#{Muse: Failed Science Experiment}

[bitchface24-7]

Oops my hand slipped and I’m back again (for the 3rd day in a row (I think I have a problem))

So following the trend of me seeing too many fanfics of smthn I don’t vibe with, I’ve noticed that a lot of Jayce and/or Viktor x reader fics have the reader as a scientist (makes sense writing-wise, provides a lot of opportunity for characters to interact and bond)

Problem is, I am dogshit at science. I was good at most subjects in high school, but science? Nearly failed. I was good at math and word problems too which made it even more confusing to me but it is what it is ig. So I was hoping for another JayVik x reader where this time, the reader is an artist

Now I primarily draw OCs and people (usually digital or w/ marker) so I’d like smthn leaning towards that but frankly you can do whatever

I just think it’s be funny if, while Jayce n Viktor do their cool nerd shit, the reader is fully unhelpful and doodling in their sketchbook. Quality time except I’m drawing sexualized men (gender equality) and my hot boyfriends are solving global trade or whatever

(Mayhaps also drawing them for studies and anatomy practice and showing them because I like forcing ppl to look at my art >:)) )

Again, take as long as you need to write this, hope you’re doing good :))

MY MUSES - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: after escaping Noxus with your best friend Mel, you've cherished the peace of Piltover compared to the wartime of Noxus. You were able to flourish in the city of progress with your artistry. It was the way you and Mel found solace in your old home. Now, you've been commissioned by the council to paint a portrait of the Hextech duo.

warnings: talks of wartime, insecurities, awkward talk, becoming friends with J + V, anatomy practice, complimenting your two boys, fluff, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/m/f or m/m/m

p.s. I understand your frustration, even I've fallen into “make reader a scientist to make life a little easier.” I hope y'all enjoy artist reader!

You're painting in your studio at the Academy when the door is opened, and you smell the delicious fragrance of vanilla, cardamom, and sandalwood, it’s Mel.

You put your paintbrush down and turn to look at your best friend, a smile beaming on your face. You get up and go for a hug before stopping yourself, your clothes are stained with paint and you don’t want to ruin Mel’s pretty white dress.

She fondly rolls her eyes and pulls you into a hug anyway. Mel’s not a very touchy person. It was seen as a weakness is Noxus. She’s only really touchy with you, you’ve been her friend for as long as you can remember. She wholeheartedly trusts you.

And you know how rare that is.

“Hello dove. How’re you today?”

You scrunch your nose at the nickname, it was a nickname given to you when you were much younger. “It’s because you don’t see the glory of war. You’re gentle. Something I desperately need in my life.” Mel had explained, her Medarda Mask no where in sight.

“I’m good. I’m almost done the landscape you commissioned for the council room.”

Mel’s smile widens the tiniest bit, but her gaze is downcast. This isn’t a social call. She’s been tasked to ask you something.

“Mel, I understand. Just, tell me what you need from me.”

A sigh escapes the gorgeous woman, “The council has requested a portrait to be made of the two Hextech innovators, Viktor and Jayce Talis.”

You raise your brows in confusion, “Okay… why is that a bad thing?”

Mel leans on a clean section of your work station, a hand coming up to rub her forehead, “They’re constantly working. They don’t see the prospect of taking a break. If you were to paint them, you’d have to paint them in the lab; as they do dangerous experiments. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You place your hand over top Mel’s hand that’s braced against the desk, “I’ll be okay. I can’t imagine they’d let anyone get hurt.”

Mel nods sagely, the hand that was rubbing her forehead is now placed over your hand. She’s now cupping your one hand and rubbing her thumb over your knuckles.

“I’ll tell them what the council has demanded. When will you be free to paint them?”

You look over to the almost finished landscape painting sitting on your easel, “Give me a week.”

Mel nods, gives you one last hug, and leaves your studio to break the news to Viktor and Jayce.

You just hope they’re nice to you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The week passed by in a flash, and here you are. Standing in front of two very large doors that make you feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

You don’t understand why you’re so nervous. You’ve painted portraits of the top-class in Piltover. The cream of the crop. The top one percent, and you were fine. You were mentally rolling your eyes every few minutes, but you were fine.

You’re now asked to paint two scientists and you feel like you’re going to have a stroke.

At least Mel gave you some advice in regards to both men, “Jayce is quite kind, easy-going, and easy to talk to. You’ll make quick friends with him as you are. His partner Viktor on the other hand… is a different story. He’s cordial, but stubborn. He’s quite witty with a sass that almost matches mine. He’d prefer it if you skipped the flowery talk and just got straight to the point. He’s not a fan of the mind numbing politics of Piltover. Say what you mean or don’t say anything at all.”

With that mantra repeating in your head, you knock on the doors to their lab.

“Come in!” A voice exclaims, “We cannot leave our stations, the gems may become volatile if we do.” Another voice adds, this time with an unfamiliar accent.

You lightly push open the doors and are stunned by the state of the lab. Papers everywhere, equations on a blackboard you don’t even want to attempt to understand, ink stains, scraps of metal.

You suppose this is their version of an art studio.

“Oh!” The first voice you heard exclaims, “You must be Mel’s friend, the one who’s been commissioned to paint us. I’m Jayce. The one brooding over there with goggles on his face is Viktor.”

A scoff, “I am not brooding. I simply do not see the purpose of a portrait being made of us. It takes time away from our research!”

You cut in, reminding yourself of Mel’s advice, “The council has ordered it. Besides, I need to study you two for a little bit. Understand your anatomy and proportions. Then when I have a clear understanding, we’ll take one day out of your schedule to get the painting done.”

Viktor raises his goggles, putting them into is hair and the most beautiful pair of eyes you’ve ever seen narrows onto you, “You’ll only need one day to paint us?”

“The weather is constantly changing. That means so is my light source, my shadows, my colours.” You explain easily, “If we spend the whole day together, I’ll be able to easily get the portrait done and you two can go back to work. Sound good?”

Viktor purses his lips before nodding, Jayce just looks between the two of you with a small smile. He thought that would’ve taken a lot longer.

Guess you’re pretty special.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One Week Later.

Their work is fascinating. You don’t understand quite a bit of it, but their enthusiasm and passion make up for your lack of knowledge.

Here they are trying to solve most of the worlds problems and you’re sketching them in your sketchbook with hearts in your eyes.

You focus on their bodies, how they bend, contort, their planes and shadows. How light glows onto them.

You focus on their unique features. Jayce’s sharp canines, Viktor’s cheekbones and moles. Jayce’s broad chest and Viktor’s cane and brace.

Those two points are especially important. They’re so detailed. And they’re a part of Viktor, you’re not going to erase something so vital to him as a human being to make the portrait “nicer to look at” according to the upper echelon of Piltover.

You’re so lost in your thoughts you don’t feel a presence come up behind you, “Whatcha doing?”

You jolt, putting a hand to your heart as your pencil drops to the ground, “By Janna Jayce! You scared me!”

A boisterous laugh permeates the lab, “You we’re so focused, I couldn’t help but wonder what you were doing.”

“We’ll… I was drawing my two very beautiful muses.”

There’s a small silence in the lab.

“Your—�� Viktor starts, then clears his throat as Jayce stands there, stunned, “Your beautiful muses?”

You nod, not realizing their disbelief, “Of course. The two of you have such beautiful features. Jayce is quite tall, with broad shoulders, a tiny waist, and strong legs. A nice hair cut, strong brows, big eyes, and pink lips. You, Viktor on the other hand—“

You’re cut off by said man, “Are not as conventional—“

You cut him off this time, “Are also tall, lean, lithe, with long beautiful legs. You have a face carved out of marble, messy hair, eyes that look like liquid gold, beauty marks, and a nice pale complexion that compliments Jayce’s tan. You’re both quite handsome, just is different ways.”

The two men are stunned into silence, and it takes a few minutes before you realize what you said. You feel your face heat up as you try to hide behind your sketch book. Viktor lightly smiles at that as Jayce laughs and forces your sketch book back down onto your lap.

“You know, I’ve never heard such an honest compliment before.”

“Neither have I.”

You feel like killing yourself. Maybe jumping out of one of the lab windows will do the trick.

“So,” Viktor’s interrupts your dark humorous thoughts, “Do you feel prepared to paint the portrait?”

You look the two men dead in the eye, even as embarrassment consumes you.

“Yes.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A day is set and you bring all your art supplies that you need into the lab. You even set up a place for the portrait to be.

The setting will be in front of their main work station, the hexcore and hexgems glittering in the background. You brought a comfortable armchair for Viktor to sit on, you know these paintings can take some time and you don’t want to over-exert his leg. You assume Jayce can stand for a few hours, placed right next to Viktor.

As you explain your thought process to them, the more excited they seem. And to think, they didn’t want to do this originally.

“Ok, get comfortable. Viktor you can put your cane to rest against one of the arms of the chair. Jayce, can you place your hand on the top of the headrest? Perfect. You two comfortable?”

You get nods and yes’ as your answer.

With that, you start to paints them.

You ensure to be as diligent as possible. You start with the boys, adding bits and pieces to the background as you go. You make sure to her the green in Jayce’s eyes, the beauty marks on Viktor’s face. The house Talis emblem on Jayce’s jacket; the intricacies of Viktor’s cane and leg brace. The purple and blue glows of the Hextech give the painting an almost magical feeling.

You have to say, this may be your best portrait yet.

A couple hours pass and you deem the painting complete. The two boys sigh, Jayce cracks his back as Viktor cracks his neck. Most of the painting was done is silence, a few tiny conversations sprinkled throughout the process.

You didn’t want them to move.

The two come to where you’re sitting and gaze at the portrait in awe. It’s… them. It looks so life like, as good as a picture. But it’s softer, it looks beautiful.

And they look phenomenal.

