#enzyme pathways

[er-cryptid]

Malate Dehydrogenase 1

Abbreviated MDH1

Oxidizes malate to oxaloacetate

Localized to cytoplasm

Plays a role in malate-aspartate shuttle

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[lilybug-02]

Hollow's getting some flashbacks here...

Bug Fact: Halicephalobus mephisto is a nematode (roundworm) that is named after Mephistopheles, the Lord of the Underworld and alludes to the fact it is the deepest-living animal EVER found. 3.6 km (2.2 mi) under the surface!!! Pictures and Facts Below.

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Volume 2 Masterpost

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If you don't know too much about the depths of Earth's crust, 2 miles under may not sound very much. BUT HOLY COW, IT IS THOUGH!!!

Because there is NO OXYGEN down there. And it's REALLY HOT from all the pressure.

And according to radiocarbon dating, these worms live in groundwater that is 3,000–12,000 years old???? The ONLY other known organisms down there are Single-celled little blobs -> THAT IT EATS. THIS CREATURE IS INSANE.

This stupid little nematode is able to thrive in extreme conditions due to its adaptations to the environment including changed cellular respiration pathways to facilitate survival in low levels of oxygen and literal modified enzymes to keep it from blowing up from pressure and heat. Bruh????

Learn more about this little abomination <3

This mf is CRAZY.

[mortalislabs]

Trigonelline is a methylated form of niacin and is a recently isolated molecule that could be the secret ingredient in your stack. This form of the B vitamin is involved in the generation of NAD+, a cofactor for over 500 metabolic processes in cells. Trigonelline promotes cellular repair and energy, and as we’ll see, exerts quite a few benefits that are specifically useful for anyone training seriously.

Trigonelline is found in several plant-based foods, notably coffee beans and fenugreek seeds. Green coffee beans contain trigonelline concentrations ranging from 0.6% to 1.0% by weight. However, traditional dietary sources don’t provide sufficient amounts to elicit significant physiological effects. For instance, the average trigonelline content in a cup of coffee is approximately 53 mg, and about 50-80% of trigonelline decomposes during the roasting process, leaving virtually nothing for your body to make use of.

Recent research published on this naturally occurring alkaloid highlights its potential in enhancing muscle function and combating age-related decline. A 2024 study published in Nature Metabolism identified trigonelline as a novel precursor to nicotinamide adenine dinucleotide (NAD+), a molecule essential for energy metabolism and mitochondrial function. The study demonstrated that trigonelline supplementation improved muscle strength and reduced fatigue in aged mice, suggesting that it can head off the natural muscle decline seen in aging, even in those who are already training at capacity.

NAD+ gets discussed a lot in the longevity space because of its natural and steep decline over the years, tied to all the diseases of aging. It's a metabolic linchpin that determines how efficiently your cells convert fuel into usable energy. For athletes, that efficiency translates into faster recovery, better performance under load, and greater resilience under metabolic stress. Or, you know, complete lack of those things if you don’t have enough of it.

NAD+ is required for redox (oxidation–reduction) reactions in mitochondrial energy production and is a cofactor and substrate for longevity-promoting sirtuins and other enzymes involved in muscle repair and adaptation. During intense physical activity, NAD+ levels drop as demand for ATP surges. Replenishing intracellular NAD+ is critical not only for restoring mitochondrial output but also for initiating the cellular programs that rebuild and reinforce muscle tissue [1].

Trigonelline offers a direct path to NAD+—one that bypasses the liver and supports muscle tissue specifically. In a landmark 2024 study, researchers at EPFL and Nestlé Health Sciences (yes, that Nestlé, but there aren’t any conflicts of interest, we checked) demonstrated that trigonelline functions as a previously unidentified NAD+ precursor, rapidly taken up by skeletal muscle cells and converted into NAD+ via a salvage pathway independent of the traditional NR or NMN routes [2]. This muscle-specific uptake is particularly important for athletes, who require localized replenishment in the very tissues under stress.

Most NAD+ precursors—including nicotinamide riboside (NR) and nicotinamide mononucleotide (NMN)—undergo hepatic metabolism before entering systemic circulation. This creates a bottleneck at your liver for targeted muscle repair. Trigonelline appears to bypass that constraint by delivering precursors directly where they're needed most: the muscle fibers responsible for performance and endurance.

This shift in delivery has implications beyond simple NAD+ restoration. In the same Nature Metabolism study, aged mice supplemented with trigonelline showed significant improvements in grip strength and fatigue resistance—outcomes tightly linked to muscle NAD+ availability. Unlike systemic precursors that may elevate circulating NAD+ levels without improving localized bioenergetics, trigonelline drives changes in muscle mitochondrial density and function.

For athletes, this is the difference between feeling recovered and actually being rebuilt.

Mitochondria Make Muscles Move

Endurance Starts in the Electron Transport Chain

Every sprint, every lift, every set depends on one thing: mitochondrial output. The ability to generate ATP on demand—efficiently and cleanly—is the defining line between sustained power and early fatigue. Trigonelline’s value lies not just in elevating NAD+ levels, but in what that elevation enables at the level of mitochondrial performance.

NAD+ drives oxidative phosphorylation, the mitochondrial pathway responsible for converting nutrients into ATP. When NAD+ is depleted, electron transport slows, reactive oxygen species accumulate, and mitochondrial output tanks—resulting in performance collapse and prolonged recovery. Replenishing NAD+ restores mitochondrial throughput, enhances metabolic flexibility, and allows cells to switch between carbohydrate and fat oxidation with minimal friction [3].

Trigonelline’s role as a direct NAD+ precursor in muscle tissue makes it especially powerful in this context. By bypassing hepatic metabolism and restoring NAD+ where it's most needed, it kickstarts mitochondrial biogenesis—activating pathways like PGC-1α that drive the formation of new mitochondria and increase the efficiency of existing ones [4]. This isn’t theoretical: in the 2024 Nature Metabolism study, trigonelline supplementation significantly boosted mitochondrial content and activity in aged mice, restoring performance metrics typically lost with age and overtraining [2].

This cellular shift translates directly to the field, the track, and the gym. More mitochondria means more ATP per unit of oxygen consumed. This is the underpinning of higher VO₂ max, improved lactate clearance, and extended time-to-exhaustion. Trigonelline supports this adaptation at the source, which means athletes can train harder, go longer, and bounce back faster—without relying on stimulants or sketchy ergogenics.

More NAD+ in muscle equals better mitochondrial kinetics, which equals better athletic output. Period.

Strength and Muscle Health

Preserving Power, Not Just Mass

Strength isn’t only about size—it’s about contractile quality, neuromuscular precision, and the cellular capacity to resist breakdown under stress. Trigonelline’s impact on muscle tissue reaches beyond endurance. It supports structural integrity, performance output, and resilience across multiple pathways—especially in the context of aging or chronic training demand.

In the 2024 Nature Metabolism study, trigonelline supplementation restored muscle grip strength and improved fatigue resistance in aged mice, with outcomes exceeding those observed in control groups receiving traditional NAD+ precursors [2]. This effect was tied to increased NAD+ availability in skeletal muscle, which reactivated SIRT1- and PGC-1α-dependent pathways responsible for mitochondrial biogenesis, inflammation control, and protein maintenance—all critical for contractile performance and mass preservation [5].

NAD+ also plays a protective role against muscle wasting. It regulates the balance between anabolic and catabolic signaling, modulating FoxO transcription factors and suppressing atrophy-related genes like MuRF1 and atrogin-1 [6]. This anti-catabolic signaling becomes especially important during periods of calorie deficit, illness, or overreaching, when muscle degradation accelerates. Trigonelline, by supplying NAD+ directly to muscle cells, may help maintain lean mass even under systemic stress.

One overlooked aspect of muscle performance is neuromuscular junction (NMJ) stability, or, the connections between nerves and muscle fibers. These connections go both ways, with afferent signals carrying sensory feedback from muscle to brain, and efferent signals delivering motor commands from brain to muscle. Maintaining the integrity of this bidirectional communication is essential for coordination, strength, and rapid recovery from fatigue. NAD+ is required for the function of enzymes that protect NMJ architecture—particularly in aging or disease models where synaptic decline contributes to strength loss [7]. Trigonelline’s direct muscle delivery may therefore preserve the electrical signaling fidelity needed for explosive power and motor unit recruitment.

Muscle Fiber Type Preservation

Emerging evidence suggests that NAD+ availability influences muscle fiber type composition. High NAD+ levels favor the maintenance of fast-twitch (Type II) fibers—those responsible for strength, speed, and power—by enhancing mitochondrial support without triggering full transition to slow-twitch oxidative profiles [8]. This has implications for athletes seeking to maintain peak force output without compromising endurance. By elevating muscle NAD+ directly, trigonelline may help preserve this delicate fiber balance.

Trigonelline is formulated not to just support general energy—but to protect the architecture of athleticism at the cellular level.

For a reliable, pure form of trigonelline with zero additives, you can trust Mortalis Labs.

