mr jameson

Bitty set the pie in the oven, made sure the timer was set and then continued telling his long-winded story to Jack, who was sitting at the kitchen table, avidly listening with his chin resting on his arms folded on the table. 

Bitty turned to the sink as he spoke and began to do the dishes, “-and then there was this whole to do about the store-bought jam at the bake sale and Moo Maw said to Mrs. Jameson, who lives one street over, that she can take her store-bought jam and shove it up her-”

“I think we should get married.” 

The pot Bitty had been holding fell into the sink and caused a wave of soapy water to splash onto Bitty’s front, and Bitty staggered to the side, clutching his heart and holding the counter for support. When he finally found his voice again he scolded, “Jack Zimmermann are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

But Jack had that look on his face, the one he has when he’s lining up the puck, or the one he has after he’s just got back from a 10 mile run, the one he had before he kissed Bitty for the first time.

“We’re practically married already anyway. I think we should make it official.” Jack said, still not taking his eyes off Bitty.

Bitty spluttered for something to say, “Jack - we’ve - we’re - I don’t think - We’ve only been dating for two years. You’ve only been out for 6 months!”

“So? Timing couldn’t be better.” Jack said, a small smirk forming on his face.

BItty sinks into a chair across from Jack. “Jack I swear if this is some sort of joke, I don’t get it.”

“I’m not joking. And this isn’t a proposal by the way. But that’s coming.” Jack nodded.

“Jack!” Bitty squawked, “I haven’t even graduated yet!?”

Jack got up from the table and pressed a small kiss onto Bitty’s temple, then walked to the door of the kitchen. “Fiancé has a nice ring to it eh?” Jack said with a smirk over his shoulder.

He didn’t see, but rather heard, Bitty’s muffled squeak as he headed up the stairs with a blinding smile on his face.

Back in the kitchen, Bitty’s face was buried in his hands, but he was grinning ear to ear. “This boy.” He muttered.

Flags (Part Three)(#PrideFic)(Spideypool)

Happy Pride Month Lovelies!!
Wade and Peter talk a bit about sexualities in this chapter, please keep in my mind these are my opinions and aren’t meant to upset anyone. If you would like to talk about anything mentioned in here, feel free to message me or drop by my ask box
Pride Month is about all of us feeling welcome and secure in who we are, and I would never want to hurt anyone’s feelings or offend someone.

Wave your flags, babes, we are all perfect the way we are.

Part One     Part Two

********************

“So.” Peter took a bite of the ice cream Wade offered him. “So pansexual means you are attracted to everyone.”

“No.” Wade shook his head. “No it means I can be attracted to everyone. Lots of people assume pansexuals are whores, that we will sleep with anything with two legs but that’s not true.” He shrugged a little. “I once dated a girl with one leg. No problem.”

Peter burst out laughing and Wade leaned down to press a cold kiss to his lips.

“Love that laugh, baby boy, glad you enjoy my jokes.”

Peter’s lips tingled a little from the unexpected kiss and he looked up shyly.

“So you can be attracted to anyone? I guess I dont see–”

“It’s like this.” Wade slipped a thick arm around Peter’s waist and steered him through the small crowd. “If I had seen you from the back, and fell in love with this ass–” He patted Peter’s butt lightly. “when you turned around and I got a look at the rest of you, it wouldn’t matter if you were a guy, a girl, non binary, asexual, it wouldn’t matter. I’m already attracted to you so that’s just that. Its not that I WILL sleep with anyone, its just that I could.

“So… even like, trans–” Peter hesitated. “I don’t know the right word, I guess.”

“Petey what’s your favorite thing about a girl?” Wade asked and Peter made a vague motion around his chest. “And you’re favorite thing about a guy?” Peter didn’t answer and Wade tried hard not to laugh. “Alright, so imagine being with someone who has both those qualities. It’s fun and exciting and… fun.” He shrugged a little. “Sexuality and gender is no hindrance for me when it comes to choosing partners. I can be with whoever catches my eye.”

“That sounds… freeing.” Peter admitted.

“It is. But so is deciding on your sexuality, no matter what it is.”

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@lydrose: We’ve spent more birthdays + Valentine’s day combos together than I can count on my hands, but this one managed to be the most special. It’s been four days, and I already love being Mrs. Jameson. There’s no one else I’d want to share this with. Thank you for all of these years, thank you for marrying me, and thank you for telling the hotel staff to just bring me cantaloupe in my “fruit bowl” this morning. I love you more and impossibly more everyday. Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Jameson #valentinesday #honeymooning #myheart 💖 – w/@benjameson

No Place Like Home

Part of Angstmas 2017

Mabel, is that what I think it is?”

