#skunk dissection

[skunkes]

Sevika in your style would be so fucking insanely hot. Secretly beaming “sevika bush” into ur mind for no reason at all :)

ive been thinking about doing so bc ive not ever seen much fanart of her she's so hot i need her and silco to pass me around. SEVIKA BUSH

[lazyjellyfishcreation]

My thoughts on witcher!jaskier

So, so. I have been looking at a lot of witcher!jaskier shit lately, and eventhough bear!jaskier strikes a cord in my heart, to me, jask will always be a cat. So, with Jaskier being a cat, he would know Aiden, that would be logical. My question: what would their relationship be? my headcanon, Jaskier is Aidens teacher! Hear me out. Julek (jaskier's first actual name) was a promising young witcher of about 50 years old when it happend. He doesn't go to the caravan often because he doesn't like his siblings all that much, but he occasionally does to gamble and drink without having to worry about prejudice. He gambles his fun money away and gets drunk as a skunk in the process. He then remembers just how much he doesn't like being at the caravan and in his drunken mind decides to leave the caravan then and there to continue on the path. On his way out he stumbles into the wrong cart and finds Aiden. Aiden came out wrong. When he went trough the grasses (i hc that eventhough the cats do take in witchers from other schools that came out wrong, they also made their own, and aiden was one of the later.) Usually, a cat comming out with weird mutations isn't a problem, that's the cats school's specialty. But Aiden was a step too far. Aiden was deaf after the grasses. And the mages wanted to know why, so they strapped him to a table, to dissect him later. that's where Julek finds him. at 12 years old, scared, feverish from the grasses, alone, unable to hear, and not knowing what is going got happen to him. Julek, drunk as he is, decides that this is the perfect opportunity to make a shit decision and just. Takes. The kid. Julek just steals this child, and when he sobers up he realizes that that was a shit desicion but can't go back now, not when the kid looks up at him with scared sad eyes and go god he is gonna get so attached to this kid. So, Julek raises Aiden to the best of his abilties. He feeds him, trains him, teaches him the speech of hands (sighn language). Aiden is a smart boy, and phenomenal with trowing knives, he truly has impeccable aim. He's large too. Whatever took his hearing made him grow fast as fuck. Eventually, just when Aiden is getting used to not hearing, after a year or so, fate is cruel to him once again and takes his silent safety. Getting his hearing back is excutiating. Everything is loud, and sounds are so sharp now and it is overwhelming and aiden just want's it to be quit again but it is never quiet and and and. He's not having a good time. It takes him well over a month for him to adjusted to sounds. But now his hearing is better then any witcher's. It's overwhelming and it hurts but at least he can hear the monsters coming now.

All the while they are getting chased. Rememeber: Julek took a kit that wasn't his, not only that, Aiden was supposed to be a sience experiment and the cat mages want him back. so, 3 years after aiden getting stolen they make the desicion to go back to the caravan and claim aiden as julek's kit, to keep them from being hunted.

only problem: only grandmasters can assighn a witcher a kit to go on the path with, and the current grandmaster won't do it, because the mages want to keep him. so, Julek does the sane thing and chalenges the granmaster. If he wins and kills the grandmaster, then he becomes the grandmaster and can claim Aiden. if not, well... he wont be around to witness what they would do to his kit (son) nobody expects this 50 something year old witcher to beat the grandmaster with a century of experience under his belt. Julek is good, but he's (relatively) young. They are all wrong. Julek wins. Aiden is his. He claims his kid, steps down from the grandmaster position and fucks right off. I have so much more for this au but it's late so i might write that later if you want.

EDIT: here's the link to the series! https://archiveofourown.org/series/4746067

[jimothy-hopkins]

This is my girl Maria. She’s cool as hel and super fun to draw cause of her hair :3

Info about Maria!

General Description:

Maria is a short girl with a slightly stocky build. Her face is a rounder shape. Her most defining feature is her large brown eyes. They give her a similar appearance to Twiggy. Maria’s lips are small, and are somewhat pouted. She has a downturned ‘sad puppy’ looking appearance. Her hair is usually styled in a beehive and has blonde chunky highlights.

Maria is a generally nice person. She is easy to talk to, but lashes out when jealous or threatened. She will do anything to get what she wants, whether it be just some homework answers or revenge on someone who has wronged her. Her sweet outer appearance masks how malicious and selfish she can be on the inside.

Interests and whatnot:

Maria loves fashion and makeup from the 1960’s. It is her entire aesthetic. Most of her clothes are thrifted or handed drown from older relatives. Occasionally she will tailor her own to fit. Maria takes pride in how her style sets her apart from other students.

Hearing gossip is one of Maria’s favorite past times. She usually sits in on conversations with the other cheerleaders or eavesdrops on other students to get the scoop. She occasionally sneaks these rumors into the school papers to cause more drama. Maria enjoys watching people have cat fights.

Classic literature is one of Maria’s biggest interests. As shallow as she is, Maria enjoys going in depth into the themes of these books. She likes to dissect the characters and ideas that are written. Sometimes she can go on hour long tangents about one character or even just one scene in a book.

Reputation:

Despite her status as a nerd, the jocks somewhat accept her. This is because Maria is very good at doing stunts in cheer. She is also one of their best flyers. Other than that, she gets ignored and is given a hard time.

She does not get along with the greasers. Maria doesn’t have an appreciation or true understanding of how they live and why they work. She just thinks they’re annoying and cause unnecessary drama by fighting with the preps.

Maria has a similar view of the preps. She thinks their fashion taste is terrible, they’re all spoiled brats, and that they’ll never have any individuality since they’re always relying on their parents for support.

The bullies often target Maria. She if forced to give up homework and test answers and take the fall when they’re inevitably caught cheating off of her. She hates the bullies and hopes one day they’ll all go to prison or end up in the streets.

Maria settled in with the nerds well. She usually just keeps to Beatrice, Bucky, and Cornelius. She tries her best to encourage hygiene amongst the others, but it’s really in vain.

Quotes:

“Like you’ll get anywhere acting like a Neanderthal.”

“I could take your boyfriend in a heartbeat. Be lucky that I don’t want him.”

“I mean, at least they can’t take my knowledge from me like that can my money..”

“It’s not my fault your boyfriend kisses every girl BUT you!”

“Get over yourself!”

“Does my hair look big enough? I think it needs to be bigger.”

“I do not look like a skunk!”

“If you wanna give Earnest a Christmas present, make sure it’s deodorant.”

“I HATE IT HERE!”

“I heard that Kirby Olsen was sneaking around the movie theatre with Trent.”

“Did you hear that rumor about Gary being a werewolf?”

“I heard the prefects were so drunk at that Halloween party that they made Galloway look sober.”

“The greasers and the preps should honestly all leave. We’d be better off without all their whining.”

[serpentinesheldonserpentine]

I attended a wedding down in Virginia Saturday and was lucky to be at a table of people in their fifties. Old enough for conversation, young enough to stay awake.

Conversation turned to music and all agreed that we enjoyed sailing the smooth waters of Yacht Rock. The group members asked many important questions including the perpetual “is Steely Dan Yacht Rock or a category of their own”. We welcomed them aboard, forgiving their unsavory lyrical topics.

We archly dissected ‘Escape’ (The Piña Colada Song) -they’re cheerfully cheating on each other; then wondered whatever became of Robbie Dupree.

Then, it got serious. Real serious. What was the most important moment in Yacht Rock history?

Instantly, we all agreed,. The moment Skunk Baxter made that fateful phone call to Michael McDonald, enlisting our hero in what had been a middling band of smelly hippies and assuring the Doobie Brothers a place in our hearts.

Michael? You think we’re your fools? Well, you may just be right.

[gnashingwailing]

GIRL (gender neutral) HELP NOT THE PEER REVIEWED HOMOPHOBIA

@fireflywritesgt sending u my ch 24/25 thoughts <3

⬆️How Harry looks processing how upset he is that Joe nearly died in a lake while lovingly making him tea for his hangover

Meanwhile, Joe: I hope sober Joe knows how to deal with this Sober Joe:

First off. this is primarily a reflection on Joe & Harry throughout these last two chapters but I would be remiss not to mention how EXTREMELY fed I am by the Gutters lore ... was HE a pet or was it someone he cared for... either way... woof. Plus Calloway coming to Joe's rescue once again... even though there are now rumors and Gutters saw something. In parallel with the marking scene ... this story does such a great job of balancing the horror with the levity. maybe it's for the best Joe isn't telling Harry the particulars of his visiting Calloway's bcuz Harry might just have a heart attack if he stops and thinks through the implications of all this. Wonder if he realizes how much danger he might have put Joe in... he seems to kinda forgor everything else where saving/supporting Joe is concerned (as seen in ch21 when he wanted to bring Joe to see O'Grady...)

(Btw I love the way (sober) Joe will NEVER admit anything re: Harry saving his life lol. “You just threw me into a curtain 🙄“ “I don’t even remember the turtle 🙄”)

“He knew what the medical journals had to say about homosexuals; hell, he had read them! He had to give himself some credit, however. The little bastard had been drunk as a skunk, lying helplessly in his hand, and the worst Harry had done was march him straight upstairs to tuck him into bed. Whatever pathology Harry himself had, it had not gotten the best of him yet.”

GIRL (gn) HELP NOT THE PEER-REVIEWED INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA… The Harry chapters always hit soooo hard for me when you read between the lines of what he’s thinking. He is SUCH a poor little guy… We can see pretty clearly that Harry thinks of his affections as something poisonous but Also apparently as something predatory? “his pathology” “getting the best of him” being like… what? That he’d take advantage of him because he’s attracted to him ? Is that the kind of thing the research said? UGH IT BREAKS MY HEART. I hope he’ll reject his coping mechanism of rationalizing and dissecting everything and just let go and trust Joe to know what he wants! It would be really tragic if Harry tried rejecting Joe much the same way Georgie rejected him :’(

“Harry, though he hated to admit it, was afraid – not of Joe himself, but what Joe represented.” - OUUUUUGHHH THE PARALLELS… the way Joe thought the exact same thing after the night of the thunderstorm… ouuuuughhhhh save meeee...

And the parallels continue in their tendency to self-harm… Joe may be more overt about it (lol if Harry ever learns that Joe has purposefully eaten poisoned chocolate three. times. and fully thought he was doing it a 4th with Harry’s own offering … #girl…) but Harry’s absolute repression of any self-expression or vulnerability is equally a form of self-harm… questioning Joe’s ability to make his own decisions is such a sad expression of how Harry (maybe unconsciously?) views things — safety and staying alive is worth more than authenticity. Maybe he won’t stick Joe in a cage anymore but he still wants to exert control over him — in the relatable way many of us do when we feel like our loved ones are making bad decisions. And Joe is making some of those! But so does everyone! And in Joe’s case the worst of them are likely driven from years of internalized self-loathing and self-neglect !! He would probably chill out if he just had a good man waiting for him at home……. Taking Harry by the shoulders and shaking him. U are both two sides of the same coin

Except

“Unseasoned. The word crept back into Joe’s mind. Calloway had a point, he realized; Harry wasn’t acting all that different from some of the lesser-experienced boys of Joe’s own size that he had toyed with. Surely, though, Harry didn’t find Joe attractive. That would be absurd!” Holy shit this whole chapter is so good but this part is hysterical. 1. TOYED WITH⁉️ 2. Watching Harry’s brain overheat in real time while 3. Joe getting to enjoy flirting shamelessly (clapping and hollering that he got to do that AND got to be sober to remember it) WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY BEING LIKE 🤨 there’s no way he finds me attractive tho. How do they both manage to be such conniving little bastards and also so innocent. So clever and yet soooo dumb. 💕

But even tho he’s somewhat in disbelief about how Harry feels about him, Joe knows himself so very well lmao. At first I thought he was lying about not remembering their conversation but. I don’t think so. Harry telling him he said “something very nice” to him and Joe being like. Was it that you had a nice ass. LIKE HE WAS THIS 🤏 CLOSE TO THE MARK BDDJSHHD but ALSO even just calling Harry handsome made him a blushing mess!! It fascinates me that Harry is so terrified of receiving affection but he felt much more at ease when he was giving it. I mean, he was calling Joe handsome two chapters ago‼️ I think Joe can be forgiven for his romance-novel-brain idealizing Harry as a seductor. It says something interesting about Harry’s character that he’s been so comfortable complimenting Joe until it might lead somewhere … Is that open, easygoing kindness, the sort that compliments other men readily, the ‘real’ Harry? Was Joe seeing his unvarnished personality before it got hidden under the internalized homophobia that has come out in force since ch22? I get the sense Harry is just the sort of guy whose true feelings sometimes spill out of him in a way he is barely cognizant of. We know that’s true for his anger, but I could see that being true for his affection, too. I’m guessing that is why his internal monologue goes “wow! He’s like a movie star :) and he’s so brave and cool and I respect him so much. He looks like a dancer. And his clothes look so good on him. And I notice his haircut and whether he’s getting enough sleep and every scratch and scrape and other intricacy of his appearance immediately. Yeah, I can’t help but love him - you know - like a brother or a friend!!” 👈 UNSEASONED

"“So you admit it. I’m up here because I manipulated you, and not because you manipulated me.” Joe said." — omfg. On the one hand, I love that these two are so good at unhanding each other, and it’s very cute to me that they’ve both at different points felt proud for “catching” one another. On the other hand, Harry & Joe when they are tasked with cultivating a mutually nurturing and vulnerable relationship:

WHAT IF NEITHER OF YOU ARE MANIPULATING THE OTHER AND DOING THIS BECAUSE YOU LIKE ONE ANOTHER AND YOU’RE BOTH CHOOSING THE UNKNOWN. WHAT IF THAT WASNT BEYOND BOTH UR KEN RN. What then. One day they will quit playing Tom and Jerry-esque mind games with each other but not today. I know the rituals are intricate. I know. I know they’re intricate 😔😔😔

On a lighter note so glad to see Joe’s other go-to behavior is back. If he doesn’t wanna Just Walk Out then he wants to Fuck Around & Find Out <3 I luv how compatible the two of them are… Joe is not only moving in he's turning Harry into the u-haul service and Harry is just enamored with him for it. Faithful hunting dog retrieving game indeed. Submissive in the way a livestock guardian dog is submissive to its sheep. 10/10 Joe got his ass so good.

"“I’m sure you[‘ll listen to me]. You have to. If I’m gonna be the tiny, then it means you have to be the giant and do everything I say all the time.” He said." — Hmm. Joe and I have the same g/t fics bookmarked I think 👍 I sort of get the same sense that Harry got when Joe was talking about “luck” — that maybe the idea of “being the tiny” vs “being the giant” has some cultural connotations for him we don’t quite grasp.

OH this reminds me of the question I meant to ask you and promptly forgot about. If miniatures have a taboo against taking things without giving something in return… what does it feel like for Joe when Harry just keeps giving him stuff? Does “paying me in sleep” really work in borrower cultural norms? Hazarding a guess, I’m assuming romantic partners don’t necessarily operate on the same principle of equivalent exchange… given “Joe’s got a rich boyfriend that’s spoiling him” being something Calloway reads as normal/expected … That is to say. Hmm. Is Harry giving Joe all these things something that a romantic suitor would do? 🤔 Harry the unknowing seductor…

Parting thoughts… Miss Wilkins’ dad suddenly came down with tuberculosis, huh. Gang, do we know how Harry’s mom died, other than that it was sudden and traumatic? How do we think Harry is doing re: pushing all his feelings & unprocessed trauma down at this time. 👍/👎?

