#to send me an ask or a dm about it!

[bandzboy]

MUSIC BOX IS OPEN! this is a carrd that contains music from kpop groups that are mainly under the big 4 + starship and others that i can find! it also has concerts and mvs included as extra and it will be updated regularly once i find other drives for other groups that might be missing or when they have comebacks! hope you find it helpful ♡

[universeofbeaaches]

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

having scary dog privileges when going out in public with Bakugo

Except people only avoid him because they’re afraid of getting rabies 😭😭

he’s just so chaotic he has to be infected

LMFAOOO UR IN MY BRAIN BC I THINK THIS !!!!

(him n my oc r like this cough coiugh cough)

i mean,, look at him..💀 sure, he's scary and big n buff n whatnot but also he looks like a damn dog with rabies the way he walks around shoulders slouched n saggy n with that impossible frown on his face. (plus his little waddle) and if you catch him on a good day he's even scaries cus hes walking upright like he does when he has those big ass gauntlets on his arms and hes just smuch more imposing and scary😭😭😭 (🤤)

and the way he practically snarls foaming at the mouth at the thought of anyone daring to approach you with any typa romantic intent,,very scary stuff indeed. goosebump inducing.

like he's scary in the way hes intimidating and also he looks like a freak😭 plus he's just soo loud when he feels threatened. like if he thinks someone (god bless their soul for even having the balls big enough to walk up trynna flirt) is trynna start something with you hes all GLARESS. the pressure in the room goes hard and when the person doesnt get the hint he will very much start talking for you. he'll lean over your shoulder where he was walking next you and full on get in ppls faces😭😭

"HAAAH???!!! you can't hear or somethin' ?! we're fuckin' busy !"

he'll be so pissed off about the interaction he'll keep mumbling about some "tch,,damn extra..trynna start shit with me.." he'll keep doin this till you kiss his boo boo's better

[dreamaruu]

would u still love me if i was a bug 𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[parasolyaa]

bad takes on misha or ukraine in general that i recently saw in rtc fandom, mostly in fics

• “1920s au where misha is discriminated for being russian because ukraine wasn’t a thing yet��� fun fact the ukrainian war of independence. that lasted from 1917 to 1921. was a thing. and so were people identifying as ukrainians even under occupation. for many fucking centuries.

• a fic where tamara was laid to rest in a funeral home in a city that was under russian occupation since 2014 (and also that is hundreds of km away from where she lived). yes it was explicitly stated that the fic was set in 2024

• misha violently not trusting the “western medicine”, and this being a reoccurring theme

• a ton of incorrect (russian) spellings. my eyes bleed evey time i see kiev, odessa and chernobyl. i give a pass for the last one cause literally noone knows the correct form, but the rest are so easy to google. (it’s kyiv, odesa, chornobyl)

• “she was one of the oldest mothers in the village.” the village being kyiv for some reason. the megapolis

• “misha predicted russia vs ukraine lol”, referring to a cut line where he wishes putin to eat a bag of dicks. do you guys know the war didn’t start in 2022?

• tons of comments about misha on a skit about a russian spy

i swear i’m not trying to be negative, and i did enjoy some of these fics! but i’ve also seen enough pf crap like this enough to make part two, three and twelve. educate yourself pls, guys, you don’t realise how harmful it all is

[lilprincesszblog]

And you’re not bent over my desk getting your ass spanked and pussy fingered, why?

[razrogue]

Folks should be mindful when engaging with Black creator's OCs through appreciation type stuff (gifts of fanart/fanfic/etc).

If you're unsure if you're capturing the essence/appearance/personality of their OC, ASK!

I understand wanting to surprise a creator with a gift because you want to show your appreciation for their OC. But that gift is harmful when the creator sees you've whitewashed their OC or applied stereotypes or tropes that aren't a part of the character.

