Hades

I'm the God of the Underworld, and this is where I shitpost

[deejay]

Reblog if you need this energy

source

[doctorproctorr]

Can’t Risk it

[that-v00d00]

manifestations ✨

[mrchocolatecopper]

Fa sho

[hades-shitposts]

oh gods pls, i could pay for FFS

[hades-shitposts]

Me: *shakes brain* WHAT IS MY GENDER???

My brain:

[hades-shitposts]

Gender Dysphoria: *looms*

Me, completely naive: oh that? I've never really struggled with it, it'll probably just go away if I try not to think about it

Gender Dysphoria: Hello

Me: I didn't hear anything. Did y'all hear anything?

Gender Dysphoria: HELLO

Me: YEAH, STILL IGNORING. EVERYTHING FINE.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

its so freeing when you realize you can literally write whatever you want 

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

it doesnt have to be good or anything you can just write things and post them and it doesnt matter at all

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

“your story sucks” what are you going to do? refund the money u didn’t pay? you are a bozo

[longlivetiktok]

From @tarastevens2

[Video: far off shot of a crane lifting a blue Porta-Potty through the air.

Audio: Doctor Who theme song.]

[hellenhighwater]

I'm sorry but this kills me every time

[everythingfox]

Texas kitten in snow

(via)

[justarandomgi]

[hadenodom-stories]

Clair’s Voyage, Part 1

Clair woke up in a cold sweat.  There was no light breaking through her open window, and her heavy dark Navy curtains made no noise as they wavered in the summer wind.  It was the 5th of July, and she was freaking out.  Have you ever had a dream that stays on your mind and colors your mood for an entire day?  Clair had just endured the second such dream in as many nights.

Regardless of the dread her dream had instilled in her, she knew she had to get up and moving.  Yesterday’s dream had nearly sapped her of all of her energy, and her friend Elaine had noticed at the neighborhood 4th of July cookout.  "I’ve never seen you in such a foul mood", she’d remarked.  She couldn’t let that happen today.  She had a very important interview, and her entire future potentially hinged on it.  She couldn’t be in a dour, depressed state – ‘Then I’ll have to fake a smile’, she thought, 'and I’m absolute shit at that’.  

Despite a grim determination to force herself into a better mood, she found herself dwelling on the previous day’s events as she trudged through the hallways of her quiet house towards the kitchen.  By the time she was sitting down, her head full of frizzy auburn hair slumped forward beholding the sight of a depressing bowl of some “healthy” cereal that’d been sitting in the cupboards well past its expiration date, her mind was busy replaying  and reliving the most traumatic part of that day.  The part that she’d seen before in a nightmare just hours before it happened in real life.  The part of the day that was at first clouded in a sense of Déjà vu – a surreal “I’ve seen all of these events, in this exact order, before…” sense – until it burst into traumatic realness.  The pops and whizzes of fireworks zooming into the sky.  The cheers of the neighborhood kids as one particularly bright, low, and loud firecracker exploded.  Her younger brother looking at her with a cheeky “watch this” expression as he prepared to light a cobbled-together collection of old fireworks that he’d taped together and put into a small pipe to launch.  His uncomprehending, still-excited face as the spark ran along the fuse far too fast and the pipe began to tilt back towards him.  The flash and screams afterwards.  And everything going black once she saw the blood and exposed bone.  Once she realized how bad it might be…

She neatly placed her spoon back on the table and stood up.  'No way I can fucking eat now’, she thought.  As she walked out onto the back patio and tossed the now-soggy cereal out into the yard for the local cats to enjoy, she remembered her mom’s instructions:

“Look, go home.  Just go home.  You heard the doctor, honey.  He’s going to be alright.  They’re doing their best.  We won’t be able to see him for quite a while.  I’ll stay here for now.  Just go home and sleep in your own bed.  Get you mind off of it and come back when you’re able.”

Clair slammed the patio door shut behind her, furious now.  She understood that her mother wasn’t exactly a master of emotional understanding or empathy, but how could she be so fucking stupid?  How could her mom just think that she’d be able to go home and be comfortable knowing her brother was in surgery, having seen what happened to him?  'I’m an adult now, but goddamn, how do I even process this on my own?  How do I just move on with my life?  How can she expect me to just go home, forget all about it, and then get ready for this interview?“

She continued to ruminate and curse her mother’s lack of empathy - or at least the kind of empathy Clair expected - as she lazily got ready for her interview.  It was only 5 AM and her interview wasn’t until 9, but there wasn’t anything else to do and she certainly couldn’t go back to sleep.  She was going to put on a frightfully awful dress - she hated dresses - with a pair of shiny black businesslike pumps - which she also loathed - and apply more makeup than usual, and then go spend a couple of hours at the hospital trying to get an update on her brother’s situation.  'I’ll go ahead and let mom know that I can’t handle this on my own while I’m there’, she thought.  'She won’t care, but I’ll let her know’

