#DNA Sample Sequencing

[trendingreportz]

Genomics Market - Forecast(2024 - 2030)

Global Genomic Market Overview:

A genome is the genetic material of an organism. It includes both the genes and the noncoding DNA, as well as mitochondrial DNA and chloroplast DNA. The study of genomes is called genomics. The genomics market is gaining traction owing to its applications in various fields of study such as intragenomic phenomenon including epistasis, pleiotropy, heterosis, and other interactions between loci and alleles within the genome. In this era of medical and life science innovations shaping itself as an inevitable uptake for sustainability of mankind, the genomic research is poised for exponential growth owing to imperative genetic innovations feeding off it. Abundant potential has driven this arcade to reach a staggering market size of $16 billion - $16.5 billion as of 2018, and the demand is estimated to increment at formidable CAGR of 9.2% to 10.2% during the forecast period of 2019 to 2025.

Request Sample

Global Genomic Market Outlook:

Genomics is extensively employed in healthcare, agriculture, biotechnology, DNA sequencing, and diagnostics. In the healthcare segment, genomics is used for the development of vaccines and drugs. This segment leads the application vertical and is growing with a CAGR of 10.1%-10.7 % through to 2025. Genomics plays a significant part in diagnosis of several genetic disorders. It has an ample scope in personalized medication as it can advocate a medical management constructed on the genetic face of a person with the help of clinical data and AI.  It is also applied in synthetic biology and bioengineering. Genomics research in agriculture is hired for plant breeding and genetics to cultivate crop production. The understanding of gene function and the accessibility of genomic maps along with an enhanced understanding of genetic variant will aid the plant breeders to identify the traits and then manipulate those traits to obtain a high yield. All these factors affecting the enormous medical and agricultural sector are all set to stroke the genomics market with abundant demand.

Inquiry Before Buying

Global Genomic Market Growth Drivers:

As per the National Center for Biotechnology Information, U.S, the progression in oncology (study and treatment of tumor) expenses is forecast to rise 7%–10% annually throughout 2020, with universal oncology cost exceeding $150 billion[1]. As per the WHO, cancer is a leading cause of death worldwide, accounting for an estimated 9.6 million deaths in 2018[2]. And the total annual economic cost of cancer at the initial period of this decade was estimated at approximately $1.16 trillion. Thus the application of genomics in exploring cell-free circulating DNA by several R&D sectors as a potential biomarker for cancers is driving the market towards exponential growth. The genomics market with its current potential displays all the necessary traits it can adapt in the coming years to divert a huge chunk of traffic and revenue from the omnipresent cancer diagnostics.

As per the Food and Agriculture Organization of United Nations, between 1960 and 1990 the arable land increased by 1.5 billion ha, and in the recent past decades the elevation recorded is just 155 million ha[3]. With decreasing arable floor and the increasing global population augmenting the demand for food by 70% (by 2050), obtaining a high yield is a major trend in the agricultural sector. Genomics market is all set to capitalize on this unprecedented demand scenario. Genomics supplements the understanding of gene function and the accessibility of genomic maps along with an enhanced understanding of genetic variant, thus aiding the plant breeders to identify the traits and then manipulate those traits to obtain a high yield.

After an acute analysis of the regional insights of the global genomics market, North America is revealed to hold 39% to 40% of the entire global market size as of 2018. Such dominance can be attributed to several aspects such as cumulative investment on research by federal administrations, growing patient awareness, and accessibility of urbane healthcare facilities.

Schedule a Call

Global Genomics Market Players Perspective:

Some of other key players profiled in this IndustryARC business intelligence report are Beckton Dickson, Synthetic Genomics Inc. (SGI) ,Cepheid, Inc., Affymetrix, Inc., Bio-Rad Laboratories, Inc., Agilent Technologies, GE Healthcare, Illumina, Inc., Danaher Corporation,F. Hoffmann-La Roche, QIAGEN, Thermo Fisher Scientific and PacBio (Pacific Biosciences of California). Majority of the companies mentioned are situated in North America augmenting the regional affluence in the global market.

Global Genomics Market Trends:

High overload owing to a wide range of reagents and consumables has propelled companies into approving different policies to endure in the market and stay ahead of the curve.

For instance, in January 2017, BD launched Precise WTA Reagents for precise and guileless quantification of hereditary data form single cell analysis. Moreover, in July 2016, SGI-DNA entered into a distribution agreement with VWR International, an American company involved in the distribution of research laboratory products, with over 1,200,000 items to more than 250,000 customers in North America and Europe.

Genomics Market Research Scope

The base year of the study is 2018, with forecast done up to 2025. The study presents a thorough analysis of the competitive landscape, taking into account the market shares of the leading companies. It also provides information on unit shipments. These provide the key market participants with the necessary business intelligence and help them understand the future of the Genomics Market. The assessment includes the forecast, an overview of the competitive structure, the market shares of the competitors, as well as the market trends, market demands, market drivers, market challenges, and product analysis. The market drivers and restraints have been assessed to fathom their impact over the forecast period. This report further identifies the key opportunities for growth while also detailing the key challenges and possible threats. The key areas of focus include the types of equipment in the Genomics Market, and their specific applications in different phases of industrial operations.

Buy Now

Genomics Market Report: Industry Coverage

Types of Solutions Genomics Market:

By Product Types- Microarray chip, Sequencers.

By Application- Genotyping, SNP analysis.

By End-User- Anthropology, Diagnostics.

The Genomics Market report also analyzes the major geographic regions for the market as well as the major countries for the market in these regions. The regions and countries covered in the study include:

North America: The U.S., Canada, Mexico

South America: Brazil, Venezuela, Argentina, Ecuador, Peru, Colombia, Costa Rica

Europe: The U.K., Germany, Italy, France, The Netherlands, Belgium, Spain, Denmark

APAC: China, Japan, Australia, South Korea, India, Taiwan, Malaysia, Hong Kong

Middle East and Africa: Israel, South Africa, Saudi Arabia

[elfpylon]

there was a very small beetle that landed on my hand in the middle of class today and as I was trying to ID it I discovered the “LBB” (little black beetle) phenomenon where biologists look at a lil black beetle and go ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

thank god i live alone so no one can see the sorry state of my kitchen sink

[felixwylde]

Dimensional Breaches and Biological Anomalies: Empirical Evidence from the Backrooms Exploration Initiative By Dr. Alexey Petrovitch Ivanoff, Dr. Serina Zhang, Dr. Micheal Torrez, Dr. Emilie Rousseaux, and Dr. Rajj Patel. Abstract:The recent empirical validation of the Backrooms, a complex network of extradimensional spaces, has revolutionized multidisciplinary scientific research, presenting…

[egg-king]

i have physical access to literally everything i need to sequence my own DNA and I have to restrain myself every day

[nightingale-prompts]

Little Crush-DCxDP prompt

Damian has a bit of a crush. It started with a trip to the zoo. A small clan of purple-back gorillas had been discovered in the wild by the very same man who saved their species. Danny Fenton holds the title of the youngest animal geneticist in modern day. He was only 20 and was held in high regard in the scientific community.

The family took Damian to meet his hero at Amity Zoo where the scientist worked.

Danny took the boy to heart and let him shadow him for the day. Feeding penguins, watching Danny take blood samples and explaining how DNA can tell them where an animal is from.

"We were able to discover the habitat of the remaining gorillas by looking at the resistance in the captive gorilla's blood. They had a strong poison resistance to a specific plant only found in a region in South America. I took a gamble and figured that such a strong natural immune system must mean that it's a part of their diet." The scientist handed Damian a pointer that was used for touch training and lead him to the beak of the tiger exhibit.

Saba ready for her session.

"Do any of your siblings want to join?" Danny asked beckoning the tiger closer to the barrier.

Cass raised her hand before Damian interrupted.

"No."

"Oh...okay. How about we give her a turn anyway. Saba loves new people."

After getting the chance to give a tiger light pets the tour was over.

But Damian wanted to keep seeing the vet.

At least once a week they had to visit the zoo. They had to take turns going with Damian.

This week was Tim's turned and he learned all about cat coat genetics.

Dilution, Seal point, karpati, folded, agouti, locus, lilac, ticked mackerel, Havana, classic, cinnamon, fawn, and blur. Each word sounded like babble as Danny listed every genetic sequence that made up a coat. Silver fawn ticked was where Tim nodded off.

He could admit that Danny was pretty cute. They were the same age too. Tim kind of liked how smart he was but he was also kind of dumb since he hadn't noticed the demon had a little crush.

"I'm gonna ask him out." Tim said as he sat eating churros near the giraffes with Damian.

"Don't you dare Drake!" Damian growled.

"Oh come on. You're too young for him. But I'm not. Besides it's illegal for you." Tim laughed.

"That doesn't mean you get to ask him out." Damian hissed. "Besides he probably wouldn't accept you. Anyone but you."

"Wanna bet?"

[thyvora]

This thought came to me when I was trying to sleep and it kept me up so I had to write it. I’ve seen so many Dc x Dp crossover but never one where Dick and Barbara are Danny parents alternate versions so I figured I write it. Also this is a revealed that went wrong.

———

Danny Fenton’s life falls apart after the truth gets out — not just about being half-ghost, but everything. Amity Park turns on him. The GIW and his parents come crashing in. Jazz telling him to run, and he listens.

He escapes through the Ghost Zone, hoping for a safe place to regroup.

Instead, he crashes into another reality — Gotham.

———

The rooftop cracked under the weight of the portal’s collapse.

Nightwing landed with escrima sticks already drawn, eyes narrowed at the point of impact. Debris scattered. Something had come through.

Then—movement.

A boy staggered out of the smoke.

Black hair. Bright blue eyes. Pale. Blood soaked suit clinging to him like a second skin. He looked terrified — and familiar. Too familiar.

Nightwing took one cautious step forward.

“Hey. You okay, kid?”

Danny looked up.

And froze.

His eyes went wide, panic sharp and immediate. For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other. Then something cracked behind Danny’s gaze — recognition, heartbreak, fear.

He didn’t answer. He just turned invisible.

“Wait—!”

Too late. He vanished.

Nightwing was left alone with the faint trace of blood still glowing on the rooftop, heart pounding like he’d just watched something slip through his fingers.

He didn’t know that boy.

———

When Nightwing went to the Cave, he said nothing lost in his thought — just dropped the small sample of blood into Tim’s hands.

Tim ran the test. The results processed fast.

Too fast.

Tim frowned. “So. Uh… you might want to sit down.”

Dick spoke up for the first time he entered. “What is it?

Tim gestured to the screen. “Blood sample came back human…but with Lazarus water in it.”

Jason blinked. “So… the kid died and got brought back with the Lazarus Pit? Happens all the time. Hey, look at me—I was brought back to life because of it.”

“That’s not the weird part.” Tim murmured. “In his blood it was stabilized. Balanced. His blood is saturated with it. It’s not corrupting him — I don’t even know what going on — Like his body was built for it.”

Silence

“But that’s not even the weird part.”

The monitor flickered as it loaded the second half of the report. Two genetic matches lit up on-screen:

PARENTAL GENETIC MATCH FOUND

Richard. Grayson and Barbara. Gordon

Dick stared at it like it might blink out of existence if he looked too hard.

Everyone in the Batfam assumes the obvious.

Jason frowned, eyes sharp. “So someone made a cloned of dickwing and spliced in Babs’ DNA? That’s dark, even for Gotham.”

Tim frowned. “If CADMUS is involved, it’s bad news. They never stop.”

Damian: “We should have incinerated that lab when we had the chance.”

