#Stem Lab with Training

[makers-muse]

Searching for Top Vendors to Set Up STEM Labs in Nagpur Schools? 

There is an immediate need to train a new generation of thinkers and innovators in the world today, especially in the fast-paced 21st century, which revolves entirely around technology. This new age STEM laboratories at Nagpur schools would transform the traditional learning environment with experiential learning in the science, technology, engineering, and mathematics disciplines. Schools have some of the most sophisticated STEM lab programs in Nagpur, which could bridge the gap between theoretical academics and practical experience. It is up to learners to explore, experiment, and excel as they learn. Read ful blog here!

[pickapea]

using chatgpt is mandatory for assignments in my girlfriend's bachelor's degree. isn't that crazy

[liketolaugh-writes]

Bruce looking past the fact that (recently adopted) Danny is a powerhouse and recognizing that he has other skills also. <3

Danny is a STEM kid and just as brilliant as his sister, you cannot convince me otherwise

Danny gave Bruce the handwritten list of powers in the morning. Bruce stared at it over his cup of coffee, then gave Danny a flat, somewhat disbelieving look. Danny shrugged sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said, perching on one of the stools. “I can point out the ones I don’t use if you just want to work on the ones I do. At least I have an idea of what needs improving with those.” Alfred gave him a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and French toast, and Danny smiled at him. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“We’ll have to prioritize your training,” Bruce allowed after a moment, frowning down at the paper. Dick leaned over to look and whistled. “But all of these will be addressed eventually. You should have at least a moderate grasp of every tool at your disposal.” He looked up. “You intended to work in the lab today, correct?”

Danny nodded, playing with a strip of bacon. “I’ll probably spend most of today making a big batch of phaseproof coating,” he said. “Then I can experiment with mixing it with paint and maybe coat some of your spare weapons in it? That should work for the bo staff and escrima sticks, maybe a set of brass knuckles. But I’ll need to make a different solution for the edged weapons.” His mind wandered, thinking of how he could adapt what he knew of the Bats’ gear to work against ghosts.

“Who’re the brass knuckles for?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow at Danny. Danny flushed and shrugged.

“Batman,” he said. “You don’t really use a weapon, right?” Bruce grunted. “But phaseproof cloth isn’t something my parents ever really figured out. I can work on it, maybe, but I thought brass knuckles would be an okay compromise for now.”

“Hn.”

“Good thinking,” Dick praised with a smile. “It’ll be easy to add to the utility belt too. Should we ghostproof my main set or a spare?”

“The main, I think, if you’re okay with it,” Danny said, tilting his head thoughtfully. “You probably won’t even notice. But the edged weapons should all be spares. Ecto-treated metal tends to glow.”

“Not great for stealth,” Dick nodded. “Whatever you think is best, baby spook. We have the resources.”

“You’re hyper-specialized,” Bruce noted without inflection, sipping from his coffee. Danny winced.

“Sorry,” he muttered. It was easy to forget that all this was pretty useless outside of Amity Park. Bruce shook his head.

“It’s not a problem. But we’ll need to diversify your skillset. Your talent for chemistry and engineering should expand beyond ectoscience alone.” He studied Danny contemplatively. “Higher education might be beneficial, perhaps a PhD.”

Danny’s eyes went wide. “What? I’m barely passing high school!”

“I had Casper High send over your transcripts,” Bruce said. Danny flinched. “You had a B+ average in middle school, with a particular bent for math and science. You also participated in several advanced extracurriculars, including a junior astronaut program, space camp, and competitive robotics. Further, you clearly have a comprehensive understanding of your parents’ work, which eludes both the Justice League engineers and JL Dark. You had these talents prior to acquiring your powers, and it would be a waste to discard them in favor of your raw combat ability.”

Danny stared at Bruce, open-mouthed and speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d considered even the possibility that he could have a future outside of his hero career.

“…Do you think I could do that and be a superhero?” he managed after a minute, quieter than he’d meant to.

Bruce nodded sharply. “Most Justice League heroes maintain a career outside of heroics,” he reminded Danny, without even sounding like he thought Danny was an idiot for asking. “Aside from myself, there is also a Pulitzer prize-winning journalist, a museum curator, a forensic scientist, and a fighter pilot.”

Danny had known that on some level, but it had always seemed unreal. Practically a myth. “When am I going back to school?” he asked, hardly able to believe that he was suddenly looking forward to it.

“At the beginning of next semester,” Bruce said. “Your parents’ trial should be completed by then. I assume you don’t want to be announced publicly until that happens.” Danny shook his head fervently. “You may need to complete some make-up classes online, but we can discuss that next week.”

“Thanks,” Danny said sincerely. He was talking about a lot more than his re-enrollment.

[wosospacegirl]

more stem!reader please🙏🙏

Failed experiment - Kika Nazareth

a/n: unfortunately, based on personal experience.

..

Y/n walked out of the building, practically fuming as she tossed her bag over her shoulder. Her failed experiment was the last straw for her day. 

Again. 

She could almost hear her professor’s disappointed sigh ringing in her ears, the echo of all her hard work and lab materials going to waste.

Kika was smiling in the driver’s seat.

“Hi, amor!”

Y/n didn’t even look at her, just grumbling as she threw herself into the car and slammed the door a little harder than necessary.

Kika raised an eyebrow but didn’t miss a beat. “Oh…okay. I’m guessing the experiment didn’t go well?”

“Yes,” Y/n responded, voice thick with frustration and sarcasm.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Kika asked, looking at her with that soft, understanding gaze she always had.

“No,” Y/n grunted, slouching in her seat and staring out the window.

Kika didn’t push, but she knew this would be one of those nights. 

The kind where Y/n would vent, rant, and maybe eventually calm down. “Alright, let’s just go home then.”

Y/n shot her a glare. She was frustrated, mad, disappointed, She was feeling every bad feeling a person could have all at once.

Once they got home, Y/n stormed inside, tossing her bag onto the sofa with a heavy sigh. She spun around to face Kika, practically vibrating with frustration. 

“I’ve lost the whole damn day! I was in that lab for hours, and for what? Absolutely nothing! My samples? Ruined! The experiment? A failure. AGAIN!”

Kika just watched her, sitting down calmly on the sofa. “Yeah, that’s... really bad, I’m sorry, bebê.” 

Y/n groaned and plopped down beside Kika, immediately crawling into her lap, throwing her arms out as if to demand an explanation of what went wrong and why. 

“I spent the whole day in that godforsaken lab, Kika. And for what? I’ve got NOTHING to show for it." Y/n put her head on Kika’s shoulders, a frown on her face.

"I’ve basically thrown my day away. Again. Seriously, how do I even keep doing this?”

Kika didn't say much, she let the quiet calm them both. “I’m really sorry,” she murmured, her tone soft. “That really sucks.”

Y/n huffed, not pulling away. 

“It’s not even just that. It’s the hours I can never get back. It’s like... every single time, no matter how hard I try, it’s always just one step forward, two steps back.” Y/n said, feeling the emotions taking over.

“Stuff like that happens, amor,” Kika smiled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of Y/n’s head. “You’re amazing at what you do. This one experiment doesn’t define everything, okay?”

When Y/n didn’t answer, Kika nudged her foot gently.

"Lab days are just like football. Some you lose, some you win."

"The only difference is my opponent is a fucking gel and somehow it's still kicking my ass," Y/n muttered.

"Yeah... not exactly the same, then.”

Y/n let out a small, exhausted sigh.

“Come on, let me make you a sandwich and we’ll forget about it all, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Y/n said, but there was still a hint of grumpiness in her voice as she stayed in Kika’s lap. “But later, I wanna stay with you now.”

After a few moments of quiet, Y/n glanced up at Kika. “So, how was your day at training?” she asked, trying to shift topics.

Kika paused for a second, as if thinking about her answer carefully. “Oh, we played catch.”

Y/n stared at her, blinking for a beat. “Catch?” she asked, her tone flat, as if trying to make sense of it.

“Yup,” Kika said, in all seriousness. “It was... intense.”

Y/n stared at her, waiting for the punchline that never came. “You’re telling me you spent all day playing catch?”

Kika nodded, completely deadpan. “Yeah, it’s a really high-stakes game, you know--that's why Romeu made us play it over and over again.”

Y/n stared at her in stunned silence.

“Are you for real?” She shook her head, still chuckling. “I can’t even with you sometimes. I thought you were gonna say you had a tough training session, but no…catch.”

Kika just grinned, clearly enjoying Y/n’s reaction. “Hey, it’s hard,” she teased.

Y/n just rolled her eyes, smiling.

“I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this level of athleticism coming from you,” she said, her tone playful.

Kika laughed softly. “If you ever need someone to throw a ball around with... I’m your girl.”

Y/n snorted. “And if you ever need someone to completely fuck up measuring cell receptors... I’m your girl.” 

Kika bumped her shoulder gently. “You’re still my favorite scientist,” she said sincerely.

Y/n rolled her eyes, but her cheeks warmed anyway.

..

Feedback is very much appreciated <3

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ love won; love lost

chapter summary: You and Jean go to your doctor's appointment after your second IUI.

word count: 9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: the tags give away what happens in this chapter, but i wanted to make sure some people weren't possibly triggered. rather be safe than sorry :)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, pregnancy, miscarriage, mentions of blood, angst

series masterlist - chapter 5 → chapter 7

After another year of trying, the past month had been… quiet, but not in a bad way. You’d settled into a comfortable rhythm, balancing teaching at the mansion, your work on personal physics projects, and trying—without overthinking it—to start a family with Logan. For now, life felt almost normal.

You were at your desk grading papers when Jean popped her head into your lab, her red hair a little frazzled and her expression unreadable. “Hey, you free for a bit?” she asked, walking in without waiting for a reply.

“For you, always.” You glanced up from the essay you’d been marking and adjusted your glasses, smiling at her as she leaned against the lab counter. “Everything okay?”

Jean shrugged, then tilted her head. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

You blinked in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You’ve been glowing.” She grinned, and you felt a warm flush spread across your cheeks at her teasing tone. “And no, before you ask, that’s not sarcasm. You’ve just seemed… happier lately. Lighter.”

You laughed softly, setting the essay down. “I think that’s called sleep. Scott's training schedule hasn’t kept me up at ungodly hours lately.”

“Fair.” Jean gave you a knowing look but didn’t press further. “What are you working on?”

“Grading. My usual Saturday thrill ride,” you said with a shrug, holding up the essays. “Teenagers’ essays on quantum superposition. Some are surprisingly insightful. Others... not so much.”

Jean laughed, pushing herself off the counter to peer over your shoulder. “I don’t envy you that.”

“You shouldn’t.” You sighed dramatically. “Some of them think Schrödinger actually had a pet cat.”

Jean made a face, then patted your shoulder. “Better you than me. Anyway, Logan’s looking for you, by the way.”

“He is?” You glanced at the clock on your desk. It was mid-morning, and you weren’t expecting him back from an early morning mission until the afternoon. “Did he say why?”

“Nope, just that you should meet him in the garden whenever you have a break. Something about ‘flowers or somethin’,’” Jean replied, smirking as she mimicked Logan’s gruff tone.

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Flowers?”

“That’s what he said. I don’t ask too many questions when Logan’s being cryptic.” Jean patted your shoulder again and headed for the door. “But you should go see him. Don’t leave the man waiting.”

You finished your grading session quickly and made your way outside, pushing the glass doors open to step into the sunshine. The garden was in full bloom—a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors—and Logan was leaning against one of the trellises, wearing his usual leather jacket despite the spring warmth.

“Darlin’,” he said as he spotted you, standing straight. His smirk softened into something warmer, his gaze sweeping over you. “Took you long enough.”

“You sent Jean to fetch me like I’m a stray,” you joked, brushing a strand of hair from your face as you walked toward him. “What’s this about flowers?”

“Never said it was about flowers,” Logan replied, raising an eyebrow. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled something out, and then held it up—a delicate lilac blossom. “Thought this would look good in your hair, though.”

You stared at the flower, heat flooding your face. “You… picked this? For me?”

He shrugged, looking casual, but the way his thumb idly stroked the stem gave him away. “Seemed like somethin’ you’d like.”

You reached for the flower, your fingers brushing his as you took it. “Thanks, Logan,” you said softly, twirling the stem between your fingers. “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply, his tone too steady for it to be a passing comment. Before you could react, he reached for the flower again. “Here, let me—”

You nodded, and Logan tucked the lilac carefully behind your ear. His fingers brushed your hair as he pulled back, his eyes scanning your face as though memorizing it. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the usual sharpness in his expression tempered by an almost overwhelming tenderness.

“I missed you,” he murmured after a beat, his voice rough but sincere.

You blinked up at him. “You were gone for less than a day.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, taking your hand in his. “I always miss you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest as Logan brought your hand up to kiss your knuckles. It was a small, almost old-fashioned gesture, but coming from him, it carried a weight that settled deep in your chest. He didn’t need grand gestures or poetic declarations—this was Logan, after all. Every glance, every touch, every carefully chosen word was all the proof you needed of how deeply he loved you.

Jean was right—you’d been lighter lately. And standing here, your fingers tangled with his, the warmth of the morning sun on your face, you realized why. You were happy. Content.

Maybe, you dared to think, you were even lucky.