[whats-in-a-sentence]

ROS detoxification enzymes and antioxidants function in cells as a network supported by various antioxidant recycling systems that replenish the level of reduced antioxidants (Figure 24.20).

"Plant Physiology and Development" int'l 6e - Taiz, L., Zeiger, E., Møller, I.M., Murphy, A.

[xoxosierralane]

| ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴʟʏ |

✎ from sierra: hello hi there, my first time posting a fic on tumblr let’s hope i did this good..! and i also hope you guys enjoy this little chapter and lmk if you would like another, im also open to any ideas and writing tips. also ty to @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary & @bueckersbitch for some tips when i asked they def helped, you guys are lovely also check them out 🌺

✎ synopsis: when an overworked pre-med student wakes up late for class, the last thing she expects—aside from the existential spiral mid-lecture—is to be roped into tutoring UConn’s star point guard, Paige Bueckers. Paige is charismatic, cocky, and somehow always talking. The reader is sleep-deprived, sarcastic, and trying desperately to avoid any and all distractions. But when tutoring sessions turn into unexpected walks home, avoiding Paige becomes impossible. She’s not just a classmate—she’s a slow, sneaky problem. And worse? She lives next door.

✎ warnings: language

There are few sounds in this world more horrifying than your alarm going off thirty-five minutes after your class already started.

The second my eyes fly open, I know something is wrong. It’s that eerie, sun-too-bright, birds-too-loud kind of wrong. That creeping, soul-leaving-my-body realization as I blink at my phone screen and see the time:

9:53 AM.

Class started at nine. I should be halfway through pretending to understand biochem pathways by now, not halfway to a heart attack in bed.

I launch out of my sheets like a woman possessed, nearly tripping over the half-folded pile of laundry on my floor and banging my shin on the corner of my desk. (Why do dorm room desks always have the sharpest edges known to man?)

“Okay, okay, it’s fine,” I mutter to myself, pulling on the first pair of jeans I can find and a hoodie that may or may not have toothpaste stains on it. “You’re only, like, an hour late. People have survived worse.”

My hair’s still in the braids I did last night, thank God, because if I had to fight edge control and lateness at the same time, I would’ve just dropped out on the spot. I grab my bag, shove in a half-closed notebook, and toss a granola bar in my pocket like it’s some kind of sacrificial offering.

By the time I get to the lecture hall, I’m fully out of breath and lightly sweating. Cute. Nothing says “serious STEM major” like showing up late and looking like you just ran a 5K.

I try to sneak in, pulling the door open as quietly as possible (which means it creaks like it hasn’t been used since the Civil War), and immediately feel a hundred pairs of eyes swing in my direction. My professor pauses mid-slide.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says dryly, not even bothering to hide his smile.

“Sorry,” I mumble, keeping my head down as I scurry to the only open seat in the second row, of course. Because the back row? The safety zone? Taken. God has favorites, and I’m clearly not one of them.

I sink into the seat and pretend I didn’t just make a grand entrance. The girl next to me—blonde, tall, looks suspiciously like someone who could dunk on me if given the chance—glances over with a raised brow and the tiniest smirk.

“Rough morning?” she asks, her voice warm, a little teasing. It’s got that slightly drawn-out edge to it, like she grew up saying “pop” instead of “soda.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

She puts her hands up in mock defense but doesn’t stop smiling. Great. A morning person with cheekbones. Just what I needed.

I turn back to the lecture, trying to catch up on whatever enzyme he’s ranting about. Paige—yes, Paige Bueckers, UConn’s golden girl, sitting next to me like this is her seat or something—keeps glancing over at me every few minutes, like I’m the entertainment for the day.

Which, fine. I probably am. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The lecture drones on, a blur of chemical structures and way too many acronyms. My brain’s already in fight-or-flight mode, and I’m trying to copy notes from the slide like my future depends on it—which it kinda does, because if I bomb this class, there goes med school, and if I don’t go to med school, then what? Sell overpriced vitamins on TikTok? Start a podcast about burnout?

I sink lower in my seat, hoping to disappear entirely.

“Alright,” the professor says, tapping his remote like it owes him money. “Can anyone explain the mechanism here?”

Silence. Beautiful, holy silence. For a second, I think we might all get away with it.

Then—

“Maya?”

I freeze. My neck actually creaks when I turn my head up to look at him. “Sorry?”

He smiles like this is fun for him. “The mechanism. For the rate-limiting step of glycolysis.”

Of course it’s glycolysis. Of course it’s this unit. I glance down at my notes, which may as well be scribbled in a dead language, and I swear my soul briefly exits my body.

Okay. Think. You’ve studied this. You’ve done flashcards at 2 a.m. like a responsible, sleep-deprived adult. You can do this.

“…Hexokinase?” I offer, which I immediately realize is wrong because his eyebrow twitches.

“Not quite,” he says. “Anyone else?”

I want to melt into the floor. I want the Earth to crack open beneath me and swallow me whole like a Greek tragedy. Why would you call on someone who was just 50 minutes late and visibly unwell?

I drop my gaze to my notebook, which now has a sad little doodle of a frowning mitochondrion in the margin, and let myself mentally spiral.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to give up and open a dog café somewhere in Portland. Maybe academic success is a capitalist scam designed to break me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Maybe—

“You were close,” a voice whispers next to me, low enough that only I can hear. “It’s phosphofructokinase.” I glance over. Paige’s lips are twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

Oh. So she’s not only annoying and smug—she’s smart, too. Fantastic.

I give her a blank look, then scribble it in the margin like I knew it all along. I don’t thank her. I’m not that gracious yet.

The professor moves on. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slouch back into my seat.

I don’t even know how Paige knows that answer. I swear she’s never said a single academic thing in class before—usually just nods like she’s vibing through the lecture, and now suddenly she’s a glycolysis expert?

I glance at her again. She’s leaned back in her chair like she doesn’t have a single worry in the world. Her hoodie sleeves are pulled over her hands and she’s tapping a pencil against her notebook, looking out the window like she’s half-listening, half daydreaming.

God, I hate her.

Not really. Just enough to feel mildly personally attacked by her existence.

By the time the professor finally wraps up, my brain feels like someone stuck it in a microwave on defrost. Half-melted, barely functioning, and emitting a faint hum of defeat.

I’m already halfway through mentally mapping my route to the dining hall—food, nap, forget this day ever happened—when I hear the worst possible words.

“Maya, could you stay back for a second?”

I freeze with my laptop halfway into my bag. No. No. Please no. My stomach drops, already bracing for the we’re concerned about your academic performance speech. Or maybe he’s just gonna roast me for being late. Publicly. Again.

Next to me, Paige doesn’t move. Which is weird because usually she’s the first one out the door, bouncing off to whatever practice or photoshoot or press interview she’s contractually obligated to pretend she enjoys.

“You too, Paige,” the professor adds casually.

Ah. So it’s a group scolding. Cute.

I glance at her. She shrugs, and somehow even her shrug is smug. Like she already knows what this is about and I’m the one being dragged into something against my will.

Once everyone else filters out, the room goes quiet in that awkward way classrooms do when it’s just you, your mistakes, and the person paid to evaluate them.

The professor folds his arms. “I’m going to get right to it,” he says, eyes flicking between us. “Paige has been… struggling a bit to keep up.”

I blink. Paige?

She doesn’t even flinch. Just shifts her weight to one leg and tilts her head like, yeah, and?

“She came to me earlier,” he continues, “asking for extra support. And I mentioned you, Maya.”

My brain short-circuits. “Me?”

“Yes.” He gestures vaguely, like this makes perfect sense. “You’ve got one of the top quiz averages in the class. And I know you don’t have a lot of free time, but I thought you might be willing to help.”

I open my mouth to respond, and nothing comes out except a confused squeak.

Paige, meanwhile, is suddenly all charm and dimples. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” she says sweetly, looking at me like I’m the answer to her prayers instead of the barely-holding-it-together girl who almost cried during a glycolysis question.

I stare at her. Then the professor. Then back at her. This is a setup. Has to be.

“I mean,” I say slowly, “I guess I could… help out. A little.”

The professor claps his hands once, like this was the easiest part of his day. “Great. Work out whatever schedule makes sense. Maybe start after the next lecture?”

“Sounds perfect,” Paige says, and I swear there’s a glint in her eye. Mischievous. Knowing.

I nod numbly, the weight of this decision already settling on my shoulders like a second backpack full of regrets.

As I head for the door, I mutter under my breath, “This is going to end badly.”

“Sorry?” Paige pipes up behind me.

“Nothing,” I lie, faster than a reflex. “See you later.”

She grins, following me out with way too much pep for someone allegedly struggling. “Can’t wait.”

And I suddenly remember: this is the same girl who walked in late the first week, said “yo, do we need the textbook for this?” in front of the whole class, and then somehow got a laugh out of the professor.

God help me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in the library, clutching three textbooks and a syllabus I plan to set on fire. This day has already been long enough, now apparently, Paige “needs a little help” with some of the material. And apparently, I am just the student for the job.

