#question one: which way up does the vertebra go

[taffycandyqt]

hey so how do you think the 2003 tmnt would deal with having a s/o who they’ve not seen all month. They’ve only been texting. The turtles ask about it. And s/o messages that s/o has been injured all month and the turtles can come over if they want too. S/o forgot to mention they were injured. When they get to s/o place, s/o is moving around but they’re slow and struggling to do stuff, in a lot of pain, but is able to do it, but s/o is sick of laying down cuz that’s what they have been doing all month. They’re stubborn about not staying in bed, but they are not going to over exert themselves either. They are half way through healing clearly?

I haven't gotten many requests for the turtles and I love this prompt so much. All the boys are such worry warts it's honestly kinda funny. In my personal opinion there aren't enough 03' fics in the world so thank you!

Your Broken?!

TMNT 2003 turtles x gn reader

You got injured and haven't been able to see your boyfriend for a while. You tell them that they can come over for a visit but forget to mention a very tiny oh so important detail about your... injury.

Leo:

DID YOU BREAK YOUR SPINE??!

Oh he is so concerned, like WHAT DID YOU DO!?

Will not let you do literally anything.

You want water? No. Stay put I'll get it for you

Want a book from your shelf across the room. LAY THE FRICK BACK DOWN!

Now which one do you want?

If you tell him that your tired of doing nothing and you want to be able to at least walk around, he will still be very hesitant.

Of course he wants you to be happy but your still healing and he just doesn't want you to get hurt again.

Your making him nervous.

You'll compromise on him basically spotting you while walking around or do anything.

Bro is literally watching you like your life depends on it because in his eyes, it kinda does.

When you said Leo could come over to see you he wasn't expecting you to have a cast around your torso with a walker in your hands. For context, you had been hanging out with your friends when you made a small 'oopsie'. Now your back feels like someone hammered a nail into each one of your vertebrae. Then to add insult to injury, the walker makes you look like an old lady.

Regardless, you've been alone for a while now and figured your boyfriend would be some good company. He entered through your bedroom window right as you were coming back from the kitchen with a snack.

"Oh, hey!"

Leo walked to you quickly as he spoke, "What happened to you?"

You were quick to respond as he looked like he wanted to continue his questioning.

"I was just reckless with some friends a little while back, nothing to worry about." You smiled up at him hoping to distract Leo from your injury.

"If your hurt that bad you shouldn't be standing up come on."

He led you back to your bed and layed you down while he placed your snack on your nightstand.

"Leo please, the doctor said I'm fine to walk as long as I'm careful and use the walker."

"Just because you can walk doesn't mean it's good for you to be walking around."

"Oh, so your a doctor now?" You snarked jokingly.

"Y/n." Leo looked at you as to say, don't push it you know I'm right. You thought it was sweet how much he cared but you've been 'resting' for weeks. Your allowed to walk to the kitchen. And you told him so.

"PUH-leeeease, I'm so tired of laying in my bed and doing nothing. I want to walk around at least a little bit."

Leo sighed, "I-I don't know y/n, your hurt-"

"Leo, how bout' you walk with me to make sure nothing goes wrong? I get to do something and you get to mother me. Everybody's happy!"

"I'm not mothering you." Leo retorted while folding his arms like a pouty toddler.

"Of course not." You smiled back at him. He looked back at you and sighed, he then went and held your hand for a little bit. Maybe you you could walk around, just a little bit, with his help.

Raph:

When he sees you in pain his heart breaks, how could he let this happen to you?!

Spends the rest of the day hovering you.

On the inside is is just as panicked and convinced you could die as Leo.

On the outside however he's sitting and talking with you like normal.

If you want to get up and walk around he'll act like he's okay with it but you can tell by the look on his face that bro is cringing on the inside watching you move.

You so much as stutter on a step and he is right next to you, balancing you, and checking you like your broken all over.

He knows you can handle yourself its just, do you gotta walk around a do stuff when your still healing?

What if you do something and make it worse?!

Highkey dying on the inside.

However, because he feels the need to hide his real feelings about the situation, he inadvertently starts a fight with you instead.

He really didn't want to, YOU'RE JUST SO GOSH DARN FRIGGIN STUBBORN! GO TO BED!!

Please just let him mother hen you, he's legit so scared for you.

He'll do whatever you want just please stay in bed.

"So... how'd this happen again?"

You were cleaning up your room a bit when Raph payed you a visit. You had been living in your bed for a good month at this point and your bedroom was starting to feel more like a cave. Raph sat on your desk chair as he watched you like a hawk and tapped his foot on the floor.

"Fell down the stairs and fractured my hip. Just a hairline fracture though, nothing too serious" as you said that you ended up bending your body the wrong way and irritated your wound resulting in you grunting at the pain.

Raph hopped off the chair in seconds flat and quickly made his way over to you.

"Hey, don't over do it, jeez. Don't wanna make it worse than it already is."

"Thanks, just bent the wrong way is all. I'll be fine."

"Right." His response sounded strained and his lips formed a thin line as he pretended to be calm about this.

"Maybe you should lay down for a bit. Ya know, just to rest your hip and all."

"No that's okay, I my doctor said as long as I'm careful it should be fine for me to be up for a bit." With that you continued to walk around your room and tidy up.

"Well you did just tweak your hip just then didn't you? You don't seem to be being very careful to me." He folded his arms.

"Well lucky for you, you're not me and I know I'm being careful."

"Right, cuz being careful gets you falling down the stairs."

"Are we gonna have a problem Raph? Cuz you can go if you don't wanna be here."

"Wh- well maybe I will then!"

"There's your exit!" You gestured to the window were your boyfriend entered. Just then you tweaked your hip real bad and almost fell if it weren't for Raph's fast reflexes. He led you to your bed to sit you down as the pain subsided.

"This is stupid." He sighed, "listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean- I j-just wanted to. Uuuug."

He put his face in his hands as he tried to piece together what it was that he wanted to say.

"Hey," you gently grabbed his wrist and moved his hands from his face, "I'm sorry too. I should have heard you out better."

"N-No! I shouldn't have gotten snappy with ya, I just want you to be careful. I don't know what I would do with myself if you got worse."

This made you smile. Though it may not always be obvious, Raph really did care about you and wanted the best for you.

"You know what? I have been up and about for a while now. I'm probably due for a break anyways. What do you think about ice cream?"

"I'll grab it for ya."

Donny:

Dude is legit gonna look over your injuries himself.

He's gonna act like a professional doctor didn't already look this over and patch you up the best they could.

You got a cast? SUCKS cuz he's got all the materials to take it off and get you a new one so he is looking at that injury to make EXTRA sure your okay.

For your sake you better pray it doesn't look that bad cuz bro will put you on a healing regimen.

If you're already doing physical therapy he won't want you to over do it. He also wont try to get you to do it if it's not that type of injury.

But if you need physical therapy and for some reason you can't get it? He will have you doing it religiously.

He will bring you foods that will help with the healing process and do whatever he can to make you happy.

Afterall, studies have shown that the chemical reaction of happiness helps support the healing process both external and internal.

No other reason.

On the other side of it though he just really wants to spoil you.

He loves spending time with you, and if he can make you happy while your bored and in pain he gladly will.

Donny had told you that he was going to leave and be right back. You said "okay" and didn't think much of it. That is till he came back with a whole freaking duffle bag full of medical tools and supplies.

"whatcha got there Don?" You sweat dropped. You had just gotten back from the bathroom to find Donny setting up a five year olds worst nightmare of medical tools in your bedside table.

"Oh, I got you a smoothie!" He smiled at you, "Here come sit down."

You made your way to you bed and placed your crutches to lean against the wall as Donny helped you lay in bed and handed you your smoothie.

"Thank you D but I was actually referring to the evil scientist starter pack you've graciously organized right next to me."

Donny laughed at that, "You're funny y/n. I'm just gonna to take a look at you leg and see if your okay."

"Don I've already been to the doctor. It's broken but it was a clean break and if I'm careful it should heal up quickly."

"That's good, but I'll believe it when I see it." With that he held a mini buzz saw in his hand and faced you, "Do you mind?"

"UM YES! I MIND VERY MUCH IN FACT!"

"This is all standard procedure y/n, I promise you won't get hurt. As for the cast, I have that covered too so there really isn't anything to worry about."

"How about I just show you my X-rays? You can see exactly what happened without having to go through all the trouble of taking off my cast yeah?" You spoke quickly, hoping to convince him of the alternative. You didn't think he would actually hurt you but having him stand over you with a saw was a bit intimidating. On top of that you'd prefer to keep your cast on.

"Hm... okay. Where are they?" He set the mini buzz saw down with the rest of the supplies and looked around to where they might be.

"Here I can get them for you." You began to reach for your crutches again. Donny, however, stopped you.

"That's okay, just tell me where they are and I can take it from there."

After he looked over the X-rays and concluded that you were actually fine he began to make you some food. It was supposed to "accelerate the healing process" but it was good food so you didn't care. Donny then spent the rest of the night talking and taking care of you. He got you any snacks you wanted and watched any show you wanted to turn on. Even ones you couldn't previously convince him to watch.

Whenever you moved to get up Donny was quick to try and coerce you back to bed with cuddles and kisses. The only times he couldn't was when you had to go to the bathroom. He couldn't really stop you then, so he would walk you there and back.

Mikey:

Mikey will panic, it's unavoidable.

However, unlike his brothers, his panic isn't helpful in the slightest.

Remember his iconic girly scream? Yeah. That happens

Instead of trying to get you to take care of yourself better or helping you himself bro will just scream you ear off.

"What happened?! Why are you standing?! Are you okay?!... Ect"

You legit have to pretend to fall over so bro will catch you and stop talking long enough for your to tell him your fine.

It takes a little bit to convince him that you are okay, and that you just healing.

When he does believe you he'll get a bunch of his favorite movies and just binge with you all day.

If you don't like horror you better tell him fast because Mikey is a horror fanatic and more than have the flicks in his collection are horror.

If you don't tell him you're in for a nightmare.

If you do like them however, y'all are gonna have a TIME.

You guys have so much fun ngl

Honestly he's the most chill out of all of them.

Just wants you to vibe while you heal.

"AAAH!"

"Okay."

"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU ARE YOU OKAY SHOULD YOU BE STAND-"

And with that you were going down. Could you stand just fine? Yes. Was the only way to get Mikey to shut up long enough for you to explain by taking a nose dive to your bedroom floor? Also yes.

Lucky for you he was quick enough to catch you but not without a another short scream as he moved to do so.

Right as he was about to start speaking again you covered his mouth with your hand.

"I'm fine Mikey. I twisted my ankle but I would be right as rain in a couple more weeks."

"You just fell."

"You were just screaming."

"So you fell over?!"

"It's the only method I know that works." You shrugged.

He gave you a face that could only be described as 'wtf' but ultimately helped you over to you bed to sit down. And by 'helped' I mean, picked you up bridal style and dropped you like a ragdoll.

You looked at him confused and a little displeased with how he basically manhandled you. Mikey however was inspecting you ankle as carefully as he could manage.

"Are you sure your okay. You've got a cast and everything. How do I know your not downplaying your injury like you always do?"

He got you there. You don't like causing people stress so when you get hurt you tend to play it off like it's not as bad as it is, to your own detriment usually. Since dating Mikey however, he has been trying to get you out of that mindset. Honestly, it's been working. Especially since he has a tendency to worry more after finding out the truth than he would have if you had told it to him from the start. And Mikey always finds out.

"Mikey, I promise, it's not bad. I've been on bed rest for like a month. I may not be completely healed but I'm getting there."

He got close to you and stared you down with a scrunched up face trying to see if you were lying. When he decided he'd seen enough he stood up.

"I believe you, but even though your doing fine you should still stay off that ankle."

"Okay, but I do actually need to grab my laptop. I have some things to work on. I'll stay off of it for a while after that."

You moved to get up and grab your crutches only to be pushed back on the mattress.

"No no no," he wiggled his finger at you, "you can work on your own time. Now though, your being treated to the Mikey super awesome boyfriend entertainment special!"

"The Mikey super awesome boyfriend entertainment special?"

"Yup! Stay right there, don't move. I'll be back faster then you can say Silver Sentry!"

When he came back his hands were full of microwave popcorn, a large assortment of candy, and his whole movie collection.

He put the candy on your bed next to you and placed the box of movies in your lap.

"You pick our first flick, I'll go pop us some of this popcorn!"

"I'm sorry, our first?"

"Well yeah, you may be hurt but it's still not fair for you to choose all the movies during a marathon."

And with that Mikey left the room to head to the kitchen. You chuckled, what were you gonna do with that boy.

_______________________________________________Before you kill me, it's actually cannon that Donny's nickname in 2003 is spelled with a 'y'. I will not be spelling it that way with any of the others unless it is canonized. That being said, you can put your spears down.

[mkcannothelpyou]

disiuncta (Abyssal Hunters)

AK/Kinktober 2023, Day 15: “Sensory Deprivation”

The first major display of the night. A scene none but the Abyssal Hunters could realise, likely.

And Andreana, the only clothed woman left in the room, has volunteered her first-timer self for the most intense version that's been detailed to her, because she may as well jump in the deep end.

"Brave, aren't we, Cuttlefish?" Specter muses at her, all teeth and no reassurance.

"…" Skadi's just no reassurance.

Andreana closes her eyes and braces herself. "Okay. So you promise I'll be fine after this."

"Oh, you'll be more than—"

Gladiia judiciously interrupts, her authority ending Shark's jibing. "The severing of nervous connections, as with any other form of structural damage to the body, is well within your capacity for regeneration. Said regeneration, provided there is no interruption, will occur within seconds of the trauma."

Andreana nods. "Right." God, her pseudo-Captain is stunning. And way taller than her. The fact this woman is actively telling her the science behind pinching apart her spine is very surreal, very heightened icing on the cake. "Is my body gonna do anything weird while you cut my brain off?"

Gladiia's response is not a verbal one. It is, instead, a few measured paces placing the Captain behind Andreana, followed by two cold digits plunging straight into either side of the back of her neck.

Andreana gasps. It hurts. It hurts, but more than that, it is intimate. Palpable. Gladiia's thumb and finger cozily nestled inside her body's tissue.

"While I am no stranger to explanation, your questions are partially fuelled by your trepidation, Andreana. Would you prefer I briefly demonstrate the sensation instead? I may do so right now."

She may do so right now. "Yes." There is just no other answer Andreana could possibly give.

She feels that imposing presence behind her pinch decisively, and then she feels

she is a head on a body. She isn't anything down there, she can't bend, she can't move, she can't breathe. She can move her tongue and just about swallow, but no air flows through her throat for her to do anything with it.

Things start racing in her head, automatic fight-or-flight. What's her body doing? Is it slack? Is it standing? It must be standing or else her head would be falling. Wouldn't her legs crumple? Does the fact Skadi and Specter aren't doing anything mean she's okay? Specter's really delighted to be staring at her. She can't speak and she can't ask and nobody's saying anything.

Andreana knows her body's there, should be there. Anything could be happening to it and she wouldn't know. In fact, she doesn't even know what exactly it's like to have her body in the first place, she realises. She can't imagine it beneath her. She may or may not be starting to go faint

and then a few seconds have passed, and then things come back to her below. Oh. Gladiia's been holding her up this entire time.

A moment's pause, just to process all that. And then Andreana pants, very deeply. "Oh my god." She has a body, a whole-ass body, so this is what it was like.

"You know," Specter coyly says, onlooking the latent Hunter who's just had one of the most indescribable awakenings of her life, "you can technically survive your whole head coming off if it gets stuck back on soon enough."

"Don't," Skadi warns. "It's dangerous."

"Sounds right," Andreana just about forces out of her voicebox, still reeling from how after only losing it for a few seconds, every part of having her body feels so fresh. Wow, her lungs feel like heaving bags inside her—not for difficulty, just for the pure feeling of them existing. "So that gets… more intense the further up you go?"

Gladiia finally lets go of her as her panting abates some. Andreana sways a little on her feet.

"Further connections are severed with increased proximality to the brainstem, yes. That said, once again, I would consider the limit to be the plane resting on the topmost vertebra, which is what you just experienced."

"That's fine, I'm just… amazed." That you guys managed to gradate this experience.

