Controversial Take: Jason Should Have Been A Better Swordsman Then Percy. It Could Balance The Power

Controversial Take: Jason should have been a better swordsman then Percy. It could balance the power difference, for Jason seems to have less raw power and Percy has more, and it could emphasize how Camp Jupiter trains the campers.

It makes sense from a writing standpoint for world building.

Going to be honest. Nico wouldn't remember Italy

Obsessed w how the gangs' all posed in this scene ngl

What if Jason's eyes were constantly changing to match the colour of the sky outside.

Sometimes bright blue, sometimes a stormy grey.

Then at sunset, a swirl of pink and orange, fading through indigo into black, glistening with silver stars.

Seeing this tweet from an official Scooby Doo franchise is dissapointing to say the least.

Either way, here is YOUR reminder that Daphne Blake is....

• A skilled martial artist and surfer

• A television personality/reporter

• A leader

• The glue that holds Mystery Inc. together

Daphne Blake has always been way more than just "The Hot one", So let me ask you...

No one asked and I dunno what’s going to come out of this but I’m going batshit so fucking have at thee.

Jason creates lightning storms. It crackles across his skin, glows inside his veins. Thunder cracks the sky when he screams. He howls and prowls the ground like a wolf, hunched over and licking his teeth. His eyes glow. He’s haunting. He speaks to birds, coaxes them in close before snapping at them whole, scarfing down blood and bones and meat. Doesn’t care the mess on his mouth. Doesn’t care the mess on his hands.

Tornados ripple when he’s mad, rolling up from every angered breath he exhales. Summons lightning bolts from the sky and wields them in calloused reddened hands like swords and spears and daggers and bows and shields. It rains when he cries. Pours down viciously the longer his sadness last. The louder he cries, the harder it hits the ground. Forming hail that breaks the earth.

Manipulates the wind around him to run fast. One minute he’s there, the next he’s gone. He can pin you down with a look, steal the breath form your lungs and hold it vicious above your head as you wheeze and sob without sound and die.

His father is the god of justice and order and it’s like switch goes off in his mind. The Underworld conducts fairness on what it sees in your soul, the life you lived. He conducts justice on what he wants, what he thinks you deserve and Cupid screams as everything burns, his blood boiling under the heat of lightning wrapped around his body, as Jason floats above him, empty-eyed and rippling like a storm, until Nico screams at him to stop it. Pulls him down with shadowy tendrils, grabs the scepter, and drags Jason away into the shadows.

It’s only when Cupid no longer in his line of sight, his range of smell, his hearing perimeter, that he switches back on. Happy kind Jason who holds Nico’s hands and asks if he’s okay with gentle tones and assures him that no one will hate him if he chooses to come out with his feelings and Nico stares at bloodied teeth and glowing eyes and know it’s true because Jason wouldn’t let them.

When you ask him why he feels the need to bloody his hands and teeth and burn electricity along the skin of those who’ve done wrong, he will simply say, “They deserved it.” Camp quickly beats this out of him with demands of regality and logic and snappish tongues and people cowering away from him so harshly he gets upset but there are moments where his eyes glow a bit too much and they fear the return of a bloodied six year old sitting hunched over like a dog atop a pile of groaning, moaning, dying bodies because they dared to call his friend names.

He’ll torture you and see nothing wrong with it. Find the electricity inside your skin and electrocute you without touching. Ramp it up by ten, by a hundred and watch you cook from the inside out. Grappling him down does nothing. He shouts and you splatter.

He’s inhuman, a god among demigods, a wolf among sheep. A predator through and through. He smiles more than stares the older he gets but the campers know what he is and they watch him emerge from Mount Othrys thrumming with the same kind of energy he had when the wolves threw him to them. Blood smeared on his mouth and hands, golden as the weapons that they grip tighter in their hands with every pounding step he takes forward.

And he smiles and laughs and it’s manic and horrifying and with the thrill of defeating a Titan single-handed still rolling through him like a live wire, everyone else goes down. All enemies burned out and emptied. Gasping for breaths that never come. Struck down by lightning. Blown apart by determined bursts of air.

And Jason is standing there in the carnage, delighted. His laughter sounds like howls. The wind rockets against him, the air, the sky, the rain, the clouds - it all twists against his skin and heals his wounds, heals his bruises, invigorates him over and over again to burn, to break, to destroy, until all their enemies are justly defeated and he can confidently declare the war is won.

Order, they realize, comes in many forms.

This is Jason’s.