When in doubt, ask

[mipexch]

are people on the internet really that scary. is it really that hard to reach out to someone via dm instead of using anonymous asks to communicate about a subject that’s pretty important 😭 am i that intimidating

[loubella77]

Free OF | DMs + pay apps

seller // fetish friendly // switch // HORNY

_//-~-• 18+ •-~-\\_

[poetrysmackdown]

hi hiii i wanted to say that your account is so refreshing to see, esp with the passion you have for the arts. as someone who's been meaning to read (and write) more poetry, do you have any recommendations? some classics that everyone and their mothers know? perhaps some underrated pieces that changed you? or even just authors you like, I'm very open to suggestions :]]

Hi! Thank you so much for this kind ask :) So exciting that you’re looking to delve deeper into reading and writing! I had to take a little time to answer this because my thoughts were all over the place lol.

For a review of notable/classic poems/poets, I honestly just recommend looking at lists online or, hell, just binging Wikipedia pages for different countries’ poetry if that’s something you’re into, just to get a sense of the chronology. I read one of those little Oxford Very Short Introductions on American Poetry and thought it was pretty good, but online is quicker if you’re just searching for poets or movements to hone in on. Poetry Foundation also has lots of resources, in addition to all the poems in their database. I guess my one big classic recommendation would have to be Emily Dickinson (<3), but really the best move is just to find a poet you already enjoy and then look around to see who their peers were/are, who they were inspired by, who they’ve maybe translated here and there, etc. and follow it down the line as far as you can.

For some personal recs, here are some collections I’ve really enjoyed over the past two years or so. Bolded favorites, and linking where select poems from the book have been published online. But also, if you want a preview of a couple poems from another of the books to see if they interest you, DM me and I can send them over! You can also feel free to pilfer through my poetry tag for more stuff lol

Autobiography of Death by Kim Hyesoon trans. Don Mee Choi

Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings by Joy Harjo

DMZ Colony by Don Mee Choi

Hardly War by Don Mee Choi

Whereas by Layli Long Soldier

Geography III by Elizabeth Bishop

Dictee by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha

Don’t Let Me Be Lonely: An American Lyric by Claudia Rankine

Mouth: Eats Color—Sagawa Chika Translations, Anti-Translations, & Originals by Sawako Nakayasu

The Selected Poems of Osip Mandelstam trans. W.S. Merwin and Clarence Brown

The Branch Will Not Break by James Wright

This Journey by James Wright

God’s Silence by Franz Wright

Duino Elegies by Rainer Maria Rilke (the translation I read was by Alfred Corn—I thought it was great, but idk if there are better ones out there!)

DMZ Colony, Hardly War, Dictee, Don’t Let Me Be Lonely, and partially Whereas are all book-length poems with some prose poetry and varying levels of weirdness/denseness/multilingualism—if you were to pick one to start with, I’d say do Don’t Let Me Be Lonely or Whereas. Mouth: Eats Color is some experimental translations of Japanese modernist poet Chika Sagawa, with other translations and some of Nakayasu’s original stuff mixed in—it's definitely a bit disorienting but ultimately I remember having such fun with it, as much fun as Nakayasu probably had making it. It’s a book that emphasizes co-creation and a spirit of play, and completely changed my attitude towards translation.

If you’re less interested in that kind of formal fuckery stuff though (I get it), can’t go wrong with the other books! Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings is the one I read most recently, and it’s great—Harjo also featured in Round 1! Franz Wright also featured, and God's Silence is the collection which "Night Walk" comes from. James Wright (father of Franz) is one of my favorite poets of all time, though his poetry isn’t perfect. Even so, I’m honestly surprised he’s not doing numbers on Tumblr—Mary Oliver was a big fan of his, even wrote her "Three Poems for James Wright" after his death.

I mentioned in another post that one of my favorite poets is Paul Celan, so I’ll also recommend him here. I read Memory Rose into Threshold Speech which is a translated collection of his earlier poems, but it’s quite long if you’re just getting to know him as a poet—fortunately, both Poetry Foundation and Poets.org have a ton of his poems in their collections. There’s also an article by Ilya Kaminsky about him titled “Of Strangeness That Wakes Us” (!!!!!) that’s a great place to start, and is honestly kind of my whole mission statement when I’m reading and writing poetry. Looking at the books I’ve recommended above, a lot of them share feelings of separateness or alienation—from others, from oneself, from one’s country, from language—that breed strange, private modes of expression. That tends to be what I’m drawn to personally, and that’s some of what Kaminsky talks about.