"And turned on, clearly," comes a giggle from the peanut gallery. And it's true, Andreana realises, somehow she kind of has something trying to burst out of her shorts right now.

"That's weird."

"Ordinarily, I'd reassure you, but as far as I'm aware, we snuff out parts of ourselves like that for the sheer curiosity in our bodies. It's a uniquely Abyssal mode of intimacy, you know." Specter places a firm hand on Andreana's shoulder and leers into her face, filling Andreana's vision with her enthusement. "I think you're the first to be trained to like like it, and I'm including everyone who was permanently chopped to bits in that."

So Andreana's not just a freak of nature, she's groundbreaking about it. Seafloor-breaking. "Great."

[evilkitten3]

@blueper-saiyan

#Not sure if I’m allowed to pull out these tags as a separate reblog#but that is an interesting and fucked up theory I like it#and absolutely want to hear the long version#vegeta

you absolutely are as far as i'm concerned but since op's post was getting a bit long i'll respond here

dbz always reblog i have a theory that there's actually a reason for this it stems from my theory that vegeta's mom doesn't exist bc he's a clone of his dad basically it eventually become obvious that frieza was going to take whichever kid was heir to the throne so king vegeta (kv i guess) went ''aight we need a Super Baby (no tuffles allowed) and i'm the coolest guy on the planet. need a baby me'' so he gets a bunch of the buffest nerds imaginable (be real saiyan scientists like the job bc they get to fight physics) and start working kv: i need this kid to last as long as possible we're gonna need to buy some time scientists: got it boss *proceed to make the universe's most ridiculously hard to kill infant* how's this kv: excellent. frieza catch! frieza: oh this is adorable! i'm going to traumatize it =) <-an extremely brief summary of my hc

(^the tags in question)

ok so first there are a couple of things i need to get out of the way ahead of time– namely, i'm not the first person to come up with the vegeta-is-a-clone idea; the first person i saw with that idea was someone who wrote a fic i read a while back that i'm blanking on the name of at the moment, and while their version is massively different from mine, the core concept of clone!veggie is more or less the same

the second thing is that i get way too into world building sometimes and so a lot of pieces of my hcs get mixed up with one another and often don't fit in with established canon (which isn't like abnormal or anything but i want to clarify that i already know some of this doesn't perfectly slot up. in my defense the db timeline doesn't even match up with itself half the time)

the final thing is that while i've seen bits of the anime and the first handful of super episodes, i'm mostly a manga fan, so i view any non-manga parts of dragon ball as free real estate

buckle up, i was not kidding about the length (*immature snickering*)

SO.

first and foremost the relationship between the tuffles and the saiyans: the tuffles are described as being a peaceful yet technologically advanced race, but in my hc, they're a bit more complicated than that. for starters, i don't see how a supposedly peaceful race is going to have high-tech blasters, and while it's possible that they're for defensive purposes, it... really doesn't give off that vibe. also they were super into some fairly questionable science, some of which objectively involved human experimentation (or... humanoid experimentation, i guess)

jumping back to the future for a sec: gohan. gohan is a half-human, half-saiyan male hybrid, and while two separate species somehow producing a hybrid child isn't unheard of, male hybrids are almost always completely infertile. and yet, gohan grows up and has a kid (another explanation is gohan and videl are t4t, which i also love, but it doesn't really fit into this). so how are saiyans and humans not only capable of reproducing together, but capable of having children that can also reproduce? my theory here is that saiyans are genetically modified (early) humans– tuffles arrived on earth sometime prior to homo erectus finishing the jump to homo sapiens, grabbed a handful of various lab rats, and got to work.

this would also explain why saiyan tails look the way they do. to elaborate, here's a spider monkey skeleton:

notice how the tail is made up of more vertebrae that continue along the same curve as the rest of the spine. meanwhile, goku's tail looks like this:

it juts straight out, almost perpendicular to his spinal cord. to me, that does not look like how tails work– it looks grafted on. in the video game kakarot, bulma even makes goku a fake tail for him to fish with that he can just... stick right on there. i know dragon ball science is already broken af (someone please explain to me how dr briefs isn't basically a deity for inventing capsules), but if the tail is a genetic trait that didn't evolve naturally, it makes some sense (in the way anything in dragon ball makes sense, that is)

so– saiyans are a highly adaptable species that seem to be able to eat basically whatever, can both endure and dish out catastrophic amounts of damage, are biologically driven to fight to the point where it's hard to imagine how a society full of them could function at all, get stronger whenever they recover from being seriously injured, can transform into giant apes, and yet have a glaringly obvious weakness that can pretty much completely incapacitate them if you know about it? they seem designed for war, and not in the natural evolution-is-just-funny-like-that-sometimes way.

what we know about the tuffles sort of differs from source to source, but the most negative opinions come from the saiyans– according to vegeta, the tuffles basically treated them as slaves. which... yeah, that adds up, given everything.

anyway, here's where i divorce from canon entirely bc according to gt, king vegeta iii is the one who led the saiyans in the war against the tuffles, which raises... honestly so many questions. so i'm ignoring that; it was vegeta i and he was never officially king, but more on that later. i also need to note that the whole "saiyans lived on planet sadala, fucked it up, and moved to planet plant which later became planet vegeta" to my knowledge is not manga canon but since i like the general idea, i sorta moved it a bit.

in my version, the saiyans and the tuffles both lived on planet sadala, but the war between the two species got a little out of hand and the planet was kaputski (to be fair, if you suddenly got to turn into a giant ape and wreak havoc on the people who were possibly enslaving you, you might go a bit overboard too), so the saiyans stole all the tuffles' ships and gtfo'd (this is why everyone was so sure the tuffles were gone. bc typically blowing up someone's planet is a good way to get rid of all of them. at least in theory– i'm sure frieza can tell you all about how well it works in practice)

back to vegeta i– he wasn't a king, technically, but he was the saiyan who started, led, and according to all saiyan sources (which are biased but w/e) finished the revolt, and chose to die on the planet in an act of heroic sacrifice and/or symbolism and/or his daughter twisted a fact or two bc propaganda is a game we all can play, and the new planet they landed on was named after him. said daughter took the same name, declared the planet and the king to be one and the same, and set about conquering the shit out of it. so vegeta ii was technically the first king but if you asked her she was the second and also disrespecting her father and probably also about to be killed via spear (oh btw king vegeta ii is famed for her giant war spear which was very cool and intimidating and probably didn't see much use outside of ritual combat bc it's honestly more efficient to just blast people but all the statues and art and whatnot have her with it)

i'm going to take a minute to gloat about vegeta ii bc honestly she's one of my alltime favorite ocs that i've made, despite the fact that i don't intend to ever have her show up in anything (yass gurl haunt that narrative!!!) but basically she's a deeply respected figure in saiyan culture, although she died way before any of the saiyans still alive in dbz were born (except nappa), bc she... basically built saiyan culture from scratch. pretty much all the core beliefs the saiyans as a people had were from her very deliberately and surprisingly sneakily forcing them to be developed bc she was fully aware that the saiyans needed more than a love of battle to actually survive as a society independent of the tuffles. she basically had the whole thing set up and ready to last and become a proper empire but unfortunately the one kid that lived long enough to succeed her (by killing her in combat, obviously, and yes the others all tried and died– she's an important figure, not a nice one) ran face first into frieza and we all know how that went down

anyhow, vegeta ii's reign (which lasted a crazy long time bc she lived way longer than she should've and almost certainly used some kind of not-so-great method of living that long, but in her defense she needed to make sure at least one of her kids was cool enough to be in charge, so what's a few war crimes between monarchs) pretty much cemented all the saiyan pride and identity that vegeta iv is so fond of, and not just bc she was his grandma either.

the reason i have to get through all of that to explain my clone!vegeta theory is bc i need to explain why king vegeta iii became king in the first place– under vegeta ii's system, anyone could challenge for the throne at any time, regardless of who they were. her own children were expected - but not required - to do so, and if she died before an heir could kill her in glorious combat, the princes would become stewards and have the duty of finding the next king (who couldn't be one of them. fight and die for that shit like a real saiyan or no throne for you). however, there was actively incentive not to do that bc A) whoever's in charge has to actually be in charge and therefore gets to fight way less, and B) in order to become king you had to be ritually stripped of your identity as a person with the understanding that if you died during your challenge your name would be stricken from all records, none of your family or friends would ever acknowledge that you had ever existed, and you would simply cease to be (the afterlife doesn't follow these rules but most of the saiyans who are there still do, including the ones who by saiyan law no longer exist. say what you will about saiyans; they're a dedicated lot)

so anyway vegeta iii (before becoming vegeta iii – he had a different name bc names are super important in my version of saiyan culture but if i get into that here we will literally be here for the rest of the week - but i'll call him that for the sake of my sanity) is somewhat reluctant to challenge for the throne bc none of his siblings have managed it (not that they exist anymore whoops), but one of his colleagues/presumed ruling partner (not gonna get into saiyan relationships here either sorry) has been pushing him to do so for a while now

i think i've gone through a few names for vegeta's not-mom, but the most recent one is touga (from tougarashi, or capsicum annuum, and yes i was thinking of neon orange glimmer song by the mountain goats when i named her), so i'll call her that. touga is a pretty saiyan-y saiyan– she's violent, temperamental, proud, strong, and so forth, but another thing she is is deeply, deeply loyal to her people. she's also very aware of vegeta iii's weaknesses (such as "will probably care a little too much about kids if he has any" and "may make decisions based off of feelings instead of cold hard practical logic" and "seems likely to develop emotional attachments to family members"; you know, normal kingly failings) and has the lady macbeth-esque stainless steel go-fuck-yourself coldness to make up for her future husband's pathetic little morals or whatever

anyway, touga pushes vegeta iii to go for the throne bc holy shit his mom has been alive for way too long but also she has faith in hi or something and duty and whatever and dude do it if you ever want this saiyan tail, and eventually he caves and goes for it. he fights his mom, wins, gets a shiny new king name and is all set to run his kingdom. and then king cold shows up.

now in between killing his mom and our favorite chilly boys coming to town, vegeta iii and touga have had a kid, prince escallion (who is a girl ftr but i can't get into saiyan thoughts on sex/gender or the language or even escallion herself in this post bc we will never ever leave). escallion is pretty neat, just the strongest baby in history or whatever, but then post-cold arriving and politely yoinking the saiyans into his empire, rumors start spreading that frieza miiiiight be wanting a saiyan under his personal command. no prizes for guessing whose palace he's looking at for pickings. obviously the only prince they've got is not someone they can afford to lose, but they need a sure bet on super-infants and can't afford hoping for a genetic bingo, so vegeta iii assembles the universe's swole-est scientists and has them get started on making the Coolest Baby Ever (by cloning him, the king, bc he's the strongest but also bc frieza is an asshole and likes playing mind games with people so let's be real he's taking one of the king's kids no matter how tough they are)

so vegeta iv gets made (and named inappropriately but that's frieza's fault and a story for another time so ignore it for now) and eventually tarble is born and almost immediately sent off just in case frieza decides to be a bigger dick than usual (spoilers: frieza is going to decide to be an even bigger dick than that), and vegeta gets to spend the first few years of his life with his dad, big sis, and not-mom until he gets shipped off to go be a child soldier/slave/distraction, at which point frieza goes ahead and blows up the planet. there's more to it than just that, but i may actually want to write it out some day, so i'll keep the rest to myself for now.

[adobe-outdesign]

What do you think of cubone?

You really can't go wrong with Cubone. A little dinosaur-ish creature wearing a skull makes for an interesting visual and unique theme as-is, but the heartbreaking backstory is what really helps people remember this line, what with the whole "it constantly mourns its dead mother and wears her skull" thing it has going on.

Arguably this backstory doesn't make much sense when applied to the species as a whole, especially when you can obviously breed them without the mother dying, but the powerful imagery associated with this 'mon can't be beat. I think just fleshing out the lore behind it would help it a lot; maybe skulls are passed down through generations when one dies, thus explaining where the Cubones that have mothers get their helmets from.

Backstory aside, the design also looks solid; the skull has a good sense of shape and depth to it (also love the cracks, even if it's a bit weird that they're always in the same place), and a nice, neutral body to compliment it. I wouldn't have minded a bit of a darker brown for contrast, like the above art sports, but otherwise I have no real complaints.

Marowak has some really interesting lore behind it: basically, Cubone's grief makes it stronger, and when it comes to terms with its loss, it evolves:

It kind of adds a nice moral about accepting grief into an otherwise sad story, even if you still have to try not to question the "dead mom" thing too much.

Visually, it does the logical thing and fuses the skull with the head completely. I do kind of question it changing shape, given that it's supposed to be the skull Cubone wears, but it at least looks nice and streamlined.

I guess my one problem with Marowak is that it maybe looks a bit too similar to Cubone? They're not the same, obviously, but it feels like the concept could've been pushed more at this stage. Make it ground/ghost, make the underbelly look like rib markings, add a skeletal tail tip, that kind of thing. Really advance the skeleton motif it has going on.

Another option would've been for Cubone to not carry the bone club until it becomes Marowak, which would've done the same "advancement" idea with drastically changing anything. It's not bad as is or anything; just could've been pushed a bit more.

Thankfully, Alolan Marowak is one of those designs that comes in and does everything the original design doesn't.

First, the dark body and skull markings look great; they compliment the skull well and add some much-needed contrast. Meanwhile, the fire adds some nice pops of color. And not only does this Marowak add fire to the bone it carries, but it also has some great vertebrae markings on its back, going back what I was saying about Marowak pushing its visuals a bit more.

Combine all that with fire/ghost typing and a fire dancing theme going on with the bone, appropriate for the Hawaiian-based region it's from, and you have a pretty perfect regional that's honestly far better than the original in my opinion.

My sole nitpick with it is that for some reason the body way skinnier than on original Marowak, giving it a weird top-heavy appearance for no real reason. Also, while I'm not opposed to cutting pointless regional pre-evos, it does feel weird that regular Cubone drops ground in favor of fire and ghost typing out of nowhere, but that's beside the point.

So overall, Cubone is a adorably pitiful Pokemon with a great theme and solid design. Marowak is fine, but doesn't push its design as much as it could; Alolan Marowak makes up for that with a refreshing take that really breathes some new life into the design. Overall, a very solid line.

Also, final side note: the Gen 1 betas reveal that the theorized connection between Cubone and Kangaskhan was indeed real via a third evolutionary sprite, though exactly what the intention was lore-wise here is left ambiguous. It might have been interesting, but at the same time, I feel like it might've distracted from Cubone's own themes a bit by tossing a baby in there. Too hard to say without knowing the context.

[buriedabove]

@facesblind

Distance.  You think it helps.  Until the blade’s gleaming tip is turned in your direction.  It pierces your skin and you try to stitch it up.  It pierces your skin and all too late you wonder if it ever hurt that much when you were the one wielding the knife.  There were no easy ways out with her.  Always an ulterior motive to be picked up on,  always the hope  &  fear something may lie behind this empty glare in which you are nothing but a blur  (  a ghost with a voice  ).

For you,  the clumsy art of brushing shoulders,  so you two would not have actually to meet came into play around the four-year mark.  Some could call it an anniversary,  but such terminology you have usually found emotionally charged.  Because anniversaries are to be celebrated and each time you caught yourself elsewhere.  Anywhere but near her.  Staying late at work,  taking up more than your bursting schedule was able to carry,  going back to your old flat—  That place.  As if you never left it.  Felt like home.  Your extra storage room for what you did not trust to bring in her proximity.  Boxes,  boxes and more boxes.  Files,  reports,  souvenirs.  Each night spent away from her often wasted over reminiscing and questioning your memory.  Like a game you couldn’t win  &  you kept betting more and more on a lost bet.

Removing yourself.  You thought it would help.  Nonetheless,  you would come back to a bed made and dinner ready,  as though she hadn’t felt you leave.  Maybe because you’re never really there.  What difference does it make?  It began hurting you when she returned the favour.  Intentionally or not,  you do not care.  The I love yous stopped.  One thing you notice among the countless you have missed.  Intentionally or not,  she does not care.