Dick presses a hand to his chest and whispers, “No.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “What??”

Dick’s gaze hardened. “I think he’s my son somehow, not a cloned because even before the results, when I saw that boy on the rooftop, for that split second — it felt him my hearts stuttered. Like my body recognized something my minds couldn’t name yet.”

The whole batfam is silent.

Tim, staring hard at the data: “If he’s a clone, he’s… weirdly clean. There’s none of the degradation markers, no artificial telomere tampering, no lab-grown sequences. This is full-genome, natural structure. Like—like a real person.”

Dick’s voice was hoarse. “He saw me and ran.”

Jason scoffed. “Can’t blame him. I’d run too if I saw a weird younger version of my dad who didn’t remember me.”

So now the Batfam is hunting down Dick and Barbara kid across Gotham.

[archangeliswriting]

Debunking a Dinosaur Movie | S. Reid

Pairing: Sub!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: When your boyfriend decides to point out the scientific inaccuracies of a movie you like, you make him pay for it.

Content Warning: s2 glasses reid is a warning, edging, dry humping, handjob, unprotected pinv

Author's note: first official smut fic kinda nervous. ive never written a sub character before but pls accept my humble offering. all the info here is from google and i dont think the research he mentions aligns with the s2 timeline but who cares we’re here for sub spence anyway not accuracy

A thud hits the floor of your apartment as Spencer drops his bag by the couch. He falls back unceremoniously on the cushions and lets out a sigh and you can't help but chuckle lightly at the sight of him, limbs sprawled out and head leaned back, eyes shut as he savors the feeling of the softness of your couch again after spending hours on his office chair.

“Rough day?” You ask as you wipe your hands on a kitchen towel after finishing the last of your dishes.

Spencer hums, “Papers upon papers upon papers..”

“I thought you liked paperwork.” You snort as you make your way to him, he turns his head to watch as you do so. His nose scrunches and his glasses shift slightly, your heart almost bursts out of your chest at the adorable sight, “Not when it feels like I’m drowning in it.”

You gaze at the way he looks right now; relaxed, the position of his head has his neck bared to the open, you want to sink your teeth in them, his legs spread wide and oh, it makes you dizzy. You avert your eyes and find his own already staring into you, a small smile on his pink lips. You're not exactly subtle with ogling him, never have been.

Spencer extends a hand to you, you take it and he leads you to sit on his lap. He twines his fingers with yours as he brings them up to his lips, he places a soft kiss and asks, “And what did you do today?”

“Not much,” You murmur, “Bought some groceries, laundry, and, oh! Jurassic Park came on the TV so naturally, I sat through the whole thing.” Your head tilts with a shy smile.

The boy grins, “Naturally.” His hands move to hold your waist as amusement fills his face, “I don’t get your fascination with it, it's not even accurate!”

A scoff leaves your lips at his statement and your hands come up to his shoulders, “Okay, first of all, dinosaurs are cool, I’m sorry your big brain doesn't understand that, and second, who cares about accuracy? It’s a sick movie. They literally brought back dinosaurs!” Spencer can’t help his little laugh at your defensive tone.

“I care about accuracy.” His fingers lightly squeeze your side and there goes that nose scrunch again, you fight the urge to just lean in and bite it. “You can't just clone dinosaurs through preserved DNA because it degrades over time due to environmental factors, they eventually break down and it would be extremely difficult to extract it from fossils. Even if it was preserved in amber, like in the movie, complete ancient DNA would not survive millions of years.”

And just like that, his mouth is rambling and his hands are moving against your waist, as if he can't stop the gestures to accompany his words but at the same time does not want to let go of you.

“They actually did a research once using a technique that sequences everything within a sample so it can pick up small strands of DNA. They used samples that were around 10,600 years old and they tried that technique to extract DNA from insects trapped inside copal, which is resin that hasn't fully hardened into amber, and they couldn't find any viable DNA. If they couldn't extract from copal then it's unlikely they could do it with amber.”

You're not sure if you heard every single word that he said but you hummed in response. How could you focus when Spencer looks so delectable in front of you? The way he’s looking at you right now with those soft eyes of his behind glasses, brows a little furrowed as he awaits your response. As handsome as he looks when he’s spewing science facts like it's nothing, you're not exactly sure if you appreciate him ruining Jurassic Park.

As if a little devil on your shoulder whispered in your ear, an idea forms in your head. If he wants to debunk the movie then you’ll let him. “Mhm, what else, baby? Wanna hear all of it.” You murmur as you tuck a stray of hair behind his ear, you don't miss the way his cheeks slightly turn pink.

Spencer’s brows furrow further, surprised that you’d want to hear about the inaccuracies of your favorite movie, but because he likes to give you what you want, he obliges. “Even if the DNA somehow was preserved and they successfully extracted it, and cloned it, there's also the issue of the dinosaurs’ ability to live in our environment.”

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head, egging him on to continue. Just as he opens his mouth to do so, you move against his crotch ever so slightly, so slightly that Spencer isn't sure that it happened at all or if you had even meant to do it but still, his breath hitches and he blanks for a moment.

Spencer realizes that maybe he shouldn't have started this discussion at all because now all he wants is to feel you. He’s not sure if he can tell you all the science when his want is slowly clouding every corner of his mind.

Your finger comes up to tap his cheek and softly ask, “Hey, where'd you go, genius? You haven't answered my question, something bothering you?”

The way you say it with a little glimmer in your eyes makes him think there's something being plotted against him but he can't bring himself to further think about it because your thumb is now stroking his cheek in delicate little lines, all while your eyes never leave his.

He swallows and shakes his head, “No, uh,” What was he talking about again? Oh, right. “The Earth's environment then is different than now. It's possible that some dinosaurs wouldn't be able to survive in our environment. Tyrannosaurus rexes or T-rexes, for example, they—” Spencer cuts off with a gasp when you move your hips against him again, firmer this time and there's no mistaking it for an accident.

“They what, hm?”

“Evil woman.” He whispers, you laugh and Spencer thinks he's fucked. His cock is stirring in his pants and he's suffering by the second.

You can feel him getting harder and the way his struggle is so obvious on his face makes it all the more fun for you. “Keep going or you won't get what you want.” Your voice is honey sweet and to make yourself clear, you lean in close to his lips and give a delicious roll on his growing erection that has his eyes fluttering shut, a small sound emitting from his pretty lips, even it affected you. While you enjoy seeing Spencer worked up, you’re suffering just as much. It's taking a lot of willpower to refrain yourself from just kissing him breathless and riding him until he's crying.

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth, trailing kisses down to his jaw, his breath is hot against your cheek and you feel the heaving of his chest beneath your palms.

“Please,” Spencer whispers when you kiss down his neck.

“You know what to do if you want more, honey.” You nudge his nose and he looks at you with the prettiest doe eyes known to man because Spencer does know what he needs to do but it was worth a shot.

Ignoring the way you start running your hands up and down his chest, he does what you want, he’s a good boy after all.

“T-rexes lived in the Cretaceous period which would be about 145 to 66 million years ago and oh,” He almost whimpers when you start moving against him again, this time you don’t stop. You resume your kisses on his neck and Spencer is so hard it hurts, “The average global temperature at that time was about 4°C higher than today–” He moans when you suck on that sweet spot on his neck and his hips buck up without meaning to. “They’d have to adapt to lower temperatures.”

You squeeze his shoulder to try to stop your eyes from closing and focus on his moving lips but the friction feels so good against your covered core that you can't help your own sounds of pleasure. His fingers find their way under your shirt and grip the skin tightly, maybe it's a little cheating that he's trying to guide your movements so you're humping him harder but you don't say anything.

Heat is coiling in Spencer's stomach, he can't take much more of this, “I can't. Please, touch me.” His voice sounds broken and something about it is so sexy that it increases your arousal tenfold.

“I am touching you, baby.” You coo and dear God, the boy pouts. You want to ruin him.

“Kiss me, please,” Spencer mumbles, doe eyes boring into yours like he knows you love it when he looks at you like that, like a puppy asking for a treat.

You snake a hand to the back of his head and let your lips descend to his. He moans like his thirst has been quenched after being deprived of water for so long. The kiss is messy, it's filthy, and Spencer's head is spinning as he chases each movement of your lips. His pants are so tight, his cock straining underneath them, and when your tongue finds its way inside his mouth? He’s gone. His glasses are in the way but neither of you makes an effort to remove it. He looks hotter with them anyway. Your fingers pull his hair just hard enough that his head tilts back, the moan that leaves his mouth is downright sinful even when it's muffled by your own.

Spencer can't think, there is nothing in his mind except you, your tongue, and your hips rutting against him. He’s so close to coming and he can't believe he's about to cream in his pants, talk about being a loser. Oh, is he sorely mistaken.

As if you could tell he’s close, your hips still and you pull your face away from him. Spencer whines. God, he looks so wrecked, lips are swollen and red, his glasses are crooked and all fogged up. You want to have this image of him engraved in your mind.

“What? No, please, come back,” He almost cries, you have to take his hands to keep him from moving your body against him.

“But you look so pretty like this, Spence.” His cheeks flush a deep rouge and he squirms underneath you, “All fucked out for me and I haven't even touched your cock properly.”

“Fuck, please, please, please,” At this point, Spencer is not above begging on his knees for you to fuck him but then again, he’s never above being on his knees for you. “Please, I’ve been good, haven't I?”

You so desperately want to see if he would actually cry from being deprived of your touch but your cunt is aching and you’re sure you’ve soaked your panties, you're torturing yourself almost as much as you're torturing him, so you give in. You lift yourself up from his lap and make quick work of undoing his belt and pulling his pants, along with his boxers, down his legs. Spencer lets out a groan of relief when his cock is free from its confinement, it slaps against his stomach, flushed red and leaking.

“Look at that,” You hum, “So pretty, baby.”

You swipe a thumb over the tip, a broken moan emitting from Spencer. Spitting on your palm, you wrap your hand around his aching cock and begin stroking him.

“Oh, yes, ngh!–” Spencer wails, head throwing back against the couch and arching into your touch, “Thank you,”

“Always so polite, aren’t you? Such a good boy for me, honey.” You coo, voice all sweet and the praise sends him reeling, meanwhile his pathetic moans has you clenching around nothing.

All it takes is a few more strokes and your voice in his ear, and he’s close again.

“I’m, hngh, I'm so close, please.” He gasps and moans, his jaw slack, he's fucking up into your hand, brows furrowed hard. Your sly chuckle is his only warning before you remove your hand from him, denying him his orgasm once more. Spencer is now fully convinced you're a devil— a devil with an angel’s face, disguised in pretty smiles and sugary sweetness.

Fuck! Just fuck me, please! Spencer is so tempted to let those words just slip out and he wonders if you’d slap him for it, he bites his tongue and decides to not push his luck, although the thought of you slapping him is turning him on more than he'd like to admit. You laugh in his face, cruel and mocking the way he's pouting, and Goddamnit, Spencer is so in love with you.

“I know, baby, I’m so mean, aren't I?” You grab his chin, faux sympathy on your face. He can only whine in response. “Don’t worry, honey, you can have it now.”

With a quick peck on his lips, you lift yourself off his lap to take your shorts and underwear off, Spencer eagerly helping you. You settle on top of him once more, “You ready, baby?”

His head nods so comically fast, you take his cock and let his tip rub up against your clit a couple times, a little whimper leaving your lips at the stimulation after spending so much time focusing on Spencer's pleasure. You slowly sink down on him, a gasp emitting from the both of you, you take a second once he's fully inside because you feel so full it's a little overwhelming.

