*Captain Jack Harkness Liked That*

Characters I headcanon as autistic and or ADHD

I am autistic and have ADHD btw

Dr. Temperance Brennan (Bones)- autistic

Zack Addy (Bones)- autistic

Vincent Nigel-Murry (Bones) - AuDHD (autism and ADHD)

Shawn Spencer (Psych) - ADHD

Jake Peralta (Brooklyn 99) -ADHD

Sheldon Cooper (The Big Band Theory) - autistic

Amy Farrah Fowler (The Big Bang Theory) - autistic

Newt Scamander (Fantastic Beasts and where to find them) - autistic

Sherlock Holmes (I will use a picture of the BBC show but in most Sherlock Adaptions that I've seen Sherlock appears autistic to me)-autistic

Aroallo James Wilson anyone?

I firmly believe that Wilson is aromantic, but he hasn't realized and that's why all his romantic relationships fail. He's got this I can fix them mentality that's why he gets with needy/broken people. He feels sorry for them, he feels empathy and compassion for them, which he mistakes for romantic attraction, and he is sexually attracted to them so he enters a romantic relationship. But when his compassion wears out and he gets burned out from all the emotional labour there's nothing left to sustain the bond (except I guess sexual attraction but I know nothing about that since I'm ace) so the relationship fails.

That's also why I love him and House as a QPR. I know many people ship them romantically but I don't think that would work out for them very well. (House would be the first ex-husband XD)

I don't know if it makes sense, and I yet have to figure out how Amber fits into this headcanon but whatever...

Sherlock Holmes from Elementary being autistic, Sherlock from the BBC show being autistic, just Sherlock Holmes, in general, being autistic, Temperance Brennan from Bones being autistic, Anakin Skywalker from Star Wars being autistic,

Fellow neurodivergents of Tumblr, I have a question for you:

What are your favorite neurodivergent headcanons?

Mine are Jake Peralta from Brooklyn Nine-Nine having ADHD, Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables having ADHD, Shawn Spencer from Psych having ADHD, and I'm sure some others I can't think of atm and will add when my brain is working a bit better lol.

In case there's anyone who hasn't come across them yet, there are some lovely terms that are just a bit more specific than "aspec", but broad enough to encompass a lot of experiences - both aspec microlabels and people who don't fit into the aspec -- allo binary.

Aromid: Strictly aromantic, and somewhere on the ace spectrum (or neither strictly ace nor strictly allosexual)

Acemid: Strictly asexual, and somewhere on the aro spectrum (or neither strictly aro nor strictly alloromantic)

Amid: Not strictly aro or ace, but somewhere on both spectrums (or not strictly aro, ace, allosexual, or alloromantic)

Of course, some people who fit these can call themselves aroace, but they may be useful or comforting for people who feel disconnected from the aroace label, those who have a complicated relationship with allosexuality/alloromanticism, or those who are neither a- nor allo-

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.

wait everyone rb this and put in the tags who you started reading fanfiction for, and it doesn’t have to be anime

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?

Ik the colours are not in the right order, but...

THERES A FUCKING ACE FLAG IN HER EYES. SHE'S WEARING ACE COLOURS!!!

No one can tell me that Shinobu Kocho is not asexual. 🖤🤍💜

WTf bahahah. I wrote this at 3am and thought it made perfect sense. Well...

If clubbing and partying was a video game I would be the perfect supporter. Hear me out, I am that asexual arospec friend who doesn’t drink but does Krav Maga and drinks way too much energy drinks. So I will never leave you alone for an attractive person and I will never be too drunk or too tired to help you. Got a creepy man annoying you? I can kick his ass. Drank too much? I’ll make sure you get home safely. The only thing that might be a little tricky is my noise sensitivity due to my autism but that can be fixed with noise cancelling headphones or earplugs. Also my social skills are not very good, so I won’t disturb your conversations. I will just lurk in a corner and wait until somebody needs my help. All in all I’m a good add on for a team of friends who want to go partying and need a supporter.

Doctor's Orders

a james wilson x gn!reader one-shot

SUMMARY: Wilson sprains his ankle, and you get to take care of him.

WARNINGS: minor injury (a sprained ankle)

WORD COUNT: 1217

The sound of faint laughter and televisions echoing through the hallways of your building made you feel at ease. It had been a long day, and to say you were relieved to finally be home was an understatement. You reciprocated James’ warm smile as you walked through the door he was holding open to your condo complex. 

"Oh, do we need to check the mailbox?" you asked him, in a half-whisper. He shook his head, and you ascended the well-worn staircase leading to your cozy condo, with James trailing just a step behind.

“Anyway, like I was saying, I think it gets too much hate. It was a fun movie,” you exclaimed, continuing up the stairs. James responded with a disapproving shake of his head.

“Agree to disagree,” he retorted playfully.

You sighed. “I’m never going to be able to convince you otherwise, am I?”

