danklied

dad no omg

Morality just wants to be cool

i’m v aware that I’m not funny thanks, fite me

God, writing this made my brain hurt.

@princey-and-hottopic and @prinxietys y'all I could tag you so I’m gonna do that

((this was originally supposed to be an angst but I’ll write that later))

Warnings: None (if I missed something make sure to message me!)

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Morality really missed the old days.

As the oldest to appear in the mindscape, he had been the one to greet each new side with open arms and plenty of cookies!

But things have changed. They never sat together for meals, they barely talked anymore, barely even saw each other.

Morality just wanted things the way they used to be.

So, he did what anyone does when they want to know something. He grabbed his laptop and searched google.

“How to be a cool dad??” Was the first search he typed, waiting for the screen to load and give him his answers.

A short list of YouTube videos popped up, the first being, “the coOOL DAD LOL!!1!!¿!¿”

Huh.

‘That seemed like a creditable source!’ Morality thought while he clicked on it, the transparent bubbles of the YouTube loading scroller rolled around his screen.

When the video loaded Morality immediately cringed at the bad quality. Everything was fuzzy, but he would gladly go through that for his kiddos.

A man in shiny gold parachute pants ran out, a snapback on backwards and shutter shades over his eyes. He ran into the crowd of kids and dabbed, neigh neighing away slowly as he kickflipped on a skateboard and rolled away, still dabbing, shouting “swag, yolo” and other various slang terms as he went.

……..what?

Morality was in complete shock. Is…was that really how “Kool Kids” acted??

Well…….uh….okay?

If that was really what he was supposed to do then… That’s what he would do.. I guess?

Still a little stiff, he toddled over to his closet,digging through the depths of the area to find his old clothes.

–[next morning]–

Anxiety stumbled into the kitchen, nearly tripping over his own feet as he walked to the coffee maker, pouring it into Prince’s dry bowl or Coco Puffs.

“Okay MCR, that was my bowl. “Prince said from by the fridge, the gallon of milk clutched in his hand.

Anxiety grabbed a spoon, taking a big mouthful of the coffee-cereal wreak with a smirk.“Get over it Aurora. Unless you like extra caffeinated Coco Puffs, it’s my bowl now. "He hefted himself onto the counter, taking another large bite to spite the fanciful side and sagging his shoulders against the microwave.

Logic was the next to enter the kitchen, grabbing a couple eggs from the fridge and starting to make himself a couple fried eggs. "I hope you didn’t use all the coffee to create your abomination of a breakfast."Logic muttered, casting a slightly irritated and disappointed look at the nearly empty coffee maker.

As the three made their respective breakfasts, it wouldn’t occur to them that this was the first time in weeks they had all been in the same room for more than a minute, or that Morality had yet to arrive.

But they were about to notice Morality. Oh boy were they about to.

Morality made a mental note that skateboarding on carpet was difficult, the wheels sinking into the plush rug underneath him. Slowly but surely he scooted his way to the kitchen, checking to make sure the baseball cap he got from Thomas was just perfectly crooked.

When Morality skated (when did he get a skateboard??) into the kitchen, Anxiety choked on his cereal.

The father figure was wearing a pair of silver hot pants with a tank top, snapback flung backwards over fluffy and wild hair. He had a shark tooth necklace and his normal lensless glasses were replaced by shutter shades.

He looked like a love child of the past and future fashion styles and honestly Anxiety was unsure how to react.

"Mo?”

Through shutter shades Morality dabbed, giving Anxiety a fist bump. “What up my wiggity whack dude bros??” Morality asked, doing a quick cabbage patch before swaggering over to the fridge and pulling out a dank box of frozen waffles.

“My Krazy Kiddos just chillaxin in the digs?” He asked in the same over the top voice, dabbing twice.

“Morality what the hell has gotten into you??” Logic said, surprising them all. The teacher looked at Morality incredulously, his eyes wide.

“Some krazy Kool kidzs spirit!! I’m your cool pops, you whack dad!!” Morality proclaimed, ju-juing on that (non-existent) beat.

With that, his waffles popped and he rolled on out of the kitchen, leaving the rest of the sides to stare in horror.

Okay, Morality was becoming an issue, Logic decided.

He started to show up that way to videos to. He was screwing Thomas moral compass up and worst of all he kept using those stupid slang words.

Logic rarely understood Morality when he spoke, but this was too much. What did dank even mean???

This he spent much of his week avoiding Morality and plotting with Prince and Anxiety on how to get remold Morality back.

They approached him one day while he was in his room, spray painting slang words on his walls.