Keys jiggle at the door,  failing to drown out the laughter on the opposite side.  Harmonised.  She isn’t alone.  Again.  This is your fucking apartment,  don’t stand there like a fool waiting on a shooting star.  Be the man,  your father would say.  You storm in,  little to no commotion happening on their part.  Only her companion’s habitual glance over his shoulder and then he murmurs after emptying whatever pisswater he’s treating himself to  (  a strange man—  a strange younger man drinking your beer,  in your house?  ).

Who’s that?

You don’t take off your shoes.  Repulsed,  you watch them.  Effortless smiles and expressions,  her hand slapping his arm like it’s peak comedy that has flown out of his filthy mouth you’re ready to fill with blood.  In your peripheral vision,  you peek at the mirror hanging in the hallway and see yourself.  Why are you jealous?  You know who she is to you  &  what you are to her,  and she doesn’t hold herself back from declaring it aloud like general knowledge.

Oh,  him?  My roommate.

“  I think your little friend is in a bit of a hurry,  Miriam.  ”  Charging towards the couch,  you yank the bastard by his pristine collar till the fabric digs into his throat.  You tighten the knot,  observing him wriggle and change colours on his face,  muttering curses intertwined with rushed apologies.  Simple courtesy to help him leave.  The pistol pressed against his lumbar vertebrae merely an encouraging push.  You lead him out,  throw him into the elevator and are nice enough to punch the buttons for him,  too.

Stillness and stifled clutter welcome you when you walk back in.  The good old spectacle of nothing happened here.  Dress shoes shuffle down the floorboards,  the small rug temporarily silencing them and then you stand in front of her.  Rage from seconds ago nowhere to be seen  (  not like she would notice  ).  Fingertips trace her jaw and grab her chin.  Gently.  It feels right to say something.  Reprimand her.  You don’t need words.  Lips caress hers,  awaiting a response before you carry on with your lecture.  Hands wander around her body,  tiny kisses turning lasting  &  desperate.  Grunts and growls roaring at the back of your throat and you two cause the mattress to weep underneath your entangled bodies.  Mortal physicality aside,  you desire to be so close to her like you’ve never been before.  Her pulse in your controlled grasp,  you want to see her melt in your arms.

“  I love you,  ”  and it grows louder and louder,  and truer.

[haus-der-mysterionmusen]

What Tarot Card Are You?

Wheel of Fortune

Examine the luck, good or bad, that you have experienced over the past 6 months. I don’t speak of the luck of the world, or of others, but of your own. Would you like it to change? The question won’t affect the change, but it must be asked regardless. If you passed a crumpled 20 dollar note on the street, would you pick it up? If you passed a small child? If you passed a 10 cent coin? Throw the coin into the ocean and make a wish. Would you like some change?

"Lächerlich! Luck is for those idiots without skill, my success comes down to my skill and training in other words I make my own luck!"

-----------------

The Empress

You are only independent insofar as you have others to care for. This makes you dependent in your independence. They want your knowledge, your skills, your talents, your affection. What can they give in return? “Teeth” is not an acceptable answer, nor is “keeping the shadows to the corners”, nor is “glory”, nor is “love”. There is no acceptable answer, no gift of a magnitude which can match the thing you know, which is that they are taking from you. They are stealing from you. You should stop them from doing that, darling. You only have so much to give. You are not infinite, and when they have taken their last they will remind you of that. My advice is this: give enough to keep them at bay, but be careful. Their teeth can turn on you too. There is no easier way to make an animal dangerous than by feeding it.

"It's not like I'm playing the hero for them. I don't need praise for love from others. I've just have to keep fighting because it's what I do."

-----------------

The Lovers

Your lover’s back does not look quite the same this morning. No one else would notice the difference, if there even is a difference, but you could swear they have more vertebrae than usual. Something in the breathing, as you stare at them in the morning light. The light in the kitchen is just as warm as it always is, the coffee just as hot, but you cannot meet your lover’s eyes. They kiss you on the forehead, go off to work, shake their keys on the way out as they always do. Did they eat anything this morning? Did they speak? Of course they did. You’re probably losing your mind. You would call your friends to ask, if you had any friends left. You don’t, of course, haven’t for months. You only need each other. You only need them. You haven’t spoken to anyone in months. You count the notches on their back. You watch them breathe. You pray they don’t turn around.

"You make me sound like some battered wife ha ha ha. If you really think about it it's Shuichi whose the wife in our relationship."

Stolen from @onlyheartaches

tagging: @daughterofdiya @uc-aces @lone-prayer @countlessrealities and whoever else wants a go.

[marlinsandthetrout]

About Neurofibromitosis

Hi. I’m Pepper. I’m a 20-something and I have a genetic disorder called Nf1, or Neurofibromitosis type 1. What the hell is neurofibromitosis? I’ll tell you! There are 3 different types, but I will be covering Nf1 only. So, cells naturally like to divide and replicate, right? That’s what they do. 6th grade biology 101. But obviously, cells dividing and replicating everywhere unmitigated would be a bad thing, because that’s how you get tumors, cancers, etc. So. Your body has a gene, called the Nf1 gene, that produces a chemical called neurofibromin. Neurofibromin is a tumor-inhibitor. So your body basically has a natural gene that says “no tumors”. My body does’t have that gene! So my body says “yes tumors”!!! Which means that my body spontaneously grows thousands of tiny tumors wherever and whenever it wants. For this reason I joke that Nf1 is Yes Tumors Disease.

Some of these tumors are about the size of a pea or a pinhead and some are only a little bigger than this period . They might resemble a skin tag or a pimple. Those are called cutaneous neurofibromas, and they grow anywhere on the surface of the skin. They do not go away once they’re there, and there aren’t a lot of options to have them removed. But some of them are more of what you might think of as a traditional tumor - fleshy, large masses that grow and become deeply enmeshed in the nerves, and can become cancerous. These are called plexiform tumors and they can grow anywhere, including the face. I have three of them; I had surgeries to remove two of them that were not successful, and the third isn’t at the size or rate of growth where I’d be considering surgery yet, especially given that it’s on my neck and it would be a complicated surgery. Brain tumors are common with Nf1 too; I myself have a stable brain tumor, an optic glioma, so I need to get annual or biannual MRIs for... the rest of my life, essentially, to make sure that tumor doesn’t grow and new ones don’t appear.

Tumor growth is related to hormones, and one may go through periods of their life where no tumors grow, followed by periods of their life where tumors grow extremely frequently. I didn’t get a single neurofibroma until I was 22, but now that I’m in my mid-20s I have to check my body nearly daily to keep track of when and where new ones are showing up.

Nf1 affects every organ and system in the body and comes with a host of other symptoms, including bone deformities, learning disabilities, and problems with vision. It is the most common genetic disorder in humans, affecting about 1 in 2500 people. It’s autosomnal dominant, meaning a patient with Nf1 has a 50% chance of passing the condition onto their child, if their partner does not have Nf1. If their partner also has Nf1, it’s a 100% chance. For this reason, I have made the personal decision not to carry a child.

One of the main ways that Nf1 affects me (other than the tumors, duh, which absolutely suck) is scoliosis. I developed severe scoliosis at the age of 6 and needed to have back surgery at Johns Hopkins by the age of 8, to fuse my spine with metal rods and screws so it wouldn’t continue to curve. I then had surgery to fuse additional vertebrae at age 12, and a surgery at 22 to replace hardware that had cracked. I’m fused T2-T12, all but one of my thoracic vertabrae, so half of my spine does not bend. I physically cannot slouch. I set off metal detectors everywhere and I always get patted down by TSA. I have ramrod straight posture with no effort put in, which is sometimes a plus! Spinal fusions are common in Nf1 patients and the more vertebrae are fused, the less mobility you have. I am lucky that I am still able to twist and bend, though I can’t touch my toes and I’m supposed to squat instead of bending over.

Here’s a Johns Hopkins page where you can learn more :) Though please ask me any questions if you’re curious! I love getting to talk to people about my disorder and I don’t find questions offensive. Nf1 is a fascinating condition. And if you have nf1, please reach out to me! I’ve never had a friend with my disorder and it’s an unimaginably lonely feeling

[quiiscnt]

  what tarot card are you?

The Hermit

     It’s a skill, to look inside yourself, one you have mastered. The endless corridors and shifting thoughts are mapped to very carefully. This all takes time, of course. And those twisting hallways are so very difficult to map. It would be so easy to get lost. You know this space so well. Wouldn’t it be a lovely place to stay? So well-known and comforting. Why go back? How nice, how easy, to dissolve, to hide from the rest of the world and all the people in it. Why bother, when you are so good at looking inside yourself. Like enlightenment, the self. Retreating this far inwards is like retreating just as far out, into the vast ether. So comforting. The thing that was you looks at the thing that was the old woman. There is no you anymore. Goodbye.

The Moon

     You avoid corners and doorways - do you know why? Have you looked inwards recently? Do you understand what is happening there? Your mind is muddled and dusty, a mirror you haven’t been able to clean properly. Smudging the nervousness just leaves streaks on the glass, which makes your face harder to see, which makes you nervous. What are you nervous of, darling? What keeps you up at night? Why haven’t you confronted it? Do you know what it is? Can you answer my questions? Are they making you nervous? Am I frightening you?

Wheel of Fortune

     Examine the luck, good or bad, that you have experienced over the past 6 months. I don’t speak of the luck of the world, or of others, but of your own. Would you like it to change? The question won’t affect the change, but it must be asked regardless. If you passed a crumpled 20 dollar note on the street, would you pick it up? If you passed a small child? If you passed a 10 cent coin? Throw the coin into the ocean and make a wish. Would you like some change?

The Lovers

     Your lover’s back does not look quite the same this morning. No one else would notice the difference, if there even is a difference, but you could swear they have more vertebrae than usual. Something in the breathing, as you stare at them in the morning light. The light in the kitchen is just as warm as it always is, the coffee just as hot, but you cannot meet your lover’s eyes. They kiss you on the forehead, go off to work, shake their keys on the way out as they always do. Did they eat anything this morning? Did they speak? Of course they did. You’re probably losing your mind. You would call your friends to ask, if you had any friends left. You don’t, of course, haven’t for months. You only need each other. You only need them. You haven’t spoken to anyone in months. You count the notches on their back. You watch them breathe. You pray they don’t turn around.

Death

     A cheery woman’s voice chimes from above. "Game over! Please restart and try again." The old woman holds a baby in her arms and makes to pass it to you. Will you take it?

tagged by: @freedthedark tagging: @heavnsblade && whoever hasn't done it yet

[orthovisionclinic]

DOES A HERNIATED DISC NEED SURGERY TO HEAL?

Back pain is one of the most common types of pain you are likely to encounter, whether that’s due to pushing yourself too hard on the field or just a result of aging. A herniated disc is one common cause of back pain that can bring people a bit of anxiety when diagnosed. The most common question people have is whether they will need surgery to relieve their pain.

To answer these questions, let’s go over what a herniated disc is and what causes it. We’ll also look at some common ways doctors treat a herniated disc and when surgery is the right decision.

WHAT IS A HERNIATED DISC?

Your spinal column is made up of multiple vertebrae stacked upon one another. Between each vertebra is a thin disc composed of a soft nucleus surrounded by a thick layer of tissue called the annulus. These discs act as a shock absorber that provides support to the spine every time you move.

A herniated disc occurs when the disc’s nucleus starts protruding outside the annulus and into the spinal canal. As time goes on, the disc starts putting more pressure on spinal nerves within your spinal column, causing a range of symptoms that include:

Numbness and tingling in other body parts

Weakness in the legs or hands that makes daily activities a chore

Pain you may feel in the lower back and other parts, like arms, legs, feet, and buttocks.

WHAT CAUSES A HERNIATED DISC?

While injuries or sprains can certainly cause a herniated disc, it’s more commonly the cause of natural wear and tear as we age. As we get older, the annulus becomes more prone to tears, increasing the chances that a disc might slip during activity. There are also a few risk factors that can increase your chances of getting a herniated disc:

Weight. The more weight placed on the vertebrae, the greater the chance a disc might slip.

Sedentary lifestyles. Staying active and increasing physical strength helps to support the back and put less stress on the spinal column.

Rigorous jobs. If your occupation requires a lot of heavy lifting, it may increase your chances of a herniated disc.

Smoking. Studies show that tobacco can decrease oxygen to the spinal column, increasing the chances that disc tissue will break down.

Genetics. People with family histories of herniated discs are more at risk.

WHAT ARE SOME COMMON HERNIATED DISC TREATMENTS

If you’re diagnosed with a herniated disc, that does not mean you require surgery. Depending on the severity of your herniated disc, you may only require conservative, non-surgical treatments to eliminate any pain you may feel. Some common, non-surgical treatments include:

Light activity to reduce inflammation

NSAIDs to help relieve mild pain. In some cases, a doctor may opt for a spinal injection to better target the area of the herniated disc.

Routine physical therapy to strengthen the muscles and put less stress on the discs.

In more severe cases, surgery may be required to correct a herniated disc if more conservative treatments are ineffective. The most common surgical procedure is a discectomy, where a doctor will remove the damaged portion of a disc. This type of surgery is performed more often with herniated discs that cause arm and leg pain. If possible, a surgeon will opt for a microdiscectomy which is less invasive than traditional discectomies, where a large incision is made to remove the entire affected disc.

WHAT SHOULD I EXPECT DURING A HERNIATED DISC SURGERY?

During a microdiscectomy, a surgeon will place you under general anesthesia. From there, a surgeon may choose one of several approaches to reach the affected disc:

Midline Microdiscectomy. Here the surgeon will make a small incision in the back and lift the nearby muscles away from the vertebrae. They will then hold the layers of muscle back as they remove portions of the damaged disc.

Tubular Microdiscectomy. During this procedure, a surgeon will make a tiny incision and insert small tubes through the muscle to give them access to the damaged disc.

Endoscopic Microdiscectomy. A surgeon makes a microincision in the back and inserts a small camera and instruments to remove the damaged tissue. This helps provide the least amount of trauma to the surrounding muscles and tissue.

WHAT DOES RECOVERY LOOK LIKE FOR A HERNIATED DISC?

Recovery times from a discectomy can vary depending on the type of procedure performed. However, a doctor will generally suggest around two to three weeks of rest to allow the tissue to heal. Typically, it will take around six weeks before most patients will be cleared to return to work.

A doctor will likely suggest routine physical therapy around three weeks in to help strengthen the muscles and speed recovery. People who work in sedentary jobs that require a lot of sitting should be conscious of their posture and try not to place any additional stress on their back as it heals.

[whysojiminimnida]

Hi, you mentioned Jimin's shoulder and neck pains being the result of dancing trauma in one of your posts. I feel really sad for him, he's so young and he's had those pains for years ((( I thought as a dancer you might know so can you please tell anything about the type of condition he has? Is this trauma typical for dancers? Is he in pain all the time (JK seems to be giving him a lot of massages, so...) or only when he overworks himself? Is it even ok to dance like he does with such trauma, can he hurt himself more? Can it be, I dunno, fixed/cured somehow? Sorry if my questions are stupid, I don't really know much about dancing muscle traumas. I also don't remember other guys getting this kind of professional dancing traumas (or maybe I missed that info?) so even though I looooove Jimin dance, his style looks unique to me, I kinda hate contemporary a little bit coz it's so not fair that Jimin has pains because of it (silly, yeah, but still))).

Hi anon, My experience with dance injuries is that if you dance enough, it doesn't matter what style you dance. You're getting hurt at some point and you are living with chronic pain. I guarantee you that Hobi's knees and ankles give him HELL sometimes. Jimin's upper back and neck issues are a direct result of his technique and training - and you are right. Overwork makes those chronic conditions worse.

In which Jungkook is doing it right and Jin is... not but he's cute

Jimin's thoracic and neck issues - which is partly where the shoulder pain comes from - may actually have started during his martial arts training. I have another post about his and Jungkook's martial arts backgrounds and how that affects their dancing in my drafts right now and I hope to have that up today. But it could come from repeated front punches or strikes, or from combat or sword training - especially as sword training involves repeated fast, weighted motion.

Jimin is right handed and most of his shoulder pain seems to be located under the scapula (shoulder blade) on the right side and just to the right side of his upper thoracic vertebrae. It could have started with Kendo and been aggravated by spotting during turns, which snaps the neck, and by the extreme reaching and stretching required by the choreography he does. He could also end up with left shoulder pain as that side tries to compensate.