In her old, grey Civic hatchback with the paint peeling, she barely focused on the road or on driving.  The static-filled dulcet tones of an NPR reporter reciting headlines momentarily calmed her, but she wasn’t processing any of the words.  She was just busy thinking of what she could remember from last night’s dream.  It was a mess - all she could remember was some boy she barely recognized (but couldn’t place) talking to her mother, and her mother suddenly displaying more emotion than Clair had ever seen from her - but she still wasn’t able to actually identify the emotion her mother was feeling in the dream.  Something like shock - or confusion - or betrayal - or all of those.  Clair tried in vain to figure out who the boy in the dream was - his face looked very familiar, but she couldn’t remember where, other than the dream, she’d seen him. And as for what emotion her mother had been reacting with or what the boy had been telling her mother, she was at a complete loss.  Her eyes flashed upon a sign and her brakes squealed.  Lost in thought, she’d almost missed the exit for the hospital.

The hospital was a tiny rural hospital on the edge of town, a decaying building full of old doctors and young underpaid nurses, kept alive on a shoestring budget despite the exorbitant prices it charged you for the simple privilege of remaining alive.  Clair was sure that her mom wasn’t ready for any of the financial burden her brother had just incurred – at least not on the meager retirement checks and alimony they’d subsisted on since her dad had left.  Walking into the main waiting room, she was mentally prepared to hit her mom hard with three questions:  "How is he?”, “When can I see him?”, and “You’re not going to make me stay at the house by myself for another night”.  The last one wasn’t a question, but she expected, at the very least, her mother’s acknowledgement.  Instead, she was met by the face from her dream - the unfamiliar boy - walking out of an empty waiting room.  She couldn’t help but stop in her tracks and stare at him.  "You’re Micheal’s sister, right?“, the boy said, seemingly unphased by her glare.  "Yes”, she finally managed to respond.  "He’s not here anymore", the boy replied.  

“What?”

“They took him to a hospital in Jacksonville.  He’s stable.  Your mom didn’t call you and tell you?”

“No…”

“Oh, well.  They left about 30 minutes ago.  He’s stable, but your mom’s kind of a wreck.  I stayed to meet up with his friend Lisa who wants to ride with me to Jacksonville.  He’s going to go into another surgery to try to save his face and they said he’ll probably be ready for visitors by later tonight.”

'This is absurd’, Clair thought.  'How can this random boy know more about my brother’s situation than me.  How could my mom be so detached as to not tell me any of this?  And I’ll be goddamned if anyone’s going to finally visit my brother’s hospital room before me’

“You can ride with us if you’d like”, the boy offered.

“No, thanks, I actually have to drive to Jacksonville this morning anyways.  I have an interview at 9…”

“Say no more… I guess I’ll see you there”

With that, the boy walked past her.  She turned and followed him outside.  "So… who are you?“

"Oh, we’ve met before I think.  I’m Cavill, Micheal’s… we’re friends.  I’ve been here since last night worried sick about him.  I guess your mom wanted you to be home so you wouldn’t worry yourself sick like her.”

“Fat lot of good that did”, Clair replied drearily.  "And yeah, we have met… Micheal just never bothers to introduce his friends to us.  I guess he gets that from mom, the habit of keeping everyone at a distance"

“Cigarette?”  Cavill was holding out a crumpled pack of smokes.  It was odd to think that anyone Micheal hung out with smoked – to Clair, she couldn’t think of her brother as anything but a kid.  Hell, she had a hard time calling herself an “adult”

“No thanks”, she replied, waving sheepishly.  

“I quit like a month ago - most on your brother’s insistence.  But sitting here waiting last night and stressing out… I just couldn’t do it.  I went and bought a pack of smokes.  Micheal would be ashamed of me.”

“Don’t say that.  I’ve never known Micheal to be anything but supportive”

“Yeah, but he…”  Cavill’s voice trailed off as he began to choke up.  "He’s the only person that really ever cared, you know?  And I care about him too.  I don’t want to let him down.“  A single tear ran down his cheek.

Clair was at a complete loss.  She always came to a complete loss when anyone cried or became vulnerable around her.  'I guess I’m not too unlike my mother’, she thought.

"You won’t.  You know he talks about you sometimes?  The other day he told me that you’re learning guitar and that you’re pretty good”

“I’m not, and he knows it.  He just…”

She wasn’t sure why Cavill was trailing off now.  She’d met friends of her brother’s before, but something was different in the way Cavill talked about his bond with Micheal.  What was it?  