Dipper was staring at the blue woolen object protruding from one end of Mabel’s backpack. They had already unpacked most of the souvenirs they’d collected this summer from Gravity Falls and the surrounding woods, but Dipper suddenly realized that Mabel had been acting awfully careful and antsy around him when unloading her own pack.

It was a Wednesday evening, and they had already finished their chores for the day. Unpacking had been low on the priority list compared to finishing off the assigned summer reading, meeting with visiting friends and family, and catching up on the Ducktective reboot series.

A bit of reluctant shuffling later, and Dipper was sitting, jaw hanging open, as his sister laid out the remaining “souvenirs” she had collected: the size-altering flashlight, its crystal still twinkling even in the dim lights; a tape measure with a triangular infinity symbol on it, humming with what Dipper had long-theorized to be a miniaturized fusion power cell; and a roughly three-foot-square rug, cut and slightly uneven on two edges, but still crackling with static power as she revealed it.

Altogether, Mabel had collected what were probably the only three separate, man-portable devices they had come across in their adventures that could rewrite the laws of reality in not-insignificant ways.

Keep reading

10

Yellowwood (Pt. 1)

I started to get serious about photography around ten years ago, it was around that same time I also became obsessed with the architecture in the town that I resided in. Huntington, West Virginia is not by any means a huge city or anything but in the early 1900’s was certainly somewhere to be. The advancement of the railroad and shipping along the Ohio River made Huntington grow at a rapid pace. One property in particular always caught my eye, instantly hypnotizing me with it’s beauty.

In 1911 an Adirondack log cabin style house called Yellowwood was built on the southern side of the city by Mr. and Mrs. S.P. Hager. The original purpose was for it to be used as a hunting lodge, but three years later as Huntington continued to grow they decided to convert the structure into a home adding an English Tudor section in 1914. Yellowwood covers 6,000 square feet (not including the basement and secret passageways) and sits on two acres of land. An eclectic mix of woods including pine, oak, chestnut, hickory, and poplar were used in construction. The majority of the raw materials used in the build were from the surrounding land including the cobblestones that make up the bordering wall and chimney. In it’s prime the house was surrounded by gardens, wildflowers, and a dry lily pond but as it sit’s now overgrown weeds and fallen tree limbs are all that remain.

Over the years I’ve taken numerous photos of this house, constantly day dreaming about it in it’s glory and especially if it were mine. While photographing it last summer a neighbor and his friendly yellow lab approached me to inquire what I was doing. During our brief conversation we compared a few notes on it’s history as I inquired about the plaque with the names on the rear patio. It was then that he informed me of the previous owners and part of the sad story that had left the house in it’s current state. Dr. Constance Hayden was a psychiatrist and her husband Dr. Richard Ansinelli was a cardiologist both in Huntington. The home had actually been in Dr. Hayden’s family for quite a while. Her parent’s rented the garage apartment from the second owner, Mr. Jameson, in the early 1960’s before acquiring the home in 1962. It was in 1988 that Dr. Hayden and her husband purchased the property from Hayden’s mother before restoring the home. I’ve seen a few photos of the house after the restoration and it was everything and more than I imagined while day dreaming all those times. The interior was filled with books, art, and antiques from around the world as well as from right here in West Virginia. Amongst these exquisite items was a handcrafted grand piano matching the wood of the house that Mr. Jameson had commissioned for his son, a concert pianist at Carnegie Hall. According to a 1992 local magazine article, it was the setting for quite a few Hallmark Christmas card photos as well.

From what I could gather about Dr. Hayden, she was a former US Army psychiatrist who did consulting and research in Washington,  DC along with having a private practice in Huntington that doubled as a research center. Among her list of accomplishments she helped develop a drug for bipolar disorder. Her practice in Huntington primarily focused on chronic pain management and sleep disorders. In the late 90’s a divorce left Dr. Hayden with control of the home but her declining mental state left her incapable of maintaining it. In 1997 she was involved in a high speed police chase originating in Lawrence County, Ohio and ending across the bridge in Huntington. Charges were dropped after the court believed she was incompetent to stand trial. The following year as a result of the police chase the WV Board of Osteopathy placed her medical license on restricted status. In 2003 she published a book titled “The True Art of Survival” on which the cover photo of her was taken at Yellowwood.