---

You were never a person who took naps, even in college. But right now, you felt like you could really use one. Grading papers all morning had sapped your energy, and as you stretched in your chair, the ache in your shoulders reminded you how long you’d been hunched over your desk. The mansion was quiet for once, and it almost felt like the universe was giving you a chance to rest.

And the couch in your office looked particularly inviting.

You looked back down at the assignment you were grading, rubbing your eyes underneath your glasses. The quantum mechanics essay in front of you was only halfway finished, but the neat handwriting was starting to blur together. Sleep sounded heavenly, and the couch in the corner of your office looked tempting enough to pull you away from your usual stubbornness about napping.

Sighing, you took off your glasses, carefully placing them on the desk, and stood up to stretch. Just a little nap, you told yourself, shuffling over to the couch and curling up against one of the pillows. Within moments, you drifted off, exhaustion lulling you into a rare, deep sleep.

---

The first thing Logan noticed when he stepped into your office was how quiet it was. Normally, he’d hear the faint scratching of your pen or catch you mumbling to yourself as you worked through grading or one of your projects. Instead, he found you stretched out on the couch, curled in on yourself, sound asleep.

For a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the doorframe and taking you in. Your features were relaxed, your breathing steady and soft. You didn’t stir when he stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound against the floor. That alone caught his attention. You were normally such a light sleeper—he swore you could sense when someone was walking down the hall toward your room, let alone standing this close.

Kneeling beside you, Logan brushed his fingers lightly over your temple, tucking a stray strand of hair back. He hesitated, then gently picked up your glasses from your desk and placed them on the coffee table, so you could put them on when you woke up. The peaceful expression on your face tugged at something deep in him.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low enough not to startle you. Of course, you didn’t react, not even a twitch. His lips curved into a faint smile. “Out like a light, huh? Ain’t seen that in a while.”

You shifted slightly, your hand slipping under your cheek, but you still didn’t wake. Logan couldn’t help himself—he reached out again, this time running the pad of his thumb along your jawline. It wasn’t like you to let yourself crash so hard. Sure, you worked hard, but you were good about taking care of yourself. He’d know if something was wrong, wouldn’t he?

The thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

---

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was how warm you were. Blinking groggily, you sat up slowly, surprised to find a blanket draped over you—a blanket you definitely didn’t grab before laying down. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, squinting in the direction of your desk. Logan was there, leaning against it with his arms crossed, watching you with an expression caught somewhere between amused and relieved.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he teased, his voice softer than usual. “Didn’t think you knew how to nap.”

Your cheeks heated as you fumbled to grab your glasses from the coffee table, slipping them on. “I usually don’t,” you admitted, your voice still thick with sleep. “I guess I… really needed it.”

Logan nodded, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Not like you to crash like that. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just tired,” you said quickly, brushing off his concern. “Grading’s no joke.”

He didn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pushed off the desk and walked over. “Darlin’, you’re tougher than anyone I know, but even you gotta slow down every now and then. How long’s it been like this?”

You hesitated, not entirely sure how to answer. Was there even an ‘it’? You hadn’t been feeling bad, exactly—just tired, with the occasional off day here and there. Nothing worth mentioning. “It’s not a big deal, Logan. I’m fine.”

“Right.” His tone was skeptical, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he crouched in front of you, resting his hands on your knees. “You been takin’ care of yourself?”

“Of course I have,” you said, rolling your eyes, though the flush on your cheeks gave you away.

“Good,” Logan said, but the worry in his eyes lingered. He reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “’Cause I need you in one piece, sweetheart. You hear me?”

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand back. “I hear you.”

“Good,” he repeated, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Now, c’mon. You’ve been cooped up long enough. Let’s get somethin’ to eat.”

---

Logan hadn’t been able to come to your fertility appointment, he was out with Storm and Kitty on a brief mission, so instead Jean came along.

The exam room was quiet except for the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard as the nurse entered your information. Jean sat beside you, her presence steady and comforting as you drummed your fingers lightly against your knee. This checkup wasn’t supposed to be anything significant—just a follow-up after your second IUI two weeks ago. No expectations, no big announcements. Not yet.

“Alright, Y/N,” the nurse said, swiveling toward you with a reassuring smile. “Dr. Harper will be in soon to go over everything. Just sit tight.”

You nodded, your nerves settling slightly as the door clicked shut behind her. Jean crossed her legs and leaned back, her calm energy doing what it usually did—keeping you grounded.

“Still weird being on this side of the science?” Jean teased lightly, glancing at the medical equipment around the room.

“I’ll stick to quantum mechanics, thanks,” you replied with a soft laugh, adjusting your glasses as you sat up straighter. “At least I know what I’m doing there.”

Jean tilted her head, her green eyes warm. “You know you’re doing everything right here, too, right?”

“I know.” Your hand drifted to your abdomen reflexively, the thought of all the efforts over the last two years settling somewhere between hope and guarded optimism. “Just… can’t help but feel like the universe likes to keep me guessing.”

Before Jean could respond, the door opened, and Dr. Harper walked in with a folder in hand, her expression neutral. She exchanged pleasantries as she sat down, and after pulling up your file, she looked between you and Jean.

“I’ve got your results back,” Dr. Harper began, her voice calm but carrying a subtle edge of excitement. “And I’m happy to tell you—congratulations. You’re pregnant.”

Time seemed to stop. You stared at her, waiting for the rest of the sentence, the moment she might correct herself or clarify. But she didn’t. Jean gasped softly beside you, her hand gripping your arm, but all you could do was blink.

“Pregnant?” The word left your mouth almost on autopilot, as though saying it out loud would help you process it.

Dr. Harper smiled, nodding. “It’s still early—around two to three weeks, based on the timing. But the results are clear. Everything looks good so far.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, your mind racing. Pregnant. After two years of trying, every appointment and disappointment… Jean’s voice pulled you back as she leaned closer, squeezing your arm.

“You hear that? You did it, Y/N!” Jean said, her excitement infectious.

Tears pricked your eyes as you managed a breathless laugh. “I—wow, okay.” Turning back to Dr. Harper, you asked, “Everything’s… normal? No concerns?”

She nodded reassuringly. “It all looks good right now. We’ll do some more tests as things progress, but there’s no reason to worry.”

You felt Jean’s hand rest on your back, her thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder blade. “This is amazing,” she said softly. “Logan’s going to lose his mind.”

The thought of telling Logan struck you, sending a wave of warmth and nervous energy coursing through you.

---

The rest of the day passed in a surreal haze. You returned to the mansion with Jean, who respected your request to keep the news between the two of you until you told Logan. The halls were quiet as you made your way toward your room, clutching the delicate secret like a fragile treasure.

Logan wasn’t there when you entered, so you busied yourself, tidying up and working on some grading to pass the time. You barely heard the door open behind you later that evening until Logan’s familiar voice pulled your attention.

“Darlin’, you in here?”

You turned quickly, unable to hide your smile as he stepped inside, shrugging off his leather jacket. His eyes softened when they met yours, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he closed the distance between you.

“There you are,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Didn’t see you at dinner.”

You reached for his hand, your fingers lacing with his instinctively. “I was waiting for you.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirked but paused, his brows drawing together slightly as he studied you. “What’s goin’ on? You got somethin’ up your sleeve, sweetheart?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you tugged him toward the edge of the bed, sitting down and pulling him down beside you. His larger hand engulfed yours, and you took a moment, steadying your breath before you spoke.

“I went to my appointment with Jean today,” you began, your voice steady despite your racing heart.

Logan frowned slightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Everything alright?”

You nodded quickly, your smile breaking free. “More than alright, actually.” You placed your free hand over his, looking up into his steady gaze. “Logan… I’m pregnant.”

For a heartbeat, his expression didn’t change—his lips parted slightly, and his dark eyes widened, blinking as though he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. Then, slowly, the words seemed to sink in.

“You’re… pregnant?” His voice was low, almost reverent, as he repeated the word like it was something sacred.

You nodded again, tears springing to your eyes as you laughed softly. “Yeah. We’re having a baby.”

Logan exhaled sharply, his hand tightening around yours as he pulled you into his arms. His embrace was firm but careful, his hand cradling the back of your head as his face pressed into your hair.

“You serious?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded against his chest. “Completely serious. Dr. Harper confirmed it today.”

He leaned back just enough to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes made your heart ache and soar at the same time.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your lips.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you kissed him back.

For now, the world outside the walls of your room didn’t matter. All that mattered was the quiet promise of hope between you and Logan—the life you’d created together.

---

“You’re not having any morning sickness?” Ororo asked, as you stood in the kitchen making lunch.

Jean glanced your way as you responded, “no. But,” you walked over to your bag and pulled out a large binder. “Morning sickness is—”

“Woah, hold up. What is that?” Ororo questioned, cutting you off.

You pushed up your glasses, “my binder. For research.”

“For… everything?”

“…No. For pregnancy.”

Jean let out a laugh she’d been holding back. “I don’t know what you were expecting, Ro. Remember that giant whiteboard calendar in her lab a few years ago tracking everything?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “Oh, you mean the one with color-coded markers and weekly updates? Yeah, I remember. You’re saying she turned that into a—” She gestured toward your binder, her expression incredulous. “—manual?”

“It’s not a manual,” you said defensively, adjusting your glasses as you flipped the binder open. “It’s a comprehensive resource. There’s a difference.”

Jean grinned, crossing her arms. “Right. And I’m sure it’s purely coincidental that it’s tabbed, indexed, and probably has a bibliography in the back.”

“It doesn’t have a bibliography,” you muttered before adding under your breath, “it has citations.”

Ororo and Jean exchanged an amused glance. “Of course it does,” Ororo said, shaking her head with a smile. “What’s in it, then? The secrets of the universe?”

“Close,” you replied, flipping to one of the sections. “It’s years of research on conception and pregnancy: optimal vitamins, dietary plans, the effects of caffeine and alcohol, specific exercises, ideal sex positions—”

Jean choked on her coffee, nearly spilling it as Ororo’s eyes widened. “Hold on,” Ororo interrupted, holding up a hand. “Did you say… positions?”

You shrugged, flipping a page like you were reading off a grocery list. “Certain positions increase the chances of conception by facilitating better sperm mobility. It’s basic physics.”

Jean was laughing so hard by this point she had to set her mug down. “Basic physics, huh? I don’t think Logan’s going to see it that way.”

You shot her a look, your cheeks heating. “For your information, he’s fine with my methods. He agreed to all of this.”

“Oh, I’m sure he did.” Jean smirked. “But tell me—did you explain the physics before or after you made him try the positions?”

“Jean!” You tried to sound indignant, but her teasing grin made you crack a smile. “I didn’t force him into anything. He’s been completely supportive.”

Ororo chuckled, pushing off the counter. “I’ll give him credit for that. Logan’s usually stubborn, but for you? He’s like putty. I’ve never seen him so… soft.”

You ducked your head, adjusting your glasses again to hide your shy smile. Logan’s tenderness toward you wasn’t something you liked to broadcast, but it warmed you to hear others notice.

Jean’s laughter quieted as she stepped closer, resting a hand on your arm. “You’re going to be an amazing mom, Y/N. All this research? It just shows how much you care. That baby’s lucky already.”

The sincerity in her voice made your throat tighten. “Thanks, Jean,” you said softly, squeezing her hand.

---

You plated the fourth dish you were trying and brought it over to Logan. In your research you learned that you needed to increase your folic acid, protein, calcium, iron, and many other nutrients and vitamins.

Logan looked up from the papers he was grading at the island and stared at the plate of fried tofu you set in front of him. His eyebrows furrowed as he sniffed the air.

“What is this?” he asked, poking at the tofu with his fork like it might bite him first.

“It’s fried tofu,” you said, adjusting your glasses as you leaned on the counter. “I read it’s a good source of protein and iron, which are important for pregnancy.”

Logan gave you a skeptical look, lifting a piece with his fork and examining it like it was an alien artifact. “Fried tofu, huh?” He popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly.

You waited, watching his expression carefully. For a moment, it was neutral. Then his jaw stopped moving. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he swallowed hard, taking a long sip of water immediately after.

“So,” you ventured cautiously, “what do you think?”

Logan set the fork down with deliberate care, leaning back in his chair. “I think it tastes like… not food.”

You tried to keep a straight face, but his deadpan delivery made you snort. “It’s not that bad!”

Logan arched a brow, crossing his arms. “Darlin’, I’ve eaten squirrel before. This? Worse.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your own fork. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” He gestured toward the plate. “Go on. You try it.”

With a sigh, you picked up a piece of tofu and took a bite. At first, it wasn’t terrible, but the bland, rubbery texture quickly turned unappealing. You forced yourself to chew, determined not to give Logan the satisfaction of being right.

“Well?” he asked, his tone smug.

“It’s… fine,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Mmm-hmm. And is that why your nose is scrunched?” Logan tapped the tip of your nose, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You quickly relaxed your expression, doing your best to look neutral. “It’s not scrunched. I’m fine.”

“Darlin’.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter as he pinned you with a knowing look. “I can hear your thoughts when you don’t like somethin’. That little wrinkle you get right there—” he reached out, brushing a finger lightly between your brows “—says it all.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Fine. It’s not great.”

Logan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Not great? Sweetheart, that’s a polite way of sayin’ it’s awful.”