Sorry of the length of this—I hope it's useful as a jumping-off point! And if you or anyone ends up exploring any of these poets, let me know what you think! If folks wanna reply with recommendations themselves too that'd be great :)

[robinsdearest]

What some circumstance stole

Jason Todd x Reader

(idea brought to you by "Orpheus" by Vincent Lima)

What does a human do at the feet of a god?

As a child, he had spat at the withered man’s feet. Granted, Jason was eight when he first met Hades. 

The throne room was small, no bigger than the apartment he shared with his mother. The throne seemed so large in comparison, almost as if it weren’t made to be there. There were cracked and crumbling columns on either side of it, and two more barely standing behind him. Jason felt a little claustrophobic- there was more breathing room in an alleyway. 

So many questions had run through his head, but he knew where we was. He remembered counting a few sets of ribs just that morning; he didn’t remember the last time he had eaten something, or the last time he had seen his mother. 

Jason was a smart kid. But just a kid: he didn’t understand why he had died but she hadn’t. 

A swirling mist descended from the ceiling, materializing into the form of a body on the throne. The form seemed much larger than the average human. 

“Kneel before the King of the Underworld.” A voice boomed from seemingly all directions, but Jason stood tall. He was a thief and a street rat. His mother was a drug addict and had not rightfully taught him manners. He would not be bullied. 

The being stared at Jason, and Jason stared right back. More smoke drifted around the body, a man fully emerging from the shadows of it. He had appeared much older than Jason, nearly ninety years old. He had red eyes that gleamed like the rubies Jason had read about in books from the dumpsters. 

The man, or the King as he called himself, would not budge. He was probably waiting for Jason’s compliance. 

The King would have anything but compliance. 

“Send me back.” Jason demanded. 

“You starved, boy.” His voice croaked and creaked with age, and it grated against Jason’s sensitive ears. “A promised soul does not get sent back.”

Jason scoffed. “I could have lasted another day or two. I would have gotten something from the old lady across the hall.”

The old man tutted, standing to his full height. Jason had seen the Batmobile a few days ago in the alley, and this thing was definitely larger than that. As the man moved, the scent of decay and death rushed through Jason’s small nose. It smelled better than his mother’s apartment, he knew for sure. 

“Do you know who I am?”

Jason crossed his arms. All those other adults in the slums of Gotham had tried to get Jason to answers questions like that, tried to make him look stupid. He never answered them, and he wasn’t about to answer this guy. It didn’t matter though, because the man seemed more amused than anything.

“My name is Hades: Ruler of the Dead, eldest son of Kronus, the Rich One, the King-“

“I don’t care.” Jason interrupted in utter defiance. “It doesn’t matter who you are.”

Hades chuckled to himself and murmured a few words too low for Jason’s ears to hear. Rather, he heard a hissing noise from behind him. He turned in circles to try and find the source, but the marble floor was only filled with smoke, dense and gray. The noise grew louder as Hades walked closer to him. Jason would always stand his ground. He would always fight if given the chance. 

“Answer my riddle, boy.”

“Jason.” He corrected, indignant until the very end. 

“Jason.” The old man parroted and then smiled. A grotesque thing: a gummy mouth with few yellow teeth. “Some will hide, others will cheat. I can be of pride, or I can be of defeat. What am I?” 

The hissing noise seemed to creep along his spine, a slick bug crawling along his skin. Jason tried to swat at it while Hades loomed over him, watching with his ruby eyes. Jason refused to cower, refused to give in. 

“You’re Death.” Jason announced with a deep-seated courage. He was Jason Todd, and he would not be afraid. 

Hades smiled again, the yellow of his teeth becoming more prominent while hair fell from his scalp. “That I am.” 

More smoke descended from the ceiling, wispy and thin, this time only surrounding Jason. An icy cold washed over his body, threading through the skin between his fingers, like someone holding his hand in a winter night. The hissing and the bug disappeared, and the smoke blurred his vision until he only saw Hades before him. 