This is where the story gets a bit fuzzy. The last listed owner is a woman named Erin Hutchinson from eastern Kentucky. Upon trying to find out who this was I discovered that she was the wife of Chris Hutchinson, a man who allegedly coerced Dr. Hayden, in her unstable mental state, into selling him the house for cheap. Sadly Dr. Hayden did not have the ability, even after a lengthy court battle, to reclaim the property from him. According to neighbors, Hutchinson lived there for a brief time but was booted for whatever reason from the home. I’m not sure if this had anything to do with the court battles involving Dr. Hayden or the mortgage company. Shortly after his departure, “vandals” broke in and completely trashed the place. Go figure. Chris Hutchinson had owned and operated at least ten different electrical and security businesses between 1990 and 2012. In October of 2013 he pleaded guilty to tax fraud for failing to pay $250,000 in employment taxes and was sentenced to a federal prison.

According to the neighbor with the friendly lab, the bank who mortgaged the property occasionally sends someone there to secure it and mow the lawn but it’s future at this point is unknown. He was just as interested in the property as I, telling me about how he used to go to the courthouse to follow the case before it went cold. I don’t think whomever controls it now have been able to resell the property because of the ongoing lawsuits. A few years ago during a massive storm a tree fell on the front of the house knocking a hole in the slate roof. There has been talk of it being demolished because of the insanely high cost needed to restore the home but I honestly do not see how someone could even fathom the idea of doing so.

Journalism (Steve x Reader) {1}

Summary: Your job is to get the story and then the promotion is all yours, although it’s not as simple as it sounds.

AN: This is the intro to my new series! I hope you like it.

| Feedback is very much appreciated | Requests are always open |

Your fingers glide across the keys of your laptop in a quick and precise motion. Your brain constantly spews out word after word as your eyes scan over each and every letter that appears. A single bead of sweat falls down your temple when you advert your eyes to the time.

4:01pm

‘Shit.’ You think to yourself. ‘Shit, shit, shit, shit.’

You’re officially late with handing in your article for this weeks paper.

You let out a deep sigh and bring your stare to the boring and tedious words describing the elderly charity curling match you were at mere days ago. You held off writing the piece for so long because just the thought on how Mr. Smith was the MVP of the extremely long game sent your eyelids shut. Unfortunately your procrastination put you in a serious time crunch.

“[L/N]!” The booming voice of your boss, Mr. Jameson, came echoing through the office. Your fingers freeze, knowing what’s to come. “My office. Now!”

You close your eyes, mentally scolding yourself for putting your work aside. 

“Hurry up!” He calls again, showing you just how annoyed he really is.

“I’m on my way.” You call back jumping out of your swivel chair and rushing towards his office. All your coworkers send you either looks of sympathy or looks of pity. Before you enter his office, you look behind you to find one of the photographers, Peter Parker, holding in his amusement at someone else getting in trouble other then himself.

You open the office door, poking your head into the smoke filled room. “You called, Sir?”

“Take a seat.”

‘Shit.’ You brain screams. ‘I can’t get fired. I need to pay rent, eat, and pay for wifi.’

“Yes, Sir.” You smooth down the skirt you’re wearing and take a seat in the green leather chair. You watch as Jameson puts out his cigar, focusing his attention on you.

“You’re late.”

“I know, Sir! It won’t happen-” You ramble frantically, being interrupted by his heavy New York accent.

“I couldn’t give two shits about that filler piece.” Jameson reaches into his desk, taking out a yellow folder. “I have a different assignment for you.”

You let out a breath you had no idea you were holding in. A wave of relief washes over you as he passes you the folder. “And what would that be, Sir?”

“Well if you’d wait a second I would tell you.” He leans back into his chair, spinning it so he faces the window overlooking Times Square. “I need you to get the inside scoop on Captain Steven Rogers.”

Your eyes widen as the realization hits you. “You mean Captain America?”

“Of course I do, now pay attention.” He lights a cigarette, taking a deep inhale of the velvet smoke. “You’re the only person in this place who I haven’t completely lost faith in.” He exhales, allowing the smoke to curl through the air, raising to the ceiling with the rest of the lingering clouds. “I need you to head to 5th Avenue where Stark is conducting a press event at Potts Conference Centre. Stark’s trying to clear his name for all that happened in Sokovia or some shit, but we don’t care about that. A few reporters and journalists have been given permission to interview individual Avengers, and well, you’re one of them.”