“It’s not awful,” you protested half-heartedly. “It’s… nutritionally valuable.”

“Yeah, sure. Nutritionally valuable,” Logan repeated, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. He grabbed the plate and stood, crossing to the trash can. “Valuable or not, I ain’t eatin’ somethin’ that tastes like a tire.”

“Logan!” you exclaimed, laughing as he dumped the tofu and set the plate in the sink.

“Hey, you can keep tryin’ this ‘research cooking’ if it makes you happy,” he said, walking back to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. His warmth was grounding, his presence steady and reassuring. “But if you’re plannin’ to make that again, we might need a plan B for dinner.”

You sighed, leaning into his chest. “I just want to do this right. You know, make sure everything’s perfect.”

Logan rested his chin on the top of your head, his hands running soothingly up and down your back. “You’re doin’ great, darlin’. You don’t have to drive yourself nuts tryin’ to be perfect. That’s not what this is about.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your glasses slipping down your nose slightly. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” he said firmly, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “We’re doin’ this together, remember? You, me, and that little bean growin’ in there.” His hand slid to your stomach, resting gently.

A smile crept across your face despite your worries. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Logan said, his voice steady. “You’re the smartest, most stubborn woman I know. If anyone can figure this out, it’s you.”

His unwavering confidence in you made your chest ache in the best way. “Thanks, Logan.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you softly.

For a moment, the worries about nutrients and vitamins faded into the background. It was just you, Logan, and the quiet hum of hope between you.

---

Logan promised he would eat whatever you made, wanting to be supportive and endure what you had to—wanted to—eat.

But when you put kale and spinach in his eggs, that was where he drew the line.

You had made the two of you, and Ororo, a simple breakfast burrito, with the eggs, kale, spinach, a bit of jalapeños, and some crumbled sausage.

Ororo, of course, loved it, and said something about people needing to eat healthier at the mansion.

“You see,” Ororo gestured to Logan with her fork, her expression animated. “If everyone followed Y/N’s example, we wouldn’t need to worry about people running out of breath in training simulations.”

Logan arched a brow, carefully biting into the burrito. The first flavors weren’t terrible, and for a moment, he was almost convinced this one might pass without comment. Then the unmistakable bitterness of kale hit him like a freight train.

His chewing slowed, his brow furrowing as he glared at the eggs wrapped in the offending green foliage. Setting the burrito down, he turned his gaze toward you, who were carefully avoiding looking at him while tidying the kitchen.

“Darlin’,” he started, leaning back in his chair with a mock seriousness that made Ororo smirk. “We need to talk about your use of leafy greens.”

“Oh?” you asked, glancing his way while wiping your hands on a towel. “I thought it was pretty good.”

Logan’s deadpan look was answer enough, and Ororo let out a soft laugh as she took another bite of her own burrito. “You really don’t give the man much of a chance,” she teased. “Next, she’ll sneak chia seeds into your pancakes.”

“I heard that,” you said defensively, finally meeting Logan’s pointed gaze. “It’s good for you. Full of antioxidants and essential nutrients.”

Logan’s lips twitched like he might smile, but his tone was dry as he replied, “Full of misery, you mean.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you mumbled, nudging your glasses up as you resumed your cleanup.

Logan stood, crossing the kitchen and resting a hand on your lower back. His gentle touch eased the awkward knot of self-consciousness you always felt under scrutiny. “I’m dramatic?” he asked softly, leaning in close. “You’re the one slippin’ kale in my breakfast like it’s some kinda covert mission.”

You turned to meet his teasing gaze, adjusting your glasses and suppressing a smile. “You said you’d eat what I made, no complaints.”

Logan exhaled with exaggerated patience. “I did say that,” he admitted. “And I will. But sweetheart…” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, his forehead pressing lightly to yours. “Just warn me next time.”

You laughed softly, leaning back slightly to shake your head. “Noted.”

Ororo watched the exchange with a fond smile, saying nothing but storing the moment away as another example of how Logan became… softer around you. It wasn’t just his willingness to endure kale, spinach, or anything else you set before him. It was the way he stood a little taller when you entered the room, the rare moments of unguarded vulnerability when he was with you.

Even Logan might not realize how clear it was to everyone else.

---

Even though you were only 4 weeks pregnant, you thought that you would at least have some breast tenderness. But instead, they feel normal, not even like you sometimes feel during your period when you wanted nothing more than to throw your bra off.

You never were one to look in the mirror or criticize your appearance, especially not since you’ve been married to Logan, but you expected—you hoped—that at least something small would change.

But Jean kept telling you that you were only a month along, and that it’s still a bit early for symptoms to show prominently. That’s even what your research told you.

You knew all of this. You had read every book, every study, and even combed through forums late at night when Logan was asleep. But still, the doubt lingered. You stood in front of the mirror in your shared bathroom, adjusting the waistband of your pajama pants, wondering if you should see even the faintest bump.

Nothing.

The sound of Logan’s heavy boots on the hardwood pulled you from your thoughts. “Darlin’?” His voice was muffled through the door. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah,” you called back, trying to sound cheerful as you turned off the light and opened the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his sharp gaze instantly flicking over you like he was scanning for injuries.

Logan stepped aside to let you pass, following you into the bedroom. “You’ve been quiet all day,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. His voice softened, coaxing. “What’s goin’ on?”

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly, avoiding his eyes.

Logan tilted his head, unconvinced. “Y/N.”

You sighed, sitting down beside him and fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “I just… I thought I’d feel different by now.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I guess I thought I’d feel pregnant. Or look it. Or something.”

Logan reached out, his hand covering yours. “You are pregnant, darlin’. No matter how it feels or doesn’t feel right now.”

“I know,” you said, your voice soft. “It’s just that we’ve been trying for so long, and now that it’s finally happened, I keep worrying something’s… wrong.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Jean said everything looks good, right?”

“She did.”

“And all your charts and trackers and whatever else you’ve got in that binder of yours say the same thing?”

You huffed a small laugh despite yourself. “Yes.”

“Then trust that, sweetheart. Trust yourself,” Logan said, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’ve done everything right.”

You nodded, leaning into his side. Logan wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“I’m just scared,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But you’re not doin’ this alone.”

---

“—I just don’t understand why he thought it went there.” Scott said, handing you and Jean a cup of tea. “If I hadn’t caught it, the Blackbird’s engines would’ve been toast.”

You sipped your tea and grimaced, opening your mouth and letting the tea fall back into the cup. The taste was bitter, and—well just not right.

You didn’t even notice that Scott had stopped talking and was now staring at you with a mixture of concern and confusion. Jean, on the other hand, casually poured her tea into the sink, trying to suppress a grimace as she set her cup down.

Scott’s brow furrowed, and he folded his arms. “Did… did you just spit that back out into your cup?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, flushing with embarrassment. “It’s just—uh, strong. A little stronger than I expected.”

Jean gave a little cough to hide her laugh, shooting you a sidelong glance. “Yeah, Scott. Strong is definitely the word for it.”

Scott frowned, clearly affronted. “I’ve been perfecting that blend for weeks. Logan said it was fine.”

“Logan also eats charcoal on purpose when he’s grilling,” Jean teased, leaning against the counter. “I wouldn’t use him as a baseline.”

You chuckled softly, grateful for Jean’s intervention, but Scott wasn’t letting it go. “I don’t see either of you rushing to make tea,” he grumbled, grabbing his mug and heading toward the door. “Next time, you can just drink water.”

Once he was gone, you and Jean burst into quiet laughter. “I swear,” Jean said, shaking her head. “That man has no idea how terrible his tea is.”

“It really was… strong,” you admitted, setting your mug aside. “And kind of bitter.”

Jean nudged your arm lightly. “Maybe it’s just your taste buds acting up. Happens sometimes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think it’s because of the pregnancy?”

Jean shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “Could be. Your body’s already going through a lot of changes, even if they’re not super noticeable yet. Hormones can mess with your senses. Didn’t you say you’ve been more sensitive to smells lately?”

“Yeah,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “Logan made steak the other night, and I almost gagged at the smell. Which is insane because I usually love it.”

Jean smirked. “See? It’s not just Scott’s awful tea. You’ve got a good excuse.”

You smiled faintly but didn’t respond. Jean’s smile faded slightly as she studied you. “You’ve been quiet today,” she said gently. “Everything okay?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. “I don’t know. I guess… I just feel like something’s off.”

Jean set her mug down and turned to face you fully. “Off how?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice low. “It’s like… I don’t feel as excited as I thought I would. I mean, I am excited. But I keep waiting for something to go wrong.”

Jean reached out and placed a comforting hand on your arm. “Y/N, it’s normal to feel anxious. You’ve been through a lot to get here—two years of trying, all the treatments, all the hope and disappointment. It’s hard to just… trust that this time will be different.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I want to trust it. But I feel like if I let myself believe it, and then something happens…”

Jean squeezed your arm gently. “It’s okay to be scared. But you’ve got Logan. You’ve got me. And we’re not letting you go through this alone, no matter what happens.”

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, so you just nodded again. Jean smiled softly, giving your arm one last squeeze before letting go. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get some actual tea. My stash is way better than Scott’s.”

You laughed lightly, following her out of the kitchen. But even as you tried to push your doubts aside, they lingered, a quiet, persistent whisper in the back of your mind.

---

At six weeks, the strange limbo you felt in your pregnancy persisted. The symptoms you had—nausea, fatigue, the occasional food aversion—seemed to plateau instead of intensify. Sometimes, you barely felt pregnant at all.

Your doctor assured you everything was progressing well during your last appointment. "The sac is a little smaller than average," she’d said, her tone calm and measured, "but it’s nothing to be alarmed about. These things vary."

You nodded and forced a smile, trying to absorb the reassurance. But the words echoed in your head long after you left the clinic. You’d clung to every piece of advice, every statistic, every graph in your meticulously prepared binder, yet none of it seemed to silence the nagging voice in your mind.

Logan noticed your quietness, of course. He always did.

"You wanna talk about it, or should I just sit here and look pretty?" he asked one evening as he stretched out on the couch, his legs spread wide, filling up most of the space. His casual tone was meant to make you laugh, but you just sighed as you flipped through your notes again.

"I’m fine," you said automatically, tapping your pen against the edge of the binder.

"Sure you are," Logan said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs. His eyes softened as they met yours. "Darlin’, you’ve been stuck in that thing for hours. Whatever’s in there ain’t gonna change what the doc said."

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his gaze. "She said the sac was small."

"And she also said it’s nothin’ to worry about," Logan reminded you, his voice steady.

"That’s easy for her to say," you muttered, closing the binder with more force than you intended. "She’s not the one who’s—" You stopped yourself, shaking your head.

Logan stood, crossing the room in a few quick strides. He knelt beside you, one hand resting lightly on your knee. "She’s not the one who’s what?"

You looked down at him, your chest tightening. "Who’s been waiting for this for two years," you said quietly. "Who’s had to deal with the hope and the disappointment and the Clomid and—"

Logan’s hand squeezed your knee gently, grounding you. "We’ve been waitin’ for this," he corrected. "It ain’t just you goin’ through this, Y/N. We’re a team, remember?"

You swallowed hard, nodding. His steady presence was both a comfort and a reminder that you weren’t alone, even if your anxieties sometimes made it feel that way.

"I just want to know everything’s okay," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan tilted his head, his thumb brushing small circles against your leg. "And if it’s not, we’ll figure it out. Like we always do."

You blinked back the sting of tears, leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. "I don’t know how you stay so calm."

He smirked faintly. "I’m not. I just hide it better."

---

By eight weeks, the unease gnawed at you more frequently. The symptoms you’d been clinging to—especially the nausea—had faded almost entirely. You knew logically that every pregnancy was different and that symptoms could come and go, but logic wasn’t enough to silence your fears.

Jean noticed it during one of your usual tea breaks in the kitchen. You stared into your mug, barely sipping, while she caught up on the latest mansion gossip.

"You’re not even listening to me, are you?" Jean teased, nudging your arm.

"Huh?" You blinked, startled. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

Jean frowned, setting down her tea. "Okay, what’s going on? You’ve been distracted all week."

"I’m fine," you said automatically, but the look Jean gave you made it clear she wasn’t buying it.

"Y/N," she said gently, "you don’t have to pretend with me. What’s wrong?"

You hesitated, your hands tightening around your mug. "I just… I feel like something’s wrong."

Jean’s expression softened, and she reached across the table to take your hand. "Why do you think that?"

"My symptoms are gone," you admitted. "I don’t feel sick anymore, or tired, or… anything. It’s like nothing’s happening."

Jean nodded slowly, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. "That doesn’t mean something’s wrong. You know that, right? Symptoms can come and go, especially early on."

"I know," you said, your voice unsteady. "But it doesn’t feel right. And the sac was small last time, and—"

"Hey," Jean interrupted gently. "Breathe. You’re doing everything you can, Y/N. And stressing yourself out isn’t going to help."

You exhaled shakily, nodding. Jean squeezed your hand once more before letting go. "Have you talked to Logan about how you’re feeling?"

"He’s already worried enough," you admitted. "I don’t want to put more on him."

Jean arched a brow. "Y/N, Logan worships the ground you walk on. You know that, right? He wants to be there for you, no matter what."

The lump in your throat made it hard to respond. You nodded again, gripping your mug like it was a lifeline.

