The Good Doctor + text posts
yes we’re doing this

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Andulka
EXPECTATIONS
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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KIROKAZE

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@theartofmadeline
Cosimo Galluzzi

Kiana Khansmith
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Today's Document
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Game Changer & Make Some Noise
YOU ARE THE REASON
Cosmic Funnies

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The Good Doctor + text posts
yes we’re doing this
“I know what stimming looks like. Shaun doesn’t stim except for that one time in Sacrifice,” an Autism Mom™ said to me.
She was referring to the most obvious one.
[Shaun slapping the sides of his head with his hands open and his fingers splayed as he goes into a meltdown.]
But, uh…Shaun doesn’t stim any other time, you say? Uhhh…
What the hell…
[Shaun ruffling his hair with his fingers.]
…do you call…
[Shaun clutches his comfort item, a small plastic scalpel, in his clasped hands. He has his thumb pressed tight against the curve of the blade.]
…all of this?!
[Shaun has his hands clasped and is twiddling his fingers and shifting his weight side to side slightly while telling a mother her son will be okay.]
Bullshit like what I got from that Autism Mom™ is exactly the reason why autistic voices need to be centered in the discussion about autism. The Autism Mom™ was looking for “othering” stim behaviors that make Shaun stand out in a crowd, but stimming can be subtle, too. I say this as an autistic person who has both obvious and subtle stims. The more subtle ones go right under the radar just like Shaun’s do.
gifs by @inconspicuouslyabsent
shaun & neil + the trauma ward
freddie highmore is such a blessing to this earth ??? (credit goes to whoever posted this picture of freddie)
“If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?”
lol yes, so then i can shave.
One minute, 37 seconds. My legs are shaking. Holy cow, there is no way I can do this. None. One minute, 29 secods. I glance around at the faces surrounding the room. Of course my Meeting would take place in the gross, overcrowded cafeteria. One minute, six seconds. Somewhere within these four walls, someone has the exact same countdown on their wrist. They’re going through the exact same pressure as me. 54 seconds. Mom said I should be excited, not nervous. Yet I still find myself wiping my sweaty palms on my dress. I can’t believe she talked me into wearing a dress. I mean, shouldn’t my Soul Mate meet me as I normally am? All plain jeans, blah shirts, and wild brown curls? 30 seconds. Something deep within me tells me to stand up. I do, drawing the attention of my tablemates. They all know too. They smile encouragingly up at me. I chew my lip nervously. 25 seconds. That same feeling pulls me towards the center of the room. My stomach drops away from me as I take a step in that direction. 20 seconds. I continue in that direction. With each step the tempo of my heart picks up. 19. Faster. 18. Quicker. 17. More rapid. 16. It’s racing. Oh my god this is it. The moment my life changes forever. My eyes search frantically around the cafeteria, searching for someone who looks as nervous as me. For someone who’s heading towards their future with no sense of direction like me. 10 seconds. The feeling directs me slightly to the left. I turn to accomodate. 5. My heart has given up entirely. 4. I stop walking. 3. Just waiting left. 2. Everything is about to change. 1. Deep breath.
0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s
Someone bumps my shoulder. I twirl around and my gray eyes meet blue, blue ones. “Hello there, love. It appears as though we’re Soul Mates then, eh?” As my words fail me, the only thing I can think is “I’m so glad I shaved this morning.”
“Thats weird…” I checked my wrist, the clock had just hit the 30 second mark but I looked around and there was no one there. I was a worrisome guy overall but I felt justified, I mean today was the day I was meeting my soul mate. Not that I expected my dream girl to be in the storage closet at work but still I was nervous.
Walking out with a box the boss had requested I walked back to my cash register setting it on the shelf. My wrist hit the 20 second mark
19 seconds
18 seconds
Where was she? I could not help but get worried that an error would pop up or that she was gone and my timer would run out with no response. I panicked, I’d change my own fate if I had to. Running out of time I hurried through the back door. There was a park outside and maybe I was supposed to be there to find my soul mate.
10 seconds
9 seconds
A faint ding of the doorbell hit my ear. Wait was that it?? She was here! I turned around running back to the counter. “Don’t worry I’m just in the back!”