You want to drag this out a little longer but you've reached a point of pure hornyness that you physically can't bring yourself to take it slow. Poor Spencer almost shouts when you just start bouncing on him, you're so wet and it feels like he’s died and Heaven is in between your legs.

“God, you feel so good, baby, fuck,” You moan out. Spencer's hand has moved up your back, his fingers are gripping your shirt to death, his mouth is moving incessantly, mumbling and slurring out incoherently.

“Look at you going all dumb for me, so pussydrunk you can't even speak properly, huh?” You grab his flushed face, gripping his cheeks so his lips meet in a cute pout.

Spencer whines. “Use your words, pretty, I know that genius brain can do it, come on.” You struggle to get the words out, your body feels like it's on fire, your thighs are aching but you can't stop, not when he feels so delicious inside of you.

“Fuck, feels s’good– ngh, don't stop, please.” He manages to let out, he peels his eyes open and groans, you look so fucking beautiful as you ride him like there's no tomorrow, your mouth formed in a ‘o’ shape and your eyes fluttering shut as you make the prettiest sounds he's ever heard. It's the sight of you that does it for him. He gasps, “I’m so close, fuck,–”

“Not yet.” You grit out as you continue to grind down on him. Spencer feels like he's going to fucking explode. “I can’t, please, I can't!”

Your forehead leans on his, your mouths are so close to each other that he feels your hot breath on his skin, he wants you to kiss him again.

“Just a little more, baby, I promise.” You say as you move faster, desperately chasing your own pleasure. Tears well up in Spencer's eyes, he can't hold his orgasm off and he's certain he’s gonna combust on this couch if he doesn't come soon. The knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter, your moans get higher in pitch and it drowns out Spencer’s pathetic cries, his cock is continuously hitting that sweet spot inside you until you feel like you're about to burst.

“I need to cum, please, can I?” He chokes out. You nod, “Mhm, fuck, cum for me, honey.” Spencer tenses all over, his back arching from the couch as he finally comes, his moans coming out in a whiny pitch. You feel the warmth of his release in you as you hit your own orgasm.

“Fuck, too much!– hngh,” He squirms and cries underneath you as you ride him through your orgasm. When you finally come to a stop, you're both heaving, silent as you come down your highs.

You wipe the single tear that has run down his cheek and place a sweet kiss on his lips. “I love you.” Spencer mumbles and you smile, “I love you too, Spence, even if you don't like Jurassic Park.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, “I won't ever try to get between you and dinosaurs again.”

“Probably a good idea.”

~•~

Do not steal or repost on other platforms without permission.

[tobiosbbyghorl]

pairing: scientist!sunghoon x scientist! reader

wc:10.5k

released date: 05.17.2025

warning: PURE FICTION!!

synopsis: In the quiet of her lab, Dr. Y/N, a skilled scientist, sets out on a risky mission to bring back her late fiancé, Park Sunghoon, who died in a car accident. Using his preserved DNA, she creates a clone that grows rapidly in just two years. When Sunghoon wakes up, he faces the difficult reality of being brought back to life and the moral issues surrounding Y/N's actions.

a/n: ITS HERE!! Hope you guys will love it as much as I did writing it! feedbacks,likes and reblogs are highly appreciated!

In the cold glow of my underground biotech lab, silence is sacred. Down here, beneath layers of steel and earth, the world doesn’t exist. No grief. No time. Just me. Just him.

The capsule glows in the center of the room—a vertical womb of steel and glass, pulsing faintly with blue light. Suspended inside, wrapped in strands of bio-filaments and artificial amniotic fluid, is the reason I wake up in the morning. Or stay awake. I don’t know the difference anymore.

Park Sunghoon.

Or… what’s left of him.

One year ago, he died on his way to our civil wedding. A drunk driver. A rainy street. A second too late. I got the call before I even zipped up my dress. I still remember the way my coffee spilled all over the lab floor when my knees gave out. I never cleaned it. It’s still there, dried in the corner. A fossil of the moment my world cracked open.

⸻

He used to say I was too curious for my own good.

That I’d poke the universe too hard one day and it would poke back.

Maybe this is what he meant.

⸻

Sunghoon and I were both scientists—biotech researchers. We studied regenerative cloning, theorized about neural echo imprinting, debated ethics like it was foreplay.

He was against replicas. Always. “A copy isn’t a soul,” he’d say. “It’s just noise pretending to be music.”

But the day he died, I stopped caring about music.

I just wanted to hear his voice again.

⸻

I had everything I needed. A sample of his bone DNA—collected after a minor lab accident years ago and stored under a pseudonym. His blood type, genome map, neural scan from our first brain-simulation trial. A perfect match, all buried in our old hard drives. He never knew I kept them. Maybe he would’ve hated me for it.

Maybe I don’t care.

I called it Project ECHO.

Because that’s what he was now.

An echo. A ripple in the void.

⸻

The first version—ECHO-1—was a failure.

He looked like Sunghoon. But he never woke up. I ran every test. Monitored every vital. Adjusted nutrient cycles, protein growth, heartbeat regulators. But something in him was missing—something I couldn’t code into cells.

A soul, maybe. Or timing.

He died the second I tried to bring him out.

I cremated and buried that version in the garden, under the cherry tree he planted the first spring we moved in. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I just stood there holding the urn and whispered, “I’ll get it right next time.”

⸻

ECHO-2 was different.

I restructured the genome to prevent cellular decay. Added telomere stabilizers to delay aging. Enhanced his immune system. This time, I built him stronger. Healthier. The version of Sunghoon that would’ve never gotten sick that winter in Sapporo, or fainted in the elevator that one night after forgetting to eat. That version who could live longer. With me.

But the rest—I left untouched.

His smile. His hands. The faint mole scattered in his face. The way his hair curled when wet. All exactly the same. It had to be. He wouldn’t be Sunghoon without those things.

I even reconstructed his mind.

Using an illegal neural mapping sequence I coded from fragments of our joint research, I retrieved echoes of his memory—dream-like reflections extracted from the deepest preserved brain tissue. It wasn’t perfect. But it was him. Pieces of him. The things he never got to say. The life he never finished.

⸻

It took two years.

Two years in the dark, surrounded by synthetic fluid and filtered lights, modifying the incubator like a cradle built by obsession. I monitored every development milestone like a parent. I watched him grow. I whispered stories to him when the lab was quiet, played him our favorite records through the tank’s acoustic feed, left him notes on the console like he could read them.

⸻

One night, I touched the tank and felt warmth radiate back. His fingers twitched.

A smile cracked on his lips, soft and sleepy.

And I whispered, “You’re almost here.”

⸻

Now he floats before me—grown, complete, and terrifyingly familiar. His chest rises and falls steadily. Muscles formed and defined from synthetic stimulation. His brain is fully developed. His body—twenty-five years old. The age he was when he died. The age we should’ve gotten married.

And now, he’s ready.

⸻

The console buzzes beside me.

“Project ECHO – Stage V: Awakening. Confirm execution.”

My fingers hover. The hum of the lab grows louder. My heart beats so hard I feel it in my throat.

This is it.

The point of no return.

I press enter.

The Awakening didn’t look like the movies.

There was no dramatic gasp, no lightning bolt of consciousness.

It was subtle.

His eyes fluttered open, hazy and uncertain, like the first morning light after a long storm. They didn’t lock onto me at first. He blinked a few times—slow, groggy—and stared at the ceiling of the pod with a confusion so human it made my knees go weak.

Then his gaze shifted.

Found me.

And held.

Just long enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

“Sunghoon,” I whispered.

His lips barely moved. “…Y/N?”

And then—just like that—he slipped under again.

His vitals were stable, but his body couldn’t process full consciousness yet. It was expected. I designed it that way. A controlled emergence. Gentle. Like thawing from ice.

He would wake again. Soon.

⸻

Phase VI: Integration.

I had the room ready before I even began the cloning process. A private suite in the East Wing of my estate, modified to resemble a recovery room from a private hospital: sterile whites and soft blues, filtered natural lighting, automated IV drips and real-time vitals displayed on sleek black monitors. The scent of lavender piped faintly through the vents. His favorite.

I moved him after he lost consciousness again—quietly, carefully. No one else involved. Not even my AI assistant, KARA. This part was just mine.

Just ours.

He lay in the bed now, dressed in soft gray cotton, sheets pulled up to his chest. The faint hum of the machines harmonized with his breathing. It was surreal. Like watching a ghost settle into a life it forgot it had.

I perched on the armchair across from him, the dim lighting casting long shadows over his face.

“You’re safe,” I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “And when you wake up… everything will be in place.”

⸻

I spent the next forty-eight hours setting the stage.

Fabricated records of a traumatic car accident—minor amnesia, extended coma, miraculous survival. Hacked into the hospital registry and quietly added his name under a wealthy alias. I made sure the media silence was absolute. No visitors. No suspicious calls. A full blackout.

I memorized the story I would tell him. Rehearsed it like a script.

We had been on our way to City Hall. A drunk driver ran a red light. I survived with minor injuries. He hit his head. Slipped into a coma. No signs of brain damage, but long-term memory instability was expected.

He’d been here ever since. Safe. Loved. Waiting to wake up.

And now—he had.

⸻

On the morning of the third day, I heard movement.

Soft. Shuffling. Sheets rustling.

I turned from the monitor just as he groaned softly, his head turning on the pillow.

“Sunghoon?”

His eyes blinked open again, more alert this time. Still groggy, but present.

“Y/N…?” he rasped.

I rushed to his side, heart in my throat. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

His brows knit together, voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“You were in an accident,” I said gently. “The day of our wedding. You’ve been in a coma. Two years.”

His eyes widened—just a little. Then flicked down to his hands. The IV. The machines. The unfamiliar room.

“…Two years?”

I nodded, bracing for the confusion. “You survived. But it was close. We weren’t sure you’d ever… come back.”

He said nothing.

Just stared at me.

Like he was trying to remember something he couldn’t quite reach.

“…Why does it feel like I never left?” he whispered.

I smiled softly. Forced. “Because I never left you.”

And for now, that was all he needed to know.

But deep down, behind those eyes, behind the half-forgotten memories and muscle memory that wasn’t truly his—

Something flickered.

Something not asleep anymore.

He was awake.

And the lie had begun.

The days that followed passed in a quiet rhythm.

He adjusted faster than I anticipated. His motor skills were strong, his speech patterns natural—so much so that sometimes I forgot he wasn’t really him. Or maybe he was. Just… rebuilt. Reassembled with grief and obsession and the memory of love that still clung to me like static.

I stayed with him in the hospital wing, sleeping on the pullout beside his bed. Every morning he’d wake before me, staring out the wide window as if trying to piece together time. And when I asked what he was thinking, he always gave the same answer:

“I feel like I dreamed you.”

On the seventh day, he turned to me, his voice clearer than ever.

“Can I go back to our room?”

I paused, fingers wrapped around the rim of his tea mug.

He still called it our room.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “You’re strong enough now.”

And so we did.

I helped him down the hallway, hand in his, the same way I’d imagined it during the long nights of Phase II. His steps were careful, measured. But his eyes… they lit up the moment we entered.

It looked the same.

The navy sheets. The low lights. The picture of us by the bookshelf—framed and untouched. His books still on the shelf in alphabetical order. His favorite sweatshirt folded at the foot of the bed like I had never moved it.

He smiled when he saw it. “It feels like nothing’s changed.”

Except everything had.

I didn’t say that.

⸻

He asked about the lab a few nights later. We were curled together in bed—his head on my shoulder, our legs tangled like old habits finding their way home.