[gatherinthebonegarden]

Tags are a work in progress…

(and so is this pinned post)

aardwolf bones. alpaca bones. anatomy. anteater bones. antlers. articulation. auk bones

baculum. badger bones. bear bones. beauchêne. beaver bones. bee. library. bird bones. bison bones. butterfly

camel bones. cat bones. cicada. coffin bone. collection. comparison. conjoined. cougar bones. cow bones. coyote bones. cryptotaxidermy.

dead. deer bones. diaphonization. dinosaur bones. dissection. dog bones. duck bones

feathers. fish bones. fisher bones. fossil. fox bones. frog bones

gila monster bones. giraffe bones. goat bones. goose bones

hamster bones. hare bones. heart. hedgehog bones. heron bones. hippopotamus bones. hog bones. horse bones. human bones. hyena bonesjackal bones

ivory

jackalope

lion bones (see cat bones). lizard bones. luna moth.

made of bone. marmot bones. mink bones. model. moose bones. moth. mouse bones. mummified. museum. mustelid.

narwhal bones.

otter bones. opossum bones. orca bones. owl bones. oxidation. oxidization.

pelt. pet. pet memorial. pigeon bones. platypus bones. porcupine bones. porpoise bones.

rabbit bones. raccoon bones. rat bones. remains. replica. rhinoceros bones. roadkill. rodent bones. rug.

scientific illustration. seahorse bones. seal bones. shed. sheep bones. shrew bones. skeleton. skull. skunk bones. soft mount. squirrel bones.

tanning. tarantula. taxi. teeth. thylacine bones. toad bones. tortoise bones. turtle bones. two headed. vole bones.

weasel bones. wet specimen. whale bones. wolf bones. wolverine bones.

x-ray.

*as a wip, there are are a lot of tags i haven’t entered here yet. try the animal name of your choice and add “bones”.

*there are a lots of place names and dates in the tags. try a year, a country, a city, a museum.

*there is no ai on this blog. any misinformation (for example, misidentified bones or artistic interpretations of animals in antique bestiaries) are the mistakes of humans, not machines.

*out of respect, the original tw/cw of op’s are in the tags. but please be aware, they are not my tagging system. if you wish to filter sensitive material on this blog, the tags to filter are “dead” and “remains”. i don’t post images that i perceive as gore for the sake of gore, but you and i may perceive these things differently.

*i do not support the sale or purchase of human or bat bones or parts. this blog does include museum/memorial/medical/historical/educational/antique/etc (human) and museum/antique/second hand/etc (bat) images. to filter this content use the tags “human” “human bones” “bat” “bat bones”

[arrghigiveup]

Putting the full text of the NYT article that the first tweet was responding to underneath the cut.

Link to the original tweet: https://twitter.com/speechleyish/status/1275990670663012352

Link to a couple of more serious threads about exactly why the biennial “Durian: the Freakshow Fruit” articles are so annoying:

https://twitter.com/amirulruslan/status/1276088736296472577

https://twitter.com/amirulruslan/status/1276313332492845056

Eating Thai Fruit Demands Serious Effort but Delivers Sublime Reward

Many delicious species in Thailand, “the Great Power nation of fruit,” require laborious peeling and careful chewing. Then there’s the sticky fingers and occasional disappointment.

By Hannah Beech June 22, 2020

BANGKOK — All across Bangkok, fruit juice is dripping off chins, dribbling down arms and splashing onto the city’s sidewalks.

This is peak fruit season in Thailand, when the rising mercury concentrates the sugars in the tropical bounty that is native to Southeast Asia.

The region’s fruits are like no other. There is a fruit encased in prickly armor that smells of a deep, dank rot. There is a fruit that emits a sticky sap when peeled and another that stains fingernails mauve for those craving its succulent flesh.

And there is the rambutan, which means “hairy thing” in Malay. With its crimson skin studded with green feelers, the egg-sized fruit bears more than a passing resemblance to a coronavirus. It is yummy.

With pandemic travel bans in place, Thailand’s economic mainstay, tourism, has been battered. The country of 70 million has had to rely even more on exports of its agricultural products, and a national fruit lobby group predicts that overseas fruit shipments will increase by at least 10 percent this year, despite the coronavirus.

Prime Minister Prayuth Chan-ocha has called Thailand “the Great Power nation of fruit.” Last year, the country ranked as the world’s sixth biggest fruit exporter.

But most of the fruit is exported to Thailand’s regional neighbors, with China its biggest customer. The prospects of expanding to large Western markets like the United States may be appealing, but face some daunting obstacles.

Less than 3 percent of Thailand’s fruit was exported to the United States. Distance is one problem, as are worries about fruit flies accompanying the imports. But the main reason for the low figure may be that Southeast Asia’s indigenous fruits have what Fuchsia Dunlop, a British author of Chinese cookbooks, calls a high “grapple factor.”

Many of the region’s fruits require serious commitment to eat: laborious peeling, careful chewing and the frequent spitting out of seeds to which meat stubbornly adheres.

To snack during office hours on a langsat, a demure cousin of a lychee with a peel that oozes a kind of natural super glue, is to submit to sticky fingers and sticky keyboards. Soap doesn’t help.

The meat is perfumed but each bite is fraught, lest teeth accidentally penetrate the bitter seeds. The langsat is worth it, but only just.

Unlike a banana’s easy extraction, dissecting a jackfruit is to hack through a jagged sheath, then painstakingly pluck out rubbery polyps that taste like overripe Juicy Fruit gum.

The process can consume an afternoon, and there are fruit vendors whose careers are dedicated to peeling jackfruit — a single specimen can weigh up to 120 pounds — and other complicated fruits.

At Talad Thai, Bangkok’s wholesale fruit market and the largest in Southeast Asia, there is an entire building dedicated to citrus and a gymnasium-sized section only for the mango, of which there are more than 200 varieties in Thailand.

The fruits at Talad Thai are often transported and peeled by migrants from neighboring Cambodia or Myanmar.

“I was so poor that I had to look for work in Thailand,” said Sing Dy, who was unloading a truck of fruit as sweat drenched her coronavirus face mask.

She hasn’t seen her children back in Cambodia for six months because of the pandemic travel ban, but she still sends most of her $20 a day salary back home.

Each year, regional newspapers relate various jackfruit-related deaths, mostly involving someone lingering under a tree with fruit looming above. In May, a man in southern India was injured by a falling jackfruit and required spinal surgery, only to discover at the hospital that he also had the coronavirus. (He recovered.)

In terms of showiness, the rambutan jousts with the dragon fruit, a neon pink mini-football covered in acid-green tendrils. To some, the experience of eating a dragon fruit, which grows on a cactus indigenous to South America, is a letdown after all that dazzling packaging: It’s a bland mush with tiny seeds that can require floss to dislodge.

Thais tend to approach milder fruit as a canvas for the fermented, spicy flavors that dominate the country’s cuisine. So guavas, rose apples and pomelos, the world’s largest citrus, are often served with a chili, salt and sugar dip to enliven the experience. Tart fruits, like green mangoes, are balanced with a sweet condiment that includes fish sauce, dried shrimp and shallots.

If someone’s fingernails are dyed purple at the tips, it likely betrays a preference for the mangosteen, a palm-sized orb that looks like an extra in a Super Mario Bros. video game. Beneath its woody rind are juicy segments that strike a Socratic equilibrium between sweet and sour.

Even a peach has nothing on a mangosteen when it is perfect, but the mangosteen is rarely perfect. Many are afflicted with a blight that tarnishes the white flesh an ugly mustard hue. Which fruit is blemished is unknowable before peeling, and so to eat a pile of mangosteens is an exercise in disappointment.

The salak is also called the snakeskin fruit because its casing is undeniably reptilian. Inside is a not-quite-crunchy flesh that, like so many of Southeast Asia’s native fruits, hovers between delectable and decayed. Some scientists have theorized the smell attracts rainforest primates, whose consumption and dispersal of the seeds helps the fruit take root for another generation.

The most infamous fruit, which stinks of death, is the durian. Buildings and taxis in Thailand have no-durian signs next to no-smoking signs.

The durian’s flavor elicits passionate, and polarizing, responses, with few indifferent about the fruit’s appeal or repulsiveness.

On the outside, the durian resembles a medieval torture device. Nestled inside the spiky shell are kidney-shaped lobes of custard. The flavor is somewhere between an off-peak Gorgonzola and a crème caramel, with a whiff of skunk.

Orangutans adore the durian. In Indonesia, where expanding palm oil plantations have destroyed the apes’ natural habitat, orangutans occasionally raid fruit orchards for sustenance. Farmers have responded by shooting them.

Even if the smell could be put aside — which is, frankly, impossible — the durian would still probably have the highest grapple factor among Southeast Asia’s endemic fruits. Thai exports of the fruit are mostly destined for China, where consumers tend to be more willing to work for their meals.

The durian’s greatest supporters hold out little hope that it will ever capture the United States market the way the kiwi charmed Americans in the 1970s, when marketers renamed the Chinese gooseberry after New Zealand’s national bird. It helps that the kiwi, with its fuzzy peel, is cute and easy to eat.

While some of Southeast Asia’s indigenous fruits are available in specialty markets in the United States, the flavors lack the vibrancy of those grown at home, aficionados insist.

Ubolwan Wongchotsathit is a second-generation fruit magnate, and she used to fly her durian as far away as Dubai and Melbourne before the pandemic forced her to use land and sea routes instead.

“Americans say they hate the smell of durian,” she said. “I don’t understand. It is sweet love.”

[kawaiijohn]

Well, This is Awkward

For Phic Phight 2022

Prompt: Think of every DP fanfic you've ever read and put all of their Danny's in a room. What chaos unfolds? WC: 6785 For: @amabsisRated: T (for mentions of drugs/language) Warnings: Allusions and discussions about death, a Danny or two that have been vivisected/dissected, drugs (ghost weed), a lil bit of Zalgo text

Summary: An amulet that is said to bring about 'reflections of the whole' to aide in understanding one's self- to aide in becoming the most powerful version of one's self'.

That was what Plasmius was after, according to Clockwork. Of course, it was up to Danny to stop him, and to learn more about himself in the process.

What could possibly go wrong?

I wrote 24 separate Dannys in this, please enjoy.

List of Dannys and AU credits underneath

Techno Geek (Reverse Trio)

Jock (Jock AU)

Danny Masters (AU where Danny sides with Vlad)

Kitsune from @13thdoodle s AU

Full Ghost/Blue/Decapitated Danny (Three Tropes in one!)

Gloomy (Phantom of Truth)

Goth Danny (Another Reverse Trio AU)

Hazmat (Hazmat Suit AU), Corpsey (Corpse AU)

Super Danny (Canon Episode)

Dead Fish Stare (Dannypocalypse Danno)

Fun Danny (canon episode)

Dabby Yeetom @bibliophilea s cursed SWAG YOLO Danny

Flower Crown (reverse evil trio by 13thDoodle

Veils @five-rivers Eldritch/Loved AU

Void (Void Danny)

Skunk Stripe (Full Human AU)

Robe/Cult Freak (My Lethean Lost Danny)

Cardinal Boy @floralflowerpower's LLK Danny

Barrette River's Mortified Danny

Collar (Crown Necklace AU), Armor (Ghost King AU)

Time (Raised by CW AU)

[herpoetryshelf]

[Blog #10] Spring 2023, Plath, Sexton and Lowell vs Olds, Flynn and Davis

Today, I am comparing and contrasting early Confessional poets -- Sylvia Plath’s “Lady Lazarus,” Anne Sexton’s “Wanting to Die” and Robert Lowell’s “Skunk Hour” -- to their Confessional contemporaries --  Sharon Olds’ “My Son the Man,” Nick Flynn’s “My Mother Contemplating Her Gun” and Olena Kalytiak Davis’ “Not This”.

For reference, confessional-style poetry or confessionalism is poetry that often incorporates first-person perspective to detail psychological struggles such as mental illness and/or childhood traumas.

Before I analyze the similarities and differences between those six poems, I would love to greet anyone who happens to stumble upon this blog post.  

This is the link to my first blog post on Ada Limon’s The Carrying (2018):

My professor assigned a poetry book collection or individual poems every other week. My main objective was to dissect a few poems that left an impression on me while using his T.R.I.F.F.I.D. method.  

Tone: the voice, mood, or attitude the reader believes the author is conveying through subject and word choice. 

Rhythm: the pattern and beat between the stressed and unstressed word syllables. 

Imagery: the details told through the five senses (touch aka physical, sound aka auditory, sight aka visual, taste aka gustatory and smell aka olfactory). 

Figure: or figure of speech, is the non-literal expression of language. Figures of speech include hyperbole, irony, metaphor, simile, anaphora, antithesis and chiasmus. 

Form: the way a poem is presented on paper or a screen. Think of how the author physically shapes the poem -- the use of dialogue, line spacing, paragraph breaks, rhythms and patterns. 

Idea Density: how the author expresses their ideas throughout their poem. Can be literal (concrete) and/or figurative (vague or hidden).  

Diction: the word choice and arrangement within a piece. 

Part I:

The most noticeable difference between early and contemporary confessional poems are their forms. For example, both Sylvia Plath’s “Lady Lazarus” and Anne Sexton’s “Wanting to Die” have 3 lines per stanza, while Robert Lowell’s “Skunk Hour” has 6. 

On the other hand, Sharon Olds’ “My Son the Man” is one long stanza compose of 15 lines; Nick Flynn’s “My Mother Contemplating Her Gun” is a bit harder to deduce where a stanza starts and end, but it seems to vary between 1–3 lines per stanza. Olena Kalytiak Davis’ “Not This” starts at 2 lines, then 11, and shifts back to 2 lines for the last three stanzas. 

Part II:

I feel as though I can’t quite compare and contrast the early and contemporary poets’ idea density because they all similarly discuss mental health awareness/topics. Plath’s “Lady Lazarus” (Lazarus means a person who is resurrected from the dead) reveals the narrator’s (Plath’s) third suicide attempt by age thirty:

I have done it again.   

One year in every ten   

I manage it——

(...)

And I a smiling woman.   

I am only thirty.

And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.   

What a trash

To annihilate each decade. (1-3, 21-24)

Lowell’s “Skunk Hour” the narrator admits to his declining mental health -- feeling crazy, alone and depressed, so much so, he compared his state of mind to Hell:

My mind’s not right.

A car radio bleats,

“Love, O careless Love. . . .” I hear

my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,

as if my hand were at its throat. . . .

I myself am hell;

nobody’s here— (30-36)

Sexton’s “Wanting to Die” is vaguely similar in topic to Plath as they both discuss “suicide,” though Sexton is more on the nose than Plath. In reference to the title, the narrator confesses to her desire to commit suicide:

Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.

I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.   

Then the almost unnameable lust returns.

Even then I have nothing against life.

I know well the grass blades you mention,   

the furniture you have placed under the sun.

But suicides have a special language.

Like carpenters they want to know which tools.

They never ask why build. (1-9)

Olds’ “My Son the Man” the narrator confesses that she is afraid of her son growing up and becoming his own person outside of her control/influence (maternal fears).

She compares herself to the chains strapped on Houdini, while her son is compared to Houdini himself:

Suddenly his shoulders get a lot wider,

the way Houdini would expand his body

while people were putting him in chains. It seems

no time since I would help him to put on his sleeper,

guide his calves into the gold interior,

zip him up and toss him up and

catch his weight. I cannot imagine him

no longer a child, and I know I must get ready,

get over my fear of men now my son

is going to be one. This was not

what I had in mind when he pressed up through me like a

sealed trunk through the ice of the Hudson,

snapped the padlock, unsnaked the chains,

and appeared in my arms. Now he looks at me

the way Houdini studied a box

to learn the way out, then smiled and let himself be manacled. (1-15)

Eventually, like all traps, Houdini figures them out and escapes, which is what the narrator fears her son will do to her when he matures. 

Again, Flynn’s “My Mother Contemplating Her Gun” is similar to Plath and Sexton’s poems as it deals with the topic of suicide; as the title implies, the narrator is the mother. 

Throughout the poem, the mother discusses the gun -- the act of suicide -- as insignificant or easy by down-playing the severity and adding colorful descriptions to the gun:

 I bought it

when I didn’t feel safe. The barrel

                      is oily,

          reflective, the steel

pure, pulled from a hole

                   in West Virginia. It

could have been cast into anything, nails

along the carpenter’s lip, the ladder

to balance the train. Look at this, one

                        bullet,

                        how almost nothing it is—

          saltpeter   sulphur   lead   Hell

burns sulphur, a smell like this.

                        safety & hammer, barrel & grip

             I don’t know what I believe. (9-23)

Lastly, in Davis’ “Not This,” the narrator reveals she regrets not appreciating the little moments of family time in the past since the family dynamic has change -- the children growing up and the narrator (possibly) falling out of love with their spouse:

i raised my kids, they

grew i lost two pasts–i am

not made of them and they

are through.

we forget what

we remember:

each of the five

the fevered few

days we used to

fall in love. (10-19)

What did I learn?

