. “Yes, please.” 
“The stuffies are on sale, 3 in 50$. We also got Illinois stuffie, Bumblebee and some other options in the Fun Section.”
“No, no. Just this one. That would be all.”
“Your new total is 72.90$. cash or credit?”
“Card,” he hand it over. “Say, why you got this? I don't think I ever saw one of these before.”
“Amity,” she says and go back to her phone.
“What –?”
She point at the brochures box and say, “most haunted city in the states”.
“A nice place to leave!” says a big sign, by the entry of what seems like a small town.
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apopcornkernel · 3 months
Text
batman: track and field au
author's note: i just miss track and field varsity even though i wasnt even that good... and ive been thinking about batman track and field au for FOREVER. so today i wrote a bit 📝
things u need to know: bruce is not batman. he's a coach at a school where the rest of the justice league teaches. yes, they're still the justice league. and yes, his robins still end up as vigilantes. jason is 15 in this; the joker hasn't gotten to him yet. also i added some characters ahead of the timeline bc i love them :/
Jason stumbles over from the finish line, grinning and sweat-drenched. And then his face screws up in sudden distress, and he promptly wobbles and collapses onto the hot stadium mat.
A half-formed sound of alarm—
Bruce leaps over the bleacher railing and sprints.
A poor, well-meaning race official gets there first, but Bruce shoulders him roughly aside and crouches by Jason. Jason has turned on his side, holding his right knee tight to his chest and making little pained gasps.
It tears at his heart. “Jason,” Bruce says.
Jason’s eyes are screwed shut, and he says nothing, but one of his hands reach blindly in Bruce’s direction and Bruce grasps it tightly.
“You were terrific, chum.” He squeezes, and feels the tremor that goes through his son. “Stretch your leg out for me.”
Jason shakes his head. “Hurts—”
“I know. I know. Please, Jay.”
It’s slow, and excruciating, but between the two of them they manage to get Jason sitting up, his leg extended straight against the ground. One hand of Bruce’s presses down firmly on the knee, and the other pushes his foot to flex, the metal spikes of Jason’s shoes digging hard into the callused flesh of Bruce’s palm. Jason leans back on his hands, spread flat against the ground, head tilted up to open, cloudless sky, exhaling drawn-out, shaky breaths.
The speakers blare out the next events—second call for Male C’s 400-meter hurdles, and third call for Female B’s high jump. The left side of the crowd begins clapping on beat for their star javelin thrower as she rocks back on her feet, once, twice, and begins bounding forward. Bruce makes a displeased noise. He hopes his throwers remember to pay attention.
A mosquito buzzes by Bruce’s ear and he shakes his head sharply to drive it away. The sweat has been beading at his hairline all throughout, and now it rolls torturously slow down his face. As his hands are otherwise occupied, he makes no move to wipe it, and does his best to ignore the unpleasant sensation.
At last, Jason’s breathing evens out. He tugs his leg gingerly away from Bruce’s hold, cheeks flushed with exertion and, doubtless, embarrassment. “Thanks.”
Bruce sits back on his haunches and wipes the sweat off his face. “Ready to stand?”
Jason raises a hand, wincing as he tests the muscles of his leg. “One sec.”
Bruce nods shortly. Jason safe, his attention wanders over to the bleachers. Tim, thank God, is dragging Damian away from the high railing. Dick and Cass are eating lunch with much avidity—Dick’s best event, high jump, had just ended before Jason’s, and Cass seems to have just returned from shot put. Duke and Stephanie are nowhere in sight, and for a moment Bruce is alarmed, but then he spots them at the stage and relaxes. Duke must have won his high jump—he stands on the highest podium, and even from here Bruce can tell he’s grinning—and Stephanie is clicking away on the school camera next to the official photographer.
As he watches Stephanie turn the camera backward and attempt to take a selfie with Duke, there’s a tap on his thigh. Bruce extends his hand without looking and grasps the hand that interlocks with his, pulling Jason up with ease.
Bruce glances at Jason, and notes how he squints against the glaring afternoon. “Remember to reapply your sunscreen when you get back.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “Not everyone is ghost-white like you.”
“You do not have to be ghost-white to get skin cancer.”
Jason grumbles, but when Bruce raises an imperious eyebrow at him, he raises his hands in surrender. “Fine. Whatever you say, boss.”
“Good. And, Jay...” Bruce reaches out, tentative, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I meant it. You did terrific.”
Jason beams, bright enough to outshine the day, and something in Bruce’s chest uncurls into warmth.
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