Suddenly, some neurons firing in her brain or some semblance of emotional intelligence came to her, and it made sense.  Months before, Micheal had confessed to her that he was in a relationship but said it was a secret and refused to give her any more details.  It’d annoyed her at the time - she hated secrets in any form and saw them as puzzles or riddles that she needed to solve - but now, with her brother’s somewhat-secretive friend quietly crying over a cigarette in front of her, an uncomfortably vulnerable figure, she felt like she was close to unraveling this particular puzzle.  She eyed Cavill again, taking him in.  He was a bit taller than her brother, and thinner.  His hair was golden-brown and jettisoned out from his head at odd angles, like some sort of anime character’s.  His face didn’t quite match it - soft angles, a small button of a nose, and thin lips.  Blue eyes.  He looked absolutely sad, and she couldn’t stand to leave him here on his own.

“You’re going to Jacksonville, right?”, she said.

“Yeah, but I’m waiting for Lisa, remember?  She’s my ride”

“Well, you can ride with me if you want.  I’m going right now.”

“That’s probably more convenient.  Lisa lives between here and Jacksonville and hasn’t even left her house yet”.

“Well, I’ll make some room in my car.  And I have an interview later on, so I won’t be able to give you a ride back until after lunch”

“That’s okay, I’m staying at the hospital for the day if I can help it”

Clair looked at Cavill, who’d extinguished his cigarette between his fingers and was starting to walk behind her towards her car.  "Go wash you hands and splash some water on your face", she said.  "I don’t want the smell of cigarettes in my car, and besides, you look tired"

Cranking her car, her head disappeared in thought again.  What was the meaning of the dream she’d had the night before?  What kind of secret life had her brother been living?  Who is this Cavill kid she’s seen around who’s suddenly very attached to her brother?  Why would her mom not tell her that her brother had been taken to a hospital an hour’s drive south for surgery?  What was Cavill telling her mom in the dream she’d just had, and why did it make her mom so… upset?  

She couldn’t sit there with her thoughts for a second longer, so she reached for the pair of pliers in the center console and used them to twist the metal stub on which her car radio’s volume knob had once rested.  The dulcet tones of the NPR announcer now filled the silence:  

“Next on NPR:  We talk to an experimental psychologist about a new study on the phenomenon of apparently precognitive dreams.  Can dreams predict the future?”  

Not even NPR was going to give her a moment of escapism. 

=============================================

This is part one of my unfinished series about a girl named Clair whose dreams begin to mirror reality (sounds fun until it happens to you!), which for now is going to be titled “Clair’s Voyage”.  I started writing a story along these lines, with much less detail, a few years ago until it was apparent that I was writing a longer story than I’d set out to write.  At that time, I just saved the draft but left it unfinished.  Now, I’m adding more details and breaking it out into different parts.  It may become a book by the time I’m done.  Clair, you see, is an aspiring psychiatrist - she loves studying the mind and how it works - but right now she’s just trying to struggle through community college and get a job as a secretary at the local psychiatric hospital.  She’s also trying to struggle with the traumatic events surrounding an eerie July 4th, on which her brother was grievously injured in a scene that played out exactly how it had played out in her nightmare the night before.  With her brother’s boyfriend, Cavill, at her side, she’s about to embark on a journey of discovery and empowerment filled with ups and downs and unspeakable trauma.  So be sure to tune in for the next Part of Clair’s Voyage. 

[hades-shitposts]

Academia aesthetic:  wonderfully melancholy moods; old, dusty rooms filled shelf-to-shelf with tomes; brown sweaters; sexy professors

Actual Academia:  you’ve got 500 words to summarize a whole book, describe the author’s intended thesis, target audience, and source, and also describe the book’s structure, like basically summarize every chapter’s ideas if it’s in chapters.  You’ve got 500 words though.  That’s the limit.  Oh, and it’s due tomorrow.  And the book just arrived today because it was backordered.  And your other class wants you to pick a topic for your end-of-term paper.  And it’s Saturday on week one of your first term of Graduate school and you’re genuinely unsure whether it gets easier from here or not, or if 3 courses is a normal workload, or whether these classes are even normal to take in the first term, because your advisor refuses to respond to your emails and phone calls.

Yeah, the Academia aesthetic is pretty accurate, sure. 

[lestateur]

[ruinsoftheempire-deactivated202]

The National Guard camping out at the Capitol Building ahead of the impeachment vote scheduled today against Donald Trump

[hades-shitposts]

I’ve definitely done this whole song and dance before - the one that ends up with you sleeping on the floor in the most uncomfortable bedtime outfit you’ve ever worn, with a backpack or some other non-pillow items as an improvised pillow.

