#blue filament on the brain...

[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.

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[bestanimal]

Round 3 - Cephalopoda - Vampyromorphida

(Source)

Order: Vampyromorphida

Common Name: “Vampire Squid”

Family: Vampyroteuthidae

One living species: Vampire Squid (Vampyroteuthis infernalis)

Anatomy: reduced internal shell; eight arms lined with spines, contained within a fleshy web; only the tips of the arms have suckers; two pouches in the webbing contain tactile velar filaments; small fins projecting from the lateral sides of the mantle; almost entirely covered in light-producing photophores; colour varies from velvety jet-black to pale reddish

Size: 15 cm (5.9 in) long body; maximum total length (includes arms) around 30 cm (1 ft)

Diet: mainly marine snow (detritus) and crustaceans, large adults may take fish opportunistically

Habitat/Range: extreme deep sea of the tropics and subtropics, depths from 600 to 900 metres (2,000 to 3,000 ft) or more (oxygen minimum zone)

Evolved in: Jurassic

Conservation Status: unknown, but may be at risk from microplastic pollution due to diet of marine snow

Propaganda under the cut:

The Vampire Squid has the largest eyes in the animal kingdom, proportionately, with a 6 inch (15 cm) body possessing eyes 2.5 cm (1 in) in diameter. Their large eyes are accompanied by similarly expanded optic lobes of their brain. This allows the Vampire Squid to detect distant bioluminescence: signs of animals, such as prey aggregations or potential mates.

The Vampire Squid lives in a discrete habitat known as the oxygen minimum zone (OMZ). Within an OMZ, the saturation of oxygen is too low to support aerobic metabolism in most complex organisms. The Vampire Squid is the only cephalopod able to live its entire life cycle in the minimum zone, at oxygen saturations as low as 3%. To cope with life in the suffocating depths, Vampire Squids have developed several adaptations: the lowest mass-specific metabolic rate of all deep-sea cephalopods, hemocyanin within their blood that binds and transports oxygen more efficiently than in other cephalopods, gills possessing an especially large surface area, weak musculature and a reduced shell, and ammonium-rich gelatinous tissues closely matching the density of the surrounding seawater. Living in an OMZ keeps the Vampire Squid safe from many large, apex predators.

If disturbed, the Vampire Squid will curl its arms up outwards and wrap them around its body, turning itself “inside-out”, making itself seem larger, and exposing the spiny projections on its tentacles (cirri) (see gif above). The underside of its cape is black, concealing most of the body's photophores. The glowing arm tips are clustered together far above the animal's head, diverting attack away from critical areas. This anti-predator behavior is dubbed the "pumpkin" or "pineapple" posture. The armtips regenerate, so if they are bitten off, they can serve as a diversion allowing the animal to escape while its predator is distracted.

Like many deep-sea cephalopods, the Vampire Squid lacks ink, but if highly agitated, it may shed a sticky cloud of bioluminescent mucus containing orbs of blue light from its arm tips. This luminous barrage, which may last nearly 10 minutes, serves to dazzle would-be predators and allows the vampire squid to disappear into the dark without the need to swim far. The glowing mucus is also able to stick to the predator, making it more vulnerable to other predators and visible to other prey. The display is made only if the Vampire Squid is very agitated, due to the metabolic cost of mucus regeneration.

[bluesunss]

Anglerfish Choi Su-bong (Thanos) x F!Reader

following this request! tysm @asappywriter for requesting, I had a lot of fun creating this :) I hope you will enjoy it

summary (basically the very well detailed request): Thanos and you go to the aquarium. after reading something interesting about anglerfishes, you try to confess using it as a metaphor, but, well, it is quite fair to say that both of your states make it difficult to communicate.

warnings: none lol they're both geeked out

a/n: i have never done edibles/any substances so it's purely from my imagination and some research. hope it works fine!

Anglerfish are deep-sea creatures with a distinctive feature: the male, much smaller than the female, bites and permanently attaches himself to her body, providing sperm for her throughout her life. They dwell in total darkness, using bioluminescence at the tip of a filament on their heads to lure prey.

You leaned forward, your vision slightly clouded by the effects of the edibles, and fixated on the small wooden frame hanging from an elevated beam.

"The anglerfish bites... the female anglerfish for mating."