Jimin's back and neck are quite flexible, especially for a man. He has worked hard to get it that way and keep it that way. When you see him not moving his torso much during rehearsal, he is preserving functionality so he can really let it go for performance.

Thing is, Jimin gets OUTSTANDING medical care. Much better than most dancers. This dude has physical therapists ON CALL. He is getting massages. He is getting chiropractic adjustments to keep his spine aligned. He is getting the best care possible to keep him dancing for as long as he wants to dance. I mean Jungkook could probably take up massage therapy and pass the board exams by now:

So while I suspect that Jimin spends more of his time in pain than any of us would like, we have to also realize that this is his choice. He could retire or quit - he could have done that years ago and been fine financially. He dances now because he loves doing it. It is worth it to him. We are worth it to him. Professional level dancers and athletes learn to live with pain early in life and most of the time it's not terrible. It doesn't keep us from doing what we love. It's part of the price of doing business, basically, and you kinda get used to it.

Plus side he gets this on the regular

So not to worry, anon. Jimin's life isn't soooo miserable. :)

[theramseyloft]

Shipping a Pigeon

This is not just important for breeders and rescues to know.

The recipients of shipped pigeons need to know how this works as well.

https://foyspetsupplies.com/new-vented-single/

This is the Horizon Micro Environment vented single box, currently the industry standard for shipping pigeons.

These shipping boxes are designed around the thermodynamics of air and the physiology of the birds.

They are made of sturdy corrugated cardboard, which is surprisingly well insulated! 

The wide vent at the top of the box vents out warm air as it rises, drawing cooler fresh air through the smaller holes all down the sides and across the bottom on the solid side of the box, where the label is attached.

Air holes are covered by a filter, which provides a few benefits: Keeping the bird and its mess contained, moderate protection from outside contaminants, and most importantly, darkness.

Pigeons are diurnal.

Deprived of light, they basically shut off and fall asleep.

If they could see and were active, more than 24 hours with out water would leave them dangerously dehydrated.

But while they sleep, their digestion is drastically slowed; allowing them to conserve water and calories for days longer than they could while active.

I line the boxes with two layers of paper towels and send seeds with them, but there is no safe or legal way to send water, which is why keeping them in the dark for the trip is so important.

Live birds travel mostly by ground, to protect them in case of hazardous materials ending up in the same scheduled shipment. 

If that happens, the live animal is simply delayed until the next scheduled truck or sent along a different rout.

Some times this results in delays. It is not uncommon for a bird to arrive a day or so later than projected, but pigeons travel very well.

If both bird and box are correctly prepared prior to departure, Pigeons are comfortably travel safe for up to seven days.

To prepare my birds for departure, I bring them in 24-48 hours before departure day and keep then in a hospital cage where they have nothing to do but eat and drink and their appetite and hydration levels can be monitored.

Both of which is done by observing the quality of the poop.

Hospital cages are lined with white paper towels to make this easier. 

Paper towels wick the moisture away from a fecal sample, letting you see how much liquid was present in a ring of what’s been wicked from an individual poop.

Too much liquid with a large portion of the first day’s meal left over warns of depressed appetite.

Lots of liquid with very little food left either means that was not a large enough portion, or warns that there may be parasites present that you had no prior knowledge of. 

If you give a larger portion of feed and the solids to liquids ratio corrects, then chances are you underestimated that individuals intake.

If you adjust the portion and the poop is still very sloppy and wet, it isn’t just a portioning issue and shipment needs to be delayed so that the necessary diagnostic measures can to be taken to work out what’s wrong.

If a bird is pooping too dry on the first day, it may just be stressed by the transition into a hospital cage.

If it’s still pooping dry the next day I alert the recipient that the bird is not sufficiently well hydrated and arrange to try again next week.

This is why 48 hour pre-departure holds are better than 24 hour holds.

It is always better to delay and risk the annoyance of the client to be sure the bird is in good enough condition to arrive safely than to assume everything will be fine and risk sending your client an animal that will arrive in need of medical care.

Six weeks is the bare minimum safe shipping age for a baby pigeon, as that is when their baby feathers have generally come all the way in.

New feathers are fleshy and vascular, and requite a LOT of moisture from the bird growing them, so while the baby is fledging, it is extremely prone to dehydration.

Mine go out at nine weeks, because six weeks is the youngest they can safely be vaccinated for PMV and Paratyphoid, and the soonest they can receive boosters and be fully vaccinated is three weeks later.

That puts them well into a travel safe level of development,

A word of caution on adult cocks!

While hens and young birds under four months are generally safe to ship together, It is safest to ship adult cocks with a divider!

Part of what makes pigeons such easy travelers is the close resemblance for them of a shipping crate to a nest crevice.

Adult cocks are VIOLENTLY defensive of potential nest spaces, and his travel partner cannot get away from him!!!

This can result in a travel partner getting scalped to the skull and neck vertebrae if they are lucky enough to shut down in time, 

Or being kept awake and active long enough to fatally dehydrate en rout, leaving only the winning cock and a corpse.

It does not matter if the cock in question was bonded to or friends with this travel partner.

Cocks in driving mode have even scalped and killed their own mates in the confines of the shipping box.

If you are sending out a cock over four months old with another bird of any sex or age, put a divider between them!!!

A length of cardboard running diagonally from one corner of the box to the other is all it takes to ensure that both an adult cock and who ever he’s traveling with will arrive safely and whole, if you do not have the option to send him in his own box.

On arrival, place new birds straight into their enclosure, and show them where water is.

It’s important to give them a few days to get their bearings and adjust to the new normal before being invited out for bonding time.

Human-social pigeons will look to you for comfort after all this change, and will usually beg to be let out on arrival day.

At the very least, wait until you have seen them drink and eat before you let your new bird come out and explore the room at large.

Expect a new arrival by mail to be thirsty and disoriented. They just spent 2-4 days asleep in a box, the jetlag is real.

For the first few days, expect wet poop. The bird will be more interested in water than food for about the first three days, though you should see a steady transition over to water and food intake balancing out over that period.

Ideally, shipping is only done a few times in the life of a pigeon.  If not from their breeder straight to their forever home;

Then from the breeder who hatched them to a breeder that wants peeps from them, and from there to their permanent pet home when they retire

Or from a rescue to a long term foster to a permanent home.

When done correctly, shipping is the safest, most comfortable means by which to transport a pigeon over long distances.

But if done incorrectly, it can be severely injurious or even fatal.

If you are adopting a pigeon from a rescue, purchasing a pet bird from a breeder, or purchasing breeding stock to add to a project, you now know what to ask the rescue or breeder about their shipping procedure to ensure that your birds travel comfortably and arrive safely.

[quentinbecks]

I was tagged by @glitter-and-gasoline to assign my OCs a tarot card. Because I wanted to see if my opinions matched with the very reputable results of a uquiz, I went and found one.

Tagging: @johnnycranes @hoesephseed @adelaidedrubman @lalosalamancagf @cameronburke @florbelles @amistrio @bluemojave @preachercuster @shallow-gravy @marivenah @gamer-purgatory @smithandrogers @jacobseed @blissfulalchemist @derelictheretic @aceghosts @indorilnerevarine @jackiesarch @josephslittledeputy @belorage @clicheantagonist @glitter-and-gasoline (again) and anyone else who wants to tag me

The Moon

You avoid corners and doorways - do you know why? Have you looked inwards recently? Do you understand what is happening there? Your mind is muddled and dusty, a mirror you haven’t been able to clean properly. Smudging the nervousness just leaves streaks on the glass, which makes your face harder to see, which makes you nervous. What are you nervous of, darling? What keeps you up at night? Why haven’t you confronted it? Do you know what it is? Can you answer my questions? Are they making you nervous? Am I frightening you?

The Lovers

Your lover’s back does not look quite the same this morning. No one else would notice the difference, if there even is a difference, but you could swear they have more vertebrae than usual. Something in the breathing, as you stare at them in the morning light. The light in the kitchen is just as warm as it always is, the coffee just as hot, but you cannot meet your lover’s eyes. They kiss you on the forehead, go off to work, shake their keys on the way out as they always do. Did they eat anything this morning? Did they speak? Of course they did. You’re probably losing your mind. You would call your friends to ask, if you had any friends left. You don’t, of course, haven’t for months. You only need each other. You only need them. You haven’t spoken to anyone in months. You count the notches on their back. You watch them breathe. You pray they don’t turn around.

[morvaris-archive]

i was tagged by @aartyom to do this very cool quiz for some of my ocs; thank you so much rena! ♡

tagging: @arklay @avallachs @brujah @cultistbase @ianeiras @mendev @montliyets @reaperkiller @celticwoman @steelport @aelyosos @shadowglens & whoever wants to do this!

OC TAROT CARD

; justice

What would you do to ensure justice? You know full well I don’t speak of lofty ideals and courts and magistrates, dearest. What would you do to those that hurt you? If I dropped them in your lap, what would you do? What kind of pain could you possibly inflict upon them? You are right to do so. You are right to want to do so. Ignore the screaming, dearest, you are the hand of justice now, and they hurt you. Do not look too closely at their faces, dearest. You are within your rights. You spell out your own rights, now. Are you happy about it? Are you certain that this is the right person you hold by the hair? Does your anger hurt less now?

; the moon

You avoid corners and doorways - do you know why? Have you looked inwards recently? Do you understand what is happening there? Your mind is muddled and dusty, a mirror you haven’t been able to clean properly. Smudging the nervousness just leaves streaks on the glass, which makes your face harder to see, which makes you nervous. What are you nervous of, darling? What keeps you up at night? Why haven’t you confronted it? Do you know what it is? Can you answer my questions? Are they making you nervous? Am I frightening you?

; the lovers

Your lover’s back does not look quite the same this morning. No one else would notice the difference, if there even is a difference, but you could swear they have more vertebrae than usual. Something in the breathing, as you stare at them in the morning light. The light in the kitchen is just as warm as it always is, the coffee just as hot, but you cannot meet your lover’s eyes. They kiss you on the forehead, go off to work, shake their keys on the way out as they always do. Did they eat anything this morning? Did they speak? Of course they did. You’re probably losing your mind. You would call your friends to ask, if you had any friends left. You don’t, of course, haven’t for months. You only need each other. You only need them. You haven’t spoken to anyone in months. You count the notches on their back. You watch them breathe. You pray they don’t turn around.

; wheel of fortune

Examine the luck, good or bad, that you have experienced over the past 6 months. I don’t speak of the luck of the world, or of others, but of your own. Would you like it to change? The question won’t affect the change, but it must be asked regardless. If you passed a crumpled 20 dollar note on the street, would you pick it up? If you passed a small child? If you passed a 10 cent coin? Throw the coin into the ocean and make a wish. Would you like some change?

; the fool

There is only so fast a car can go before it flips. You would do well to memorise that speed, though whether that is to reach it or avoid it is none of my concern. Your life cannot be made only of beginnings; you forget that for every new life there is one you had to smother. Adventure beckons, must you rise to meet it? Have you spoken to a loved one from a past life recently? I’m sure someone, somewhere misses you.

[amiedala]

SOMETHING DEEPER (a mandalorian story)

CHAPTER 1: There's Always Three Things

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, hints of voyeurism

SUMMARY: HELLLOOOOOOOOOOO AND HAPPY SOMETHING DEEPER SATURDAY MY LOVES!!! this is the first chapter in Something Deeper, the

second installment in the Something More series. in this one, Nova is her established character, they're still trying to save the galaxy, and the spice is racketed up even hotter ;) more notes at the end, as always, and until then, ENJOY!!!

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY!!!! this chapter is quite the whirlwind, i hope you love it! more notes at the end as always <3

*

Novalise Djarin is absolutely certain of three things. One, that the strongest thing in this galaxy is the green alien baby she calls her son; two, that her gorgeous, commanding bounty hunter husband is an excellent leader but a fantastically horrible diplomat; and three, that she is by far the most skilled person she knows at getting out of a particularly sticky situation.

Nova is excellent at getting out of things, period—her husband would argue that she’s an expert at getting the both of them out of their clothes and Mandalorian armor, respectively—but she excels at somehow, miraculously, wriggling herself free from between a rock and a hard place. And, right now, the asteroid belt that makes up Polis Massa is the abundance of rock, and the TIE fighters right on the tail of Kicker’s infamously sporadic power is the hard place.

They’re relentless. Nova squints her eyes, making the starry backdrop of the Outer Rim split and fractal into a thousand more glittering balls of light. There’s only three of them, this time, but this is the closest they’ve ever dared to follow her to Mandalore, and there’s something dangerous and electric kicking around somewhere inside of her chest. They keep shooting, jarring bolts of blasts that do their best to try and knock down Kicker’s very stubborn shields.

“Stupid,” Nova whispers, her breath low, the ghost of a smile stretching across her face, even in the crush of space. A year ago, she wouldn’t have recognized herself—this fearless, feisty pilot, the fully-formed reconstruction of the girl she used to be. On the ground, even with the Force on her side, she’s clumsy, an amateur. But up here? This is where Novalise shines. She has the upper hand out in the stars, and, besides, even if she were being chased by an artillery of a hundred more, there’s reinforcements on her old, lovable beater of a starship.

“Surrender,” one of the mechanical, ordered voices comes over the comm, and Nova giggles to herself in the darkness.

“Does that ever work?” she asks, flipping the right switches to make Kicker drop down and over itself, sending one of the fighters careening into the nearest asteroid. It doesn’t deter whoever’s in the cockpit for long, but it’s enough to utilize her infamous barrel roll to twist up and away from the other two fighters close in tow. “You know, asking impolitely for whoever you’re chasing to surrender?”

Silence. Nova smiles again, biting her teeth down against the fullness of her bottom lip. Her stomach grumbles. It was a sleepless night and a long day she spent back on Hoth before making the short trek back home—Mandalore, which isn’t the kindest of planets to call your own but is undoubtably better than some of the other alternatives—and the broth-based soups and dried legumes that frequent the base there are not nearly as filling or delicious as the feasts that being Mandalorian royalty entail. Still nothing from the other fighters, which is perfectly fine, because she’s about to feign dropping into warp and leading through a wormhole that’ll lead nowhere but the barrenness of the Mid Rim, but usually, they’re much more demanding.

“Surrender,” comes the voice again, and Nova sighs, cracking her neck, readjusting the familiar, worn helmet still stamped with the orange Rebel insignia. Kicker beeps angrily, and she lends a soft hand to the worn metal of her beloved ship’s dashboard, coaxing the metal to just go a tiny bit further.

“I’m just saying, you might have a stroke more of luck if you’re a little bit nicer. Less demanding, more asking. Who am I surrendering to?” she asks, and even though the TIE fighters are still volleying an array of blasts at the back end of the starfighter, they’re not quick to identify themselves. Nova squints again, catching a glimpse of one of them as she swoops to avoid a larger chunk of asteroid. It was stupid to come here, she admits internally to herself, even though it makes her heart drop a tiny bit inside of her chest. All she wanted for the hours she spent on Hoth was to get back to Din, to hold Grogu against her heartbeat for as long as she could before she reluctantly had to relinquish him to the one and only Luke Skywalker, but when Wedge called, it seemed urgent. “Hello?” she whispers, only to dare the strange, affected voice on the commlink to rattle back across the stars.

“Andromeda Maluev,” the comm blurts, and the sound of her name—her birth name, still heavy and pearlescent with the weight of losing her parents—makes Nova’s heart drop even further. Everyone left in this galaxy that Nova associates with—Din Djarin, Luke Skywalker, Wedge Antilles, Bo-Katan Kryze, Boba Fett, Cara Dune, Greef Karga, and every person she met along her trip with Din through the galaxy and back—knows that Andromeda Maluev is dead, and that Novalise Djarin rose from her ashes. But every single bounty Nova’s had on her head has slammed that full weight of her first identity back into her bones, like a brand, like something she can’t escape. It makes the force of people after her—the shadowy legion of the obscured First Order, and all of their cronies—feel just a bit more insidious.

“Not my name,” she volleys back, but the brace in Nova’s voice doesn’t sound like anything dangerous, anything sharp enough scare them off. “I’ve ran into enough of you by now for you to get it right.”

“We’ve got you surrounded. Surrender or be killed.”