The most noticeable difference between early and contemporary confessional poems are their forms; early poets stuck to a rigid line count, while their successors are more free-flowing. 

Moreover, they all discuss mental health issues. Plath, Sexton and Flynn explore suicide in their poetry; Lowell, Olds and Davis wrote about varying topics: solitude, maternal fears and regret. 

Whether early or contemporary, not all poets write about the same mental issues; even if two poets wrote about the same mental illness, they have differing voices, imagery, figures of speeches, etc. 

Though, most confessional poets seem to share the same tone: melancholy, desolate, grim, mournful and pessimistic.

Spotlight Poet: Who is Sylvia Plath?

Some may only know Sylvia Plath by how she infamously died, rather than how she lived her life. I am here to correct that! Boston native Sylvia Plath specialized and was highly noted for her confessional poetry; her topics ranged from her mental struggles, self-image and familial and marital traumas. During her lifetime, Plath published two poetry collections: The Colossus and Other Poems (1960) and Ariel (1965). 

One of her most well-known and studied poems is “Lady Lazarus” and “Daddy”. In the former, as discussed earlier, Plath confesses to her third suicide attempt, whereas in the latter, she recounts her patriarchal sufferings through her father’s death and the conflicting relationship with her husband (poet Ted Hughes). 

In the end, Sylvia Plath’s poetry remained timeless and praised by her contemporaries and successors because of how relatable and descriptive her thoughts and emotions -- anguish, alienation and self-destruction -- are to the past and present literary communities.

For more information on confessionalism and poetry by Plath, Sexton, Lowell, Olds, Flynn and Davis, check out the links below:

Lastly, what are some of your favorite confession-style poems? 

Feel free to share some below!

[spatheandspadix]

Today in field work: one of my skunk cabbage spathes broke off, so I dissected it; germinating seedlings!

[manjuhitorie]

Hitorie’s Recent Tweets - Translated and Dissected

Hitorie’s recent happenings and side-activities, arranged and explained.  Yumao

Pwease somebody whisk me away to a drummers meetup. I’ve never been.

There was a large meetup the day before he tweeted this, his TL was surely flocking with his friend's photos. Jealous Mao.

 I’m gonna be unza-unza at Kashima PALOOZA.

Hitorie were part of the the opening act for ‘Back Drop Cinderella’ on their ‘Get Serious Dancing The Unza-unza tour’. “Unza-unza” is their own neologism, many song names include the term unza-unza, they play “perverted pop” and dance unza-unza with the crowd, etc. Originated from ‘Emir Kusturica & The No Smoking Orchestra’’s song “unza-unza time”.

Dear newly inaugurated adults, don’t drink alcohol if you’re still not over 20!!!!!!! Over and out!!!!!!

In reference to the January holiday in JP, Seijinshiki. it’s fundamentally a day with haregi kimonos, ceremony, and youngins pronounced of age for adulthood.

Baaro

Slang of “Baka yarou (damned idiot)”, originated from Detective Conan.

Everyone of twitter, you really don’t wanna lose to President Maezawa.

Maezawa Yusaku recently beat the world record for most retweeted tweet, after promoting his retail shopping website ZOZOTOWN by dispensing 1 million yen to 100 chosen retweeters. Which sparked twitter community to start “Resisting President Maezawa” with their own various lotteries. Such as the Golden Egg which did manage to surpass Maezawa.

Did Remo’s CS Clear always have such attack power…? When I had them on my Vistalite set, I sensed they just made it feel fat and heavy but, did they always have such strong attack power?.. They leave such a strong impression...

Ref: https://bit.ly/2szU1Xp

Using my money on gear puts me in such a cheerful mood

[Photo of 3 wrapped drum heads]. He bought them.

Ahh my YD9000, I love you. Thanks much for this year!!

Shinoda

https://www.instagram.com/p/Bshog8EFCt5/

I got a dental crown.

https://privatter.net/p/4137778 - http://onsenmanjukun.tumblr.com/post/172040512391 SND’s dental dilemma is his go-to story at this moment.

https://twitter.com/sho_do_teki/status/1085031296034717696

Why is Shinjuku station all Mister Khamen Reply: Cause the Lion statue is a pyramid. A-a genius has appeared,,,,,

In SND’s favorite manga KinnikuMan, Mister Khamen is a character inspired by olden Egyptian society, hence the pyramid connection. While the Lion is a renowned statue in front of Shinjuku station, like a landmark it’s a common meeting place there.

SND’s original manga slides translation (https://bit.ly/2szU1Xp):  

“Dear Shiohigari, on your 30th year…” “Happy Birthday” “Shiohigari you’re the best I love you”’ “I like-like of the likey you” “Everyone…” “Thank you.” “(Creatures thought to be FF5 Catastrophes, talking in Mojibake)”

Shiohigari, an artist of who is known for his signature draws cute girls with bizarre punchlines. SND also wears his face keychain on his pants often. 

Replies:  Shiohigari “Now I am endlessly depressed. It’s going to be about 10 years since we met isn’t it. Let’s stay together forever.’ SND “I’m glad I didn’t make this the punchline: <picture of a manipulative machine linking up to a brain>. Shioho “I yearn to be like this after all”. SND “True”. Shioho “I blinked and I was in this state, that was the one single lesson I learned in my 20s. Thanks Shinoda-san.” I wanted to avoid drawing my nameless manga so much, that I put a bizarre amount of effort into Shiohigari’s birthday manga

Kamikiri Ryunosuke … Translation: I cut my hair

Kamiki Ryunosuke is the name of an actor. Who’s name resembles the word “kamikiri (haircut)”... He’s making a pun.

I had a dream where The Tunnels (*a longtime comedy duo) forced me to buy a clock for a million yen.

~

At CDJ (Countdown Japan, a new year music festival) we came together in an attempt to awaken Pretty*, I saw the band of my old college mate, I saw the band of one of my manga readers (Big respect for him), per natural I missed Kankaku Pierrot, per usual I saw Shaggy Jr. and Kuusou Iinkai, then I got drunk as a skunk after and chatted it up jovial. CDJ is always the best.

I forgot to include the part about using my phone as a penlight and singing along with the crowd for Wasurerannee yo, ya don't forget about Wasurerannee yo. *(Because their name translates to “I don't forget shittt” sort of phrase.)

Also this is a pretty disgusting tweet but… Before we first met I was the one who was always watching ygarshy play while I was down on the floor, so… When I saw him playing bass at CDJ, something horrifying swelled up in my heart. I truly do like watching ygarshy play bass up on the stage, I realized.

The one who SND was trying wake up, the bassist of go!go!vanillas, Pretty, was involved in a car accident.. Much to his loved one's devastation he was hospitalized and remained unconscious for a few weeks on end.. To at last finally wake up... The band crew reunited at his bedside, his recovery back to his life and the stage is certain.

wowaka

I suck at dealing with the world but I do love people!

I like music too much

January 4th Instagram live report:

“We announced a lot, so look forward to a lot.” hitorie.jp

He lazed around for the new year, he didn’t go home or meet anyone or anything

*Replying to a comment* “I wanna go to Hakone Onsen too”

wowaka’s favorite songs from ‘HOWLS’ are November and Ao.

Said his New years resolution “瞬” derived from “瞬発” 

Went to his first New Year’s visit to shrine at Sensouji in Asakusa, received the super rare good luck fortune.

On the subject of the upcoming Chou Hinichijou Hitori-escape, which includes special events for each member, he laughed at a comment saying it’s a chance for Yuma to probably go on rambling about drums and rhythm: "Hahaha, he loves drums after all".

also bonus info on Polaris I’ll flinging here: https://twitter.com/boat_manju/status/1067352775892324353 https://twitter.com/boat_manju/status/1066948087468515334

ygarshy

As support for Wasurerannee yo, guests upon Arukara’s tour, we finished our show up in Sapporo, Hokkaido. I send gratitude towards everyone who was at the arena. Shimogami-san (Arukara’s bassist) when he mowed down the trinkets on top of Taisuke’s (Arukara’s vocalist) amp with his shield of wildness, that brought me such satisfaction to watch.

I’ve arrived back at home in Tokyo a step ahead of everyone else. Shimogami-san’s bass line in their new song was extremely cool.

I’m in Osaka right now. Time for the support of Wasureranee yo at the live house Shinsabashi JANUS. In the same fashion as Wasurerannee yo, Hitorie will also later be joining ‘Sukippara ni Sake’ on their new release Doro.ep’. tour.

ygarshy has been filling in as the bassist for the band ‘Wasureranee yo’ He’s been parading along for a many gigs since July of last year, including CDJ2019, their big solo show final, various festivals, and more. + yg is in 3 songs on their new single: “That guy hit a long shot and that girl swooned while I was at home”. “Odore Hikikomori”, “When we all cheered the only glass you didn’t tap was mine”. Judging by the photos Shibata posts of their partnership, they seem to be staying awake until 4 drinking and smiling together, often have their arms wrapped around shoulders, and yg seems to be truly enjoying it.

Advanced pizza

<Photo of three boxes of different card games, including Startups, One Night Werewolf, and The Lost Legacy> <https://twitter.com/ygarshy/status/1082259497819824128> 

The ambience of a new year

<Photo of a mixed pizza> <https://twitter.com/ygarshy/status/1081559687961739265> Pretty I believe in you Good morning Pretty

[hayjeon]

All I Ever Wanted (m) ft. Seokjin

cr.

→ teacher!jin, enemiestolovers au aka fluff → 10k words, rated for smutty scenessss

A/N: my bio and chem teachers in highschool hated eachother bc my chem/physics teachers were bad ass bitches and would tell our class that bio wasn’t shit and we’d literally sit in class like “OOooooOOHHHHH! she said it wasn’t SHIITTTT!” bc we lived for that drama and then the bio teachers would tattle to the principle and i was bff’s with that guy so he would vent to me sometimes and it was the pettiest funniest shit EVER

also ive never written anything about seokjin so this was actually really hard orl....but i hope you guys like it! this is a oneshot, so please don’t ask me for any sequels or prequels, but feel free to ask me any questions regarding the characters, and also give me feedback about how the story went, how the smut was, how i framed the characters, etc. it’s been a while since i wrote a fullfledged fic and i feel a little rusty :’) help me out 

“Okay class, we need to focus for the next few weeks because your exams are coming up! This is your chance to show them how hard you've been working!” you say excitedly as your students groan and mumble amongst themselves.

Smiling, you try to cheer them up, “C’mon, you guys have done so well this semester and the entire country knows that you guys are the best group of students they’ve ever seen!” 

You pass out some study guides that you prepared, and turn on your powerpoint to go over the important topics for the class. “Oh, and don’t forget after school tomorrow, I’ll be holding a study and review session so you guys can ask questions and we can go over the study guide together!” 

You hear some kids sigh in relief but one of your sweet kids raises her hand. 

“Yes, Yoona?” 

“Umm there’s a small problem teach.” She looks hesitant. You smile and raise your eyebrows, urging her to continue. “Mr. Kim scheduled his study session for chem at the same time as you did.” 

You frown. “Did you guys not tell him I scheduled your bio session beforehand since last week for tomorrow?” 

Another kid, Mark, pipes in. “Yeah, we did. But...”

He hesitates, but his friends urge him on. “Mr. Kim told us not to worry about bio too much and to focus more on our chemistry exam because biology isn’t even considered a legitimate science.” 

“Okay, okay, Y/N, you’re my best teacher here, but we can’t have you coming in here for permission to beat up one of my other best teachers.” The principal sits back in his chair, having seen this before. 

“But Principal Lee!” you wail, throwing your hands in the air. “He scheduled his study session purposely at the same time as mine! And I intentionally booked that time a week beforehand.” 

He smiles and strokes his beard. “Well, definitely we can figure out something there. Those kids would really appreciate those study sessions.” 

You nod. “These kids are the smartest kids in the country, and have been doing well at the most competitive high school! They deserve to be able to take biology without their chemistry teacher trying to sabotage their education!” 

He chuckles, “Now, now, Y/N, I wouldn’t say Seokjin is trying to sabotage their education. He’s an exceptional--heck maybe even the best-- chemistry teacher out there! He has as many teacher-of-the-year awards as you do!” 

“He told my kids that biology isn’t even a science!” 

The old man is about to respond when a voice pipes up behind you. “Because biology isn’t a science.” 

You huff and whirl around to see the cocky chemistry teacher leaning against the doorframe. “And what makes you say that Seokjin?!” 

He saunters in, taking a seat at the chair in front of Principal Lee’s desk. “First of all, biology is based on chemistry and physics. All the laws of bio are fundamentally inexistent without the presence of chemistry and physics.” 

You roll your eyes. “Are you kidding? Don’t you know that the reason why scientists began studying chemistry and physics in the first place was because they were intrigued more at the human body and its patterns?! Especially chem! You have no right to say that Seokjin!” 

He’s about to respond when Principal Lee stops the two of you. “Okay!” he yells, clapping his hands. “You two! Quiet down, I called you into my office not to make you two argue again but to propose an idea!” 

You huff and sit down, scooting your chair as far from Seokjin as you can. He rolls his eyes at you and rests his chin on his hand. The old jolly man ruffles through some packets before putting one in front of the both of you. 

“So, last year’s statistics show that a lot more of our kids are showing interest in pursuing careers in medicine. And a lot of our graduates said that their chemistry and biology classes prepared them well enough, but their hardest challenge yet was the biochem course in their respective universities.” 

You raise an eyebrow as he continues. “So, the board and the district has come up with an idea. Since you, Y/N and Seokjin, have been exceptional teachers the past five years you’ve been teaching together here, earning awards everywhere you go and always having the best ratings from fellow teachers and students, the board wants you two to come up with a curriculum together for the first ever biochem class to be offered in a high school academy prep.” 

He waits, a huge smile on his face, as he observes both of your faces. But you two don’t respond, processing the information. Your eyes scan over the pages of the packet laid out in front of you, and amongst the information about salary additions, rating improvements, and the benefits for the high school that are incentives for the work, your eyes land on a few familiar names of old students who have left personal requests/surveys to add a biochem class. 

But Seokjin responds first. 

“Alright.” 

You whip your head towards him, frowning. There was no way he would just agree to the idea without a catch. But Principal Lee cuts in. “Yes! I knew you’d say yes! And you, Y/N?” 

You sigh, turning back to him. “Yes, Principal. But it’s for the kids.” 

He laughs gleefully. “Great! There’s a meeting next week so try to come up with a good curriculum by then. Maybe think of combining your study sessions as well! That might help!” 

You don’t hesitate to give a glare to Seokjin on your way out. 

“What’s the catch Seokjin?” 

He turns to you with a frown. “Huh?”

You cross your arms. “There has to be a catch. You don’t just agree to things.”

He smirks, “And how do you know that?” 

You huff, “Oh I don’t know! Maybe it was the time you poured Butyl seleno-mercaptan down my sink drain, making my classroom smell like skunk spray for an entire week! I had to dry-clean all my clothes after that week!”

He snickers. “You’re the one who put one of your dissected frogs in my desk drawer first. It smelled so bad!” 

“Because you put Methylene blue in my drink! I peed blue for like three days!” 

“Okay, for the fifteenth time that was an accident! You asked me to get you powerade but I forgot I made a concoction and left it in a soda cup on my desk!” 

You scowl and turn towards your classroom, just a few doors down from his. He yells as you march away in your little heels that he secretly loves. “See you tomorrow at the review session!” 

You don’t know where, or when, it went wrong. You remembered five years ago, getting hired at the best academy prep for high school and entering the campus with a bright eyed attitude. There were two other teachers who were hired at the same time as you. Seokjin, the apparent chemistry genius, and the new music teacher, Min Yoongi. 

And you recall, falling hard and fast for the handsome chemistry teacher who gladly offered to drink your drinks at the teacher dinner outings because you were really bad at drinking. Or he would bring you a cup of coffee in the mornings just because he felt like it. 

The teacher of the year awards stopped mattering, it was quite easy to get those because the students here were getting sick of the older, lazier teachers and tended to enjoy the way the younger teachers framed their lessons with interactive activities and labs that made them enjoy what they were learning. You and Seokjin took Seoul Prep by storm and were dubbed the “power couple” of the campus. Students began giggling about how Seokjin would always stop by to borrow staples when he could’ve just gone to the teacher supply closet, or the way he walked you to your class every morning. And his students would bug him why he didn’t just ask the pretty bio teacher out and date her. 