“Morality, we need to talk-”

Morality spun around, wearing four snapbacks at once and a mullet. “What’s up muh krazy kidz? How can your kool pops-icle help you out??”

Logic cringed, Prince taking over the conversation.

“Morality this is getting out of hand, why did you change yourself like this?? Why won’t you stop?”

Morality frowned, Prince was being super un-rad about this. “It’s all for you my special Bois!”

All three blinked. “What?”

Morality swagged up and down, a funky fresh beat all up in his noggin.

“My three favorite bros had been all separated which was v un-rad my broskis. But now that I’m hopping and popping you’ve been spending more clock wags together than in a long time babes. ”

It took a brief moment for them to decipher what Morality had said. Anxiety stepped up, pulling Morality into a hug. When he let go and stepped back, the snapbacks and mullet cane with him, Anxiety throwing them to the side.

“Morality. Dad. I’ll admit, I’ve been a but distant recently, but this is over the top. ”

Morality nodded dankly. “Yeah, i’m picking up what you’re throwing down. I just wanted it to be like old times, ya know?? When we would at least be chillaxin on the couch with a poppin movie and some hot corn…..”

They all stepped forward, embracing Morality tenderly.

Prince was the first to speak. “How about this, we can have movie and dinner nights??” Morality nodded softly, squeezing Prince’s swol bicep comfortingly.

Anxiety was next. “I’ll….. Hop and bop out of my room more often, how about that?” Morality nodded excitedly, a peek of his old self appearing behind the six pairs of shutter shades.

Logic finally stepped up. “I can make time for you all between my researching sessions…. I suppose. ” Morality squealed, grabbing all of them and pulling them into an embrace, a couple pairs of shades falling off.

“You guys are my baes…. And my ultimate fam.”

Just this once they rest decided to let that comment go, as it seemed to be affectionate.

But dank Morality would never be returning.

Ever again.

The Waldos’ Special Ale is a American Double / Imperial IPA style beer brewed by @lagunitasbeer in Petaluma, #california with a 95 out of 100 on @beeradvocate. It has an 11.5% ABV. .
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In 1971, the Waldos met one afternoon at 4:20 in the front courtyard of their school near the statue of Louis Pasteur. They set out in a 1966 Impala armed with a “treasure map” on a journey to find a secret garden near Point Reyes. They met there at the same time every day and continued their quest. They never found the secret garden….But they keep lookin’. The dankest and hoppiest beer ever brewed at Lagunitas was made with help of the Waldos for all treasure hunters.
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A beautiful golden pour with a dankly hoppy aroma. It’s bold and bitter with a good deal of citrus hop notes. The well-balanced malts are overshadowed by a broad hop palate. Malty and sweet with a rich, warm, bold character. The hops punch you in the nose through every sip. A perfect example of what a DIPA can be when properly brewed and approaching 12% abv. #DankAF
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#thebeernation #saynotoordinarybeer #drinkcraftbeer #drinkcraft #drinkgoodbeer #craftbeer #craftbeerphoto #craftbeerlove #craftbeernerd #craftbeernation #craftbeerlover #craftbeerlife #craftbeergeek #craftbeerculture #craftbeerjunkie# beertographer #beertography #beerphoto #brewtography #brewtographer #ipa #indiapaleale #paleale #dipa #beer

3

BLITZKRIEG HOP

Once again, our unhealthy obsession with brewing the perfect IPA has reared its hoppy head, much to Brandon’s lupulin-phobic chagrin. We paired this unholy hop monster with an easy-drinking green-tea pale ale.

Total Grain Bill

  • 12oz Carapils
  • 1lb Crystal 60L
  • 1lb Victory
  • 2lb Munich
  • 5lb Maris Otter
  • 11.25lb 2-Row
  • Mash at 151 for 75min

IPA

  • 3oz Magnum boil 60 min
  • .75oz Simcoe boil 15 min
  • .75oz Galaxy boil 10 min
  • 12oz Cornsugar boil 10 min
  • 1tsp Irish moss boil 10 min
  • 1oz Chinook boil 5 min
  • 1.5oz Amarillo, 1oz Chinook, .75oz Simcoe, .75oz Galaxy whirlpool 30 min
  • West Yorkshire Ale Yeast Wyeast 1469
  • Dry hop for 7 days with 1oz Chinook, .5 oz Galaxy, .5 oz Amarillo, .5 oz Simcoe.