I hate when people say “it’ll be good experience.” It always means work I don’t want to do for free.

The librarian waves at me as I step in—Ms. Marie, always with the peach-colored cardigans and peppermint candies. “Back again?”

“Like a bad habit,” I mumble, shooting her a smile. “Just grabbing some stuff for tutoring.”

“Ooh. Teaching now?”

“Trying not to cry in public,” I answer, and she laughs like I’ve said something adorable instead of tragic.

I spend way too long in the aisles, gathering books and stalling. Mostly thinking about how good I’m gonna sleep when I get back to my apartment. Seriously. The second my cheek hits the pillow? Instant peace. Probably coma-level sleep. I should be studied for science. Sleep is my love language. Sleep is the one thing in my life that hasn’t betrayed me.

I’m still mentally composing a love letter to my bed when I round a corner and see her—Paige, standing near the checkout desk, talking to one of the guys from the men’s team. He’s smiling like he thinks he has a chance. Good luck with that. Paige Bueckers is gay as fuck.

I snort before I can stop myself, just a short, soft laugh—but she hears it. Her head turns. Our eyes meet.

Oh.

She looks surprised. Not mad, not even curious, just… like she wasn’t expecting me.

And now I’ve made eye contact. Like a dumbass. I quickly duck back behind the shelf, gripping a biochem book like it’s a shield.

Great. Just great. Nothing says “competent tutor” like spying on your student and laughing at her across the library.

—

I give it a minute before circling around the long way and heading to the study room Hanes booked for us. Small, quiet, lots of windows. I stake out the seat closest to the door in case I need to make a dramatic escape.

Paige walks in a few minutes later, all long legs and blonde hair and that basketball-player stride—like she owns the space without trying to. She doesn’t say anything at first, just drops her bag and slides into the seat next to me.

I brace myself. Here we go.

She pulls out a notebook, then a pen. Then nothing. Just sits there.

I glance at her, waiting for her to do… something. Say something. Start. Breathe.

“Are you gonna, like… open the textbook, or…”

“I was letting you do your thing first,” she says, like I’m the one who showed up five minutes late and smelled like citrus gum and lavender hand cream. Her voice has that easy, confident rhythm to it—Minnesota smooth with a little edge, like she grew up chirping boys on the blacktop.

I give her a look. “My ‘thing’ is desperately trying not to cry while re-reading the same paragraph seven times.”

She smiles, wide and real. “Relatable.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward exactly, but quiet enough to make me weirdly self-aware of how close our chairs are. I pull out my laptop to have something to do with my hands.

“So,” I say, flipping to the study guide, “Professor Hanes said you’re struggling with the last few sections. You’ve looked at the review packet?”

Paige shrugs, leaning back in her chair a little too casually. “Kind of. I just—I don’t know. I get the gist, but some stuff doesn’t stick.”

“That’s usually how it works when you don’t study.”

She raises a brow at me like she wasn’t expecting me to have teeth. “I do study.”

I raise mine right back. “Instagram Reels don’t count.”

Her mouth twitches. It’s either amusement or offense. Could go either way with girls like her.

“You always this friendly?”

“No,” I deadpan. “Usually I’m meaner.”

That gets a laugh out of her—low and genuine, like it surprised her. She leans in slightly, chin propped on her hand.

“So why’d you agree to help me?”

“I didn’t,” I reply, flipping a page. “Hanes kind of voluntold me. Said it would be ‘good practice.’”

“Bet you were thrilled.”

“Overjoyed. I love giving up my one free evening to explain gen chem to someone who probably uses Gatorade as a chaser.”

Another smile from her. This one lasts a little longer.

“You always this funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I mutter, but my mouth won’t quite stop twitching.

We get into the material slowly—me talking through concepts, her asking questions here and there. She’s actually more focused than I expected. Still fidgety, still Paige Bueckers in all her tall, confident, knows-people-are-watching energy—but she’s trying. I can give her that.

Halfway through, she lets out a sigh and scrubs a hand over her face. “Okay, but why are there so many exceptions to every rule? Like, who made these up?”

“Science,” I reply. “Also colonialism.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not wrong.”

Another beat of silence. Then she asks, “What’s your major?”

“Pre-med. Bio track.”

She whistles, low. “Damn. That’s sick.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. If you enjoy stress-induced migraines and disappointing your family.”

Paige grins. “Bet your mom’s proud of you.”

“She is,” I admit, softer now. “But I also think she thinks I sleep more than I do.”

Paige’s voice is light when she says, “You don’t strike me as a slacker.”

“I’m not,” I say, yawning. “But if I had one wish? It would be to sleep for a solid twelve hours. Maybe fourteen. Maybe forever. I love sleep. Like, I would marry it. I’d elope with sleep to another country and never text anyone back.”

Paige chuckles. “That’s dramatic.”

“That’s survival,” I correct, grabbing a pen to tap against her notes. “Now stop stalling and write that formula down before I cry.”

She leans in again, not writing yet. Just watching me. “You kinda mean.”

“You’re kind of loud.”

“Touché.”

We keep working, but the space between us softens just a little. There’s something about the way she shifts a little closer when I’m showing her something, or how she asks questions like she actually wants to know the answer. She’s still full of herself, but in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes and pay attention.

And then there’s the eye contact. God. Paige Bueckers and her Olympic-level commitment to staring directly into my soul.

Like—I’m trying to explain the electron configuration of potassium, and she’s looking at me like I might be the answer to something she’s been trying to solve for years. Icy blue eyes, lashes curled to the heavens, a little swipe of mascara like she knew she’d be making people nervous today.

And by people, I mean me. Specifically me.

It’s honestly kind of rude. Intimidating. Possibly illegal. There should be a warning label or something: DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH PAIGE BUECKERS UNLESS YOU ARE READY TO BE HYPER-ANALYZED AND POSSIBLY SEDUCED.

Because I swear—I swear—the way she looks at me? It’s not just eye contact. It’s eye-to-future-entanglement contact. Like she’s trying to hypnotize me out of my panties with just her stare and that stupid smirk she keeps trying to hide behind her hand.

Focus. I need to focus. This is chemistry. Not chemistry-chemistry. I’m not gonna be another gay kid that fails a class because I couldn’t stop thinking about some pretty basketball player with really good hair.

No offense to everyone else who’s fallen into that trap. (none taken)

“Okay,” I say, tapping my pen against my notebook and not looking at her eyes again, “that’s ionic bonding, which means we’re finally done with chapter four.”

Paige stretches her arms above her head with a small groan, the hem of her hoodie lifting just enough to flash a sliver of skin. I look away instantly, like a respectable person. Like someone not currently battling the urge to spiral into a gay panic over five seconds of midriff.

“Thank God,” she sighs dramatically, flopping back in her chair like she just ran drills for two hours. “You know, I think I actually learned something.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I am surprised,” she grins, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re kinda scary-smart.”

I blink. “Scary?”

“In a good way,” she adds quickly. “Like, in a ‘you could probably build a robot army and take over the world but choose not to’ kind of way.”

“…Thanks?”

She smiles like she means it. Like maybe that was a compliment in her language. And for some reason, it sticks with me.

I start gathering my things, stuffing pens and half-crumpled notes into my backpack like the burnt-out academic I am. “Well, we’re scheduled again next Thursday unless your Coach pulls you for something.”

Paige doesn’t move to leave. She leans back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, watching me with that same annoyingly intense gaze.

“You always study here?” she asks casually, like she didn’t just spend two hours fighting for her life over basic chem.

“Sometimes,” I reply, zipping up my bag. “It’s quiet. And the librarian doesn’t hate me.”

“That’s a plus.”

“You?”

She shrugs. “Ehh usually with the team. Or, like, wherever has food.”

I hum, trying to keep the conversation from stretching too long. I’m not great at lingering—especially not with people like her. The kind of person who walks into a room and owns it without even trying.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, already planning my post-study nap in vivid, loving detail, but before I can escape—

“You wanna walk out together?”

I pause, blinking at her.

Not because it’s weird. But because I hadn’t expected it. Most athletes don’t even remember the names of their TAs, much less offer to walk them out of the library like it’s some sort of… soft exit interview.

I glance at the clock. It’s getting late. But also, she’s looking at me like I’m someone worth lingering around.

“Sure,” I say. Casually. Like my heart isn’t already doing cartwheels.

She grins, standing to her full height (good holy 6ft..), and my only thought as we walk side by side toward the doors is God help me, I might be in trouble.

Because Paige Bueckers is something else.

And apparently, she’s not going anywhere.

—

The night air hits us as we step out of the library, and it’s just cold enough to make me regret not grabbing a hoodie. Of course, Paige doesn’t seem bothered at all. She walks like she’s immune to weather. Or like the wind parts just for her. Probably both.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Awkwardly so. My favorite kind.

Then, Paige starts talking.

And when I say talking, I mean talking. Like she hasn’t spoken to another human being all day and I just unlocked the floodgates.