“How’s the lab?” he asked, voice soft in the dark. “Are we still working on the neuro-mirroring project?”

My heart skipped.

I’d gotten rid of everything. The pod. The DNA matrix. The prototype drafts. Scrubbed the drives clean. Smashed the external backups. Buried the remains of ECHO-1 under a new tree. The lab was as sterile as my conscience was not.

I turned toward him, brushing my thumb over the scar that curved above his brow. The one that hadn’t been there before the “accident.”

“It’s being renovated,” I said carefully. “After the crash… I couldn’t go in for a while. So I decided to redo it. Clear things out. Start over fresh.”

He nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”

He didn’t ask again.

And just like that, life began to move forward.

He followed me around the house again, stealing kisses in the kitchen, playfully poking fun at the way I never folded laundry properly. He rediscovered his favorite coffee, laughed at old movies like they were new, held my hand under the stars like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But sometimes—when he thought I wasn’t looking—he’d stare at his reflection too long. Tilt his head. Press his fingers to his chest like he was checking if something was still there.

Maybe he felt it.

The echo of what he was.

But if he did, he never said.

One night, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, he whispered into my neck, “I don’t know how I got so lucky to come back to you.”

I pressed a kiss to his temple, forcing a smile as my heart ached beneath the surface.

“I guess some things are just meant to find their way back.”

Even if they were never supposed to.

Time softened everything.

The sterile silence of the house began to fade, replaced by the quiet thrum of life again—the clink of mugs in the morning, the shuffle of his bare feet on the hardwood, the lazy hum of music playing from a speaker that hadn’t been touched since he died. I started to breathe again, and so did he.

Like we were rewriting the rhythm we’d lost.

—

Our first night out felt like time travel.

He picked the place—a rooftop restaurant we always swore we’d try, back when work kept getting in the way. I wore the same navy dress I had worn on our second anniversary. He noticed. His hand slid into mine under the table like it belonged there, his thumb tracing invisible patterns against my skin.

Halfway through dessert, he leaned in, grinning with chocolate at the corner of his lip.

“You still scrunch your nose when you’re pretending to like the wine,” he teased, eyes gleaming.

I blinked. “You remember that?”

He nodded slowly. “It just feels like… I always knew.”

I smiled, heart aching in that strange, quiet way it always did now.

“You’re right,” I said, brushing the chocolate off his lip. “You always did.”

Even grocery shopping with him became a date.

He pushed the cart like a child let loose, tossing in things we didn’t need just to make me laugh. At one point, he held up a can of whipped cream with the most mischievous glint in his eye.

“For movie night,” he said innocently.

I arched a brow. “For the movie or during the movie?”

He smirked. “Depends how boring the movie is.”

We walked home with one umbrella, our fingers interlaced in the rain, and the world somehow felt smaller, warmer.

He burned the garlic the first time.

“I told you the pan was too hot,” I said, waving smoke away.

“And you told me to trust you,” he countered, looking absurdly proud of his crime against dinner. “Besides, I like it crunchy.”

“You like your taste buds annihilated, apparently.”

We ended up ordering takeout, sitting on the kitchen floor, eating noodles out of the box with chopsticks, laughing about how we’d both make terrible housewives.

But the next night, we tried again.

He stood behind me, arms around my waist, guiding my hands as I chopped vegetables.

“You used to do this,” I said softly. “When I first moved in.”

“I know,” he murmured. “It’s one of my favorite memories.”

Cuddling became a ritual.

He always found a way to get impossibly close—sprawled across the couch with his head in my lap, humming contentedly while I read a book or ran my fingers through his hair.

Sometimes we didn’t speak for hours.

Just the quiet breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat echoing faintly against my thigh. Real. Solid. Present.

It was a miracle I could touch.

One night, as rain tapped gently on the windows and he was half-asleep on my shoulder, he whispered:

“I feel safe with you.”

I held him tighter.

Because if I let go—even for a second—I was afraid he might vanish again.

⸻

Love blossomed differently this time.

Slower. Deeper. Less like fire, more like roots. Tangled and unshakable.

And sometimes, in the quiet of our shared bed, I would watch him sleep and wonder if it was love that brought him back.

Or obsession.

But when he opened his eyes and smiled like the sun lived behind them, I told myself it didn’t matter.

He was here.

And that was enough.

For now.

⸻

I woke with a jolt, my heart pounding so violently it threatened to break free from my chest. The nightmare was still fresh, its vividness clinging to my mind like the smoke of a fire.

Sunghoon.

He was in the car again—his face frozen in the moment before everything shattered, his eyes wide with disbelief. The screech of tires, the crash. His body limp. The way I couldn’t reach him no matter how hard I screamed.

I gasped for air, my fingers clutching at the sheets, tangled in the panic that still gripped me.

My breath came in ragged bursts as I sat up, drenched in sweat. My chest heaved with the rawness of the memory, the terrible what-ifs that still haunted me.

A hand gently touched my back.

“Y/N?”

His voice, soft and concerned, cut through the haze of the nightmare. I froze for a moment, the world around me still spinning from the disorienting shock.

I turned, and there he was—Sunghoon—sitting up beside me in the bed, his eyes full of concern. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated his face, and for a moment, it was almost as if everything had shifted back into place.

But only for a second.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice warm with worry.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. “I… I just had a nightmare,” I whispered, avoiding his eyes. My heart was still trying to settle, and I didn’t want him to see the fear in my face. I didn’t want him to see how broken I still was.

Sunghoon leaned forward, his hands reaching out to cradle my face gently. He brushed a strand of hair away from my forehead, his touch so familiar, so tender.

“Nightmares are just that,” he said softly, his thumb grazing my skin. “They aren’t real. I’m here.”

I nodded, trying to pull myself together, but the knot in my throat wouldn’t loosen. There was something about the way he said it—so assuredly. So real. Like the past didn’t exist, like he had never been gone.

Like I hadn’t created him from fragments of grief and obsession.

He sat next to me, his arm around my shoulders as I leaned into him. The warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, slowly calmed me. I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of him—the same as it had always been.

“I’m here,” he repeated, his voice a quiet lullaby.

But somewhere deep inside, I couldn’t shake the question that had haunted me since the moment I had revived him: Who was he really? Was this truly the Sunghoon I had loved, the one who had filled my life with light? Or was this just a perfect imitation, a replica of my memories? An echo of a man who would never truly exist again?

I wanted to believe he was him. I needed to believe it.

But as he held me, his warmth seeping into my skin, I couldn’t deny the doubt that gnawed at my soul.

“Y/N?” he murmured, sensing my tension.

“Yeah?” I whispered, pulling myself closer into his arms.

He tilted my chin up, his gaze intense as he met my eyes. “I love you,” he said quietly, with such certainty that for a moment, it almost felt real—like the love we’d always shared before the accident, before everything shattered.

And in that moment, I wanted to believe it. I wanted to forget everything else, to let myself drown in the reassurance that this was him—my Sunghoon.

But the ghosts of the past still lingered in the corners of my mind.

“I love you too,” I replied softly, my voice shaky but true.

And for a few minutes, we just sat there, holding each other in the stillness of the night.

But as I closed my eyes and let the warmth of his embrace lull me back to sleep, the doubt remained.

Would I ever be able to escape the shadows of my own creation?

As the days passed, the weight of my doubts gradually lightened. Sunghoon’s presence—his warmth, his voice, the way he smiled—reminded me more and more of the man I had once loved, the man who had been taken from me.

The fear, the gnawing uncertainty that had once been constant in the back of my mind, slowly started to fade. Each moment we spent together was a little piece of normalcy returning. He didn’t just look like Sunghoon. He was Sunghoon. In every little detail—his laugh, the way he tilted his head when he was deep in thought, how he always made the coffee exactly the way I liked it. His presence was enough to reassure me that this was him, in all the ways that mattered.

We went on walks together, hand in hand, strolling through the garden I had planted the day we first moved into the house. It was filled with flowers that bloomed year-round—just like the memories I had of us, blooming and growing despite the heartbreak.

We laughed, reminiscing about everything we had shared before. Sunghoon was never afraid to be vulnerable with me, and it felt like we were picking up right where we left off. His sense of humor, always dry and sarcastic, never failed to make me smile. And slowly, I began to accept that the man who stood beside me, laughing at his own jokes, was truly my Sunghoon.

One night, as we cooked dinner together, I watched him carefully slice vegetables, his movements graceful and practiced. It was simple, domestic, but it felt like everything I had longed for since he was gone.

“Don’t forget the garlic,” I reminded him, teasing.

He shot me a look, smirking. “I remember.”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of the moment settle into my bones. This was real. The way he made sure I was comfortable in the kitchen, the way we worked together without needing words—this was our life, reborn.

The more time we spent in the house, the more at ease I became. We cooked together, watched old movies, read books side by side, and held each other as we fell asleep at night. There were no more questions in my mind. No more doubts. Just the feeling of peace settling over me, like the calm after a storm.

Sunghoon never asked me about the lab. And I never had to lie, because there was no need to. The lab had been dismantled long ago, every trace of Project ECHO erased. It was as if it never existed. My obsession, my grief—gone.

In its place was this. A second chance.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Y/N,” he said one evening as we sat on the couch, the sound of rain tapping against the windows. He held me close, his head resting against mine. “No matter what happens, no matter what changes… you’re the one for me.”

I turned to look at him, searching his eyes for something—anything—that might reveal the truth I feared. But there was nothing. Only love. Real love.

“I feel the same,” I whispered back, brushing my lips against his.

For a moment, the world outside disappeared. There was no past, no lab, no questions. There was only Sunghoon, here with me. And that was enough.

The days continued to pass in a peaceful blur of moments that I had once thought lost forever. With each sunrise, my doubts melted away, and with every touch, every kiss, I felt more certain that this was real. That he was real.

Sunghoon might not be the exact same person who had walked out of that door all those years ago—but in my heart, it didn’t matter. He was my Sunghoon, and that was all I needed.

Together, we built a life—one step at a time. And this time, I wasn’t afraid.

I wasn’t afraid of the past. I wasn’t afraid of the future.

I was just… happy.

Sunghoon’s POV

It had been a year since I came back to her, and in that time, I had slowly convinced myself that everything was okay. That what we had, what I had, was enough. That the woman I loved, the woman who had saved me—had done so much more than just revive me—wasn’t hiding any more secrets. But the past… it always had a way of creeping up, didn’t it?

I wasn’t snooping, not exactly. I was just cleaning up. I had offered to help her tidy up the office since she had been so caught up in her work lately, and well, I had nothing else to do. After all, it’s been a year now, and I’ve come to understand her more than I could ever have imagined. She’d been distant the past few days, and it made me uneasy. The kind of unease that makes you feel like there’s something you should know, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

It was as I was sorting through the boxes in her home office—one that she hadn’t allowed me to visit much—that I found it.

A video tape.

It was tucked behind a stack of old files, half-buried in the clutter. At first, I thought nothing of it. She was always meticulous about her work, so maybe it was just an old research document, something from her past. But when I saw the words “Project ECHO – Development and Breakdown” scrawled on the side, my heart stopped. I felt a sickening knot tighten in my chest, and instinctively, my fingers curled around it.

What was this?

My thoughts raced as I fumbled with the tape, my hands trembling just slightly as I slid it into the old VCR player she kept in the corner of the office. The screen flickered to life.

There I was.

Or… the version of me that had once existed. The first one. My mind was running faster than my eyes could follow the images flashing on the screen. I saw footage of my development, from the initial growth stages to the first electrical impulses firing in my brain, as well as my physical appearance being tested and adjusted.