---

At nine weeks, the bleeding started. It was light at first—just a spot on the toilet paper that you tried to convince yourself was nothing. It was a faint pink color, something you knew was normal in early pregnancy.

You were in your lab, writing down some data points from your latest experiment, a simple one that you were trying to see if it would work for your physics class, when you realized you forgot what size parachute you used on your small test dummy.

You stood up, feeling lightheaded, but brushed it off. You grabbed the rolling cart to steady yourself, but before you could regain your focus, a sharp cramp tore through your lower body. It wasn’t like anything you’d felt before—it was deeper, heavier. You gripped the cart harder, blinking rapidly as your vision blurred.

Panic set in when the next wave hit, forcing a pained gasp from your lips. Your knees buckled as the pain became unbearable. Somewhere in your mind, you registered the wetness between your legs.

The world around you spun, and you heard a faint clattering—probably a glass vial knocked from the counter. Your breath hitched as you tried to call for help, but all you could manage was a soft, strangled sound. Then everything went dark.

---

Jean had been in the middle of a strategy meeting with the Professor when it hit her—an overwhelming, visceral pain that wasn't her own. She froze mid-sentence, her breath hitching as her mind latched onto the familiar mental signature.

“Jean?” Charles asked, concerned.

“I have to go,” Jean said quickly, already rising to her feet.

She didn’t wait for a response. Her telekinetic push flung the doors open ahead of her as she sprinted down the hall, her heart racing. She knew exactly where you were—your lab, always the safe haven you escaped to when you needed to focus or distract yourself.

When she reached the doorway, her stomach dropped. You were lying on the floor, glasses askew, one hand weakly clutching your abdomen. Blood stained the inside of your leggings.

“Y/N!” Jean gasped, rushing to your side. She knelt down, her trembling hands moving to check your pulse, then gently touching your shoulder. “Y/N, can you hear me? It’s Jean. I’m here.”

Your eyelids fluttered as you struggled to respond. “Jean…” you croaked. Tears spilled over before you could finish. “It…hurts…”

“I know. I know,” Jean said, her voice breaking as she pulled her communicator from her belt. “Logan, come to the med bay. Now,” she said firmly, before linking directly to Hank. “Hank, emergency in Y/N’s lab. She’s bleeding. Bring a stretcher.”

Jean cradled your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away your tears. “It’s going to be okay,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Just hold on. I’m here with you.”

“Jean… I don’t…” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut.

Jean fought to keep her own tears at bay. “Don’t think like that, Y/N. We’ll take care of you. I promise.”

---

By the time Hank arrived, Logan was with him, having intercepted them at the stairs. He took one look at you and his usually impassive face cracked with fear.

“Darlin’…” Logan’s voice was rough, choked with emotion.

You opened your eyes, barely able to focus on him. “Logan…”

“I’m here,” he assured you as he knelt down and pressed his hand over yours, which still clutched weakly at your abdomen. “We’re gonna get you help. Just hold on, okay?”

You gave him a shaky nod, and Jean stepped back to let Hank take over. Logan stayed by your side, one hand never leaving yours, murmuring reassurances the whole way to the med bay.

---

The hours that followed were a blur. Logan paced relentlessly outside the med bay while Hank and Jean worked to stabilize you. He bristled any time someone tried to approach him, his mind racing through every possibility. He’d seen you hurt before, but this… this was different.

When Jean finally emerged, her face pale, Logan froze. “How is she?” His voice was low, desperate.

Jean looked up at him, her expression hollow. “She’s awake,” she said softly. “But… Logan, I’m so sorry. She lost the baby.”

Logan inhaled sharply, his chest constricting. It was a punch he wasn’t ready for, even though some part of him had been bracing for the worst. “Can I see her?”

Jean nodded. “She’s asking for you.”

Logan slipped into the room silently, his footsteps unnaturally quiet for a man of his stature. You were lying in the hospital bed, pale and tired, your glasses resting on the table beside you. Your eyes were swollen, and as they met his, fresh tears spilled over.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

Logan shook his head, his jaw tightening as he crossed the room and gently cupped your face in his hands. “Don’t you do that,” he said firmly, his thumbs brushing your tears away. “This isn’t your fault. Not even a little, you hear me?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as you reached for him. “I—Logan, we tried so hard—”

“I know,” he interrupted softly, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “And we’re gonna get through this. Together. You’re my everything, darlin’. I don’t care how long it takes or what we have to do. I just need you to be okay.”

Your shoulders shook as you finally let yourself cry in his arms. He held you tightly, his fingers threading through your hair, murmuring soft assurances over and over.

“We’ll get through this,” he repeated, his voice steady. “I swear to you, we will.”

---

Jean advised you not to teach for the rest of the week, due to your bleeding, cramping, and because of how you were feeling emotionally.

You obliged without any fight because you knew she was right. In your binder, you had a small section of research on miscarriages, but you thought it would never be needed. Now, it felt like those pages stared back at you mockingly from your bedside table.

Jean stayed with you the first night in the med bay, refusing to let you be alone. She brewed tea you couldn’t stomach and let you cry without judgment. She didn’t offer the usual platitudes, knowing they wouldn’t help. Instead, she simply sat close, holding your hand when the silence threatened to swallow you both whole.

“I know you’re hurting,” Jean said softly, her voice breaking through the quiet. “But I don’t want you to close yourself off, okay? Logan, me, all of us… We’re here for you, Y/N. Lean on us.”

You nodded, but words didn’t come easily. You felt hollow, as though the grief had burrowed into every part of you and left nothing but a dull ache behind.

---

When you were finally discharged from the med bay, Logan insisted on carrying you back to your shared room despite your protests. He didn’t say much—his actions spoke louder. The way he handled you with such care, his arm strong and steady beneath you, was all you needed to know about how deep his worry ran.

Once in the room, he helped you into bed, fussing with the blankets until you were comfortable. "Need anything? Tea, water, something to eat?" he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head. "Just… you. Stay with me?"

His expression softened, and he sat beside you, his hand sliding into yours. "I’m not goin’ anywhere, darlin’. Never."

You rested your head against his shoulder, and for a long time, neither of you spoke. The weight of everything hung heavy in the air between you, but Logan didn’t try to fill the silence. Instead, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head and kept holding you.

---

The following days passed slowly. Jean dropped by every morning with tea and gentle nudges to eat, though her presence served more as comfort than a reminder. Some of the students peeked in to check on you, their quiet concern enough to bring a flicker of warmth to your otherwise grey days.

Logan was your anchor. He didn’t hover, but he was always there—a steady, unwavering presence that reminded you it was okay to take each moment as it came.

One evening, as you sat curled up in an armchair by the window, staring out at the snow-dusted grounds, Logan entered with a tray of food. "Brought somethin’ for you," he said, setting it down on the small table by your side.

“I’m not really hungry,” you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window.

He crouched beside you, his hand coming to rest lightly on your knee. "I know," he said, his voice low. "But you’ve barely eaten today, sweetheart. Just a little, yeah? For me."

You hesitated, glancing down at him. The worry etched into his features made your chest tighten. Slowly, you nodded. "Okay."

Logan offered a small, grateful smile and stayed there, watching as you forced down a few bites of soup. He didn’t push when you couldn’t manage more, instead setting the tray aside and pulling you into his lap when you settled back into the chair.

"One step at a time," he murmured, holding you close. "We’ll get there, darlin’."

---

One night, a week after your miscarriage, you found yourself unable to sleep. Throughout the past few days, when Logan let you have a few hours to yourself, you had done more research, specifically on miscarriages.

Now you have a new binder, almost as big as your other one. You quietly got out of bed, Logan’s arms falling to the mattress where you just were, and grabbed the binder, heading outside.

You always enjoyed reading outside, especially when it was raining. As you walked through the rain, you paused the droplets above you, creating a small time bubble that kept you dry. The rhythmic sound of the rain hitting the frozen barrier was soothing, almost enough to quiet your thoughts. Almost.

Settling into your usual spot on the grass, you opened the new binder you’d compiled over the past few days. The pages were a meticulous collection of research, statistics, and theories, each one marked with color-coded tabs. It had been your lifeline since being discharged from the med bay—a desperate attempt to make sense of what happened.

You flipped through the pages with a determined focus, rereading sections you’d already memorized. There had to be something, some mistake you made, something you missed. Your mind refused to rest until you found an answer.

---

Logan woke up to find the bed empty, the space beside him cold. He frowned, his hand brushing the sheets where you should’ve been. Instinct kicked in immediately—he was on his feet in seconds, scanning the room.

His eyes landed on the bedside table, where the new binder you’d been working on was conspicuously absent. His jaw tightened as he glanced toward the window and saw the faint shimmer of rain. He knew exactly where you were.

Grabbing a sweatshirt to ward off the chill, Logan headed outside. The rain was steady, but it didn’t touch him as he walked toward the bubble you’d created. You were sitting cross-legged on the grass, your glasses perched on your nose as you hunched over the binder, flipping through pages with a frantic energy.

He stopped a few steps away, his heart tightening at the sight. You looked exhausted, your movements sharp with frustration.

“Darlin’,” Logan called gently, his voice cutting through the rain.

You jolted, looking up as the binder slipped from your lap. “Logan,” you said, your voice shaky. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, stepping into the bubble. The rain stopped falling on him as he crouched down beside you. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You hesitated, glancing down at the binder. “I was… reading.”

Logan’s eyes softened, and he reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. “Out here? In the middle of the night?”

You didn’t answer, your hands tightening around the edges of the binder. Logan’s gaze dropped to it, and he could see the words “Miscarriage Causes and Prevention” written in bold letters on one of the tabs.

“Y/N…” he began, but you shook your head, cutting him off.

“There has to be something,” you said, your voice rising with desperation. You flipped through the binder quickly, your eyes darting over the pages. “Something I did wrong. Too little vitamins, too many vitamins. Not enough exercise, the wrong food—I missed something, Logan. I had to have missed something.”

“Stop,” Logan said firmly, his hand covering yours to still the frantic motion. You froze, your chest heaving as you stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“I can’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I can’t stop, Logan. If I stop, it’s like I’m giving up, and I can’t give up on this.”

Logan exhaled, his grip on your hand tightening. “Darlin’, look at me.”

You hesitated, but his steady tone pulled your gaze to his. His eyes were raw with emotion, the pain he usually kept hidden now laid bare. “What does all your research say about miscarriages?” he asked quietly.

You blinked, thrown off by the question. “I… I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Logan pressed gently. “You’ve been readin’ that thing nonstop. What does it say?”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling as you answered. “Most miscarriages aren’t caused by anything someone did. It’s usually… chromosomal abnormalities. Things that can’t be controlled.”

Logan nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Right. And what else?”

Tears spilled over as you struggled to speak. “That it’s… common. That it happens to a lot of people.”

“And does it say it’s your fault?” Logan asked, his voice rough. “Does it say you did somethin’ wrong?”

You shook your head, your throat too tight to form words. Logan reached out, gently pulling the binder from your hands and setting it aside. Then he cupped your face, his calloused thumbs wiping away your tears.

“This ain’t on you, sweetheart,” he said, his voice breaking with emotion. “It’s not on me, it’s not on anyone. It just… happened. And it hurts like hell, but blamin’ yourself isn’t gonna make it hurt any less.”

Your shoulders shook as the weight of his words sank in. “But we tried so hard,” you choked out. “For so long, Logan. And it still wasn’t enough.”

Logan pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you cried against his chest. His voice was thick with tears as he spoke. “I know, darlin’. I know. And it kills me too. But we’ll get through this. I swear to you, we will.”

You clung to him, the rain outside your bubble a soft echo of the storm inside you. For the first time that night, you let yourself believe him, even if just for a moment.

and that is 2007!

i totally didn't cry while writing that last scene... totally didn't...

[sibillascribbles08]

Big Ol' Rottmnt Fic Rec List

Hi, I've needed to do this for a while, so here's a big bundle of fic recs from me !

I've broken it down between one shots, chaptered fics, and series. I'll try to mention what the character focus is along with a brief summary and some personal thoughts. If you need more details I encourage you to check the fics summary and tags for yourself! I will only include an author's tumblr account if it's easy for me to find haha

One Shots

Mama's Boy - ashtreelane: Technically two chapters but it feels like a one shot. Casey Jr. angst, involving him finding out that maybe you can fix kraang infections and that he failed to save his mother. I love when people really pile the grief on Junior after all the fighting is over and the fic does it so well.

Forget-Me-Nots - GibbousLunation (AKA @klunkcat ): Hi, oh my god??? Leo and Mikey centric angst, in which saving Leo from the prison dimension has an insane ripple effect. Mikey dying? Nah he's going to start getting erased from every timeline and Leo slowly watches it happen (and refuses to do nothing about it). I utterly adore how this fic handles this concept. You see almost all of it from Leo's POV, noticing the little changes but writing them off as memory failures, because of how subtle some of it is.

Fight or Flight - pickledcarrotsandradish: Leo centric, post movie, Leo keeps waiting for his family to start lecturing him about all the dumb stuff he did during the invasion, and they aren't, so it's getting to him. A very neat narrative about how self loathing can warp our perception of how others see us. A++++

The Friend Zone Sounds Pretty Good, Actually - Cryptvokeeper: Eating this, eating this. You probably already know I love aroace Leo and this fic is an INCREDIBLE exploration of that. Even as just an ace person it hit SO many notes where I was just like "Oh god... I've been there buddy". And as a bonus the dynamic between Leo and Yuichi is v sweet. Love this a lot I've read it like five times.