“I will see you again soon, Jason.” Hades’ voice boomed, a thunder clap and a lightning crash, and Jason was swallowed by the mist. 

____________________________________

What would a human do at the feet of a god for the second time?

As a teenager, he folded into himself and waited to wake up. Jason was fifteen; his sixteenth birthday wouldn’t have been too far away from this second death. He knew he was still a kid- the Joker had told him plenty of times behind a crowbar. 

He was still seated upright against a wall, arm slung over his eyes. He brought his knees to his chest, cradling his body while the shaking of his bones subsided. 

The throne room was bigger somehow, shaped like a crumbling warehouse with onyx columns and ivy plants stretched thin across the walls. The old man sitting on the throne was smaller now, as if more of his muscle mass had deteriorated. He was now more bones than body. Jason recalled the many names the man gave himself, the riddle he answered as an eight-year-old. It didn’t matter where he was, who he was with. Bruce was going to get him from here. 

Right? 

“Do you remember me, boy?” The man asked. 

“Jason.” He corrected in a small voice he failed to recognize as his own. His eight-year-old self had more courage than his present self. He had no more courage left to give. 

“I have no riddles for you this time, Jason.” 

Jason nodded his head. His bones ached, his entire body still thrumming with aftershock. His throat was sore from screaming, asking for forgiveness he might not have deserved. Tears stung at his eyes as he tried to blink them away. He hadn’t cried once during his time in that warehouse. Now, sitting on the cold marble floor of the Underworld, Jason was more embarrassed than anything with a sickening realization. 

Bruce wasn’t coming at all. Bruce never made it to the warehouse in the twelve hours the Joker had held him. Some detective, that bat. He didn’t care about Jason, just as his mother hadn’t cared. He was a thief and a street rat; he didn’t deserve that kindness, that love. 

Jason let out a long sigh. He knocked his head back against the wall to stare above him. There wasn’t a ceiling, but a silent, star-filled sky resting above his head. The columns disappeared into the inky night, fading away into the blackness such as death does. 

By this time, he remembered the story of the Greek Gods from Diana, remembered where dead souls wander to. 

He had broken each of the bones in his right arm, his collarbone, and his shoulder blade in a fall during a mission. The fourth time Jason was caught trying to sneak out of the mansion while Bruce was on patrol, Alfred had called in red, white, and lasso reinforcements. Diana had sat with him for the next few weeks describing the stories and history of Greek Mythology. She brought her sidekick, a small aspiring hero created in the same way Diana was created: formed of beach clay and brought to life by Zeus. Hippolyta had wanted a child, and so Diana also wished the same. You were small and frail, but you looked at Diana like she had hung the moon, and you looked at Jason like he had drawn the stars. 

Diana told the two of you that the gods were in fact real. She emphasized the importance of the gods and their jobs, how they interacted with mortals, how they dealt with them. She told the stories of the Harpies and the Fates, the trials of the demigods, and even the bards of the Argonauts, led by his namesake and the descendent of Hermes, Jason. 

You had hated the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. A death no one prepared for and how Orpheus failed his test; the gods playing with the lives of mortals they didn’t care about. 

“It’s not fair that for all their love they still failed at the end. I thought stories were meant to have happy endings?”

Jason had huffed out a breath. “Not everyone gets a happy ending.” You chucked a water bottle at his head in response. 

Diana had a soft look on her face as she patted your head. “To love is to look, young ones. Orpheus loved Eurydice so much he lost her. It is not a happy ending, but a warning to those who would follow in the footsteps that Orpheus made. He was never going to win.”

Diana refused to tell him if the tales of heroes and demigods were true. 

Jason blinked, the star-studded ceiling coming back into focus. He rubbed the tears away from his face with the back of his hand. The room smelt of jasmine and siena-colored earth, much more comforting than last time. 

He forced himself to stand. He’d just get this over with, go shake Hades’ hand and accept his death or whatever the god wanted. He was tired. Too tired.