My stomach turned as the video documented every breakdown of my body—every failed attempt to bring me to life. I saw the wires, the artificial fluids, the machines that I had been hooked up to before I had opened my eyes, before I had woken up in that hospital room.

But it was the last part of the video that hit hardest. There, in her cold, emotionless voice, Y/N narrated her thoughts, her failed efforts, her obsession with recreating me.

“I couldn’t get it right… not the first time. But I will, because I have to. For him. For us.”

My chest tightened as the realization hit me like a brick. She had known the entire time. She had created me. I wasn’t the Sunghoon who had died. I was a version of him. A shadow of the real thing.

The screen went black, but the words echoed in my mind like an incessant drumbeat.

For him. For us.

The pain of that truth was like a knife twisting in my gut. The woman I loved had spent years trying to recreate me, to bring me back—because she couldn’t let go. She couldn’t let me go. But she never told me. She never let me in on the truth of it all.

I was a lie.

I wasn’t real. And all this time, I had been believing I was the same Sunghoon she had lost. But I wasn’t.

I could feel the tears stinging my eyes as I reached for the nearby papers, pulling them out in a frantic rage. More documents. More of my development—charts, genetic breakdowns, notes about my failed memories, and even the procedures Y/N had carried out. Every page proved it. I wasn’t just a clone; I was the culmination of her grief and desire.

The door to the office opened quietly behind me, and I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The air in the room grew thick, suffocating. I could feel her presence like a weight pressing down on me.

“Sunghoon,” she whispered, her voice barely a murmur.

I finally turned to face her. She looked pale, her eyes wide, clearly having seen the documents I had scattered across the room. She knew. She knew what I had found.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I choked out, my voice raw. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth, Y/N?”

Her eyes flickered with guilt, and for a moment, I thought she might say something—anything to explain, to apologize. But instead, she took a step back, her hands wringing together nervously.

“I didn’t want you to hate me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t want to lose you again. I—I thought maybe if you didn’t know… maybe we could have our life back. I just wanted to have you here again, Sunghoon.”

My hands balled into fists at my sides, and I could feel the tears building in my eyes. “But I’m not him, am I? I’m not the real Sunghoon. I’m just… this.” I gestured around at the papers, at the video, at the mess that had been my life. “I’m a replica. A copy of someone who doesn’t exist anymore. How could you do this to me?”

She stepped forward, her face pale with fear, but her voice was firm. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just wanted you back, Sunghoon. I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t lose you. You were taken from me so suddenly, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t live with the thought that you were gone forever.”

I looked at her, the woman who had once been everything to me—the one who I thought had rebuilt me out of love, not out of desperation.

“Do you think I’m the same person? Do you think I can just pretend that I’m the man I was before? How could you think I wouldn’t want to know the truth?” My voice cracked, emotion flooding out of me like a dam breaking. “How could you do this?”

Her face crumpled, and I saw the tears well up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sunghoon,” she whispered, her voice barely audible through the sobs. “I thought if I could just give you everything back, we could start over. But I was wrong. I—I should’ve told you from the beginning.”

I could feel the overwhelming ache in my chest, the confusion, the betrayal. But more than that, I felt the loss of something far deeper: trust. The trust that she had built between us was gone in an instant.

“You’re right. You should’ve told me,” I whispered, stepping back, my throat tight. “I need some space, Y/N. I can’t… I can’t do this right now.”

I turned and walked out of the room, my heart shattering with each step.

I paused at the door, the weight of her voice sinking into me like a stone. I didn’t turn around, not right away. The question lingered in the air, hanging between us, impossible to ignore.

“If I was the one who died, would you do the same?”

Her words were quiet, but they cut through the silence of the room with precision, like a knife through soft flesh. I could feel the tension in the air—the desperation in her voice, the need for an answer. She was asking me to justify her actions, to somehow make sense of everything she had done.

I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to turn and lash out. But I couldn’t do it—not when the pain of her question was a reflection of everything I was feeling.

“I… I don’t know,” I finally muttered, my voice barely a whisper. “Maybe I would. I can’t say for sure. But I don’t think I’d ever hide the truth from you. I wouldn’t keep you in the dark, pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.”

Her soft, broken gasp from behind me reached my ears, but I couldn’t face her—not yet. Not when the anger and hurt were still so raw.

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love that much,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I couldn’t stand the thought of living without you, Sunghoon. I thought… maybe if I could just bring you back… we could have our future. But now, I see how selfish that was. How wrong.”

I wanted to say something—anything—to ease her pain, but the words stuck in my throat. The truth was, part of me still wanted to reach out to her, to hold her, to tell her it was going to be okay. But I wasn’t sure if that would be enough. Would it ever be enough?

“I need time, Y/N,” I said quietly, my voice cracking. “I need to think. About all of this. About us.”

The silence that followed was heavy, unbearable. And then, finally, I walked out the door, leaving her behind, standing in the wreckage of her choices—and my own shattered heart.

The days stretched on like a slow burn, each passing hour marked by the tension that filled every corner of our shared space. We were still in the same house, the same home, but it felt like we were living in different worlds now. The walls felt thicker, the silence heavier.

I moved through the house in a daze, keeping to myself more often than not. Y/N and I had an unspoken agreement—it was easier this way. She’d stay in the study or the kitchen, and I’d retreat to the room we used to share, now feeling like an alien space, void of the warmth it once held. We didn’t speak much anymore, and when we did, it was brief—polite, almost mechanical.

There were moments when I caught a glimpse of her, standing in the hallway, her head bent low, a soft frown on her face. Other times, she’d walk by without looking at me, her eyes fixed on the floor, avoiding my gaze as if she feared what might happen if she met my eyes for too long. I wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—but every time I did, the words felt inadequate, like they couldn’t possibly capture the weight of everything that had changed.

One evening, I found myself sitting in the living room, staring out the window at the moonlit garden. I could hear her footsteps in the hallway, the soft sound of her presence lingering in the air. For a moment, I thought she might come in, might sit beside me like she used to. But she didn’t. Instead, the silence stretched between us again, a reminder of the distance we had created.

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my eyes as frustration built inside me. The whole situation felt suffocating—like I was trapped between what I wanted and what had happened. I didn’t know how to fix it, or even if it could be fixed. There was so much to unravel, so many emotions to sort through. And then there was the truth—the truth of who I was now. Not just a man trying to find his way back to a life that no longer existed, but a clone—a replica of someone who once had a future, now burdened with a past he didn’t truly own.

The sound of her voice from the kitchen broke my thoughts.

“Dinner’s ready,” she called softly, her voice almost too gentle, too careful.

I hesitated for a moment, staring at the untouched glass of water on the coffee table. The empty space between us felt too vast to cross, but eventually, I stood up, making my way to the kitchen.

We sat across from each other, the dim light from the pendant lamp above casting shadows on the table. There were no small talks, no jokes exchanged like before. We ate in silence, the clinking of silverware the only sound between us. Every so often, I would look up, meeting her gaze for a fleeting second, but neither of us had the courage to speak the words that were hanging in the air.

The food was good, as always, but it didn’t taste the same. The flavor of everything felt hollow, like a memory that wasn’t quite mine.

When the meal was over, I helped clear the table, my movements stiff. The kitchen felt too small, the air too thick.

She turned to face me then, her expression unreadable, her eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite place. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper. “For everything.”

I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening. “I know you are. I… I just don’t know what to do with all of this.”

Her eyes flickered with unshed tears, and she stepped back, as though the space between us could somehow protect her from the weight of the moment. “I never wanted to hurt you, Sunghoon,” she murmured, her words full of regret. “I thought… I thought if I could just bring you back, we could have another chance. But now I see how wrong I was.”

I nodded slowly, trying to process the ache in my chest. “I don’t know how to fix this either. But I know… I know I need to understand who I am now. And what we are.” My voice trembled, but I fought it back. “I need time.”

“I understand,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “Take all the time you need.”

It felt like a farewell, and yet, we stayed in the same house. In the same life, but now it was something unrecognizable.

The next few weeks passed in the same quiet, empty rhythm. We moved around each other, living parallel lives without ever crossing paths in any meaningful way. There were mornings where I would wake up to find her sitting on the couch, staring at her phone, or nights where I’d catch her reading a book in the dim light.

Sometimes, I would linger by the door to her study, wondering if I should knock, ask her how she was feeling, but each time, I backed away, unsure if I was ready to face the answers she might give.

At night, I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if this was how we were going to live—side by side but separate. I missed her. I missed us. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was just a shadow of the man she once loved, and that was a weight I wasn’t sure she could carry anymore.

One night, as I lay in the dark, unable to sleep, I heard the soft sound of her crying. The quiet sobs seeped through the walls, and my heart clenched painfully in my chest.

I wanted to go to her. Hold her. Tell her everything would be okay. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have the words anymore.

And maybe, I never would.

The night stretched on, and despite the tension that hung thick in the house, I managed to fall into an uneasy sleep. The weight of everything—our fragmented relationship, the guilt, the uncertainty—had left me exhausted, though the sleep I sought felt shallow and restless.

It was around 3 AM when I was jolted awake by the softest sound—a faint, broken sob. My eyes snapped open in the dark, my heartbeat quickening. I froze, listening carefully, the sounds of her grief pulling at something deep within me.

It was coming from the direction of her room.

At first, I told myself to ignore it. After all, she had her own space, her own pain, and I had my own to deal with. But the sound of her brokenness—quiet and desperate—was too much to ignore.

Slowly, I slid out of bed, my bare feet padding softly on the cool floor. I moved silently through the house, drawn to the soft, muffled sounds echoing through the walls. When I reached the door to her room, I paused.

She was crying, the kind of sobs that wracked her body and left her vulnerable. I hadn’t heard her cry like this before—unfiltered, raw, as if the dam inside her had finally broken.

The light from her bedside lamp flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the walls. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her head buried in her hands, the tears falling freely, like they couldn’t be held back anymore.

I stood there, frozen, my chest tightening at the sight. My first instinct was to rush to her side, to pull her into my arms and whisper that everything would be alright. But I didn’t. I just watched from the doorway, a spectator in my own home.

The sound of her pain made me feel powerless, as if I were too far gone—too far removed from who I once was to even be the man she needed. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came. The silence between us felt like an unspoken agreement, a distance neither of us knew how to cross.

And then she spoke.

“I’m sorry… Sunghoon,” she whispered to the empty room, the words slipping from her like a confession she hadn’t meant to make. “I thought I could fix it. I thought… if I could just bring you back, we could be happy again. But I don’t know what I’ve done anymore. I don’t know who you are. Or if you’re even really you.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and I could hear the weight of her regret, the guilt, the fear of everything she’d done.

The flood of emotions hit me all at once—anger, sadness, confusion—and yet, there was something else, too. The overwhelming desire to reach out to her. To show her that I understood, that I knew how hard this was for her.

But still, I stayed frozen. Silent. The words that had once flowed so easily between us now felt like strangers.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, but it didn’t stop the tears.

“I was selfish,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible now. “I couldn’t let go. I wanted you back, no matter the cost. And now… I don’t know if you can ever forgive me.”

That was when the weight of it all hit me fully—the pain she had been carrying, the burden she had placed on herself. The fear she had been living with, not knowing if I could ever truly forgive her for bringing me back.

I stepped forward then, unable to watch her fall apart without doing something.

“Y/N,” I said quietly, my voice hoarse, betraying the emotions I had kept bottled up for so long.