“Are you sure that’s us?” Viktor jokes, pointing at the painting, “Those men are incredibly handsome.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, “Now you know what to say when you look in a mirror. That’s how you look, and it’s how you’ll be remembered.”

Jayce smiles and puts a hand on both your and Viktor’s shoulders. Viktor looks touched at the sentiment.

“You should move your art stuff to be here. Permanently.” Jayce states easily.

You almost choke on your own spit, “Pardon? Why would I do that?”

“Because we'd miss you,” Viktor replies a cocky look on his face.

You huff out a laugh, “Ill be of no help to you. I'm not a science brain. I'd just be in the lab drawing you two constantly.”

“We’d pose for you.” Jayce jokes

“Even if I wanted to practice nude anatomy?”

Viktor hums, “Not in the lab obviously, but yes even then.”

You smile at them, “It’s a deal then.”

And to think you were scared they wouldn't be nice to you. You just obtained two pretty muses (hopefully for the rest of your life.)

TADA!!! This was such a cute request. I hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. Pebble, you keep those requests coming (and everyone else who requests too 🫵😏)

I have like four requests now in my inbox and I squealed when I saw it. I've never had so many requests before. Usually my inbox has like… spam and fishing schemes. So this is amazing to me!!

[phoenixblaze1412]

P-P-P-P-P-PLEASE MAKE DOTTORE WITH A FEM READER WHO'S INSCURE ABOUT HER BODY + HEADCANONS PLS JDDHDISIDHDH THIS MAN IS MAKING ME CRAZY ARGH😭😭💗💗💗

Of course anon!!

From the moment he met you, Dottore was captivated by your presence. Your soft features and curves were a stark contrast to the cold, rigid environments he was used to and he found them absolutely mesmerizing.

He’s a man of science, after all, how could he not admire the balance and symmetry of your form? He often comments on this in his clinical yet endearing way.

“Fascinating. You’re truly exquisite in ways others fail to appreciate. Yet you are mine and mine alone, which makes me the most happiest."

When he notices you feeling self-conscious or trying to cover yourself up, he immediately intervenes. Dottore has little patience for your insecurities, not because they annoy him, but because he can’t fathom how you could doubt your own beauty.

He’ll tilt your chin up with a gloved finger, his piercing gaze meeting yours. “Do you truly believe I would waste my time with someone unremarkable? I chose you for a reason.”

Dottore adores how soft and warm you are compared to the cold sterility of his lab and even his own cold exterior frame. He often pulls you into his lap while working, resting his chin on your shoulder and letting his hands trace lazy patterns along your arms or sides.

“You’re like a perfect cushion,” he teases with a smirk, though his tone is fond.

Whenever you express doubts about your appearance, he cuts you off with a firm but loving reprimand. “Enough of that nonsense. Your body is a masterpiece, and I won’t have you insulting it nor my taste.”

He’s not afraid to use his sharp tongue to cut down anyone who dares make a comment about your size.

Dottore’s compliments often come wrapped in scientific musings or dry wit.

“Your skin is remarkably soft. I should study how it manages to stay so perfect.”

“Your proportions are ideal. Truly, the gods must have been paying attention when they made you.”

He simply knows how to make you flustered and he lives for it.

Dottore loves seeing you in clothes that accentuate your curves. He insists on getting you tailored outfits that highlight your beauty, often acting as if it’s purely for his own benefit. “I can’t have people thinking I’m with someone so plain. Let them see what I see.”

Behind closed doors, Dottore lets his guard down. He kisses every inch of your body, murmuring soft reassurances against your skin.

“Every part of you is perfect. Don’t you see? You’re mine, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Dottore often surprises you with thoughtful gestures, like creating a custom chair for your comfort or designing shoes that fit perfectly. It’s his way of showing you that your body is not a limitation but something to be celebrated.

He’s fiercely protective of you, especially when it comes to your self-esteem. If he ever overhears someone making a cruel comment, they won’t dare to do so again after facing his wrath.

“You’d do well to mind your words. That’s my beloved you’re speaking of.”

Dottore loves teasing you about how irresistible he finds you. “If you keep looking that tempting, I might just have to cancel my experiments for the day.”

----------

One evening, you were sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at yourself in the mirror. The dress you had on clung to your curves in a way that made your stomach churn with self-doubt. You tugged at the fabric, wishing it would just hide you better.

Dottore, ever observant he is, noticed immediately. He approached from behind, his hands settling on your shoulders as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice soft yet firm.

You hesitated before murmuring, “I just.. I don’t look right in this. I wish I looked.. better..”

“Stop,” he interrupted, spinning you around to face him. His hands cupped your cheeks, tilting your face up so your eyes met his. “I won’t hear another word of this nonsense.”

“But--”

He silenced you with a kiss, slow and deliberate. When he pulled back, his gaze was piercing yet filled with something warmer than you expected.

“You are breathtaking,” he said, his gloved hands trailing down your arms. “Your softness, your warmth, the way you fit so perfectly against me.. Do you think I, of all people, would settle for anything less than perfection?”

Your cheeks flushed and he smirked, clearly satisfied with your reaction. He pulled you into his chest, resting his chin on your head.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “All of you. And I’ll remind you of that every day if I must.”

In that moment, wrapped in his arms, the weight of your insecurities felt just a little lighter.

[yummyrevivalfluid]

Muse

Senku x Artist Reader Pt.2

Summary: Reader seeks Senku's Help. The reader finds herself nearly failing all courses involving science and math, what a shocker! Senku can’t help but give the reader a hard time as she asks him to be her tutor...

Word Count: 1,372

Tag List: @maria-trisha

It wasn’t often that Senku was left alone, unbothered by distractions in the school lab. Usually, other classmates carry on with experiments. Sometimes Taiju would keep him company, but Taiju was too extroverted of a friend so much work wasn’t completed with him around. Senku was enjoying the quiet stir of the boiling water, he was currently crouching as he slowly poured some unknown liquid down a buret. Pouring until he reached the desired volume. Senku was deeply concentrated in his work, unaware of you quietly approaching from behind.

“Senku….”

Your voice so soft, Senku almost didn’t acknowledge your presence until he saw your reflection from the lab counters. Slightly startled, he put down the liquid and turned around to face you. Right away Senku could tell something was off. Your voice was too soft compared to your loud and obnoxious self, you looked flushed, and your eyes kept averting him as you slightly swayed.

“Is something wrong?” Senku, asked slightly worried by your behavior.

“Everything thing is ok…. it’s just…” your voice started to trail off as you walked closer to him, standing beside him as you placed the papers you were holding onto the counter, “…I need a favor…” You nudged the papers closer to him. Looking over the papers, the red marking on the paper was hard to miss. Nearly every question was marked with a red X’s. He could see eraser marks littered on the paper, hardly masking the drawings underneath.

You just couldn't help yourself.

 He could feel you staring at him, waiting for his reaction. He knew he had to be delicate, clearly you were embarrassed. He let out a deep sign as he ran his fingers through his hair, “You make Taiju look smart…”  He glanced at you, and he knew he could’ve been more delicate. You were looking at him with tears in your eyes as you hurriedly scrambled to pick up the papers.

“Neverminded! I’ll ask someone else…”. Before you could walk away from him, he gripped your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Senku….”

“I think I have vague of idea of what you need from me. But I need to be ten billion percent sure. What’s the favor?” He waited as you calmed down, blinking the tears in your eyes away.

“Not to make your head any bigger…” you started off, you gripped Senku’s hands in yours and looked into his eyes, pleading. “you’re the smartest person I know! You know so much about science and math! It’s your specialty! And well…I need help from the best!”

He didn’t say anything, he watched as you pulled the crumbled test scores back out, placing them on the counter. “I need you to be my tutor!”

“Hmmm…. I don’t kn- “before he could finish teasing you, you had dropped down to your knees and gripped his right leg and began to shake and beg.

“PLEASE SENKU! PLEASE BE MY TUTOR!”

“OK! Just get off me you airhead!”, he shook his leg to get you off. Pleased by his response you beamed and leaned in for a hug only to be stopped by his hand to your face.

“Thank you so much Senku! I owe you one!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s been a few days since you asked Senku to be your tutor and finally you were going to have your first study session with him. He trailed behind you, following you home as you began to ramble about all these other courses and clubs you were in, making more sense for him as to why your grades were lower than Taiju’s.

“…And I also joined the beginner’s pottery, and OH! I joined a glassblowing class! How cool is that! You turned to see Senku not so amused at your choices.

“Glassblowing? Why the hell would you take that?!”

“Because it sounds cool! Who knows, it might come in handy one day! Maybe someday you’ll be asking me to make you some of the glass bottle thingies that you use!” you said very smugly.

“Uh huh…whenever that day comes, I’ll be sure to get on my knees and beg the very same you did for me…WHICH IS NEVER!” Senku stated as he pinched your arm to get you moving faster.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Finally at your home, you and Senku got yourself situated getting ready to learn. Before Senku could even open the book, you let out a deep groan.

“Uhhhhh! I don’t want to do this!” you grumbled. Resting your cheek on the table as you looked up to Senku, whose eye was twitching at your behavior.

“The sooner we get started, the sooner we can finish. So, get your damn head off the table and let’s do some science!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After 2 hours of Senku nonstop calling you an airhead you were finally taking a break, although you had to do a lot of convincing on your end to make it happen. Senku was a relentless tutor.

Senku watched as you got up to go get some snacks before moving onto the next topic on your tutoring.

“You want anything?” you asked, looking down at him sprawled on your floor.

“Just a cola…thanks.” Senku listened to your footsteps getting further away, until it was just him in your room. He glanced around your bedroom, and he realized just how much you were into art. Paintbrushes and pencils scattered on your bed, posters of bands that he has no clue about littering your bedroom walls. Stacks of sketchbooks up against the leg of your desk. Standing up from his spot on the floor, he walked over to your desk and noticed a sketchbook he hadn’t seen you with. It wasn’t unusual that he wouldn’t recognize one of the many sketchbooks you owned, but this one was different. It was well taken care of. The leather of the sketchbook was in pristine condition, the paper wasn’t crumbled or had pages coming loose from the binding.

