you are all my petri dishes


LET me tell you the truth about monsters:

they are created by the hands

of foolish men.

LOOK at Minos

who brought the Minotaur

onto Crete, for refusing

to relinquish a prize that was never truly his.

LOOK at Victor,

who sought to bring life into his creature

and created his own horror.

A creature stitched together,

to rip his life apart.

LOOK at your own creature.

Does he not seem familiar?

Born of your own pride?

Can you see the suture marks,

that hold Trumpism together?

Fear, loathing, propaganda.

An arm stitched to a torso,

a torso attached to a head.

DO you feel powerful, bringing it to life?

Do you feel blameless, now that it has stumbled out of your control?

YOU want my sympathy?

Look elsewhere.

I know which hands molded this monster.

I know the petri dishes where it tasted life.

HERE he stands,

a monster for the modern age.

Your self made God.

Ignore him all your want.

It is your gospel spoken in his churches.

It is your people in his congregation.

IT is your offerings at his alter. 

When I look at you laying there
across the way from me
behind the curtains of a Friday
afternoon, I wonder how it is that you,
you are just a handful of a billion cells.

Something I can pick apart and put back together.
You, a human with one heart
and two hands
and ten fingers
that I’ve fallen in love with
all at separate times.

Only that.
A handful of cells.

are a textbook of our 

Let me put your laugh in a petri dish
so that I can see if what we have
has a heartbeat,
if the cells between us
like we did that evening
when you slid your arm
around the small of my waist
and kissed me
with your eyes closed.

Let me see
the way you love me
without loving me
with words.


“Petey! I saw you left all your petri dishes in the oven for some reason?? So I took them out and drew happy faces on them! All thirty-two. Each and every one.”

“… This was the incubator, Wade. They had just one more day to go.”

for icarusforgotten. stay strong pumpking-pie, until the day the patriarchy would die.

  • other moms: oh my gosh i can't believe how fast babies grow!! it's like you buy all these cute onesies for your baby, and within a month they're already too small!
  • talia al ghul: i know, damian's already gone through three petri dishes, i can't believe him :) they really do grow up so quickly, right before our eyes :')

We’re high school teachers and we keep pranking each other and you stole all of my staplers so my fourth hour is bombarding yours with paper airplanes now this is war (Part I)

Also on ao3: The Art Of Living Well

Jean Kirschtein had been teaching at Trost High for about half a year now and so far he liked the new job. The school itself was great, a little on the snobby side but he had never been the person to scorn shiny and functional equipment when it came to his classroom. His job was a lot easier when he didn’t have to fix microscopes between classes.
There were also a lot more experiments to be done when you actually had petri dishes and razor blades to cut up onions.
Even though that in turn meant a few minor accidents that had to be tended to with the cartoon band aids in his desk. Believe it or not, the Spongebob ones were rather popular.
The classes Jean taught were mostly tolerable, some of the kids were little troublemakers but he liked them enough and it seemed like that feeling was at least somewhat mutual. Hell, he was hip. Of course the kids loved him!

A whole other thing were his colleagues.
Most of them were pleasant enough, some even a little too pleasant.
Cue Marco Bodt, cutest and most kind history teacher to ever grace this planet with his presence. He was nice and funny and drop dead gorgeous … as well as stupid enough to take an actual liking to Jean. He’d come by at least once a day between classes.
At first it had been to check on him, ask if he needed help with anything or had trouble with his students.

By now, seven months later, Marco’s visits had become some regular thing. They chatted and joked around during their break, sometimes shared lunch or prepared for their next classes.
There even had been some lighthearted flirting during the last few weeks, if Jean didn’t completely misinterpret the signals. Marco had always been a little touchy-feely, but the hair tousling and playful nudges and arm touching had gotten to a point that it could barely be considered platonic anymore. Not that Jean had the slightest problem with that. On the contrary!
Of course, some inhibitions about hooking up with a co-worker were still left but even those got weaker every time Marco strolled into his classroom, all languid movements and charming smiles.

He looked so very handsome again today, wearing that dark purple shirt with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, smile as dazzling as ever as he greeted Jean:
“Hey, how was third period?” Jean watched his guest pull up a chair and slink down onto it with easy grace.

“Nice. Did the brain thing, the kids loved it. Told you Becca wouldn’t puke!” A soft snicker left Marco as he shook his head.
“I’d have helped you mop it up…” He probably would have. Too nice for his own good and all.
“Yeah, I know. You can help me with these sheets instead, if you wanna”, Jean suggested, gesturing toward the unruly stacks of copies spread across his desk.
“You and your worksheets”, Marco sighed mockingly but already slid closer to start sorting through the papers while Jean searched through his drawers. “Three?”

“Four, there’s more over here … oh goddammit Jäger!” The curse left his lips before he remembered being at work but Marco merely raised an eyebrow at his language, patiently waiting for an explanation.
“My staplers are gone”, Jean growled, sifting through his desk one more time before shoving the drawers closed. “All of them. I’m gonna kick his skinny ass!”