You usually wake up that morning not even thinking that that’s how your day’s gonna end.  You’re just thinking “Shit, I need to brush my teeth and put my uniform on and make formation by 0400 so we can pass inspection by 0530, get on the bus by 0600, and get to [wherever we’re going that day].”  Usually, when you’re put on orders and sent somewhere, you’re used to a hotel being booked or a tent set up or, hell, even having barracks available.  Usually, shifts are set up so that you’re able to knock off at some point and actually have dedicated sleeping times.  But all of that decision-making is done by someone somewhere that you don’t know.  So you go about your day as usual, probably putting up with some form of military bureaucratic bullshit involving unclear orders about what your were supposed to bring, or meals arriving late or not arriving at all, or some detail of your transportation being mucked up, you do your job once you arrive, whatever that is, and at some point you just look around and realize a few things, perhaps all at once or perhaps you come to realize these things over the course of a few hours:

1.  Work is completely over.  You’re exhausted.  The busy phase of the day has completely passed.  You’re just standing around talking and joking with your battle buddies and there’s nothing really left to do for the day (or, alternatively, you’re just at a stopping point, like you’re in a terminal at an Air Force base and you’ve been waiting for two hours already and have no idea when the plane is actually going to arrive to pick your unit up)

2.  You have no idea what’s next -- nobody knows what’s next.  you’re just in limbo, waiting to be told what to do.  There’s no hotel or barracks arrangements, no scheduled “you’re off duty at this time”, no communication from your leadership at all.  In fact, you can’t find your leadership in the crowd, and if you do spot an NCO or young officer that’s in your chain of command, they’re just as clueless as you are.

3.  The sun has disappeared.  When did that happen?  It’s night already??  And then you look at your watch and realize that it’s been a long day - you’ve already been awake for 18+ hours and most of it has been on your feet.

4.  Soldiers around you are starting to drop their backpacks and just lean or lie on whatever surface is available.  It starts with one guy, in one huddled group of buddies that’s been standing together talking for nearly an hour.  Then that whole group is on the ground relaxing.  then it spreads to another group.  

By the time the last one has hit you, if you’ve been in this situation before, you go ahead and drop your pack and do the same.  After all, you know damn well it might only be another 30 minutes before buses come and you’re all hauled away to a barracks or another staging area or your flight arrives, or you just get some Colonel walking in and screaming about how everyone needs to be on their feet and ready to move.  You might not have much time to rest and you might be working for a few more hours yet, so you give your feet a break in whatever way you can.  

Sometimes you sleep, and other times, you just give your feet a break, saving them for God-knows-what.  But it’s nearly an unwritten rule in the military:  if you have nothing to do and are uncertain about what to do or what’s coming next, and you see a guy leaning or lying down, go ahead and follow his example.  It’ll probably save your feet, especially if you’ve already been on your feet all day and your unit’s next orders end up involving you lugging your body armor and pack several hundred yards to get to whatever camp’s been set up for you.

Anyways, this is very intensely jarring to see against the backdrop of the serene, artful, and sacred capitol buildings.  You kind of joke about being able to sleep anywhere and in any circumstance and about how you tend to just wind up in these situations in military life, but seeing people do it against that backdrop, and for the reasons that they have to do it... I have no words.  I hope that this unit returns home safely and that these next couple of weeks go smoothly and without incident.  

[hades-shitposts]

Technically, if a candle is lit and you're stressed out over something, and you decide that blowing out the candle is a metaphor for getting rid of your stressors, that's a perfectly valid banishing ritual and will 100% work. I fucking love chaos magic.

[woodmeat]

Are you alive

Don’t ask me no personal shit like this

[dct239394cvvd098dffgggp]

what do you think im gonna open my mouth for the dentist like some kind of slut whore

[mjalti]

listen, when i go to open my mouth & what comes out is 12 degrees of seperation from what the original topic was, u need to connect the dots bitch. think fast. i’m not gonna hold ur hand but we’re leaving now and visiting every topic along the line. wave it goodbye, don’t get hung up on it

[theprideful-deactivated20251201]

everyone who reblogged this has adhd

[crittizen]

this is a poem

[systlin]

Another tidbit of Mando lore;

Mandalorians quickly figured out that Jedi mostly view blaster fire as “fun lightsaber practice”.

During the Mando-Jedi wars, they dealt with this in characteristically practical fashion; they used slugthrowers (aka ordinary firearms) instead, because if a Jedi tries to deflect a regular bullet, what happens is “A bunch of bullet shrapnel to the Jedi’s face.”

[systlin]

Jedi or sith; deflects blaster fire

Mando’ade, racking a shotgun; deflect this you wizard bitch

[little-miss-rasputin-pageant]

everyone: you can’t beat the jedi. they’ll just deflect your blasters

the mandalorians:

[tjdruid]

[en-futubandera]

[soulrama]

Yoooo he just changed the game