“So, like, I’ve had the same pair of slides since I was fifteen, right?” she says, hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “They’re disgusting. Like, actually offensive. I think they’ve developed their own bacteria strain at this point. But I can’t get rid of them. They’re like emotional support shoes. You ever have something like that?”

I blink. “Uh…”

She barrels right past my lack of response. “And then Aaliyah tried to throw them out once when we were on the road and I almost tackled her in the hotel hallway. She was like, ‘Paige, they smell like shit.’ But they don’t. They smell like loyalty.”

She grins at her own joke. I say nothing.

Not because I don’t want to. But mostly because what?

I nod along, mostly to be polite. Or maybe out of shock. I’m not really sure.

She keeps going. “Also, can I ask you a question? Why do all chemistry textbooks weigh as much as small toddlers? Like, what are they putting in there? Guilt? Disappointment?”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, which unfortunately only fuels her further.

She talks about basketball. Then her best friend’s dog. Then how she’s still mad Chipotle took her favorite salsa off the menu. She has opinions on everything from cafeteria chicken to the superiority of Apple Music over Spotify (she’s wrong, but I let her have it).

And the weirdest part?

It’s not annoying.

It should be. But it’s not.

I listen. Mostly because I’m stunned by how easily she fills the space between us, how her voice softens when she gets excited and how, even when she’s rambling, she makes it feel like you’re part of the story.

It’s… unsettling.

I don’t do people like her. I don’t get people like her.

And yet here she is. Walking next to me. Talking like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

And then, as if this night couldn’t get any weirder, she slows down in front of my building.

I stop too.

Paige pauses, looking at the entrance. Then looks at me. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, pointing to the left. “Top floor.”

She blinks. “Shut up.”

“I will not.”

She grins, pointing to the right. “That’s my building.”

I stare at her for a second. Then glance up. Then back at her.

This cannot be real life.

“You’re telling me we’ve lived next to each other this whole time and this is the first time I’m finding out?”

I sigh. “This is just great.”

“Great?” she echoes, clearly amused.

“Yeah. Fantastic. Love this for me.”

She’s still smiling like this is the best coincidence to ever happen. Like fate just personally delivered her a win.

I just shake my head, digging my keys out of my pocket. “Well. Thanks for the walk. And the verbal TED Talk.”

She bows slightly. “Anytime.”

I turn to head inside, pausing with my hand on the door.

“Hey,” she calls.

I look back.

“Same time Thursday right?”

I nod once. “Sure.”

She salutes me with two fingers, still grinning, then turns and jogs up the steps to her building.

I stand there for a moment, key still in hand, trying to process everything. The tutoring. The talking. The proximity.

This is going to be a nightmare.

I let myself into the building, already craving sleep and silence and maybe a three-day nap. But even as I make it upstairs and fall face-first onto my bed, one thought keeps bouncing around my head like it’s got a key to the place:

Paige Bueckers is going to be a problem.

[jellyfishsthings]

The Equation of Distraction

navigation , dc navigation

WARNINGS: none really

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Dick Grayson wasn’t used to competing for attention. Not in the way that actually mattered.

Sure, in the field, he competed with Bruce for control. With Jason, for who could kick in a door with more dramatic flair. With Damian, for sheer stubbornness. But when it came to relationships—real ones, ones with something soft and sacred curled at the center—he had always been attentive. Loving. Present.

So how the hell did he find himself third-wheeling to his own girlfriend, Tim, and a whiteboard full of integrals?

"Okay, stop. Stop right there," you said, stepping between Tim and the tangle of numbers he’d just scrawled. You were wearing one of Dick’s old hoodies, hair twisted into a bun, marker ink on your fingertips.

Tim leaned forward, eyebrows furrowed behind his glasses. "What? That’s the limit of the function as x approaches negative infinity."

"It should be," you said, tapping the board, "but this entire partial fraction decomposition is botched. You factored wrong."

Tim blinked. “I did?”

Dick, sprawled on the living room couch and pretending to read a book, smirked to himself. “Rookie mistake.”

You didn’t look away from the whiteboard. “Grayson, don’t snipe from the peanut gallery unless you want to solve this integral by hand.”

Dick shut his mouth.

Tim looked victorious. Dick glared.

The first time you met the family, you accidentally corrected Bruce on a quantum theory reference.

He had blinked at you.

You had flushed.

Alfred had smiled very faintly into his tea.

Dick, meanwhile, had fallen in love a little harder.

You were brilliant. Not just brilliant, but terrifyingly multidisciplinary brilliant. You knew literature and physics and evolutionary biology, and spoke with the unshakeable confidence of someone who had once gotten into an argument with a professor and emerged victorious.

You didn’t brag. You were just curious. A sponge for information. You asked questions and listened to the answers. And somehow, in a household full of detective minds and vigilante instincts, you were still the smartest person in the room.

So when Tim, swamped with his joint MIT-Gotham U coursework, mentioned offhandedly that he was struggling with differential equations, you offered to help.

Dick hadn’t realized what a tactical error that would be.

Then came Damian.

The kid walked in on one tutoring session, glanced at the diagrams you were sketching, and said, “That’s wrong.”

You turned, brow arched. “Excuse me?”

"The mitosis illustration. You’re using a generalized mammalian model. That isn’t accurate for marsupial chromosomes."

You blinked once. Slowly. “Are you studying marsupial mitosis in school right now?”

Damian scowled. "No. I already completed the human unit. I'm reading ahead."

Tim didn’t even look up. “He’s trying to skip grades again.”

You tapped your pen against the diagram, thinking. Then you shifted a few lines, adjusted a chromatid angle, and said, “There. Better?”

Damian squinted. “Acceptable.”

And that was that.

He joined the study sessions.

Suddenly, Dick’s evenings with you turned into academic triage.

Tim asked about imaginary numbers. Damian demanded enzyme pathways. You, looking entirely unbothered, juggled both while sipping lukewarm tea and wearing your glasses slightly crooked.

It was like watching a goddess of learning hold court.

And Dick? Dick got to sit there, watching you solve everyone else’s problems, while his half-written texts and longing stares went unanswered.

He tried not to pout.

It didn’t work.

The next Friday, Dick walked into the manor living room with takeout and three movies tucked under his arm. He had plans. Cozy night. Cuddles. Maybe make-out session #437.

Instead?

He found you, Tim, and Damian on the floor, surrounded by papers. You had a biology model of a nephron drawn across two pieces of poster board.

Dick stared.

You looked up. "Hey, love. You want to quiz Damian on the loop of Henle while I explain countercurrent multiplication?"

He dropped the takeout. "Absolutely not."

You blinked.

Tim smirked. Damian looked smug.

Dick folded his arms. “Babe, I love you. But I am not quizzing a fourteen-year-old on renal function on a Friday night.”

"Fifteen," Damian muttered.

You smiled sweetly. "We’ll be done soon. I promise."

Dick sulked off into the kitchen.

Alfred found him twenty minutes later, brooding into a cup of tea.

"Something the matter, Master Richard?"

Dick sighed. "She's supposed to be my girlfriend, not the tutor of every prodigy in this house."

Alfred didn’t flinch. "You are, perhaps, experiencing what Master Timothy and Master Damian have often felt about you."

Dick blinked. "What?"

"You have a history of... commanding attention."

Dick opened his mouth. Closed it. "Damn it."

Alfred handed him a second cup. "Jealousy, in moderation, is a sign of attachment. I suggest you redirect it.”

Dick took a breath. Sipped. Nodded.

Then promptly marched back into the living room.

"Alright, nerds. Move over."

You glanced up, amused. "Joining us after all?"

He plopped down beside you, tugging you into his lap. “No, I’m kidnapping my girlfriend."

Tim: “Rude.”

Damian: “Good riddance.”

Dick ignored them. Nuzzled into your neck. "Tell the mitochondria to wait."

You laughed. Warm and real. "That was biology. We're doing organ systems now."

"Whatever it is, it can survive without you for one hour."

You looked at him, eyes soft. "Are you jealous, Nightwing?"

"Me? Jealous? Never. Just asserting my dibs."

Tim made a gagging noise. Damian threw a pen.

You kissed him.

The study session ended shortly after.

And if Dick helped grade practice tests with glitter pens the next day just to feel useful? Well. No one had the heart to mention it.

Not even Tim.

(Okay, Tim did take a picture. But he sent it only to Kon, and Dick pretended not to notice.)

Eventually, things settled.

Tutoring became once a week. You started leaving time just for Dick. You told him how much you loved his patience, how good he was with his family, how your favorite part of the week was still movie night with him.

You even let him teach you something, once—acrobatics, on the mats in the cave. You fell on your ass laughing, legs tangled with his, and kissed him like you didn’t need textbooks to understand what you had.

And for once, Dick Grayson didn’t mind not being the smartest person in the room.

Not when he got to be yours.

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— and i don’t know how it gets better than this ; let’s take a look on how a month of a relationship would be like

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

Do you want to have lunch in the cafeteria?

As you were packing up your notes and preparing to head back to the dorm after a long day of classes, your phone buzzed softly in your pocket.