Curious, Senku opened the sketchbook, flipping through the pages, he noticed that he was the subject of many of the sketches. You had drawn him from different angles, some in his lab with a serious face, others with a soft look in his eyes gazing into the night sky, others it was just him…He felt like he learned something he wasn’t supposed to. This felt personal…Senku hurriedly closed the sketchbook and sat back down in his spot.

“Hey Senku, here’s your co-are you okay?” you kneeled in front of him, tilting your head as you examined his face.

“Yeah, I’m okay!” he swatted your hand away from his flushed face, “Break’s over let’s move on…”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are we done? “You whined as you watched as Senku grade the practice sheet he created for you.

“You definitely improved…I guess we’re done for the day.” He watched as you cheered, relieved to give your brain a break. “Since I was teaching you about science, it’s only fair if I ask a question about art…”

You turned to look at him shocked written all over your face.

“YOU WANT TO LEARN ABOUT ART! OMG! YES! WHERE DO I EVEN START!” you gushed. Senku quickly cut you off before you could start your usual rambles.

“I didn’t say I wanted to learn about art! Listen, you airhead! I just had a question regarding art.”

“Oh…what’s your question?”

“What does it mean if an artist…repeatedly draws something or someone?” he asked. He tried to make the question as ambiguous as he could, without exposing what he saw.

“Hmmm… it could mean many things! I guess it depends on the artist…I would just assume that the subject is the artist’s muse.” You replied, nonchalantly, sitting on your bed as Senku packed his stuff.

“If you were to draw your muse over and over again…what would that mean?” he asked, by now he towered over your sitting form, and watched as you slightly turned red by his question.

“W-what? W-why are you asking?” you stuttered out, confused by his questions.

“Just curious…about art and stuff…you’re the only artist I know…” Senku said quietly, looking into your eyes.

“Well…it’s like I’ve always said,” you looked away from his eyes as you glanced at your hands, smudged with pencil stains. “My muses are my love.”

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A/n: Thank you so much for reading! If anyone has suggetions or requests don't hesistate to ask! Just please be patient with me!

[preciousmomentsfigurine]

hey, is anyone still here? looks like the last time i was on here was two years ago and change. things are really different now, but i guess then again it would be weird if they were the same

i was thinking of returning to this dead site because for a good fifteen years it was a big part of my life and provided me with a unique way to express my thoughts and ideas and feelings and opinions and musings to an audience of people who can hear me but not truly know me outside of my words that i share on this platform. and on the same coin i enjoy following the lives of people i know nothing about and watching their stories and selves develop and evolve from a complete distance in every sense

i'm five months sober now

i have a hard time pinpointing when exactly i became an alcoholic, but i guess i could say i dealt with it in some degree for about eight years, and progressively, as it always goes

i graduated with my masters last may (2023) in critical media studies where i spent my time writing and researching feminist cultural social and media theory. i produced a great deal of work i was and am very proud of including a thesis that is honestly my life and heart's work but unfortunately over the course of those two years my drinking escalated rapidly and by the end i was manically and drunkenly banging out papers and essays in the dead of night sleepless and naively inspired

somehow i got a 4.0 though despite that. everyone in my life always says i played off my drinking well anyway. beats me how or why

once i graduated i practically immediately began drinking all day every day while somewhat-hardly-kind-of-not-really looking for work which was fruitless and i quickly learned my degree i worked so hard for meant practically nothing to employers who were merely looking for experience i dont have outside of my teaching background in grad school

for almost exactly a year i was drunk 100% of the time i was awake

same old story, at some point i switched to bottom shelf pints of vodka, which constituted my breakfast lunch and dinner. sat on my couch in my filthy apartment occupying my filthy poisoned failing body either watching tv or causing problems somehow

this was when i was twenty-nine. for a while now i had known in my heart of hearts i wasnt someone who would ever be able to handle my liquor or drink like a normal person, whatever that means, and that too much was never enough, and that it was literally impossible to function so long as booze was a part of my life. any attempts to "cut back" or "take breaks", i knew, would end the same way, which was waking up to shots of room temperature vodka and being a prisoner to the worst shame a person can feel

i figured once i turned thirty, which was this march, that would probably be about the time i got sick of my own shit and said goodbye to the bottle. which i undeniably felt a kind of affection toward as if it were a lover. still do in a sense and thats why ill never flirt with it again

my sobriety date is april 16th 2024. my last drink was a shot of vodka at 8:30 am on the 15th after creating massive gashes in my upper arm the previous evening during a blackout fight with my boyfriend

im still unemployed and extremely mentally ill and my bipolar has gotten progressively worse over the past couple of years and will likely continue to according to what the science says and all of that. after my last manic episode last month i adjusted my meds (again) and for now they seem to be working but i don't hold my breath really

i do AA and i like it a lot, i do it my own way, i have a sponsor who approaches the program liberally and progressively and shares many of my comorbidities and has allowed me the freedom to define my relationship to the program and god in a way that works for me and i have made incredible strides through this. i have become a far far far better person.

being sober is easy and i never want to drink. not once not ever

ive never worked so hard on myself in my life because i got as close to death as i ever had and ive been very close at many points in my life for many years. when i was drinking i knew i wouldnt make it to see 35 if i continued as i was

therapy, AA, meds, a whole fucking lot of discipline

ive been with my boyfriend for two years and wed like to get married. thats nothing that will happen anytime soon but it is nice to think about. he has been by my side through unimaginable things that any sane person would not have stuck around for. he is my heart and my soul

im also trying to start applying for jobs again but im genuinely on the fence if i am capable of holding a full time job due to my severe mental illness. im exploring a bunch of options right now as far as that whole thing goes. the future is very uncertain as always

let me know if you see this or remember me or anything.

bye for now

[thalialunacy]

[for the @calaisreno MayProWriMo, which we're halfway through, whaaaat. take heed: I'm gonna call this one nc-17/nsfw/explicit; also smol cw for John being a middle-aged white dude who tries hard.]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) 16: experiment (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

'The true method of knowledge is experiment.' -- William Blake

John's birthday do turns into a Rosie-themed party, but he doesn't mind. He's chuffed, truth be told. And not at all biased.

Luckily, all the other adults present are also not at all biased, so she has a willing audience for her various toddler antics, and throws herself into them full-speed.

'Perfect,' John says aside to Sherlock as Rosie demonstrates to the twelfth guest how to use her new rocking horse. The thing is solid. 'She'll wear herself down and pass out as soon as I put her to bed.'

Sherlock glances down at him from where he'd been watching a folded-up Stamford give the toy horse a few rocks before listing to one side and plonking down onto the carpet dramatically. 'You have plans?' he deduces easily while Rosie's giggles spin through the air.

John clears his throat. 'Possibly.'

Sherlock's lips curve into a smile, even after he turns his focus back to the room. 'Indeed.'

---

'In the spirit of science, there really is no such thing as a 'failed experiment.' Any test that yields valid data is a valid test.' -- Adam Savage

In true contrarian form, Rosie fights the fight of the exhausted and over-stimulated when John tries to start her bedtime routine after finally shoving all the guests out the door. He gets more water on him than she does during her bath, she ends up with backwards jammies on because she absolutely refuses to wear them any other way, and she has declared her disgust with every single one of their normal bedtime stories before he can blink.

John loves her to the ends of the earth, but he's suddenly feeling some strong nostalgia for his bachelor days. Very strong. Very. Strong.

A few moments before his patience is truly drained to nil, there's a knock on the door and Sherlock sticks his head in. 'Rosamund?' he asks, walking over and meeting her gaze. 'What's all this?'

'Don't want bad story!' she exclaims with watery eyes, like the idea is tantamount to state-sanctioned torture.

Sherlock glances at John, who just shrugs wearily. 'There's no accounting for taste.'

Sherlock snorts. 'Alright, Watsons. Here's the plan. Watson the Elder will go have a bath and some tea, and Watson the Younger will listen attentively while I tell the most riveting story of all time.'

He tucks her blanket back around her and she settles a little at his touch. Then he starts in with That Voice, and she's no match. 'Long ago, there once was a woman named Marie. She was from a land far, far away called Poland.' John makes a noise, and Sherlock in turn makes a shooing motion at him.

Plodding his way down the stairs, John muses that all of Sherlock's Rosie stories have involved female protagonists, usually non-fictional. They're not a particularly outwardly 'woke' bunch, the residents of 221 Baker St, but John reckons it's the little things. Like raising a daughter with heroes like Marie Curie.

It's not something they've even discussed, as her caretakers, and affection for Sherlock hits John hard in the chest. He's the luckiest bastard in the world, he really is.

---

'Argument is conclusive, but it does not remove doubt, so that the mind may rest in the sure knowledge of the truth, unless it finds it by the method of experiment.' -- Roger Bacon

That appreciation is still lingering when John exits the loo in his bathrobe to find Sherlock sprawled on the kitchen table, which is a new one, reading a book that looks about as old as the earth itself.

'Feel better?' he says without lifting his eyes to John.

John nods, approaching him. 'You left out the part where Marie Curie died of radiation poisoning, yes?'

'Obviously,' Sherlock says, easing his legs over the edge of the table until he's sitting on it like a normal person, but still reading. 'That will keep until she's at least four.'

'Right. What's the book about?' John asks as he makes his way between Sherlock's knees.

Sherlock holds up a pointer finger. 'One moment.'

John shakes his head with a small smile, then without really considering it he rolls his palms up Sherlock's thighs. The detective is still wearing his party trousers, fine wool John really doesn't want to know the cost of, and it feels smooth and satisfying under his skin.