This IPA is different from our past attempts in a few ways– it is relatively weaker in terms of abv (about 6.5%), plus we used West Yorkshire instead of our usual Chico strain to bring out the malt a little bit more and add pleasant stone-fruit esters.  We’ve ditched the first-wort hopping from previous IPAs because I think it made the hops too smooth (like me) and more muddled (also like me) than I would like.  The big bittering charge will be an aggressive counter-balance to the huge malt bill, while the all-late addition hops really smack you over the head with a deadly combo of fruity, dank, citrus, pine flavor and aroma.  A 2oz dry-hop should be much more efficient than our last fool-hardy 5oz dry hopping, especially since nowhere in the process have we used a hop-bag (as evidenced by the super-sticky kettle pic above).  I’m also glad to welcome Amarillo and Galaxy to the club, while kicking poor old Cascade, Centennial, and Nugget to the curb.  Sorry, guys.

Green Tea Pale Ale

  • 1 oz Citra boil 20 min
  • 1lb Dry Malt Extract boil 15 min
  • 1 tsp irish moss boil 10 min
  • 1oz Citra boil 10 min
  • 24 bags lipton green tea flameout
  • 1 tbsp orange peel, 1 tbsp lemon peel flameout
  • US-05 yeast

These two have been fermenting away, filling Chad’s house with some dankly delicious hop aromas.  Now all we have to do is come up with some terrible pun-based names for these beers.

Dankly swagger he did down chill-ass streets one athleisure afternoon, unaware as yet of the shitty fuckstorm that was shredding his way…

anonymous asked:

What things have you seen that make you question if ghosts are real??

Ok story time:

When I was younger my granddad used to own a large house. He worked in newspapers and, in a true Hackney working class fashion, had worked his way up from paper boy to a well payed position.

Now this house had once been bigger, but during World War II had been downsized. This was common in that time due to window and roof tax’s that were implemented to help fund the war effort. This left the house with a very interesting feature: In my granddad’s office (originally the library of the house) was a door that lead nowhere. Instead of removing the door when the house was downsized, the old owners had just bricked it up from the other side (now the outside wall).

Now obviously this was something that fascinated young me. Every time I visited I would ask him about the door, and every time he would say, “it don’t go anywhere, son.” We would go and touch the bricks on the other side of the door, knock on the wall and enjoy the novelty of it.

One day I was staying the night there, I believe I was about 8 at the time. I was playing detective, sneaking around the house to solve some imaginary ‘crime’. Eventually I went into a room I wasn’t allowed to be in, my grandparents bedroom, but I believed I had a search warrant so in I went. In the bedside table draw I found a small wooden box, in that box was an old brass key. I was convinced it was a ‘clue’ so preceded to move around the house trying to find which door it fitted.

Not their bedroom door…

Not the bathroom…

Not the kitchen…

Finally it slipped into a lock perfectly; the door that lead nowhere.

So I tried to turn the key, I could feel the old lock start to give way under the pressure, then nothing happened. Of course it didn’t. This was a door that lead nowhere. A door that had been bricked up. A door with hinges so old, unused and rusted that they looked like they would snap of it ever did open.

At that moment my grandma called me for dinner, so off i went, leaving the key in the door; it hadn’t done anything so now it was boring and dinner was a much more interesting event.

I went to bed that night completely forgetting to retrieve the key and put it back in the box.

That night I woke up to a feeling. A feeling deep in my gut, causing my stomach to churn and twist into knots as I blindly looked out into the darkness. The French call this feeling L’appel du Vide - The Call of the Void: That intruding and consuming thought that something is terribly, terribly wrong. After a few moments of sitting up in the darkness the feeling passed, I rested my head back on the pillow and closed my eyes.

Then I heard a noise: A slow, aching creak. (Detective hat back on)

I left my room and walked down the stairs. I could see from under the door of my granddad’s office, a thin veil of dim light, dankly illuminating that hall. I figured my granddad must still be awake and doing some work in his office, so I walked into find him. (It’s worth noting that late night encounters with my granddad often ended in a toffee and a glass of juice; well worth doing.)

But when I opened the door and looked into the room, there was no one there. Instead, from the left hand side there was the same dim light casting across the back wall to the left wall. I walked closer to find that the door I know doesn’t open, the door I know has been bricked up, the door I KNOW does not lead anywhere…

Now stands slightly ajar.

I placed my hand upon the doorknob, ice cold in my palm, and pulled it open.

Now the first thing that hit me was the smell. The stench of fetid air, mixed with rot, damp, decay and mothballs. I peered through the door and I kid you not, on the other side was a room. In the middle of the room stood a large fourposter bed, the canopy of which had all but rotted away, the remnants of it clinging to the wooden frame. On each side of the bed were small tables, upon which were candle holders with lit stick candles in them (the source of the light). Running down the holders was thick wax that continued across the table tops and down into the floorboards, as if the candles had been lit for centuries.