“I won’t let you down-”

“Slow down, I’m not done yet.” He takes another take at his cigarette, spinning in his chair to face you once again. “I need you to get the deep stuff outta him. I don’t care about his diet, I don’t care about his fitness routine, and I sure as hell don’t care about whoever he may have a relationship with. I and everyone else want to know about his transition from the past to present. We want any and all details of who this man was before he was Captain America. If you can do that, consider the promotion to Junior Editor yours.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and an enormous, toothy smile forms on your face. “Junior Editor?” You eagerly collect the file off of his desk. “I can do that!” 

“You better.” He pushes the butt of his smoke into his ashtray. He opens another desk drawer, taking out a small silver flask. Jameson takes a swig from the flask, letting out a content breath of air. You watch as he leans back in his chair closing his eyes. “The interview’s at 4:40, so get going.”

Even though he can’t see it, you give him a curt nod and stride out the door. You quickly jog towards your desk and collect your jacket and purse. You glance towards your laptop seeing the dull paragraphs that you ditched moments ago. A small smirk plays at your lips as you mentally give your abandoned article the middle finger. ‘If I’m Junior Editor I won’t ever have to deal with curling matches ever again.’ You think to yourself while closing your laptop.

You turn towards the elevator, ready to head to the interview, but a certain teenage boy steps in your path. “Hey, [Y/N].”

“Not now, Peter.” You wrap a scarf around you neck, preparing for the cold New York weather. “I need to be somewhere.”

“You don’t look like Jameson fired you.” His eyes slowly drift towards the yellow file that’s being held tightly in your hand. “In fact it looks like he gave you an assignment!”

“Peter, I have to go.”

“Come one, [Y/N], I’m desperate! Please just take me with you. I don’t care if it’s even another curling game. I need the money for a new camera.”

“Peter, I can’t deal with this right now.” You press the down button on the elevator. “Just go chase a superhero or something. Stark’s always taking joyrides in his suit. Jameson always pays good money for those pictures.”

Peter raises an eyebrow at you. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You watch as the light above the elevator moves, indicating that it’s getting closer. “A new hero is popping up everyday, I’m sure you’ll find something. In fact there’s that Spider Guy that’s been showing up lately.”

“His name’s Spider Man.” Peter says with an edge to his voice. “I mean, at least I think it is.”

“Well whatever his name is I know for a fact that Jameson would kill to have some shots of the elusive hero.” The ding of the elevator rings through your ears as the metal doors open, awaiting for you to enter. “Now, I really have to go.”

Peter gives you a small wave as a huge smile plasters itself across his face. “Thanks so much, [Y/N]! I’ll definitely try and snap that Spider Guy!”

“You do that!” You call out as the doors begin to close. When the fully shut you release a large sigh, looking down to the watch your grandmother had given to you as a graduation present. 

4:21pm

“Shit.” You mumble. “Shit, shit, shit, shit. I’m going to be late.” You eyes trail up to the floor counter, glued to every number that passes. Your foot begins to tap uncontrollably, desperately wanting the elevator to speed up even slightly. 

After two more agonizing minutes, and four stops, you finally reached the lobby. You jog lightly to the door trying to come up with a game plan  in your head. It could take only five minutes to get to the conference centre by taxi, but traffic downtown is always busy and unpredictable. That makes your only other option to run for it.

Without further thought, your feet rapidly carry you down the bustling sidewalk, darting towards the conference centre. As you run, you yell a constant stream of “Excuse me!” and “I’m sorry!”. You bump into nearly everybody you pass making them scream out any colourful cusses a person can think of. After the first mile, your lungs burn. You feel your face becoming increasing hotter by the second as sweat collects at the base of your neck. You take a moment to catch your breath before taking off for your next and final mile.

After ten more minutes and one embarrassing fall because of your uncomfortable work heels, you finally make it to Potts Conference Centre. You rapidly breathe in and out as you attempt to make yourself presentable even in the slightest of ways. You walk up the concrete steps feeling your nerves skyrocket with each step you take. 

You freeze in front of the giant walnut-coloured doors. You close your eyes and take a shakey breath. “This is it.” You say to yourself. “This is the interview that will make or break my career.” You open your eyes feeling determined and ready for what lays behind. “Lets do this.” 