You squinted, repeating the words softly, almost incredulously. "Bites? The fish... bites for... what? Mating?"

Your eyes slowly lifted to the massive aquarium, its blue expanse of water and light swallowing the room. Schools of fish drifted serenely beneath the surface, like a giant-screen.

Fish of vibrant colors - indistinct in your current state - swam through the tank. The light cast faint blue reflections on the floor and your faces; you had to blink. Fatigue was making you feel heavy, almost weightless.

You frowned, your thoughts trying to connect those strange fish biting to reproduce with your own disoriented state. A sudden thought crossed your mind: were you and Thanos something like these fish?

You shook your head, murmuring in confusion. "It’s... it’s like you and me?"

You turned to find Thanos beside you, but he was already lost in the shifting lights, a dazed expression playing on his face as he stared into the water, clearly absorbed in his own world. He suddenly got up.

You exhaled, curling your fingers around your phone, stifling the urge to laugh. Your body felt sluggish - almost like it had melted.

"Thanos? Where are youuu?"

You barely caught a glimpse of his violet head disappearing into another room. You hurried to catch up, breathless, only to find him admiring two massive sharks, a blissful grin on his face.

"Hey, señorita, it's crazy - it’s almost like it’s real."

You grabbed his arm. Your body felt stiff, like you were moving through syrup. You clung to him, and another arm wrapped around your shoulders. He nearly pulled out his vape, but you whispered, "It’s forbidden."

"You... you know the anglerfish? For mating... the male bites the female?" you tried again.

"Hm?"

Thanos didn’t look at you. His arm dropped. "Yo, take a pic girl. This will be perfect for my new album."

"Thanosss. I’m talking to youuu."

He gave a small, distracted smile, eyes far away. "Ah, yeah, jellyfish. What did you say?"

"ANGLERFISH. For mating. The male bites the female."

Thanos let out a laugh. "They’re kinky too?"

That man! You gave a light tap on his shoulder, but he pulled you closer with his arm again. "Take the picture from behind, the lightning's better. WAIT NO, the shark’s getting close!"

He released your arm, stepping back, but you followed him, like a puppy. "Thanos. Thanos. Thanos. We’re like the anglerfish," you kept repeating like a lullaby, so much so that your brain got lost and confused your thoughts.

Without looking back, he pulled out his vape, trying to snap a picture on the yellow rectangle, and then shook his head, muttering to himself. "Thanos-su Min-su blrblrlbl." Why was he referencing your friends?

"Señorita, I can’t find my phone. Take a picture with yours, please," he said, putting back the vape into his pocket.

You grimaced, leaning closer. "Your phone’s in the other pocket, idiot."

Dipping a hand into his left pocket, you handed him the device.

He extended the phone, draped an arm around your shoulders, and pressed the button. "Smile."

Then, he clicked the off button. "Great."

"Thanos, you didn't take a selfie. You took a picture of the ceiling. Now, listen to me, or I’ll leave."

He shook his head.

"Nah, stayyy. I'm sorry." He took your arm and embraced you quickly (like everytime after messing up). "What’s up?"

Summoning your courage, you repeated yourself. "WE’RE LIKE THE ANGLERFISH. You and me."

"Huh?"

"We’re the anglerfish."

"Huh? Since when did we become fish?"

You buried your face in your hands in despair. Thanos let out a small "Oh!" and disappeared, only to return moments later, shouting, "HEY! COME SEE!"

You followed him, feeling weak in the legs. You entered a darkened room surrounded by a simple curtain, where glowing fish and tiny shrimp swam.

"What’s this?"

A female voice was speaking, and you listened.

"...epipods, or mysidaceans, are small marine creatures, usually translucent. They reflect light and move slowly in the water. The glowing fish you see emit bioluminescent light, a natural phenomenon that helps them navigate in the dark."

The voice paused, and the quiet of the room took over, with soft music playing in the background before the facts were repeated. The sound was a bit muffled. Thanos stared at the screen, wide-eyed, counting things on his fingers, looking repeatedly up at the aquarium then down at his hand. "Two. One, four, nine."

"Thanos?"

He didn’t look up.

"This music is awful. I should send them one of my tracks to play on repeat."

You grimaced, then felt your legs weaken and let yourself drop to the floor, crouching against the wall.

"Nine, ten, eleven… fourteen."