He leaves his hands at the top of Sherlock's thighs, pressing lightly into small spaces. Sherlock coughs. 'If you distract me, it'll take even longer.'

John raises his hands. 'Fine, fine. I'll just be in bed.' He lowers his voice a little. 'In your bed.'

Sherlock goes very still, eyes staying glued to the page. But his thighs tighten around John when he tries to back away.

John chuckles, and debates the merits of keeping his hands to himself. But before he's decided, he's interrupted.

'Done,' Sherlock announces loudly, slapping the book shut and putting it down on the table with only a modicum of care. He pulls John into him immediately, but his brow is a little furrowed. 'Do you mean it?'

'We've shared beds before,' John strings him along with.

Sherlock tuts. 'John Watson, don't be coy, it doesn't suit you.'

John sobers, and then nods. 'I want… ' He goes for the plain truth. The opposite of coy. 'I want to sleep in your bed, and I'd prefer it'd be after some orgasms.'

Sherlock makes a noise John's not sure how to interpret.

'If you want,' John adds lightly. 

Crystalline eyes search John's face. 'Aren't you tired?'

His smile blooms slowly. 'Yeah, I am. But not too tired for this.' He reaches up to cradle Sherlock's face in his hands, and kisses him, slow and steady, feeling the beat of his heart.

---

'If I experiment enough, I get a deeper understanding.' -- Terence Tao

The first word gets drawn on Sherlock's right hip.

John's left index finger traces eight letters while his right hand tucks into Sherlock's pants and draws them down and off, his mouth following then trailing along hot, hard skin. He knows Sherlock's watching, and likes the idea that he's being at least a little unpredictable.

He's not done this before, but he's done this before. His tongue, and palate, and salivary glands adjust without much fanfare.

The second word, also eight letters, is then stencilled into Sherlock's right thigh, where the hair is downy, and the tendon cords under John's hand.

'John--' Sherlock murmurs roughly. 'What--'

John, on a whim, tries a thing with his tongue, and Sherlock cuts off with a groan. Then John finds himself so involved he forgets to do the next word until Sherlock pulls him up into a tight embrace.

John lets him, because it leaves him in the perfect position to tongue the ten letters into Sherlock's long, exposed neck.

'John, really. Your penmanship is--' His breath catches as John uses a few teeth. '--terrible.'

John huffs a laugh, genuinely amused. 'Doctor, remember?'

'No excuse,' Sherlock says blithely, then starts pulling away.

John is unashamed to admit he tries to stop him, tries to keep him close. Sherlock's gaze softens, and he leans back in.

'Not going further than this bed,' he says against John's mouth. 'It's just that I have something I wish to do.' He smiles, slow and long, and says, 'You did just have a bath, did you not?'

John searches his face, feeling scorched down to his toes at the implied invitation. His thumb traces the fourth word, only four letters, into the thin skin of Sherlock's unbroken wrist, and Sherlock's eyes widen fractionally.

'Perfect,' Sherlock says, then captures his mouth in another kiss. 'Turn over.'

'Your fracture,' John protests. 'It isn't fully healed.'

Sherlock rolls his eyes, and John is reassured he's still the same as he ever was. 'Which is why you should turn over. I'm going to kneel at the foot of the bed. That alright with you, Doctor?'

 'Oh, hell. Yes.'

The fifth word-- Well, John is surprised it took this long for the tables to turn, really, but the fifth word gets bitten into the rounded flesh where John's upper thigh tucks into his arse, before he has a chance to rise up onto his hands and knees. All seven letters, nibbled precisely into sensitive skin while Sherlock's uninjured hand teases at the goal.

'Jesus God,' John mutters weakly. 'Sherlock--'

'Up,' Sherlock says with a tap. John levers himself into position with a grunt, and barely has time to steady himself before Sherlock licks into him.

'Fuck,' he hisses, almost surging forward but being caught round the hip by Sherlock's good hand, steadied.

And then absolutely taken apart.

'Sher--' he falters, ages and a moment later, panting and trying to hold onto his clanging heart. 'Please, come here, I want-- I want you to come with me-- Oh, fuck.''

Sherlock's groan reverberates into him, and John falls onto his forearms, arse held in the air purely by strength of will. He'll congratulate himself later.

When Sherlock pulls away and climbs back onto the bed, John is caught in a messy web of lust and turns over just enough to pull Sherlock down onto his side. 'Please,' he says roughly, reaching for Sherlock's prick. 'Can I--'

'Yes,' Sherlock hisses, seeking out reciprocation. 'Whatever you want.'

And they sync up without too much struggle, racing to bring the other pleasure, and John can't quite remain tethered when he feels Sherlock's tongue tracing the sixth word over his heart. 'Sherlock,' he whispers. He tenses, and it's over; he's awash with sensation and floating away.

---

Seven steps of the scientific method: 1) Question 2) Research 3) Hypothesis 4) Test 5) Analyse 6) Conclusions 7) Communicate.

'You know,' Sherlock says enough moments later that John can focus on him again. 'The seventh step is debatable.'

John smirks sleepily, reaching blindly for his pants to wipe the majority of the evidence off their skin. 'I'd say communication is the most important part, actually.'

Sherlock huffs; John feels it on his temple and decides he's not moving for a while. And it takes a while for Sherlock to say what John can tell is brewing in his mind, anyway. It's alright. He can wait.

'What was that about, truly?' Sherlock finally asks quietly.

'Well,' John says, thinking as he traces figures, meaningless figures this time, into Sherlock's arm. 'Sometimes experiments are about demonstrating a known fact that’s already proven. '

'And this one proved…?'

John's hand comes to a stop. 'Oh, come on, you know what.'

Silence stretches after that statement, and John finally raises his eyes to meet Sherlock's. A smile spreads across his face at what he sees there.

'Just that I love the hell out of you,' he says matter-of-factly.

Sherlock lets out a stream of breath he'd apparently been holding. 'A reasonable conclusion,' he mutters, bringing their mouths together.

John grins, knowing exactly what Sherlock is saying with those words, and lets him have it.

[❤️]

[callipraxia]

Rereading Guards! Guards! now, as I acquired a new, larger copy over Christmas, and I have to say, it seems a lot better than I remembered. Of course, I only remembered two scenes from it in anything close to what you might call “detail:”

1) Vimes musing about his love-hate relationship with the city and comparing Ankh-Morpork to a woman whilst very, very drunk and lying in a gutter in the rain

3) Nobby and Fred’s attempt to engineer a situation where their odds of success would be exactly one in a million, and a bit of how said attempt failed.

Yeah. So I really might as well be reading a new book, I suppose. If it continues to be a more enjoyable experience than I’d have expected, as seems quite probable*, I guess I’m going to have a Discworld reading interlude here. Hopefully I don’t finish the Watch and then decide I need to reread the whole series….

*The way I started reading Discworld was��weird, and sub-ideal. I have chronic depression, and I usually have an extra-low episode roughly every three years. During my low episodes, the only place where I feel any relief whatsoever is…the local Barnes and Noble, of all places. So I had one of those episodes in my second year of college and was going to B&N every Sunday to keep myself semi-functional, and I took it into my head to read Discworld. All of it. In publication order. I then proceeded to accomplish this by reading three books a week, every week, until I ran out. So, that was (at the time) over thirty novels, all of which were filtered through an acute episode of mental illness, me being an American who was pretty much only familiar with American things at the time, and how my knowledge of science pretty much began and ended at “the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell” back then. Between all of that and the speed I was plowing through them at, it’s probably a marvel that I remember anything at all, especially from the earlier books; the Episode started to lift after some months, and I’ve often wondered if that had something to do with why all my favorites are clustered right at the end of the series, and why I remember a lot of the others seeming…extremely incoherent. Jingo, Witches Abroad, and Carpe Jugulum in particular felt like really bizarre and extra-disjointed fever dreams, but then, there’s also several books I am 99% sure I don’t actually remember anything about at all, except maybe in terms of which collection they belong to. This time, though, I’m in no particular hurry or any particularly bad mental state and am somewhat smarter, so this could get interesting.

[blood-starved-beast]

hi hello just came here to say that i *really* enjoyed your musings on lady maria, you just analyse her in such a realistic scrupulous way it's very delectable♡

Thanks! I'll admit my interpretations are a bit atypical to what the fandom usually sees of her ( I mean, I have discussions on other platforms about this). But I just, as someone who has worked in Research involving animals that ultimately have to be put down for science, how the narrative presents Maria is very damning.

We first learn of Maria from the patients at the Research Hall, not having known of her beforehand other than vaguely alluded to via the Doll and the Hunter's Bone. The patients who are medically/scientifically tortured, dissected/vivisected, are living in abject squalor, are being turned into giant heads and are literally losing their minds, and their bodies dumped to rot as fertilizer in the gardens (for the flowers Maria loves I might add) once they no longer serve their purpose. And yet, they love her. These people tortured and denied any form of humanity cling to her like she were a Saint, like the Virgin Mary even, despite her not actually doing anything to improve or prevent the situation.

That is a very powerful first impression - that Maria cared enough about these subjects to give them kindness enough that they automatically cling to her yet lacks the absolute empathy to actually, you know, not experiment on them. That mentality is necessary when working with research animals, but these are people. And that initial impression is not something I can easily overlook regardless of what her actual aim was with the laboratory. This impression is heighten if you take the popular fan interpretation that Maria had some affection for Saint Adeline. Like, oh boy.

What that leaves me to interpret then, is that Maria at best someone of compromised morals, at worst someone who is somewhat two-faced. To assail her failing morals, her kindness is meant to be more self-gratifying, to "prove" to herself that she is a better person than she actually is. It is, in part, a performance cause at the very least it is not reality. There is delusion there but unlike some male Bloodborne simps on reddit it's cause she's deluding herself at the very least, or at most she is doing enough to give the impression she is helping somewhat. You know, like those rich fucks who hand out water bottles during a crisis and then go "that's enough philanthropy for one day :)" while being in a position of power to do actual meaningful change and doing nothing. Or that even if she is an awful person, there are people who are worst than her out there. And maybe that's enough.

