council of dads

Some peeps have been asking for a Dragon Age 2 Dad post so here is…Dad Age 2

Fenris is “has a grudge against the GPS for some reason, helped you dye your hair during your ‘edgy’ phase, gets more worried about you than he wants to let on but doesn’t want to blow up your phone and isn’t very good at texting so instead you just get hourly texts of ‘?’ or ‘?????’ when you’re out,” Dad.

Sebastian is, “taught you to dance by letting you stand on his shoes, is always up before anyone else in the morning and reading scriptures with a cup of coffee, frequently asks if a movie is getting too scary for you,” Dad.

Anders is “couldn’t sleep a wink that one time you got sick and you woke up with like six bottles of gatorade next to your bed ‘so you don’t get dehydrated’, read you old and dry texts on human rights and freedom when you were fussy because those put you to sleep in minutes, ‘Five hours of homework daily is an injustice and I will be having a word with the school council!’” Dad.

5

ARC-V 30 Days: Change

I always wondered what happened in the Synchro Dimension after our heroes left and the stupid council just abandoned them. The only answer we got is that everything is alright now apparently. So I guess they elected a new council? With members from the Commons and the Tops? So here’s my take on the new council members: Aki’s dad (who was already a senator in 5D’s and a decent enough person), Martha,Pearson (guess they would be Commons here) and Rex (yes him too, sue me). Let’s be honest anyone could do a better job than the old council and Roget, even Cup Ramen Man.

Journal Entry #3: I'm not okay.

Dad finally took me to “work” with him today.

We almost got arrested.

I almost got eaten.

He said he hadn’t planned on running into those “friends” of his, and that he’s sorry I had to learn to use a blaster on such short notice. He also said he’d replace the copy of Unraveling the Galactic Civil War that I lost when I had to drop it on the guy chasing us up the rooftop.

It was a five-story drop. I think he’s dead. I think I killed a man.

Dad said I’m not supposed to tell Mom about anything that happened, but I’m pretty sure she’s going to notice the giant hickey on my back where that enormous squid-vampire-monster thing attempted to devour my flesh. Dad says the skin wasn’t broken though, so I should be okay. He told me I was being overdramatic.

I think I need to lie down for a while.

Why me?

I remember the look in my father’s eyes, the look of anger as I told him about how officer AJ Ross pulled me over. I remember what my dad said to me when I explained how I was asked to get out of my car, and the way police officer AJ Ross shouted at me to keep my hands where he could see them as he pushed me to the front of his squad car. “We should call Nashville city council!” exclaimed my dad after hearing me tell him that AJ Ross began searching my car as I stood out in the cold November air, on the side of the highway. I remember it all, the fear I felt and the feeling of how stupid it all was. I remember my dad saying that that cop was not a good cop.

AJ Ross is bad at his job, but there are still good cops. Yet, how can I, (a white man) get away saying that but my fellow black friends can’t? Why am I understood but not them? What makes me credible?


I remember another time when my brother and I were pulled over because a car in front of us was swerving all over the road. I remember two cops getting out, and when they saw our “toy gun” in the back seat, they went for their guns, but they didn’t pull them out because they asked us what it was. They told us to hide it and not be stupid, we got off with a warning.


I think of all my dealings with cops, how I’ve been pulled over for good reasons and terrible reasons. I think of my friends who serve as police officers; how honest and sacrificial they are. Yet, I think of my black friends who fear for their lives, and how if I was a black person, would I still be alive? What would have happened if my brother and I were black and the officers saw our “Toy gun”? Would they just let us off with a warning?


I remember how my dad said that AJ Ross was a bad cop and how I knew exactly what he meant. That one bad cop does not mean all cops are bad. Police officers are important, but so is human life. We are all fallen, we all make mistakes. Yet, why is it that my white life can show the faults of a crooked cop but my black brothers and sisters lives cannot? Why is their voice one that prompts so many of my conservative friends to yell “ALL LIVES MATTER!” when the ones yelling never have to fear for their lives in the same way as my black friends?


I am pro-life, I believe that an unborn baby has a right to life, and just as I am pro-life for the unborn I am pro-life for black lives, I believe a black man or woman has a right to life, a right to be heard and understood.

Black Lives Matter.


I am a follower of Christ, I believe in a God who bled for me, who died for me, who is with me daily. Because I am a Christian, I believe in being compassionate to my black brothers and sisters, who bleed, cry, and wonder if tomorrow they will be next.

Black Lives Matter.