Shaking your head, you listened to your heartbeat in your ears. "What are you counting?"

"Twelve little shrimp."

"They’re not shrimp, the voice said they’re epipods."

"Huh? You’re weird today. Saying non-existent words and that we're fish."

He crouched down and put a hand on your forehead. "No fever."

His hand was very warm. And in his eyes, you could see the blue light of the little aquarium reflected. You pouted, hoping he’d care for you, but he immediately stood up and walked out, sending a voice message to Nam-gyu.

You got up and kept following him like a little dog on a leash as he marveled at the octopuses. "Hey, they have eight legs? They’re actually giant spiders." Or at the sharks, heading toward them.

"Thanos? Can you listen to me?"

He dropped down, wrapping his arms around you.

"Ugh, my needy girl. Yeah. I’m here."

You smiled dreamingly. The both of you collapsed onto a small bench, facing the sharks that fascinated him.

"The anglerfish," you gave it a last try.

The room began to empty as people left to watch the dolphin show.

"They mate by biting each other. Then they stay attached for life."

Thanos tilted his head. "They’re those super cool fish with lights and giant teeth?"

You nodded. "We’re like them. You know, for mating, the male bites the female? Hm?"

Thanos let out a little laugh.

"You wanna mate with me?"

Normally, you would’ve blushed, but the frustration was stronger. "You’re not listening to me! Stop picking out only what you want to hear. I'm trying to say that I lik-"

"There’s no one here," Thanos suddenly interrupted you.

Then he rummaged through his pocket and pulled out his vape, exhaling a tangy lemon puff. "Ahh, damn, that feels good. Been waiting forever. Want some?"

You shook your head.

"Too bad," he smirked, taking another heady puff.

He let himself fall against you, head on your shoulder, looking tired, with heavy eyelids, and traced lines on your knee.

"Like them. You, and me," he whispered, feeling his eyelids grow heavier.

The lemon scent continued to fill your nostrils, and you let yourself lean back against the backrest of the small bench. Even if he defeated you today, you could at least enjoy the warmth of his side pressed against yours while it lasted.

The confession would be for another time.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

It wasn’t until the next morning, very early, when Thanos was putting on his pants to go to the gym, that he had a huge revelation.

"Wait. Was she tryna confess?"

He groaned, smacking a helpless hand over his face, and uttered in a defeated voice.

"Fuuuck bro.”

i hope you like this! There might be some mistakes as I'm a bit tired

@breakmeoff @asappywriter

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: scallops

I may have only discussed them once before on this series, but I'm not saying "bye" to bivalves. One of the coolest bivalve subgroups are the scallops. While most Bivalves live in one spot their entire lives, scallops boldly go where no clam has gone before and take to the seas, actively swimming.

(Image: a pile of captured scallops. They are bivalves with shells shaped like hand fans with two wing-like structures near the hinge. The shells have ridges running from the hinge to the outer edge. Small pink ID tags have been glued to them. End ID)

Scallops are members of the family Pectinidae. As with all bivalves, they have two shells that interlock with a pair of valves which form hinges. The two shells are not identical. Most scallops prefer to rest on one valve (usually the right one), which results in that shell growing more rounded than the other one. Growing from the back of the shell near the hinge are two structures called wings, ears, or auricles, which are unique to scallops. Another shell feature unique to scallops is the ctenolium, a honeycomb shaped structure that is used to help distrubute byssal threads. Byssal threads are structures found in most bivalves. They are strong and sticky filaments that attach bivalves to rocks. Most scallops only attach themselves to rocks as juveniles and lose the ctenolium as adults. The scallops shell has a distinctive and usually symmetrical shape. Many have distinctive ridges running from hinge to the front of the shell. These are supported by structures called ribs. These provide extra integrity to the shell, but increase weight, requiring an evolutionary balancing act to get the most benefit out of them.