Hades still sat on his throne, a solid black seat that reached into the mist above. Two hellhounds sat on either side of the god, both watching Jason’s every movement. Hades held out a hand, beckoning Jason to come forward. Black mist poured out from behind the throne, the smell of it overwhelming with rotting fruit. 

Jason took a single step before halting. A green mist, viscous and murky, sprouted from beneath his feet, the smell of briny water pouring with it. He spun in a circle, his mind racing. Was this one of Hades’ tricks? He didn’t want to play any of the god’s games. His head whipped towards Hades, whose face mirrored his own confusion. Jason tried to take another step but couldn’t. He could feel something along his back: not a bug but a tether, some type of chain attached to the middle of his spine that stopped him from moving forward. 

The green mist quickly clouded his vision, climbing up his body and painting everything in an emerald hue. Jason watched as Hades stood from his throne and thrust a hand forward. The black mist and the hellhounds raced forward in a feeble attempt to grab Jason. He was too far away from the throne for it to matter. A warm breeze swept against the scruff of his neck, the feeling of someone calling his name, calling him back. 

Something had grabbed on to the chain and yanked. His body folded in on itself, the tether to his spine wrenching him backward. Jason went flying through the air, pulled sideways and up and down, and Hades could do nothing but watch as his prize was taken from him. 

Bruce hadn’t come to save him then. But something else had snatched Jason from the hands of Death, and Death would neither forgive nor forget. 

____________________________________

What would a human do at the feet of a god for the third time?

As an adult, he would beg, if need be. He was now twenty-six. Matured, stronger, wiser than the previous times standing before the lone throne of the empty room. 

The room was larger than he remembered, deeper and more menacing. The onyx columns surrounding him were twice as thick as he was now. The ceiling was still a starry night sky, the throne still thrusted itself upward, not breaking the inky picture. And instead of an old man sitting on the throne, Death appeared to him as a ghastly skeleton clothed in tattered robes. 

“You come before me now, Jason? After years apart, you wish to stand here of your own free will?” Hades clicked his tongue, or whatever the skeleton kept in his mouth. “That’s not like you at all.” 

Jason had escaped Hades twice before. He would do whatever Hades asked of him this time. 

Jason shook his head. “I’m not here for my soul.” 

“Whose soul would you like to bargain for then?”

Jason didn’t hesitate before saying your name. The second it left his lips, the King of the Underworld smiled. A genuine smile, as if your name was funny to him. As if this moment was going to be amusing. Nothing about losing you from the Land of the Living was amusing. Nothing. This third time, it wasn’t his soul that needed saving. It was yours. 

Yours: child to Diana, fellow hero, fellow friend. And you were so much more than that. Brilliant, beautiful, steadfast, passionate, selfless, and helpful. Sunlight personified. A friend to all and stranger to none. Taken, stolen from this life as if you weren’t the most important in Jason’s. 

He didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to you, he didn’t get the chance to tell you how much you truly meant to him. 

You had been friends since you were pulled into his room with Diana. Diana and Bruce’s friendship meant the two of you would always be seen together, but it was more than that. 

You were the calm to Jason’s storm, you mellowed him out in ways he never dreamed anyone could. The two of you worked seamlessly together on missions, where he failed you succeeded, the perfect dynamic duo. 

Dick had joked several times how in a room full of people, you would only smile at Jason.  

Jason would tell you that he was sorry more than was needed, he would fix this. You were coming home, sweet home, and he swore home had never been so sweet before you. 

He had begged Diana for a traditional obol, an Ancient Greek silver coin used as payment to cross into the Underworld. You were already buried with one, but Jason needed his own. He needed to bribe the ferryman, yet Diana had told Jason it wasn’t worth it. 

“You do not play games with Fate, and you most certainly do not play games with a god.” She had said. 

She refused to hand it to him. He wanted to yell, to scream at Diana for not wanting to do anything to get her child back. Maybe she knew better than to fight this way; maybe she knew better than to play games with your soul. 

It was a good thing he used to be a thief and a street rat. You’d probably never forgive him for this, but he had to try. He stole the obol the day of your funeral. He wouldn’t attend something he could make right. He would bring you back. 