The text was from Tsukishima, and your heart did a little flip as you read it. It had only been two minutes since your class ended, and he was already asking to meet up. A small smile tugged at your lips as you began typing back.

My mom just sent me lunch 🥹

Heading to dorm now

you quickly replied, trying hard to suppress the giddiness that threatened to spill over. It had been a month since you started dating, and even though the relationship still felt new and exciting, there was a comforting familiarity in the way Tsukishima showed his affection—always understated, never excessive, but undeniably present.

The phone buzzed again.

Stop walking. I’m behind you.

You froze mid-step, instinctively turning around to see him standing there, his tall frame leaning casually against a nearby lamppost. His expression was as unreadable as always, but the faint smirk on his lips gave him away. Your cheeks warmed with the blush that spread across your face, and your smile bloomed wider.

Tsukishima walked toward you, closing the distance with a calm, measured pace. When he reached you, his hand gently ruffled your hair, tousling it just enough to make it messy. But before you could protest, he smoothed it back down, his fingers moving with surprising gentleness. You felt a warmth bubble up inside you at the small act of care.

Without a word, he took your hand in his, his long fingers intertwining with yours as you both began walking toward your dorm. His grip was firm, steady, and familiar. It was these small gestures that always caught you off guard���how someone as stoic as him could show affection in such quiet, tender ways.

As you walked, he glanced down at you.

“So, how was class?” he asked, his tone casual but interested.

You shrugged lightly, trying to think of something coherent to say despite the fluttering in your chest. “It was okay, I guess. We had a lecture on enzyme kinetics today. It’s... complicated. We’re learning about how different substrates affect reaction rates and how to calculate Vmax and Km using Lineweaver-Burk plots. It’s kinda overwhelming.” You chuckled, trying to play it off, but the truth was, biochemistry wasn’t getting any easier. The second semester was filled with more challenging topics—metabolism, enzyme mechanisms, and signal transduction pathways. Sometimes it felt like your brain was spinning in circles trying to keep up.

Tsukishima’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand in a soothing motion. “Hmm, sounds like you’re managing,” he commented, his voice low and cool, but there was an underlying sense of approval in his words. “Just don’t overthink it.”

You nodded, appreciating his subtle encouragement, even if it was delivered in the most Tsukishima way possible.

When the two of you reached your dorm, you invited him inside. “You can sit down,” you said, motioning to the low table as you slipped off your shoes. “I’ll get us some tea.”

Tsukishima didn’t argue, simply settling himself comfortably at the table. He stretched out his long legs under the table, leaning back with that same calm, collected demeanor. You poured two glasses of iced barley tea, setting them down on the table along with the meal your mom had sent. Two plates of rice, grilled mackerel, miso soup, and some side dishes—enough for the both of you.

“I’m glad you came with me to the dorm,” you said, sitting across from him. “Finally, someone can help me eat all of this food. My mom keeps sending more than I can finish.”

Tsukishima let out a soft sigh, clearly unimpressed by your complaint, but he said nothing. Instead, he picked up his chopsticks and muttered a quiet, “Itadakimasu,” before digging in.

“Itadakimasu,” You started eating as well, savoring the familiar flavors of homemade food. But halfway through, you felt your hair falling into your face, getting in the way as you tried to eat. You pushed it back with your hand, annoyed, but it kept slipping forward again.

Tsukishima’s gaze shifted toward you, and without saying a word, Tsukishima stood up and walked over to your desk. You looked up, confused, but before you could ask what he was doing, he grabbed a hairpin from the top drawer. Moving with quiet precision, he came over and gently swept your hair back, securing it in place with the pin. His fingers brushed against your temple as he worked, and you felt your face heat up, your heart pounding in your chest.

“There,” he said simply, stepping back as if nothing had happened, as if tying your hair was just another mundane task. But the subtle softness in his actions didn’t go unnoticed by you.

You sat there, momentarily stunned by the unexpected act of care. Your face felt like it was on fire, but you managed a small, “Thank you,” before quickly looking down at your food, hoping he wouldn’t notice how flustered you were.

Of course, Tsukishima noticed. He always did. But instead of teasing you about it, he simply returned to his seat and resumed eating, as if tying your hair was no big deal. Still, the softness of the gesture lingered in the air between you, a quiet reminder of the tenderness he hid behind his stoic exterior.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence before Tsukishima spoke again, his tone as cool and casual as ever. “I’m going grocery shopping after this. Want to come?”

You almost choked on your rice at the sudden question, nodding a bit too enthusiastically in response. “Yeah, I’ll come,” you said, trying to sound calm, even though your heart was still fluttering from earlier. You avoided his gaze, focusing on your food instead, hoping he wouldn’t notice how nervous he still made you.

But of course, he noticed. You caught the faintest hint of a smirk on his face before he resumed eating, completely unfazed. And somehow, that only made your heart race even faster.

The clinking of silverware against the plates was the only sound between you and Tsukishima as you both finished dinner. It was a quiet moment, but not awkward—just the kind of comfortable silence that had begun to settle naturally between you two. You were about to gather the dishes when Tsukishima leaned back, glancing at you with a knowing look.

“You can go change. I’ll wash the dishes,” he said, his voice carrying that soft, direct tone that you’d come to recognize as one of his small acts of care.

You blinked, a little surprised, your hand freezing just as you were about to reach for the plates. Did he know that you had planned to rush to the sink—hoping to clean up quickly so you could change and head to the grocery store with him? The realization that he had noticed, or perhaps just anticipated your routine, made your heart warm slightly. But before you could protest or offer to help, Tsukishima stood up, gathering the dirty plates himself, his long fingers deftly handling the stack as he carried them to the sink.

For a moment, you just watched him—admiring the subtle way his back muscles shifted beneath his shirt, his movements smooth and efficient as he began rinsing the dishes. A soft sigh escaped you as you thought about how thoughtful he was. Being romantic and naturally kind were two different things, right? But with Tsukishima, the lines always seemed to blur. Maybe he wasn’t the overly affectionate type, but his quiet actions spoke volumes.

“You’re going to change, or just stand there staring?” His voice pulled you from your thoughts, and your face immediately warmed in embarrassment. Tsukishima wasn’t even looking at you, but he’d sensed it all.

With a quick jump, “I-I’m going!” you grabbed a fresh set of clothes from your drawer and hurried to the bathroom to change. You could hear the faint sound of water running and plates clinking as he washed the dishes, and you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for letting him do it.

Once you’d collected your clothes, you changed in the bathroom, letting the coolness of your new outfit calm your sudden rush of emotions. The fact that he had noticed such small details about you, that he had even anticipated your next move, made your heart race in a way you weren’t used to.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, feeling refreshed in your clean clothes, Tsukishima was already waiting by the door. His tall figure leaned casually against the doorway, his eyes flicking to you briefly before he reached out his hand. You took it quickly, slipping on your sneakers with your free hand, the warmth of his palm making you feel slightly more at ease.

As you both stepped outside into the early evening air, the streets were quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. Tsukishima unlocked his car with a beep, and as he always did, he opened the passenger door for you, gesturing for you to get in first. You couldn’t help but smile as you slid into the seat, appreciating the small gesture.

He walked around to the driver’s side and got in, starting the car with a low rumble. As he pulled out onto the street, the golden sunlight filtering through the trees created an almost dreamlike atmosphere inside the car. You snuck a glance at him—his profile lit by the warm light, the subtle focus in his eyes as he drove, his grip steady on the steering wheel. There was something comforting about being next to him like this, in the quiet space that only the two of you occupied.

“Didn’t think you were the type to leave dirty dishes behind,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he looked at you sideways.

You laughed softly, squeezing his hand lightly in return. “I didn’t plan on it! You just swooped in so quickly.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes focused ahead. “Thought I’d spare you from rushing around.”

You smiled at his words, appreciating how well he knew you. He always seemed to understand the little things you didn’t even realize about yourself.

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, this time in a quieter tone. “You want to get ice cream after I’m done with groceries?” he asked, glancing at you briefly before parking the car.

The mention of ice cream caught you off guard, and before you could even think about it, your face lit up with a grin. “Yes, please,” you answered eagerly, though you tried to keep your tone polite, not wanting to seem too excited. But Tsukishima noticed anyway, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Thought you’d like that,” he muttered, a bit of teasing in his voice as he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. You couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy as you followed him into the store, his hand slipping into yours once more as if it was second nature.

The cool air of the grocery store greeted you as the automatic doors slid open. Tsukishima walked beside you, casually pushing the cart with one hand, while his other hand remained intertwined with yours. It was a small gesture, but it made your heart flutter. You glanced around the store, noting how brightly lit it was, rows of fresh produce on one side, aisles of packaged goods on the other. The slight hum of people moving about and the soft background music made the atmosphere feel almost peaceful.

Tsukishima paused for a moment, glancing at the list on his phone before steering the cart toward the vegetable section. His brows furrowed slightly in concentration, his long fingers tapping at the screen. You watched him for a moment, admiring how focused he seemed even with something as mundane as grocery shopping. It made you smile—how someone so seemingly distant and cool could still care about the little details.

