Same In German. I Mean For The Original Stories And Adaptions Set In Victorian England It Would Kind

"boringly abled" omg this is amazing

Things to start calling allistic people IMMEDIATELY:

people with allism

people suffering from allism

people trapped in allistic bodies

low-functioning allistics

the boringly abled

“he’s mostly normal, he’s just got a lick of the ‘lism”

Why?!

Why is the Bull fandom so small?!

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

I will forever hate the BBC for losing the Peter Cushing Sherlock Holmes episodes!

Like, Peter Cushing is one of my favourite Holmes actors ever and to think we could have had 16 Episodes instead of 5 and a movie! AHHH

(I know the BBC recovered another episode last year, but as far as I'm aware,e you can't watch it anywhere)

BBC what the fuck did you do to lose episodes from a 60s show? You kept Basil Rathbone's episodes through WW2 you have no excuse!

TW: SA.

Addition to the discourse of Kirk being a victim of SA and how it reflects in his behavior.

During watching Plato’s Stepchildren (s3e10) there’s one of very uncomfortable scenes where Spock, Chapel, Kirk & Uhura are forced to kiss. And I’ve noticed a very interesting detail of the difference in behavior between two “couples”.

Chapel expresses how she is ashamed and I would say scared would be a right term. Spock isn’t trying to comfort her, he himself is struggling. He thinks he failed her. They both are ashamed, disgusted, uncomfortable and visibly hurt and they try to fight even during the kiss, which makes it a very tough watch.

But then we see a dialogue between Uhura and Kirk.

Kirk, unlike Spock, is able to comfort Uhura, by asking “not to think of them”, because “they want [us to feel frightened]”. And he is succeeded. Uhura starts thinking about something else, something comforting — about him as well (as she has to kiss him), because she is now in a very vulnerable, traumatic position, she is trying to associate Kirk with safety despite him on this moment not being safe for her. So when they have to act, they don’t try to fight. When kiss happens they are more relaxed then Spock & Chapel, not trying to break the kiss. And Kirk is just staring, not at her, but on their sadists, with eyes full of anger and hatred.

What he advices to Uhura is something what many SA victims would experience, when they are in the similar position. Not thinking of what is happening. Not focusing on what exactly is happening. Not thinking of their bodies and the body of the other. Not showing their fear, or even shame. It’s because, unlike Spock, Kirk has an experience. He uses his body many times during the show to escape, to save his ship, his people or himself.

Kirk’s pretty rightful advice, I would say, proves, that the fact that he is a SA victim was the writers’ intention once again and it aligns with his behavior in other episodes where he has to use his body. Not thinking, thinking of comfort, not showing true emotions are his coping mechanisms.

He’s not a manslut. He’s a victim.

I don’t exactly know how to say it, but..... society doesn’t seem to realize that anger is an emotion. I mean most of the time we are told to stop being so emotional and the immediat response is, to stop showing vulnerability and replacing it with anger. When men tell women (or when women tell men or men tell men...etc.) that they are to emotional, most of the time they do it in an angry way. Anger seems to be generally viewed as acting strong and not emotional, which is weird because anger is probably one of the strongest emotions you can feel. 

I don’t know if that makes sense to anyone, but the whole concept of anger being more socially acceptable than sadness, or literally anything else is just wild to me.

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

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?

Captain Arthur Hastings is so ADHD coded.

Every episode he has a new hyperfixation, that he has abandoned by the next one. His car is pretty much his only constant interest but even then he plans to participate in a 24 HOUR race without having any experience with racing. We see how easily a new hyperfixation is triggered with Hastings in one episode (don't know exactly which one) when he and Poirot visit some attorney who deals with the stock market and not shortly after Hastings is absolutely obsessed with it. It screams ADHD to me.

In 'The Wasps Nest', when Hastings is currently obsessed with photography, Poiroit even says something along the lines of "his newest tick, I'll give him two weeks" (rough translation from the German synchronisation since the English original is not available anywhere in Germany as far as I know ...). So we have canon proof that Hastings getting new obsessions/hobbies and abandoning them shortly after is indeed happening and not just the writers not showing us how he pursues his interest anymore.

I'd also attribute his naivety/slowness (some people say he's stupid but I won't) to ADHD. I myself and most people I know with ADHD keep getting told that we are naive or gullible. Taking people at face value and generally not assuming ill intent is common in people with ADHD and something we also see in Hastings.

His slowness / him not being really smart is a characteristic that is certainly being amplified by the fact that we constantly see him in comparison to Poirot (I doubt that he would be seen as that stupid if the show was just him and Japp). I'd also say that him not being able to follow Poirot's deduction and reasoning doesn't mean that he is necessarily dumb, just that he is not as intelligent as Poirot and he does have his smart moments. (Also I think he was meant to represent the audience, and we often also have no clue what'S going on) But his less bright moments can also be attributed to ADHD. ADHD causes brain frog , as well as concentration and memory issues ( If I don't write important appointments down on my arm I will forget them no matter how important, but I can tell you everything I've learned about vulcanos when I was 8). He gets distracted easily, fails to pay attention to the 'important aspects' of cases and would rather tell everyone about his newest hyperfixation or work on his car, but he's trying his best. In his areas of expertise (cars, or whatever he is currently obsessed with) he is smart and knows his way around, he's just at loss when it comes to everything else.

I forgot halfway through where I was going with this soooo....

Captain Arthur Hastings OBE has ADHD!

This is what I have found. Should be classical Latin pronunciation.

This is where I have found it in case you want to look it up, although the website is in German

Court of popular opinion, if I get it wrong I'll just blame all of you.

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.