“A mission gone wrong,” every other hero seemed to call it. Everyone except for Jason. 

He felt the weight on his shoulders, forced to carry the burden of your death, a mirror image of Atlas holding the world and the heavens. A story made real. Bruce and Diana told him it wasn’t his fault, but Jason couldn’t shake the guilt.

If only he had been stronger, faster, more proactive rather than reactive. If he weren’t a loose cannon and had been more reliant on waiting, more patient. If you hadn’t taken that shot that would have been placed directly over his heart. If only you weren’t something some unfortunate circumstance stole. 

You had told Jason for years how important he was, how his life, his soul, had purpose and meaning. You showed Jason all the kindness and love he didn’t think he deserved. The look of hope in your eyes as you tried to convince him. He had just started to believe you. 

In those final moments, you acted as if his life were more important than yours. You wasted your last breaths telling Jason that you were in love with him, always had been. It wasn’t fair you didn’t last long enough to hear him tell you the same. 

And Jason would soon rectify that mistake. 

“What do you wish to bargain?” Hades’ smile seemed to grow more menacing, as if he was expecting Jason to offer his own soul as a trade. 

You had hated the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. The dedication of his love, the hubris of believing he had won, the failure of his one goal. The loss of trust that Eurydice was behind him. The panic that ensued- what if it were a lie? Is it true ‘to love is to look’?

Would he make the same mistake for you? He’d like to believe not. There was no doubt that Orpheus loved Eurydice; he loved her so much he lost her. But Jason hadn’t been given the time to show you that same love. He lost you before he could love you.

Grief was a terrible, funny thing. 

“I request Orpheus’ trial.”

The smile instantly vanished from the god’s face. The withering sack of bones pointed a finger at Jason, no muscles or tendons, just a sapphire ring that sucked in the surrounding light. 

“Fool.” The slithering voice was both booming and soft, old and young, singular and many voices at once. A god who had lived for thousands of millennia. Was Death itself. Jason might have forgotten that fact until now. “It is not a trial but a blessing. Do you believe that you, a mortal, could bear the weight of a god’s blessing that so few demigod’s have managed to achieve- winning against me?” 

“Well, maybe being a demigod was their downfall to begin with.” 

The hissing air might have been a laugh, it could have been a chastisement. 

The two stared at one another for what felt like eons. A flash of the memory of eight-year-old Jason also staring down the god. Jason’s resolve was concrete, he would not back down, he would not be afraid. You were taken from him too soon, too early. He would fight for you. He would do anything for you. 

The resolve must have shown in his face. Hades rapped his fingers against the arm of the throne, contemplating, thinking. Jason wouldn’t put it past the god to be scheming. 

“I shall grant you the trial of Orpheus. Make it to the Land of the Living without looking, and I shall restore to you what was taken. You have my word that no harm will come to your loved one while you walk the path. This oath I swear.” Hades smiled at Jason again, this one not as genuine. Ruby eyes sunken into a gray and brown skull, rotting teeth coated in grime and misery. Gold flecks could be seen between the gaps, as if the creature couldn’t help but dine in the assumption of his wealth. 

No questions, no more bargaining, and no other promises. And so Jason turned and began walking. 

It was easy, at first. He knew that you were there. He knew there was no other option.

He trusted that you were there, but he still pleaded with any deity that would listen just in case.

What had Diana told him years ago? Orpheus was never meant to win? He wouldn’t allow history to repeat itself. Diana was wrong. To love you was to save you, to fight his urge to look. He would not look.

But, he had to make sure; Jason shouted your name. His voice bounced off the walls- the only answer was the echo of his voice. He hoped that you could hear him. Jason shouted your name again. He hoped that you would just say something to ease his racing heart. Yet he was met with silence. 

He trusted that you were there, but you never responded. He could trust that you were there.

Right? 

What if it were a lie? What if your soul couldn’t be fought for? What if the trial was to look, to follow Orpheus’ footsteps? What if Hades had tricked him and you were- no. Jason remembered the story Diana had told him. Hades had sworn an oath that no harm would come to Eurydice. It was Orpheus’ fault for not staying the course. Jason would do it. He would stay the course and not look back for you. 

