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MY PARENTS ARE TAKING ME TO DASHCON AS MY CHRISTMAS PRESENT! AHHH

*loudly sings it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas*

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Hind Rajab was a 5 year old girl in Gaza who was killed while she hid alone in a car, along with the paramedics who tried to rescue her. Yesterday students at Columbia seized the administration building and renamed it in her honor.

Gadzooks Bazooka

Instagram: gadzooks_bazooka

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grilled cheese

1, 2, 3

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Thank you… for enjoying 🥹

your hypnos has saved me

the highest honor 😔🫶

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modern hypnos stuff?

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Nurture

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Hypnos fans lock IN bro I need more content NEOWWWW

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drawpile with LEEEEEEEEEEEE 😁

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do you ever hear people talking about something and you’re like. fuck. let me be real for a second. i’m too much of a commie to have this conversation

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Ares doesn’t know what to do.

The war has been escalating, and this time not even himself and Athena can handle the damage. What started as a political assassination garnered too much attention, first from the mortals, and then from the gods as the prayers gained strength. He didn’t start this war, but he honestly wished he had- then, maybe, he’d be able to control the damage. But he couldn’t stop the generals from praying to his uncle for safe voyages, and he didn’t know that their opponents would pray to Athena, and then the civilians fled to Demeter and Hestia, and the dissidents called on Apollo, so, really: it’s all a clusterfuck. To put it lightly.

And to make it worse, they’re blaming him for this. Again. Which, fuck, fine, he gets it, he’s the god of war, but Athena doesn’t get this treatment, nor does she get to be ostracized for it, not to mention that this time, it wasn’t even his fucking fault! The mortals didn’t even pray to him first!

So, really, all of this means that Ares needs a break. Desperately. And not just a “I need to go lay down because this is exhausting,” a break like he needs help. The prayers barely ebb, instead they’re getting stronger, and now the nymphs are reporting that Hecate has joined. And Ares can’t fight her. Won’t. He can’t fight her, because it won’t be worth it. He’s seen her magic first hand before. Then, he didn’t have to fight her before she was taken down. But he’s the only one on his side right now. He’d ask Hermes or Zagreus for help, but they’re both too busy with the death count in the Underworld to lend any real aid.

Contact with Artemis has also been rough. She’ll try to get to him when he can, but she’s too occupied hunting the monsters released by the carnage to join him on the front lines. The only chance he has left is to contact his Uncle’s realm; specifically, Lady Nyx. He’s seen Thanatos collecting souls, but his sisters more than him have been glutting themselves on the fields of carnage. Hermes relayed that his letter has been delivered by now, but he can’t promise a response. On some level, Ares was expecting this. But by Hades, if he really has to fight Hecate, he can’t promise he won’t freeze. Or just run, for that matter.

For a moment, he contemplates if an Olympian god can die like his cousin Zagreus. Perhaps hanging out in his uncle’s realm for a few years will save him the assured tragedy.

But— no. He has a position to uphold. If, in doing so, he falls to Hecate then— that will have to be how it is. Perhaps, hopefully, maybe, Hermes will realize and save him like last time. Maybe he won’t. But he refuses to turn his back on those that called for him.

Despite what it might cost.

-

Hypnos hits the ground. Hard.

His arms smack the ground before he does, a short delay before the fall, but the shock travels up his body so hard he’s sure he won’t need his shoulders after this. For a moment he lays there, panting into the ground face-down, but he brings his arms underneath him to push himself up. He doesn’t get far before the shake in his limbs makes him catch himself before his chin can hit the ground. He makes a sound, he thinks, something high in his throat, but the ringing in his ears makes it hard to hear it. He’s panting harder now, but his breaths come out in hiccups randomly, like his body doesn’t understand that he’s not still falling. It hurts like a bitch, but the tears beading in his eyes have no real say on what his body can or can’t do, so he keeps trying. The progress is jerky, and he’s stopped panting in favor of making terrible, choked up noises in his throat. The rasp makes his voice sound like a wasp nest, but a part of him is glad that he at least doesn’t have a sore throat yet. Small mercies.