I ran out looking at my wrist as it hit zero. Out of breath “Hi I’m Matt!” Sticking out my hand for a handshake it was met by a firm hand. Meeting my soulmate’s eyes for the first time they spoke.
“I’m Steven.” The man gave a smile “It’s nice to meet you.”
I watch my friend carefully. Her excitement is glowing all over her pretty face. Exactly 2 minutes left, she tells me. We’re waiting at the bus stop and the bus is coming in two minutes. I think she hoped she’d meet them on a beach at sunset or something. ”I mean that’s ok - these things can’t always be romantic I mean my mum met dad when he was working at the book store and it’s not like you can plan it to be romantic I just hoped, I mean everyone hopes don’t they-” she breaks off, looking at me awkwardly. “Sorry. It’s just a big day for me you know.” Yes I do know. You’ve been going on about it for the past year. I smile at her. ”Don’t worry. You nervous? You’ll be ok, you always are,” I grin, determined not to ruin this for her. It’s selfish of me to be moody. This is her future being determined. Right here. In now, precisely 1 minute 30 seconds. She smiles at me, but it isn’t quite reaching her eyes. She’s restless and keeps tapping her foot. Her eyes are wide with.. fear? Excitement? Nerves? Probably all of them and a thousand more things I can’t imagine. She keeps checking her wrist. So do I. The bus comes around the corner. 1 minute 10 seconds. ”Hey. I’ll leave you alone now ok? The bus is here. I’ll sit a couple of seats away, and be there if you need me,” I say, squeezing her arm reassuringly. “Good luck.” I hope it sounded sincere. The bus pulls up and I climb on first, taking a quick glance at her while I give the driver my ticket. She’s shaking and looks a little green. I want to give her a hug but know I shouldn’t interrupt now. I look at the passengers and it’s full of pensioners. My heart starts beating frantically. What? I can’t see anyone else at the bus stop. But she’s only 18, she can’t end up with a 80 year old. I turn around and look at her - she’s breathing hard. The bus driver asks if she’s ok but she ignores him. Her eyebrows are creased and her face is flushed. Oh. Oh no. Stay calm. Someone is probably late. I give her a thumbs up and try to smile reassuringly. I think it’s more of a grimace. I take a seat near the back. Look at my watch. 25 seconds. She sits down a few seats away.
Suddenly a dark shape runs past my window and a boy jumps on the bus. He has that same frantic look in his eyes. I breathe out with relief. ”Yeah get on, we’re running late,” the driver says, taking his ticket. The boy looks around, carefully stepping towards the seats. He’s tall and handsome, holding a sketchbook. I smile slightly; my friend hates art. 4 seconds He spots her. 3 seconds His eyes widen as he walks closer, as if being pulled by an invisible rope. 2 seconds My friend stands up too, that same rope tying her to him. 1 second - ”I was worried the bus would leave. No way could I miss meeting my soul mate!” he jokes, though he looks just as nervous as she. They smile at each other as they both sit down together. I can’t hear what they’re talking about.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Suddenly I’m crying. Hot tears dropping down my cheeks.
I look at my wrist, scratching at it. Trying to get rid of it.
The numbers have never changed.
They’ve always been at 0.
Oh my god that last one…. My heart… The feels….
AGH ALL OF YOU WRITE A BOOK THIS VERY INSTANT. PLEASE.
this is beautiful and everyone needs to read it
Countdown: many different short stories all about the same thing, the count down to your souls mate
I read it all. Its amazing
the last one tho
wait but what if someone was aromantic so their number was always at 0 and they met up with that person up there and they made a joke when they saw the person had 0 and were like “hey we must be like, platonic soul mates!”
What about a soul mate au where you hear background music for the most important parts of your life, and when you meet your soul mate it’s dramatic and romantic music
But on the other hand…..
“Guys we really shouldn’t go in there, can’t you hear the creepy ass music? I don’t want to get killed.”
“Fuck I’m pretty sure this is fighting music I can’t fight you I have exams to study for.”
