Stranger Things
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Claire Keane
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
AnasAbdin
taylor price
trying on a metaphor
Janaina Medeiros
shark vs the universe
hello vonnie
Sade Olutola
Game of Thrones Daily
Peter Solarz
One Nice Bug Per Day
$LAYYYTER
@theartofmadeline
h
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Monterey Bay Aquarium
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Hungary
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Taiwan
seen from United States
seen from Spain
seen from T1
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
@screechingphantommaker
Harry Potter is trending at #1 on tumblr so I thought I’d take the opportunity to say fuck JKR, fuck transphobes, fuck her stupid books, her theme park, her endless landfill fodder merch slop, and her fucking castle on a hill. Read another book yall!! Read another book!!!!!!!
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hey. you have to love your trans brothers of color okay. and your trans sisters of color. and your nonbinary siblings of color. you have to okay. its simply non-optional
they should teach useful skills in school like home economics and how to safely pirate media
hey, gerran, yeah i just have a very quick question… wtf does this mean??!!!!
because i have an idea of what it could mean… but what do YOU mean???!!
we DO grow old and happy. btw.
And you find love and it stays with you.
Older women are so, so beautiful, and older trans women are no exception. Celebrate the beauty of our elders! Celebrate trans beauty!
I wanted to share some more of these, specifically trans women of color. The images I'm posting are from a project called To Survive On This Shore and it's an interview project. I am only posting a handful so it's so worth checking out!
This is Linda, 60
Alexis, 64
Helena, 63
Kendrah, 72 (!!)
Tasha, 65
It was deeply healing to me to discover this project. The site has selected photos and attached interviews and it's definitely worth your time. I didn't include any because the focus of this post imo is transfems but there are a lot of beautiful interviews with transmasc people too if you're interested! But that'll have to be another post 💖
To Survive On This Shore, including photos and interviews of trans folks of all identities in their golden years
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this scientology hq as real life roguelike is hilarious
Cut the cake
🗣️🗣️🗣️New Limited Flavour Drop 🗣️🗣️🗣️
Joja Cola New Clear uses REAL NUCLEAR REACTOR COOLANT WATER 💙
Try it for yourself THIS JUNE!
Join us. Thrive.
Reblog if you don't use Generative AI to write fanfics/original fics or to create fanart/original art.
Rocky's body is a machine that turns one (1) praise into 10,000,000,000 praises 💕💕💕
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Slow Down
steve rogers x disabled!reader
Summary: Steve helps you slow down your morning when you wake up with increased joint instability and pain
Warnings: fluff, chronic pain, mention of joint dislocation, orthotic braces (knee and AFO braces), brief sexual innuendoes, mention of spanking, joking about illness/disability
A/N: this specific character has hEDS, POTS, mobility issues, and uses AFOS, knee braces, and mobility aids. But everyone with EDS is different and requires different tools.
Word count: 962
Ehlers Danlos Sydrome- a group of genetic, connective tissue disorders that cause the body's "glue" (collagen) to be faulty, leading to loose joints, stretchy skin, and fragile tissue throughout the body.
You wake with your whole body aching. Your muscles are sore and pain shoots through your joints as you roll over.
“Morning, darlin’,” Steve smiles, looking wide awake next to you.
How long has he been awake? Was he just watching you sleep?
“Morning,” you respond sleepily, snuggling into his arms.
Comorbidity
a/n: happy may the fourth! welcome back star wars era remy :)
warnings: real acknowledgement of maul being disabled so if that makes you uncomfortable you can piss right off! this is a very vague x reader. set whenever you feel like it, just post-slice-n-dice.
-----☆----- 1026 words
They Broke Him And They Beat Him And Break He Did
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84907311
“Don’t look at me like that.” Frederick spits at you from where he stands by the vanity in the bedroom.
“Like what?” You ask, although with more force than you really had to and you felt the shame of it for only a second.
Frederick watches as you pace from across the room, his hand supporting himself against the vanity of the bedroom. His bedroom that he just welcomed you into, to be exact, but he wasn’t going to directly tell you to go away. That wasn’t the goal. He even didn’t even know what he wanted out of this spat he started, but he did it anyways. Attention? Any attention was good attention really, even as you glared at him in frustration. He always did this. How were you not sick of him yet? Validation? Yeah, because being self deprecating about your appearance was really the best way to have your partner validate you! What genius thinking, Mister Butchered Psychiatrist! Frederick heard the thoughts reverberate in his head, but refused to give any inkling of backing down in a way that might hurt his ego. Frederick’s face remained neutral despite his change in footing to better lean against the vanity and shift his weight onto the furniture.