Once he hits his zenith, Hypnos sighs and rocks back onto his calves, choking down the inhale when his bleeding palms reach the ground behind him to support his weight. He wastes time like that, looking up and just choking through his breath. It feels like his forehead is bleeding. It probably is. Whatever. Head wounds always bleed a lot. What might need something, Hypnos thinks, trying not to even entertain the thought of moving, is the open wound in his torso.

Granted, it’s not that large of a wound comparatively, but it’s deep and what originally made it had gotten wrenched out earlier, so he’s not that happy with the state of it. Usually he’ll just go home and bandage his wound, or drink some nectar and pass out while he’s waiting for the bleeding to slow, but when Hypnos lifts a shaky hand to assess the damage, his fingers skate across the slick skin to find a well of blood. It bubbles up when he presses on it, which in hindsight is probably not the best idea. Finally his fingers hit the ragged edges of the wound, which should probably hurt more than it does but he might be in shock. So.

So, in reality, he’s fine! Chthonic gods heal quickly enough, it’ll all be over in a few days. In the meantime, he’ll just— just have to catch up on work! Not that it’s really a bad thing, of course, his job is important, and it’s not that he dislikes it, it’s just that— everyone else gets to talk to other people. They get to move around, and do other things, something other than just stand there as a particularly garish decoration.

Well, maybe not everyone. Achilles does just that, but then again, Hypnos thinks it’s rather a good idea that he doesn’t move around the house as much. He doesn’t need another mortal on his hands, he’s busy enough with the ones already alive. Plus, Achilles is allowed to move around, it’s just that he doesn’t want to. He’s like a tall lamp that occasionally will utter a phrase or so. The point is, Achilles is definitely fucked up, and Hypnos can prove it— he’s seen him in the Nightmares mortals cook up, and it sure isn’t all sheep and sparkling waters. He doesn’t need that guy to walk around and possibly get provoked, Hypnos doesn’t want to have to deal with that and have to put him down for good! Let him stay in his lonely little corner. He just wishes that guy were further away from his station, he’s kind of an eyesore. Again. Not that Hypnos has room to talk, but still. He likes to entertain the idea that at least as a god he’s more valuable than that little squirt.

Speaking of that little squirt, Hypnos teleports into the house with a puff of smoke, letting the remnants of the Lethe disappear as he peeks out behind the pillar he’s hiding behind. He can hear Achilles’ quiet murmurs to Zagreus in the Hall behind, and Hades is behind his desk communing with his paperwork as always. Hypnos can’t see Persephone, but she’s probably somewhere around. Maybe with his mother again. Whatever.

He settles back in at his position, carefully summoning his pen and list. No one bats an eye, and even the shades just form into line without a word. Nothing to see here.

Hypnos hunches over his torso, curling his legs under him. Once he gets a break, he’ll stitch it up, or fuck it, maybe just cauterize it. For now, he lets it bleed into his cape. The inside’s dark for a reason. His head throbs, but at least it’s similar enough to fatigue to brush it off.

God, he’s tired.

-

He isn’t sure how much time has passed. Hypnos is still there, mindlessly floating and checking boxes on his list. His wound is still bleeding sluggishly, but he hasn’t been able to get a break yet. At some point Hades noticed his presence and ordered him to submit his next report, which! Wow, who fucking knew, it wasn’t ready! So he’s behind. Again. Wha-hoo!

Which is to say, he’s looking for a break.

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more chilchuck and da kids

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ok lets settle it. which laios is getting the best dick rn

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Oh that’s the base of leon kennedys dick on my dash

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Shoplifters (2018) dir. Hirokazu Koreeda

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someone stop him

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"what do you do when you're alone for hours on end" watch cartoons and color. some things never change, apparently