“What?” Tsukishima asked, catching your gaze.

You quickly looked away, feeling your cheeks heat up. “Nothing, just… you look really serious about those vegetables,” you teased, trying to hide your fluster.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the pile of vegetables in front of him. “Well, we need good ones. I’m not buying anything that’ll go bad in a day,” he replied, his tone neutral, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

When he reached the hygiene aisle, he turned to you unexpectedly, “What hair product do you use?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Uh, I just buy whatever shampoo catches my eye each month. But my mom got me this hair mask and said I should use it every week.”

“What hair mask?” he asked, curiosity clear in his tone.

You walked a few steps to the shelf where the product was and pointed to a tub. “This one. It smells like cocoa,” you explained, trying not to sound too self-conscious.

Tsukishima took the container, examining it for a moment. “Why’s it so expensive for a hair product?” he mumbled under his breath. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his confusion.

Suddenly, he reached out and gently picked up a strand of your hair, bringing it closer to his nose. “I was curious because your hair always smells nice,” he said casually, placing the container back on the shelf and moving to the next item. You stood there momentarily, blushing at the compliment, even though he had said it so nonchalantly.

Trying to hide the warmth creeping up your face, you fell back into step behind him, the interaction replaying in your head. After he finished collecting everything on his list, you both made your way to the cashier. The line moved slowly, but Tsukishima handed you his card before you had a chance to say anything.

“Go ahead and get the ice cream. I’ll meet you there after I pay for this,” he said, nodding toward the ice cream shop across the street.

Your face lit up at the suggestion. “What flavor do you want?” you asked, barely able to contain your excitement.

“Surprise me,” he replied with a small smile, clearly amused by your enthusiasm.

You grinned widely and, holding onto his card, headed toward the ice cream shop, trying to decide on the perfect flavor combination that would do the “surprise” justice. Tsukishima, meanwhile, watched you leave with a soft chuckle, shaking his head at how effortlessly happy you seemed when it came to something as simple as ice cream.

You looked over the options, your eyes drawn to the more unique flavors. “One cup of vanilla yuzu and one cup of blueberry sea salt, please,” you told the employee with a polite smile.

There was something thrilling about trying new flavors—your mom had always been the type to stick to the basics, buying you plain vanilla or chocolate, often with the cautionary “what if you don’t like it and throw it away?” But today, you wanted something different, something adventurous.

As you received the cups, Tsukishima walked into the shop, immediately spotting you. You smiled instinctively when you saw him, feeling a rush of warmth at the sight of him. He pointed toward a small table near the window, a cozy spot bathed in the fading golden light of the evening. You followed him as he pulled out a chair for you to sit first—a small, but appreciated gesture that made your heart skip.

Once you were both settled, Tsukishima glanced at the ice cream cups you placed on the table. His eyes shifted to you with mild curiosity. “What’s this?”

You grinned, practically buzzing with excitement to see how he’d react to the flavors. “Just try it,” you urged him, sliding one of the cups toward him.

He picked up the small plastic spoon and dipped it into the vanilla yuzu first, bringing the bite to his lips. His expression remained neutral, but you noticed the way his eyes softened slightly as he savored the taste, the sweetness of vanilla melding with the citrusy sharpness of yuzu.

“It’s good,” he said simply, placing the spoon down.

Your smile widened. “Yeah? Try this one,” you added, offering him a spoonful of the blueberry sea salt.

As he leaned in and took the spoon from your hand, you suddenly remembered the time he had casually sipped from your cup of hot chocolate before you got in a relationship. The memory made your cheeks flush slightly, and you quickly turned your attention back to your own ice cream, feeling the heat rise to your face.

Tsukishima hummed quietly in approval as he tasted the blueberry, though he didn’t comment further. His calm demeanor never wavered, but you could tell he preferred the first flavor from the subtle way his attention shifted back to the vanilla yuzu cup.

For a while, the two of you ate in comfortable silence, the sounds of the shop around you blending into the background. The occasional clink of spoons against the cups, the soft hum of conversation from other customers—it all felt peaceful, like time had slowed down just for you two.

After a few more bites, Tsukishima broke the silence. “I’m gonna be busy for the next two days,” he said, his tone casual, but his gaze fixed on you. “You okay with that?”

You smiled, shrugging nonchalantly. “Of course. We used to see each other by coincidence, remember? I can manage two days without you,” you replied, your voice light and playful.

Tsukishima’s lips curled slightly in amusement, his eyes glinting with a teasing edge. “Yeah—thought I should give you the experience of missing your boyfriend’s presence now that you have one.”

The teasing tone made your heart skip a beat, and before you knew it, you were playfully nudging his side, laughing at his comment. Tsukishima smirked, though there was a warmth behind it—a quiet understanding that, despite his teasing, you’d miss him more than you were letting on.

sorry i didn’t upload it sooner, and i missed kei’s birthday—bit i promise to post about it tomorrow, so i hope you guys still wait for this story to finish 🥹🥹

it’s been so hectic guys—but i miss writing and see your comments—they always lighten up my mood 🫶🏻✨🤧

tagslist (free to mention) ; @theweirdfloatything @snowthatareblack @ilovemymomscooking @nayiiryun @knightofmidnight @kozumesphone @scxrcherr @thechaosoflonging @monya-febrjack

[er-cryptid]

NAD-Linked Glycerol Dehydrogenase

-- part of oxidoreductase family

-- catalyst is NAD+

-- oxidizes glycerol

-- forms glycerone

[mindblowingscience]

Researchers from Durham University, Jagiellonian University (Poland) and the John Innes Center have achieved a breakthrough in understanding DNA gyrase, a vital bacterial enzyme and key antibiotic target. This enzyme, present in bacteria but absent in humans, plays a crucial role in supercoiling DNA, a necessary process for bacterial survival. Using high-resolution cryo-electron microscopy, the researchers reveal unprecedented detail of gyrase's action on DNA, potentially opening doors for new antibiotic therapies against resistant bacteria. The research is published in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

Continue Reading.

[archaic-stranger]

the biochemistry students

marveling at the complexity of life on the molecular level

the reassuring weight of your favorite pipette in your hand

talking excitedly about a new enzyme you're studying

the background hum of incubators and centrifuges

reciting metabolic pathways until you know them by heart

an organized lab notebook, a record of all your hard work

a new respect for the intricacy of your own body

a chart of biochemical pathways hanging on your wall

chemical structures scribbled down in pen

working steadily and methodically on an important experiment

a row of beakers hung up to dry

sketching peptide side chains in the margins of your notes

understanding how molecular errors can lead to large-scale illness

the satisfaction of a perfectly clean gel

the sound of clinking glassware

mixing up batches of LB or buffer, the components as familiar as your favorite home recipe

a row of neatly labeled eppendorf tubes

memorizing all 20 amino acids

faith in your own abilities

irregular lab hours, writing a paper while you wait for your cells to grow

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

Magic Resonance, Estellions and the Basics of Blot

((worldbuilding LMAO, welcome to me bullshitting my way through biochemistry and cell signaling if something seems super inaccurate uhhh that's the magic part of the alchemy I'm describing /hj/lh))

Magic is made up of particles called 'estellions'. Fun Fact: 'Estelle' comes from the Latin word 'stella', meaning star. Scholars named the particle after this due to the old belief that wishing upon a star would work like magic - and grant someone their wish

While still a relatively new area of study, scientists have confirmed that estellions exist both as a part of genetic make up, and passively in the environment; they can be thought of almost as another element in the composition of air. One area of study that is very busy right now is learning how to quantify estellions in humanoids, and studying whether they proliferate over an individual's life/what prevents a high concentration of them as someone gets older

Although the characterization of these particles is not well established, we know that in the body, estellions are regulated by a negative feedback loop. As they are used/exercised by the casting of spells/use of magic, the resonance between particles is increased. This excited state results in the production of atramentiase - more commonly known as 'blot' - to form. These enzymes are the result of estellions being mutated by the environmental estellions.

Atramentiase in low concentrations is relatively harmless, however it builds up rather quickly in the body. This is why all mages are mandated to carry a magestone - as a health and safety precaution. The magical resonance is stronger between atramentiase and a mage stone than it is between atramentiase and healthy genetic estellions. This is because the mage stone is essentially so many concentrated environmental estellions that a crystal was able to form, causing a version of "active transport" to occur, where molecules in low concentration in the body move to a higher concentration in the stone. In other words. environmental estellions are attracted to other, higher concentrations of environmental estellions, like in magestones. Genetic estellions, their quantity and concentration dictate an individual's ability to wield environmental ones to supplement their magic pool. The more genetic estellions, the easier it tends to be for the individual to utilize the environmental estellions.