But somewhere along the way, feelings developed into annoyance as prank after prank became apparent and it started becoming super important who got the teacher of the year award, and instead of walking you to your classroom, he would trip you. And instead of delivering homemade brownies after school, it was taping a ziploc with a disembowled frog soaked in formaldehyde underneath his computer desk, right where it would take forever for him to find it. 

And he never backed down from a challenge. You walked into the study session later that day with a bunch of books and packets you made in your arms, but as you stepped into his classroom, you tumbled over a small stool that was strategically placed right in front of the door. 

“Argh!” You growl as your books go tumbling and your hands reach out to brace your fall. Your heel twists in an odd angle and you yelp as you hit the floor. 

Seokjin turns from his lab station, eyes wide as he rushes over to you. “Oh shit! Y/N, are you okay?!” 

He’s still in a lab coat and goggles as he helps you sit up. You wince as you try to stand up, the pressure on your heel making you double over. He glances down. 

“Is it your ankle?” He reaches for it. 

“Who the fuck puts a tiny chair in front of the door?!” You growl as you move your ankle away from his reach and cup it in your hands. 

He bites his lip. “Uh, sorry. I thought you’d be able to see it and just dodge it or something. And who the hell wears these high ass heels to work?” He seethes, gesturing to your new pair of shoes. 

“For your information, the entire english department wears heels higher than mine! It’s not my fault you’re too busy staring at their asses and tits to realize they’ve got 5 inch stilettos on.” You grumble as he helps you up and onto a chair near his desk. 

He rolls his eyes. “The english department has carpet, Y/N. You have tile because your classes rip open animals and poke at their insides. Don’t you know that it’s more slippery?” 

You grit your teeth. “Well, bio kids don’t have a dress code like you do! Not until Fridays!” 

Your quarrel is cut off when one of your kids coughs in the doorway, and the both of you turn, faces inches away from each other, to see a group of your students awkwardly waiting outside the door. You see one of them, Mark, elbow the kid who coughed. 

You clear your throat as you back away from Seokjin and begin organizing the papers that Seokjin picked up for you. 

“C-can we come in? It’s 3:30...” Taeyong pipes up, awkwardly hanging near the entrance. 

Seokjin fixes his tie nervously. “Ye-yeah, come in. Sorry.” He turns to you as they shuffle in, chattering amongst themselves. “Uh, I’ll be right back with an ice pack for that ankle. Stay sitting.” 

You nod as he briskly walks out. 

Johnny pipes up. “Um, so when are you guys gonna marry?” A couple of students snicker in the back and you give them a glare. 

“Ugh, stop.” You roll your eyes and begin searching the computer and figuring out how to project your powerpoint onto his screen. But his is set up differently than yours and you struggle a bit, frowning as you scroll through the settings to try and find your usb properties. 

But all you can find are folders with obscure lab names on them or chemical jargon and you huff as you scroll through the endless folders trying to find yours titled, “Review sesh.” You pause and scroll back as you come across a folder with your name on it. 

Frowning, and glancing at the door and not really seeing him near, you bite your lip and hover on the folder. You’re not usually the nosy type, but you had a little feeling that this might be where he kept his plans for his pranks towards you. But instead, at that precise moment, you can hear him jogging back so you click out and return to the list of folders and pretend to be scrolling endlessly as Seokjin runs in with an ice bag and a few packages in his hand. 

Without thinking, he kneels by you, grabbing the sore ankle and removing your heel and opening one of the packages and sticking on a compression medicine pad onto the heel. You mumble as he continues, “Seokjin, it’s okay, I can do it.” 

He just frowns and grabs your ankle tighter as you squirm, glaring up at you. “Stop moving, the nurse said to just apply it and then rest your ankle and go get it checked.” 

You roll your eyes as he stands up and begins rummaging in his closet for something, and he returns with a pair of tennis shoes and a fresh pair of socks. Setting it in front of your sitting figure, he grumbles before he stands up. “And don’t wear those heels for the rest of the review session. Since it’s your right ankle, I’ll drive you to the hospital after the session.” 

You just sigh and turn back to the computer, trying to ignore the giggles and knowing smiles from your students. You grumble as you reinsert the usb and try again, to no avail. He’s currently setting up some equipment on the side, but when he sees you struggling, he walks over and leans over your shoulder to see the screen. 

“Okay, I know you’re not a computer science major but come on, this shit is so easy.” He reaches over your shoulder to place one hand on the desk and another on the mouse. With a few clicks he’s finished and you can literally feel his breath on your cheek as he opens a file and runs the program to get it onto his projector screen. He smells absolutely amazing. 

He starts the session, checking his watch. “Alright class, let’s begin. I’m going to start the chemistry portion, and for the students who don’t need my portion, Y/N has created a review worksheet for you guys to do while you wait for her to begin her portion in an hour.” He passes the stack to a kid. “And if you’re only here for my portion, you’re fine to leave after I’m finished or stay behind and work on the worksheet that I made for you guys to do. Staying would be better in case you have any questions. Any questions before we start?” 

The knuckleheads in the back chitter and Seokjin raises a brow at them. “Are you and teacher Y/N dating?” Jaehyun giggles, and high fives Seulgi. They look at you two expectantly, and Seokjin turns around to your unimpressed expression behind him. 

Smirking, he responds, “Not yet.” 

Your eyes round along with the rest of the class and immediately your students erupt into questions as Seokjin’s vague response leaves all of you second guessing. 

But he moves along so smoothly and quickly everyone quickly cedes and moves along into the study session. Except you. You frown for the entirety of his portion. 

When you get up for the biology portion of the session, Seokjin scrambles to grab a high stool from the back so that you can sit while you teach your section. You click through your powerpoint and explain the concepts that would most likely be on the national exams, and answer questions along the way. 

Seokjin sinks into his computer chair, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you from the side. You’re wearing a new cardigan, he notices, which was probably why you wore such high heels today, because they complimented the beautiful deep navy of your cardigan. He loved it when you dressed up, even though most of your outfits were quite nicely business casual, but seeing you a little more casual without your heels made him grin as he watches you teach your section. 

You were the prettiest teacher on campus, he could say without doubt. Now, he wasn’t sure if the other male teachers on campus were still saying that about you ever since the new dance teacher, Irene, came to replace the newly retired one. But you were still so beautiful in his eyes. 

Maybe what made you so pretty to him was that you were just absolutely so kind and smart and passionate about everything you did. Given, one of the things you eventually became passionate about was driving him up the goddam wall and putting dead preserved rotting frog carcasses in his desk drawers, but nonetheless, he adored your drive. 

Also he had an hour long class, five days a week, timed exactly 7 minutes after yours ended to hear his students gush about how great of a teacher you were and details about how exciting you’d made their lesson that day. He adored you as a fellow teacher. You were always positive, trusting in your students, and always pushing them to be better and offering them exciting and fun ways to learn. Before the both of you became some sort of rivals somehow, he actually enjoyed hearing you lesson plan and often would ask you for advice on his own. 

Which was why he’d agreed so easily for the biochemistry decision, amongst other reasons that had nothing to do with the folder in his computer that had detailed lesson plans that he planned to suggest to you someday. 

The review session ends quite smoothly, and the students one by one filter out through the door, collecting their things, and Seokjin lingers by the lab stations to clean up his equipment. He’d been oddly well-behaved during this session, not throwing lewd or snarky comments at you, but you assumed it was because there were so many students around.  

You notice one student lingering behind, and you smile at her. She glances around nervously, making sure everyone is gone before slowly walking up to you with a guilty expression. 

“Teacher?” She asks lowly. 

“Yeah, Yeri?” She was one of the best students in your class. 

“Um, about the science program that you talked about last week...I don’t know if I can do it.” She wrings her hands nervously in front of her. 

You frown concernedly. “Hm, why not Yeri? If it’s okay of me to ask.” 

She nervously glances around. “I-I have financial issues. My parents are both working full time to support me going to this high school and I don’t know if summer programs are a possibility for me right now. My younger brother is also planning to attend this school next year as a freshman and it’s just not possible to support both of us and the science program.” 

You sigh. The science program was for gifted students and would be a number one ticket to the best colleges in the world. The only downside to the great opportunity was its pricing and their lack of scholarship opportunities. “Hm, and you’ve talked to your parents about this?” 

She sighs. “Yeah, I know they really want me to go and do my best, but, at the same time I also don’t want to take away any opportunities from my brother as well. I’d rather just not go and have him get a chance to shine here at this academy. Coming here is an honor in itself.” 

You nod, “Let me get back to you. Yeri, you’re so gifted and I just want you to be able to shine even brighter. I’ll try to think of something we can do.” She leaves with a smile and you begin tidying up your things. Seokjin grabs his keys. 

“Are you ready to go to the hospital?” He asks, looking down at your ankles. “Put on the sneakers, Y/N.” 

You suspiciously eye him. “You didn’t put a spider in them? Or itch powder?” 

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re hurt. I don’t mess around with shit like that.” You sit down and roll on the socks, and shove your foot in the left shoe, and then gently place your right foot into the sneaker. It’s quite big, compared to your tiny feet, and quite comfortable. You bend down to grab your heels but you have quite a lot of books in your arms and your full purse on your shoulder. 

“Here, give me these.” He grabs the books from you and your heels, shoving his phone into his pocket now to free his hands. You protest, trying to grab your stuff, but he’s way taller and already briskly walking out of the classroom with your stuff that you just sigh and follow him out with a roll of your eyes. 

His car is quite close, and he dumps your books in his backseat before jogging over and opening the car door and helping you in. You eye him suspiciously when he gets in the drivers seat. “Why are you being so nice?” 

He doesn’t look at you when he responds. “I didn’t think you’d end up getting hurt by the chair. I’m sorry.” He mutters the last part, trying to pretend like he’s focusing too hard on the calm road in front of him. 

“What?!” You screech, catching him off guard. 

He flinches, turning to you with a glare. “What the fuck? Don’t scream like that.” 

You frown at him, “Did you just apologize?” 

He laughs, turning onto a street. “I’m a gentleman. I know when I did something wrong.”

You scoff, chuckling a bit. “Wow, the world is going to end. Seriously, you should’ve thought of being a gentleman when you made my pee turn blue.” 

He rolls his eyes. “I told you it was a mistake!” 

You mutter, “Whatever.” And let him help you to the doctor’s office. Later, you find out it was just a twisted ankle and that you should try to prevent from straining it and using it too much. Which meant: no heels, crutches for a week, and definitely no driving. 

Seokjin offered to drive you home after. As he neared your home, he turned to you. “You’re joking right?” 

You frown, “What?”

He nods towards the crossstreets that you’re directing him to. “You live here?”

You nod hesitantly. “Yes? My roommate and I moved here after college. Why?” 

He chuckles a bit. “What the heck, I live right there!” He motions to the condos across the street. “How did I not know you live there? I thought I was the only one who lived in this area. We should carpool.” 

You shrug, as he drives past the gate. “Didn’t expect you to live here either. And no, Seokjin, I could never ask anyone to do that...I can maybe...call a cab?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Do you even know how to call a cab in 2018? Seriously? Do you like, never use uber or anything?” 

You shrug. “I’d never had to. I just...drive.” 

He sighs, “Well, I’ve done it before when i had to get an oil change that ended up turning into like five thousand other repairs. It’s a lot of money one way. Maybe around 30$?” 

You blanch, “What?! 30$? It’s like, a 15 minute drive!” 

He shrugs, “Well yeah, but you’re leaving around 7AM every morning at rush hour, driving through 30 minute traffic, and then having to come back. I’d charge that much if I were an uber driver.” He sees you visibly deflate and turns. “C’mon, you live right there, it’s literally going to be no extra time or mileage to carpool. Just, let me do this, Y/N. I already feel bad for putting the stool there.” 

You sigh, glancing at the distance between your homes. “Well...you do have to pass my house anyway to get to the freeway entrance...I guess I could possibly just walk out into this side of the street and meet you here in the morning.” 

He grins at you expectantly. “Perfect. Well, I’ll pick you up tomorrow, 7:05?” 

You nod, and he helps you bring your heavy books to your door and sets down your heels in your doorway. You remove your shoes and hand them to him. “I’ll, uh, wash the socks and return them to you. Thanks, for today, I guess. Uh, do you want to come in?” 

He smirks, “Are you flirting with me right now?” 

You gawk. “What the hel-- Ugh nevermind, see you tomorrow, bye!” You turn around, and he just greasily laughs and winks at you as you slam the door. You later peek out of your curtains to see him drive away. 

You sit down and sigh, picking up your phone to give a call to Yeri’s mother, trying to figure out a financial situation for her summer program when her mother tells you something.

“You know, I appreciate the concern, teacher Y/N, but I just don’t know how we’ll ever come up with that much money for this summer program. I mean, Teacher Seokjin has already been helping us so much.”

You frown, “Uh, sorry, excuse me Mrs. Kim, what do you mean?”

“Oh, Mr. Kim has been paying for Yeri’s textbooks and lab fees since her sophomore year. It’s been quite a while now.”

Your mouth falls open as you hear the news. There was no way that this was the same person who pulled pranks on you. 

When you don’t respond, she backtracks. “Oh no, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. If he gets caught he’ll be in quite big trouble. I can trust that you won’t tell anyone teacher Y/N, right?” 

You assure her, “Oh! Yes, no. I’m so sorry, I was just thinking. No of course, I will not say a word. I am very supportive of Yeri and if Seokjin didn’t do it, I would’ve done the same. She’s one of the most brilliant minds I’ve come across in my years of teaching.” 

Her mother thanks you and you scroll through your laptop later that day, trying to find some scholarships you could recommend Yeri to. But even as you go to sleep that night, you don’t forget that maybe, just maybe, Kim Seokjin wasn’t as much of an asshole as you’d thought him to be.

For weeks after that day, you and Seokjin had created some sort of routine. Both your houses were a bit away from the school, so you both began carpooling to work and district meetings. It was convenient, actually, because on days where you were just too tired to do anything, he’d offer to drive while you knocked out for thirty minutes in the passenger seat. And after your foot healed enough to be driving, he’d be grading papers and catching up on some emails on his phone or something. 

After school, the both of you agreed to stay an hour later in your classroom to answer student questions for finals and to work on the curriculum together. Students eventually ended up getting used to always seeing you together and you always got questions like “Where is Seokjin teacher?” or “What time are you both staying until?” 

And during meetings, you and him would just slump together in the back, muttering obscene jokes and comments about the other horrible fat administrators that literally knew nothing about the education system and were just there for the money. 

Despite all the jokes and the pranks, you realized Seokjin was actually a good friend. But you just didn’t know where it went wrong, because if it weren’t for those times he was such a dick, you’d be entirely down to date someone like him. Your mother would be proud that you managed to snag a catch like him. The both of you’d managed to find a scholarship for Yeri, and she was able to go to the science program and have her brother attend the school. Seokjin agreed to continue paying for her lab fees and textbooks, and you agreed to write a proposal to the district to organize a new scholarship for aspiring students like Yeri. Your mom was so thrilled when she learned about this, she wouldn’t stop talking about him.

In fact, she was the one, after Seokjin offered to drive your mom to her friends’ dinner one night when you were overloaded with errands and parent-teacher meetings, who consistently egged you to date him. He’d insisted on coming in and greeting your mom and her friends before leaving. 

“Oh, dear, Y/N, just date the sweet boy!” 

“No mom, it’s weird.” 

“Honey! He clearly likes you, and you too. He’s such a kind sweetheart, why don’t you just give it a try?” 

She was right. Although Seokjin still teased you here and there and constantly made your eyes roll upwards, he showed his kindness through his actions.

Like how he’d always hold the door for you, or carry your heavy paperwork to and from the car as he walked you to your door. He brewed you your favorite tea with some lemon and honey that one time you got the flu, and even cooked some amazing porridge for you when you weren’t feeling well for a few days after catching the cold. 

He always remembered to pack you a lunch, the plastic containers of your lunchbox always brimming with new recipes of stews, steaks, and dishes that you always shared in the teacher lounge during lunch together. His insistence, he really enjoyed cooking, from what he said. In place, you’d made a habit of washing the dishes at the sink after your lunch together and handing them back to him for him to fill. 