I love and respect my police brothers and sisters, but I can tell when someone is good at their job. I may never understand what they go through daily, how they are attacked on so many levels. How when they have a true criminal they have to arrest. that they will be called “racists” and “murderers”. Their families lives are at risk just because of the choice of their job, and still, they will lay down their lives to serve and protect.

I love my police friends and I thank the officers who do their jobs well every day.

And still.

Black Lives Matter.


Yet, I remember how my dad hurt to see his son treated the way I was, but my dad would never imagine me being gunned down because he has never experienced that side of reality, and neither have I.


So, before we point the finger at who is to blame. May we have the courage to look at ourselves, to ask if we are being loving to our neighbors, whether black or white, Muslim or Christian, cop or civilian. Are we being Christ? Are we listening to those who seek to be heard? Are we compassionate to the oppressed as well as those in authority?


May we be like Christ, who did not yell at the world saying “ALL LIVES MATTER!” instead, He opened his arms and said, “Follow me”.

Somewhere along the way, we have become fundamentally terrible at listening. At hearing both sides of the story, of acknowledging our wrongs and being willing to ask for forgiveness. We must be open to having a conversation about the deep rooted hurt in this world, and we must be eager to not allow our pride to have any part of the discussion.

So, engage with each other, open conversations without pride, listen without agendas, love beyond ourselves. We are all fighting a war, let’s make sure the war is not between each other. For in the presence of Christ, there is peace and a call for truth in love and humility.

You can unfollow me, you can send me hate, I just hope you have read my words and actually let them sink in.

We cannot have reconciliation until we stop shouting and start listening, lay down our pride and take up love. The goal of the Christian is to be like Christ, and we can never be him on our own standards. We can only be Christ when we have died to self and dying to self-starts when we allow God to change our hearts. When that happens, compassion blooms from us like flowers in spring and the whole world is made beautiful.

The unexpected return (closed RP with astrid-horrendous-haddock)

It had been six long years since Hiccup had even been flying over the small island of Berk, his home, well what used to be his home ever since he and Toothless left the island all those years ago when Astrid caught them both in the cove. He knew that his status with that island was probably an “Outcast” just like Alvin and the rest of his men. He knew what they did to Outcasts when they stepped foot on Berk too, and the thought alone sent shivers down his spine.

“Don’t worry, bud. Nothing is going to happen.” He reassured his dragon friend as he patted the top of his head. Toothless let out a discouraged hum as they got closer to the island. He could see the giant Viking structures that lined the island. The island looked like it hadn’t changed at all. Hiccup had always dreamt about turning the island into a dragon sanctuary. But that was only in his dreams.

Hiccup had heard rumors of what the island was still like, and the rumor of a viking killing a gigantic dragon that lived in the fog spread way past the archipelago. There  was no name to who killed it, and Hiccup had scoped out the island before he left to see where the dragon lived. He had seen the size of the dragon that lived in the volcano, and taking that down must have been some feat.

They were not circling over the village, looking for a place to land. It was pitch black, except for those large fire pits they erected to see the dragons flying. But he was on a night fury wearing all black. They wouldn’t be seen would they?

Hiccup heard the word “fire” and the next thing he knew was they he and Toothless was tumbling towards the ground. Toothless quickly grabbed Hiccup and curled his one free wing around him as he curled his whole body around him to protect his rider from the fall. They both groaned as they hit the floor and Hiccup fell out of Toothless’ hold and stumble to his feet, only to be tackled down to the ground again and have his hands tied behind his back. Hiccup heard some of the large burly men and a few women gasp at his dragon. First time they saw a Night Fury up close. But they were quick to bind it and start dragging them both to the Great Hall where a council meet was being held. There was at least fifteen of them pulling his dragon along and only one for him. Hiccup knew he could break lose, he had honed his fighting and sneaking skills over the years, but he needed to see the chief and tell the about the threat that was about to hit them.

It didn’t take him long to be escort up the steps and two vikings opened the gargantuan door and Hiccup was shoved inside. He fell to his knees but was quick to get back to his feet. The council still remained the same, except there was one new addition, Astrid. She was seated right in the middle overlooking the council. His dad even remained to give her council. Hiccup looked around the Great Hall. Nothing had changed. “Love what you done to the place. Feels like nothing has changed.” 

The council turned around to see who talked and Stoick’s eyes widened in shock.

“Chieftain really suits you, Astrid.”

astrid-horrendous-haddock

some legends untold (turned to gold)

Because TiMER AUs are freaking awesome.

