RIP Sherlock Holmes You Would Have Loved Lindsey Stirling

Shipping is fun and all but I swear every single time someone makes a comment, whether as a joke or in a legitimate analysis, about there being "no other explanation" for a pair's interactions, I lose just a bit more of my sanity

Like, no, you guys don't get it. Romance is not about the Amount of devotion, it's about the COLOR. the FLAVOR of it all. a character can be just as devoted to their platonic friend as they are to their romantic partner, and they don't love either of them more, just differently.

But because the majority of people still have it stuck in their minds that romance exists on the highest tier of love, I'm stuck seeing endless takes that boil down to "these two care about each other too much for it to NOT be romantic" as if that's the core determining factor to how literally any of this works

In conclusion: stop telling me that I don't understand the story if I don't interpret the leads as romantic, I am TIRED

R E B L O G T H I S

I’ve seen a lot of posts on my dash tonight about users who are threatening suicide, with other Tumblr members posting in effort to try to get ahold of them. I think you all should see this:

IF THERE IS EVER A TUMBLR USER WHO HAS POSTED A GOOD-BYE MESSAGE, SUICIDE NOTE, VIDEO, OR ANYTHING OF THE SORT, PLEASE FOLLOW THIS POST.

1. Scroll to the top of your dashboard.

2. See the circular question mark icon at the top? It’s the third one over from your home symbol. Click on that, and a screen similar to the one in the picture will come up.

3. Where you can type in questions, the box with the magnifying glass at the top, type in the word “suicide.”

4. Click on the first link that shows up. It should say, “Pass the URL of the blog on to us.”

5. Type in the user’s URL and tell Tumblr admin that the user is contemplating suicide and has posted a message indicating that they are going through with it or will be attempting. Hit send! Tumblr administration will perform a number of actions to contact the user and take the necessary steps to prevent the suicide.

TUMBLR: THIS COULD SAVE A USER’S LIFE. PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE SUICIDE THREATS.

Reblog this to keep other users aware. Suicide isn’t a joke, and neither is someone’s life. If you didn’t know this, someone else may not, either. Pass it on.

Hey, does anyone know where you can buy good cosplays in Europe specifically Germany? (I mean online stores obviously) Because I don't want to order something that has to be shipped across continents for environmental reasons. And before people come at me telling me that I should make my cosplays myself... no. I don't have the skills or energy for that. I am specifically looking for a black widow cosplay

I just realized that Edgar Allan Poe’s lastname is literally the first 3 letters of Poetry/Poet/Poem. As far as I know this is his actual lastname, he did not change it. This guy was meant to be a poet.

 I mean like seriously, why is no one talking about this.

Why?!

Why is the Bull fandom so small?!

If you’re in the Bull fandom repost. I’m super curious.

Re-reading Sherlock Holmes and it strikes me all over again that the main draw of this man is not his intelligence but his kindness and courteousness towards his distressed clients, most especially women. I was like ten when I read my Dad's copy of Adventures and so fascinated and attached to him immediately. It could never be replicated by modern interpretations, especially Moffat's Sherlock. *soul deep shudder* I hated the series from the get-go and couldn't figure out why until I saw that Tumblr post that pointed it out.

Also? Irene Adler's sexualisation is obviously gross and so much less progressive and agentive than the version this Victorian man wrote, but I'm also repulsed by the sexualisation of Sherlock Holmes. The man hasn't had a boner in his life. It's canon that he's never had any interest in women and his only close relationship with a man was Watson, and all power to slash fans, but there's absolutely nothing in canon that hints at anything but a friendship of, get this, mutual respect and admiration. This is the most aroace character in the English canon is what I'm saying, and the most generous interpretation of his relationship with Watson is a queerplatonic connection.

TL;DR: Perpetually flabbergasted how we got from a very gentlemanly, deeply compassionate, grown-ass adult who never talks down to Watson nor burdens anyone, to this entitled misogynistic manbaby with the social skills of a hornet.

Pinnacle

@flashfictionfridayofficial prompt - "out of love"

During Watson’s first months and even years of living with Sherlock Holmes, he had found the man incredibly odd. Sometimes, Watson thought he understood his companion, and then would find himself completely wrong. Making lists of Holmes’ abilities and even accompanying him on cases had not been enough to unravel that mystery.

Attempting to puzzle out Holmes and all of his contradictions kept Watson occupied, at least. After his injuries in war and subsequent illness, his health remained poor. Not well enough to set up in active practice as a doctor, certainly.

There were plenty of interesting things to observe during his ongoing convalescence, even if somewhat baffling to live with. Holmes was very particular at times, fussy and upset if Watson so much as moved papers off the settee. But when looking for something, Holmes would scatter those same papers all over the floor, and then seem entirely to forget that he had done so.

He was similarly erratic in other ways, from his sleep habits to whether or not he would permit himself any food. Watson suspected that some factors governed these changes, but his own observational skills were not developed enough to fully understand it. Not that it stopped him from trying to unravel that mystery.