It wasn’t until a teachers night out, where the principal bought dinner for all the teachers to celebrate yet another year of successful test scores and student awards, that you realized that maybe, you had more than just a tiny bit of interest for the bio teacher. 

He was gorgeous, and incredibly tall. You loved the way he still towered over you in your tallest heels. And he was smooth. He literally charmed all his students, and you included, were always in awe of how passionate he got when he talked about chemistry. He was fun, too. He had a dorky side to him that you absolutely lowkey adored, not that you’d ever tell him that. 

And he was currently three shots away from passing out. 

You giggled at him, as he swayed in his seat, his eyes hooded and his lips stretched wide in a dumb smile. 

“Do you see-mmph,” he mumbles into his fist, trying his hardest to whisper in the state that he’s in, “Yoongi is so into the new counselor.” You turn to see the said teacher, gazing at the young new counselor with honey dripping from his eyes. Snorting, you giggle back. “Could he be any more obvious?” 

Seokjin giggles again as his head drops onto your shoulder. 

“Are you good at catching those kinds of things?” 

You take another swig of your beer. Your shrug makes him frown, because his head bobs on your shoulder. “I guess.” 

He rubs his eyes, looking like a little kid. His lips purse into a pout as he glares at you cutely. “No you’re not!” He drunkenly fumbles with the soju bottle as your coworkers erupt in chants to egg on the newbies that were chugging their beers. 

You roll your eyes and move the shot glass further from him. “Ah-ah, no more for you. You’ve had enough.” 

He glares at you as his long arms scramble for the glass that you hold away from him. “Give it!” 

You sigh as he stumbles, and crashes into you, collapsing on the chair. “C’mon, Jin-ie, let’s go. You’re drunk and you have class first thing tomorrow. I’ll kill you if you don’t wake up on time and make me late like last time.” 

He crinkles his nose as you help him up, “That was you! You were the one that was late.” 

You roll your eyes as he struggles to get his coat on. “Whatever. Just put this on.” 

You say your goodbyes to your fellow coworkers as they drunkenly wish you a safe trip and help Jin stagger out of the barbeque restaurant, calling an uber from your phone the way Seokjin taught you a couple weeks back, and settle into the backseat as Seokjin snuggles closer to you. 

“Mmmm Y/N...’ts cold,” he mumbles, arms wrapping around your arm and cheek pressed into your coat. 

“I didn’t know you were a sleepy, annoying clingy drunk,” you mutter, as you try not to get too distracted by his lips. 

“’ou don’t know a lot,” He breathes heavily. 

“Huh?” 

“You, don’t, know, a, lot,” he drawls, staring drunkenly into your eyes. 

“I heard it the first time, Seokjin. What do you mean? What don’t I know?” 

He rolls his eyes, sighing loudly as he settles back into the crook of your neck and breathes in. “You’re so dumb, Y/N.” 

You roll your eyes, pinching him and sighing at his yelp. “Ugh, I should’ve known. You don’t ever lose an opportunity to call me that, dontcha?” 

He grumbles to himself, but he’s cut off before he can answer as his phone rings. “Huh?” He mutters, fingers fumbling blindly in his coat pockets as he searches for the device. 

“Ugh, give it,” you grouch, hands slipping into his pants pocket to get the phone and picking it up when you see Yoongi’s name pop up. 

“Hey Yoongi, it’s Y/N.” 

Yoongi doesn’t even seem surprised when you pick up. “Oh, ya, Y/N. Are you taking Jin home right now?” 

You nod, letting Jin rub his eyes and wrap his arms around your arm again. “Yea, we’re in an uber and about a couple blocks from home. What’s up?” 

He sighs, “Shit, I was hoping you were still close by. Seokjin left his keys at the table.”

You sigh as you glance around to realize he’d definitely forgotten his keys in his drunken stupor. “Shit, we’re almost home...is there anyone who can drop it off?” 

Yoongi sighs. “I’d love to, but you two live in the opposite direction and we all took ubers here because we knew Principal Lee was gonna get everyone shit faced.” 

You sigh, cradling your phone in between your shoulder and ear as the cab slows down and pulls into the street. You smile and mouth a thank-you to the driver as you drag Seokjin out of the car. 

“Oh, yea...okay, well, we’re home now. Seokjin can just crash at my place since he doesn’t have his keys. Do you mind just bringing them over to his classroom tomorrow morning? He needs them to open the lab room.”

“Sure, see ya Y/N.” 

“Thanks!” You hang up and slip the phone into your pocket in a rush as you see Seokjin swaying. “Ugh fuck, you’re heavy.” He grumbles something and you throw his arm over your shoulder as you make your way up to the elevator. He slumps against you, his long legs supporting him as he leans against you, and you struggle to punch in the button. But he stays still, and in the quiet whirr of the elevator, you get a chance to catch your breath and look up at him. 

His eyes are closed, and his plump lips open in a little rush of air everytime he breathes out. His cheeks are tinged pink from the alcohol, and even in his drunken state, he smells so good. You sigh as the doors slide open and you drag him into your house. You drop him into your bed with a grunt, and he breathes out loudly as he snuggles into your covers. 

Groaning, you gasp, “Seokjin! Get up, you’re not sleeping in my bed with your shoes still on, that’s gross!” 

He groans and sits up, and lets you take his jacket off and throw it over your chair, and you slide off his shoes and socks too, before letting him slump down into your pillows. Groaning, you throw your blankets up over him and sit on the edge of the bed to catch your breath. You stare down at him, sighing, and reach out a hand to smooth his fringe behind his ear in the dark, and suddenly his hand snatches out to catch your wrist. 

You gasp as he catches you by surprise. His eyes slowly open, gazing up at you with narrowed and dark eyes. 

“S-seokjin?” You croak out, cheeks heating up. “S-sorry you just had something stuc--” 

“Y/N,” He rasps. 

His voice tonight is deep, and low and husky as he gazes up at you with intent in his eyes. The large hand wrapped around your wrist is firm and hot, and your breath catches as he slowly sits up inches away from your face. 

“Y/N,” he repeats. 

You just gulp at him and stare at him, entranced for a second. “...Y-yes?” You stutter. He was gorgeous. Maybe it was the couple of drinks that you’d taken earlier at your boss’s insistence that was making you so hazy. Why did your tongue feel like it was a thousand pounds? You couldn’t speak and your skin was hot and searing and your palms sweaty. The moonlight in the window right next to your bed shined in brightly, illuminated the side profile of his face, making him look even better than he’d ever looked. 

He rasps, “I promise I’m not that drunk.” 

You frown, “Huh?” 

But he doesn’t respond as he inches closer to you, pulling you closer to him by the firm grip on your wrist. Inches away from your face, he whispers, “Can I do this?” 

You just stare into his eyes, breath hitched in your throat and eyes wide open at the sudden confession. 

His hand releases your wrist, coming up to cup your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him better. “Say it, Y/N. I won’t do anything until you say it.” 

Your brows furrow as you think about all the ways this could go wrong. You were co workers, partners in planning the new biochem course, practically neighbors, and he was also slowly and surely becoming your best friend. 

Best friend. 

Your lungs deflate as the thought crosses your mind. 

He was your best friend. This could go wrong in so many ways, but if he was truly your best friend, wouldn’t anything that happened after that be fine, because he would understand? Because he would still care for you? 

So you muster up the courage and whisper it. 

“Yes.” 

He breathes out, as if he were holding his breath, and swoops in, sealing your lips on his. The kiss is slow, and calculated, different from what you’d expected after his 5 shots in a row he took earlier. The kiss is smooth and slow and deliciously intentional. He tilts his head, getting a deeper angle as he licks into your mouth. You sigh into him as you scoot closer and move a hand up onto his broad shoulders. He groans at that and curves over your body, a hand coming onto your waist to press you against him even more firmly. He doesn’t stop kissing you. 

Your lashes flutter when he licks into your mouth again. He was such a good kisser, licking and moving his lips cleanly against yours like he has no rush at all. You’re losing yourself, mind completely hazy and lost with everything about him. His lips, the taste of mint and the tinge of alcohol on his tongue, the feeling of his strong figure underneath his sweater, the smell of his cologne, it floods your senses underneath your closed lids, and it doesn’t let you think properly. He deepens the kiss even further, his tongue moving forth from slight kittenish flicks a little into your mouth, onto heady and steady tastes of you, insisting behind your teeth and tasting you. 

When he detaches from your lips and kisses down your cheek and jaw, you moan, completely lost in it. He moans in response as he presses desperate but gentle kisses down the column of your throat, fueled by your husky groans of desperation. “S-seokjin,” you stutter, blinkly thickly as you try to break out of the haze. 

“Hm?” He mutters into your neck, but the feeling of his breath over the places he was just kissing make you shiver. As if sensing your approval, he moves back to your lips, throwing you into a loop of happiness and lust all over again. You’re thankful the both of you are sitting because right now, the hand twisted into the shirt your wearing and the other one anchored on the back of your neck are the two things that are keeping you from just melting into a puddle of nothing. 

You’re just sitting there, trying your hardest to keep up with his kisses, when he grips your chin and detaches from you, lips shiny and glistening as he narrows his eyes down at you. Your lashes flutter as you come out of the haze of the moment, smaller hands coming up to grip his wrists as they hold your cheeks. 

He’s breathing heavily, another testament to how thoroughly he’d kissed you, in addition to his blown pupils and swollen lips. You blink up at him. He takes a few more seconds, just looking down at you hard, and huskily asks you, “A-are you sure you want this?” 

His question carries so much weight in it. But even before he can ask again, you’re leaning in, whispering “yes, yes,” and he relents, understanding immediatley. His large hands rake down your back and settle on the small of your waist, lifting you slightly and helping you curve closer to him and clamber on his lap.

There’s something prodding against your inner thigh, and you sigh into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck at the sensation. It’d been so long, since you were last kissed or even held like this. Your fingers are scratching at the nape of his neck, and he groans as you do, loving the sensation. 

The sound pools straight in between your legs and you become embarassing conscious of how wet you are. Cringing, you focus on gripping the hem of his sweater, and carding it up over his head. When you break away from him to get it out of the way, he lets you take it off of him, but immediately grips your hands from undoing the buttons of his dress shirt underneath. He kisses you fiercely, letting go of your wrists and finding the waistline of your skirt, where your blouse is tucked into. 

You help him, raising your arms over your head as he untucks your blouse and discards it to the floor. You’re kneeling above him, hands finding purchase and balance on his shoulders, trembling and unsure of what to do when Seokjin keeps kissing you with your now bare torso pressed against his still clothed one. 

Somehow, admist the kissing, he’d removed your bra, and your nipples are bare and cold and hard against the soft material of his shirt. He cuts off the kiss, wrapping a strong arm around your waist as he mouths along the skin right above your breast, nipping and licking the soft skin there with soft kisses. 

He breaths in heavily when he reaches the center of your chest, closing his eyes and muttering a low, “Shit.” The other hand slowly comes up over your waist and rests right against your ribcage, centimeters away from your breast. “Fuck,” he mutters, and you grow infinitely more wet. You’d never heard him curse like that before. 

And there’s no warning when at once, he swoops down to nip lightly at the swell of your breast and suck onto your hardened nipple, this other large hand coming up to cup your other breast, thumb swiping over the nipple and holding the weight of your breast in it. 

“O-oh my god, S-seokjin,” you whimper, head dropping low and curling into him in morbid embarrassment at how good this feels. You’re hot and burning all over, all of your sensations and emotions at the moment focused in the place where his mouth is sucking, licking long and warm licks over you. “O-oh my g--” All you can croak out ugly, are moans and croaks of his name and very in-comprehensive strings of words. 

When the sensations become too much, and the wetness in your underwear becomes uncomfortable, you regretfully detach him from your breasts and tilt his head up to yours as you kiss him desperately. He groans into the kiss, reading your arousal easily. “Fuck,” he whispers against your lips, “do you want this?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper, shaky fingers undoing his shirt. “I’ve never wanted anything more in this world.” 

His eyes widen at that. “Seriously?” 

You nod, biting your lip as you finally get the shirt open, your eyes widening at the expanse of skin that’s revealed, and you smooth your hands over his torso. He was so chiseled! He didn’t have an Abercrombie-worth model six pack of abs, but the faint lines in his chest and his abdomen were the perfect mix of Seokjin and attractiveness that made you moan like an animal in heat and grind down onto his hardness. 

At the motion, he groans, gently gripping your hair and moving it to the side to mouth at your neck again. His other hand grips the hem of the dress shorts you’re wearing and unbuttons it quickly. Your hands card his shirt down his arms and out of the way, and you stand up away from his lap to yank your shorts down and away along with your underwear. 

He drops to his knees like a starved man, zeroing in on the wetness that pools in the crotch of your underwear right before you kick it out of sight. From his position on the floor, he looks up at you, eyes blown wide with lust, “Fuck, you’re so pretty. So fucking beautiful and gorgeous. I’ve dreamed about this moment for so long.” 

You sputter, clenching your thighs together at the praise, almost buckling down again at the wave of arousal that rushes through you. He leans forward, kissing down over your ribcage, and down your stomach, you watch him with furrowed brows and unfocused eyes. When he ghosts near your core, you stutter. 

“Seokjin w-what,” 

“Please,” he breathes out, deatching from your skin like it pained him and gazing up at you with a hunger like you’ve never seen before. “Please let me taste you.” 

You almost pass out, your knees buckling and immediately Seokjin scrambles up to catch you, strong arms around your waist as you slump heavily against him. 

He chuckles, a low laugh reverberating through his chest thats pressed against your cheek. “I’ll take that as a yes?” 

You nod sheepishly, and he laughs again. “We’ll sit. Maybe standing wasnt a good idea.”

You nod again, cheeks burning hot and hands coming up to frame them as he turns the both of you and walks you backward until your knees hit your bed. You fall with him and immediately he curves over you, all broad torso and hot skin and kissing you senselessly again. 

His fingers smooth down your torso and slide over your pelvis, slipping his fingers in between your folds and parting them, rubbing down and up to collect your wetness and smear it around your clit. Your lips part in a surprised cry as your eyes squeeze shut. He chuckles at your reaction, detaching from your lips and crawling down your body as his fingers continue to rub intently at your clit. 

Your legs are useless at this point, sprawled around, so he grabs them and slowly maneuvers them up and over his shoulders as he situates himself between your legs. He kisses your inner thigh first, mouthing at the thin skin there, breathing in the heady and sweet scent of your skin first. He then lowers his mouth on you. 

“Oh m--” you’re a mess when he finally sucks your clit into his mouth and slides his fingers into you in one single motion. His fingers are slender, but long and skillful as they slide into find the exact spot that has you keening and arching up from the bed to inch towards him. His lips are thick as they seal over the entirety of the warmth between your legs, sucking and kissing and licking like he was made to this. He groans at the first taste, head reeling at how perfectly close you tasted, just as he’d imagined. He sucks at the slick arousal coating you, replacing it with the slickness of his saliva, and alternating long lasvicious licks with heady and firm circles over your clit. 

He continues with intent, paying no regard to your twitching body, but instead using your cries as fuel as he kisses you even more firmly and twists his fingers in you until you’re pushing him away, scared that you’ll cum too quickly. 

“W-wait, wait,” you stutter, eyes closed as you focus on calming your twitching your body, “g-give me a second.” 

He chuckles, and nods, waiting for you for a couple of seconds to stop twitching. “You’re so cute” he breathes lazily, watching you sitting upright as he lays down between your legs with his chin in his hands. His fingers are drawing slow circles in your thigh, and you give him a sheepish smile. 

He keeps talking though, “You’re amazing, I would never trade this for anything else, you taste so good. Fuck.” He mutters, and you squeeze your eyes as you grip his hand to stop all the sensory influx of arousal. Your core clenches around nothing as intense and heady waves of arousal pour through your body and shoot straight to your core. 

You drag him upward and kiss him intently, trying to distract yourself. He chuckles and lets you kiss him, and when you finally feel yourself relaxing a little, you somehow manage to say, “P-please, just--” You can’t seem to say it, blushing heavily and cutely muttering to yourself, so he helps you out. 

He grins and takes off his jeans and covers your body after, and helps you get comfortable against the pillows. Your mouth is so dry and you swallow thickly to dry and clear your mind, but then he grips himself and lines up with you and you lose it. 