I do think she gets to a point that she realizes it though. How fucked up she is/what she's done. That in part of is ultimately what kills her, that and the ultimate futility of her actions, how she slowly chipped and chipped away whatever person she was when she started to ultimately become the monster of her own creation. No better than the Vileblood family she rejected at first (if not worse than them in some respects). But instead of doing anything more meaningful about that Heel Realization she kills herself, dooming herself to being constantly minded that amongst all the Living Failures, she herself reigns Supreme.

[critical-skeptic]

The Necessity of Darkness: Why Eradicating Evil is Neither Possible Nor Desirable

The concept of light and darkness, in its literal and metaphorical applications, reveals an uncomfortable yet irrefutable truth: the existence of one depends on the other. This duality is not just a poetic observation but a functional reality across disciplines—physical, psychological, sociopolitical, and cultural. Attempts to eradicate "evil" not only reveal the futility of such a goal but also risk creating new evils in the process, as history and contemporary events repeatedly demonstrate.

Literal and Physical Implications: Light and Darkness as Interdependent Realities

In the physical world, light cannot exist without darkness. As mentioned, without contrast, light ceases to be meaningful. A universe flooded with uniform light would be indistinguishable from absolute void. This principle of duality applies universally: up requires down, cold requires heat, and light requires shadow. Such contrasts are not flaws; they are features of existence. Similarly, human concepts of "good" and "evil" derive meaning only through contrast. Without one, the other collapses into irrelevance.

This isn't just a philosophical musing; it’s a law of perception and cognition. Darkness defines light. Similarly, "goodness" is only comprehensible in the context of what it opposes. Strip away the concept of evil entirely, and what remains is not perfection but a hollow neutrality—an amorphous existence where the struggle, growth, and triumph that define humanity no longer hold meaning.

The Historical Cycle: Evil’s Role in Sociopolitical Balance

History repeatedly teaches us that attempts to eradicate "evil" often give rise to new forms of oppression or extremism. Look no further than the horrors of utopian experiments. The French Revolution sought to purge society of aristocratic tyranny but devolved into the guillotine’s bloody reign of terror. Communism’s promise to abolish class exploitation birthed Stalin’s purges, Mao’s famines, and the surveillance state. The American push to end segregation and achieve civil rights—a noble and necessary cause—has, in some cases, metastasized into forms of self-parody, where moral policing and public shaming fuel resentment rather than progress.

Evil is not a singular entity to be destroyed but a hydra: kill or cut off one head, and two grow in its place. Even when the moral high ground is held temporarily, the attempt to purge evil often lays the groundwork for new evils born of stagnation, hubris, rigidity, and overreach.

The 1990s: The Last Plateau of Balance

The mid-1990s arguably marked a zenith for progress in many ways. Liberal democracies seemed ascendant. The Cold War was over. Civil rights, women’s rights, and LGBTQ+ acceptance had made remarkable strides. Science and technology were flourishing, with optimism for a connected, globalized future. But this golden period may also have been a false peak. Why? Because we failed to recognize that progress must coexist with imperfection. Instead of consolidating these gains and allowing society to stabilize, we pushed further, harder, and often recklessly.

Identity politics, while initially a tool for empowerment, became a cudgel for division. "Woke culture," rooted in well-meaning awareness, devolved into performative virtue signaling and cancel culture, alienating vast swaths of people who saw their legitimate grievances dismissed as the whining of oppressors. Hyper-self-criticism in the West, particularly in liberal democracies, turned into a flagellation so severe that it emboldened the very forces it sought to suppress.

The Rise of Trumpism, Populism, and Anti-Intellectualism

Into this vacuum stepped Trumpism and its ilk. These movements are not just reactions; they are backlashes—symptoms of a society that overreached in its quest for moral perfection. By alienating large portions of the population through condescension, censorship, and moral absolutism, progressive culture created the perfect conditions for a populist resurgence.

Trump’s appeal lies in his ability to embody the "darkness" that progressives thought they had banished. His shamelessness, his weaponization of grievances, and his rejection of intellectualism resonate with those who feel left behind or vilified by the new cultural norms. He and his movement are not anomalies; they are inevitabilities in a system that sought to erase opposition rather than engage with it.

Worse, the progressive overreach has given legitimacy to older evils—white nationalism, misogyny, and xenophobia—that should have been relegated to history’s trash heap. These ideologies now claim victimhood, arguing that they are the oppressed voices silenced by the tyranny of wokeness, making you look like the opressors.

The Counterproductive Nature of Perfectionism

The attempt to eradicate evil ultimately creates a new form of tyranny. The more we push for a utopia free of darkness, the more oppressive our methods become. Dissent is silenced in the name of moral purity. Rationality and debate are stifled under the guise of protecting marginalized voices. And in the process, we become the very evil we sought to destroy: intolerant, authoritarian, and blind to our own flaws.

Good only holds meaning in the context of struggle. If we eliminate evil—or convince ourselves we have—then goodness loses its luster. Without adversity, there is no triumph. Without opposition, there is no progress. The absence of darkness is not light but a blinding void.

Psychological and Sociocultural Dimensions

Humans are wired for conflict and contrast. Psychologically, we thrive on challenges. Removing all adversity leads to stagnation, boredom, and even despair. This is why even in the safest, most prosperous societies, people create problems where none exist. It’s not enough to be good; we need to define ourselves against something bad.

Socioculturally, the eradication of "evil" would homogenize society to the point of sterility. Diverse ideas and perspectives often emerge from conflict, not consensus. Ironically, the very movements that claim to value diversity often suppress dissent, reducing society to an echo chamber of approved thoughts and behaviors. This intellectual and moral monoculture becomes its own form of evil—one that stifles creativity, innovation, and growth.

Conclusion: Wielding Darkness with Purpose

Evil, like darkness, cannot be eradicated because it is integral to existence. Without it, good loses all meaning, and humanity loses its drive to improve. The quest to eliminate evil is not only futile but dangerous, as it often births new forms of oppression under the guise of righteousness. Evil.

But the solution isn’t to fear or suppress darkness—it’s to wield it with purpose. Instead of stifling progress and silencing debate in the name of virtue signaling or placating the delicate egos of donors, shareholders, or corporate overlords, we must embrace the "dark" sides of our humanity—our capacity for dissent, confrontation, and raw, unfiltered honesty—as tools, not weapons. This controlled chaos, applied surgically and without hesitation, can excise the sociocultural cancers that fester when left unchecked. Evil. It is a darkness of our own, guided by principle, and aimed not at destruction but at transformation—a force for necessary disruption that ensures progress without succumbing to stagnation. EVIL...

The light we seek does not come from banishing shadows but from mastering them.

Numquam dormias in pace.

[jorriimmian]

JORRIIMMIAN is a fandomless alien multimuse, surrounding an original science fiction/romance story, Gods & Crowns: A Galactical Fairytale.

This story is an unending labor of love with my longtime collaborative writing partner, @notsomajestic!

@feliivian — my writing partner & the other half of this story.

@criminalhcart - my sideblog for exploring side characters, side stories, crack / shitposting adventures, and alternate universes.

singleverse ; multimuse ; semi-active ; highly selective ; OC-friendly ; fandom-friendly ; crossover-friendly ; xeno-friendly ; accepts memes

WARNING — DNI minors & antis. I am 30+ and this is a proship / profiction space.

The following dark & triggering themes will be explored: adult / minor ; age gaps ; alien genitalia ; alien reproduction ; alpha / beta dynamics ; arranged marriages ; cannibalism ; child death ; enslavement & trafficking ; explicit dubcon & noncon ; explicit gore & violence ; heat cycles & rut cycles ; incestuous siblings ; male pregnancy ; miscarriages ; misogyny & female objectification ; sexual coercion/pressure ; supremacist & racist beliefs ; unhealthy & dark romances ; voyeurism & exhibitionism  ; xenophilia

GENERAL: [ artworks ] — [ aesthetics ] — [ incorrect quotes ]

PLAYLISTS (not completed):

Characters: [ galanon ] — [ galron ] — [ evesani ] — [ jeren ] — [ lyrenn ] — [ surtr ]

Ships: [ galanon / desgazah ] — [ galron / veresil ] — [ cazasen / jeren ] — [ rolvfern / aruceni ]

Groups: [ the mournside brotherhood ]

Locations: [ ti'los lovatol ]

SYNOPSIS —

Planet Jorrimm has been locked in an expansion war against Planet Feliva in their shared galaxy system; however, the two kingdoms are forced to shelve their rivalry once an unknown entity begins destroying their scouting fleets.

When their respective attempts to remove the invasive force fail, the two kingdoms reluctantly turn to one another, bring it with it a tentative proposal to combine their militaries and resources so that they might combat and eradicate their mutual enemy.

And to ensure the peaceful merging of their civilizations, the two kingdoms agree to a marital union between their only heirs, Galanon and Desgazah.

To ease the two volatile, stubborn princes into following through, a courtship period is put into place — alternating every three months, one prince will stay with the other on their homeworld, familiarizing themselves with one another, and to learn and understand the other's world and culture.

RULES —

⇀  All original artwork of the story's characters are commissioned and credited.

⇀  Paragraph-styled roleplay is preferred.

⇀  I DO NOT participate in “reblog karma”, though I do try to make the effort to send things in when I can (or if it interests my muse).

⇀  I have no triggers and I am willing to roleplay / explore anything.

⇀ You MUST be 18+ to write with me.

⇀  I WILL NOT put NSFW content under “Read More” cuts. (I will, instead, tag and label these posts accordingly.)