It was on a cold, stormy night that one of those contradictions presented itself strongly, and in a way that altered Watson’s way of looking at the world. The topic at hand: love.

Love was something that had come up occasionally during their late night conversations beside the fireplace, and it returned now as they sheltered indoors from the storm. Watson argued strongly in favor of it, calling on all the arguments he had heard. What was life without love, without having one person to whom one was entirely devoted? Marriage was surely the pinnacle of the whole human experience, and a life without love incomplete.

“Now, I cannot agree with you there,” Holmes said hotly, pushing more tobacco into his pipe as he spoke. He sounded very nearly hurt by Watson’s comment. “I have never loved, and I do not find my life the slightest bit incomplete. I shall never marry.”

That was a shocking statement, and one that left Watson momentarily speechless. He shook his head, baffled. “But Holmes, everyone wants to be married.”

“My dear doctor, you are falling into the habit of neglecting the facts before you. I do not wish to marry, nor to love. And therefore?”

“Not everyone,” Watson admitted, although it still seemed a shock.

Holmes raised an eyebrow. “And you?”

Watson’s cheeks warmed. “Well, I’ve… had my share of experiences. I was a soldier, Holmes.”

“And such things are expected of soldiers. I have no interest in those things either, and do not understand the appeal.” Setting his pipe aside, Holmes steepled his fingers together and gazed at Watson. “Have you loved? And if not, do you feel your life incomplete?”

“Well, I should like my life a bit better if I was able to be more active,” Watson said ruefully, resting a hand on his thigh. The cold weather gnawed on it, making movement at all difficult. Even sitting still hurt, and his shoulder was no better off. “And if I was in less pain.”

“You are deviating from the question at hand, Watson.” Holmes sprang out of his chair and dashed into the bedroom. He emerged with two blankets, and settled one across Watson’s lap as he continued. “I hardly think that marriage would miraculously resolve the effects of your injuries.”

“I suppose not. But a wife could bring me tea, or brandy!”

Holmes gave him a look, finished tucking in the blanket, and then swept over to the dining table. He poured a cup of tea, and a glass of brandy, and then brought both to Watson. “A friend may fulfill those particular little needs just as well. Unless you intend to argue that love is required to merely pour a glass?”

“I suppose not,” Watson said, watching as Holmes placed the drinks on a small table and moved it within easy reach. “Then it is friendship which you deem essential for fulfillment?”

“Your mistake is in assuming that I think any single element of life is essential for fulfillment. I know a man who has no friends whatsoever, and is entirely happy so long as his track between home, work, and his club is not interrupted.”

Watson smiled, nodding. “I suppose we are all individuals. But I meant for yourself, my dear chap.”

Holmes twitched a brief smile at him, then picked up Watson’s pipe and filled it with tobacco with the same care he would use when filling his own. “I admit to the value of friendship for myself.”

Chuckling, Watson accepted the pipe. “You sound like a man confessing a crime!”

“Well, I do not like to be reliant on anything outside myself. One can always rely on oneself.” Striking a match, Holmes indicated the pipe again. “But it is pleasant not to be alone.”

Having lit Watson’s pipe, Holmes wrapped himself in the second blanket, settled crosslegged in his armchair, and turned his attention to his own pipe. Watson watched him, heart clenching with affection for this strange man.

Holmes claimed not to love, and it certainly seemed he had never experienced it in the way that was so glorified by society. But when he fetched drinks or a blanket for Watson, was that not born out of love of a different kind? That seemed the case to Watson, at least, and perhaps love for a friend was every bit as wonderful.

And as for himself… Well. Although less pain would certainly be nice, what experience could possibly surpass living at Baker Street with his dear friend, and passing every stormy night exactly like this?

I've got a question for my fellow autistic and ADHD people. Has it ever happened to you that your brain doesn't recognize people anymore after they got a haircut? Like a friend of mine got a haircut and logically I know it's him, but my brain doesn't link the information it has stored about him and the emotions connected to those to him, so when I see him it feels like he is a complete stranger. Even tho I logically know that I know him. Has this happened to anyone else? And if so what can I do about it?

also the horrible sensation of your nails being filed (don't know if that's the correct word)

Autistic struggles when visiting the nail salon

(Add yours in the comments)

Pre-visit:

having to make a phone call to arrange an appointment

actually getting there on time

During visit:

having nothing in common with your servicer, so you just awkwardly spent the whole time in silence

your cuticles bleeding because they file too close to your sensitive skin

the burning sensation the first time your nails enter the UV lamp after gel application

not able to stim or fidget cause your hands are always occupied

Post visit:

that one nail that looks a little asymmetrical than the rest of the nails 🥲

I've got this Idea for a Shaun Murphy x reader or x oc or something like that fic, which is basically a good doctor lie to me crossover, where the reader works at the lightman group or at least, can read micro-expressions and that stuff and they somehow meet and become friends and maybe fall in love. I think it would be really interesting because he doesn't really see or understand facial expressions but the other person is so aware of them all the time. I'm not good at writing in English but I might someday write it anyways. So if someone wants to write this or has written something like that pls tell me.