Your hand grasps around the chilled metal handle and you pull, only the door doesn’t open. You glare at the door, giving it another pull. Feeling confused, you begin to frustratedly pull the door back and forth. You let out an angry groan as you check your watch. 

4:50pm

“Shit.” You close your eyes and rub a hand over your face. For conferences like these they always lock the doors after they start, not wanting any unwanted guests. Typically you would agree with such a rule, but not when you standing outside in the cold when your supposed to be with all the press that’s in there. 

You slide down the door, needing to take a moment to rest. Only one second into your moment of silence your phone suddenly begins to ring loudly. You search through your purse and quickly find it. You don’t bother to check the number before answering.

“Hello?”

“Hey [Y/N], so I was wondering just how much Jameson might pay for each picture.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you light hit your head on the door. “I don’t know, Peter.”

“Woah,” You hear the tone of his voice change. “Are you okay?”

“No, Peter, I’m not.” You breathe out.

“What’s wrong?”

“Jameson said he’s give me a promotion if I get the inside scoop on Steve Rogers-”

“Captain America?!”

“And now I’m locked out of Potts Conference Centre where I’m supposed to be interviewing him right now!”

“You were supposed to interview Captain America?!”

“Peter!”

“Right, sorry.” Silence takes over the call only until Peter yells out. “Wait, did you say you’re at Potts Conference Centre?!”

You roll your eyes and stand up from the ground. “Yes-”

“There’s another entrance!”

Your eyes widen as excitement bubbles within you. “Really?”

“Yeah! There’s a back entrance just down the alley to the left of the building. They always leave it unlocked.”

“Wait,” You jog down the stairs and head towards the alley that should lead you to the back door. “How do you know that?” You wait for his answer but the sudden silence on his side only indicates that he hung up. You take your phone away from your ear, placing it back in your purse. “Dork.” You shake your head at Peter’s behaviour as you continue to walk down the alley. You near the end of the litter adorned alleyway but quickly come to an abrupt stop at the sound of an angered voice.

“Listen Tony, I don’t care if this helps you out. If one more reporter or journalist asks me about my past and the people from my past, I will use your Audi as my personal punching bag.”

You carefully tiptoe towards the wall, not wanting to be seen by whoever is behind the corner. 

“You’re over reacting, Cap-”

“How would you like it if a dozen people picked and pried at you for any information about your mother and father?”

“They do! I deal with it by have glass of whiskey for every question I’m asked. It’s our job to deal with it.”

“Well I’m done.”

You decide at this moment to poke your head from behind the brick wall and what you find leaves your mouth hanging agape with shock. Your eyes glue to the two forms of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers.

“I’m done with all of this.” Steve pushes a hand through his hair as he takes a couple steps away from Tony. “I’m done with dealing with these vultures. My past is my past. I don’t need hundreds of people wanting to know it just for their entertainment.”

You watch as Tony Stark lets out a large groan and drags his hands down his face. “Well what do you want me to do about it, Steve?”

“I want you to stop scheduling these press events for me. I don’t want to even speak to another journalist for the rest of my life.”

You duck behind the wall feeling like you’ve seen enough. You rest your head against the cooled brick wall, and release a soft sigh. ‘What am I supposed to do now’ You think to yourself. ‘I need that promotion… I desperately need that promotion.’

Your job just became nearly impossible, but there still might be one way for you to get your promotion.

I’d love to hear your feedback!

Tagging: @fantasytwin@adarkcloud​ ​ @preseruum@these-caffeinated-thoughts@pleasecallmecaptain@annabeth453@shamvictoria11@deafeningcatphilosopher @meganlpie

Let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged

Please Don’t Leave Me

Hello! Happy National Adoption Day! Here’s an old regal believer piece set during their pre-Emma days.

Summary: It’s Henry’s first day of school and both mother and son are having a hard time letting go.

FF.net link.

———————-

The day is as fresh in her mind as the grass beneath her feet. Thirteen years later and she still hasn’t forgotten the feeling of his tiny hand in hers as they walked down the sidewalk from their home. Later on she would learn to let him ride the bus but on that day, the first school day of hundreds to come, she’d decided to walk there with her little prince. She’d told herself that it was for his benefit. A chance to give him extra time with her before spending hours away in a classroom where she was nowhere to be seen. But walking down the sidewalk with her heels clacking against the pavement and his light up sneakers sparkling with each step she knew she’d done it for herself. She’d wanted to prolong the moment. Extend the chapter of their lives where she’d spent every minute by his side.