Pink in The Night - unnamedmystery: Incredible April/Sunita fic. Like seriously this author wrote April's crush so well I think I was starting to fall in love with Sunita. Just incredibly cute all the way through, and great April writing, adore it.

《 until then, matriarch 》 - chiangyorange: HI OH MY GOD A nice chunky oneshot about Karai, about her being a leader, and it's phenomenal. It hits and hits and does not miss, really going in depth about her emotions involving her father turning into something wicked and having to destroy him, and how it ruins all of her good memories.

The Kindness of Collision - SpoonerizedSwiftness (AKA @splickedylit ): Hi I still remember the fic and the art suddenly showing up in the tag and then I was thinking about it for the next like five weeks aslkdjf A very interesting idea that when the turtles reach the age they were in the doomed timeline before things got reset, all the memories of their other life more or less hit them like a train. All of them have to comb through that information and it's a wonderful and emotional ride.

Chaptered Fics

Hamartia - Punable (in progress): Hi this is one of my all time favorite rise fics, mainly because in a way, it helped me come to terms with my chronic pain. It's Donnie centric and smack full of angst in all the best ways. Shorthand summary, an explosion in Donnie's lab almost takes him out (or kind of DOES take him out) and the recovery is not only long and agonizing, it may only go so far, and Donnie doesn't cope well with that.

Kick It Up a Notch - Brokenpitchpipe (completed): Hi this is my other all time fav rise fic. Donnie centric separated AU in which Donnie is raised by Draxum. My love for it stems a lot from the characterization of Donnie though, and even Draxum in this case. Not to mention that in a lot of cases it matches the vibes of the show. And in spite of all the humor, there's a few really gut wrenching moments. 10/10 will re-read.

Lightning in Our Fingertips Today - DaFlangsLairde (AKA @daflangstlairde-art) (completed): Leo and Donnie centric, mostly angst, with body swapping between the twins which results in Donnie finding out that Leo's ninpo hurts him. Love love love the character writing in this, and also how the swap is written.

Under Pressure - ParvumAutomaton (completed): Not sure this is a single character focused fic, but basically April goes cave diving and is out for a while, and the turtles get worried and go looking for her. This might be personal bias but as someone who gets really into caving stories, this fic hits the spot for so many reasons. A really great emotional ride, and if you wanna see April go through it then I super recommend it.

Nothing Haunts Us (like the things we don't say) - mad_and_thick_as_theives (completed): A lot of great fics by this author btw, but this one personally stood out to me. It starts of silly and light only to sweep in with the emotional weight. Turtles are all cursed with a truth spell, basically, but I think my favorite bit is who gets out of it first (and why). V sweet.

Creation of a Philospher's Stone - IgnisCanis (completed): Whoooo boy, if you want some Draxum centric character exploration this is a great one. It really fleshes him out as a morally grey character and also does a fantastic job at writing Mikey when he finds out.

The Ol Switcheroo - radishhqueen (AKA @radishhqueen) (completed): Haha not going to lie I have a few by this author (so I'll only tag them once) but MAN. Hands down my favorite take on future leo coming to the past, and maybe I'm biased because I like when those fics actually explore Junior's character in the process buuuuut I love it. Junior's already struggling to adapt himself to the present, and after getting caught up in a foot clan spell which summons his sensei to the present too it really doesn't get any easier.

Vigilantism for Fun and Profit - radishhqueen (completed): The Cassandra Jones fic ever. Zero contest. If you're uncertain about writing Cassandra because she had so little development in the show I encourage you to read this for inspiration (I know it inspired me a lot). It does such a great deep dive into her character post show and a bit of the movie too. Honestly anytime radishh has a Cassandra fic I am clicking.

Tried to Grow Up Good - Sroloc_Elbisivni (AKA @sroloc--elbisivni )(completed): The Casey Jr. fic ever. CRAZY in love with this post movie take on him. It's messy, it's fun, it's so so real and you get a good chunk of Casey Sr. in here too. Adore it.

Hold On (Or Three Times Donatello's Soft Shell Almost Killed Him, and One Time it Saved His Life) - dunk_on_em (AKA @spockazilla )(completed): If you ever want a bit of angst involving Donnie's shell this is my go to. Every chapter has an emotional swing, even the positive ones. And shows something most people might see as a disadvantage as a good thing, actually.

Atlas, My Brother - swampcryptid (AKA @the-name-is-rizzotherat)(in progress): Get your Raph angst, specifically involving him always shielding his siblings, this time via a curse. My guy is already going through it and I think it'll get worse if a solution isn't found.

I've Got You Under My Skin - Cass_Phoenix (in progress): More Raph angst, and some Donnie, a truly chilling exploration of the possible consequences to connecting with the kraang. This fic constantly has me on the edge of my seat, and constantly stressing for Raph.

What We Leave Behind (How We Start Anew) - iam57311 (AKA @iam-57311)(in progress): Any Baronjitsu fans here? An alternate take on canon in which Draxum and Splinter co-parent the kids since they're first born (made?) Hilariously while I love the Baronjitsu content in here, I think some of my favorite parts are actually with the sisters, Big Mama, and Draxum's sister who is so so cool I love her.

Proof of Redemption - iam57311 (complete): Another one of theirs! A short and sweet lil close to canon fic about Draxum steadily gaining the trust and affection of the Hamatos, with each chapter focused on a different character. I love how they're all paced out from each other, really hits how some are much slower than others to trust Draxum hehe.

No Crime* Only Brooches - OllieTheScribe (AKA @olliethescribe) (in progress): Well I have to get THE HypnoWarren fic in here. Such a fun take on these characters, I love love love the backstory they built up for Warren too, plus the dynamic between these two and the turtles after (eventually) become friends haha.

Minor Interference - bambiraptorx (AKA @bambiraptorx) (in progress): What can I say? This fic is delightful. Between the hilarity of the turtles going with Draxum just to mess with him, the lore additions for yokai and the Hidden City, HoH Donnie, and their slowly building dynamic, always eager for a new chapter with this one.

Series

A Butterfly with a Mechanical Wing - Amethyst_Goldenwind (AKA @amethystgoldenwind ): Donnie centric series about being a non-verbal autistic. I'm always fond of non-verbal/mute explorations of characters, and so far I really like how, because his family has grown up with it, all of it is very normal for them. The various forms of communication are delightful. Excited to see further entries.

Analogous Hues - alwerakoo (AKA @alwerakoo): It's a separated AU with similar titling themes as my own, needed to check it out. The titles are just about all they have in common though! This AU focuses a lot on the turtles (Raph and Leo with Splinter and Donnie and Mikey with Draxum). I love how this explores not only the dynamics of the two groups and how different they are, but also the dynamics between each of the siblings, also how some magic sibling connections can influence that. Not to mention the different home life in more ways than one. If you're into separated AUs that really dig into the turtles dynamics try this one out !

[thegeassking-blog]

Progeny Lost and found

To Amanda Waller.

Considering that you're moving all assets (soldier boy, soldier girl, drones) of the soldier program to your Suicide Squad this report will the last you receive, we do apologize if it gets long, but it will allow us to be thorough.

17 years ago Diana Prince AKA Wonder Woman gave birth to a son at XYZ hospital and the child was seized in a fake villain attack and placed in the soldier program, genetic testing has shown that the child's father is indeed Bruce Wayne AKA Batman, both are known, active and founding members of the Justice League.

For the first four years not much is to be reported other than calm mind.

However at five years old we successfully taught him how to read and that seemed to "click" something in his mind, he started reading everything we had on hand magazines newspapers books on top of that he also started disassembling and reassembling basically everything and anything he could get his hands on, including our "personal project" to our chagrin. The fact that he seems to understands what he diss/reassembles speaks for enhanced mental abilities. Further testing is required

On top of that he demonstrates greater physical than a child his age should be able to possess we are again chalking this up to genetics considering who his parents are, further testing is required.

At 6 years old we started harvesting blood, stem cell, saliva and hair from soldier boy for cloning considering that the clones won't be viable for several years for the fact that the technology needs to be calibrated for the subject being cloned we suspect that the first successful batch won't be around until the subject is at least nine to 10 years of age, we have also started on physical and mental training.

At 8 years old we can confirm that soldier boy does indeed possess an erratic memory Needless to say for a soldier this is quite good considering that you may not get more than a glance at something in the field. This was confirmed when he rebuilt one of our "personal projects" from scrap and literal garbage we had lying around the the lab, nearly burnt the place down with that ecto blaster.

As for physical abilities he's demonstrating nearly 50% more than what normal children his age should possess, his physical conditioning should only enhance this, biologically his muscles are denser, his bones are stronger, on top of that he also seems to possess not quite a meta level but definitely accelerated healing factor. The limit of this ability requires further testing.

at 10 years of age our theory has been proven correct for both physical and mental abilities, the more we seem to push him the more he seems to grow. no longer is he learning just theory we've also started martial arts training as well as weapon training, he doesn't master a weapon the moment he picks it up but it only takes him a couple minutes have usage to figure out the most effective way to use a weapon be it melee or firearm.

Sad to say it might take another year or two for the first batch of clones. No stable clones have been able to survive outside the birthing tank for more than a few minutes however we believe we found the problem, the Y chromosome in his DNA seems to be unstabilizing all the clones we believe that removing it would stabilize them but it would also make it so that we would no longer have "perfect" clones of soldier boy. The reason behind this is unknown however we believe it is due to his Amazonian DNA.

At 12 years old we have continued physical and mental training however we've also started adding in psychological conditioning fit for a soldier. we have also started swapping out the targets for specialized training dummies that actually bleed when they are cut or shot.

We are also happy to announce that we have our first clone, while we were aiming for the batch of 5, as the accelerated aging evened out it was obvious that only one was capable of higher thought the. other four were terminated. we are planning on keeping them separated until the clone (from here on out shall be known as soldier girl) at least basic knowledge and we finish up running some tests.

Sadly the rest of the report was corrupted however there were two signatures at the bottom of it

Doctor Jack and doctor Madeline Fenton

[jsooly]

WRITERS BLOCK? NOT ON MY WATCH !!

Do you think Jake gave chocolate or somehow found some and made the kids taste it and then by popular demand forced to recreate it but it just ended up either nothing like chocolate or something akin to a poison but not really…

Also happy valentines day! Totally didnt make me cry with the small Neytiri you had posted ❤️

taken in by the sullys: (belated) valentine's edition! / sully family x human!daughter/sister!reader

this is SUCH A CUTE REQUEST OMG & happy (very late) valentine's day! sorry about the tears but it had to be done, anon pls forgive me 😔

synopsis, jake attempts (and fails) to make a sweet treat.

jake should've known little white lies never stay little.

when he originally found (and swiped) a box of chocolates from norm's lab, he brought it back home to his five children, eager to spoil them with the decadent flavors.

neytiri bit into one delicately (read: suspiciously) while the children scarfed them down. jake had to snatch a few for himself and his wife before you guys finished inhaling them.

"mm," kiri groaned, her eyes squeezing in delight. "these are so good." lo'ak and neteyam nodded feverishly in agreement.

"where'd you get 'em!" tuk launched herself into his lap.

"made 'em just for you guys." jake said proudly before he could stop himself.

"thanks, dad." neteyam smiled sweetly, chomping down on his chocolate heart.

neytiri gave him the most diabolical side eye known to man. jake smiled at her smugly, knowing he scored some points with the kids after she'd been scolding them all day—

"make more!" tuk grinned up at him.

jake's smile immediately faltered. he had not thought that far.

kiri handed jake back the empty box, nothing but the empty wrappers mismatched across the molds that held the chocolate in place. "how long did it take you to make?"

"uhh, not long." he shrugged coolly, but neytiri's trained eye could tell he was bluffing. she just smiled and played into his predicament.

"the kids loved it, yawne." she stood up, standing behind him and squeezing his shoulders. "would you like your father to make another set for tomorrow?"

he glared up at her, only to be met with her amused expression.

the chorus of agreement was the verdict. jake would have to figure something out and fast.

/

during his time on pandora, jake has tried a lot of food, berries, herbs, everything. he remembered some nut tasting akin to the chocolate flavor he was going for.

in between his olo'eyktan duties, he harvested some. what else makes chocolate? water? he filled his waterskin with some fresh drinking water. sugar? he cut some cane up and carved the unrefined sugar from the stems.

as far as he was concerned, he had the ingredients.

before returning home, he ground the nuts into a fine powder. he crushed the sugar grains a little bit before pouring it all into a bowl. he added a bit of water until it was slightly gooey. whipping out the original box, he poured his concoction into the molds and let it sit overnight to harden.

safe to say when he presented his batch to you guys, you were not impressed.

"ow." lo'ak mumbled as best he could, his tooth stuck in the chocolate disaster jake served up.

neytiri cursed her husband before kneeling beside her youngest son to help him.

"ugh," kiri sniffed the 'chocolate' before putting it back into the box. "are you sure you did it the same way as the first time?"

jake huffed. "yeah... i guess..." he trailed off.

you knocked a mishappen heart against the ground. it dented the wood underneath you. "uh, dad... i don't think this is edible."