“Oh no poor kitty why are you out here all on your-NO STOP THE SAD MUSIC THIS CAT ISN’T GONNA DIE JUST WATCH ME”
Wine Tasting [Version 2.0] 🍷 (W/ @dahlialiketheflower, @thejoanglebook, and @domgoldofficial, This is a remade short we did from one of my recent YouTube videos, “Remaking Old Vines Part 2”! Check it out at YouTube.com/ThomasSanders for more remade shorts! 🎥)
Tom: Look how much you’re enjoying it. Josh: I was in character. Tom: Bottom right corner. Josh: I was more disturbed by what was happening. Tom: Is that a look of disturbance, guys at home? I’m not sure he’s disturbed by it. [x]
Tumblr’s thoughts on the Winter Olympics
tbh ive been waiting all year to reblog this
me asking my friends to beta my writing
@misocrickette poor poor you 😆
Young ballet dancer Greg Lestrade, who receives flowers once a week without fail from ‘a devoted admirer’ but has never been able to find out who sent them; Mycroft Holmes watches him from his own private box in the theatre every Monday night, happy in the knowledge that his flowers might make the man understand what his beautiful performances mean to the audience. Once, Lestrade dances with one of his roses behind his ear, and Mycroft’s heart almost breaks with happiness. He uses the resources of his job to remain anonymous, believing that he could never be loved by such a man
Older ballet dancer Lestrade, approaching retirement and sad that he will lose the chance to perform as he has always done. Pianist Mycroft, who watches him from the orchestra, perceiving his sadness and worry about the next stage of his life
Maverick avant-garde ballet dancer and choreographer Lestrade butting heads with the very traditional – and cuttingly harsh – dance critic and journalist Mycroft Holmes over an awful review
Teenage Mycroft being roped into playing piano for a private dance class run by one of his mother’s friends – young Greg, preparing for his entrance exam to the English National Ballet, is taking extra classes. Mycroft can hardly concentrate on the music, blushing every time Greg glances his way
On the last night of the run, principal ballet dancer Greg Lestrade lands badly and hurts his ankle. He’s used to his feet being bruised and bleeding at the end of every show – he spends every night when he gets home in his bathtub, caring for them. But this is bad – and it’d be a lie if he pretended not to be worried. Injuries like this can end careers, in ballet.
As soon as he gets backstage, he finds his assistant waiting with his coat and bag. “There’s a car here for you, Greg.”
“What?” gasps Greg, leaning down to check his ankle. “Can you get a brace? I’ll need to go and have this checked out, I think.”
“No, I mean – yeah, that’s actually – there’s a kind of, um – private ambulance. Outside. For you.”
“What?” repeats Greg, gaping. “Sorry – I just – this hurts an’ I don’t know what you’re on about –”
“Yeah. Um. A private ambulance. They say they’ve got instructions to take you to London Bridge hospital. It’s – all private and there’s no…it’s all paid for.”
“I – I don’t get it –”
“There was this.” She holds out a note, written on paper from the office of the theatre. In efficient but beautifully-formed handwriting, the note reads:
Please accept this care as a token of my ardent admiration. Your talent brings light to the lives of so many, and must not be risked by slow or inefficient healthcare. No expense shall be spared. I count myself lucky to be your benefactor in this matter.
There is no name.
Dazed, Greg leans on his assistant as they make their way out to the private ambulance car.
oh gosh this is beautiful
Greg: I’m literally going to duel the next person, who hates on my boyfriend.
Mycroft: I hate myself.
Greg: ALRIGHT YOU BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF SHIT, SQUARE UP!
It’s the most wonderful time of the year!
Good day, GravesDiggers! :)
Rupert’s birthday is just 2 months away, which means it’s time to get this dusted off and up and running again!
(For those who don’t know what “this” is, we have a charity collection every year to give to Rupert as his birthday present from all of us - last year we gave nearly £1800 to TheirWorld, a children’s education charity.)
As usual the first thing is for me to check if there’s a decent amount of interest in doing the fanworks auction again. It’s been hugely successful in past years, thanks to an enormous amount of generosity in the donating and the purchasing by Rupert’s fans so I’m hoping people will be just as keen this year both to offer things and offer to pay for things!
Those things will be mostly fics of course but any and all fanworks are welcome - if you want to donate a piece of custom art, offer to make some gifs or produce a crocheted diorama of the Diognees Club, you go right ahead! ;)
So, birthday auction 2018, are you in?
You know I’m up for it!
Some pencil art :>
I give watercolors a shot :3