When a magic user casts a spell, they are using approximately 40% - 60% of their own estellions in relation to the composition of the spell. The rest of the spell is supplemented by environmental estellions. These environmental particles have often undergone several mutations due to being used by other mages, long lifespan resulting in the degradation of their composition, and other variables - in other words, they are not very bio-chemically stable. Upon introduction to the genetic estellions, anywhere from 5-75% of the environmental estellions are absorbed into the body. These foreign particles trigger an autophagic pathway, resulting in their breakdown. The residual magic is taken up by the genetic estellions, often mutating them, and the rest of the particle is disposed of like other cellular waste in the body. We don't know what factors impact the mutation rate or the uptake of environmental estellions yet.

The exception to this is when an individual uses their UM - they use 95-99% of their own estellions. Before they cast, environmental estellions still concentrate around their magestone like a normal spell, but far more of their estellions are exposed to foreign ones. This leads to more rapid blot build up.

There is a strong correlation between the amount of genetic estellions an individual has in comparison to the time it takes to metabolize 'blot'. Typically, the more estellions in someone's genetic code, the slower their system is to process out atramentiase. In other words, the larger someone's magic pool, the more likely they are to overblot.

Prof says we'll go over

how environmental estellions work more later this year, and in depth second year. For now we just need to know that they have a passive effect on nature as a whole, including abiotic components of an ecosystem.

The exact processes of blot to stone estellion pathways (during unit 2?)

what we know about overblot and the health associations (mostly due to prevalent circumstances)

--------------------- :P pretend this makes sense /lh

I know most of you have seen this already but @fluffle-writes @my-cursed-brain @distant-velleity @nemisisnemi @starry-night-rose @lumdays @theleechyskrunkly @elenauaurs

DM to be added if you want lmao

[wetslug]

wait heres a goddamn twist; i apparently dont have the alcohol dehydrogenase aka alcohol flush gene

try to drink alcohol past age 23 without getting nauseous challenge level: IMPOSSIBLE

[darkmaga-returns]

Bill Gates is funding research to genetically engineer tomatoes to produce insecticides inside their tissues, specifically targeting the reproduction of whiteflies, a destructive agricultural pest. According to a study published last month in BMC Plant Biology, these genetically engineered (GE) tomatoes express proteins designed to infiltrate and disrupt whitefly eggs.

“The molecular tools for achieving both apoplastic and phloem-specific expression of insecticidal proteins are well developed,” the study explains, highlighting the advanced genetic strategies employed.

If commercialized, these “[t]ransgenic plants”—genetically engineered to include genes from other species—could introduce reproductive-disrupting insecticidal compounds into the human food chain.

How It Works

The study outlines the mechanism of these GE tomatoes:

Chitinase Production: The tomatoes are engineered to produce an enzyme derived from the fern Tectaria macrodonta that degrades chitin, a key component of insect eggshells. This enzyme is intended to kill the developing embryos inside the eggs.

Reproductive Hijacking: Using synthetic vitellogenin domains (SynVg), the proteins mimic natural reproductive pathways in whiteflies, ensuring the insecticides are delivered directly into the eggs.

Enhanced Uptake: Protein transduction domains (PTD) facilitate the transport of these insecticidal compounds from the insect’s gut to its reproductive system.

“Phloem-localized expression of mCherry in companion cells could be monitored… where the overall total expression is minimized by using tissue-specific promoters,” the study notes, emphasizing the effort to direct these proteins to specific parts of the plant.

[chimerarachnid]

The evolutionary trajectory of life on Earth has consistently challenged preconceived notions regarding the boundaries of biological viability. From the abyssal depths where chemosynthetic ecosystems flourish in the absence of solar radiation, to the hyperacidic geothermal springs where extremophiles exploit sulfur-based metabolic pathways, to the radiologically contaminated zones where fungal organisms appear to harness ionizing radiation through melanin-mediated processes, life has demonstrated remarkable plasticity in colonizing environments previously deemed sterile. This paradigmatic expansion of the habitable envelope naturally raises a provocative question: if biological systems can withstand the vacuum of space, lethal radiation doses, and corrosive chemical matrices, what fundamental constraints preclude the existence of life within molten silicate matrices—commonly known as lava?

Distinguishing Extreme Environments from Thermodynamically Prohibitive Conditions

To address this question rigorously, it is essential to establish a clear demarcation between environments that impose severe physiological stress and those that fundamentally disrupt molecular architecture. Lava represents molten silicate material with temperatures typically ranging from 973 to 1473 Kelvin (700°C to 1,200°C or 1,292°F to 2,192°F), creating conditions that exceed the thermal stability thresholds of all known biomolecules. This temperature regime does not merely stress biological systems—it induces catastrophic molecular dissociation and structural denaturation.

The thermodynamic reality of molten rock environments differs qualitatively from other extreme conditions. While ionizing radiation can cause DNA strand breaks that are potentially repairable through enzymatic mechanisms, and vacuum conditions can be survived through cryptobiotic states that suspend metabolic activity, the thermal energy present in lava fundamentally disrupts the covalent bonds that maintain molecular integrity. This represents a transition from survivable stress to inevitable molecular decomposition.

Biochemical Constraints of Carbon-Based Life

Contemporary terrestrial biology operates within a relatively narrow thermodynamic window defined by the stability of carbon-hydrogen bonds, phosphodiester linkages in nucleic acids, and the hydrophobic interactions that stabilize protein tertiary structure. Even the most thermoresistant extremophiles operate within these fundamental constraints. Methanopyrus kandleri, representing the current temperature record-holder among hyperthermophiles, maintains viability at 395 Kelvin (122°C) through specialized heat-shock proteins and thermostable enzyme variants, yet remains orders of magnitude below lava temperatures.

The molecular basis of this limitation is well-characterized. DNA undergoes thermal denaturation at approximately 368 Kelvin (95°C) under physiological conditions, while cell membrane phospholipids experience phase transitions that compromise barrier function well below 423 Kelvin (150°C). Even the most thermostable proteins, such as those found in hyperthermophilic archaea, lose catalytic function at temperatures that represent merely the lower bounds of molten rock environments.

However, this analysis is predicated upon the assumption that life universally adheres to terrestrial biochemical paradigms. The emerging field of astrobiology has increasingly challenged anthropocentric definitions of biological possibility, suggesting that alternative bio-chemistries might operate under fundamentally different thermodynamic constraints.

Alternative Biochemical Frameworks and Exotic Life Scenarios

The potential for non-carbon-based life has garnered serious consideration within the astrobiological community, particularly regarding silicon-based biochemistry. Silicon, sharing carbon's tetravalent bonding capacity, theoretically enables the formation of complex molecular architectures while potentially offering superior thermal stability. Silicon-oxygen bonds (Si-O) possess higher bond dissociation energies compared to carbon-hydrogen bonds, suggesting that silicon-based polymers might maintain structural integrity at elevated temperatures. However, silicon chemistry also presents significant limitations, including reduced structural flexibility and a tendency toward crystallization rather than the formation of dynamic, self-organizing systems characteristic of carbon-based life.

Beyond alternative elemental foundations, theoretical frameworks have been proposed for organisms incorporating inorganic protective matrices. Terrestrial precedent exists in biomineralizing organisms such as magnetotactic bacteria, which precipitate magnetite nanoparticles, and diatoms, which construct intricate silica frustules. Extrapolating from these examples, hypothetical organisms might evolve refractory ceramic or metallic shells capable of providing thermal insulation against extreme temperature gradients.

Recent discoveries have expanded our understanding of extremophile capabilities in ways that inform this discussion. The identification of radiotrophic fungi in the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, which appear to metabolize ionizing radiation through melanin-mediated electron transport chains, demonstrates that life can not only survive but potentially thrive by exploiting energy sources previously considered universally destructive. Similarly, the rapid evolution of plastic-metabolizing bacteria in marine environments illustrates the remarkable adaptability of biological systems to novel chemical landscapes.

Transient Survivability and Cryptobiotic Strategies

A more plausible scenario for life's interaction with lava environments involves transient rather than permanent exposure. Many extremophiles employ cryptobiotic strategies—reversible metabolic suspension coupled with enhanced molecular protection—to survive otherwise lethal conditions. Tardigrades exemplify this approach, entering a desiccated "tun" state while producing damage-suppressing proteins and trehalose disaccharides that stabilize cellular structures during cryptobiosis.

Bacterial endospores represent perhaps the most relevant analogue for potential lava survival. These dormant structures, surrounded by multiple protective coats including calcium dipicolinate deposits, can withstand temperatures exceeding 393 Kelvin (120°C) for extended periods. Theoretical extensions of this strategy might enable organisms to survive brief transits through molten environments while in extreme cryptobiotic states, potentially reactivating within cooling lava tubes or solidified volcanic substrates rich in chemically accessible minerals.

Microenvironmental Niches and Thermal Gradients

The assumption that lava presents a uniformly lethal environment may itself be overly simplistic. Volcanic systems create complex thermal gradients with numerous microenvironments that might fall within the expanded tolerance ranges of extremophile organisms. Lava tubes, formed by the drainage of molten rock from beneath solidified crusts, can maintain moderate temperatures while providing access to mineral-rich substrates and potentially reducing atmospheric conditions. Similarly, the interfaces between active lava flows and ambient environments create steep thermal gradients where temperatures might transitionally approach the upper limits of hyperthermophile tolerance.