"couda tol' me tha befo'." lo'ak glared at you, his words muffled by neytiri prodding at his stuck tooth.

jake sighed, making sure never to try something silly like this again unless he wanted his whole entire family to rip his ego and pride to shreds.

lo'ak had one less tooth by the end of the day.

. . .

thanks for reading! <3

© jsooly ‘25

[fatuismooches]

Imagine foxtorre framing Dottore and the segments lmao its two birds with one stone: Dottore gets in trouble (vengeance mwahuahuahua—) and foxtorre gets attention!

Please, envision this: Foxtorre and Dottore, for some peculiar and absurd reason, gets into a scuffle. Foxtorre being an absolute gremlin, is climbing all over Dottore like some oversized roach crawling, just spinning around his torso and scratching at whatever he could.

Dottore finally gets his scruff, and pissed off as he is— hurls foxtorre across the room and the creature crashes on some empty tanks making this resounding metallic clanking around the lab.

And of course, reader walks in right at that second :)

Unfortunately for Dottore, he severely underestimated the intelligence of the creation he threw to the side ages ago. If he knew it had the capacity for something like revenge, he wouldn't have let it roam free for so long... And even now, it's far too late to even try and train it - it only listens to you, much to the segments' discontentment. More importantly, you also only listen to Foxttore if there happens to be other parties involved. Namely, Dottore. It makes the Harbinger want to chuck the thing into the most remote part of Snezhnaya. But he can't, of course. It's one of his weaknesses, that stems from his bigger weakness - you.

Foxttore getting on his nerves is nothing new of course, he's found that his clothes occasionally have holes and chew marks, the food you left for him eaten clean by the creature, important papers stolen to use as a nest/blanket... oh boy, the list goes on. He's even gotten bitten by him. (How was his teeth so sharp? It rivals his own!) So it's really no surprise when things escalate eventually. I mean, have you seen the glares the blue creature gives his creator? And then the puppy eyes it gives to you? It's scary.

Despite Foxttore's build he surprisingly puts up an agile fight. Or maybe Dottore's clothing is just so complicated it's easy for the creature to yank on things. Regardless, it's all too easy for him to uncharacteristically lose his patience from how much this creature has foiled his plans and stolen your time from him. Does he feel bad? No. Does he feel annoyed at the mess he'll have to clean up? Yes. Speaking of mess- oh no... well, now there were two messes he had to deal with, considering your abrupt presence.

"Here I thought you had another accident, but I find you subjecting my beloved to such harsh treatment? How could you, Dottore?!"

Needless to say, for the coming days, the creature is happily perched on your shoulder while you cross your arms dramatically and loudly hmph at him whenever you see him. Dottore takes the time to focus during this uninterrupted period while hoping you get over it soon.

[hellodaydream1111111111111111]

Illumi’s relationship with Killua is a fantastic example of an adult being codependent on a child to the point of obsession.

His reasoning is that If Illumi is around Killua and he trains Killua he’s bound to get attention from the parents. Killua was probably the only person to show Illumi love, as least when he was a toddler and Illumi clings to that because as long as Killua is family it’s fine. Illumi needs Killua to function because Killua is basically his purpose in life (which I’m assuming is self appointed with some nudges from the parents.) Illumi thinks Killua is better than him, not because he’s doing anything but he’s just simply better than him and he’s infatuated with that, he wants to be Killua and I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where his ability to change into other people comes from. Illumi’s love is smothering because it’s obsession stemming from projection, he doesn’t know how to process his feelings and his feelings on Killua would be complicated even for someone who did know how to do that. It’s a mix of obsession, love, admiration, jealousy, hatred and most importantly dependency. Illumi is an unstable individual but he likes to know things, he doesn’t like the unknown so he treats Killua as a lab rat to figure out his own emotions and when Killua is gone he finds someone similar (According to 1999 and I believe the manga) Killua and Hisoka make the same dish, Killua compares himself to Hisoka. And while I don’t think that Illumi and Killua’s relationship is incest it’s definitely bordering it. The real issues is that Illumi is an attention deprived adult who struggling with emotions.

The fact that Killua and Hisoka are constantly compared is actually horrifying to think about, it makes you wonder what the hell happened to Hisoka.

[makers-muse]

Champion Progress: Start a STEM Lab in Nagaland Schools! 

With time, education becomes more and more a process rather than an old concept. Schools today believe that they are now embracing innovation and technology for their students’ capabilities to endure the current tough world. For Nagaland, an example of stimulating the culture of creativity and critical thinking and future-ready preparedness for the students is the introduction of STEM labs in Nagaland schools. STEM education tries to fill the gap in Nagaland between the theoretical and practical aspects of knowledge acquisition and application by providing avenues for students to practice and innovate. The lab programs allow the students to be exposed to emerging fields such as robotics, artificial intelligence, and 3D printing at their schools in Nagaland, where teachers can implement these solutions in the lab. This customization allows facilitators to transform classrooms into true experiential, hands-on, and fast-paced environments in favor of the students. Read full blog here !

[multifandom-nerds-blog]

Sakamoto Days xhapter 212! Or rather Shin Days! Such a hype chapter!

First things first. Sakamotos trauma isn't ignored and now part of the story! Yey! Of course that's quite the blow for team Sakamoto, with him from all people now unable to fight. But I love Suzuki actually taking his trauma into consideration, and not just brushing it away! (Maybe I should have expected so much from Sakamoto Days, but I'm way to used to obvious traumas in fiction just being ignored and having no following reaction.) And Shin, who would have expected otherwise, is as self-sacrifising as always! Not even thinking about it, just jumping right between Taro and the bullets. (But that's part of why we love him, hehehe)

Honestly, I'm surprised Shin never thought about trying this out before. Even in a controlled field during training. Personally, seems like an obvious thing to try. While Miya and the such might tell him not to, to not overheat his brain, it's not like Shin has a problem with pushing above and beyond. Lmao. (Ladys, gentlemen and nonbinary folks. Here you can see the specimen planning to fry his own brain in order to protect his choosen family.)

PARALLELS!!! PARALLELS GUYS! Taro whi was helping Shin by telling him there's good in him (the flashback to chpt 203), and Shin reassuring that Taro doesn't need to go back to his bad side. That he can be strong by being good and just wanting to protect his family. (And Taros "I have to get it back" [his knack as an assassin] also stems from wanting to protect his family. But you know. That's not the way we eant him to go.) And until Taro is ready to fight again, Shin is obviously more than willing to take over responsibility. (SAKAMOTO CHAIN STORE WHEN?!)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I just talked about on Ao3 how Asakura jsut kinda.... dissapeared after the lab arc, despite being a quite important person in Shins live. (No just quite, that's his dad right there. With some questionable parenting here andthere maybe, but still.) But he's back! In the new artstyle! And man, the new artstyle does him GOOD. Love his dark Ghibli like poofy hair. With a broken hairtie too. (Relatable.) Or maybe it's jsut cause he isn't held captured in the basement prison of his own cell and was able to wash his hair. (Also the anime gave him a bit more brownish hair, but now I'm thinking his hair is actually supposed to be much darker.)

Asakura: After years you show up with some bonkers request??? Yeah dude. That's what kids do. After moving out they don't give you a life sign unless there's some family meeting, emergency or if they need something from you. Well. Depending on how healthy the relationship is. And you're colleagues kinda ostracized Shin when he was 9 years old. So. Yeah. Lol.

And now the most unlikely partnership of the year! Would have never thought seeing Kashima and Asakura working together. (Or even expected Asakura to show up again tbh.) And I love Asakura being pissed at Kashima (consequences to former storylines! Yey! The guy did hold him and all the scientists he's responsible for hostage. And at least some scientists proably died.) But still deciding to work with him. Even if it's just for the better. Or well, cause Shin asked him for something and it's kinda urgent. (Asakura: My son had some ludicious request, that's kinda important, but to finish it in time I have to work with the guy that trapped me in my own basement for like a year. Help.)

Asakura: If you feel weird than stop. Don't fry your brain.

Shin: CRANK IT!

chapter 213: The start of Shins coma arc.

Okay. Now seriously. THIS TIME. THIS TIME there's gotta be consequences. This time there's gotta be a drawback. Suzuki has been teasing it for so long. Shin has been actively overexhausting his own brain, ignoring his limits, for so long and so often already. I just really can't believe it can go on like this much longer. And the longer it goes, the more scared I get for what's about to happen.

And then what? Then both SHIN AND SAKAMOTO will be out of commission. And oh boy, I can not wait for Sakamotos reaction. He's gonna feel so guilty. (If Shin does have his breakdown this time.)

But you also know what this will mean? Time for the other characters to shine! Some focus on the rest of the team again, at least during fights. (Lu come back????) Most likely also some bit about Shishiba, Osaragi and sniper dude joining the rest. Unless they're doing their own thing. In that case we would have two teams against X. Though they're also injured, so I do think they'll meet up personally. But yeah, Heisuke also just had some moments to shine during the prison arc, and some more Lu moments are long overdue. She's also all about protecting her new family after all. (Where's Hana anyway???) Or I guess Kindaka or Nagumo....

[buglass]

Funny How Time Slips Away

Mature 18+

Summary: By 2025 in an alternate dystopian future, America is under an authoritarian dictatorship. To sustain the economy, one of the few tricks the government has permitted is biological advances allowing the biggest stars in entertainment to be cloned, trained, and sold to the masses as they once were before. At long last, Elvis Presley’s DNA is next to be developed and brought back to life. Melody Cunningham, a developmental biologist, questions over time if what Truman Laboratory and the government are doing is ethical. Risking her career and life, she must decide if enough is enough to help the new Elvis escape. Pairing: Elvis Presley x Melody Cunningham!Black!OFC Chapters: 1/? WC: 3.6K+ Warnings: Authoritarian/dystopian society AU, oral, p in v, slight age gap, sex worker, uncut, sci-fi science-y biology nonsense, cussing, etc. A/N: This idea popped into my head because who wouldn’t want Elvis to be alive right now? Enjoy this sci-fi/dystopian take <3 Kind of a long one but so much detail had to be crammed in. Likely shorter chapters in the future lol Next Chapter

The Washington D.C. lab was as cold as most of the minds that filled it. Melody wasn’t brought up to be emotionless but when the country was turned over into the hands of one man and the government bent over to follow, much of her life had changed as she knew it. So she put on the facade of being a loyal subject and obsessively studious. Melody wasn’t much of a fan of anything to do with structure and working out of an office, so she focused on majoring in STEM. The only way she felt her mind could be stimulated in the way music, television shows, and movies did for her was by being on her feet in a lab.

Melody chewed on her bottom lip as she flipped through the notes on the tablet. As the underling to the head biologist, she was meant to double and triple check stats and findings on the subjects. That’s what the people in their vats were meant to be referred to--subjects. Not human beings or real people. Lately, the older she got and the less naive she became to the government’s rule, Melody quietly questioned if she could live with herself. Since she joined Truman Labs last year after six rigorous years of higher education, she put on a show of doing what she was told and doing it better than anyone else who came before her. Melody’s eyes drifted over one famous face after the other, recognizing a few and others not as much. 

Checking the queue of who was next to fill the empty columns was nothing abnormal. Her eyes drifted over the list of five new names, using her index finger to scan each paragraph describing the traits attached to the subject. The bottom of the list and final name stated ‘Elvis Presley’ and his specimen number ‘EP3577’. Melody had heard of Elvis Presley, sure, but since the government regulated the Internet since she was a teenager, delving into older celebrities and music was based on physical media she could obtain. 

In the following months, Melody bit her tongue and did as she was told. Elvis’s DNA was collected back in his Army days, she read, the notes describing how his specimen was obtained were as simple as that. It was the company’s way of assuring there was more DNA to spare if need be. A short clip, to her surprise, showed a young Elvis Presley in black and white getting his hair cut on a military installation that stood today. Melody was taken by the sadness that crossed his face and the smile he put on for show. 

The weeks carried on until the sac surrounding what could appear to be a fetus grew rapidly within its vestibule. Melody watched and monitored him as the weeks grew into months and he was a full-fledged young man of about twenty to twenty-one years old. That’s how the government and the world liked them. Each celebrity was youthful and spry so they ultimately had a long enough lifespan to be useful again. Melody didn’t know what it was about him that stuck out to her besides how handsome he was. She had seen plenty of handsome men and beautiful women come through the lab. Knowing he died at forty-two may have affected her or it was the commercials broadcasted as of late promising to bring him back to the stage. 

She hated it.

She hated knowing they would soon keep him under lock and key the same way the real Elvis had been. That’s what her grandmother who raised her was able to convey one of the nights they met for dinner.

“Now, baby, we shouldn’t talk much about Before. I don’t mind it. They already know how excited folks are about Elvis returnin’.” Her grandmother said.

“Yeah… I was just curious.” Melody offered. Her grandmother had no clue that she worked for Truman Labs. Only that she’s a scientist with an okay-paying job that helps her get by on her own to afford an apartment and modest car.

“He was just eccentric. One of the first White boys that brought flavor and rhythm to America’s attention. Back then,” she clasps her hands over her bowl of food. “Similar to now, you weren’t supposed to be gyratin’ and swingin’ your hips on TV. It was lewd. I’m surprised they want to bring him back at that age.” 