You stopped in your pacing, having to take a double take to where Frederick is. He’s half leaning against the wall and vanity, changing his footing. His eyes don’t leave you, his eyebrows don’t raise like he thought he said something so intelligent that it negated all other others. You can see a wince flash across his face for just a second though and your frustration was replaced by concern. He almost never brought his cane into the bedroom, wanting to keep its “outside germs” contained to literally anywhere else but where he slept. You didn’t understand, trying to gently bug him into just getting a simple cane for the bedroom in times like this when you noticed his limps before bed. He refused, sometimes got snippy. It was his own house and body, so you didn’t push it. However, it seemed more obvious that maybe he was just lashing out a bit because he’s in pain and doesn’t want to ask for help. So, you step closer slowly and let your tone soften, like someone would for a scared animal almost. You don’t dare to say that part out loud.
“Do you need your cane? I can grab it, Freddy-” You begin to offer, but the sudden change in tone seems to catch Frederick off-guard.
Frederick’s green eyes scan you over, seeing if this is somehow a cruel joke, then he breaks his gaze. He doesn’t make eye contact, as if he’s ashamed by his next answer.
“No. I don’t.”
“I can grab it, it’s really not a problem.” You offer again, honestly just wanting to help him now, then take another step closer and corner him without realizing.
Frederick stiffens, feeling hot warm pricks along the back of his neck and down his back. He really doesn’t like being cornered and quickly interpreted your sudden change as manipulation, getting something out of him, or it’s just a joke again. He hated that. He couldn’t stand that. He buried all the memories of his time in school before university deep down to never be addressed again, yet he was so quick to think he was back in those positions. He couldn’t interpret their words or smiles. He can’t understand yours now! You were overwhelming him as you come with about a foot of distance, going to grab his free hand. Frederick flinches and moves to support himself less on the vanity, the weight instantly shifting back to his core, where he was having a flare with scarring, and his feet that were already sore from work earlier. He feels the dull ache hit his joints and the tender flesh inside of him, but he just lets the pain come out with a cracked voice.
“I’m fine! Stop looking at me like you love me!”
“W-What..?” You pause, needing to ingest that for a minute.
So, he was trying to shove you away because he was just insecure. Again. Ah, well, even if it’s annoying or frustrating, you knew you could certainly handle that. The issue was that he was acting like a scared dog and if you didn’t figure out what exactly was getting him to escalate from the loathing in his voice to being tense, then he wasn’t going to listen.
“What are you on about?” You ask with a bit of a relieved sigh and slight smile.
That was alarming to him. You could see him readjust his foot and how his fingers clung to the side of the vanity for support, turning his knuckles white.
“Stop looking like you’re caring. I’m not stupid. Give it up.” Frederick demands, the crack in his voice gone to fully mask himself.
Your eyebrows furrow and you let both your gaze and smile drop. Where was this coming from? Did someone say something to him? But, your gaze follows where the vanity connects to him and then to the wall. And you’re also keeping him in. Oh.
You step back, glancing behind you for his bed before sitting yourself on the edge. That opens up his space and while you would hope he wouldn’t deflect or run from the conversation that he started, it still gave him the mental pathway to run if he needed and in turn, feel safer. He does, his posture slouches a little, but his face remains the same type of defensive.
“You can go. I would rather be alone than deceived.” Frederick says, finally crossing the line of telling you to leave, which he didn’t really want, but this was the line of thinking he decided to go with.
Your mouth falls open for a moment, then you shut it and slip off his bed. Without a word, you walk past him and shut his bedroom door behind you. Frederick can hear your footsteps become more distant, as he presumed you went down the stairs and to the front of the door. The jingle of his doorknob only confirmed it, so he tuned out the rest of the noise. Your absent presence was already stinging in his chest, tearing its nails into his heart and the shame of pushing you away making his guts sick, but it hurt less than rejection. He still won this battle and at least he was in control still. He would, however, need his cane sooner than later. The ache and throbbing in his raised scars along with joints was becoming more of a priority than his self-induced heartbreak.
Frederick leaned forward, using both of his hands to hold onto the vanity and to guide himself along it to make it to the bedroom door. He limped, his hip hit the corner of the vanity hard when he lost his footing for misremembering where one of the vanity legs were. He sucked a sharp breath in and squeezed his eyes shut, wanting the temporary pain of that to wash through it and just pass before just getting the remaining two feet to the door.