Subglacial volcanic systems present particularly intriguing possibilities. In these environments, the interaction between molten rock and ice creates complex thermal and chemical gradients, potentially generating microenvironments with temperatures compatible with extremophile survival while providing access to both oxidized and reduced chemical species for metabolic exploitation.

Geochemical Considerations and Deep Crustal Environments

The boundary between "lava" and "hot rock" is not merely semantic but reflects important distinctions in habitability potential. While actively molten rock exceeds known biological tolerance limits, the cooling and crystallization process creates a continuum of environments with varying thermal and chemical properties. Recent investigations of deep crustal microbial communities have revealed active biological processes at depths exceeding 5 kilometers, where temperatures approach 353 Kelvin (80°C) and pressure exceeds 50 megapascals.

These discoveries suggest that the transition zone between molten and solid rock—the crystallization front—might represent a previously unconsidered habitat. As cooling magma transitions from liquid to solid phases, it creates chemical gradients, gas evolution, and mineral precipitation that could potentially support specialized extremophile communities adapted to exploit these dynamic geochemical processes.

Synthesis and Future Directions

While current thermodynamic principles and biochemical knowledge suggest that conventional carbon-based life cannot maintain active metabolism within actively molten silicate environments, several theoretical pathways remain unexplored. These include:

alternative biochemistries operating at elevated temperature ranges

cryptobiotic survival strategies enabling transient exposure to extreme thermal conditions

exploitation of microenvironmental niches within complex volcanic systems

The question of life's ultimate temperature limits intersects with broader philosophical issues regarding the universality of terrestrial biochemical paradigms. As astrobiology continues to expand our conception of habitable environments—from the methane lakes of Titan to the sulfuric acid clouds of Venus to the subsurface oceans of Europa and Enceladus—the dismissal of any extreme environment as definitively uninhabitable requires increasingly rigorous justification.

The emerging understanding that life can exploit energy sources as diverse as ionizing radiation, methane seepage, and hydrogen sulfide suggests that our current models of biological impossibility may be overly conservative. While the direct colonization of actively molten rock remains highly improbable given known biochemical constraints, the complex thermal, chemical, and physical gradients associated with volcanic systems present numerous opportunities for life to approach—and potentially breach—previously assumed thermodynamic boundaries.

Future investigations might profitably focus on the systematic characterization of thermal gradients within volcanic systems, the laboratory evolution of hyperthermophile organisms under progressively elevated temperature regimes, and the theoretical modeling of alternative biochemistries capable of maintaining functionality at extreme temperatures. As our understanding of life's fundamental limits continues to evolve, the boundary between the possible and impossible remains not fixed, but perpetually expanding.

The ultimate question may not be whether life can survive in lava, but rather how closely life can approach the thermodynamic limits of molecular stability—and what new definitions of "life" might emerge from these investigations.

[pharmamon]

PSA: REVIVES SHOULD NOT BE EATEN INCLUDING BY POKEMON

Revives are what are called sublingual medication. They are held in your mouth under the tongue or in the cheek and dissolve over time. Once a pokemon recovers, the revive should be spat out and discarded.

Colloquially, people like to say they've 'fed' their pokemon a revive, but in professional practice, the terminology of 'take' or 'administer' should be used to avoid confusion.

If a revive is swallowed whole like a pill, only a small portion of the medication will be dissolved in the mouth and make it to the bloodstream, so it will be ineffective. If a pokemon (or person) is unconscious, there is a high risk that they will also choke on the revive.

If a revive is crushed or chewed then swallowed, there is a risk that a much higher dose than needed will be released quickly. This could lead to toxicity and severe side effects.

And, I can't believe I have to say this, but revives are not designed for use by humans. The pathway the medication takes in pokemon to produce the rejuvinating effect requires several enzymes humans do not have, and those enzymes help metabolise the active ingredient into a harmless byproduct that can be easily excreted. At high concentrations, the active ingredient can be very toxic. As humans cannot break down the active ingredient, the concentration can quickly build up to harmful levels.

The active ingredient in revives can cross the blood-brain barrier, leading to side effects of feeling lightheaded, dizzy, confused, anxious, irritable, and so on. This is why it's not recommended to send your pokemon back into battle if they show any of these symptoms - their cognitive functions may be impaired, so they run the risk of getting heavily injured in battle, even if that is not the opponent's intention. If you're a human, swallowing a revive whole is a choking hazard, but you'll probably be fine. However, sucking on them or crushing them carries the risk of permanent brain injury.

[justkidneying]

Albinism

Albinism is a disease that causes a defect in the normal synthesis or transport of melanin. There are a couple different types, but the main distinction is the difference between oculocutaneous albinism (OCA) and ocular albinism.

Oculocutaneous Albinism

OCA is caused by an autosomal recessive mutation. There are seven different mutations that can cause albinism, though OCA1 to 4 are the common ones (with OCA2 being the most common). All of these different mutations affect the melanin pathway (the chemical reaction steps to turn phenylalanine into melanin).

OCA1 is caused by a mutation in the tyrosinase gene, which causes a lack of an enzyme in the melanin production pathway. There are actually two types of OCA1, with one having no tyrosinase, and the other having reduced tyrosinase. OCA1 is the most extreme form of albinism, which gives a person very pale skin, white hair, and light eyes.

The OCA2 gene (located on chromosome 15) encodes for the P protein, which is a transporter of a melanin precursor. This gene also has a large role in the color of iris a person will have. Those with OCA2 will have light skin, lighter brown or blond hair, and light colored eyes.

So basically, someone with a defect in either one of the transporters or enzymes of the pathway will not be able to have their melanocytes produce normal melanin. This leads to pale skin, white hair, and light-colored eyes (but it is a spectrum depending on the exact type).

Ocular Albinism

Ocular albinism is an X-linked mutation (a portion of the X chromosome is mutated). This means it affects males more than females. It causes loss of pigmentation in the iris. OA1 is the most common, and is associated with uncontrolled eye movements. OA2 is associated with color and night blindness. There is also a third type that is associated with deafness, but sometimes that also happens with OA1.

A fun fact: there is a type of albinism that only affects non-human animals called leucism. This leads to a partial loss of pigmentation that affects the hair, scales, feathers, and skin of the animal, but not the eyes. You can see this in white lions that have normally-colored eyes and noses.

Albinism and Eyesight

Now onto the role melanin plays in eye function. Albino people have poor eyesight as a result of their melanin deficiencies. But why? We're going to have to go into some eye stuff to answer this question.

So your retina has two parts: temporal and nasal (two halves, one closer to your temple and one closer to your nose). The input from each half is processed with the opposite half from the other eye. I have another post that explains this better. So, the optic nerves meet at the optic chiasm, with some fibers staying on the same side, and other fibers crossing over. Mammals with forward-facing eyes have larger temporal retina than mammals with lateral-facing eyes (like a guinea pig). About half of the optic fibers also remain uncrossed at the chiasm because of this.

Most people with albinism have almost all of their fibers cross at the chiasm, which is essentially a misrouting of very important sensory information. The eye structure is also changed with albinism, as most albino people have poorly formed fovea (the depression in the center of the retina where vision is the sharpest). They also have more blood supply than normal to the foveal area (it is supposed to be avascular). The retinal macula is usually poorly developed and there is a reduction in cone density (what allows you to see color).

Stereovision is also impaired, which is the ability to discern three-dimensional information about objects using the difference between the inputs from each eye. Those with albinism are also more likely to have nystagmus (involuntary eye movement) and strabismus (crossed eyes).

Albinism and Hearing

Now, onto the ear. The eye and ear are very intimately connected. The ear lets the eye know where to look for threats. This means that the visual and auditory spaces within the brain interact. Fun fact: when blind people are asked to localize sounds, the visual cortex is more engaged than the auditory cortex. Albino animals have fewer binaural cells, and more difficulty visually locating the source of sounds. A lot of the stuff related to this goes beyond the scope of what I want to explain here, but just understand that melanin is important for the development of both the auditory and visual systems of the brain.

Albinism and Immune Function

Finally, I want to discuss the immune system. Melanocytes are important cells for immune function, and release a lot of immune-promoting factors. For some reason, a lot of people think of those with albinism as having weak immune systems or being sickly. If you'll notice what I said earlier about the cause of albinism, it is a lack of transporters or enzymes in the melanin pathway. Not the lack of melanocytes. People with albinism still have these cells, it is only their ability to produce melanin that is impaired.

However, there are immune conditions that affect melanocytes, such as Chediak-Higashi syndrome. This is an autosomal recessive disorder that affects lysosomal trafficking proteins, and causes lysosomal function to be impaired. People with this disease will have frequent infections, platelet function impairment, as well as albinism. This means that albinism does not cause immune deficiency, but is a symptom of conditions that also affect the immune system.