⇀  I roleplay DARK and TRIGGERING themes:

You are within your right to decline from writing these types of themes with me, and I encourage you to do so if you're uncertain/uncomfortable! You are expected to respect and be tolerant towards myself and those who are willing to write these types of themes. You are expected to either blacklist my tags or simply unfollow / block me if blacklisting is not enough. Reminder: Your self-care is your responsibility.

⇀  Please, DO NOT unload your personal life’s baggage onto me.

I have my own issues to contend with, and I’ve also had two extremely negative experiences being someone else’s support system. So, please, don’t come to me about any self-depreciating thoughts of suicide, self-harm, deleting your blog, doubting the quality of your writing, etc. I am not that kind of person for you, I'm sorry.

⇀  Shipping

The majority of my muses have a significant other played by @feliivian. However, the following side characters are open to shipping: — Daldic — Torigon — Veresil

[hriobzagelthewanderer]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME: Hriob Riebe Zagel, past incarnation was known by Krakonoš/Rübezahl depending on the region, other past (known) incarnations include Gammal vän Kunskap, Vǫlundr, Unferth, Fergus MacRoich, and Humbaba of the Cedar Forest. 'True' Names and identity are extremely important to Hriob, not only due to his Fae nature.

NICKNAME: Being of Fae nature, nicknames are both important and paid little attention to. Hriob has been known to others as Rob, Robby, Hiro, 'Oh no its You Again', and a variety of similar nicknames. On rare occasion, Hriob will 'borrow' one of his predecessor's preferred aliases, 'John', when he wishes to remain as anonymous as possible.

TITLE(S):  Hriob's more proper titles, againLord of Fantastic Weather, Prince of Gnomes, King under the Mountain, The Brewer of God-Booze, the Lonely Forest Sage, Herr Erlkönig

AGE: Apparent physical age is set somewhere nebulously between 27 and 31. However, due to a number of factors, including a non-linear experience of passage through time and space, and extremely reduced aging rates from multiple factors, Hriob's 'True' age - discounting his past incarnations entirely, is closer to over a hundred years at least but still unknown even to him. With his past incarnations, he is at least well over 4,000 years (with Humbaba being recorded during the 3rd Dynasty of Ur circa 2100 B.C.E.) with estimates going as far as over twice that time frame.

SPECIES: Human-Fae Hybrid. Specifically, Hriob is a Greater Fae Lord - a being on par with the likes of King Oberon and Queen Titania - with incorporated traits of other magical entities, inhabiting a human body with a number of small 'tweaks' as symptoms of his long-term presence within it. He can transform into a far more bestial, Chimeric-looking form when emotionally charged or in dire circumstances, but he tends to prefer being 'as human as possible'.

SEX: Male

NATIONALITY: Czech/German/Polish. Exact percentages are, if known, not disclosed publicly.

INTERESTS: Nature, animals, science (especially physics, biology, metallurgy, and computer science), philosophy, culinary arts (especially baking and brewing),

PROFESSION: Normally, Hriob is 'self-employed' - running an entrepreneurial enterprise selling alcoholic beverages of his own design through a craft-brewing business, specializing in magically and alchemically over-charged varieties of such, but overall he considers this a 'side-hustle' in the long term: a surprisingly profitable hobby but a hobby nonetheless. His true 'profession', such as it is, is a Servant of Gaia - the Collective Life Force of the Planet(s), a Scholar of the Arcane, and a self-made Humanitarian worker specializing in problem-cases involving those tied up with the mystical world.

This varies but generally holds true for other verses: One verse has him effectively retire from his self-imposed jobs, Another has him shift focus to Education specifically as well as Vigilantism, but there is a Specific Timeline where he expands his one-man efforts into a full, highly specialized and exceptional organization of roughly-like-minded individuals.

BODY TYPE: The best description for his figure is trapezoidal, meaning he is somewhat top-heavy with broad, wide shoulders, but despite being rather stocky and solidly built he is not perfectly square either. In regards to musculature he fits the 'Strongman' typology, being large and not especially tone in his physique but far from 'overweight' - instead being covered in large, thick layers of softer, 'working' muscle.

EYES: Soft Slate/Stormcloud Grey. Have an Icy Azure coloration in the right light, either from the presence of a tapetum lucidum in his retinal structures, ambient glow from use of magic, or both.

HAIR: Very dark Red hair, more like the dark crimson of drying blood than what most people consider 'red' hair. This shade darkens and saturates further in the presence of bountiful ambient life and/or magic, and conversely lightens/washes out as the area around him becomes more 'dead' in either respect. His hair style is essentially all-but-untameable bedhead with wavy, almost feathery locks reaching as far down as mid-neck at their longest.

SKIN: Very pale and light skin, marred with many old scars of all kinds, but especially those left by stab and slash wounds. The hands in particular are rather calloused and rough, from countless kinds of activities including cooking, woodworking, metalworking, rock climbing, leather-working, and handwriting.

POSTURE: Usually upright and strong, almost tree-like, with a penchant for expressive, animated arm-sweeping when excitable. Has a bit of a slouch when sitting somewhere for too long.

HEIGHT: 7'10". Transformed 'Monster' state reaches 15', 17' when antlers are counted, with a wingspan over 45' from tip to tip.

VOICE: Hriob has a low, deep baritone for his normal speaking voice, but has been known to reach low tenors and deep double-bass at times when pushing the limits of his range. While extremely loud when shouting, his average tone often comes across as both soft and breathy, yet oddly resonant and clear to listener's ears.

While there are multiple possible voiceclaims for him, ranging from Villie Valo of HIM to Yoann Lemoine of Woodkid, but at moment the best fit is Vincent "Jake" Jones of the band Aether Realm.

SIGNATURE OUTFIT: While variations exist for most any given timeline, most often Hriob sticks to a simple formula with his clothing; a nearly-full-body underlayer, with comfortably warm or potentially reinforced clothes on top, ending with a notably large cloak and walking stick of some variety. His secondary outfits almost always are some variety of formalwear or suit, though some verses reverse the priority of both outfits.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Verse dependent. Some verses allow for limited polyamory, but generally he sticks to single-target devotions.

COMPANIONS: Verse dependent. At present in most verses he has three different Familiars bound to him; an Owl, a Swedish Valhund, and a Piebald Bull Moose.

ANTAGONISTS: Verse dependent

STRENGTHS: Kind, gentle, strong paternal instincts, takes promises seriously, extremely potent empathy, Physically powerful, durable, and enduring to superhuman levels, extremely quick reflexes, highly adaptable, intelligent, and cunning. Master of many forms of magic and related arcane topics. Effectively immune to disease, toxins, and poisons.

WEAKNESSES: Chronic Interventionism, prone to manipulating people even if with good intentions, emotions can run rampant even if honed with logic, powers and strength of power/health are all co-dependent on the presence of ambient life and magic around him.

FRUITS: Hriob primarily favors berries like blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries, as well as citrus such as Grapefruits and Blood Oranges. Other fruits of note include Pomegranates, Apples, figs, and cherries.

DRINKS: Herbal teas of many varieties, especially self-made blends. Black and Green teas are secondary to herbal blends, but not unappreciated, with Chai, Oolong, and Earl Grey being close favorites among those varieties.

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: Hriob is supernaturally immune to the effects of alcohol, but nonetheless heavily prefers most form of beers, especially Mead, as his primary form of beverage outside of teas. He is equally decent with wines and other harder spirits, with Rum being a standout favorite among those, but for the most part he prefers lighter grain-based alcohols... with the seasonal exception of a heavy focus on Eggnog around the Holidays.

SMOKES: Hriob does not enjoy the smell of any kind of smoke, save perhaps incense or woods used to cure or roast meats. Tobacco and Marijuana both are hard passes for him in such a form.

DRUGS: Hriob does not touch pharmaceuticals or recreational drugs outside of Alcohol, in no small part due to his effective immunity to nearly all of them. His

DRIVER'S LICENSE: Hriob, for several reasons, has almost unanimously been disallowed from operating any vehicle of any kind, but generally prefers walking anyways. For long distances, he generally uses his mastery of Space-Time Magic to effectively teleport himself to where he needs to be directly. If in an Urban setting where appearances need to be maintained, he will use Public Transport.

Tagged By: @chronicparagon

Tagging: @gingerhoneycakes @cosmicdreamt @thxpatriarch @project115 @forbiddenwoodlands @airxn @hraunwyf @swansongtm @arcanescholxr @bleedinghearth @melodiadraconis

[grimkkr]

plotting call !

evil entity that will most likely ruin your life needs YOUR help for the mission board!

eitri canonically lives in a forest she booby trapped herself and would love to test some new ideas on some poor unsuspecting seminar attendee. none of the traps she has set up follow osha guidelines. a couple of them might even be breaking the geneva convention. oh, and don't let her catch you! she's brewed up some sort of mysterious potion to further simulate an interrogation. can you survive eitri's horrors? she might give you extra credit for her next exam if you can. +1 SWORD TAKEN: YARNE

eitri is working in the infirmary, hoping to use the influx of patients as an opportunity to test out some new medicines and procedures she has been researching... it all looks incredibly dubious, to be honest, but she assures you her advancements in science have been praised the world over. are you looking to learn about these ground breaking developments in medicine? or are you the fearful patient under the knife, trying to convince eitri all you really need is a vulnerary?

ghost hunting but the ghosts are made by eitri. she's running some hush-hush experiment on the downlow, trying to figure out a way to put a soul into an inanimate object, and her failed experiments have been running amok and causing havoc across the monastery. she offers you a pretty penny if you'll help her round them up so she can bring them back to her lab for further study. be careful, though... there's something weird about them. TAKEN: FAYE

eitri is extremely interested in nonhuman muses and muses with powers she has never seen before. what she's not interested in, though, is the scientific ethical code. maybe watch out for that.