“P-please please please,” you jumble out, garbling like a mess of emotions and syllables that you can barely understand over the haze of your emotions. “Please,” you cry, feeling like if he doesn’t put it in you, you might die. 

He takes a moment, brows furrowing at the effort of taking it slow. “Y/N, I--” he croaks out, holding himself inches above you with an elbow next to your head. You nod, hands smoothing over his cheeks. “I...I am so happy right now. I will never ever never hurt you. I promise...and I imagined for so long,” he chokes out and stumbles on his words, but you get exactly what he’s saying. You nod, smiling dreamily up at him, because at this moment right now, he’s everything and all you’ve ever wanted in your life. 

He smiles thankfully at you and presses in slowly, agonizingly slow. But he’s careful and slowly curves insistently into you until you’re gasping and clutching onto his shoulders because it’s so hot and wet and tight and you feel like you’re going to die and fall apart right that moment. 

“Shit,” he says hoarsely, sweating from the effort and weakly grinning down at you. “Y-you feel so fucking good.” 

You nod in agreement, not being able to produce any coherent words at this moment. And Seokjin also takes it as a sign to move. He pulls out slowly, scraping at the front walls of your core and then fucking back deeply and back in again. You throw your head back into the sheets next to his elbow in pure ecstasy, moaning loudly as he repeats the motion, building momentum and speed. 

An arm leaves the side of your head and curls down to grip your thigh and hook it up over his hip, and you cry out as the head of his cock prods the spot in you that has you clenching down and trembling with a hoarse cry of his name. He moans loudly in response to your tightness, his voice cracking at the effort of trying not to cum too early. To distract himself, he leans down and mouths at yours, swallowing your moans and cries. 

When you quiet down, he continues to grind against you, fucking deep and slow into you so that his cock hits your spot with every stroke and it’s only a few strokes into it that you feel it coming. Your lower belly clenches with tension, the rush of hormones and emotions through your head growing louder and more hot as he groans into your mouth at your tightness. 

“I-I-” you cry out, detaching from his mouth at the approaching orgasm, “I’m gonna c- oh my god, S-seokjin, I-I love you so much,” you cry out, clutching at his shoulders as his rhythm speeds up to match your declarations. 

He groans into your neck as you spasm around him, crying out his name and back arching into his chest as you’re thrown over the edge roughly, the heat and wetness rushing through you, throbbing around him. He grunts as he continues to grind against you through it, thrusting once, twice, before he too is thrown over the edge at the sensation of your tightness and wetness. You’re still shaking by the time he’s sane enough to talk, eyes shut and trembling in the subsiding waves of your orgasm. 

His cock is hard and deep in you, and you’re so relieved you might cry, finally being able to orgasm with someone else after years of having to put up with your clumsy fingers and boring porn videos. He’s so perfect, and so good, and the perfect size for you and your body. He leans down and kisses you as he waits for you to come back, thumbs swiping away the tears that slipped past your lids, lips gently swiping against your open mouth. 

His hand comes up and presses firmly against your chest, rising and falling with the heavy breathing that you’re doing, waiting until your breathing calms and your eyes flutter open to blink up at him. 

He smiles down at you. “Me too.” He whispers back, and new tears pool in your lashes because you know exactly what he means, and it meant the world to you. When you don’t say anything in response, he assures you, “I love you, Y/N. So much I thought I was gonna die if I waited another day to tell you. I’m sorry you beat me to it.” 

You shake your head, crying tears of joy as you wrap your arms around him and pull him close to you. You’re crying and laughing and kissing him which is pointless because he’s smiling and laughing so much that you can’t even kiss him properly. But it doesn’t matter. 

Nothing matters, except him. 

2 years later

“Guys,” Seokjin calls, and the class quiets down as he stands, tall and happily in the front of the room. You watch him from your desk in your shared classroom. Today was the last month of school, your students now seniors and in their graduating year, ready to be sent off to amazing universities and programs for their futures. 

It had been a great 2 years of wonderful dating. There had already been a hundred rumors going around as the students watched the both of you interact, and it was no secret that there was something. But this was the class of students who had been there through it all, from when the fued had started as the both of you pranked each other, became partners and co-taught a class, helped students through their programs and exams, and eventually became best friends and lovers. You thought you owed them an apology for telling them so late and giving them the truth that indeed, the both of you were dating. 

He’d been enthusiastic about it too, for some reason, and had insisted that you do it on the day of their graduation, with the specific class clustered in the classroom like right now. 

You rolled your eyes as he begins speaking. 

“Well, I’ve heard a lot of rumors circulating around the school that Ms. Y/N and I are dating.” 

Giggles and whistles erupt around the room as the students laugh and tease about it. 

He quiets them down. “And I just want to say, yes, we are dating.” 

The room erupts in screams and yelling as the students jump out of their seats in cheers and yells and high-fives at the news. You grin sheepishly from where you’re sitting, too shy to try and do whatever the hell Seokjin is doing. 

“But!” he yells, and the students quiet down. 

“We’re more than just dating! I really really really love Ms. Y/N!” 

You widen your eyes as he turns to you, and the class begins to grow restless as they watch him walk up to you. “Y/N, you’re my best friend, my partner, my girlfriend, my favorite person to watch The Office with, the best driver I’ve ever known, and the best teacher and educator I will ever know. But one thing is certain, is that all of these qualities are why I love you so much, because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and that’s all I could’ve ever wished for.” 

You sit there in shock as he gets on one knee in front of you and holds up a ring. “Will you marry me?” 

The class erupts in cheers as you tearfully nod and throw your arms around him and immediately the doors of your classroom bang open and all your coworkers and friends and family are there to cheer along with you as you hold onto Seokjin. 

He grins down at you amidst all the loud cheering and whooping and yelling, and pecks you on the lips. “I love you so much.” 

You wipe your tears, mock punching him in the shoulder. “I thought you were gonna just tell them we were dating, moron.” 

He laughs, not even minding. “I wanted everyone you love to be there. Like you’ve always wanted.” 

You smile and nod, leaning up to press your lips against him again, ignoring the cheers and whistles in the background. 

“I love you too. You’re all that I’ve always wanted.” 

[skunkes]

I can't wait for you to draw more of your farmer Cheye, cause they're SO CUTE I'm in love with this design!

WAH thank yu!! im rlly happy that ppl like and appreciate my self insert oomg! they are p cute...

[inhumansforever]

Ms. Marvel #31 Review

spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers spoilers

It the fiftieth issue of Ms. Marvel (50th when you combine the two series together) and what better way to celebrate such an achievement than to have a good old fashioned slumber party!  If only the various duties and demands of being a superhero could allow for a such a thing.  A bunch of impromptu adventures and ordeals notwithstanding, Kamala and her buddies end up having a pretty great night.  All from the creative team of… deep breath… G. Willow Wilson, Nico Leon, Ian Herring, Saladin Ahmed,  Gustavo Durate, Rainbow Rowell, Bob Quinn, Hasan Minhaj, Elmo Bondoc, Valero Schiti, Rachelle Rosenberg and Stephanie Hans.  Recap and review following the jump.

Kamala has been campaigning her mother for weeks to allow her to have her friends over for a slumber party.  The whole idea of a sleep-over is rather perplexing to Mrs. Khan, but she has finally agreed and Kamal could not be more excited.  Everything is ready.  There’s popcorn, chips, chi, the idea game system is ready to go and pizza is on the way… Kamala has even set her room up with strings of Christmas tree lights to set the perfect mood.  

Her friends, Nakia, Mike and Zoe arrive and they jump right into the gossip and giggling.  Along with having fun, Kamala is also hoping her pals can help her work her confused and anxious feelings over having kissed Kareem and her possibly still having feelings for Bruno.  

Mike is surprisingly chill with the fact that Kamala may have a crush on her former boyfriend, Bruno.  Nakia is concerned that Kamala has done something so brash as to kiss a boy.  Oh yeah, and Zoe recently went out on a date (most likely with Alana, Neftali’s sister introduced int he previous issue).  Yet before they can get into any of this important stuff the conversation is interrupted by a strange barking from outside.  

Well, Kamala knows exactly what sort of creature makes that distinctive bark and she furtively sneaks into her Ms. Marvel guise to see what sort of mischief Lockjaw has gotten himself into.  

Here Willow and Leon hand the story-telling duties over to Ahmed and Durate for a fun jaunt in which Ms, M and Lockjaw try to rescue a kitten who has teleporting powers of his own.  Chasing this cat takes the trio all over the galaxy, even to an alien planet... yet it isn’t long before Ms. Marvel realizes that Lockjaw and the kitten are just having fun chasing each other.  She has no time for such games, she has a slumber party to get back to.  

Ms. Marvel leaves Lockjaw and teleporting kitty to their fun and returns home to find her mom making samosas for her guests.  Mmmm samosa.  Yet before Kamala can join in the doorbell rings, the pizzas have arrived.   Here the story is taken over by Rowell and Quinn.  The young woman delivering the pizzas is a rather irascible sort who becomes aggressively resentful when she finds that she is delivering pies to a slumber party.  Oh, and she smells terrible… like supernaturally bad.  

Once again donning her Ms. Marvel duds, Kamala chases down the pizza delivery girl to investigate.  It turns out that her name is Samantha.  Like Ms. Marvel, she is an Inhuman who was transformed by way of exposure to the Terrigen Cloud.  Rather than receiving neat super abilities, however, Samantha was bestowed with ‘skunk-like’ powers.  Her hair took on a distinctive white streak and she can emit a terrible, noxious odor whenever she feels anxious, threatened or even irritated.  

It’s all just about ruined poor Samantha’s life.  No one wants to hang out with someone so stinky.  She’s a young adult, still learning how to handle her feelings and mood and hence barely able to control these smelly powers.  And finding that she was delivering pizzas to a slumber party just filled her with jealous rage.   

Rather than fighting, the two talk it out.  Terrigenesis is a lot like adolescence… it is sort of like a lottery and is by no means fair.  Some are endowed with cool, useful transformations, other are saddled with unfortunate, almost debilitating transformations.   

It’s not all that different the kind of changes that adolescents have to contend with as they go through maturation.  And it is also rather random and never fair.  Some become tall, slender or have flawless skin, whilst others have to deal with acne, super awkward growth spurts, or just smell terrible.  

Neither Kamala nor Samantha the Skunk Girl can go back to the lives they had prior to Terrigenesis, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t carve out new lives, make their own paths.  Samantha has no interest in being a super hero or anything like that, but that doesn’t mean that she cannot get help from people such as the Avengers or Inhumans of New Attilan.  With time and training she can learn to control her odor-based powers, keep them suppressed and even use them to her advantage if the need were to ever arise.   Having solved that problem, Kamala returns to her party.  Yet it is not long before yet another crisis arrives.  She receives an emergency text from her Champion team-mate, Spider-Man/Miles Morales.  Well, it turns out that the villainous Arnim Zola has plans to poison the water supply of Manhattan and Miles needs Kamala’s shrinking abilities to help him break into the city’s central pumping station and reroute the poison.  

This tale is told by the team of Minhaj and Bondoc.  There are some hiccups, but Miles and Kamala are ultimately able to foil Zola’s diabolic plans.  And yet there’s something sort of off about Miles.  He reveals that he may have come into possession of an Infinity Stone, the mood stone to be precise.   wait, the mood stone???  

Pretty certain this isn’t an Infinity Stone Miles has gotten ahold of… maybe it’s the mood-affecting ring The Mandarin used to wield.  Whatever the case, it seems to have an effect on Miles, causing him to be more forward and open with his thoughts and feelings.  It leads him to blurting out the fact that he thinks Ms. Marvel is terrific, and pretty, and, well it’s all quite embarrassing for him.  Although, Miles does admit that being so frank and open does feel rather liberating.  And this helps Kamala realize that maybe it’s time for her to lighten her load as well.  

Kamala finally makes it home where Nakia, Zoe and Mike have been patiently waiting for her.  Kamala decided to come clean nd rather than concocting some lie to explain where she has been she tells them that she is Ms. Marvel.  

And they’re all like, ‘yeah, no duh.’  

They all knew, have known for quite a while.  Kamala hasn’t exactly been proficient in hiding her secret identity and it was pretty easy for her close friends to put two and two together.  Heck, even Gabe, Kamala’s step-brother, has figured the matter out.    None of them have said anything about in that they figured it was her business and she’d tell them when she was ready.   It’s a nice, cathartic relief for Kamala to share this secret and she is wonderfully surprised to find her friends so supportive of it all.  They all hug and it’s really quite a sweet moment.  And it is here that this fun, goofy romp of an issue comes to an end.  

What a blast.  The whole issue acts as sort of a patchwork anthology.  And each side-story works as a sort of encapsulation of the distinct qualities that makes Ms. Marvel such a wonderful comic...

The Lockjaw story by Ahmed and Durate highlights to wacky silliness that so often finds its way into the tales, the moments of screwball levity that balances out the heavier, more poignant themes.  

The Skunk Girl encounter by Rowell and Quinn addresses the comic’s powerful knack to create moving parallels to real life matters, especially in terms of the trials and tribulations of growing up.  

Minhaj and Bondoc’s Spider-Man team-up adventure showcases the comic’s ability for good old fashioned comic book action and intrigue, where the adventures are always peppered by a progressive development and cultivation of both the main and supporting characters.

And the over arching frame of the slumber party, by Wilson and Leon, shows off the heart of the series: Kamala herself: a dynamic, fully fleshed out and multifaceted character who is just absolutely lovable, relatable and endlessly fun to read about.  

It’s a pretty neat idea that the issue kind of dissects the individual components that makes Ms. Marvel such a great book and offer up each component in vignette spot-light form.  It makes for a very fun read as well as a good book for those out there looking bettie understand the craft of good storytelling.  It’s all kind of like a baking recipe done up in a comic book formate.  

Before wrapping, up I feel a special shout out is deserving to Ian Herring, who provides the coloring for the entire issues.  The various illustrators depicting the different side stories all have rather distinctive styles… yet Herring is able to color them all with a unifying pallet that provides a terrific sense of continuity wherein the shifts are not jarring in the least.  This is something Herring has excelled at throughout all fifty issues of Ms. Marvel.  Whether the issues have been illustrated by Adrian Alphona, Takeshi Miyazawa, Mirka Andolfo, Jacob Wyatt, Nico Leon or anyone else, Herring has been able to utilize his coloring to maintain a sense of constancy… a visual flavor that is distinctive and unique to Ms. Marvel.  It’s really quite impressive.  

Highest possible recommendation.  Five out of five Lockjaws!

[peachhoneii]

The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Rating: K+ Fandom: DuckTales 2017 Shipping: None (for now) A/N: I wanted a duck dad fist fight, and by George, I was going to get it. Tagging: @donaldtheduckdad, @robinine-blog, @spacedpanini (again for reading through all my ramblings) Summary: It was an unspoken rule within the Woodchucks to never, ever sell their annual popcorn bags on Chickadee cookies territory. Huey wisely adhered to this rule, preventing catastrophe year after year, but the JWG didn't tell him what to do when Chickadee ranks invaded Woodchuck popcorn territory.

Fortunately for Huey, his Uncle Donald wasn’t fond of rules in the first place.

When Huey initially requested to join the Junior Woodchucks, Donald saw no problem. Although he’d been barred from ever joining -- something about his temper, the counselors said, he knew it was impossible to deny Huey something he truly wanted. Of his boys, Huey asked the least.

Besides, Donald reasoned, the Junior Woodchucks’ reputation was foremost the most reputable reputation in all of Duckburg. They went to the recreational center to sign the registration forms. He dragged the pen over the signature lines, pointedly ignoring the counselor’s wary stare. Huey bounced eagerly at his side, clutching the end of his shirt as they returned to the desk, and by the end of the day, Huey was a bonafide Junior Woodchuck.

This decision was one of Donald's best. His boys were resourceful in their unique ways, but there was something about the JW that set Huey apart. He’d always been responsible, energetic, and observant.

The JW cultivated those traits, honing them to perfection, and sharpening them to levels that made Donald’s head spin. Huey’s resourcefulness relieved Donald, but the questions around the houseboat tumbled his brain. Did you know in 1895...Your great-grandfather founded the ….on and on, he went, but Donald didn’t have the heart to stop him.

