#you are worth protecting

[spacedocmom]

Doctor Beverly Crusher @SpaceDocMom Disability and chronic illness can happen to anyone. Even the health-privileged and abled may one day become disabled and/or chronically ill, especially in your ongoing pandemic. All public health policies should keep this in mind. Protect yourselves and others. emojis: black heart, blue heart, masked x 5 3:31 PM · Mar 21, 2024

[spacedadsupport]

Jean-Luc Picard @SpaceDadSupport Restricting access to yourself by stating and defending your boundaries doesn't make you a selfish person. It makes you a protected person who rightfully demands respect. You are worth protecting. 3:31 PM · Mar 27, 2024

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bare skin, bare feelings.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[nelkcats]

The King's Favorite

The only possession that Catherine left Jason was an ice rose. She commented that it was some kind of family charm, that it had been with them for many generations and brought luck and that she knew the rose would save him one day. The last image Jason had of his mother was her smile as she handed him the rose.

Jason was always curious about the rose, it was cold and he swore it was made of solid ice but that should be impossible since it didn't melt. He was never brave enough to tell Bruce about it; maybe it was dumb, but he didn't want his paranoid father to take away the last memory of his mother.

The day Jason died he mocked the rose, neatly nestled in his bag a few meters away. Luck? Not at all. Saving? What a joke. While he closed his eyes he regretted everything he did wrong, everything he didn't get to live. As his tears fell to the warehouse floor, the rose slipped out of his bag, as if it went through it.

Unbeknownst to Jason, the ice rose ended up near his foot and began to fuse with his skin, leaving a small blue tattoo on his ankle, and for some reason, in his last few minutes, Jason felt warm.

A month after being buried, the tattoo began to glow blue. At midnight a voice was heard in the empty Gotham Cemetery.

"Wake up, my little Rose"

Jason's eyes snapped open in confusion as he woke up in his coffin. The Ghost King smirked as he looked at his chosen one while sitting on his throne of ice in the Infinite Realms, a new heir, huh?

[nevertheless-moving]

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell)

[transmascissues]

yknow there’s so much bad shit out there in the world and so much of it is aimed at people like me and i spend so much of my time trying to understand it and document it and make sense of it but sometimes. sometimes i hear someone singing a duet with their pre-t voice and the harmonies are breathtaking and i just want to open my bedroom window and scream to the cars driving by that I LOVE US I LOVE US GOD I FUCKING LOVE US

[completeoveranalysis]

[4]

OOF, Fai clutches the crystalised magic and it too shatters like glass, just like Syaoran did, the crystal breaking between his hands just like Syaoran did in Lava Lamp’s

And Fai clutches his hands in front of his face, hands pressed together like in prayer, surrounded by a dark circle that looks so much like an eye (the thing he lost to Syaoran) with Fai’s hands acting as the pupil

EXACTLY THAT

Fai theorising that Syaoran (the Syaoran that came back, when he was Syaoran with Soul, after he left Nihon), kept using the magic and getting far stronger than necessary on purpose so that when the magic went back to Fai it would be enough to sustain him on its own. 

And it worked - Fai takes off his blindfold and has his eye restored as well as his magic (and grown far stronger than we’ve ever seen it)

But none of that is even slightly comparable to having Syaoran

[smokestarrules]

Suletta saying love me. love me please. I’ll do anything. I’ll kill for you, I’ll listen to you, I love you. love me and let me stay. vs Miorine going hate me. hate me. I need you to hate me because I love you. I need you to run away, to stop loving me, to be safe. hate me and it will be worth it in the end. hate me and leave. (Suletta saying love me, please love me, please don’t leave me)

[spacedocmom]

Doctor Beverly Crusher @SpaceDocMom People who have endured too much trauma with insufficient support learn to assume they are a burden that nobody values. They can't see how much we love/cherish them because love is so far outside of their experience, they can't imagine it being a real thing at all. emojis: black heart, blue heart, masked, mending heart 2:59 PM · Feb 12, 2024

[spacedadsupport]

Jean-Luc Picard @SpaceDadSupport Just because nobody was there for you in your hour of need doesn't mean your need wasn't valid. It means others failed you, not that you failed. 4:05 PM · Dec 14, 2023

[your-queer-dad]

To every trans, Non-binary and genderqueer kid, teen, young person or adult out there and reading this:

Hold on. For the love of god, hold on. Keep going, find things to live for. This world is awful and hard and dark, but your life is worth so much and you existing simply as yourself makes this world a better place. There are things worth living for. There's cups of tea to be drunk, laughter to be laughed, new songs to hear for the first time, surgeries and treatments to get if that's your thing, friends to be made and memories to be experienced. Even in the world of people hating and oppressing us, we will thrive with love and care. And that includes love and care for ourselves. So hold on for today, ignore the news for today, ignore the terfs and the transphobes and the Bible preachers telling us we're a sin. Ignore all that today, and let yourself be for today. Tomorrow can come tomorrow. Just hold on for today. And we can try again tomorrow. I love you. I'm proud of you, little solider. Keep pushing. <3

[thatswhatsushesaid]

happy sunday!! time to remember how small and alone and frightened and scared nie huaisang looks while held captive in qishan!

specifically, that moment when he finds out qinghe has been taken by the qishan wen, and asks that sentient sphincter muscle wen chao, "what happened to my big brother?!"

and wen chao just smiles at him and says, "what do you think?"

anyway it low key broke my heart!! someone give huaisang a hug 🥺

[paradoxesofgalaxies]

✨Fun and quirky New Years Resolution: wearing a mask in public to protect yourself and everyone around you✨

[kirby-the-gorb]

[helloimeiri]

RED

MHA

Hawks X Reader

TW: Mentions of blood

It happened in an instant. A split moment where all you could see was red.

You've always loved the color red. Red like radiant spider lilies, red like sickenly sweet strawberry soda, red like summer fireworks, red like the midday sun and red like loving him. Loving him was red.

It hurts to breath. Chocking, gasping breaths escape your lips, but no words formed. The surrounding air was thick and heavy. Grey ash dominated the sky, but still all you could see was red.

Out of all the wonderous shades of red in the world his was always your favorite. Grand wings saturated a deep crimson. The color of warmth, comfort, and brilliance. But now his red has changed, shifted into something different. Red like burning embers, red like anger; fury uncontained, red like immeasurable anguish.

This was not supposed to happen. This shouldn't have happened. This was not your place. Try as he might to shake off the reality of the situation, nothing could wash clean the red before him. This was real and he was a failure. He failed at the one purpose for which he was given life. Protect the innocent.

A gloved hand came around to wrap firmly about your waist. His hold so tight that it bordered on painful. It hung about him like a heavy blanket. The red of his anger, the red of his frustration, the red of his sorrow. And below you as well. Slowly, ever so slowly you were staining the ground red.

It came as a whisper, a barely audible whimper through gritted teeth, a single word.

"Why?"

With half lidded eyes you looked up at him and managed a small smile. You meant it to be soft, to be kind, to be a smile of contented relief. But all Hawk's saw was red. Red staining your gums and spilling from the corners of your mouth.

"Because you are a man worth protecting."

[thestalwartheart]

Currently obsessed with the thought that it's Q who won't promise monogamy to Bond. He doesn't say it to be cruel. He likes Bond very much. He genuinely enjoys his company over dinner and a glass of wine, which is far more than he can say for many of the men he's slept with. In fact, it's much more than that. Apart from having shagged a couple of times, they've become close friends too.

It's just that with Q's schedule, he's never been very good at long-term committed relationships. His work life has always been too busy for all that. He works odd hours and long shifts, and it's been impossible to make anything monogamous stick. Besides, Bond is out in the field most of the time. He sleeps with other people for work and he has a ridiculously high sex drive for a man his age (speed will do that to you). It's not always going to be possible for Q to meet his needs.

And Bond knows all of that is true. They see each other infrequently as it is. It would hardly be fair of him to cat around while Q remained a saint. Why shouldn't he go on a date and have a good time while Bond is out of the country? Q's there at the drop of a hat whenever Bond needs him--really needs him--so what's the matter with him getting his needs met when Bond's busy? Nothing.

That's what he tells Q, anyway, the minute Q mentions a date.

("Is that a problem?" Q asks, his brow furrowed.

"Of course not," replies Bond gently.)

Except there is a problem. A huge one, as Bond finds out months later, watching Q head off from MI6 on his third date in about six months. Because it stings. Bond has no right to be jealous. He'd slept with 008 in Tokyo only a few nights ago. It was good sex, but it was just sex. He wonders what Q is like when he's with other people; what the sex is like. Is it just sex? Or is it more than that? Does he feel a similar sting when he sees Bond with someone in the field?

Bond doesn't know why he's cursed with wanting monogamy when his life makes it impossible, but it's bloody infuriating that he does.

And it's also bloody infuriating he's managed to fall for a man who doesn't want a bar of it.