Nova snorts. There’s three fighters on her tail, and they’re nowhere close to surrounding her. It’s so ludicrous, so unexpected, that the laugh catapults out of her mouth and echoes in the small hull of Kicker. She wishes Din and Grogu were here to equally share in her utter disbelief—she can practically see the helmet cocking and the baby’s giant, intuitive eyes crinkling—but she dodges another set of shots, which are almost completely aimless and hardly land on the tail end of the ship. “Be killed?” she repeats, swerving and ducking through another large chunk of asteroid, seamlessly, barely paying any attention to the terrain around her. She doesn’t need to. Even in a field this littered, space is Nova’s strongest suit. She could do this with her eyes closed. “As far as I can see, you’ve landed what, three shots? I don’t think you’ll be getting anywhere near close enough to even do damage to my ship. You’re three fighters strong, and one of you has a wounded wing. And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“The First Order demands your services.”

Nova’s blood runs ice-cold. It’s a familiar request at this point, but still, the name sends a very real shiver all the way down her spine, rocking and rattling her vertebrae. She swallows, blinking furiously, avoiding the tailspin of a smaller asteroid as she lurches out of the chase. That wasn’t the lowly voice of some sorry stormtrooper that got the shitty job of trying to wrangle her out of the skies. It sounds evil. Dark. Mirthless. It wasn’t Moff Gideon’s voice, but it was something close to the memory of the dark timbre of it. Fear forms wet and cold on the back of her neck, curling up through the bottom of her hairline, seeping underneath the warmth of her standard, Rebel-orange jumpsuit. She swallows, but the air feels like it’s evaporating out of her mouth.

“The First Order,” she manages, finally, trying to detach the nervousness from her voice, “will not be getting my services. Not now, not ever.”

It’s only been two weeks since Din’s coronation. Two hectic, packed weeks in which her big, brave bounty hunter boyfriend got forcibly turned into a very reluctant diplomat under the watchful—and perhaps slightly resentful—eye of Bo-Katan Kryze. Din never seemed to really need sleep the way a normal human being did, but Nova watched as the bags under his eyes darkened and grew as he spent long hours in the war rooms, buried somewhere in the giant, stark palace they’d moved into, eyelids pressed into the warm hollow of her neck in the early hours of the morning when he made it to bed at all. In the meantime, Nova was spending every single precious second of her waking hours with Grogu, who she knows is on the verge of needing to go back to Jedi training, trying to absorb as much of his small, green light as she possibly can. When Wedge called the other day, though, he sounded desperate, which didn’t happen often, and she had wrenched herself away from her family on Mandalore to try and stop the impending doom of the First Order on Hoth, but it had been yet another dead end. Polis Massa was a pit stop—an impulsive, foolish one—because Nova ran furiously out of the library archives the last time she was here, and she wanted to pick up books on the history of Mandalore for Din and herself, and a small star of yearning in her chest was to spend a little more time in the shelves like her father used to before the Empire killed him.

And as much as Nova wants to put Andromeda Maluev to rest, longing for the days when she was tiny and growing up on Yavin with her parents alive and happy beside her outweighs the alternative. She swallows through the lump in her throat and closes her eyes to shake the starshine of her past lives away. The time to focus on getting the hell out of here is now, all yearning and ache can blossom fully formed when she’s away from the reaches of the First Order, safely back on Mandalore.

“Surrender,” the voice says again, only this time it is the timbre of some sorry stormtrooper and not the one that still haunts her nightmares, and Nova sighs, flipping all of the switches on Kicker’s dashboard to feint left and fake drop into hyperspace.

“I’ll ask you again. When,” she exhales, straightening up in the pilot’s chair, “has that line ever worked?”

“We are granted permission to obliterate your starfighter under Order Number—”

“Obliterate?” Nova interrupts, stifling another giggle. “Is the Order giving you vocabulary lessons? I’m impressed, trooper—”

“Andromeda Maluev,” the voice comes again, and Nova tries her absolute hardest to ignore the pulsing and aching in her heart that comes with the punch of her previous identity, “you are to surrender to the First Order. Failure to comply will result in termination. This is your final warning.”

Nova sighs, pulling Kicker to a temporary halt. If she stares, the ghostly outline of Mandalore, embedded forever in her memory, will flash in front of her vision, even out here in Polis Massa’s gigantic asteroid belt. She knows that the troopers, whoever they are, whoever they’re working for, will understand that she’s intending to go straight back to the strange palace she’s started calling home, but she also knows that any force in this galaxy, no matter how dark, no matter how strong, is smart enough to know they can’t take on a planet full of Mandalorian warriors without all the strength they’ve got. From the way Kicker is paused in the middle of space, she knows it looks like she’s about to surrender, or at least like she’s weighing her options heavily, and the satisfied, smug silence of the trooper on the other end of the commlink is enough to assure herself that her plan—hasty and rash as it may be—is working.

“Okay,” she whispers, feigning resignation, into the comm. “I understand I’m dealing with forces a lot stronger than I am. I don’t surrender, but I’ll come with you. But first,” she whispers, silencing the clicking that the switches to go into hyperdrive with the muffler of her right hand, “I need to tell you something.”

There’s a pause. “So be it. Reeling you in via tractor beam now.”

The unmistakable whirring of a ship forcibly being dragged onto another’s power starts up, and Nova swallows, pushing the second to last toggle into place, keeping a steady eye on the rocketing meter on her dashboard that indicates the ship is fully charged. Under the noise of Kicker being pulled into the largest TIE fighter’s proximity, the beeping goes unnoticed by the other party. Nova slips her hand off the switch and finds the necklace Din gifted her back before he accepted his role of Mand’alor, pressing hard enough that the symbol embosses itself into her thumbprint. “First of all,” she starts, trying her hardest to keep her voice level and even and not reveal a single ounce of the glee that she’s concealing, “my name hasn’t been Andromeda Maluev in a decade. You want me to answer to you, to answer to the Order? You’ll call me Novalise.”

The sigh from the trooper is short, clipped. “Noted.”

“Second,” Nova continues, leveling her jaw with the center of the dashboard, watching every single thruster lock itself into gear, “I am married to the galaxy’s most ruthless bounty hunter. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than the word surrender to scare me into submission.”

Kicker grinds to a halt in midair. Nova straps herself in tighter, just enough to ensure that she won’t be sent reeling across the perfectly aligned dashboard when she breaks free of the tractor beam and shoots Kicker straight into the stars, back to Mandalore, back to Din, back home, and steels herself.

“Stop,” another voice says, tinny and nervous over the speaker. “She’s—she’s screwing with us, sir—”

“I’m assuming,” the original trooper speaks, trying to intimidate Nova with the ice in his voice, “that there’s a third thing?”

“Oh, there’s always a third thing,” Nova volleys back, eyes catching the light of what’s been powering up the entire time the troopers thought she was weighing her options and deciding the First Order’s clutches sounded warm and delightful, after all. “Not only am I a commander in the New Rogue Squadron, not only am I the wife of the reigning Mand’alor, I contain multitudes.” She grins, her teeth bared and gleeful in the low light of space, knowing this is by far the most badass exit she’s ever attempted. “And do you know what that means?”

The trooper in the largest fighter sounds defeated. This was barely even a scratch compared to the narrow scrapes Nova’s been entangled with before. She bites down on her bottom lip, cracking her neck, taking advantage of Kicker’s stationary position to break free of the tractor beam, and as the angry clamor of the three troopers in the fighters trying to reel the ship in starts to filter across the commlink, Nova does what she does best.

She barrel rolls the entirety of Kicker, flipping downward and over so that she’s facing the three fighters, staring through her Rebel helmet at the floodlights drenching her whole ship in florescence that shouldn’t be possible in space, and shows every single one of her teeth, smile stretched so far across her face that it hurts, “My starfighter is Rebel-made, sure, but it’s gotten a few upgrades in the past few weeks. The only reason you got this far was because I was waiting to unload the artillery loaded up in the guns that are pointed at you right now. And you know what they’re made of?”

“All aim to kill—”

Nova can’t resist. She tries, but this whole royalty thing, the whole leading the New Rogue Squadron thing, this whole being a Jedi thing—well, all of it has been tallied up enough to recognize she can stand to be the tiniest bit cocky to the people trying to kill her or bring her in as a slave. She raises a single middle finger, making sure that the pilot of the largest fighter catches her elongated, elegant bird with the floodlights. “Same thing as my resolve is. Beskar, bitch.” And with that, she punches all the thrusters, Kicker dazzling and evaporating through hyperspace, gone before the first trigger even pulls.

Mandalore is quiet. There’s a strange serenity that lives on the horizon, pulsing and shifting, but never quite tangible from the planet’s surface. It’s hard to look at the place where the greatest warriors in the galaxy are born and bred and not see anything but a whetted, sharp arena, but so much of this planet is soft around the edges. The blue architecture in the capital, for one—something Nova knows is much newer than the ancient history of the land here—and there’s a silence here that teeters on eerie but mostly stays in a strange sense of tranquility.

It doesn’t hold the feeling of abandonment, like so many other planets do these days, but it seems like the rest of the world around the city is disconnected. Inhabitable. Nova parks Kicker in the nearest landing bay, watching the strange haze that hangs over the atmosphere, trying to find other places where lights are lit, where people live, but so much of the planet is quiet. It’s the same sort of stark contrast that Yavin had when her and Din got engaged all those months ago, or Hoth’s anesthetic brutality, but Mandalore’s environment feels different.

And, Nova reasons, as she disembarks off Kicker’s gangplank, running the tips of her fingers over the Rebel insignia hidden under the outermost coat of white and silver detailing, it’s likely because this isn’t home. Not yet, anyway, and it might never have that feeling of belonging that the Crest did, that Kicker does, that her and Din found on Naator and Kashyyyk and Nevarro. Nova climbs the marble steps to the palace, smiling at the stoic Mandalorians stationed outside as she slips up the stairs and through the main entrance, immediately cutting sideways up the hallways to the left, watching as her shadow traipses behind her in the blue dusk, trying to not stake stock of the silence that most of the building holds. In true Mandalorian fashion, their holding cells are built into the palace itself, alongside training arenas and the war room where Din spends most of his time. Nova moves as quietly as she can through the halls, up the other marble staircase, and when she bursts into the chambers twice the size of the starship that she and Din usually call home, a gurgle from Grogu on the floor makes the entire day turn around.

Nova grins, dropping to her knees. Grogu beams up at her, his big bug eyes full of nothing but love, and she scoops him up, pressing his tiny, warm body against her chest. It chases away all the chill of Hoth and the crush of space, and for a second, she just runs her fingers over the top of his fuzzy head, pressing kisses to his green skin, soaking in every second she can.

“I missed you, lovey,” she murmurs, and Grogu’s giant green ears perk up. “What did you do in your day here?”

Grogu pulls away from her chest, pressing a three-fingered hand against Nova’s temple. The visions that used to terrify her, the ones Grogu put into her head, filled with screaming and loss and desperation, fall away as he shows her the bath he took, the feast he got for dinner, sitting on Din’s lap while in the war room. As he drops his touch, Nova grins down at him, all teeth and excitement, all of the panic and isolation of the last few hours melting away.

“He terrorized Bo-Katan,” a familiar voice rings out from behind her, and Nova pushes herself up on the heels of her hands, her heart flipping over with the same butterfly menagerie Din’s always given her. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.”

“Hi,” Nova whispers, giddy, watching as Din steps forward out of the shadows. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s been lucky enough to gaze over his handsome face, it doesn’t matter that he’s been spending more time helmetless here on Mandalore, every time she sees him, it’s like the first time. In the moonlight, obscured by the permafrost of Mandalore’s blue twilight, Nova’s eyes roam over the valleys and mountains of her husband’s face. His hair is the length it was when he proposed, long enough for the ends to curl up gently. His mouth, even in the near darkness, is pink and gorgeous, his lips slightly parted in the unconscious way they do when Nova’s the only thing in his eyeline. His scruff is there, long enough to scratch her chin—or her thighs—up something terrible, and the ghost of the mustache she used to feel in the dark is strong, dark, manicured. His eyelashes are longer than the length of her thumbnails, and his eyes, his gorgeous brown eyes, soften around the edges the second Nova smiles.

“Hi,” Din echoes, bridging the gap between the two of them with two quick strides, and Nova feels her breath catch in her throat. Din’s hands, gloved in black and twice the size of her own, balance on the curve of her hips, his fingers digging into the loops of her orange jumpsuit, pulling Nova over her own feet, anchoring her body right up against hers. The way he kisses after only being separated overnight is desperate, longing, filled with words he doesn’t always know how to say. Nova leans into his embrace, head fuzzy, waterlogged, like everything else fades away. It does. She loses track of time, how many minutes pass, the stars behind her eyes dazzling, supernovae, regenerated.

When they break apart, Nova’s hand trails over the regalia Din’s wearing. It’s his familiar beskar, the armor he’s worn since they first met, but it’s been cleaned, and underneath, where his typical black undergarments used to cling to his build, he’s wearing Mandalore blue. It’s the color of the skyline at dusk, a faded azure that signals something more than warrior, something a shade closer to royalty. The material is lightweight, practical. It’s the same kind that every single one of her matching outfits are made out of—Mandalorians don’t have much use for aesthetic, it just gets in the way of practicality—but it seems more vibrant on Din. “How was today?” she whispers into the hollow of his mouth, and Din exhales, low and slow, tipping his bare forehead against hers.

“Long without you,” he admits, his voice barely anything. Nova’s eyes search his deep brown ones, trying to figure out where his exhaustion is hiding. “Come with me. I—I want to show you something.”

Nova nods, catching sight of the dirty orange jumpsuit stretched over her tan trousers, the black tank top she’d spent the past year replacing every time Din tore it off of her body. “I should change.”

Din’s eyes flick hungrily over her silhouette, and when he speaks again, his voice is husky. “No,” he says, finally, digging his thumb slightly into the flesh on her hip, “you shouldn’t.”

The trek downstairs is quiet. Both of them move in the shadows, lulled into an easy silence, their hands knitted together in between their two bodies. Nova watches as the low light of the corridor flickers as they cross over another staircase and down a side hallway, entering through the war room by the back entrance instead of the front, even though there’s no one left in here to try to hide from.

Nova’s been in here at least ten times, but the decoration steals the breath straight out of her mouth every time. A glittering holotable, top of the line, at least twenty years more advanced than the one on Hoth, sits in the direct center. The ceiling looks more like a cathedral than it does anything else, which is perfectly fitting for a group of people who treat fighting as their religion. Nova looks up through the sheer domed ceiling, watching as the moody dusk falls into a silent, quiet night. Stars dazzle and shine from above, and even though they’re not nearly as poignant and powerful down here as they are out in space, the direct line to the cosmos is bright enough to make her throat ache. “Wow,” Nova whispers, voice barely anything at all, staring straight upward, mapping constellations under her breath. Eventually, her eyes slide off of the ceiling, traveling over the careful architecture, the shrines in the corners, the murals painstakingly hand-painted across the circular walls, all of beskar and helmets and Mandalorian history. It feels so ancient, even though the palace was recently rebuilt, reconstructed from nothing during both of their lifetimes. She’s been in here a handful of times before, but never as night is on the horizon. There’s something transcendent about this place, this holy center of Mandalorian worship. Something deeper, something divine enough to make a Jedi believe in them, too.

Din’s standing across the other end of the holotable, fidgeting with the controls until a map of the galaxy sparkles to life in front of them. Through the light, Nova watches the peaks of her husband’s face getting caught in the reflections, letting everything except his face blur out to stardust. “Did you get anything from Wedge?” he asks, and Nova blinks her eyes to refocus on the map. “Anything new? Anything…useful?”

Quietly, Nova shakes her head. “He thought—he called me back to Hoth because of a prison break in one of the sectors Cara doesn’t have jurisdiction in, or I’d suspect she’d have already taken care of it. It was small, just a few criminals with nothing more than petty charges breaking out of a hold somewhere, but he thought it might be related to—”

“The First Order?”

“Me,” Nova finishes, quietly. Her eyes narrow just a fraction, refocusing on Din’s silhouette through the glitter of the galaxy between them. “Yeah, the Order. We couldn’t prove anything, but I—”

“You feel something is coming,” Din interrupts gently, stealing the words right out of her mouth, bracing his strong, gloved hands on the side of the holotable, and Nova nods, watching his grip, starting to get a little dizzy, with lust or with the reflections above them or both. “Don’t you?”