Still, the Woodchucks was a good trade. Donald occasionally imagined what life would be like had he had a girl around the house, a little girl running up and down the halls, and shivered. She’d wear the traditional Chickadee uniform with its sash and multitudinous badges.

Worse, they’d have to sell cookies.

Coworkers, current and former, rushed around the city in search of potential buyers. Each wanted to sell more than the other. And why? Fifty boxes sold won their little chickadee a Rockerduck Powerwheel Jeep. Seventy-five boxes won them a trip to the Glomgold Inc. Tour - contract applied. One hundred boxes won a trip to Ollie land and so forth.

From what Donald was told, the amount of cookies sold provided a substantial amount of prestige in the organization. Awards were given at the end of the year, made from actual gold.

“Gertie Greylag wanted little girls to be equally efficient to little boys,” one parent elaborated during a monetary exchange.

This was preceded by a no holds barreled brawl. Another parent smashed through a previous transaction attempt just as Donald was reaching for the peanut butter tagalogs. He saw the parent’s head make an almost perfect 90 degree turn, but they bounced back quickly, flattening their hands on the ground and reaching their legs around the attacker’s neck.

“Buy my little girl’s peanut butter tagalogs! They’re 20% sweeter!”

“Impossible! You can’t tamper with the boxes, and he was mine first!”

Donald wisely tossed the exact amount of cash on the battling parents and grabbed a box of peanut butter tagalogs. A crowd formed a tight ring around them, and he wanted to disappear before the cops rolled in.

He learned early on it was equally dangerous to buy a box of cookies despite being easier than selling it.

Schools held annual fundraisers, but they could never match the vindictive competitiveness that was Little Chickadee cookie sales held from January 1 to the middle of March.

The time period relieved Donald of any responsibility. When popcorn season started on March 12, he and Huey visited the local supermarket to set up shop with Huey’s troop. Their sales weren’t high, but the cash intake was accept for Junior Woodchucks.

Separating the seasons and operating on a different item circumvented any potential clashes that could arise from the long standing rivalry between Woodchuck and Chickadee.

Their experience proved the system efficient.

“Where do you want to set up the table, Troop Leader Wolff?”

“Ah. Put it near the doors, but not in front of the doors.” A jovial, black wolf, Robert “Bob” Wolff grabbed the table cloths, “And set out the flavor display. We want them to know their options.”

Donald rolled into the parking lot with healthy drinks and snacks. He’d done this for six years now, and each year was better than the last. Saturday was the best day to sell popcorn.

The day of relaxation and errand running; adults rarely snapped at the children for their children hungered for tasty caramel corn, kettle corn, unbelievable butter corn, and the ever popular dark and white chocolate drizzle. The boys stacked the bags and display on the table, taking their seats behind them, and chattered amongst themselves.

“We can get maybe twenty bags, 22 tops.”

“I was hoping for thirty.”

Huey drummed his fingers on the table, “I think we may get 25. We may not earn our Life of a Salesman badge, but we won’t have to worry about not getting recognized for our efforts.”

Water precipitated on the ice chests propped along the supermarket wall with sandwiches and beverages stuffed inside. Donald was wiping his forehead when he saw the minivan zoom into the parking lot. A shiny cultured shade, its screeching stop grabbed everyone’s attention.

A carmine pump stepped out of the car door, and a voice unlike any other rang sharply, “Hurry girls! We don’t have all day. Set up over there, go, go.”

Donald’s visual acuity of 20/10 and higher was required to dissect the flurry of sandaled and tennis-shoe clad feet. Girls marched out of the minivan on all sides. In their hands were oversized paper brown bags they lifted without strain while the woman click-clacked to the trunk. A table and its cloth she stuffed underneath her arm and toted around until she found the spot she wanted -- the right side of the automatic doors to their left.

The girls huddled the brown bags behind the able as the woman set the table cloth on the table. Bright, orange lilies decorated the grassy green backdrop of the cloth. She pulled display after display onto the table, reaching quickly to snatch another out of the bag closest to her.

Cookie boxes followed and were arranged in punctilious formation; thin mints at the top, samoa/caramel delites and peanut butter patties/tagalongs in the middle, and do-si-do/peanut butter sandwiches and shortbread trefoils were the foundation. She did the same with the less popular flavors on the other side of the table; assuming someone would be interested for an oddity or two, preferably five.

As this storm descended upon them, Donald watched in ominous silence. There was something familiar about the woman; something he could not pinpoint his finger on. Was it her blond hair? No. Or her black feathers? No. Her distinct lisp; pronounced with every dribble of spit that splattered off her tongue struck him familiarly.

Folded chairs were unfolded, and metal scratching on concrete grated their ears. Be it familiar or strangely coincidental, they knew what was about to come.

“Right after twelve, good work!” She snapped her fingers, “And you said we wouldn’t make it.”

A grey rabbit whose brunette hair was plaited with lavender ribbons spoke, “You were driving three times the speed limit.”

“Yes, but we arrived before twelve.”

“Dad isn’t gonna be happy if you get another speeding ticket.”

“He won’t know that I’ve gotten one.” She glared at the girls, “And don’t tell your parents.”

The violet tinted skunk step forward, “Troop Leader you said we could get some snacks.” The woman gasped lightly and fished through her clutch purse, revealing a twinkling platinum credit card.

“Does Dad know you have that?”

“I was given strict instructions to use this card for your benefit, little miss.” She gave the skunk the card, “Get healthy snacks, y’hear me? We may be selling cookies, but we don’t need to raise our blood sugar levels.”

The grey rabbit stared at him, shook her head, and followed the girls into the supermarket, “You really are something.”

“And you’re wasting time, dearie.”

With a frown, she walked backward, revealing a brown wallet she held in her hand. The woman gasped as the girl giggled, running after her friends as the automatic doors closed, reflecting her cheeky expression.

“You’re despicable.” She gritted her teeth, “You are despicable, Babs Bunny,” as an afterthought, “and don’t forget to get my bottled tea!”

Holding a second ice cooler, he observed the woman. Her blonde hair - no, synthetic, a wig, brushed softly against the wind. Black feather glistened under the sun, indicating a special oil moisturizer product. He glanced at Huey’s white feathers. He winced. Light reflected and bounced straight into his eyes. Stepping back, he shield his eyes to see where the line formed and spotted her neck.

What he thought was the traditional white neck line of the American black duck was something brighter, more expensive than he originally thought. A pearl necklace.

“What would the girls do without me?” She contemplated aloud, accent thick with a well articulated lisp, “I need to make sure we sell enough to beat that loud mouth chicken.”

No. Donald’s chest palpitated. No. What did it matter that the extremely low chances were adjacent to impossibility? They were adjacent, not actually impossible.

It was the lisp. Donald hadn’t pushed it back as much as he allowed it to slip away. It’d been a relic of a former life, set aside for something more. He refused to believe the truth in the moment. There was a brief span of absolute nothingness in Donald’s brain before he started to move, started to open his mouth, and questions were spat out with demands trailing quickly behind.

Huey shouted his name in confusion. Wolff tried to pull his arm. One was too quiet, and the other, too slow.

She - he raised his head, and his brow arched contemplatively. Defiance crossed over his expression and chest; his high heel pump tapped impatiently.

Donald stood in front him with clenched fists, having abandoned the ice cooler near the table, and gritted his teeth.

“Daffy Duck.”

“You have grey feathers.”

Donald bristled, “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Spittle popped off his bill, “We’re selling cookies.”

“This is our turf.”

“Your turf?” Daffy scoffed, “This is the Duckburg Supermarket. It is open to all Chickadee and Woodchucks, as long as the required paperwork is signed, and bad for you, I have my sales permit!”

His bill twitched, “We were here first!”

“So?” Daffy straightened one of the displays, and waved flirtatiously at an approaching couple, “Our Chickadee cookies are absolutely delectable. They won’t crack your teeth like those popcorn kernels.”

“You can shove your cookies right up your -,”

“Uncle Donald?”

Spinning around Huey’s pensive expression locked him. He searched from one bill to the other, unasked questions ready to shoot at him, and Donald gulped. Daffy clicked his tongue and returned to the table.

At a loss for words, the question hung precariously between them. Donald thought of what he could say, of what was suitable for a twelve year old boy. He readied the response, whatever its content, when the automatic doors slid open.

“This...this person...is...an…”

“Daffy, we’ve talked about this.”

The grey rabbit and other girls came behind. She dropped the bag of bananas, apples, kiwis, and cans of coconut milk on the table; crossing her arms, she glared irritably at them, “Dad said if you get us banned from another supermarket you’ll be taken off as troop leader.”

Daffy’s arrogance dwindled briefly, “Children are meant to be seen, not heard!”

“We’re selling cookies. We’re gonna have to talk and be seen.”

Noticing their presence, the girl offered her hand to Donald and Huey.

“Sorry, my name’s Babs Bunny.” She glanced at Daffy, “And this is our troop leader.”

Huey gripped her hand back, “Um, aren’t there male troop leaders?”

“Listen kid, when you look me, you want to look your absolute best.” He popped a heel up, “And I like the height the heels give me.”

Donald’s glare dissipated at Babs, “So, you’re here to sell cookies?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, “We got banned from Acme Acres Supermarket,” she cut Daffy’s gasp off with a sharp glare, “we thought we could sell a little in Duckburg, but we forgot popcorn season started today.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“We don’t?”

Huey shook his head, “We don’t have a lot of bags in the first place, and this is a great hour to sell.”

“Wait, like, you guys have popcorn?” A blond-haired loon pushed through, “Like actual popcorn, please tell me you’ve got chocolatey caramel crunch!”

“Shirley!”

“Like Daffy, it isn’t for me. Pops and Grams love ‘em!” She pulled out a twenty, “I’ll take four bags.”

“Four?”

“Come on, like two bags would keep ‘em happy.” She rolled her eyes and ran to the table where Troop Leader Wolff and the others applauded their first customer of the day.

“Do you think they have the cheese flavor collection?”

“Yeah, we set up a few minutes ago.”

“Merci beaucoup, beau canard!” Hugging him fiercely, the violet skunk raced after Shirley, and was soon followed by the rest, having finished their preparations. Dollar bills and change jingled in their pockets.

“You’re telling me you could’ve bought your own snacks?” Daffy said, “Why did we have to use the card?”

“Because none of us wanted to spend our money on things we knew Dad was gonna buy us, plus, we knew you’d sneak the card.”

Daffy glared and watched as Babs walked to the table.

“So, Huey, do you have classic caramel and unbelievable butter?”

“And who are you buying for?”

“Dad and Buster love unbelievable butter.”

“Oh, right.” His shoulders shot, “And don’t forget my classic caramel!”

“Sure, Daffy.” She smiled at Huey, “I’d like to see your order arrangement.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! The organization is so specific. It’d really help.”

Like their friends, they too went to the table, leaving the adults to themselves.

“I destroyed the dairy aisle.”

“Wait, what?”

Daffy sniffed, shrugging his shoulders, “And the bread aisle, and the fruits, vegetables, yeah, I destroyed 70% of the supermarket.”

“How?” This was Daffy. This was the little, black duck who refused to follow social norms and other rules of propriety, “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but how?”

Crossing his arms, he looked away, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You got into a fight with another parent, didn’t you?”

“No one insults my sweet, darling Babs.” He glanced where she and Huey munched on popcorn, “She’s the light of my life.”

“Doesn’t she have a brother?”

“Buster is my joy. Babs is my pride,” he clarified.

“Wait, I thought she was the light?”

“That’s what I said, my light and joy.”

“Buster is your joy.”

“Who asked you?”

Donald’s eye twitched, and on the right side of his head a headache started to throb.

The last time they’d seen each other, Donald succeeded in destroying Daffy’s white grand piano. In retaliation, Daffy smeared what Donald wanted to believe was mud across his piano keys, as well as booby-trapping the lid.

His fury knew no bounds.

Daffy’s laugh followed him right to the enlistment office.

“Uncle Donald?” Huey ran to them, “Hey, Uncle Donald!”

“Huh, yeah?”

“The Woodchucks and I discussed it.” He beamed brightly at him, “Troop Leader Wolff said we could buy some of the Chickadee cookies.”

“I want ten boxes of Do-si-dos!” Troop Leader Wolff opened his wallet, “And five thin mints, my husband loves ‘em.”

Daffy’s and Donald’s tense glares didn’t go unnoticed.

The long-standing feud between Chickadee and Woodchuck was longstanding. Huey researched the subject vigilantly, spending late hours at the local library when the official Woodchuck archives failed to offer the information he sought. Clinton Coot and Gertie Greylag were close friends, having grown up as next door neighbors, and chose to nurture a healthy relationship between Woodchuck and Chickadee.

Huey theorized the rivalry started after Greylag’s death, ten months after Coot’s, where the grieving members lashed out at each other. It was only then did their healthy, friendly relationship began to weaken.

His research didn’t produce any instances of disaster on one side or another. The rivalry was nothing more than a myth, but this didn’t stop the higher ups for making the tactful decision to maintain a respectable distance during cookie season.

Having purchased four boxes of Chickadee smores, Huey sat along the wall, breaking his personal vow to not snack before his proper lunch.

“What’s Daffy? Your dad’s roommate?” Marshmallow, chocolate, and graham-cracker was mushed together in crunchy delight, Huey stared at Uncle Donald and Daffy, engrossed in unstimulating conversation, “He really knows how to walk in those heels.”

“He’s more than my dad’s roommate.” She sipped her strawberry soda, “He’s my dad’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend? You said he has a girlfriend.”

“He does.” Babs grinned, “He has a boyfriend and a girlfriend.”

“How does it work?”

“It’s simple.” She leaned on the wall and let the soda take hold, “Dad goes out with Lola every now and then, she sleeps over. Daffy goes out with Tina every now and then, and sometimes,  he stays at her apartment. But we have family dinner, and Dad and Daffy sleep together sometimes.”

All new and different, Huey looked at her as if he couldn’t believe what she was telling him, but she spoke with such normalcy that he couldn’t think of doubting her.

“How’d they meet?”

She shrugged, “The post office. It’s been six years now, and I like it. Buster was already living with us, so it was like we found the last piece to the puzzle...or the last piece found us,” she chuckled, “he said he was crashing but just ended up mooching off Dad. But it’s nice. Dad loves him, and I know he loves us.”

Huey bit into another smore, “Uncle Donald hasn’t dated. I don’t think he’s ever dated.”

“Aw, well, I thought the same about Dad, but he and Mom got along enough to make me.”

“How?”

“They weren't married.” Babs explained, “I think they grew up in the same Brooklyn neighborhood.”

“Do you get to see your mom often?”

“She’s a flight attendant, but she sends us tons of souvenirs and photos.” She showed him her phone, “She passed over Ithaquack.”

He checked the photo and grimaced, “Yeah, that’s Zeus.”

“You’ve met him?”

“My family visited Ithaquack,” visited being a loose term.  “We met Zeus and Storkules.”

“Is he as big of a jerk as he is in the myths?”

“Yep, pretty much. Uncle Scrooge beat him at every competition, but then we beat Storkules, who’s my uncle’s best friend.”

Huey stared back at Donald and Daffy. They didn’t appear angry anymore although Uncle Donald’s fists were still partially clenched, and Mr. Daffy’s arms were still crossed against his nonexistent bosom.

“I think they know each other,” Babs said.

“I think so too.”

She slid her phone into her back pocket, “Daffy used to play piano at the Ink & Paint Club.”

“What’s the Ink & Paint Club?”

“I dunno. Dad gave him the look, so he didn’t tell me the rest.”

Huey pulled back, staring at Uncle Donald and Daffy. Irritation tip toed around their bills and the corner of their eyes, and Huey dug for his JWG.

“Huh. Always wanted to see one up close.” Babs got out her LCG, “It’s dense material, ain’t it?”

He flipped through the pages, “Right here,” tapping under the bold print, “the Ink & Paint Club is a legendary Hollywood nightclub known for its numerous celebrity patrons and famous, occasionally infamous performances.”

“One of the most infamous performances was Looney Sailing Piano Duel.” Babs read the article in her LCG, “Known for its merrie melodies these piano duels were regularly performed with vulgar violence and obscenity. The last act resulted in both performers being hooked off the stage, which was how all performances ended.”

“It doesn’t identify the performers.”

Babs shrugged, “Daffy can be obscenely violent, and stupid. He didn’t mention a partner though.”