She immediately stiffened, her breath hitching as she quickly wiped her face, trying to pull herself together. “You’re awake,” she said, her voice faltering. “I didn’t mean for you to—”

“I heard you,” I interrupted, taking a few steps into the room. “And I’m not angry with you.”

She looked at me, her eyes filled with so much sadness, it was almost more than I could bear. “But I did this to you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I brought you back, Sunghoon. And I don’t know if you even want to be here. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask to be—” She stopped, her breath shaky, as if even speaking the words caused her pain.

I knelt in front of her, my heart aching as I reached for her hands, gently pulling them from her face. “Y/N…” I said softly. “I am here. I’m here because I want to be.”

“But what if I’ve ruined everything?” she whispered. “What if I can never make it right?”

I shook my head, cupping her face in my hands as I looked into her eyes, searching for some glimmer of hope in her. “You didn’t ruin anything. You did what you thought was best… even if it was wrong. And I understand that. But we can’t live like this, hiding from each other. We need to talk. We need to be honest.”

She nodded slowly, tears still slipping down her cheeks. “But can we ever go back to what we were?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, filled with a quiet desperation.

I swallowed, my own emotions threatening to spill over. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice thick. “But I want to try. I want to figure it out. Together.”

There was a long pause, and then, slowly, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against mine, her tears falling onto my skin. I closed my eyes, letting the weight of everything settle in.

In that moment, I realized that maybe there wasn’t a way back to what we once had—but that didn’t mean we couldn’t find something new. Something different. Something real.

And I was willing to fight for it.

I held her closer, whispering against her hair. “We’ll find our way. Together. One step at a time.”

The silence between us stretched out, thick with the unspoken words, the weight of everything we had been through. Her breath was shaky against my skin, and I could feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine, like she was finally letting herself soften, letting me in again.

I wanted to say more, to fix everything, but the words weren’t coming. I could only focus on the rhythm of her breath, how the vulnerability in her touch made everything seem both fragile and precious.

And then, almost instinctively, I pulled back just slightly, my hands still cupping her face, fingers brushing softly over the damp skin of her cheeks. I searched her eyes for something, anything—some flicker of permission, of trust.

The question formed in my chest before I even realized it, and before I could second-guess myself, it slipped from my mouth, quiet and uncertain but earnest.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words were soft, tentative, as if I wasn’t sure she would say yes, as if I wasn’t sure I even had the right to ask anymore. But something in me needed to hear it—to know if we could bridge that last distance between us, if the gulf of everything we had been through could be closed with something as simple as a kiss.

Her gaze locked onto mine, and for a moment, everything went still. She didn’t say anything. There was only the quiet sound of her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest under my palms. The world outside the room felt distant, irrelevant. It was just us now, alone in this fragile moment.

I waited. She could say no. She could push me away. But I needed to know where we stood.

And then, slowly, her eyes softened. She gave a slight nod, her lips trembling as if the simple motion of it took all her strength.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it was there. It was all I needed to hear.

Before I could even think, my hands moved to her shoulders, pulling her gently closer. I closed the distance between us, hesitating only for a brief second, just enough to feel the weight of the moment.

And then I kissed her.

It wasn’t the kiss I had imagined—the wild, desperate kiss of two people who couldn’t control themselves. No, this one was different. It was slow, careful, tentative, like we were both afraid to break something that had just begun to heal. My lips brushed against hers, soft and uncertain, as if I were asking for permission again with every gentle touch.

She responded after a moment, her hands finding their way to my chest, clutching at me like she was trying to ground herself in the kiss, in the connection we were rebuilding. I could feel her hesitation, but I could also feel the warmth, the pull, the quiet promise in the way she kissed me back.

The kiss deepened slowly, our movements syncing, building, and for the first time in so long, I felt something stir inside me that had been dormant—hope. A fragile, trembling hope that maybe, just maybe, we could find our way back to each other. That maybe this was the first step in learning to trust again.

When we finally pulled away, neither of us spoke for a moment. We just stayed there, foreheads pressed together, our breaths mingling in the stillness. I could feel her heart beating against my chest, a steady rhythm that told me she was here. She was still here with me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice small, but it wasn’t the apology I had been expecting. It wasn’t guilt or regret. It was a quiet understanding. A promise, maybe.

“I know,” I whispered back, brushing my thumb over her cheek, wiping away the last remnants of her tears. “We’re going to be okay.”

And for the first time in so long, I actually believed it.

The air between us was thick with the weight of everything unspoken, but in that moment, there was only the soft brush of our lips, the warmth of our bodies pressed together, and the undeniable pull that had always been there. We moved slowly, cautiously, like we were both afraid of shattering something fragile that had just begun to heal.

The kiss deepened, an unspoken question lingering in the space between us. I could feel her heartbeat against my chest, fast and erratic, matching mine. It was as if we both understood that this was more than just a kiss—it was a reclaiming, a restoration of something that had been lost for far too long.

I gently cupped her face, tilting her head slightly, deepening the kiss as my hands found their way down her back, pulling her closer, as if I couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough. Her fingers slid up to my chest, tracing the lines of my shirt before pushing it off, the fabric slipping to the floor without a second thought.

There was no more hesitation, no more doubt. Just the raw connection between us that had always been there, waiting to be unlocked.

She responded with the same urgency, hands moving over my body, finding the familiar places, the marks that made me me. I could feel the heat of her skin, the way her breath caught when we came closer, when I kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips. The taste of her was like everything I’d been missing, the feeling of her so real, so tangible, that for a moment, it was hard to believe she was really here. Really with me.

Our movements grew more urgent, more desperate, but still tender, as if we were both trying to savor this moment, unsure of what tomorrow might bring, but desperate to make up for the lost time. I wanted to show her everything, all the ways I loved her, all the ways I had missed her without even knowing how much.

The world outside the room disappeared. There was no lab, no documents, no research, no mistakes. Just us—finding our way back to each other, piece by piece. I held her close, kissed her as if I could never let her go, and when the moment finally came, when we both reached that point of release, it wasn’t just about the physicality. It was about trust, about healing, about starting over.

When we collapsed against each other afterward, breathless and tangled in sheets, I felt something shift inside me. Something I hadn’t realized was broken until it started to mend.

Her hand found mine, fingers lacing together, and she rested her head on my chest, her breath slowing, and for the first time in so long, I felt peace. A peace I hadn’t known I needed.

And in the quiet of the room, with her beside me, I whispered softly, “I’ll never let you go again.”

She didn’t answer right away, but I felt the way she squeezed my hand tighter, her chest rising and falling against mine. She didn’t need to say anything. I could feel it in the way she held me.

And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe that we could truly begin again.

The quiet stillness of the room enveloped us, the soft sound of our breathing the only thing that filled the space. I held her, tracing the curve of her back with my fingers, savoring the moment as though it might slip away if I wasn’t careful. The weight of everything—the doubts, the fears, the mistakes—was still there, lingering in the shadows of my mind, but for once, I didn’t feel like I had to carry them alone.

She shifted slightly, raising her head to meet my gaze. There was a softness in her eyes now, the guarded walls that had once stood so tall between us slowly crumbling. I could see the vulnerability there, but also the strength that had always been her anchor.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it carried all the weight of everything she’d been carrying inside. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering against her skin. “I know,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “I know. But we’re here now. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

She nodded, her eyes closing for a moment as if gathering herself. The air between us was charged with unspoken words, and I could feel the weight of the past year pressing down on us. But there was something different now—something that had shifted between us, something I hadn’t felt in so long.

Her lips found mine again, soft and gentle, a kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could. It was an apology, a promise, a plea all rolled into one. And for the first time in so long, I allowed myself to believe in it fully.

When we finally pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, both of us still tangled in the sheets, the world outside feeling miles away. I could hear the distant hum of the city, the night stretching out before us like a quiet, unspoken promise.

“I love you,” I whispered, the words escaping before I could even think about them. But it felt right. It felt real.

She smiled, her fingers brushing against my cheek. “I love you, too. I never stopped.”

And in that moment, I knew. No matter the struggles we’d faced, no matter the secrets, the pain, or the mistakes, we were still here. Still us. And as long as we could keep finding our way back to each other, everything else would be okay.

We stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside fading into nothingness. In the quiet, there was only peace. The peace of knowing that, together, we could face whatever came next.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I finally let go of the fear that had kept me tethered to the past. Because with her by my side, I knew we could build a future. A real future. And nothing, nothing at all could take that away from us.

As the days passed, something began to shift between us. It was subtle at first, small gestures of kindness, moments of vulnerability that had been buried under the weight of secrets and doubts. But as we spent more time together, the trust that had once been strained slowly started to blossom again, like a fragile flower daring to bloom in the cracks of the world we had rebuilt.

Every morning, Sunghoon would make me coffee, just the way I liked it—strong, a little bitter, with just a hint of sweetness. It became our small ritual, something to ground us, to remind us that we were still learning, still growing. And every evening, we’d find ourselves lost in the quiet comfort of one another’s presence. Sometimes we didn’t say much, just the familiar silence that had always existed between us, but now it felt different. It felt safe.

One night, as we sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket together, he turned to me, his expression soft. “I’ve been thinking about everything. About what you did…and why. I don’t want to just forgive you. I want to understand. I want us to really move forward.”

I smiled, the warmth in his voice soothing the lingering worries in my chest. “We will,” I whispered, “We’re already on the way.”

Sunghoon gave me a small, genuine smile, his fingers lightly brushing over mine. It was a touch so simple, yet it carried all the weight of the world. I had feared this moment—the moment when the cracks would be too deep to heal—but instead, I felt something stronger than before. Something more real.

As the weeks went on, we found ourselves sharing more than just physical space. We started talking about the future—what we wanted, where we saw ourselves. There was no more fear of the unknown between us. Instead, there was excitement. There was trust, slowly but surely, weaving its way back into our lives.

I could see it in the way Sunghoon would ask about my day, genuinely interested, and how I would lean into him when I needed comfort, no longer second-guessing whether I deserved it. Our conversations had depth now, unafraid of the things we once kept hidden. We didn’t pretend anymore. We didn’t have to.

One evening, while we were cooking dinner together, Sunghoon turned to me with a teasing smile. “You’ve improved. Your cooking’s actually…not terrible.”

I laughed, playfully shoving him. “Hey, I’ve gotten better!”

He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me into his chest. “I’m proud of you.”

I could feel the sincerity in his words, the love that had grown back between us like something tangible. The fear and doubt that had once plagued me were nowhere to be found now. In their place was a quiet certainty.

We weren’t perfect. We still had our moments of miscommunication, of moments when the past reared its head, but with each day, the trust between us grew stronger. It wasn’t about erasing the mistakes we’d made. It was about learning from them and choosing to move forward together, no matter what.

And as I looked into Sunghoon’s eyes, I saw the same thing reflected back at me—the understanding, the acceptance, the desire to never give up on us.

In that moment, I knew that trust wasn’t just something that had to be given freely—it had to be earned. And we were earning it every day. Slowly, but surely, we were becoming something new, something even more beautiful than before. Something that could withstand anything life threw at us.

And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe in the future again.

In us.

Life had felt like it was finally settling into a quiet rhythm, like the calm after a storm. Sunghoon and I had been living together in peace for the past year, our bond mended from the cracks of the past. The tension had faded, leaving room for love, laughter, and domestic moments that felt so normal and reassuring. We’d shared so many firsts again—first trips, first lazy weekends in bed, first home-cooked meals. Everything felt right. Almost.