Then, the bedroom door opens again, and startles Frederick. He jumps and hunches over the vanity, the table part of it digging into his stomach absolutely where the lower end of his abdominal scar was. He refuses to let a pained groan leave his lips though, especially since you had come back and startled him. Just a stifled, distress gasp left him as he’s hunched over with his eyes squeezes shut. He was worried he might start crying if he moved too soon, especially with your watch. This was shameful. On every level.
You, however, just come behind him and wrap an arm around his waist, but above his scar. You gently pull him back, mumbling words he couldn’t quite understand about how he could lean on you. Your warm hand just squeezed under his, rubbing where his chest meets his upper arms, and your tugging did take the pressure off his stomach. It was an instant wave of relief inside Frederick, but still stung a little from being touched this roughly in the first place. Frederick opened his eyes, seeing your arm hold him, and he felt held. Secure. His hands still supported at least his upper body, but he let his middle lean into you. Before he could say anything to drive you away, your other hand comes into his vision and offers his cane.
“Take it. You can lean on me, but take your mobility aid.”
Frederick cringes a little at what you deem what his cane is, but he knows you are actually correct. It is a mobility aid, as much as he wants to pretend it’s just a fashion statement, but admitting that to himself was embarrassing. It shouldn’t. He was attacked, maimed, injured. He’s allowed to use mobility aid such as canes, but it always just came back as something he should have been better for as to not rely on it. With a swallowing of his pride, he takes the metal head of his cane into the palm of his hand and shifts to lean his weight onto that instead of you. You hold him until he slips away with ease, but stay still to watch him. Just to be safe.
“You can go. Thank you.” Frederick mutters, feeling your eyes on him.
“I’m not leaving. I love you.” You insist.
Frederick clicks his tongue, stepping beside you but he can’t make eye contact still. You cock your head and reach for him, tugging his suit jacket sleeve on his free hand. He stills, but doesn’t turn around. Why couldn’t you just leave him be?
“I.. I am going to bake something. You can find me in the kitchen when you want.. Me.” You finish, the disappointment clear in your voice.
Frederick nods silently and you feel there’s nothing else to say. He was being insistent on you to leave, at least let him decompress or something. You didn’t want to leave him be though on the worry he might fall though, just for one. He was capable, but he was still your partner despite his attempts to shove you away.
You let your grip loosen, then get by him slowly. He hears your footsteps disappear down the stairs again and he’s left in his bedroom to be alone with multiple stinging emotions he would rather repress in his chest.
_________________
A few hours pass in mostly silence. You bake a basic pan of brownies in his kitchen downstairs and while he has a full pantry and refrigerator, he’s missing some basic ingredients to do baking. It’s clear he doesn’t do it often, or at all. He’s missing brown sugar, baking power, and even cocoa powder! He does have a very expensive bottle of vanilla extract in his cabinets though, with real vanilla beans it looks like. Your respect for his kitchen is restored by that, but minus the oven going off to say it’s preheated, it’s too quiet. You don’t hear Frederick move upstairs. Maybe he took a nap.
When around five ‘o clock comes around, you finally see a shadow from your peripheral vision standing there. You turn and jump upon seeing Frederick, nervously giggling and coming to him.
“Sorry, you scared me, Freddy!”
Frederick isn’t tense, but he is using his cane still. However, a bigger anxiety fills your stomach when he just stands still instead. His eyes were watery, even his bottom lip was cracked from biting it looked like.
“Frederick..?”
Upon that, Frederick wraps his free arm around you and pulls you to him. You hug back in a heartbeat, but your hand starts rubbing his back when you feel him jerk. You hear a hiccup, then feel warm tears slip from his nose and cheeks onto the exposed flesh of your neck as he hides his face in it. He clings to you tightly, with need. With anxiety. He didn’t mean his words and he honestly just felt relieved to see you where you said you would be.
“What’s been going on today, Frederick?” You ask, tilting your head to press a tender kiss to his fluffy hair.
Frederick jerks, harshly sucking in a breath of cold air, then forces his voice to work again.
“I’m s-sorry.. Why do you want me? I.. I use a cane. I’m scarred. I..”
“Shhhh.. Oh, Freddy..” You start, trailing off when you try prying yourself away to see his face. He doesn’t let you. Despite how weak he might feel, his grip can hold you in place quite easily.