(Image: a live scallop with the opening facing the camera. Inside the shell is a fleshy structure with multiple small tentacles and two rows of small, blue eyes. There is algae and a barnacle growing on the shell. End ID)

The inside of the shell contains the body of the scallop. A large portion of the interior is taken up by the adductor muscle, which attaches to the inside of both shells. The adductor muscle of scallops is larger and more developed than those found in most bivalves. In all bivalve species, its purpose is to close the shells. Scallops also use it for swimming. The scallop adductor muscle is made of both smooth and striated muscle tissue. The striated muscle moves fast but tires out quicker and is sued for rapidly opening and closing the shell when swimming. The smooth muscle is slower but uses much less energy, allowing the scallop to hold its shell closed for a long time. As with all bivalves, the shell defaults to the open position thanks to a structure called the hinge ligament and require active muscle contraction to close. Most of the rest of the body is the digestive system, reproductive system, circulatory system, and nervous system. The nervous system is a fairly simple nerve net and lacks a brain. Unlike most bivalves, scallops do not intake food through a siphon. Instead, they open their shells to let water move over a structure that filters out food particles and imbeds them in mucus. cilia then moves the mucus into the mouth and through the digestive system. The digestive system also passes through the heart. Around the opening of the shell is a structure called the mantle. The mantle is lined with tentacles that help filter out inedible things from the water.

(image: a scallop with one shell removed to show the internal anatomy. End ID)

Also along the mantle are two rows of eyes, one for each shell and up to 200 in total. Most bivalves don't have eyes. Scallops, being swimming animals, do have eyes and they are strange, not just in comparison to vertebrate eyes, but in comparison to the eyes of other mollusks. Each eyeball has a lens, a pupil, two retinas, and at the back, a system of mirrors that direct and focus light in a similar manner as telescopes. The mirrors are composed of guanine (the same stuff as the "G" nucleotide in DNA) and are shaped like convex squares. There can be over 100,000 mirrors in each eye. For a long time, it was thought that the proximity of the mirrors to the retinas would result in an unfocused, blurry image. It has recently beed discovered that the cells that eye can change shape, potentially adjusting the mirrors for a sharper image. Scallops also have more opsins (light-sensing proteins in the retina) than humans and they may not be evenly distributed, potentially allowing different eyes to see different parts of the light spectrum. While it's not clear how much information the scallops can interpret with their lack of a brain, they at least can tell the difference between ares of contrast and can detect motion. Scallops seem to mainly use their vision to detect predators and to adjust their swimming and feeding behavior.

(Image: a close-up shot of scallop eyes. They are blue balls with a black pupil. End ID)

Now for the reason Spongebob turned scallops into the undersea equivalent of birds. Unlike the vast majority of bivalves, who are either immobile or bury themselves in the sediment, scallops are free-swimming. At least most of them, there are some species that live their lives attached to rock or another structure, like mussels or oysters. The body plan of scallop shells is adapted to facilitate swimming. They have two main means of locomotion called swimming and jumping. Both involve the scallop opening the shell to intake water, then rapidly closing it to force the water out. While swimming, the water is ejected through small holes near the hinge called exhalant apertures. The water is forced over the shell's wings and can be sent out over the left or right wing. Most of the time, they will alternate which wing the water is pushed over, resulting in a zig-zag movement. In jumping, the water is forced out the way it came, propelling the scallop backwards. It usually comes to a rest on the sediment between jumps. Both swimming and jumping cost a lot of energy and the scallop will have to rest afterwards. their locomotion is used to avoid predation, with starfish being their main predators. Some species also have a muscular foot that can extend from the shell and is used to bury the scallop.

(Gif: a scallop swimming over a field of seagrass, showing off the zig-zag motion and its ability to alter its course. End ID)

Some species of scallop are dioecious, meaning they have distinct males and females. Others are simultaneous hermaphrodites while still others are protandrous sequential hermaphrodites, beginning their lives as males and becoming females when they get older. Their reproductive organs are called roe and are red in females and white in males. Scallops are broadcast spawners. They release eggs and sperm into the water column. After a few weeks, fertilized eggs will hatch into drifting larvae called spat. Spat look like miniature, transparent versions of the adults. As they age, the spat will drop to the seafloor. This event has the delightful name of spatfall. The spat use byssal threads to attach themselves to whatever they can find and will remain like that until they have matured. Most species lose their byssal threads as adults, but a few retain them and do not become swimmers. Depending on species, scallops can live for up to 20 years.