“Do you still have some of his records?” Melody asked, stirring her food nonchalantly.

“Of course, baby. Go on and listen to whatever you like. Finish up your food first, you’re a growin’ young girl.”

“Grandma, I’m twenty-five years old,” Melody laughed.

“You’ll always be my baby. Now hush and eat.” Her grandmother dismissed, causing Melody to smile.

That evening she reacquainted herself with Elvis Presley’s music and gratefully enamored with the vinyls of Elvis simply talking or being interviewed. His southern drawl was much thicker than some of the southern twangs Melody encountered in the metropolitan area. 

She softened for him a little more, hardly noticing it once she was back at work.

The following week, Melody was checking vitals as necessary but lingered on Elvis a while longer. The application displayed everything from Elvis’s heartbeat to statistics of survivability. The lead biologist, Randall, wandered over to her side and crossed his arms over his chest as he peeked over to the tablet. He was pushing forty or already well into his forties. She wasn’t sure. The gray hairs among the brown strands and his bushy mustache threw her off. He was lean and tall, a bit too wiry for her liking. Melody knew when he was nearby because he always sprayed too much cologne. 

“You’ve taken a liking to him, haven’t you?” Randall, leaned over to whisper jokingly.

“Ha, ha. I’m only being cautious so months of our hard work comes to fruition,” she glanced over to him and then back to Elvis. His genetically blond hair was spliced into being as black as his mother’s. It was insisted upon to save costs on his appearance. Melody watched his floating and bobbing figures, a couple of tubes connected to him swishing in the life-sustaining substance.

“It’s okay to like him. Every girl your age back then did. More or less. The world will be happy to have him back.” Randall nodded, looking up at Elvis. She screwed her mouth to the side while debating what to say and what not to.

“What about his family? Doesn’t he still have relatives that are alive today?”

“Some, but who would speak out against the regime? They’ll end up with a bullet between their eyes before someone intervenes on a family’s behalf.” Randall lowered his voice.

“Right,” Melody answered tersely.

“Are you alright, Mel? You’ve been tense lately.” Randall asked, crinkling his brows.

“This is just…important. It’s nothing more than the usual stress. I’m okay.” She nodded.

“Well, don’t be afraid to let me know if you need to put in some leave. Give the rest of these freeloaders something to do.” Randall said, clapping a friendly hand on her back. He left to check on the said freeloaders and Melody felt her shoulders drop as the tension left her. 

The day came when the five subjects would be transferred to the Training Wing. Melody was anxious about the entire process. The Training Wing could be stringent and border on abusive, from what she heard. Each celebrity clone needed something in particular about them ingrained into them in a small amount of time. Truman Labs was manufacturing nature versus nurture. In the past year, she learned that some things were just ingrained in every person. Sure, they had to be retaught how to play an instrument or act but they picked up on it like they were born to do it. 

One of the other scientists pulled the switch down for the specific group to be drained, a yellow light flashing above his head to alert what was happening. Melody couldn’t stand still, pacing and attached to the tablet as she checked the vitals of all five persons. They slowly lowered to the bottom of their tanks, a few crumpling where they ended up and unable to walk if they tried. Elvis was one of the few that started to come to and open his eyes. His hair hung in his face and he raised a hand slowly to wipe it from his forehead. The awaiting training teams dressed from head to two in white scrubs stood by with five gurneys, two to one. The first few doors were opened with a hiss as they began removing tubes and strongarming the subjects, loading them up onto the carts and strapping their soaked forms in.

Elvis’s head rolled when he was on the cart, his eyes landing on Melody as she stood back. Her full lips parted as his strikingly blue eyes focused on her and his unstrapped arm hung off the gurney as if reaching out. That was strange as the subjects were usually too disoriented to acknowledge what was going on but there he was focused on Melody. She swallowed hard and dropped her eyes back to the tablet, checking his vitals. Elvis’s heart rate had gone up and by the time she was looking at him again, he was using what little strength he had to bat off the training team members. 

“Do you have a sedative on hand?” Asked one of the escorts, a stocky woman.

Melody was distracted by Elvis’s eyes holding her gaze, impressed by how much he shoved against the hands trying to wrestle him down. The whimpering sounds he made tugged at her, stabbing into her gut and up into her heart. There was that uncomfortable feeling again, seeing him as a person and not a lab rat. Melody nodded distractedly once she regained her internal composure. The tablet was left on a desk as she walked over to one of the few refrigerators that held all sorts of drugs and syringes on hand. Melody made quick work of drawing the sedative up into a sterile needle and approached Elvis’s gurney, plucking at it to clear out any bubbles. 

Elvis seemed to calm down the closer she got to him until he saw how sharp the needle was. He made a sound of discomfort, cringing as Melody gained in on him and turned over his arm.

“It won’t hurt too much,” she told him gently. “You’ll sleep,” Melody said, hoping he understood enough. Injecting the sedative, Elvis looked unsure and the space between his brows crinkled. His expression changed within seconds, his face relaxing until his eyes rolled shut.

“Thanks. He’s one strong son of a bitch,” said the same woman. “I thought they hardly knew what was going on at first?”

“Me too,” the male training member cosigned, exhaling a deep breath.

“Yeah, I don’t know. That was new for me, too.” Melody whispered, bringing a hand up into her hair and scratching at her head.

The first few days were always the toughest for the subjects when adjusting to their bodies and their unusually developed minds for their age. It had been just over six months since they were processed in a tube to where they were now under watchful eyes and cameras recording their every move. Elvis had his own housing as they all did. In some form or fashion, the apartment-like housing quarters were meant to replicate where they lived when they were that age as much as possible. The notes labeled his living space simply as ‘Audobon’ for the street he lived on back in nineteen-fifty-six. Every inch of the living quarters was paneled by two-sided glass that Elvis couldn’t see through but any observers could always watch him from room to room.

Melody observed as his caretakers and teachers filtered in and out over the days and weeks, teaching Elvis how to dress and carry himself. His guitar lessons were scheduled here and there in between and his speech therapist would usually follow. He was doing well besides the slight stutter he had grown accustomed to. But, the collective notes reassured her it was very characteristic of him after all. Any other free time was focused on what Melody called 'The Brainwashing' where a VR headset with subliminal images displaying the past of the real celebrity was given to the clone after they were sedated for up to an hour a day. Sometimes music or movies were played over the speakers too while they slept.

Elvis and Melody had yet to see one another directly since he was strapped to the gurney. As was protocol, Melody checked on the subjects solely for their vitals and acuity. Admittedly, she couldn’t wait for the day to come to encounter Elvis for herself. When the day did come, the steel door to his housing clicked as the large bolts holding it in place were unlocked after approval for entry was gained. The stethoscope around her neck felt heavy. Melody held the tablet at her side. She bumped the blood pressure cuff in her lab coat pocket, nervous to meet Elvis though she had long since come to terms that most of the celebrities weren’t who they were made to be. It felt inauthentic to her either way and yet Elvis filled her stomach with butterflies.

Melody stepped inside and waited for the door behind her to shut. Another heavy clunk and she was locked in with Elvis. From what she had observed, he grew used to his circumstances though he sometimes lashed out at the staff when he didn’t quite get his way. He was genetically a Presley--it was fitting. Melody followed the sound of guitar strumming and playing, finding him in his bedroom lying back on his bed in the same fifties garb he would have worn with the guitar atop of him. She knocked at the door out of politeness, shuffling into the room. Elvis lifted his head suddenly, jumping as he looked over to her. His eyes went wide as he moved to sit up.

“You’re that lady from the-the lab? Where they took me from,” he said warily though he appeared awestruck.

“I am. I’m Melody and here to check on your vitals. Is that okay with you?” She shuffled, clasping her hands together and the tablet against her stomach.

“You told me before that shot wasn’t gonna hurt any,” Elvis said, moving his guitar to his side on the bed. “You lied ta me.”

Melody didn’t know what to make of him, squinting just as a smile grew on his face. Her lips parted in thought before she found herself laughing.

“I’m sorry, but I had to be sure you stayed calm. It’s all protocol we have to follow. Not somethin’ I necessarily wanted to do.” She pressed her lips together, amused. 

“Mm, I see. I’m gettin’ used to it, the pokin’ and proddin’,” Elvis said playfully. 

Melody crossed the room humming in return, placing the tablet on the bed. She drew out the blood pressure cuff from her coat pocket and stood in front of Elvis. His socked feet were flat on the floor, his back straight as he let his hands lie in his lap. Melody grabbed a hold of the left sleeve of his button-up shirt to begin rolling it up.

“I’m sorry you’re bein’ poked and prodded,” she amended.

“Most of ‘em aren’t as pretty as you,” he tried as he looked down at her hands. “Otherwise, it’s, uh, not so bad.”

“You are just a baby, you know that?” Melody laughed as he raised a brow. Elvis might have looked twenty-one but to her, he was just a boy.

“Not where it matters,” Elvis smirked.

She should have known to expect it but to her knowledge, Elvis never openly dated Black women. Melody narrowed her eyes and didn’t respond, focusing on the task at hand as she finally got the cuff around his arm. The earplugs to the stethoscope were brought up before she took the bell and pressed it into the nook of Elvis’s arm. His eyes never left her while Melody honed in on his pulse and squeezed the pump to the cuff. Elvis’s free hand began to wander, lifting until it settled on her waist. Melody jumped, unable to bat him away while she watched the seconds tick by on her worn wristwatch. She never thought to take any of the warnings seriously about how much he enjoyed touch and attention. The job should have been mostly in and out. 

That was how most of her visits went and she wanted to be less entertained and inviting to Elvis’s woes and whims, but he was unbelievably personable. His charisma was that of the original Elvis who died in seventy-seven. For the benefit of making Elvis into Elvis, the lab as a whole and inspectors didn’t seem to mind when he grew fond of someone. In their notes, everyone appeared to agree it was for the better that Elvis remained a lady’s man through and through. 

Then came the time for Elvis to be given the first woman of many that he would come to encounter within the lab alone. After a few months of running jokes about watching Elvis touch himself, Melody put her feelings aside for the sake of following rules. A year was coming up since Melody first synthesized Elvis’s DNA and she came to like him and borderline possibly love him. The latter was something she struggled to admit even to herself. As was custom to the rock stars Truman Labs created, there were women on hand and hired as was the norm for the New Age. Agencies of sex workers contracted with the government and most favored working in the biotechnical field strictly for the chance to bed a celebrity. 

Melody could have thrown up. She knew somewhere around this age that Elvis slept with a woman for the first time but she didn’t see why it mattered. When men were in control, it didn’t have to make sense. She guessed it was like they took pity on the male subjects to validate their collective horniness. She was on the evening shift that night, grateful to be mostly alone apart from a couple of others who made the arrangements to provide protection and essentials for a romantic evening. Anyone else was in the Security Center monitoring. 

She roamed around to the glass window that peered into Elvis’s bedroom where a thin but curvaceous woman with a pixie cut dressed in a tight black dress befitting of the fifties era was leading him by hand. Elvis was slack-jawed, a tent bulging in his trousers. Melody tried to refrain from being jealous when they were on the couch watching a movie together and Elvis made the first move, tipping the woman’s chin in his direction to kiss her. She didn’t blame either one of them. 

But why did she feel that way? 

The woman--going by Jenny--pushed Elvis down onto his bed and he grunted, staring up with wide eyes that only a virgin could convey. “I-I ain’t never done this before,” he said.

“Oh, I know, honey. I’ll be real sweet to you. I promise,” Jenny said, her voice buttery and recognizably southern.

Then she was kneeling between Elvis’s legs, rubbing her hands up his pant-covered thighs. Melody swallowed as she forgot about the notes she was meant to be taking as she had done a hundred times before. Jenny reached up to unbutton and unzip Elvis’s pants as he perched himself on his elbows. Elvis released a shaky breath as he lifted up his hips while Jenny wrenched his trousers and underwear away. His uncut cock sprung free and Jenny cooed at Elvis warmly. The way he was trembling, Melody was sure he wasn’t going to last any longer than a few minutes and that meant they would have to book her again. 

Melody groaned as she rubbed her brow, forcing herself to move to a different spot. She wanted to tell herself she didn’t need to look but her eyes were on them again. Jenny was quick since by then her lips were wrapped around Elvis’s length and she bobbed carefully. He held the base of his cock for her, his opposite hand gentle on the back of her head. Melody froze, watching his face convulse and change with every movement. 

“Fuck, baby, you keep doin’ that and I’ll… I’ll come,” Elvis grunted. Jenny made obscene mouth noises as she pulled off of him and his cock jumped as cool air met wet skin. 

“It’s okay if you do. But, I guess I can stop.” Jenny smiled, pulling back. Elvis breathed out in response as if he was relieved to hear it. “Do you have a condom, sweetie?” She asked.

“Yeah, uh, yeah. One second, honey.” Elvis sat up, reaching down into the pocket the pants pooling around his ankles. He dug free a shiny, square blue wrapper that Jenny took as she stood. She moved skillfully, tearing the plastic and removing the condom. Jenny rolled the rubber on familiarly, moving with ease over top of Elvis to straddle him with her dress and heels on. 