“Not a chance,” he replied, allowing his gaze to momentarily linger from the stairs to admire your presence. “And I’m never going to forgive them for what they did to–”

Suddenly, a resonant thud echoed behind you, followed by a pained groan. You gasped, and your hand instinctively flew to cover your mouth.

“Oh– James, are you okay?”

He groaned in pain. Your heart pounded as you leaned your bag against the post at the top of the staircase before you rushed to help him.

“Here, let me help you up,” you offered, placing his arm around your shoulders and assisting him back onto his feet. He winced as his injured foot touched the ground, and you gripped the handrail tightly as you bore his weight.

"These damn stairs,” James muttered, “I really should learn to be more careful.”

"It happens to the best of us,” you reassured him, sympathetically. “Let’s get you inside and sit you down, then we can take a look at it.”

You left him waiting at the top of the stairs as you descended again to retrieve his briefcase. 

“Thanks,” he said softly, smiling fondly at you as you picked up your own bag and helped him limp to the door to his condo. Once inside, you eased him onto the sofa.

Sitting across from him on a cushioned footstool, you looked at him expectantly as he carefully examined his injury for a few minutes. You were comforted by the familiar impression of intense focus on his face; you’d seen it in his eyes doing everything from the New York Times crossword puzzle to diagnosing his cancer patients. You could practically see the gears turning in his brain when the radiator's subtle hum, unnoticed until then, ceased, leaving behind a quiet void in your condo. After a few more minutes, the weight of the silence finally became unbearably uncomfortable, and you asked:

“So… what is it?”

“Well,” he sighed, looking up at you, “I don’t think it’s broken. It feels like it’s just a sprain. Some ice, compression, rest… and I should be fully healed in a few weeks,” he said, before lifting himself onto his feet. You got up from your seat and stopped him before he could make another move.

“Okay, but the acronym is RICE. Which, if I remember correctly, means the the first rule of healing a sprained ankle… is to rest,” you pointed out, matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah, but the next one is ice. I’m going to get ice before I res–”

“Hey,” you said, looking at him with feigned sternness. His eternally pleading eyes made it so hard to get genuinely angry with him. You placed your hand on his chest and lightly coaxed him back down onto the sofa. He pursed his lips and obliged, never breaking eye contact. 

“I know you’re a fancy doctor and everything but just… let me take care of you, okay? Relax, I’ll get you what you need,” you said, softening your tone and tenderly stroking his face with your thumb. You sealed your sentiment with a gentle kiss on his cheek before heading to the kitchen to get ice. James’ gaze softened and he smiled as he watched you make your way to the freezer before he picked up the nearest magazine. He swiveled on the sofa to lay back and let his injured foot rest on the armrest.

When you returned with some ice wrapped in a towel and a compression wrap, you found James nodded off with his magazine open on his stomach. You lightened your footsteps as you approached him to avoid disturbing him, a gentle smile creeping onto your face. Kneeling on the floor by his head, you cupped his face with your hand and gingerly stroked his cheek, then lightly ran your fingers through his soft curls, stirring him awake. 

“Hmm?” 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” Your fingers tingled as you felt him melt under your touch. “I got some ice and a bandage. For compression, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his eyes. You got up off the ground, pulled the footstool over to the sofa’s armrest, and applied the ice to his ankle. He lifted his head just barely enough to see what you were doing. There was a subtle glint of worry in his eye, and you reassured him it was going to be okay.

“You can go back to sleep, you know,” you whispered. James let his head fall backwards and stared blankly at the ceiling, letting his thoughts wander, first shuffling through his list of dying patients, then to plotting how he was going to get back at House for that stupid prank he had pulled on him earlier, then to how he forgot to ask Cuddy about the budget for new equipment for the oncology department, and finally back to you. Every aspect of his job as an oncologist dictated that he was to be a caretaker, and to have someone take care of him was overwhelming, in a good way. As a generally independent person, he wasn’t used to being shown this level of compassion. He felt his heart grow warm thinking about how lucky he was to have you looking after him, how good you were to him, and how much he loved you.

“All done,” you whispered, satisfied with your work. Wilson once again looked up at his now-bandaged foot, then at you. His movement startled you briefly, as you assumed he had gone back to sleep like you had suggested.

“Woah, I thought you were asleep? I was just about to go get a sticker for you, you were very well behaved,” you grinned.

He rolled his eyes playfully and unsuccessfuly tried to suppress a smile. “That’s a solid wrapping job, perfect even.” he approved. Your eyes sparkled with pride, and he instantly felt a familiar warm, fuzzy sensation coursing through him. Just as he was about to open his mouth to speak, you planted a tender kiss on his lips that left him feeling entirely flushed, and as you were about to walk away, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back in for another kiss, this time more passionate. 

“Mmm… just what the doctor ordered.” His warm breath lingered against your skin, and his expression turned more serious as he looked into your eyes. “I love you, you know,” he confessed, earnestly.

“I know,” you giggled. “I love you too.”

@iamthatonefangirl @dr-juliaogden