She could still remember how he looked that day. She remembered looking down at his normally messy brown hair, currently tamed with the help of a last minute haircut the day before. She remembered the sight of his brightly-colored Spiderman backpack, hanging loosely from his shoulders, bouncing against his back with every hop and skip he made. He’d nearly filled it to the brim the night before, stuffing in every notebook and pencil he could find, so sure that he would need them all for the day to come. It had taken an hour for her to convince him that he would only need one of each, if he’d need them at all. Her little prince had been so excited, more excited than her, that day. Peppering her with questions the whole way there.

What’s my teacher’s name?

Will I get lunch?

Do we spend all day inside?

How will I know who to be friends with?

Each new inquiry brought a smile to her face, as did the efforts she made to satisfy his curiosity.

Your teacher’s name is Mrs. Jameson

Yes they will feed you lunch. Mac and Cheese. I promise I checked.

You’ll get half an hour of recess where you can run around as much as you’d like.

Your friends will be the people who treat you with kindness and smile when they see you.

Every answer she gave him only added to his excitement. The closer they got the wider his grin grew, the more she’d mentally prepared herself for the moment he’d finally drop her hand and run off to this exciting new world without her.

Except that’s not what happened.

They’d rounded the corner and finally caught sight of the school. They’d been there weeks before to enroll, to show Henry a glimpse of his first classroom. But the school had been quiet that day, with only a tenth of the students there. That had not been the case on the first day.

The school was swarming with students now, many of them bigger than her little prince. On the lawn, in the halls, in the classrooms. Their shouts and laughter made it hard to hear to her own thoughts. In their identical school uniforms they were practically a sea of black and white, and even as an adult Regina found herself struggling to navigate her way through them.

She’ll never forget the way his grip on her hand tightened. They way he started clinging to her waist as they made their way down the hall. By the time they reached the kindergarten classroom, Henry’s grin had all but disappeared. He seemed to shrink into her side as they entered the room where he would spending most of his time for the next year.

The kindergarten class was small that year, only twelve or so in the group. The bell had yet to ring so they were still exploring the classroom with their parents, wonder present in their young eyes. The theme that year was caterpillars and butterflies. There were different pictures of cartoon butterflies all over the room. She’d shown him each one hoping to help him relax before class started. Ten minutes later she still hadn’t felt like she’d succeeded. Henry still seemed withdrawn.

But what more could she do? The bell rang and Mrs.Jameson started ushering the parents out of the classroom. Something the children weren’t particularly happy about. More than a few shouts and tantrums were heard and she found herself grateful that Henry hadn’t been among the few initiators. At least until she kneeled down to give him a hug and heard the four words that would crack her heart in two.

“Please don’t leave me.”

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To Change A Life 2/?

Summary: Dan and Phil live in a world where Nekos are real and are treated like slaves. Phil lives with his mum and dad who are almost always too busy with work to worry about him. One night, Phil is up late on his laptop and he hears a strange sound coming from outside and decides to check it out. He never expected to find something that might change his life forever.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse (sexual, physical and emotional)

First Chapter  

The next morning, Phil awoke with Dan’s fluffy tail wrapped securely around his waist; Dan snuggled closely into his embrace. The brunette’s content purrs rumbled deeply in his chest; filling the entire room with the gentle sound.

Phil smiled and looked at his phone, realizing that it was still quite early. He looked down at the sleeping Neko beside him and giggled softly, petting his ears gently. Phil felt bad for Dan; he felt bad for all Nekos who were forced into unhappy homes, though he knew that would never change. Not enough people cared about the problem to put a stop to it.

Slowly, Phil pushed Dan away from himself and stood up, stretching out his tired arms and legs with a yawn. He wanted to make Dan something good to eat as he hadn’t eaten the night before and seemed much too skinny for his height. The ebony haired teenager smiled down at his new friend before wrapping the blankets tighter around him and heading downstairs.

About an hour later, Phil walked upstairs and shook Dan gently; making sure that Dan would see him as soon as he opened his eyes.

“Dan, wake up. I made breakfast.” Phil whispered.

The Neko’s eyes opened slowly; looking up at Phil with a small glint; a spark of light in his dark, chocolate brown eyes. A newly found feeling of hope for the young boy, the hope that he was finally free.

“Phil?” He whimpered, throwing himself into the other’s arms. “I was so scared that it was all just a dream and that I would wake up in the floor with my arms and legs strapped to the ground. But I’m not, you really saved me! Thank you so much.” Dan cried happily as Phil held him close.