Eren Jäger, English and German, was probably the exact opposite of sweet, sweet Marco. Hotheaded and strongly opinionated, always down for some kind of fight and oddly fixated on Jean.
Since their ugly clash on Jean’s very first day at Trost High they’d been picking at each other, snarky comments and stupid pranks all day. It was a hassle … but also a source of entertainment for almost the whole school.
Though they at least tried being discreet that didn’t work out all too often and their students soon caught up with the ongoing dispute between their teachers. Some of them took sides, eager to participate but never being allowed to, some of them were just there for the gossip about the latest prank.
Most of the teachers preferred to remain neutral, though.

“Hmhmm … and what did you do?”, Marco practically purred, chin in his hand as he leaned forward. The look he wore was amused and a bit teasing. Jean could’ve appreciated that better if he hadn’t been so annoyed right now. He waved the question off, muttering a quick “Might’ve taken his  sandwich but there wasn’t even ham on it…”.
Marco laughed at that, casual and relaxed, and shook his head again.
“Oh, so it was you! I told him not to judge too quickly but he was right after all, huh?”

Jean was throwing together his material halfheartedly now, barely listening to Marco as he thought about what would be the appropriate reaction to a crime like this.
Jäger would most likely expect something. Maybe he could convince Marco to…

“Oh no, don’t you dare look at me like that, Mr. Kirschtein. I won’t be dragged into that prank war of yours!” Dammit, this man knew him too well by now. But what he’d just said … this was war, right? “I can go and fetch my stapler, if you’d like”, Marco offered, amusement still tinting his voice, but it was too late.
The bell chimed, announcing the start of fourth period. Jean shook his head, his class would have to deal with loose papers for once.

“Nah, go back to class. Thanks for helping me sort this out.” Marco cast him that brilliant smile of his and shrugged, slowly rising from his chair and stretching.
“Sure. Don’t do anything stupid, Jean”, he murmured, reaching out to card his fingers through unruly blond hair for a minute, scratching at Jean’s scalp soothingly, before he turned towards the door.

“Marco, he took my staplers. I’m gonna take everything he loves”, Jean rasped dramatically in his best Batman voice – which wasn’t that impressive, really – and heard that light, relaxed laugh once more before Marco was gone.

The kids started trickling into the room shortly after that and soon fell silent when they spotted Jean standing in front of the class, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed and a stormy expression.
When everyone had found their place and was looking at him expectantly he announced:

“Jäger stole my staplers, everyone take four sheets.” He let the towering stack of papers flop onto the first table, then leaned against his desk again as he watched the kids pass around the worksheets.
They were still surprisingly quiet until Luca, a tiny blond kid with light freckles all over his skin, chirped: “You want us to avenge you this time, Mr. K?”

Jean paused at that and let his eyes drift over to the kid slowly, well aware of the whole class watching his dramatic pause. He never wanted this thing with Jäger to get this big, never wanted to include the students in any of this. But desperate times, desperate measure. Jäger took his staplers and the punishment would be swift and cruel.

The grin he let take over his face felt downright nasty as he nodded at Luca and finally whispered: “Yes.”
He cut down the celebratory whooping that went through the whole room and turned it into annoyed groans when he added: “But first sheets one to three. Four’s your homework!”

Part II

The Types as Marina and the Diamonds Lyrics
  • ISTJ: "One track mind like a gold fish, stuck inside my petri dish. I can't breathe and I can't smile. This better be worth my while."
  • ESTJ: "I know exactly what I want and who I want to be. I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine. I'm now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy."
  • INFP: "I live my life inside a dream, only waking when I sleep. I would sell my sorry soul if I could have it all."
  • ENFP: "People like to tell you what you're gonna be. It's not my problem if you don't see what I see and I do not give a damn if you don't believe."
  • ISFJ: "But deep down all you want is love, the pure kind we all dream of. But we cannot escape the past, so you and I will never last."
  • ESFJ: "Sometimes I think I'm not that strong, but there's a force that carries me on. Sick of my small heart made of steel, sick of those wounds that never heal."
  • INTP: "Oh, all the time that I have wasted, chasing rabbits down a hole when I was born to be the tortoise. I was born to walk alone."
  • ENTP: "I am never gonna give you anything you expect. You think I'm like the others, boy, you need to get your eyes checked."
  • ISTP: "Cause it's my problem if I wanna pack up and run away. It's my business if I feel the need to smoke and drink and sway."
  • ESTP: "Don't get on my bad side--I can work a gun. Hop into the backseat, baby, I'll show you some fun."
  • INFJ: "Don't want cash, don't want card. Want it fast, want it hard. Don't need money, don't need fame. I just want to make a change."
  • ENFJ: "I wanna live forever, forever in your heart. And we'll always be together from the end to the start."
  • INTJ: "One track mind, one track heart. If I fail, I'll fall apart. Maybe it is all a test. Cause I feel like I'm the worst so I always act like I'm the best."
  • ENTJ: "High achiever, can't you see, baby, nothing comes for free. They say I'm a control freak driven by a greed to succeed. Nobody can stop me."
  • ISFP: "I wanna mean something to somebody else, feel a significance in the real world. It's not enough to live out a lucky life."
  • ESFP: "You can paint me any color and I can be your clown, but you ain't got my number. Yeah, you can't pin me down."