If only you would respond to him. 

Why weren’t you responding to him? 

Could you not speak? Had Hades done something to you? Had the god hurt you- tortured you? Jason remembered his own torture all those years ago, and his blood ran cold. 

The panic was rising faster, harder, more incessant now. Jason finally understood Orpheus. He finally understood the hopelessness of not knowing, of needing to ensure your presence. Just to be sure. 

To love you was to look. He could ruin his resolve to be sure. 

No. 

It felt like days, weeks, as he walked forward. His resolve was concrete. He had spat at the feet of a god and had escaped Death before. He could do this for you. 

Sunlight peaked out from the mouth opening. He heard rocks falling as if someone had tripped. He gritted his teeth. 

Jason kept walking. 

Jason stood on the green grass, the proof of the Land of the Living. The sun was beautiful- it was setting, your favorite time of day. He knew you would be thrilled to see it. But Jason would not turn. Both of you needed to be out of the Underworld for this to work. He took a few more steps, distancing himself from the cave, and he would wait for you to stand next to him. He had to take every precaution. 

So Jason waited. Tears coated his cheeks as a soft wind twirled around him. He pictured the life he would give you, how he would love you every day for the rest of his life. His vows to protect you would never be broken. He needed this torment to be over, he needed to hold you, to kiss you, to give you the time to be loved by him. 

A hand softly brushed across his neck. The light breeze brought your smell to his nose- perfect and alive and- Jason had never been happier. He would tell you every day how happy he was. He would buy you anything, say anything, do anything- 

He finally- finally- turned around to see your face, tears blocking most of his vision. 

But you were not there. 

Jason’s head swiveled from the Land of the Living to the cave to the Underworld. There were only his footprints. He had waited. He did not look back once. He had done what was asked and now-

Howling laughter echoed from the cave to the Underworld. As if a hundred crows were cackling at him and his failure. A black mist crawled along the cave floor. It inched past the mouth and into the grass. Where the smoke touched, grass died and a trail of brown made its way towards Jason. As the mist gathered in mass across the walls of the cave and onto the ceiling, two glowing red eyes could be seen. Jason could just barely make out the silhouette outline of the death god. 

“Liar!” Jason bellowed. He reached for a gun holster that was not there. “You swore an oath!” He would tear Hades to pieces- no matter if he were a god, this creature would be mauled by his bare hands. 

“You thought you were clever all those years ago. Escaping the death that was rightfully mine to take. Now, I will keep the soul you thought was rightfully yours. Forever now promised to me.” Hades taunted. 

Jason raced forward to the cave. The mist receded with each of his thundering steps. Hades was mocking him. Hades had tricked Jason just as he thought the bird had done so many years ago. 

“A walk from the depths of a world down below, in which you failed. You escaped me years ago, boy. Even if you had looked, you would have failed.” A yellow smile broke through the smoke, the red eyes glinting in the setting sun. “Give Diana and Bruce my blessings.” Then Hades disappeared. Jason pushed himself harder, ran faster. 

Your silhouette could be seen through the mist, your hand reaching out to Jason’s as he dove for you. He would grab you and take you far away and- 

Jason slammed into a wall of rock as the cave was sealed before him. He pounded his fists, screaming until his voice gave out. 

Jason bloodied his hands as he continued to hammer on the rock, praying to his strength that he would break through. It wasn’t fair- Jason knew the gods did not play fair, but they had rules. A god would not break their oaths by committing perjury. Hades believed he had righted a wrong done on to him all those years ago when Jason was brought back to life from the Lazarus Pit. Your soul for his was not a fair trade.

You were kind, and good, and everything Jason wasn’t. You had loved him for years, mourned him during his death, and welcomed him after his rebirth. You brought the sun and the moon and the stars to him, how your love for him was sacred and needed to be explored. You accepted all of him and made him a better human. The mere human that he was. 