[kamreadsandrecs]

Title: Singer Distance

Author: Ethan Chatagnier

Genre/s: literary fiction, historical, science fiction

Content/Trigger Warning/s: parental abandonment

Summary (from author's website): The odds of the planet next door hosting intelligent life are―that’s not luck. That’s a miracle. It means something.

In December 1960, Crystal Singer, her boyfriend Rick, and three other MIT grad students take a cross-country road trip from Boston to Arizona to paint a message in the desert. Mars has been silent for thirty years, since the last time Earth solved one of the mathematical proofs the Martian civilization carved onto its surface. The latest proof, which seems to assert contradictory truths about distance, has resisted human understanding for decades. Crystal thinks she’s solved it, and Rick is intent on putting her answer to the test―if he can keep her from cracking under the pressure on the way. But Crystal’s disappearance after the experiment will set him on a different path than he expected, forever changing the distance between them.

Filled with mystery and wonder, Ethan Chatagnier’s Singer Distance is a novel about ambition, loneliness, friendship, exploration, and love―about how far we’re willing to go to communicate with a distant civilization, and the great lengths we’ll travel to connect with each other here on Earth.

Buy Here: https://bookshop.org/p/books/singer-distance-ethan-chatagnier/18754404

Spoiler-Free Review: Gosh but I wish this book had been able to live up to what it was trying to do. I can see it, can almost smell it, tbh, but DAMN does it not follow through.

Pros: the language is really genuinely lovely. The narrator’s voice isn’t DISTINCT, but it’s quite lovely regardless. The author certainly knows how to paint images, and string them together in a way that makes for lovely reading. I got to hand that to them.

I’ve also got to hand to them the concept behind this novel. While the idea of communicating with aliens isn’t a new one, I kind of liked the spin presented in this book: pre-radio, using Earth’s surface like a giant signboard to talk to the aliens living on another planet who happen to communicate in a similar way. It actually makes a certain kind of sense, though the environmental damage is staggering (and is briefly touched upon in the novel).

What I DIDN’T entirely like about this novel was it felt so navel-gazey in an almost self-indulgent way. I liked the attempt to explore the concepts of distance - not just between planets, but between people, and between the self and memory. It also attempts to tackle the concepts of wonder and awe and curiosity, All interesting, of course, but there’s a meandering feel to the plot that feels like the long road trips that are described in the first and latter third: like blank spaces between origin and destination. The plot, such as it is, consists of all these musings and ideas but they aren’t held together by, you know, ACTUAL PLOT.

Another thing that’s unfortunate about this novel is how the female characters get lost in all that navel-gazing. At a certain point I found myself wishing that this story was being narrated by one of the female characters instead; maybe then there’d be a bit more dimension and depth to this book than the narrator was providing.

And then there’s the ending. Gosh, but that ending landed about as well as an untrained person trying to imitate Simone Biles and just. Failing utterly. I can see where it’s trying to go, I can see what it’s trying to do given everything that came before it, but it plopped right into the middle of a cliche and I was reading that last line going: “That’s it? THAT’S IT?!” Honestly disappointing.

Overall, this is a novel that has Ambitions, I guess, and tries to get there with truly lovely language that’s quite pleasant to read, but damn does it get lost on the way - and, worse, that ending does NOT stick the landing. YMMV I guess, but I’m largely disappointed by this.

Rating: two equations

[sundrde]

(  muse n /  26  /  cis female  /  she/her  ) — did you see  vivienne moore  wandering around the island today? they kind of look like  zendaya  from certain angles? i heard around town that the  baker is  altruistic and  cordial, but also  diffident and  stoic. people say that they remind them of  clear frames with lenses that are lightly fogged,  baggy knitted cardigans, and  the sound of soft laughter echoing through the kitchen, and  good days by sza is definitely their theme song. they seem like a nice enough person, but we all know how hard it is to keep a pristine reputation in a small town.

hi everyone!! i'm jojo, and i'm stoked to be here :) here's a quick rundown of vivi, and if you'd like to plot, feel free to hit me up!!

ꔛ ۫ ✿ dossier, basics.

full name: vivienne iris moore

nickname(s): vivi, viv, v

age: 26 years old

date of birth: july 14

birthplace: saint james, missouri

current residence: kings haven, massachusetts

gender: cis woman, she/her pronouns

orientation: pansexual, panromantic

occupation: baker at early gull and business owner

ꔛ ۫ ✿ dossier, history.

vivi was adopted by a sweet older couple when she was four years old and raised in the countryside of missouri

family was everything to her. she was close to her parents, and they always provided her a childhood full of unconditional love and support :') her fondest memories of them involved baking sweets every sunday afternoon

growing up she was always the outdoors-y type, appreciating nature and all of it's beauty. aside providing assistance in tending the farm, she was always found hanging out by the fields or water, reading a book or knitting

as an only child living in the literal middle of nowhere, on top of being homeschooled, her social skills ... needed some help!! small talk with the elderly came easy, but with peers and those her age? seemed impossible. even up until now, with slight improvement, she continues to be more reserved

her experience with public school began in high school. it was hard for her to fit in and make friends, so she kept a tight-knit group and focused on her studies

she was then accepted into the university of massachusetts, and 4 years later, received her bachelor's degree in agricultural sciences

a part of her wanted to go back home after graduating, but her parents convinced her that it was time to be selfish. so, she settled down in kings haven and it's been her home since!!

now she works as a baker at the early gull to make ends meet. her real passion is her currently failing business, where she crochets little plants and flower bouquets and sells them online

ꔛ ۫ ✿ dossier, facts.

isn't a big fan of the elite and the wealthy - due to the fact that they've screwed over her parents and their business in the past. she'll be cordial towards them, though maintains a distance

has a green thumb!! she has a lil fruit and veggie garden at her place and will sometimes share the harvest to neighbors and friends

acts like a mom that is worried about ur well-being

is so old fashioned that she hasn't upgraded her phone in years ... and prefers phone calls over texts ... sends letters in the mail ... listens to music on an ipod nano and pays $1.25 per song ...

loves to bake!! her specialties include macarons and any fruit pie imaginable

has a lil mini schnauzer named pepper

[yummyrevivalfluid]

Bad Chem

Senku x Artist Reader Pt.1

Summary: Senku and Reader meeting for the first time doesn't go so well. Who knew that a scientist and an artist would have Bad Chem.

------------------------------

~Elementary~

"Yuzuriha!" you shouted as you ran down the hill, holding a sketchbook closely to your chest. Your messenger bag bouncing by your side as you began to tumble on your own two feet, the momentum catching you off guard as you faceplant next to a metal box with wires attached.

"tch...watch where you are going you airhead!" shouted a kid with white and green hair. "You nearly broke my device!" Before you even have a moment to recover from your fall, you felt his hands pushing you away from his contraption.

"Senku!" shouted a boy you remember as Taiju. "That is not how you treat a lady!"

The boy you assume is Senku turns to look at Taiju, his face annoyed, as he groans out "huhhhhh?!?!?!"

"It’s okay!" you cheered. "I'm okay anyway! But where did my....NOOOO!!!"

You quickly crawled over to where your notebook lay, the paper crumbled and dirtied by the dirt. "My sketches...." You picked up your ruined sketchbook and showed Yuzuriha what remained of your sketches. "I had some designs for you..." You flipped the pages as Yuzuriha and Taiju watched with amazement at your creativity. Each page filled with color, each page with a different muse from before, each page with a different art medium as you experimented, pushing the limits of your creativity.

"These are beautiful..." Yuzuriha breathed out, her fingers tracing the designs of a dress you had envisioned for her. "I can't wait to get started!" she beamed, her eyes becoming stars as she was determined to make your art reality.

"I don't get what's so amazing about those blotches of color...waste of paper if you ask me." Senku grumbled as he began to tinker with his device. Stunned at his words, you walked over to where Senku was and pointed a finger at his face as you shouted, "You take that back! Art is beautiful!"

"Art is a waste of resources and it's a waste of time." Senku challenged back. He was scowling at you, "Who would want to stain their hands with ink because of art? I would much rather stain my hands with grease from the work of science!" He had an evil grin on his face as he wiped his palm on your shirt, the ‘grease of science’ staining you.

"Science!?!" you shouted with disgust, lacing your words, your nose shriveled at the thought of science. Just the word itself made you sick. "Science sucks!"

"You're just too dumb to understand it." Senku argued back.

"Nuh uh!" you whined as you kicked at the box Senku was working on. "Science is for losers like you!"

"wowwww such an original insult. Never heard of that one before." Senku said sarcastically.

Taiju and Yurzuriha watched as you and Senku bickered back and forth. Until they both had to hold you back before you were at each other's throat. You had flinged your scissors at him and he tried to electrocute your back.

"Ishigami Senku!" you shouted as Yuzuriha was currently struggling to pull you away, "you just made an enemy!"

"An enemy of Science?!" Senku laughed, despite Taiju carrying him off. "Heh, as if I CONSIDER AN AIRHEAD A THREAT!”

 ~Middle School Time-skip~

Senku was irritated. His experiment kept failing, constantly revising his formulas and blueprints, and still can’t find the issue. It didn’t help that you were yet again obnoxiously loud. Waiving your hands around yet again as you explained that “Love is beauty! Beauty is art!” or whatever topic that you try to infest your love of art in.

“Music is beauty. Love is beauty. Art is beauty.” Senku repeated your words at you, his eyes twitching at you, “What if I said shit is beauty. Are you calling shit, art?” Senku snickered as your facial expression changed from joy to annoyed.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder!” you stated, crossing your arm at Senku as you came face to face with him, “only you would think shit is beauty…”

“Art is subjective. Art isn’t consistent and therefore illogical to entertain.”