“The JWG says the last performance included,” reading on he twitched in disgust, “a booby-trapped upright piano. One of the performers was thrown under a grand piano lid, with the top smashing down on them.”

“Both performers were dragged off stage after the booby-trapped piano exploded, destroying the stage, but leaving the audience roaring with applause.”

“It sounds crazy,” Huey closed the book.

“It sounds fun.” Babs wondered aloud, “I don’t see why Dad cut Daffy off.”

"Mr. Duck!”

Mr. Duck, the black feathered one, clutched the underside of his bill in pain. He’d fallen backwards. His precious pumps clicked and snapped in two on the way down. He didn’t stare up at Mr. Duck, the white feathered one, in shock or even disappointment. A slow, wicked curve took hold of his bill, and he sneered, twisting his delicate hands into fists.

“You do know this means war,” he spat.

“Bring it, bub.”

Mr. Duck, the black feathered one, wrapped his hand firmly around Mr. Duck’s throat, and threw him to the ground, punching him right in the eye. The white feathered Mr. Duck shouted in pain, clutched his wounded eye, and rolled on the ground as they scuffle progressed.

“Oh no,” Babs stood and whistled, “come on girls, you know the routine!”

“Wait, Babs!”

But the girls knew what to do, grabbing the tables and bags, they ran to the minivan and tossed them inside. Mr. Wolff ran to separate them, but they were too fast, too strong for the hot-headed ducks. A small crowd formed around the fighting drakes, and Babs ran back, hissing at Huey.

“Take off your badges and hat!”

“But why?”

“Ya’ want those people to know it’s a Woodchuck - Chickadee brawl?” Glaring at him as if it was the most obvious thing, she ran to the tussling ducks holding a small device in her right hand.

Huey was about to ask what she was doing when Shirley threw him a pair of ear plugs. She motioned quickly for him to put them in, and he did without question. He was about to ask what she was doing when she blew into the whistle, and the most annoying, screeching sound came out.

But Huey was deaf to this sound. He watched as Donald and Daffy clutched their ears in pain, curling on the pavement, and the observers who were also ducks ran off in shock and horror.

“Sufferin’ succotash!”

“Turn it off! Turn it off!”

Her breath carried for thirty seconds. Lowering the whistle, she glared and pointed to the minivan, “Get. In. The. Van. Now.”

“But -,”

“I said now!”

Mr. Duck looked back at Mr. Duck and saw the amazed, amused stares beholding them. He grabbed his broken pumps and scurried to the minivan. Huey didn’t get to say goodbye or even wave goodbye before the minivan burnt rubber out of the parking lot, and out of the city.

“Uncle Donald?”

He lied on his back, arm covering his eye, “Yeah, Huey?”

“Are you...are you okay?” He moved Uncle Donald’s arm and winced.

“That bad?”

“No, no.” The crowd started to disperse, suddenly bored with the weak conclusion, “You may want to put a steak on that eye though.”

Donald groaned, covering his darkened eye again.

The drive back to the mansion was uneventful. Fortunately, the authorities were not notified, and the Woodchucks grabbed their belongings and returned home. Troop Leader Wolff was amazed. He’d heard of Donald Duck’s temper, but hadn’t experienced the full length of it. As he said, as long as no actual harm was done, there was no need to worry.

“Let's not make a repeat of this, okay, Donald?”

“Sure, pal.”

The drive back to the mansion was uneventful. Huey replayed each event in his head, trying to spot the actual moment his uncle’s anger was ignited, but the more he replayed, the harder it became. The second Mr. Duck appeared something was off about Uncle Donald. He didn’t restrain his obvious dislike for the man; it was impossible for him to completely conceal his dislike for him. Huey liked to think he had given it a try for his sake.

He sighed.

“Sorry.”

“Huh?”

Uncle Donald gazed into the rearview mirror, “I’m sorry for ruining the popcorn sale.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Uncle Donald.”

He gave him a look.

Huey laughed, “No seriously, you didn’t. Some folks bought the last of the popcorn to watch the fight, so you helped us out.”

“Great.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Huey fidgeted in the backseat. Along with the fight, the Ink & Paint Club cropped in his head. His uncle didn’t discuss much about himself. Huey knew better to ask a direct question about his uncle’s past. He might not have looked the part, but Donald Duck was notorious for evading difficult questions.

But still, Huey knew he had to try.

“Did you know Mr. Duck used to play piano?”

“Huh, you don’t say.”

“Babs talked about him.” He drummed his fingers on the faded cushion, “He’s her dad’s boyfriend, and he used to work at this club he told her about.”

“Oh did he now?”

“Yeah, he didn’t tell her too much, but she said it was the Ink & Paint Club.”

He made a right. His grip tightened around the wheel, “Ink & Paint Club, never heard of it.”

Huey swallowed his gasp. Uncle Donald never lied, except for the time he told them about the potty fairy; Huey knew what his uncle did with their waste. He was horrified.

It wasn’t his place to ask. Although his uncle’s tone didn’t end the discussion, Huey sensed this was the end, and he looked through the window as they drew near to the manor.

He wasn’t upset. Just a little disappointed.

It was then his gaze flickered to the ice cooler, and widened.

An excited grin punctured his disappointment.

Louie was elated to have his phone returned to him. He asked no questions when his brother went upstairs to wash up for dinner, ready to resume Ottomon’s Empire season two. He didn’t check the contacts, the call log, or even the browsing history. Of his brothers, Huey was the one he didn’t have to worry over. His phone was returned perfectly intact, no cracks or smudges; it even smelled of fresh wildflowers.

Lounging in the home theater with Dewey and Webby, he flicked through the channels as the other two discussed some unsolved mystery they were determined to crack. Ottomon’s Empire season two was an improvement of season one, though it’d taken him days to appreciate it.

“Okay, if we go down hill towards the lake we may be able to fish out the artifact.”

“Didn’t Uncle Scrooge say the lake was guarded by a mystical beast?”

“Why yes, Dewey, it is, but I found a magical mirror in the room of mysteries.”

“You mean the garage?”

“Yes, I mean the garage.”

Louie rolled his eyes, “There’s a million rooms in this place. Can’t you have adventure sibs somewhere else.”

“We wanted you to be a part of it.”

“And since you won’t leave until you’ve binged watched the entire season, we decided to stay here until the meeting is adjourned.”

“Huey isn’t here.” Louie groaned and increased the volume, “I’d say he was lucky to go on his JW camping trip this weekend.”

Perhaps, this was the trigger he needed for his phone vibrated on the cushion next to him. Picking it up, the indicator replied he received a new text message.

Sipping his Pep can, he tapped the screen, and his carbohydrate drink lodged uncomfortably in his throat.

Dewey and Webby stared in confusion as he sputtered and coughed, spitting Pep left and right.

“Dude, gross! Beakley just mopped.”

He coughed, patting his chest, “Muygh phooey.”

“My phooey?” Webby looked at Dewey, “What’s a my phooey?”

“No!” Louie snapped, throat cleared, “I meant my phone! I got a weird message!”

Louie didn’t receive weird messages, and during the rare occasion someone sent a text to the wrong number, Uncle Donald swiftly removed it.

But there was nothing weird about this message. Surprising as it was, Louie didn’t feel uncomfortable. Dewey and Webby leaned over his shoulders and chuckled weakly.

“Wait, is that Uncle Donald?

Look at what I found in Daffy’s closet! He totally did work there, and they were partners! Don’t tell ‘em I snuck in. ;)

Within the message was an old, black and white photo. On the right of the photo was a little black duck playing a white upright piano. On the left was their Uncle donald dressed in a black tuxedo playing a black, grand piano. The little black duck wore a cheeky grin dipped in looney mischievousness. Uncle Donald wore an angry, temperamental glare on his face; its temper was directed at the little black duck.

“Who is this!?”

“It’s signed, Babs B.” Webby read, “Didn’t Huey use your phone a few weeks ago?”

“He did.” Louie tapped the photo to enlarge it, “But why is this girl sending us - him a photo of Uncle Donald.”

Dewey pointed to the black duck, “This must be Daffy.”

A multitude of thoughts scurried back and forth through Louie’s mind. Of the many he had latched onto one and only one, and it was the discovery his responsible, ever cautious, ever reasonable brother was capable of the same cruder mannerism as the rest of them. He was speechless.

“Look guys, she’s sending another.”

Another message popped on the screen, Louie tapped it. He winced.

And thanks, dude! We made first place!

Young girls dressed in Chickadee uniforms circled around a great, gold trophy, their faces alight with victory and triumph. Beside them their troop leader, a lean black dack whose platinum blond hair shined through the picture stood nearby, smugly glaring into the camera

Dewey turned his head crookedly at the screen, “Hey, is that lady a dude?”

“I don’t know, but if he is, those heels give him great height.”

[darkangelz87]

Different Perspectives

A Autistic Sherlock and eventually Queerplatonic Johnlock fanfiction. Read if you want. ^^

                                     Seeing from Different Perspectives

                                                                                                                           Chapter One

 Autism.

: a mental condition, present from early childhood, characterized by difficulty in communicating and forming relationships with other people and in using language and abstract concepts.

Vague snapping of fingers, twirling, chewing on pencil erasers, sleeves and hands, bright lights, colors, sounds, texture of food and clothing, comforting or abrasive, touch, unwelcome and hurtful, eye contact, nope, thoughts merging and turning into screams… “STOP!”

Sherlock froze, shocked at the sound of his own voice ringing in his ears as he still was pulling at his curly hair, his eyes growing watery with unshed and unwanted tears as he stared straight ahead which happened to be right above a crowd of milling people in a shopping mall and dear lord, no, John was here. He didn’t want John to see this!

John Watson stopped what he was doing which was interrogating a passerby and he immediately strode over to him where he was sitting on a bench, the army doctor mask coming over his face as he leaned down, trying to catch his eye sight, “Hey! Sherlock! You okay? What’s wrong?”

Sherlock frowned, an eyebrow twitching.

Okay… I should probably start from the beginning.

I was diagnosed with Autism as a child and that combined with my brilliant mind and swift calculations was an astounding combination.

I saw it as a gift, my brain but I learned from other people especially my family and fellow childhood students that it wasn’t such a brilliant thing.

I remember enjoying and getting lost in the rays of sunlight through dust motes and how my pleasure points of my brain lit up with joy as I spent hours running my hands through the magical streams. I tried to show it to my family and got scolded for spending hours loafing when I should be studying.

My first special interest and happens to still be a dear interest of mine before studying murders, literature and violin was the wonder of bees. I fell in love with them after I saw my first bumble bee. One landed on a flower near me as I sat studying on a hill near our old house and when my eyes strayed to it, I felt something in me stir with silent wonder at its tiny fuzzy body and its low almost soothing buzzing. I watched it, enthralled until it flew away, and I rushed into the house, went to the family computer and quickly searched ‘Bees’.

I began to draw hundreds of bees, reading and studying everything about them and catching them, putting them in jars and letting them go after a while. The thing that blew my young mind and made me admire the little insects even more is, scientifically, the bumble bee’s wings should be too small for it to fly. Amazing little creatures that no one ever took notice of.

My bees ‘obsession’ was dismissed as a childish phase.

Flapping my hands when I was happy was discouraged ‘It was embarrassing’, twirling was considered dangerous to myself, to everyone around me and to the breakable objects within reach, when I was quiet and wanted to listen to Bach with my headphones on instead of struggling to push words out of my mouth I was considered uppity and snobbish.

Everything I did was wrong, so I started to formulate a blockade around me, my emotions and my autistic side was pushed down and restrained so I turned myself over to my mind and my calculating abilities and enhanced those qualities about myself instead and silently reveled in the praise it brought me from my family and the school faculty.

It didn’t help me with people though, they were a foreign entity and I didn’t want them to get too close to me because if they found out all about me they would surely go away, and I didn’t want the trouble, the headache and pain of relationships. And having girlfriends or boyfriends was out of the question. Sally Reed from high school tried to kiss me and I punched her for touching my tongue with hers and all the boys wanted to do with me was they hit me and taunted me for being smarter than them. I can’t help it if I knew the formula for pi in 4th grade, I naturally excelled at mathematics.

Later, I found my calling in being a consulting detective for Inspector Lestrade, it fully utilized my brain in a healthy way (drugs got my pent-up emotions and energy out when I was high, and I didn’t care about keeping up facades when I was stoned) and I could get along with Inspector Lestrade (Even if some of his group are complete idiots). I eventually found a promising flat with an acquaintance I knew from an old case, Mrs. Hudson. The only problem which was a big problem considering my sometimes-low funds (I refuse to ask Mycroft for anything if I can help it!) was I needed a flat mate to help me with the rent.

In walks John Watson.

I admit, at first, I was only interested in Watson because of his ability to pay some of the bills and to furnish half of the rent but then it turned to something else when he really listened to my deductions with almost a form of awe and a word whispered in complete reverence like: ‘Marvelous!’, ‘Brilliant!’, ‘Fantastic!’, the list went on and to top it all, he killed a man for me.

I haven’t known him for very long but what I do know of Watson, he intrigues me, and no one has ever intrigued me before. I wanted to keep him thinking that I was this intellectual genius, so I hid my disability from him with care the last couple of months that we have lived together.

Well, seems like the proverbial cat is out of the bag.

I didn’t want to go to a mall to talk to a jeweler that had been robbed from, it was a category 3 at least, not worth my interest but Watson had shown interest in it and he said it would be nice to hang out together, that it would be a casual time out together.

Uhuh… I should’ve went with my instinct and said, most definitely no!

It was an onslaught on my senses ever since we entered the doors. Screaming kids, chattering, giggling girls and boisterous laughter assaulted my ears, fluorescent lights glared in my eyes making my head pound with intense pain and people getting too close for comfort sometimes made my skin crawl and unpleasantly itch all over.

By the time I was clawing at my hair and screaming for everything to “STOP!” I knew my cover was blown.

I didn’t dare to look up when John asked what was wrong, but I gritted my teeth and clenched my eyes tightly shut, trying to shut out the imminent look of pity that would surely be coming from Watson.

What I didn’t expect was gentle, steady hands on both sides of my face.

My eyes flew open in shock and I blinked unexpectedly at the change of brightness as I slowly registered that John had just slipped a pair of sunglasses over my eyes.

I blinked up at John and he just smiled, a little smile that he shows sometimes when he is reading the paper, writing in his blog, or drinking an extra especially good cup of hot tea and he walked back to the jeweler, continuing to ask him questions.

I was dumbstruck.

I composed myself and quietly felt around in my faculties, testing myself to see if my senses had calmed down somewhat and found to my surprise that just dimming the lights had made the sounds more bearable and my pounding headache melted down to a tremor of pain. Note to self: Start carrying sunshades in coat pocket.

John walked back to me and I cocked my head to one side, looking up at him with a question on my face, he answered the quiet question, “Nothing that the police can’t solve by themselves.” I growled in annoyance, rolling my eyes, “Like I said, clearly a category 3, nothing of interest.” John grinned, shrugging, “Ah, oh well. It was worth getting out of the flat for a bit huh?” I snorted, looking away, “I’d rather dissect a skunk than be around these swaggering, giggling bags of testosterone and hormones.” John laughed, making me turn my eyes on him, really looking at him and seeing him, I quirked an eyebrow quizzically at this seemingly normal man and I smirked.

John Watson was anything but normal.

 Author’s note: This chapter is insanely short and kinda pointless lol but I just wanted to start this story with something sooo here it is! I’ve been wanting to write this for a very long time and I’m starting it! I’m excited! :) I will be using my own Autistic experiences in the story (Using sunglasses does help dim down sensory issues for me. I wear them in public a lot.). I hope to be able to kinda write and put together a guideline for the next chapter so it won’t be so short and kind of random and I am debating just keeping the story in Sherlock’s pov and not switching back and forth like I am prone to do.

But yeah, this story is about Autistic Sherlock and how he tries to act neurotypical and generally succeeds until John Watson comes in the picture and figures things out and the big thing is, John doesn’t care that Sherlock is Autistic and it may possibly be one of the things that he loves about him. 😊

Yes, there will be queerplatonic Johnlock a lot later in the story cause it’s a slow burn, very sloooow but cutesy fluffy slow burn.

Hope you guys like it and feedback is appreciated! 😊  

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