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Parent Teacher Night

Mr. Jameson straightened out his tie and cleared his throat.

“Thank you for coming to parent teacher night. Please observe the name tags on the desks. You will be sitting in the same seats that your children sit in.

Thank you.

I’d like to talk about a very serious subject. School shootings. You ever wonder why it’s always students that snap and shoot up the school?

I know. It’s horrific, killing innocent kids like that. But I tell my students that a good exercise is to always put yourself in the other person’s shoes for a minute.

Maybe they just couldn’t take it anymore. They look around and are sickened by what they see. Kids these days are pieces of garbage. No respect. Promiscuous. Drug dealers and addicts. Lazy. Rude. No goals. Bullies. Assholes.

I see some of you shaking your head and looking surprised at my words. Don’t get me wrong. I assure you that I don’t blame the kids for turning out rotten.”

Mr. Jameson walks over to the door and locks it.

“I blame the parents.“

Graphology

Prompt: AU
Pairing: Dippica
Word Count: 3,721
Summary: On his hunt for the mystery student who scored higher than him on a test, Dipper gets sidetracked by a certain cheerleader.
A/N: In this AU, Dipper and Mabel are high school students in Gravity Falls. They’re about 15 here. Enjoy!

“So class, remember to finish the enthalpy section in our thermochemistry chapter for discussion tomorrow.”

The students started to shuffle their books and talk amongst themselves before the teacher added, “Oh, and the grades from last week’s test are pinned to the bulletin board!”

Dipper perked up at that, and he swept the books off his desk and into the waiting maw of his book bag in a single movement. He weaved a path between desks and students, nearly tripping over a laptop bag that stuck out into the aisle, but he still reached the bulletin board first.

Out of habit, his finger landed next to the number at the top of the list and he sang to himself, “Number one, yet agai–”

He cut himself off.

The student number at the top of the list wasn’t his.

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Something and the Whatever

So, like, modern Beauty and the Beast AU that I am finally admitting will never be a real fic: 

While he’s not REALLY royalty, Derek’s indisputably the crown prince of the modeling industry… and exactly as shallow as one might imagine, given that his lifestyle is like 15% clubbing and lounging around in fancy hotels, 15% being told by strangers that he has the face/ abs/ ass of an angel, 20% getting free drinks and appetizers and whatever, and 50% getting flown to exotic locations to get his picture taken. He spends 0% of his time even thinking about events or people beyond his preposterously good looking clique, much less actually doing good in the world or being kind.

So one day he’s partying with his on-again, off-again girlfriend Kate and some other gorgeous models, and he makes the mistake of cruelly mocking a woman who tries to hang with them by laughing at her ugly facial scars. Surprise surprise, she turns out to be a Druid who curses him to be A BEAST until he can make someone love him on account of his personality and receive True Love’s Kiss! But also he can’t speak of the curse until it’s broken, which she assures him it won’t ever be, because he is an ASSHOLE. And then she’s gone.

So Derek rushes to the bathroom to stare at a mirror, horrified at the idea of not being gorgeous - it’s his living, after all! - and he’s relieved at first, because everything is normal. He guesses the moment where her scars seemed to disappear must have been… an illusion? Anyways she’s just a crazy weirdo who tries to get a rise out of people with her weird magician tricks. Whew!

But then….. The changes are subtle, but devastating. His nose bulges at the tip, his eyebrows go wiry and fill in at the center. His teeth, always a bit crooked, get downright messed up and oh God, are they yellow? They’re definitely a little yellowed. The same sort of changes sweep over his whole body - a layer of fat around his abs, his tan faded to pasty white, his ears poking out like fucking wings, hair thinning and receding a good inch and a half. Even his scruff goes horribly patchy. Derek sobs in horror. He’s basically A BEAST.

He goes back out to the club and tries to get Kate’s help; she loves him, right? So if she kisses him this will all be over! But she spurns him just as cruelly as he’d spurned the Druid, sneering at him and saying that even if he is really Derek, like he claims to be, he’s hideous now and she has no desire to be around him for even one second more, much less kiss him. 

He’s sort of baffled and appalled - Kate’s always seemed so nice to him and the other rich, beautiful models. But now she’s treating him worse than dirt! And if even his girlfriend thinks he’s worthless like this… there’s no hope. He flees into the night, away from the judging eyes of other people.

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