I would like to say that I was really brave and went in but, I wasn’t. I shut the door and locked it, keeping the key. I still have the key in fact, locked in a small tin and hidden at the bottom of my wardrobe. Needless to say I didn’t sleep the rest of that night. I didn’t sleep properly for months if I’m honest. But I never told my family what I saw; I fears if I did it would somehow get them. That room is still the fuel of most of my nightmares.

Now I’m older I of course know that it was just a nightmare. But here’s the really interesting thing: A few years ago I decided to look into the history of that old house (after I found out it had been knocked down to make a way for new houses). It turns out that the original owners of the house were a Protestant family. If you don’t know your English history there was a large feud between the Catholics and the Protestants. One night a group of Catholics went to the house and demanded that the family renounced their religion and join the Catholic Church. The family refused and were chased into their home at sword point. They ran through the library, through the door at the other end, and into the servants bedroom on the other side. The door was broken in and the family was slaughtered in that room.

The thing that still bugs me to this day is this: how could I, an 8 year old child, have known that originally there was a bedroom behind that door in order to dream about it?

anonymous asked:

For the Zootopia drabbles can you do one where Judy got seriously injured during one of there police missions and she's in the hospital bed sleeping and nick is by her side confessing his love to her :)

Sick (A Wildehopps fluff fic)

Feeling utterly exhausted, Nick held onto the length of his muzzle, dejectedly lifting it within the his hands. His fingers anxiously tapped against it, as the fox permitted his shoulders to droop. With a torn heart, he furrowed his brows in pain and stared forlornly at the broken body before him. Needless to say, he would have gladly taken the form’s position; the calm figure belonged to one of the world’s greatest cops, Officer Judy Hopps, his most precious partner and friend. She kept her eyes closed with her long lashes brushing softly against her cheeks. They fluttered beautifully, much akin to the sensation that Nick usually felt whether he looked at her. However, now all he felt was dread; worry, fear, and utter regret. The male should have been able to make it to her in time. Why hadn’t he been able to make it to her in time?!

He could only mentally berate himself, as his whole soul ached for the poor heavily injured bunny before him. Her back was lain still upon the cold hardness of her hospital bed with her tiny nose slowly inhaling deep but somewhat shaky breaths.

Judy appeared so fragile and small. Never had the fox witnessed her so lifeless and dead to the world. Blinking past his tears, Nick could still remember the sight of blood; so much blood. It had spilled out in a spine chilling, throat closing puddle; it seeped outward, surrounding the fallen form of his beloved Judy.

He stared forlornly at her sleeping features, dankly taking in her pale complexion. It floored him. Even now, despite the harrowing circumstances, his rabbit friend was absolutely beautiful. She was his happiness; she was all he had left. The raw truth of this made his resolve break, and the fox’s heart went out to her. God, did he wish he could take away her pain.

“I am so sorry, Carrots…" his voice carried out into the thickening silence, and he closed his orbs in shame, “You didn’t deserve this, kid. You didn’t deserve any of this. I was a fool; a freaking idiot for even thinking about letting you out of my sight for a second.”

Taking in a weary breath, Nick continued to anxiously babble, “I mean, I thought that it was safe. I was so sure. How was I supposed to know that she had a gun? I had no idea that you would end up getting shot… Otherwise, I would have never let you come. It should have been me. I should have been the one to take a bullet. You’re special, Carrots. You’re too sweet and good. You are always so kind and wonderful, while I’m… not.“

The words that he spoke to himself lingered within the walls of Judy’s hospital room, and the fox blinked as a sudden thought struck him. Then, he placed a single paw close to one of hers. He tenderly feathered against the side of her open paw for a long moment, before he finally laid it gently beside her.

“Still, you make me want to be better. You make me want to try. You push me to be good and to help others, and I love that about you, Judy.“

The fox deftly gulped and eventually mumbled, “What I’m basically trying to say is that… I love you, Carrots… but I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Nick glared at the floor beneath him, until he felt the sudden weight and gradual warmth of her paw encircling around his own. Judy simply tangled their fingers together. Sending the ceiling above her a softhearted smile, the kind but tired bunny took in a shallow breath and carefully squeezed his hand.

“I know you do, you dumb fox,” the bleary-eyed female gave a withered and extremely pained but content giggle, “Coincidentally, I love you, too.”