It was during one of these peaceful afternoons that I made a discovery. I was cleaning out the attic of our home, something I’d been meaning to do for months, when I came across an old box. It was tucked away in the corner behind some old furniture, covered in dust and cobwebs. The box was unassuming, wooden with a faded label that simply read, “Don’t Open.”

Curiosity got the best of me. I knew it was probably something from my past, but that label tugged at something deep inside me, urging me to open it. I hesitated for a moment, but then, with a deep breath, I lifted the lid. Inside, I found an old video tape. It was yellowed and cracked with age, but there was no mistaking the handwriting on the label: “For Y/N.”

My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t like me to leave things unexamined, especially if they seemed tied to my past. But this felt different. There was an unspoken warning in those words. Still, I couldn’t resist.

I brought the tape downstairs and found the old VCR player we kept for nostalgia’s sake. Sunghoon was in the living room, reading a book. I hesitated for a moment before calling him over.

“Sunghoon, you have to see this,” I said, holding up the tape. “I found something in the attic…”

He looked at me curiously, putting the book down. “What is it?”

I popped the tape into the player, and the screen flickered to life. At first, there was nothing—just static. But then, the image cleared, and I saw him.

The figure of a man in a lab coat appeared. His features were unmistakable—he was Park Sunghoon, the real Sunghoon, the one who had died in the accident years ago. But this Sunghoon wasn’t the one Y/N knew now. He looked younger, more fragile, and tears stained his face.

“I… I don’t know how to start this,” the Sunghoon on the screen murmured, his voice choked with emotion. “Y/N… is gone. She passed away. Leukemia. It was sudden. I—I couldn’t do anything. She was everything to me. And I… I can’t bear it.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. She glanced at Sunghoon, whose face had gone pale. He looked at the screen, wide-eyed, his expression unreadable.

“In my grief, I’ve decided to do something I never thought I would. I’m using her preserved DNA, the samples we took when we were researching regenerative cloning… to bring her back. I—I have to do this. I can’t live with the pain of losing her,” the real Sunghoon continued, his voice trembling.

The video cut to a series of clips from the lab: footage of the real Sunghoon working late nights, mixing chemicals, monitoring equipment, and seemingly obsessed with recreating Y/N.

“I’ve used everything we learned in our research. I’ll make her whole again,” the video continued. “But this is for me, I know. For us. I want to have a second chance. A chance to make things right. If you’re watching this, Y/N… then I’ve succeeded. I’ve recreated you.”

The video ended abruptly, and the screen turned to static.

It was strange, to know the truth about their origins—about the fact that their love had been recreated, in a sense, by science and heartache. But as Y/N lay in Sunghoon’s arms that night, she couldn’t shake the feeling that none of it truly mattered. What mattered was that they were together now. They had both fought for this. They had both fought for each other. And nothing in this world could take that away from them.

Their love had brought them to this point—not fate, not science, but love. It was a love that transcended life and death, pain and loss. A love that, no matter what had come before, had always been destined to endure.

They had started as two broken souls, unable to move forward without the other. But now, they were whole again. Their love, their memories—no matter how they came to be—were theirs to cherish.

And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

The rest, the science, the questions of whether they were real or not, faded into the background. Because, in the end, they were real. Their love was real. And that was all they needed to know.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

taglist: @raavenarmy-blog @maewphoria @limerenceisserenity @honey-bunnysweet @crispysharkwizard @semi-wife @beomgyus11 @bambisnc @feymine @yujinxue @xoxorara @cyjhhyj

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintheskyewithdiamonds @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife @soona-huh

[wachinyeya]

‘Ferrari in a junkyard’: Mules sold at auction are rare, endangered horses

https://washingtonpost.com/climate-environment/2024/08/09/przewalskis-horses-rescued-dna-shrek-fiona/

Hannah Huckabay regularly combs livestock auctions online for horses she can rehabilitate and train at her Colorado ranch. But when she saw a video in February of a mule for sale in Kansas, she could hardly believe what she was seeing.

The stocky animal’s short black mane shot straight up like a mohawk, and its white belly stood out against its tan coat. As it nervously paced in its corral, Huckabay said it bore a striking resemblance to Przewalski’s horse, a critically endangered species she’d learned about while studying equine science.

“I was like, ‘There is no way. That is not a mule,’” Huckabay recalled thinking. “That’s a purebred Przewalski.”

Such a find would be incredibly rare. Once extinct in the wild, around 2,500 Przewalski’s horses remained worldwide as of 2022. They’re native to Mongolia and in June, seven were reintroduced to nearby Kazakhstan as part of an effort to return them to their natural habitats. They are the only truly wild horse remaining (mustangs are feral horses).

But scientists say Huckabay’s hunch appears to be correct. Hair samples from the animal Huckabay purchased - along with a second horse recently surrendered at a Utah sanctuary - were sent to Texas A&M University’s animal genetics lab. Both appear to be Przewalski’s horses, said Rytis Juras, the genetics lab’s director who tested both samples.

The hair test looks for genetic markers associated with different horse breeds to determine an animal’s likely ancestry. Unequivocally confirming that the horses are purebred Przewalski’s and not hybrids would require advanced blood tests that are expensive and would mean sedating the equines.

The blood tests look at the number of chromosomes in a horse’s cells - 66 in a purebred Przewalski, versus 64 in a common horse or 62 in a donkey. An even more advanced version could sequence the horse’s entire genome.

But Juras and two other scientists who reviewed the findings said the hair-test results are reliable.

“If I would have gotten it from a zoo … that would be one thing,” Juras said of receiving the samples. But two random tests with Przewalski’s results were “surprising and a little bit disturbing,” he said. “This is weird.”

How the horse Huckabay found - and the second in Utah - ended up in livestock auctions is a mystery, said Christopher Faulk, a professor of animal science at the University of Minnesota who has studied Przewalski’s horse genetics and also reviewed the DNA results.

“Someone had to have known what they were, they don’t just appear out of anywhere,” Faulk told The Post. “Especially to have been disposed of in that way is even weirder,” he said, since livestock that aren’t purchased at auction can end up in slaughterhouses.

“That’s like finding a Ferrari in a junkyard,” he added.

Huckabay bought the animal for $1,375 in February and, after three weeks in quarantine, the ragged and underweight animal sold as a mule arrived at her ranch outside Denver.

Seeing its features in-person left her even more convinced it was a Przewalski’s horse, she said. With a large clunky head and stiff black mane, her daughter said the horse was so ugly, he was cute, Huckabay recalled. They named him Shrek, after DreamWorks’s beloved ogre.

After almost two months of helping Shrek acclimate, Huckabay’s daughter stumbled upon a video posted on June 9 from a sanctuary in Utah.

“Did we just have a Przewalski mare surrendered?!” the caption read.

Kelsey and Gunnar Bjorklund - who own the Lazy B Equine Rescue and Sanctuary in Utah - suspected their mare was also a Przewalski. But they had no idea there was a second possible Przewalski, saved from another auction.

The Bjorklunds’ horse was brought to their facility after being purchased for $35 in January at an auction in Utah, where she was advertised as a mule.

“It takes more money to get your nails done,” Kelsey said, adding that her previous owner decided to surrender the mare after she flunked out of a professional training program.

When the horse arrived and was unloaded from the trailer, “we were just in shock,” Gunnar said. It was clear the animal wasn’t a mule or a mustang, he said.

“Anyone getting possible Przewalski vibes!?” the Bjorklunds posted. “A true wild, endangered species of equine‼️ How cool would that be!”

In response to seeing the Bjorklunds’ viral video, Huckabay’s daughter posted her own videos of Shrek two days later. One got over 11 million views.

After coming across Shrek’s video, it was easy for the Bjorklunds to settle on a name for their mystery horse - Fiona, the princess-heroine from the Shrek movies.

The rescuers were stunned that two possible Przewalski’s horses could have surfaced almost simultaneously. The Endangered Species Act allows private ownership of endangered animals, but only with a permit, and under strict stipulations. The law prohibits the possession of illegally obtained endangered animals or their transport across state lines without permits.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service declined to comment on whether officials are investigating the horses’ chain of custody.

Some livestock auctions have occasionally served as hubs for illicit trade in exotic animal species.

Because most Przewalski’s horses descend from only about a dozen surviving individuals, scientists closely manage breeding genetics for diversity. Compared to the feral mustang, Przewalski’s are more resilient, said Dolores Reed, a biologist who helps oversee a small herd of the endangered horses at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. Przewalski’s horses are built for the Mongolian steppe’s harsh climate, she said, adding, “they’re very tough,” and can be unpredictable.

There are about 100 Przewalski’s horses in U.S. zoos, Reed said.

Shrek and Fiona are adjusting to their new environments, their owners said. After keeping his distance from people and trotting in circles in his pen while stressed, Shrek has relaxed and moved to a larger field. He has bonded with two gentle mares and while he won’t accept treats from people’s hands, he loves when apples and carrots are left in his feed bucket, Huckabay said.

“He’s very piggy,” she said.

In Utah, Fiona has put on weight and made friends with a miniature mule and a quarter horse filly at the Bjorklunds’ sanctuary.

The rescuers wonder what would’ve happened if Shrek and Fiona hadn’t been saved. The endangered animals might’ve been sent to slaughter “and nobody would have known about it,” Gunnar said.

Huckabay and the Bjorklunds plan to care for the horses as long as needed, but said they’d prefer to see their rescued Przewalski’s move to a professional conservation program.

Shrek is happy on the ranch, but Huckabay said she’d rather see him with “a herd of his own.”

“That would be the best-case scenario,” she said.

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

Do you have a snoot noodle or other variation of sighthound? If yes, there’s new heart health research for the breed happening!

A researcher at Texas A&M whose work I’m familiar with is starting a new study looking at genetic factors contributing to heart disease in Borzoi and related breeds. They just put out a call for dog owners who are willing to submit saliva samples & (noodle) medical records. Studies like this need a big sample size! They’re accepting new sign-ups starting now until March 1, 2025, for dogs both in the US and internationally.

Let’s help make some science!

From the study page:

“Background and purpose

Recent research in Borzoi dogs has revealed that dogs of this breed experience sudden, unexplained death. About 85% of sudden, unexplained deaths in humans are linked to an underlying heart disease. Our existing research in Borzoi dogs has shown that they are predisposed to developing arrhythmias (abnormal heart rhythms) and dilated cardiomyopathy (a heart muscle disease causing dilated heart chambers and weak pumping function).

Due to our documentation of the frequency of these conditions in Borzoi dogs, we seek to identify responsible genetic variations similar to what is seen in humans with electrical cardiac diseases that trigger arrhythmias and dilated cardiomyopathy.

The objective of our study is to identify genetic mutations associated with heart disease in Borzoi dogs and document their existence in other sighthound breeds.

What happens in this study

We are collecting saliva samples from both healthy Borzoi and Borzoi dogs affected with arrhythmias and/or dilated cardiomyopathy. We will also collect saliva samples from any other sighthound breeds.

We will extract DNA from these samples and perform genomic sequencing on a select number while retaining the remainder for further screening.By analyzing the sequencing data, we can compare the genes of healthy and affected Borzoi dogs and identify variants linked to their heart conditions. We will also compare the findings in Borzoi dogs to results from other sighthound breeds.

Pet owner responsibilities

A swab kit will be sent to you for at home use along with a link to an instructional video on how to properly obtain a swab of the mouth. The kit will contain equipment to collect the saliva swab, a history form for your pet, a client consent form and a shipping label to return samples to us.

Participation requirements

To participate, you must have a Borzoi dog or a sighthound breed that is either healthy or affected by arrhythmias and/or dilated cardiomyopathy. Pets may be any age or sex. Electronic or paper veterinary medical records will need to be provided.