Elvis braced his hands at her hips, watching her with heavy-lidded bedroom eyes that caused an ache deep below Melody’s belt. Her heart was racing and she shivered, hoping the attention from every other observer assigned to Elvis that evening was on the couple. Melody was gripping her tablet hard enough her hand was starting to hurt before she noticed. Elvis’s head fell back as Jenny sunk down onto him, eventually lying flat on his back as her hips bounced.

Melody cleared her throat, suddenly sure she had all the notes she needed and could later review the recording if necessary. Elvis’s eyes opened again at some point and he turned away from Jenny to look toward the window he couldn’t see out of. Melody paused again, wary that he could see her somehow. His top lip curled as he moaned out and he shut his eyes again, his hands sliding under Jenny’s dress by her hand showing him where to touch her. Melody turned on her heel to return to her desk in the lab.

“Oh, my God,” Elvis hissed, his voice echoing into the hall over a speaker.

Melody was screwed.

[rallentando1011]

hi! Saw the inbox was open, and wondering if I could slide in with a rise donnie boy x readerone-shot..

So essentially- donnie is STEM smart right? What if- what if reader was the opposite, like lit/history smart? Like, reads a lot, and almost never puts there book down, even when people talk to them (puts it down for donnie and gives him their full attention tho-) knows a lot about almost any point in history and adores archeology. (The only thing they understand when donnie goes science mode is biology.)

And so what if- what if reader, who's oblivious to almost everything and is a huge hopeless romantic bc of ✨️books✨️, decides to try and come up with ideas to ask donnie out in a more STEM way? But like, before they can donnie sees the list and is just like "smh ur math is atrocious/aff" and then fluffy stuff yaknow??

Lol sorry, went on a tangent. Anywhizzle, love ur writing! Don't forget to take a break, stretch and get some food and water if you need to!Have a good morning/evening/night!!! :))

U + Me = Date?

(this took a minute, but it’s such a fun and sweet request that I had a wonderful time with! Tysm, and please make sure that you’re taking care of yourself as well! Enjoy! Request guidelines are located here btw) Word Count: 2371

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything on earth has a niche, a designated function it gets to act out, a role it gets to fill. The Cape May Warbler, Bay-Breasted Warbler, and Yellow-Rumped Warbler have the top middle and bottom of a spruce tree to eat in, respectively. Humanity has its niche of expansion, whether it be out through the globe or up in towering metropolises.

If you had to specify your niche, it would just about have to be reading. Now, of course your life is filled with numerous aspirations, but your multifarious interests can all be classified under your affinity for books.

Any form of literature, thrillers, epics, romance novels, they all did it for you, enveloped the entirety of your attention in an immersive world.

That was without a doubt: they entertained you. 

At least, they made you feel inspired to do things, take action in your personal life, possibly commit to confessing certain feelings to a certain softshell turtle. Actually committing to the bit, though, was a completely different story.

In the extensive library you had under your belt, there were many a meet cute and innovative confession. However, just because it worked out in literature, it didn’t mean that you could actually do it. What if it ended up weird or cringe or downright friendship shattering?

The status quo was comfortable, subsisting off of shared time in your turtle-in-question’s lab, the two of you simultaneously performing your own tasks. You would sit and enrich yourself with a book, Donnie would tinker until he had something that piqued his interest, which happened rather frequently, and your attention would suddenly be on him. It was simple. It worked. Taking action could complicate things.

So, your inspiration remained squandered by doubt, an inkling of hope staying concealed internally.

At least, inspiration wouldn’t make anything occur unprompted, and, luckily, that nudge came swiftly.

Earlier, as you were straight chilling in a cozy bean bag chair in the lair’s living room, you saw Donnie enter the room out of your peripheral vision. However, he only seemed like a purple blur because your attention was on the thick, dense book sitting on your lap. The cover was of a similar slickness and feel to that of a textbook, the size was as well, but this read was solely for entertainment. The content could practically be summed up as history of the entire world, i guess but fleshed out with more anecdotes and primary sources.

You had been soaking in a finely written excerpt entailing early hominid tool use, accompanied by an image of a related artifact, when you felt a presence leaning over your shoulder. You opted to continue your train of thought through the lines until you heard a familiar timbre clear its throat behind you. With a sigh, you placed a finger on your spot and faced one Donatello.

“Something the matter?” You blinked slowly.

“Oh, nothing,” he shrugged, expression seeming intentionally cool, “just checking out the book choice for today.”

You lifted the book from your lap to display the contents to him.

His eyes skimmed over the page before he grinned slightly. “Ah, prehistoric archaeology? I could dig it.”

You pursed your lips, trying to keep your thought from spilling out of your mouth before ultimately giving in to your amusing whims. “Leo ahh humor.”

Donnie gaped. “Gasp, you wound me. I rescind my statement and shall not be partaking in any archaeological reading-slash-discussion with you.”

“I’m just messing around, ‘Tello. I can dabble in some crude wordplay.”

“Crude?”

“Crude. Heck, I’d bargain to say that was more archaic than the sector of human history I’m in right now, and they don’t even have wheels.”

He raised a curious brow, visibly less offended. You could work with that.

“Rather intriguing. Care to join me?” You patted the ample space on the bean bag next to you.

Curiously, he stared at you, then the space you were offering, and back, before slipping beside you.

“Care to enlighten me on this subject?” he parried, and with a grin, you were off, describing the main theme of the page, the early development of primates and humans, as well as outside archaeological examples that you knew of, the whole nine yards.

As you rambled on, you locked eyes with him occasionally, and his eyes were intrigued saucers every time you did. It made something in your brain click.

He played along with your banter. He was sitting right beside you, absorbing your words so vehemently and genuinely and ohmigosh this guy of all people wouldn’t judge you for trying something that could be weird. Heck, he’s a fanatic of oddities, anything mystic or scientific, so if he didn’t like you asking him out, at the very least he’d admire the effort. So, you were inspired to try something, finally take some action.

You were going for it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You set to work on your asking-out endeavor as soon as you arrived home.

At first you tried looking at STEM-related pickup lines.

Sardonically, of course. You wanted something that got your point across without seeming too vulnerable, something you could play off in the scenario you got completely and irrevocably rejected.

“I less than three you… That’s not that bad,” you scrolled through the results of your search, perched at your kitchen table.

You only made it down the list to ‘the square root of all my fantasies is you’ until you actually needed to call it quits on that route. There was a fine line between being intentionally corny and the monstrosity that was that line.

So you took the next completely logical leap: concocting a page full of intricate mathematical and scientific questions, the answers of which spelled out an encrypted message.

It was the sane thing to do. 

4  1  20 5          20 15 13  15  18  18 15 23 ?

D  A  T  E          T   O   M   O   R   R  O  W ?

You scribbled the message on a scrap piece of paper. You entertained the idea of writing a whole sentence, but just these two words covered the gist clearly and concisely. Plus, coming up with questions for only two words was enough to melt your brain.

“Limit as x approaches sixteen of the square root of x… equals… yeah, four. That works,” you mumbled. “One down,” you sucked in a deep breath, “eleven to go. Crud.”

The next few hours blended together aimlessly, riddled with just about every mathematical scenario you could conjure up. Sure, derivatives and Planck’s Constant and the unit circle (the bane of your existence) were all ambitious topics to have on the totally inconspicuous worksheet, but, to quote a phrase, go big or go home. When in Rome also works.

By the time you reached ungodly hours in the night, you had curated a functional way to surprise and ask out your best friend. With your brain oozing out of your ears, you put the paper somewhere safe and collapsed face down on your bed.

You would have mentally prepared yourself to give him the paper tomorrow if not for the calculus-derived headache already splitting your mind.

Instead, you immediately dozed off.

You could deal with the minutiae of tomorrow… tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day when you waltzed into the lair, he was conveniently seated at the desk in his lab.

“Heya D! I come bearing gifts.” You presented him with the paper as coolly as you could, keeping all the panic and nerves internal, and took up the chair beside him.

“A calculus sheet?” He grinned. “You shouldn’t have.”

After a moment of looking at it, however, his eyes dimmed and smile lessened. “...You shouldn’t have.”

You faltered. “Oh, gosh, is it that bad?”

“Which letter corresponds with negative one?”

“What?” you exclaimed. “Oh nononono no, I checked my math like five times, it’s not even possible-”

“The derivative of cosine theta is negative sine theta. Not positive. Simple mistake, really. It was a valiant effort of- whatever you were trying to do.”

You blinked, smacked your lips. Well, that was the end of that. You would just take your leave and move out of the city and change your name and never feel anything again. Easy.

“Just forget I did anything, forget this paper exists- like, what paper even?” You reached for the sheet of paper only for him to use the mechanical extensions on his battle shell to hold it out of your reach.

“No, my interest is piqued,” he smirked. You could almost feel the mischievousness emanating from him. “I will gladly continue, if you do not mind.”

You complied and sat stiffly, anxiously glancing about the lab, until you saw him pick up a utensil and start marking on the paper.

“Are you correcting it with a pen? Are you seriously grading this right now?” you muttered. You weren’t mad, just thoroughly panicked.

He stopped writing momentarily. “What? No, not grading, per say. This is just how I’m deciphering this.”

You knew that tone and you knew that was a lie. 

“I- ugh,” you flopped your head down on his desk and closed your eyes. “Just tell me when you’re done fixing it. I spent a needlessly long amount of time on this just for it to be terrible.”

He didn’t deny that it was terrible, though you excused that to him being busy and hopefully not him agreeing.

Although, with how quickly his pen was scratching marks on the page, the latter seemed more feasible.

You focused on taking deep, steadying breaths, relaxing to the sounds of the busy pen until it suddenly stopped.

Lifting your head from its place, you saw he had completely stilled, staring at the paper with wide eyes and upturned lips.

“What? Did you spot another comically egregious mistake?” you mumbled, halfway intrigued.

He took another few seconds to answer you. “Something like that.” And with that nothingness of an answer, he started writing again, much more fervently.

“Okay then.” You went to put your head down again before he slammed the paper down before you.

“Boom! Here is the revised and finalized version of the worksheet,” he grinned.

You narrowed your eyes at the comments about your inability to include units, corrections on when something was supposed to be negative, but the markings at the bottom of the page were what caught your attention the most.

When you looked at the corner of the page, you saw an odd combination of zeros and ones. 

01101111 01101000 00100000 01111001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01110000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 

“Actually, what is this?” You gestured to the code.

“It’s my response.”

“And you had to put it in binary?”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk in codes.” He sounded frustratingly nonchalant.

“Yeah, but-” you considered asking him to directly tell you, but maybe this was slightly less nerve wracking. Ripping off the bandaid be darned, you took the coward’s way out and pulled out your phone. “Man, I let you get away with way too much stuff. Has this interaction not dragged on painstakingly enough?”

“The greater the hardship, the greater the reward,” he commented with a shrug.

That pleasant surprise of a response made you copy the ones and zeros faster into the binary decoding website you’d searched up.

Just as you had everything in and your finger steadied over the button that would tell you what he was saying, you hesitated, steadied yourself with a deep breath, and hit it.

Nothing could have prepared you for the rush of adrenaline and euphoria that washed over you at seeing his answer.

“Ohmigosh, you’re serious?! Because you cannot be joking like this, Donatello.”

“As the plague.” One of his hands rested on his chest, the other was in the air as if taking an oath.

“Haha, yes!” you cheered, spinning the desk chair you were in. The late night and headache had paid off, and it felt great!

“So, where am I accompanying you tomorrow?” He mused.

Immediately, you paused. You’d only spent time thinking about the part where you ask him out, not the actual going out part.

“Where? Uhh, I hadn’t really gotten to that point of the planning stage.”

“You were too focused on biffing a math paper to actually plan out its intended purpose?”

“Yeah, not my brightest decision, nor my best work. It was a rather dumb decision on my behalf.”

“You are a dum-dum, but just because of how needlessly complex you made this, not because of your mathematical errors.”

“I genuinely don��t know if I should take offense to that or not.”

“Maybe you should be thinking about where we’re going tomorrow? Just a thought.”

You clicked your tongue. “Fine, uhh coffee?”

“A little trite for a first date, no?” Donnie propped his elbow up on the desk and rested his chin on his hand, smiling widely.

“Okay then, coffee and we go to the library?”

“Don’t we normally do that anyway? What about it makes it a ‘da-”

“Donnie, I am running on fumes from making the erroneous atrocity that is that worksheet last night. If you don’t have any suggestions, coffee at the library works. If you have a contribution, go right ahead.” You put your hands up in surrender.

Donnie’s smugness faded slightly and he lightly nudged your elbow. “Coffee at the library sounds great. And for what it’s worth, I appreciate that you tried to do something innovative. It was truly a highly admirable effort.”

“Thanks, D.”

“Of course.  But from now on, let’s leave the math to the professionals.”

There it was again: the sass.

“Oh, that’s a low blow.” You shook your head, still smiling.

“A low blow would be mentioning how you confused the natural logarithm for a standard logarithm. You see, when you have e to the power of…”

The corrections and banter flourished on from there, the both of you giggling and getting mockingly, lightheartedly angry with each other.

Despite your interests in different subjects, the two of you understood each other. It was wonderful to have a partner that you could be niche with wherever and whenever.

It was almost worth all the math and science it took to get there.

(I actually made inconspicuous math worksheet that reader made for Donnie, and it is linked HERE!)