Felt Like Doing Traditional Art Again.

felt like doing traditional art again.

what do you mean this isn’t what happened?

Jason is so villain coded and that's why richard had to kill him off. Because if I had been used as a pawn by the gods not once but twice, when I was two years old and when I was 15 against my will, and my mom abandoned me with that express purpose giving me abandonment issues for years to come, and my older sister thought I was dead so she's moved on to better things before she found me again, and my gf broke up with me because she was questioning if our relationship was ever worth it based on fake memories she had that I didn't, and my first ever best friend died (but is actually alive), and the camp that I called my home that expected me to be their leader since I showed up as a toddler threw a brick at me the moment they suspected I was a traitor, and I was stuck at a boarding school alone miles away from the other camp I called a home etc etc all the while being THE honorable dutiful soldier I was expected to be. I would totally like. Become a bad guy. Literally there would be no other direction for my character to go. OH AND BY THE WAY i didn't even know my own birthday until I turned 16 <3 Jason would have deserved it

Jason call himself "son of lupa" when he's in a battle and feel confident. The memory that he is part of Lupa's pack is more important and impactful for him than being a son of Jupiter.

In those moments, there's a twinkle in his eyes. A victorious smile, the aura of a wolf ready to devour anyone's throat with he's teeth.

But it's also his sweeter side. Protective, faithful, affectionate. He is Lupa's son when he fights, When he protects Leo and Piper with claws and teeth, when he trains with Reyna, when he takes care of Nico, when he pulls Percy and Frank into a sleeping pile, When he leans against Annabeth as they talk about battlefield strategy. It's his wolf side, his essence

He introduces himself as "the son of Jupiter" at camp. It's empty and stressful, just like as he sees to be the king's son

empty cup family

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.

Whatever you do, don’t imagine Little Jason Grace coming to Camp Jupiter led by Juno and without even knowing this kid, he’s already being hailed Champion of Juno because yes he’s a toddler with a scar on his lip and watery eyes and he’s crying out “Lia!” though no one knows who that is but Juno brought him here and so he’s not just Jason anymore, he’s Jason Grace, Champion of Juno.

Don’t imagine Child Jason Grace being claimed, lightning striking the earth and thunder booming the minute he picks up a gold sword and marks being burned into his skin because he may be only a child that doesn’t know how to put on armour properly and wears baggy hand me downs but it is Jupiter who claimed him hello, King of the fucking universe, and so now he’s not just Jason, he’s Jason Grace, Champion of Juno, and son of Jupiter.

Don’t imagine Tweenage Jason Grace wondering who he belongs to, what his parents are like, if they would like him, and asking everyone what Jupiter’s like if they know anything, anything at all about his mother, but all anyone tells him is you are a Child of Rome, Jason Grace, and that is all you need to know because it doesn’t matter if he’s not done growing yet and has no idea what his place in the world is yet because he’s not just Jason, he’s Jason Grace, Champion of Juno, Son of Jupiter, and Child of Rome.

Don’t imagine Teenage Jason Grace going on a quest to save the fucking world, not to make  himself seem like a hero, but to prove to himself that he is hero that everyone says he is even if he’s lost his fucking memory and when he comes back expecting a “Hey, look, he’s a person” all there is pontifex maximus, he’s the pontifex maximus, because it doesn’t matter that he’s gone through pain and heartache and blood, so much blood, he’s not just Jason, he’s Jason Grace, Champion of Juno, Son of Jupiter, Child of Rome, and Pontifex Maximus.

Don’t imagine Older Jason Grace walking down a street and hearing Hero of Olympus, he’s a Hero of Olympus whispered behind him, because it doesn’t matter that he’s tired of only a few select people really knowing him and that there’s always going to be a breaking point, he doesn’t have those, of course not, after all, he’s not just Jason, he’s Jason Grace, Champion of Juno, Son of Jupiter, Child of Rome, Pontifex Maximus, and Hero of Olympus.

Instead, just imagine a member of one of the many lares calling Jason in the streets but he’s not calling Jason, he’s calling “Jason Grace, Champion of Juno, Son of Jupiter, Child of Rome, Pontifex Maximus, Hero of Olympus” and Jason, just Jason, breaks down in the middle of the streets-

“I’m not just a fucking title!”