Benefits and risks of participating

There is little to no risk for taking a brief swab of the mouth for saliva collection if procedures outlined in the video are followed. No individual genetic test results will be provided to study participants.

Compensation

There is no cost to the owner for participating in this study. No compensation will be provided.”

[house-on-sand]

(i started this in the tags i'm so sorry! i saw the chance to infodump and i cannot be stopped 😔. also this is not. like i am not trying to be an asshole and correct any incorrect information im just super hyperfixated on him and i will use any excuse to yap abt my BOY)

grant is not a clone! he finds this out from vandal savage who explains how he came to be (with some details left out of course) starting in damage #12.

grant was originally just the son of al and mary pratt. mary got pregnant with him, carried him, and delivered him all like normal; if fate had been kinder grant would've been a normal kid with parents that loved and wanted him. unfortunately, vandal savage and symbolix, who had been working on creating a very powerful hybrid metagene using the dna from the jsa (and later on the justice league), choose grant to be the third piece of their experiment.

(this bit from damage #15 explains how j'onn is grant's "principal" genetic father AND how, if savage and symbolix hadn't interfered and he'd been allowed to grow up normally, grant would've exist but not damage. he could've been a normal person! he could've had powers he could control or not powers at all and instead they made him a living weapon! a walking bomb! someone so powerful that they can restart the world!)

he was one of three experiments!! project proteus, which was an artifical slime like being that would come to be called splatter. project niobe which involved manipulating dna before impregnating the surrogate/carrier, basically a test tube baby; nothing really comes from this during the damage solo because all information abt project niobe was lost during an explosion and bc yknow the damage solo got caught SHORT which is a SHAME. and finally!!! grant!!! project telemachus!! where the hybrid metagene was infused into a "naturally born" child that was already predisposed to having a metagene and meta abilities.

grant had already been born and was just a baby when symbolix was experimenting on him and fucking with his dna to try and make what could potentially be the most powerful metahuman on the planet. he was just a baby! just a little guy! and he was being changed on a fundamental level! this is something that continues as grant gets older (it stops when he's seven or so)!!

not only is he being experimented on, he's been taken from his family! vandal has mary killed right after grant is born! a nurse is holding grant while his mother is murdered and he will never know about that because vandal LIES to him, tells him that she died because she was older and there were complications. it's DEVASTATING.

he never gets to know his parents and then he's placed with the emersons who only took care of him for appearances sake. they're the only parents he'd ever known and they were only responsible for him until he showed signs of having a meta ability so symbolix and vandal savage could find out IF their experiment was successful and grant was the metahuman they wanted/needed.

before i finish i am going 2 share one nice panel after all of this sad complicated stuff :(

he's got a chocolate mustache! he's adorable! he's got such good manners! "mr. j'onzz" "mr. savage" he's so RESPECTFUL here. i adore him i could talk about him for hours

which dc comic character(s) would you want as your parents. like actual parents, adopt you or travel back in time and have you or any way you want. the two characters don't have to be a couple. in fact it'd be funnier if those two characters either hate each other or have never met but now they're your parents. and yes this post is open to single parents or multiple parents if that's what your heart wants. just please tell me in the tags and let's keep this lighthearted and fun 🩵

[reasonsforhope]

"A 2019 sighting by five witnesses indicates that the long-extinct Javan tiger may still be alive, a new study suggests.

A single strand of hair recovered from that encounter is a close genetic match to hair from a Javan tiger pelt from 1930 kept at a museum, the study shows.

“Through this research, we have determined that the Javan tiger still exists in the wild,” says Wirdateti, a government researcher and lead author of the study.

The Javan tiger was believed to have gone extinct in the 1980s but only officially declared as such in 2008...

Ripi Yanuar Fajar and his four friends say they’ll never forget that evening after Indonesia’s Independence Day celebration in 2019 when they encountered a big cat roaming a community plantation in Sukabumi, West Java province.

Immediately after the brief encounter, Ripi, who happens to be a local conservationist, reached out to Kalih Raksasewu, a researcher at the country’s National Research and Innovation Agency (BRIN), saying he and his friends had seen either a Javan leopard (Panthera pardus melas), a critically endangered animal, or a Javan tiger (Panthera tigris sondaica), a subspecies believed to have gone extinct in the 1980s but only officially declared so in 2008.

About 10 days later, Kalih visited the site of the encounter with Ripi and his friends. There, Kalih found a strand of hair snagged on a plantation fence that the unknown creature was believed to have jumped over. She also recorded footprints and claw marks that she thought resembled those of a tiger.

Kalih then sent the hair sample and other records to the West Java provincial conservation agency, or BKSDA, for further investigation. She also sent a formal letter to the provincial government to follow up on the investigation request. The matter eventually landed at BRIN, where a team of researchers ran genetic analyses to compare the single strand of hair with known samples of other tiger subspecies, such as the Sumatran tiger (Panthera tigris sumatrae) and a nearly century-old Javan tiger pelt kept at a museum in the West Java city of Bogor.

“After going through various process of laboratory tests, the results showed that the hair sample had 97.8% similarities to the Javan tiger,” Wirdateti, a researcher with BRIN’s Biosystemic and Evolutionary Research Center, said at an online discussion hosted by Mongabay Indonesia on March 28.

The discussion centered on a study published March 21 in the journal Oryx in which Wirdateti and colleagues presented their findings that suggested that the long-extinct Javan tiger may somehow — miraculously — still be prowling parts of one of the most densely populated islands on Earth.

Their testing compared the Sukabumi hair sample with hair from the museum specimen collected in 1930, as well as with other tigers, Javan leopards and several sequences from GenBank, a publicly accessible database of genetic sequences overseen by the U.S. National Institutes of Health.

The study noted that the supposed tiger hair had a sequence similarity of 97.06% with Sumatran tigers and 96.87% with Bengal tigers. Wirdateti also conducted additional interviews with Ripi and his friends about the encounter they’d had.

“I wanted to emphasize that this wasn’t just about finding a strand of hair, but an encounter with the Javan tiger in which five people saw it,” Kalih said.

“There’s still a possibility that the Javan tiger is in the Sukabumi forest,” she added. “If it’s coming down to the village or community plantation, it could be because its habitat has been disturbed. In 2019, when the hair was found, the Sukabumi region had been affected by drought for almost a year.” ...

Didik Raharyono, a Javan tiger expert who wasn’t involved in the study but has conducted voluntary expeditions with local wildlife awareness groups since 1997, said the number of previous reported sightings coupled with the new scientific findings must be taken seriously. He called on the environment ministry to draft and issue a policy on measures to find and conserve the Javan tiger.

“What’s most important is the next steps that we take in the future,” Didik said."

-via Mongabay, April 4, 2024

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

was it ever clarified if morphing shows up in blood tests?

What we actually get in #49 is:

Cassie took a deep breath. "Here's what I think. There's only one reason the Yeerks would suddenly be interested in blood. DNA. They're collecting samples of our morph animals, and they're collecting as many human samples as they can." She looked at us. "They're searching for humans with strands of animal DNA in their blood." (p. 16)

Later on, it's:

Cassie closed her eyes. «We overlooked something. Something huge. Our blood is all over the place. Every time we fight these creeps, we bleed. Traces of our human DNA is floating around in all that animal blood. All they have to do is scoop it up and wait for a match.» Jake nodded. «Or a partial match. Somebody in our family.» He stared at Ax. «Tom?» (p. 45)

We know that the first match is between Tobias's mostly-hawk blood and Loren's DNA, and that the yeerks match Jake to Tom within the next few hours. However. This is Cassie talking, not Michelle or Estrid or Steve. She knows some medical stuff, and she's the most skilled morpher, but she freely admits that she has no formal training in biology.

This is also one of those "sci fi Monet" problems, where the closer you get to the fine details the less the color blobs form a coherent picture. There is no literal way that a human could be 0.1% grizzly bear and still function well, nor that a hawk could be 0.1% human. And you'd need a fuckton of blood to extract DNA, or some kind of sequencer that's more sophisticated than any existing technology. But. Tobias's hawk blood contains some amount of human-Tobias DNA, as does Loren's blood. That much is canon.

[mindblowingscience]

The gut bacteria of giraffes are not primarily determined by what they eat, but by the species they belong to. This is shown in a new study from Uppsala University and Brown University in which researchers have analyzed the link between diet and gut flora in three giraffe species in Kenya. The study also provides new knowledge that can help secure the food supply of endangered giraffe species. In a new study published in Global Ecology and Conservation, researchers have analyzed the relationship between the diet and microbiome, or gut flora, of giraffes in Kenya. By sequencing plant and bacterial DNA from fecal samples, they were able to investigate both the bacterial composition of the gut and which plants wild giraffes had eaten.

Continue Reading.

[ryan-sometimes]

What is your favourite science experiment, if you don't mind me asking?

(Either one you've done yourself or read about, I just like hearing the often whacky things scientists can get up to!)

My favorite experiment isn’t one I did, but one I came up with during an exam. As a 3rd year undergrad, I accidentally signed up for a graduate level chemical biology class. I didn’t know until I showed up on the first day of class and saw that pretty much everyone there was a PhD student. I got really scared but decided to stick with it because the class seemed very interesting.

During the first few weeks of class, we talked about something that I found really interesting. And that was the question of screening vs selection. Say that you’re randomly generating mutations in a bacteria and you want to find out if one gave them antibiotic resistance. All the bacteria are mixed together and you don’t know which is which. A screening would be if you sequenced every single bacteria. Screening is just brute forcing it. You could do that, or you could do a selection, such as growing all the bacteria on a plate containing the antibiotic, so only the resistant bacteria would survive and grow colonies. You could then sample these cultures and have pure samples of only the resistant bacteria.

A selection isn’t always possible though. Sometimes a screening is your only option. However, it’s always quite satisfying when you can come up with a clever selection.

When the first midterm of the class came around, there was a screening vs selection question. The premise was that you had generated a library of mutations in E. coli, and you were looking to get only bacteria without a specific mutation. This mutation did not serve any biochemical purpose but its sequence was known. It did not grant the bacteria any specific immunity, produce any protein, etc. But the professor wanted us to come up with a way to kill ONLY those bacteria.

I left that question for last because I couldn’t figure it out for the life of me. The previous selections I’d seen always involved taking advantage of some kind of resistance or enzyme. I’d never seen a selection like this. I thought and I thought and I thought about it. Eventually I remembered CRISPR. The CRISPR-Cas9 system is a mechanism for gene editing. It can recognize specific sequences in DNA, cut it, and make any edits you want into that location. You can alter the recognition sequence of CRISPR by editing the single guide RNA.

And so, the selection I came up with was to make the mutated sequence the guide RNA, so that CRISPR-Cas9 could find it in the bacterial genome. Cas9 (an enzyme that cuts DNA) would then cut the DNA only at our mutated sequence. It could then insert a lethal gene into that spot, which would kill only the bacteria with the mutation we wanted to discard. I used my last few minutes in the exam to write my answer for that question as fast as I could. There were many possible correct answers to that question. My professor said before the exam that if we were asked to come up with a selection, as long as the one we wrote made sense and could fill the purpose, it’d be correct.

I got it right 😌

It’s my favorite experiment because I came up with it on the fly, and it was my first time coming up with a selection on my own. It made me feel like I’d become a better scientist because of it. I got a B+ in that class, but I worked harder for that B+ than any A in my life, and what I learned in that class was extremely valuable for my scientific career. I have no regrets.