Jason slid to his knees before the rock, blood pooling as his aching fists rested on the grass. His lungs were on fire, his breaths coming in short spurts. The air smelt of burnt sugar, like nitroglycerin waiting to explode. His head emptied out all thoughts besides you. His blood was mixed with electricity, the adrenaline- the anger- still pumping through his system. 

He was a human, not a demigod. 

Jason no longer cared what a human would do at the feet of a god. 

Jason had escaped Death twice before. He had completed Orpheus’ trial, had walked the entire route from the Land of the Dead to the Living without looking back. To love was not to look, but to fight. He fought for you, he would always fight for you. He was just a human, but he would do anything to get you back. His resolve was concrete. But now? His resolve was steel. 

That anger pumped harder. Jason was wrath, he was fury. 

What will a god do at the feet of wrath and fury?

[universeofbeaaches]

🍑 message me for access to my Google Drive!

[undefeatablesin]

My angel, my pride and joy, my beloved AKA the Good Hunter Ruza lmao 🧡 ft. Her Lost Chikage and her fun outfit from these screenshots! + some lil headshots of her in the Yharnam Hunter Garb, a look I also care Deeply About ✨️

[i-dont-actualy-like-oatmeal]

as a hoh (hard of hearing) person who specifically is deaf in one of their ears i'm begging atla writers to include zukos disability more in fics

not even as a angst think just THINK think of the shenanigans!!!!!! he can't do much out of one side of his face.

no directional hearing it gets so goofy bc you think you know (BUT YA DONT)

zuko must say what all of the time, brother does not hear shit!

HIM AND TOPH BONDING OVER THEIR DISABILITIES

THE GAANG LEARNING SIGN LANGUAGE FOR HIM!!!!!!!!!

ZUKO AS THE FIRE LORD BEING A HUGE ADVOCATE FOR ACCESSIBILITY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHH

[guzhufuren]

QL Schedule 16.09.24-22.09.24

MONDAY

Battle of the Writers Jack & Joker First Note of Love Happy of the End

TUESDAY

Addicted Heroin Thailand Reverse 4 You* Love Is Like a Poison

WEDNESDAY

I Saw You in My Dream The On1y One Unlock Your Love* Old Days in the Middle of Summer (?)

THURSDAY

Monster Next Door The On1y One Smells Like Green Spirit Chaser Game W 2* The Two Of Us S2* The Paradise of Thorns (cinemas in Australia, in Singapore in october)

FRIDAY

Affair* Kidnap Seoul Blues Club Friday: Family Tragedy Uncle Unknown

SATURDAY

The Hidden Moon Old Days in the Middle of Summer (?)

SUNDAY

The Loyal Pin* Live In Love Love Sick Bad Guy My Boss

starts airing soon:

17/09 Love Is Like a Poison 19/09 Smells Like Green Spirit 19/09 Chaser Game W 2* 19/09 The Paradise of Thorns (cinemas in Australia, in Singapore in october) 20/09 Uncle Unknown 20/09 Club Friday: Family Tragedy 25/09 Make Up, Make Me Grow Up 27/09 Be Moon 28/09 Teenager Judge 02/10 Love In The Big City (movie, cinemas in South Korea) 03/10 Fourever You 06/10 Every U 16/10 No Heaven But Love* (cinemas in South Korea) 21/10 Love In The Big City (series) 25/10 See You 03/11 Love In The Air Koi 14/11 My Ex's Wedding* (cinemas in Thailand) 23/11 Petrichor*

waiting for international release:

? Blue Canvas of Youthful Days ? Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding (here with fansubs) ? Sugar Dog Life ? There's Love That Starts From Mistaken Identity ? Player 10 (on youtube with fansubs) ? Meet Unexpectedly ? Uranus2324* ? A Man Who Defies the World of BL S3 (here with fansubs)

*you can track ql schedules here

[stick-by-me]

I won a bid on ebay ($1!!!!!!) for 4 pounds of early 2000s stickers, do you want to see some of the gems?

OH MY GOSH!!?!?? IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION I ABSOLUTELY WOULD. THEY LOOK AWESOME