Rated: G
Words: 2988
Summary: Her timer is issued to her on the day she is born.
She’s nothing more than a bit of a thing, lying in Abby Griffin’s arms, asleep. She can barely open her eyes, nevermind check how long she has until she meets her soulmate. Regardless, the timer sits on the bedside table as Abby and Jake coo at their newfound joy. They stash the clock in a drawer until Clarke can take care of it herself.
(Or, the story of how Clarke Griffin’s timer counts down to meeting Bellamy Blake.)

Read it on Ao3 or below.

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norrihiddleskittycap  asked:

Imagine Steve and Howard Stark going out on a date. Tony finds out that they're going steady by seeing their picture in the newspaper or a magazine.

“Care to explain this one?”

Steve gingerly takes the offered tablet from Tony’s clenched hands. He has no idea what’s set him off this time but he knows that look. It’s not anger exactly, more like an extreme discomfort. Steve realizes half a second too late that it’s the look Tony usually reserves for mandatory conversations about his-

“Because I’ll be honest, this seems like the kind of thing you tell a guy.”

Steve recognizes the picture instantly. The shiny gloss of the screen does nothing to diminish the faded yellow of a newspaper article almost a century old. Steve’s eyes flick around the image just enough to catch the words ‘restoration efforts’ and ‘an American secret?’, along with the fact that it was attached to an email titled ‘Thought you might get a kick out of this.’

The picture shows Steve and Howard, drinks in hand, Howard toasting the cameraman while Steve’s doing his best to look composed. Howard’s got his free arm thrown around Steve’s shoulders, and Steve remembers the way his stomach fluttered the first time Stark Sr. fiddled with the meddles on his uniform-

“It wasn’t a date,” Steve says, stepping out of his reverie. “We all used to go out for drinks when we had the time. There’s probably eight or nine other guys just to the side.”

Tony yanks the tablet out of his hands, dances his fingers across the screen and shoves it back in Steve’s face.  The image has been enlarged, the screen full of Howard’s face and Steve’s guts twist. “I. Know. That. Look. You think this is the only time the paparazzi caught my old man mid-flirt?” Stark drops into the chair opposite Steve, setting the tablet aside more delicately than Steve had seen before. As if Tony thought he had been holding the actual photograph instead of an easily replaceable piece of technology.  

“So, what are we looking at here?”

Steve lets out a sigh, rubbing his eyes. The sudden reminders of times gone by are still echoing in his head but he figures that Tony’s desperate to know something. Just not everything.

He doesn’t tell Tony that Howard had reserved the entire bar for the two of them, that Steve had shown up in his military best because that was the only decent outfit he possessed at the time, while Howard had been sporting a suit and tie that probably cost more than even Steve’s military pension would ever cover. He doesn’t tell Tony about the questions Howard had asked about his life, his ma, what Brooklyn was like in the summer, any subject other than Project Rebirth and the war.

He doesn’t tell Tony about the way Howard had winked at him just after the cameraman packed up his things and thanked them. “You’re a damn sight more famous than the last one they snapped me with. Think we’ll make the headlines?”

He doesn’t tell Tony about the first time he’d ever seen Howard Stark look nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot outside of Steve’s barracks, and how relieved he looked when Steve asked him if he wanted to step inside. He doesn’t tell Tony about how soft Howard’s lips were against his, the hands on his chest, the sighs that sounded so gentle coming from a man where every word he spoke was spiked with sarcasm or wit.

He doesn’t tell Tony about his father’s ridiculous bedhead the next morning, or how they spent a full hour trying to come up with a plausible reason for both of them to be missing from the war council that day.

“Your dad,” Steve says, mustering a smile. “Made it his life’s mission to get me drunk. He always said it was crime that I was doing so much for the country and couldn’t even relax with a scotch at the end of the day, and watch the edges go blurry.” He finds himself laughing. “I think he felt more than a little guilty that the serum had that minor side effect. So every so often, when we had a night off, he’d buy out some poor bar’s entire back stock, hand me a funnel and say ‘have at!’

Tony no longer has the uncomfortable look of a man who walked in on his parents at the worst possible time. He’s not quite smiling but he’s relaxed, willing to believe this version of the story. “Right, but was it a date or a guilt thing?”

Steve opens his discarded book and buries his nose back in it. “I’ll tell you when you’re older, son.”

estherbjerga  asked:

Exercise actually does help with depression. My dad councils professionally and he regularly perscribes exercise to patients who suffer from depression no matter what their size. It releases endorphins & over time gives you more freedom to be active.

Actually, most recent studies have shown that the effect is minimal, short-lived, and that not everyone gets it. The benefits of exercise for depression have been MASSIVELY overstated.

-MG