“I do,” she echoes, confirming his theory. “I—I took a detour coming back here. I went to Polis Massa, to try and return to the library archives so I could learn more about Mandalore and bring you back something other than a dead end.”

Din stares at her, his face partially hidden in the glow of the rotating image of the holotable. “You brought yourself back here,” he says, finally, and Nova’s knees buckle a little under the husk of his voice. “It’s hard to care about much else.”

Nova bites down on her lip, butterflies swirling up a storm inside her tummy. “Din,” she whispers, leaning forward on the table, cocking her head in the signature way he always does, lifting her chin slightly with the tilt, “we are tasked with the incredible privilege of saving the galaxy, you know—”

“Fuck the galaxy,” Din breathes, and despite the fact that what he’s wanting to shirk is their top priority, and really has been for months, it buzzes inside Nova, wet and hot. “Let someone else handle it for once. I don’t care.”

“You do care,” she protests, weakly, but his tongue slides out from the hollow of his mouth, and everything else seems to evaporate. “I know—fuck, I don’t know, I know you missed me when I left overnight, I know we’ve been apart more than we’ve been together, but it’s for good reason, and when we save, y’know, the whole galaxy and everything, it…it’ll be all the time in the world for the two of us.”

“I’m impatient,” Din counters, roughly, and then he’s around the table in three quick, determined strides. Nova sighs, letting her body crumple a little as Din moves forward, his hands on her hips, anchoring her pelvis against his. “Don’t make me wait any more for you, cyar’ika, I won’t be able to stand it.”

Nova inhales sharply, feeling him harden against her leg, and she lifts her chin a touch more, enough for their lips to only be an inch apart, enough to make eye contact, enough for all of this to let the rest of the world fade right out. “You know,” she whispers, finally, blood pumping furiously, “you’re the leader of this planet. You could order me to do anything, and I’d be helpless to do anything but comply.”

Din lets out a groan, low and desperate, a choked off, guttural one. “And if I told you I wanted you right here on this table?”

Nova grins, her teeth glittering against the quickening darkness, pulling away only to drape herself over the holotable, face down, letting the spots where her body occupies the space filter out of the reflection. The glow of the lights is disrupted by her figure, and she hears Din’s voice catch in the dark behind her as she arches her back, still fully clothed, an invitation for him to come closer, to take what’s rightfully his. “Then you’d have me right here on this table, Mand’alor.”

She feels Din press up against her, hard against the soft, voluptuous curve of her ass. He inhales, heavily, she can hear it whine through the darkness, not hidden under the evenness of the modulator built into his helmet. Nova knows she’s an expert at getting out of things—sticky situations, clothes, everything in between—but right now, she wants to make Din wait beg for it before she complies. Something to prove that even while he’s the one on the throne, her neck is holding up the crown. At least here. Especially here.

“And if I told you I wanted to fuck you on the floor?”

“Then you’d take me on the floor, Mand’alor. I quite like the floor, you know.”

“You—” Din’s breath cuts off again, and Nova lets the timbre of his voice soak into her. It turns her heart over, first, that excitement tangling up with the knowledge that she’ll let him do anything. It’s been over a week since the last time they fucked, because he’s been spending most of his time in this room, trying to prove to the rest of the planet that he’s worthy enough to hold the throne, and she’s been splitting her time between Grogu and saving the galaxy. All of them necessary evils, deserving distractions, but it’s nearly impossible to think about anything other than the feel of Din up against Nova, his mouth on her neck, his hands on her hips, concerned only with burying himself as deep into her as he possibly can. “I brought you down here to show you the stars. You’re distracting me.”

Nova smiles, then braces her palms on top of the holotable, pushing herself up, gliding her body backwards up against her husband’s. “What an honor,” she purrs, quiet, low, the same kind of voice Din always uses when he wants her so badly it hurts to breathe, “that the king of Mandalore thinks I am a suitable distraction.”

“Novalise.”

“Use me as a distraction, then,” Nova continues, taking hold of one of Din’s gloved hands, guiding them against the curve of her chest, making sure he feels how her nipples harden under his touch, a soft, mewling sound with her mouth completely indicative of the flush of warmth rushing between her legs. “Show me anything you want, oh worthy Mand’alor, please—”

Her breath is cut off as Din whirls her around by her throat. It’s sudden, desperate, the kind of electricity he used to greet her with whenever he finally tracked down the bounty he was hunting and could let loose with her on the Crest.

“Get on,” Din starts, voice raggedly, both hands clenching against Nova’s cheeks, puckering her lips, “the fucking throne, cyar’ika.”

“The—throne?” Nova repeats, breathless. “You want—”

“I want to fuck you on my throne,” Din interrupts, and stars above, she can feel the way that his cock is throbbing in his pants, through the regalia, through the beskar, all of it. “You said anything I want. I want to make you scream my name on the planet we rule while I’m seven inches inside of you. That work for you?”

Nothing but a strangled moan comes out.

Din nods. “Good. Get over there.”

Nova reels back as he releases her. It takes more than a few seconds to collect herself enough to move, and when she does, her legs feel like they’re made out of rubber, elastic and wobbly. She can feel his heavy gaze on her as she makes her way around the holotable, and when she takes the few steps that lead to the ironclad, menacing chair that sits atop the highest point in the room, Din’s voice rings out.

“Stop,” he commands, and she does, feeling her heart hammer. “Face me.”

Nova turns, her breath caught in her throat, staring down at Din. The few steps she’s scaled make her just a tad taller than Din is, and she watches as he slowly moves forward, crossing the tile of the floor with quiet, intentional steps.

“Take your clothes off,” Din manages, and Nova’s almost a hundred percent sure that he’s whispering, even though it might just be that she can’t hear anything over how loud her blood is pumping, over how hard her heart is hammering.

“Now?”

He raises a single dark eyebrow, and Nova nods, trying to peel off her shirt and her trousers as fast as she can. She kicks off her shoes, and they land at the bottom of the steps with a very incriminating thud, but Din just kicks them out of the way as he presses the soles of his beskar boots deliberately against the tile. Everything in here is blue and reflective, even after night has fallen on Mandalore, and Nova catches sight of her silhouette in the floor. Her breath stutters in her throat, suddenly very aware that she’s completely naked and Din, save for his forgotten helmet, is fully clothed, but with the way his eyes are roving over her body like he’s starving and she’s the only thing in this galaxy or the next that can satiate it, she forgets how to care.

“You,” he starts, trailing a single gloved finger down the curve of her body, “are so beautiful.”

“Stop,” she whispers, smiling, everything burning and in flames. It’s the opposite of what she means—she never wants Din to stop calling her beautiful, stop revering her, stop treating her like something holy—but when they’re in a public room that just about anyone left on this planet can walk on, and she’s the only one naked, the risk burns hotter than her desire. “Din, I—”

His finger is on her lips before Nova even realizes he’s moved. “Do you believe me?”

Nova blinks, stuttering over the dying words hidden somewhere between her teeth and the back of her throat. The answer is yes, because Din Djarin never utters a single word that he doesn’t mean, because he uses so few of them to begin with, and also because he’s seen every single inch of her body and worshipped it, but in this reflective room, usually full of figures so much more athletic, razor-sharp, warrior-grade, a tiny bead of insecurity spools down the back of her neck. Nervously, Nova’s gaze filters off of Din’s, flicking over to the ornate door on the other side of the room, and when she looks back, he’s staring at her.

“Nova?” he repeats, gently, and something about the way he’s saying it makes tears spring up in her eyes. “Here. Come here. Look at yourself.”

She lets him guide her over to the throne, which is made out of the shiniest, most reflective beskar she’s ever seen, polished so effortlessly it doubles as a mirror, and Din pulls curls of her dark hair away from her collarbone, fingers grazing the new necklace he gifted her, one hand curling around her jaw, the other sliding down the side of her body.

“Look at yourself,” Din repeats, his touch still so light, and when Nova doesn’t immediately obey, his grip tightens. Not hard, just filled with enough desire to snap her back to her senses—that he took her into this room to fuck her senseless, that his eyes don’t meet anyone else’s, that Din Djarin isn’t a pious man in any other capacity than his Creed and all the rules he broke to worship Nova instead. She relaxes under his touch, her eyes glazing as they travel over the valleys of her naked body. Her skin doesn’t glow in the darkness like it does during the daylight, but it’s a rich brown, three or so shades darker than Din’s. Her eyes, a deep sage green that dips into brown in the darkness, glitter as they flash against the beskar. Her eyelashes, dark and tangled up in the corners from where her laughter lines are. Her nose, not as prominent as Din’s hooked, curved one, but big, slightly upturned, and anchored in the center of her face. Her mouth, plump and perma-stained deep pink from where she bites hard on it in concentration. Her hair, so long now that it trails down to where her curved hipbones protrude, woven into a deeper curl than the natural wave of her hair from the braids it’s always tied back in. Din’s hand on her hip clenches gently at his knuckles, and she lets her gaze shift off of her face, down the stocky muscles of her upper arms, slightly sore from twirling Grogu around and from flying out of her skirmish with the TIE fighters. Her hands are long and elegant, princess fingers, her mother used to call them, dainty and slender, nails kept short to flip all the necessary switches on whatever vessel she’s flying, thumbs worn down with callouses from fighting and twirling Luke’s lightsaber around for the last two weeks, trying to conjure the power he radiates on her own. Down the left side of her tummy, which is rounded and collects weight around her bellybutton, is the scar that Jacterr Calican left in an attempt to rip her soul out of her body, and Din’s finger traces over the bump of it, gentle, endearing, protective. Her hips, which are wide, the curves of her upper legs, the muscles that pack on more weight in her calves. Nova looks at herself and sees, just for a glimpse, just for a split second, that sure, she’s not shaped like a Mandalorian, but she’s certainly desired by one. Din pulls her hair back from where it’s settled against her throat, pressing his lips to her skin.

“What do you see?” he murmurs, his voice deep and electric.

“The girl you love,” Nova whispers, grinning at him in their reflections. Din spins her back around, much gentler than he did a minute ago, all the fire gone, his eyes gentle like the oceans on Yavin.

“Damn right,” Din affirms, the timbre of his voice in her ear making goosebumps spark up across Nova’s bare arms. “Now get on the throne.”

She’s giddy. Her heart is, as usual, racing a thousand beats per minute, threatening to hammer right out of her chest. It’s cold—the throne—cool to the touch. As Nova slowly slides down onto the beskar, she watches Din’s brown eyes flash with lust and longing, and his look alone is enough to take away the chill against her bare skin. The beskar warms to her touch, and she crosses one thick thigh over the other, trying to quell the nervousness that’s still whining at the back of her mind.

“Don’t look at the door,” Din orders, his head cocked to the side. It’s been a few months now since Nova’s seen every single contour of his face, but every new expression not hidden behind the helmet makes her stomach lurch up into her throat. Right now, she can see the tenseness of his command in his clenched jaw, but his eyes soften as they roam over her body. “Look at me.”

“Din—”

“Look at me.”

Nervously, she does. The second her eyes meet his, everything else fades away. In the back of her mind, she’s aware that she’s completely naked, her skin up and against something divine, something not meant for her, this throne that she’s about to be desecrated on.

And sweet Maker above, she doesn’t even care. Din slowly canvasses the distance between the two of them, the intensity of his gaze never once wavering off of Nova’s face. The pure look of animalistic desire on his unmasked face makes her whimper under her breath. If she were weaker, she would cower away, avert her eyes, but by this point, she’s earned her brazenness. There are exactly two things in this galaxy that the ruler of Mandalore, the most ruthless bounty hunter, and the man in front of her would do anything for. Grogu and Nova.

He doesn’t make a noise. Everything is an electric wire as he finds his secure, silent footing on the first step, and Nova’s heart catches in her throat. She wants to say something, to make a silly comment, to cut through the tension, but she knows that whatever’s about to follow Din’s ascent will be worth her quiet. Instead, Nova bites down on her trembling lip, watching the rest of the throne room disappear as Din steps closer, still not making a single noise, pulling his body weight up the lip of each step, staring at her.

“What?” she manages, finally, the word all air.

Din moves closer. Nova’s seated against the throne, the beskar suddenly warm against her bare skin. Everything in her is burning. “What do you want?” Din asks, his voice deep, rumbling through her like a honeyed thunderstorm. He doesn’t even have the modulator to filter his words, and even though the deepness of his voice through the helmet runs rivers through her, Nova’s suddenly glad for the bareness of all of this. It makes it easier, dirtier, better.

“I want you,” Nova manages, hollowly, the words surrender out of her parted lips. “Just you.”

“You want me?” Din repeats, and a flash of lust sparks up behind his beautiful brown eyes. There’s something dangerous in his tone, something deeper, something electric. She stares at him, unwilling to break his gaze. If it were anyone else, Nova would think that the timbre of Din’s voice was teasing, but the edge to it suggests towards pleading.

“Yes,” Nova echoes, and Din moves forward, towering over her. She stares up at him as one gloved hand easily notches against her right cheek, eyelashes fluttering as the pad of Din’s fabric-laden thumb traces over the mountain of her cheekbone. “I want you, Mand’alor—”

“I’m not Mand’alor right now, cyar’ika,” Din interrupts, his voice low and ragged, sparking somewhere in his throat. “Look at who’s on the throne.”

Nova gulps. Air is suddenly impossible to come by. Everything in her is electric, alive. Everything else fades out except for Din’s touch. Her doubt, her insecurity—it’s all been chased away and zapped into obliteration by the way Din’s speaking, touching, breathing. “I—”

“Say my name,” Din says, hooking his free hand under Nova’s chin. She swallows, letting the roughness of his gesture manipulate her body in any way that he wants, pliable against Din’s weathered hands. “Say you want me.”

“Din,” Nova squeaks out, and a single one of his dark eyebrows quirks up against the celestial darkness of the throne room, daring her to speak. “Din Djarin,” Nova rectifies, her voice suddenly loud and clear. It booms out, fills the throne room with sound. For once, the buzzing in her head completely drowns out her fear of being discovered. This palace doesn’t exist. Anyone walking the strange, ornate, blue halls doesn’t exist. Stars above, Mandalore itself doesn’t exist at this point. She’s emboldened, as if her will has flooded back, full-force. “Three things. There’s always three things included in how I want you. I want you without armor. I want you without titles. I want you like I had you back on Dagobah.”

“And how,” Din whispers, his voice running through Nova like heat, “is that?”

She gasps as Din’s hand slowly slips down to her throat, bracing itself there. He barely squeezes, and without all of her senses screaming at her that Din’s hand is against her, she thinks his touch would feel like a ghost, like nothing there at all. “Like we belong to each other,” Nova manages, and Din’s grip intensifies. It’s a slip. She can tell, with the way that his eyes roll back, with the way that a moan slips out from the hollow of his open mouth. Stars blur through her vision—some refracted from the open sky up above, and some from the restriction to her airflow, and she leans into the pressure just as Din retracts his grip.

“Cyar’ika—”

“I belong to you,” Nova whispers, the words sounding like a confessional, deeper and darker than she intended. Her hands find Din’s, wordlessly pulling his hand back to rest like a vice against her throat. “Everything in me is yours. Remember?”

Din squeezes again, and the grin that was hiding slowly spreads across Nova’s face. She knows that in the darkness, her teeth glow white, framed by the plump pinkness of her mouth. Din’s standing, still fully clothed, but she can tell by the way his grip tightens against her throat that he’s rock hard under all that beskar.

“Din,” she manages, her voice high and thready through the pressure of his hand, “what do you want?”