“Frederick.. You make me laugh. You’re funny and intelligent. You’re charming. You have everything planned and organized. You learned my routine and you listen to me when you’re not all up in your own head. I like being around you. I like your touch. Your kisses. You. You know being disabled doesn’t erase any of that.. Right?”
Frederick sobs, his shoulders jerking, but you feel him shake his head “no”.
“Let’s go sit down and cuddle while we talk..”
i keep getting thorinxbilbo ship art on my feed and that has inspired me to read the hobbit for the first time so thanks for that (gen i need something to be passionate about again)
This is Nothing
Aftercare
Trinity Santos x dynamic disability!reader
Summary: Aftercare always makes you a little softer...
word count: 549
Warnings: post-sex scene, aftercare, chronic pain, hip pain, disability/chronic illness discussion, emotional vulnerability, references to past relationship neglect, relationship anxiety, intimacy, touch, affectionate teasing
Authors note: Here you go guys I have so much on these two this probably takes place before Baran, but months into their situationship. So Trin is an R2 in this closer to season 2
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OKAY, RECEIVED. ( PART 2 )— RYLAND GRACE x Male!READER
SUMMARY: Distance means nothing to the destined and the damned.
# # TAGS: Epistolary, Transcripts, Single Dad!Reader, Doctor!Reader, Teacher!Ryland Grace, Miscommunication, You've Got Mail Type Beat, Petrova Taskforce
## WARNINGS: No Beta, Formatting this was a Nightmare. This fic contains a lot of media, but don’t worry as alt text is available. I find that it's quite difficult to read this in light mode, so dark mode is recommended. Edits made by me, images sourced from Pinterest. Basically I've just fucking lost it. Enjoy.
There is no specification of the reader’s height nor form but there is specification of his handwriting. Please Pretend That You Write Like That.
noir (the boys) x partially mute!reader / reader with selective mutism? they'd probably get along lol.
Caffeine
Black Noir x Male Reader
Summary: Ashley Barrett hired you to help when she wasn't around, and you did just that until you noticed a certain member of The Big Seven hanging around you more often.
A/N: Absolutely love getting requests asking for a reader with different 'disabilities' especially since I don't see that often. I'm also asking kindly for some angst requests, I just wanna see what you guys come up with.
TW: Fluff - Selective mutism - ASL
Ashley Barrett had presented the job as an opportunity, a way for you to contribute your skills when needed. Instead, it had devolved into a relentless cycle of servitude to the Seven. Every whim, every demand, no matter the hour or your current task, required your immediate attention. Homelander, in particular, seemed to relish summoning you for the most trivial matters, tasks he was perfectly capable of handling himself. His late-night calls to his penthouse became a dreaded routine, punctuated by his cruel taunts and constant reminders of your mutism, a vulnerability he exploited with chilling regularity.
The sole beacon in this oppressive environment was Noir. You'd noticed him from the periphery, a silent, watchful presence. Unlike the others, he always met your gaze when you signed, patiently deciphering your meaning. He never treated you as a mere errand boy, even though the nature of your employment was undeniably clear.
As the months bled together, you began to notice a pattern. Noir seemed to gravitate towards your space. A fleeting glimpse of his masked face peering into your office, a subtle shift in his posture as you walked by, a deliberate signing of a simple greeting instead of his usual cryptic notes – these small gestures bloomed in the sterile landscape of your work life. They brought a quiet smile to your lips, a fragile sense of worth in the face of constant degradation.
Tonight was no different. You were entombed behind a mountain range of paperwork, each sheet a testament to Ashley's relentless demands. Empty plastic coffee cups, casualties of your desperate battle against exhaustion, formed a precarious barricade around your desk. You raked a weary hand through your hair, the strands feeling brittle and lifeless. Lifting a half-empty cup, you tilted the dregs into your parched mouth, the bitter liquid doing little to rouse your leaden brain. Your eyelids felt heavy, your thoughts sluggish. The graveyard of spent pens on your desk served as a grim reminder of the hours you'd already poured into this Sisyphean task. The mere thought of facing Ashley's disappointed frown or, worse, Homelander's mocking derision if the work wasn't completed fueled a simmering resentment. It was well past midnight; the caffeine had long since abandoned you, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and a powerful urge to simply collapse onto the cold office floor.