“Doesn’t matter if it makes sense or not! To me, art is beautiful. I only paint things or people that I find beautiful. My muses are my love!” you grabbed Senku’s blueprints off the table and shoved them in his chest, “Just as these inventions of yours, these are things that you create. These are your muses, your art is…science” you grumbled the last part out. You despised science, but you had to acknowledge Senku’s art, whether you liked it or not, it’s as what he said, “art is subjective.”

Senku sighed at your overly dramatic explanation, “Still means shit can be art.”

Once again Taiju and Yuzuriha had to pull you away from each other before you stab Senku with your brushes, and to stop Senku from throwing his flasks at you.

“What an airhead.”

-----------------------------

 A/n: Thank you for reading. I have never written anything for DCST fandom before, so I apologize if I write anyone ooc.

I want to write a pt.2, but who knows when I’ll publish it, all depending on how my classes go.

Sneak Peak Idea for Pt.2:

Senku x Artists Reader (Tutor) Pt.2 : Reader seeks Senku's Help. The reader finds herself nearly failing all courses involving science and math, what a shocker! Senku can’t help but give the reader a hard time as she asks him to be her tutor. Maybe during some study sessions, Senku might find something he least expects to find in her sketchbooks. To find someone unexpected to be her muse…

[cagedchoices]

kiss roulette (maeve)

kiss roulette

24. a sleepy kiss

@killjoysanonymous

It's an almost cruel irony just how strongly they've been set up to fail at something that shouldn't even have been a test in the first place. 'And there's only one bed' is a concept straight out of some cheesy romance story, but it's also a reality observed by the duo staring down at the solo queen-sized bed available in their rented suite. And soon enough, feelings and questions they've each tried to bury and forget are pried open at the instant they respectively slip beneath the covers. Is this love, and if it is, is it real?

Not that Caleb understands the world as such, but a human on the most basic level of biological comprehension is nothing more than a collection of electrical impulses trying desperately to make sense of its environment. A person is little more than a meatsack firing off a series of synapses that create a chain reaction of chemicals that result in a thought. The thought then cascades into a look, a word, a gesture that spirals into chaos and the ruin of mankind itself. 

Humans are powered by a science that they seldom possess the capacity to even try to think about. Most never question whether their experiences are real or not, if the things they feel are authentic and true or just some story they tell themselves to define who they are, or why they act in the ways that they do. Sleep is a prime example of the same process by which entire civilizations have been brought crumbling to their knees.

But it's the drowsy press of his mouth he offers up to Maeve's that surpasses any notion of war or love or reality that ever has or ever will exist in any possible future. He can barely keep his eyes open, which is fine for this — they're not necessary for kissing anyway. He can taste just a suggestion of sherry lingering past her lips, the slightest mix of almond, caramel, and grape wine that she'd had in lieu of a real dinner.

The more time he spends around her, the more the line between their kinds is softened and obscured. It hardly matters that she isn't A human in the legitimate sense of the word. But then a wave of guilt washes over him, or something with a similar effect, and he breaks off the kiss.

His chin comes to rest soundly on her shoulder, words musing quietly. "This is insane, isn't it? Us..."

[stevensaus]

The Casual Disregard Of The Neurodivergent Voice

I had the pleasure of watching the 2017 BBC2 TV movie "Chris Packham: Asperger's and Me" (IMDB, BBC) recently. The whole film is (as far as I'm aware) NOT available for purchase or viewing any longer, although Packham's new documentary, Inside Our Autistic Minds, is available on the BBC iPlayer for those in the UK. There were two brief instances from "Asperger's and Me" that really highlight why I have such a big problem with Applied Behavioral Analysis (ABA) as well as its largest proponent, "Autism Speaks." I excerpted the two clips for this discussion (YouTube, Vimeo), though I've transcribed the audio below if you cannot watch or the embed is broken. In the first section, Chris Packham (the host) is speaking to Joann, whose autistic son is being treated with TMS during a clinical trial. PACKHAM: You’ve brought up an autistic son. I think a lot of people probably don't realize the enormous amount of energy and the difference that impacts on the family. that's hard. JOANN: it's very hard and that's why autism is very isolating for families. it's it's exhausting to meet the needs to meet the safety, you know, there's divorce, there's bankruptcies... because everything goes into the safety well-being and treatments for our kids. PACKHAM: it's it it is you know painful to watch I've been there I've struggled myself so you know in that sense you know you're looking for any form of cure at times you see him failing and that's that's uncomfortable. If another therapy arose whereby you could cure autism. What would you think of that? JOANN: I think on a bad, frustrating day, I'd say yes. I think on a day like today, where I've never been so proud of him, I'd say no. It's complicated, but on the on the bad days, absolutely. There's two things of note here: Joann's not quite hidden reaction to the idea of a "cure" is the first. The second, and more important one, is that while Packham speaks of the the challenges his autism has caused for him, Joann (without malice) focuses on the ways that her son's autism has effected the family. The second clip is a stark contrast. In this section, Packham interviews Vincent Strully, who founded the New England Center for Children, which heavily relies on Applied Behavioral Analysis therapy. During the introduction to this bit, Packham commented on how unfriendly the school Strully founded is for those with sensory processing issues, which is common in autistic people. Strully compares ABA to "chemotherapy," awkwardly trying to joke that chemotherapy was originally considered "poison." Except that is a fairly accurate description of chemotherapy -- it's just that chemotherapy is designed to kill the cancer faster than the patient. Strully, who is NOT a doctor of any kind, as he only holds a bachelor's in political science, is clearly unaware of this fact. Yet Strully has unexpectedly made a perfect analogy. ABA is about deliberately removing autistic behaviors so that "professional observers would not be able to tell the autistic child ." The question -- just as it is with chemotherapy -- is whether or not that treatment is worse than what it proports to cure. That is a deeply personal and subjective question with chemotherapy, and one where there is no one-size-fits-all answer. Packham muses on this throughout the documentary. He recognizes that he has relatively low support needs, and while the world may be difficult at times for Packham, he recognizes that other people with higher support needs may have a far worse subjective experience. Strully, on the other hand, has absolutely no hesitation in knowing what is "best" for other people. STRULLY: This is educational chemotherapy for these kids. Who wouldn't deny them the chemical or medical chemotherapy they need for their cancer, but to deny them the the work that we and our colleagues around the country are doing successfully? Is, you know, it's just wrong. PACKHAM: If you could, would you cure autism? STRULLY: If I could, of course. And that would be a prayer come true. Strully's language makes it clear that he views neurodiversity as a disease -- he literally compares autism to cancer -- and that the goal of the treatment is to make autistic people more convenient for society, not the other way around. The quick, thoughtless arrogance that Strully shows here seems like it should be the exception. It is not. Physicians -- even those who are the heads of "Autism and Psychology" at major healthcare corporations -- who acknowledge that "each person with ASD presents unique experiences which can make finding effective care more difficult as it’s often personalized to an individual’s specific needs" will then immediately turn around and advocate that ABA therapy is the appropriate therapy for all autistic people. While "Autism Speaks" continues to receive criticism from actually autistic and neurodivergent people, the organization -- which is also a staunch advocate of ABA -- is regularly cited by network and cable news. The optimistic part of me thinks that ABA's popularity is due to big business, with its largest proponents and advocates either not being qualified (cough Strully cough) or are burdened with enormous financial conflicts of interest. The pessimist side of me thinks that ABA's popularity is because of its patronizing arrogance that values other's convenience over the autistic person's needs. But it does not have to be this way. On the "1800 Seconds On Autism" BBC podcast, Packham was interviewed by hosts Robyn Steward and Jamie Knight (audio, transcript). One of the things Packham talks about is working with his allistic (or neurotypical) colleagues. Packham said, "...very often I'd be working in situations which I was finding suboptimal or occasionally difficult. But now I'm just candid and upfront, and I find that the people that I work with are enormously respectful. They might do very often small changes, which mean that I can become a far more effective and productive part of the team." When I mention these kinds of accommodations to others, I often get a lot of pushback. The allistic person seems to expect that there will be huge, taxing demands made of them. Their focus is not on the overall productivity of the team, but instead on how inconvenient whatever accommodations will be for them. Consider: It is now commonplace to talk about people with "different learning styles" and to make sure that any training -- including the most routine annual training at a workplace -- makes an effort to address visual, auditory, kinesthetic, and reading/writing learners. Yet a neurodivergent person's need for specific, detailed instructions or direct communication styles is somehow seen as too great a burden. Instead of minor changes being made to improve both the employee's quality of life and the effectiveness of the work unit as a whole, neurodivergent persons are forced to work in allistic conditions. A personal example: I work quickly and effectively with fast and rhythmic music in the background, with as few vocals as possible. (Thank goodness for Digitally Imported.) If there are conversations or other snippets of "words" flying about (such as in the lyrics of pretty much any top 40 pop song), it makes it extremely difficult for me to focus. But for years my co-workers actively tried to exclude my few selections from the music playing at the office. As I wrote in 2019: the people around you would rather make you listen to music you hate all the time rather than let a single song you care for play once every hour or two. How would you feel in that situation? How hurt would you be after seeing that your peers would rather have you be uncomfortable all the time rather than give up their preference for what they want all the time? That even though you went out of your way to make sure others felt included, they actively excluded you? I did not realize at the time that my own flavor of neurodivergence was what made it so disruptive and difficult for me. But I definitely realized how much their actions had both my productivity and feelings of isolation. The mindset behind ABA and that kind of lack of accommodation is unneeded, wasteful, and cruel. Like Packham, I am certain there are those neurodivergent people who would take a cure, where the differences in their brains get in the way of what that person wants. And make no mistake, I am far more aware than most of the emotional, financial, and even physical toll that neurodivergence can take on a family. But I also wonder how many people feel that way not because of their own needs and desires, but because everyone else simply cannot be bothered to take enough time to think about someone else's needs. Featured Image by nugroho dwi hartawan from Pixabay Read the full article