“I want you,” he chokes out, guttural and dangerous, his voice coming from somewhere beyond the horizon. Immediately, he pulls Nova to her feet by her throat, eyes flickering carefully over her own gaze to double-check that what he’s doing isn’t too far. She smiles back at him, and when she’s fully standing, smile still plastered across her starstruck face, she drops her grip on Din’s wrist and immediately moves to unhook his armor. She could do it in the dark. She could do it blind. By now, Nova’s memorized every single inch of Din’s body, whether he’s armored in all of his beskar or not. Even the new additions to his regalia since becoming Mand’alor are burned into Nova’s memory, bright and gleaming. She doesn’t break Din’s gaze as she undresses him, pulling the pauldrons off, the chest plates, the silver V of covering that protects his lower stomach and his crotch. It’s over in what feels like seconds, and then the only thing covering Din is the soft fabric of his underclothes. Nova tugs at his trousers first, pulling them down to reveal the silky feeling of his boxers. She positions herself in between Din’s legs, grabbing his right hip to anchor his hardness against her, and he groans out again, the desperate, wet sound filling up the throne room. It's loud. Too loud. The kind of loud that Din never reaches, not unless they’re the only two people on a planet, not unless they’re lost out there in the crush of space. If his cheeks redden at the sound, though, Nova doesn’t catch it, because her touch is too focused, her vision still spinning off starry, impassioned, loud. Slowly, she reaches up through Din’s weakening grip to pull the shirt off of his torso, breath catching in her throat as she takes the King of Mandalore without armor, without clothes, without anything. Nova smiles up at Din, blinking away the small tears of pleasure that gathered in the corners of her eyes, and then she sinks back down on the throne, squaring her shoulders, tossing her loose hair out of her face, eyes full of allure and desire.

“I want you,” she echoes, and then her mouth is on his stomach. Din gasps out, the sound of it ringing out like infernal bells, and Nova hides her teeth as she grins against his stomach, tongue swirling up and down his belly, fingers grazing like butterfly wings across the bones of his hips. She can feel him growing harder and harder as she teases, parting some of the faint hair that trails down his stomach with the wetness of her mouth. Din’s hands find her shoulders, and his fingers clench down, leaving small half-moons imprinted on either side of her neck. “Can I taste you?”

“W—want you,” Din chokes out, his voice demanding and desperate, but the rocking of his hips against her chest betrays him, and before he can make good on his command, Nova’s already slid every inch of him down her throat. She moans in rhythm with him, as Din’s hands leave her shoulders in a frenzy and instead tangle in her hair, wanting. Quietly, Nova swirls her tongue around the base before she pulls off of his cock with a loud, slurping, sucking noise, and she doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed before she’s sinking her mouth all the way down over Din again, the tears that have returned at the corners of her eyes springing back to life. They feel like satisfaction. She can feel him trembling, and when she drops one of her hands between his legs, lightly cupping his balls, Din cries out again. “Nova—”

“Shh,” she interrupts, which is truly a feat, considering her mouth is full of him and her saliva and not much else, “let me finish you here.”

“No,” Din interrupts, and his voice is strangled, muddled. Immediately, Nova does, pulling her mouth off of him regrettably, blinking up at him, lower lip slowly jutted out. “I k—fuck, I know you wanted to finish me like this, but—but I need you to break in my throne.”

A jolt of lightning strikes through Nova’s body, and she shudders as Din’s shaking grip finds the small of her back and pulls her to her trembling feet. For a moment, everything else evaporates, just the two of them breathing and holding each other, Din’s forehead stooped low to press against hers, and then he whirls her around.

Nova’s used to Din’s manhandling, the expert way he spins and lifts her, like she’s made of nothing but air. This is much clumsier than his usual vigor, and when she’s done a complete 180 and is facing her husband, Mand’alor, the big brave bounty hunter, he’s seated on his throne like he owns it, and his hands are on Nova’s hips in the same place where she was sitting a second ago. There’s something deeper and more intense in his gaze right now, something beyond just lust. It’s power, Nova recognizes as Din pulls her hips down, her knees splaying to the sides of the beskar throne. The metal is unyielding against her bones, but still, she doesn’t feel the impact. Din has collapsed her on top of him, the only thing keeping her upward is his grip and her knees trying desperately to cling onto the straddling position that Din’s holding her in.

For a moment, she just stares at him. He looks like divinity, here, something deeper than just another human being in front of him. Nova doesn’t know if it’s the starry sky spinning through the throne room, or because this feels like a holy place of worship, or if it’s just been weeks since they’ve had longer than a handful of minutes at the end of the day before they both fall asleep, too exhausted and dizzied by their work to touch each other relentlessly, but she feels like she’s spinning. Like this has been months in the making, even though it’s only been a handful of days since Din pulled her down over his lap and anchored her hips to his. Her eyes are on his, desperate, searching. When a single hand trails up to brush against her throat, she eagerly leans into his touch, nodding before his outstretched hand makes contact with her neck, skin on skin.

“You want this?” Din breathes, eyes fixed on her open mouth, and Nova nods against his question, his touch, everything.

“More than anything,” she manages, voice throaty and high, stars spinning beyond her eyes. Din nods in assent, and then his hand is gone, a claw rounded around her hipbones, his fingernails sinking into the plushy flesh. The way he holds her as he grinds her down on top of him is enough to make the rest of the world—and every insecurity—trickle out of Nova. When he pushes inside her, slick and warm and so big from this position, she gasps, the sound of it wet and obscene, too loud for the silent room.

“Fuck,” Din hisses, and then Nova starts moving of her accord. She can’t really feel her knees as they dig into the smooth, impenetrable surface of the beskar throne, but it doesn’t even matter. This is worth never feeling either patella ever again. There’s something humming low and urgent in Din’s throat, his scratchy face buried in Nova’s neck, tongue licking and snapping at her most sensitive pulse point. She groans. “You—you’re perfect, cyar’ika.”

“Not perfect,” she murmurs, hands wrapping around Din’s neck and tangling in his dark hair, eyes fluttering open enough to catch a glimpse at it, her fingers long and beautiful as they tug at his hair.

“Listento yourself,” Din pleads, one of his strong, toned arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her down over and over. In any other situation it would be embarrassing, the sucking noise coming ceaselessly between her thighs, but she’s so wet and so close to the edge that she doesn’t try to obscure it, and doesn’t try to fight Din’s insistent, guttural words. “You’re perfect. Everything about you. Your hips, the—the way they move. Your eyes, rolling back into your skull as I fuck you. Shit, Nova, everything about your pussy, I—”

She can feel her cheeks burning. It’s not often that Din is this vocal, this unhinged, especially not in this situation. It’s dirty and forbidden, and as she bounces up and down on his cock, eyes rolled back like he loves, everything wet and slippery between her legs, she forgets all about the fact that they’re naked and desecrating the throne of Mandalore. It’s everything. It’s so much, and when she’s right on the edge of orgasm, Din grinds his hips up into her.

“Din—”

“I want to show you off,” he grits out, and before she can ask him what he means, he’s lifting her off of him like she weighs fucking nothing, pushing himself down to the hilt inside her as she watches the empty throne room, the empty seats around the holotable, watched by the lifeless warriors painted on the wall. She doesn’t try to hide any part of her body. Din’s still whispering every dirty sound he can think of in her ear, one broad arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand tangled up in Nova’s hair.

“To whom?” she asks, the words barely even air. She’s on the edge still, eyes blinking, torso trembling. She wants Din to let her cum so bad, she can barely hear what he’s saying over the pumping rush of blood in her ears.

Din lifts up a lock of hair, the same stubborn wave that always falls in her face, tucking it gently behind her year. For a second, she sees red, legs shaking, completely subject to whatever Din’s doing. “Everyone,” he whispers, and the shock of how guttural and feral his voice sounds sends Nova right over the edge she’d been teetering on. He makes her cum so hard that everything explodes out into the same number of stars shimmering above, divine and dangerous, white-hot, so, so alive. And before she has a chance to gain her senses back, Din’s dragging and rushing as deep into her as he can, every inch of him warm and desirable, and when he lets go to follow Nova over the edge of the cliff they’re both standing on, she gasps as he fills her, hot and thick. It’s so much harder than the last time they fucked, both of them devastated, exhausted, fulfilled.

Nova leans back against Din’s chest, heaving, spinning, trying to catch her breath. They’re both inhaling and exhaling intently, trying to return back to the planet they rule, to the throne they just fucked on. “Well,” she starts, pulling the long waves off her back, looking over her bare shoulder at Din, “wow.”

He laughs, and he’s still inside her, slowly softening as he comes back down from the high of it, pressing his pink lips against her exposed skin. “High praise.”

“It’s the truth,” she whispers, giggling, suddenly remembering where they are. “I—I can’t believe we just did that—”

“We’re newlyweds,” Din interrupts, his voice still rough from the aftermath of sex, and something sparks up low in Nova’s belly as he talks, “plus I’m the ruler of this planet, remember?”

She grins, tipping her shoulder back into his bare chest, trailing her fingers over his tan skin, tracing fault lines she’s never seen but knows are there. “I like power on you.”

“Nova—”

“No, seriously,” she continues. “It’s hot. Do you get a crown, maybe? Do I?”

“I think one of us will have to duel Bo-Katan for that one,” Din groans, and Nova laughs again, sliding off of his lap, slowly pulling together the pieces of armor she discarded earlier, tossing them through the dark air for Din to collect. The mention of Bo-Katan, though, sends a shiver of a reminder down Nova’s very exposed spine. She pulls her own underclothes on, quickly whipping her tank top back over her head, suddenly remembering how cold it is in here when she’s not writhing between the proverbial sheets with her husband. She bites down on her lip, hastily zipping her trousers up, the noise loud and discordant. “Nova,” Din continues, squinting at her, “what’s wrong?”

“Oh,” she says, dazed, tossing the last piece of armor back over to him, “you know, we—we just desecrated a holy part of Mandalore, we don’t know how the hell to fight off the First Order, and Bo-Katan is probably standing right outside that door, ready to kick both of our asses.”

“She,” Din answers, pushing against the heavy beskar doors, “is not here. We’re working on how to stop the Order. And this holy part of Mandalore,” he breathes, walking back towards her, one eyebrow raised, as if he’s questioning the way his face is displaying expression, “is ours to desecrate.”

“When you said,” Nova breathes, staring back at him, everything else fading out, “that you wanted to show me off to everyone—”

Din suddenly looks sheepish, and she giggles. “Nova, I didn’t—I was just into the moment, if you don’t want to—you never have to, I—”

She grins, smile glittering in the dark, sliding past him and into the empty hall, drifting in the general direction of their bedroom. “I didn’t say,” she whispers coyly, holding out one hand for Din’s gloved one, “that I didn’t want to.” She winks, pulling a still-stammering Din behind her. “I just can’t believe you want to share me with anyone.”

They’re up the stairs and back to the entrance to the master bedroom, and Din finally finds his words—or his grip—and grabs her, twirling Nova back into his arms with the force of the bounty hunter that he used to be. “You’re mine,” he whispers. “I won’t let a single person in this galaxy forget it.”

Nova grins, heart doing backflips in her chest. By the time they finally make their way into the suite, it’s dark across the whole wide expanse of sky, and Grogu is asleep in their bed, comically small compared to the king-size that takes up most of the room. “I know,” she whispers, looking back and forth from her husband to their son, a smile etched into her lips. “We should get to bed,” she murmurs, after a second, and Din nods, pulling off the armor and his underclothes in his silent Mandalorian way, Nova weaving her hair back into her usual braid, feeling the bruises from her knees banging forcefully into the beskar throne.

“What’s on your schedule for tomorrow?” Din asks, both of them gently pulling the pillows that line the bed onto the ground, until it’s empty except for their usual spread and the baby’s tiny body. His eyes drift down to Grogu, and so do Nova’s. He knows. She knows. Neither of them want to say it aloud. It’s time for Grogu to go back with Luke and resume his Jedi training, even though none of them want him gone. Nova swallows.

“You know,” she tries, halfheartedly trying to lift her voice into excitement, “Back to business.”

Din rolls over, facing Nova in the darkness. “You don’t have to,” he whispers, and she knows losing Grogu again, even though it’s to Luke Skywalker, even though they’ll be able to fix it, is wreaking havoc on him too. Nova settles down next to him, ears focused only on the miniscule snores of Grogu’s open mouth, her hand finding Din’s, her eyes falling over where Luke’s lightsaber is hanging ceremoniously by the door.

“But I do,” she answers, finally, closing her tired eyes. “We have a galaxy to save. And I,” she breathes, snuggling in closer to the baby, “have a Jedi to see.”

*

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I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!!! whether you're a returning reader or a longtime lover, i m so happy you're here with Din, Nova, Grogu, and me. i just simply could not stay away from this story, and i cannot wait to go across the stars and back with the second fic in the series!! leave all your thoughts in the comments here, or find me over at tumblr @ amiedala, or scroll through my tiktok @ padmeamydala

CHAPTER 2 WILL BE UP SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 11TH, @ 7:30 PM EST!

xoxo, amelie

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

3 Oct. Suptober: Rainbows

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

s15 au; deancas

In hindsight, Cas was preoccupied, not only by the task at hand but by the person he was undertaking it on behalf of, which was likely why he didn't realize he had company in the bunker kitchen until Sam said, "Hey, Cas," and Cas almost fumbled the glass into the sink. 

"Oof, sorry," Sam rushed to say next. 

His expression was a variety of things, none of which Cas clocked as fundamentally apologetic while he refilled the glass. 

Sam cleared his throat. "Whatcha doing?"

Cas squinted at him. Maybe Sam was drunk, or ill. "Just getting a drink of water." He left the statement there; Sam had seen him consume water before.

Sam fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt and did not look at Cas. "Sure. You." He made some kind of gesture with his hands that did not seem relevant to anything. "You seen Dean lately?"

"He's asleep," Cas offered, since he knew it to be correct.

"In his room?" Sam's voice cracked on the second word.

Cas drew out the word 'yes' into something of a question. What was Sam looking at on the ceiling anyway?

"His room. Which. You just left?" Sam bounced on the balls of his feet for a second.

Cas looked around for intruders, hex bags, strange fogs, spooky auras, blood stains, a bucket of empty beer cans -- something that might explain why Sam was speaking like someone who'd just learned English. 

"Yes, Dean's room." 

Cas suppressed a smile that wanted to surface as his thoughts quickly flitted to Dean -- Dean curled boneless beneath a body-warmed blanket, his eyelashes fanned dark against the tops of his freckled cheeks -- and back again. He sat the glass in the sink and stepped toward Sam carefully.

"Uh huh. Okay." Sam took a step backwards. His line of sight popped back up to the light fixture. "Wearing. ...What it is you're wearing?

Cas glanced down past his bare chest to the flannel covering his legs. "Pajamas?"

Sam nodded a series of tight little nods, like an invisible puppeteer controlling him was getting restless. "Okay. Okay. And Dean is." He didn't trail off as much as seem to run out of ideas for the rest of the sentence.

"Asleep," Cas reminded him. 

Another Sam nod. "Right." 

"He tends to fall asleep for a while within thirty or so minutes after we--"

"Dude," Sam said. 

Understanding clicked into place. "Ah. I apologize, Sam," Cas said, with a small sinking sensation in his stomach. "I did assume Dean had told you." 

He was leaving out some words, and he didn't mean to play coy; it just seemed like perhaps Sam would prefer fewer details over more with regards to -- how to say diplomatically? -- recent developments.

"Dean tell me? Really?" Sam stared at him directly for the first time the whole encounter. His pupils were big black dots reminiscent of the ones he'd had when they were all cartoons for a while.

"No." Cas paused. "But I did think maybe you just knew." 

An honest confession, since Sam, a skilled hunter with decades of experience beneath his proverbial belt, was often quite good at discerning patterns beneath the surface of verbal communication. Cas had not always been as certain of his own feelings as he was in the present. Indeed, it had taken years for what he felt for Dean -- unfamiliar, prismatic impulses occasionally strong enough to almost bring Cas to his knees -- to coagulate into something fierce and unshakeable that could in part be described in words, much less translatable to more tangible actions. Just because Cas had been slow to realize the depths of his own emotions didn't mean Sam had been.

Except.

Sam's eyebrows jumped into his hairline like worms fleeing chicken beaks. 

"What," he choked out. "Why. No. How would I have known about--" He was flinging his hands around again. "--This?" The hands flew toward Cas like Sam was casting a spell at him. "You are like my brother."

"Um," Cas said.

"And Dean is my brother."

"Uh--"

"And I have literally heard him refer to you as our brother."

"Right.”

"Like, we're all brothers here." Sam gave a helpless chuff of laughter.

"Okay."

"So you understand," Sam continued, "why I might be concerned that my two brothers are apparently sleeping together." The volume of his voice went lower in direct counter to its pitch by the end of the sentence.