Pushing back your chair with a groan, you stood, your stiff limbs protesting the movement. The fluorescent lights of the hallway hummed monotonously as you shuffled towards the restroom. The reflection staring back at you from the mirror was a stranger – hollow-eyed, the skin beneath them bruised with fatigue. A sudden wave of claustrophobia washed over you, the starched collar of your button-down feeling like a noose. With a frustrated sigh, you fumbled with the buttons, shrugging off the offending garment and tossing it onto the counter. You untucked your t-shirt, finally allowing your body to breathe. After a brief respite at the urinal, you splashed icy water on your face, the shock momentarily cutting through the fog in your mind. The cool droplets clung to your stubbled skin as you made your way back to your office. Just before the doorway, you froze. A dark figure moved within the dimly lit space. Hesitantly, you pushed the already cracked-open door wider, your breath catching in your throat. It was Noir. He was silently gathering your discarded coffee cups, his movements fluid and efficient as he deposited them into a black garbage bag. "When did you get in here?" you signed, your eyebrow arched in surprise. He glanced up at you through the opaque lenses of his mask, offering a characteristic shrug before resuming his task.
Stepping fully into your office, you closed the door behind you, the soft click amplifying the sudden intimacy of the space. You sank back into your chair, your gaze fixed on Noir as he moved around the room, a silent, enigmatic presence. He placed a small brown paper bag on your desk, accompanied by two identical plastic cups from the local all-night coffee shop. Pulling a spare chair over to the front of your desk, he settled into it, placing one of the cups between you. "Hot chocolate," he signed, his gloved hands precise. "You consume too much caffeine. I can practically feel your heart pleading for respite." He crossed one leg over the other, reaching for his cup and carefully positioning the straw beneath his mask. You blinked, a flicker of disbelief in your eyes. Could he truly sense the frantic thrumming in your chest, a direct result of this unexpected act of kindness? "Thank you," you whispered, the sound so faint it barely registered in the quiet room.
Noir, remarkably, seemed to possess an innate understanding of the nuances of your mutism, the subtle shifts in your expressions, the almost imperceptible movements of your hands when you considered speaking. Still, your spoken words, especially directed at him, were a rarity, each instance causing a peculiar flutter within him. He watched as you opened the bag, your weary face softening with a genuine smile as you discovered the food he had brought. He knew that on nights like these, sustenance was an afterthought, easily sacrificed in the relentless pursuit of deadlines and fueled only by endless cups of coffee. "You have something," he signed, his gaze gentle. "Here." A gloved hand reached out, his thumb lightly brushing away a stray crumb that clung to your cheek as you devoured the bagel with an almost desperate hunger. You swallowed, the rich sweetness of the hot chocolate a comforting balm. The unguarded smile that now bloomed on your face was a sight Noir had come to cherish, a secret he guarded closely within the confines of his masked silence.
With the bagel and one cup of hot chocolate gone, you felt a renewed, albeit fragile, sense of energy. You returned to the stacks of paperwork, your focus sharper now. Occasionally, your gaze would drift towards Noir, who was now silently perusing the various trinkets and decorations displayed in your office cabinets and on the walls. His presence was a unique form of stimulation, a quiet anchor in the storm of your exhaustion. It was nearing four in the morning when you finally finished the last document. Noir was still there, now sprawled comfortably on the floor beside your desk, engrossed in a book he had selected from your shelf. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you tidied your desk, the silence punctuated only by the soft turning of pages. You then joined him on the floor, the worn carpet a welcome respite against your aching muscles.
He looked up as you settled beside him, setting the book aside and turning his full attention towards you. You cleared your throat, shifting onto your side, your gaze fixed on the worn fibers of the carpet. "I... I appreciate you," you managed, the words barely a breath. Noir's hands moved, signing with a quiet sincerity, "It is nothing. I enjoy your company." A small, genuine smile touched your lips. "I enjoy yours too," you signed, your hands feeling slightly more confident now. "More than you could possibly know." Noir didn't respond immediately, his focus seemingly fixed on the fact that you had spoken more in the past few minutes than you often did in an entire week. "Say my name," he signed, his gaze direct. You instinctively moved to sign it, but he gently covered your hands with his, his touch sending a unexpected warmth through you. Understanding dawned, and you took a breath, the sound soft in the quiet room. "Noir," you whispered, the name a fragile melody on your lips. He let out a slow breath, his gloved hand rising to cup your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender before he slowly drew away. "I cannot tell what I enjoy more," he signed, his gaze lingering on your mouth. "The lingering scent of coffee on your breath... or the way your voice sounds when you say my name."
A low chuckle rumbled in your chest, a sound you rarely heard yourself make. "Perhaps," you signed, a playful light dancing in your eyes, "I will have to say it more often then, especially when it is like this."