Cas chose not to comment on this, nor on the shadow that lurked in the doorway and then dissipated. He said instead, "I don't really sleep all that much, but I take your point."

Sam buried his face in the palms of his hands. 

"I'm." Cas swallowed. He stood a bit taller, the way a soldier might when either respectfully yielding to an enemy or accepting that opponent's surrender -- not that Sam was a villain here. "I'm sorry you found out this way, Sam."

"It's." Sam took a deep breath, then coughed once. "You don't have to apologize."

"Sam, could you... There is nothing on the ceiling that could be that interesting."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Sam spoke like he meant it, or at least wanted to mean it.

Cas let out an inward sigh of relief. "All right."

"The stress," Sam said. "What we do. Monsters. Apocalypses, plural. It's-- I know it's a lot." Now he had slipped into hunter wrangler mode, all rallying the troops and leftover law school pragmatism. "And I can see how the two of you might, you know, need to blow off some steam. Sometimes."

"Sam--"

"Dean always does get a little antsy when he goes a while without." Sam shook his head like he'd realized this was absolutely not a topic he wanted to think about. "You know."

"Sam," Cas said sharply.

"I'll stop talking now."

"I'm in love with your brother, Sam." Those truest words were spoken so easily that once upon a time it might have bothered Cas; in the present, it assuredly did not. He let Sam gape for a moment and then softened the statement with, "It's not just a casual, friends with insurance sort of thing for me. For the record. If that helps."

Sam looked like the human equivalent of the little tri-colored beachball that would spin and spin onscreen when one of his computer tablets got overwhelmed. Finally, his eyes cleared. "All right." His mouth quirked. "The phrase is 'friends with benefits.'" 

Cas blinked. "Insurance is often a benefit extended to citizens in the United States, isn't it?"

"Less often than's helpful," Sam said.

Cas nodded. The two of them stood there by the sink, not really looking at each other. A thought came to Cas.

"I love you too--"

"Dude," Sam said.

Cas held up a hand. "--But I'm not in love with you." This distinction was one that had taken him a long time to understand; it seemed worth sharing.

The ceiling had recaptured Sam's fascination, but he was smiling when he said, "I know." He clapped Cas on the shoulder. "I love you too."

Cas returned the smile. "You, and Dean, and Jack -- you are all my family."

"Yeah." Sam ducked his head, as if pleased. "Yeah, I know."

Cas picked the glass of water up out of the sink. He raised it to Sam in a small toast. "Okay. I'm going to go back to Dean's room now."

"'Night, Cas."

Cas padded back down the hallway, opened Dean's squeaky door, and crept inside the room. The bedside lamp had been turned on. He watched the blanketed lump in the middle of the mattress for movement before asking quietly, "How much of that did you hear?"

"Most of it." Dean sat up and yawned. He scratched at the side of his head where his hair was sticking out. The blanket puddled below his pelvis. Cas glanced away like he hadn't personally and enthusiastically pressed those hipbones into the mattress less than an hour before.

When Cas walked around and put a knee on the bed, Dean said, "I also wanted water."

Cas bumped his arm with the glass. "This is for you."

"Oh," Dean said, taking it from him. "Thanks."

"Because I don't drink all that much water."

"Right."

"Because I don't sweat as much as you do."

"Hmm. You sweat some," Dean said, a hint of slyness in his tone. He leaned away to leave the water glass on the bedside table.

Cas sat on the edge of the mattress and let Dean scoot up to him. "Are you bragging about making me sweat?"

"Mmm," Dean said, splaying his hand over Cas's clavicle. 

"You should probably talk to Sam in the morning."

"This is the morning."

"Later, then."

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's waist like he owned the span of it. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"Maybe you could just--

"Nooo." 

A sharpness tapped underneath Cas's ribcage, an angel blade's point pressed with deliberate aim. It took a minute before he could speak. He gathered his courage. "If you want to stop--"

"No." The word fell from Dean like Cas had knocked it out with his fist. His eyes were fever bright and anguished, and another, better ache flooded Cas's chest at the sight. "No."

"I am very much in love with you." Cas took a breath. "Sam's reaction, I know, wasn't entirely out of nowhere." 

Dean tipped his forehead to Cas's. "I don't think he was objecting so much as he was surprised--"

"I'm only saying, I have thought of you both as my brothers, at various times in the past." Cas studied, not for the first time, a collection of freckles on Dean's shoulder. "I still think of Sam as a brother, in a way. He may not be incorrect that the situation, as it has evolved, is something a bit… Atypical." He considered a further implication. "And each of us is one of Jack's dads."

Dean huffed, a bluff since his fingertips were memorizing Cas's vertebrae like he planned to sketch them later. "Well. We can't all be the goddamn Waltons, or whoever."

Cas agreed, "We definitely do not live on a farm." He let himself sway toward the ardent way Dean was looking at him. "It might be nice to live on a farm, with cows and ducks, maybe some sheep--"

"And I am very much in love with you too," Dean said softly. He pressed his lips to Cas's cheek.

"Yeah?" Cas's eyes felt hot.

"Yep."

Cas thought to say, "You know, Sam is exactly who you raised him to be: a good man."

At that, Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "New rule," he said hoarsely after several seconds. He wiped his eyes and shook his head. "We cannot talk about Sam, like. When we're not even dressed."

Cas stretched out his right leg and wiggled his foot. "I have on these pajamas pants. Can no-one else see them? They're covered in so many things."

This was an understatement. Technically, the pattern contained no less than the following items: rainbows, unicorns, blue whales, yellow stars, shield-wielding pugs, and anti-whale flags, whatever and why-ever those were. Put simply, the pajama pattern was like an indecipherable code of images that seemed to illustrate the illicit drug use of the manufacturer's designer.

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

Cas thumbed a spot on Dean's throat, his mouth going dry with the desire to taste the pulse fluttering there. "In my celestial wavelength form, I suppose I would be more closely related to a visually-deducible electromagnetic wave than I would be a pug riding a whale into glorious battle."

"These pajamas are a work of art," Dean contended, kissing Cas's temple. "Hmm."

"What?"

"I guess that story about God -- Chuck -- using a rainbow to seal a promise about never again destroying earth with a flood is just apocrypha, huh?"

Cas thought about it. "Yes. Unfortunately." He tried not to sigh. "Sometimes I have to remind myself Chuck created some beautiful wonders despite...being who he is."

"Yeah. Going out after a hard rain and seeing a rainbow's colors arching through the clouds -- still seems hopeful." Dean started pulling Cas down beside him on the mattress. "Maybe that's what reminds me of you."

Unable to speak, Cas tucked his face into Dean's throat. 

Dean's fingers were slipping beneath the waistband of the pajamas, ever so slowly. "Anyway, these are mine." Cas hummed an affirmative. "I would like them back," Dean said.

"Now?" Cas heard himself gasp.

Dean pressed him onto his back to nose his way down the line of Cas's breastbone, his warm breath teasing over cooled skin and coaxing out a shiver Cas felt splintering through his whole body. 

"I would settle for you just not having them on at the moment," Dean said, using both hands to reclaim his property, and before raising up to kiss anything Cas might have wanted to say in response entirely out of his mouth.

[anaveragebibliophile]

Impossible

Carlisle Cullen x OC

Summary: Carlisle and his mate Eloise receive some shocking news that they weren’t necessarily prepared to deal with regarding her health. Instead of seeing what’s right in front of him, Carlisle believes that his wife’s health issues are stemming from other avenues. It isn’t until his wife makes a discovery that he alters his course of action. 

Note: This is a deviation from what I normally post, but I hope that all of you will take the chance and give it a read. :) 

“I can’t even believe this is happening again. And with your wife of all people!” Jacob Black shouted as he walked into the Cullen family’s wide, contemporary kitchen. 

“Jacob, we’ve discussed this. Eloise isn’t like us. She isn’t a vampire, she’s a phoenix. As such, she’s capable of resurrecting the dead, the broken, the ill-equipped parts of us that are theoretically unsalvageable. And as things stand, we all know I’m infertile. Or that I was.” Carlisle explained. “Believe me, I’m just as overwhelmed as you are. Even more so because I’m still struggling to accept the fact that I helped someone--the woman I adore more than anything else on this earth--procreate.”

And it’s not like the couple had been trying either. Quite the opposite actually. Sure, both of them had done ample amounts of research--through legends and the like--to determine whether or not they would need to take precautions before having intercourse. From what little they could find, it appeared that exercising the freedom of caution was the best choice. Not only had pregnancies been reported, multiple births seemed to be a common occurrence. And even though Carlisle was reluctant to put his faith into these infinitesimal references, he still did what any self-respecting man would do: He made sure his strong, confident wife made the final decision about what she wanted to do. At the end of the day, her body would have been doing the brunt of the work had a pregnancy occurred. 

Eloise thought long and hard about this and would even go so far as to test herself. Did she want a child? Yes. Would she be a genuinely good mother? She hoped so. But the ultimate question remained: did she want a child with Carlisle? More than anything else in the world. However, it just didn’t seem like the right time. The pack was going through organizational disputes, the Volturi were still trying to find ways to get her and Alice to join their coven, and Bella and Edward were in the process of adopting a child. There was just too much happening around her for that to work out. Or so she thought at that moment. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

About two months later, she started feeling a bit off-kilter. She was suffering from myriad migraine headaches, her stomach always seemed to be queasy, and she was dealing with some intense bouts of insomnia (which she had never experienced as a child or even during her adult life). Her husband was increasingly worried about her. So much so that he would have her in his office every day for testing. At that point, he was looking for a dormant autoimmune disease, cancer, anything that would highlight these symptoms. What he wasn’t looking for was a pregnancy, a fertilized egg within his wife. 

One night, while the rest of the family was out hunting, Eloise and Carlisle were cuddling on the couch, her head in his lap. He was running his long, cool fingers through her hair and down her back, intermittently trying to coax her into eating a small piece of toast that he’d made for her. Yet every attempt didn’t do much. Regardless, he was hoping she would get her appetite back soon because her skin had started to take on a translucent pallor that he despised. 

“Come on, honey, just one bite. That’s all I’m asking for,” Carlisle said, putting the plate in front of her face. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m just not hungry. The entire idea of food is revolting. Plus, I don’t really want to repeat what happened a few hours ago.” Carlisle hummed in understanding. While he knew that Eloise was being sincere, he wasn’t pleased that she was still feeling so fatigued and nauseated. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours ago, as he was attending to a broken rib of Seth’s at the reservation, he received a call from Alice. ‘Eloise has been throwing up for the last forty minutes, Carlisle. She didn’t want to worry you,’ she’d started. ‘But you need to get back here now. I’ve been sitting with her, and I’m worried she’s getting dehydrated.’ Heart in his throat, he quickly finished his session with Seth, letting him know that he had an emergency that he needed to attend to. 

After parking the car, he ran into the house, heading straight for his and Eloise’s bedroom. And when he walking into the adjoining bathroom, he was shocked by what he saw: his wife, her cheek smashed against the toilet seat, breathing heavily in order to avoid another onset of nausea. In his peripheral, he saw Alice lightly rubbing Eloise’s back with her left hand and murmuring comforting words to her. 

Instinctively, Carlisle  moved towards his wife and took Alice’s place as the caretaker. “Hi, sweetheart. Alice called and said you weren’t feeling well. Can you tell me what’s been bothering you?” he asked, gently kneading the taut muscles in her lean back. 

Eloise slowly pulled her face away from the toilet bowl and looked at him blearily. “My stomach just isn’t feeling super fantastic at the moment. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to keep anything down. I haven’t been able to since about two o’clock this afternoon.”

“Well, you haven’t been at your best recently. Do you think that may have something to do with it?”

“Perhaps. But I haven’t had this happen before. Yes, I’ve experienced nausea and some stomach cramping, but it never ended with me vomiting for hours on end.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And that was what still puzzled Carlisle in this moment. Why was this happening to her when nothing was physically wrong? She didn’t have AGID nor was there any evidence of malignant tumor growth. She wasn’t running a fever nor was she displaying any signs of infection. So what could it be? He was determined to find out. 

He lightly ran the pad of his right thumb over Eloise’s cheek. “Sweet girl, I think it’s time that I do an ultrasound on your stomach. Maybe that will give us some answers. What do you say?” 

“Alright. You’ll probably have to carry me though. I haven’t been doing well vertically,” she said, slightly smiling. 

“Your wish is my command.” 

He proceeded to carefully--oh, so carefully--move her head off his lap and onto a pillow (as a replacement). Then, when he was completely erect, he swiftly leaned forward and placed his forearms underneath Eloise’s lumbar vertebrae and upper thighs. Once she was secured in his arms, he gently kissed her cheek and proceeded to move them into his office, the one room in the house both of them have grown to resent. 

Placing her on the exam table, he grazed his hand through her bangs in the hope of soothing the anxiety that was coursing through her. “It’ll be alright. You know I would never hurt you. Never.”

“I know. It’s not that. I just don’t want anything to be wrong. I want to be healthy,” she said, her voice on the verge of breaking. 

“You will be. I’ll make sure of it,” Carlisle responds as he pressed his forehead against hers. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eloise smiled wanly as her husband went through his check-up regimen: ears, eyes, nose, throat, body temperature, blood pressure, then reflexes. While she may complain every now and then about his overprotectiveness, she really does feel so grateful and lucky to be married to a man whose compassion and kindness are limitless. This man always makes her feel valued, appreciated, and heard, especially apart from the rest of the world. And these are things that will never go unnoticed by her. He will never go unnoticed by her. 

“How are things looking, Doctor Cullen?” she asked. “Am I passing inspection?”

Carlisle lightly laughed at her attempt at a joke. “So far things are looking good. I think we’re about ready to do the abdominal ultrasound and see what things are looking like down there.”

He moved over to his white, sterile metal cart that held the handheld ultrasound. The plan was for Carlisle to put the clear lubricant on her belly, place the ultrasound on it, and then wait for the image to connect to the screen to his right. From there, he’ll see if there are any obstructions or issues. 

“Are you ready, honey?” he asked. “If it’s too cold, just let me know.” 

Eloise held her two thumbs up. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

The exam began. For a period of time, the sound and echo waves were all they could hear. Eloise was holding her breath. Carlisle’s face was pinched, his eyes and ears hyper-focused on the task. Until the heartbeat-like echo struck back at them. 

His wife lifted her hand to stop him from continuing with the examination. “What was that?” she queried. 

“I don’t know, darling. I don’t know.” he said. “Let’s try again and see if we get the same feedback.”

He continued his inspection but still received the same results. The heartbeat was unlike any he heard before (besides his wife’s): strong, pure, yet calm in its essence. Before he could ponder any other reasonings behind this strange occurrence, Eloise interrupted him. “Carlisle, we both know that’s a heartbeat. You can question it and try to find other avenues to follow, but you know the truth. And a heartbeat can only mean one thing,” she smiled, so big that her dimples were more pronounced than ever before. “We’re pregnant. My magic enabled us to create a baby.”

He took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “We don’t know that.”

“But we do. Carlisle, all the signs have been pretty prevalent these last few weeks. I just never thought to associate them with pregnancy because we agreed we would wait to start trying. I guess the universe had other plans.” 

“Eloise, honey…”

“You know it’s true. I do because I can feel our child. Now, after all this time, he or she has decided to make their presence known. The energy I feel--the positivity and contentment I’m now carrying in this moment--is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.” 

Carlisle looked at her, stunned. If she can feel their child, how could he dispute that? How could he challenge what she (and he) knew to be true in all its unlikelihood? It wasn’t like this was entirely impossible, especially after reading about other couples’ experiences. Couples like them. 

Eloise took his moment of consideration to move his hand to her tummy. “I know it’s hard to come to terms with right now because we weren’t sure how true the reports were, but I think it’s time we start believing in them. Carlisle, you’re going to be a father, and I’m going to be a mother. We’re going to finally have the opportunity to expand our family.” 

Hearing those words made Carlisle outright grin. They had been waiting for this moment for so long that he never believed it would ever actually happen. But now, he has everything he could ever want in the palm of his hand. 

“Well, it would appear that way,” he said, leaning over his wife to give her a heart-stopping kiss. “And I must add that I’m excruciatingly happy. Thank you, sweetheart.”