(Image: a group of spat housed in captivity They are smaller, transluscent versions of the adults. End ID)

The part of scallops that people usually eat is the adductor muscle, though the roe is also edible. Scallops have been eaten by various peoples for millennia and excessive catching has caused severe declines in wild populations. This has led to the rise of many aquaculture methods for growing scallops from the spat stage. Because scallops are filter feeders, they improve local water quality and when their numbers diminish, water quality worsens. On the other hand, when massive numbers of scallops are raised together in aquaculture, they can cause localized eutrophication, an increase of nutrients that triggers massive microbe growth and reduces oxygen levels in the water. Dredging, the main method of capturing wild scallops, destroys benthic ecosystems, which can take decades to be restored. All of this for a food that tastes like congealed air.

(Image: a scallop aquaculture setup. It consists of multiple nets hanging from the surface of the water, each separated into multiple layers holding multiple scallops. A SCUBA diver is swimming through the area. End ID)

[sirfrogsworth]

I had to correct Menswear Guy.

Who I really like.

I just think if I were him I'd want to use correct terminology. I mean, he might not even see my reply, but if he does, hopefully he takes it in the polite spirit I intended.

Definitely more polite than this guy.

I'm always amazed at how loud and authoritative wrong people can be. They have such confidence in their shitty, half learned knowledge.

The tungsten filament inside an incandescent bulb glows orange and then turns bright white before melting. It does not turn to a cool tone at any point. It is colloquially used to denote a "warm" color temperature so people have a ubiquitous example for setting their camera's white balance.

Color temperature is *actually* derived from the EM radiation emitted from a theoretical black body.

Boy, that sounds weird when you say it like that.

Let's change that to... "light emitted by an idealized opaque, non-reflective body."

I see why Wikipedia phrased it like that now.

I'm trying to think of a better term Menswear Guy could have used. He's basically talking about tonality and how we cognitively interpret and experience certain hues.

Color temperature is a physical phenomenon that affects how light is reflected. A "warm" light source can mix in with the natural hue of an object and alter our perception. What is interesting is that our brain almost has a white balance tool built in. We feel the light is warm or cool, but we still experience and perceive the same colors. (Unless the light is so intense it basically drowns out the base color. Like how everything looks red and only red in a photo dark room.)

With photography, you can simulate how warm and cool color temperatures affect hues.

Sky is blue.

But if you warm the color temperature...

Sky is still blue, but it *feels* warmer to the brain. So you basically have a warm-cool color. Neat!

And then cooling down the temp makes the scene feel like it is a cold wintery day.

Color perception is fascinating.

[lampost-in-winter]

Forgotten ecology

Rook finds Davrin carving wooden statuettes, which isn’t unusual. What surprises them is that he is looking at a book for reference. Davrin never needs reference: every nook and cranny of monster anatomy is etched into his brain, for good or ill.

“What do you have there?”

“You mean the book? I took it from Isseya’s lair, she must’ve gotten it from Ghilan’nain. Sorry I didn’t mention it.” He lets go of the piece he’s been carving—it looks like some kind of snake covered in feathers—and brings the book closer to Rook.

The tome hums with magic as Davrin passes the pages. Although Rook can’t interpret the text, written in ancient Elven, it is evident that it is a bestiary: each page depicts a variety of creatures Rook’s never seen before, all of them either aglow with foreign beauty or haunted by terrifying strangeness. The pictures move on the page like figures from a shadow play, portraying the different walks of the herbivores, the attack movements of predators, and the complex flight of four-winged and six-winged birds.

There is some flora depicted, as well. A two-page spread is entirely dedicated to the reproductive cycle of a translucent flower with iridescent blue filaments, which relied on wisps as its sole pollinators.

It is gorgeous. It is also concerning.

“Do you think Ghilan’nain created all of these?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Look,” Davrin points at a stamp in the shape of a halla at the beginning of one of the pages. “I’d say only the ones with her mark are her creation. Everything else… maybe someone, or something, else made them. Or maybe they were there already when the first elves gave themselves bodies.”

“Wow,” Rook mutters, “Do you think we might still find one of these things out there?”

The elf shakes his head.

“Not likely. It looks like all the wildlife in this bestiary was specially adapted to live in a world with spirits and much more magic than our own. In many ways, their life cycles depended on it, so most of them couldn’t possibly exist as they were in our world.”

“Damn. That’s… tough.”

“Yeah. Could be the reason why Ghilan’nain kept a specific record of them.”

Rook feels a hole in their stomach, the shape left by a loss that’s not even their own, as well as the dread at the idea of life being able to just disappear, the terror of the frailty of existence. And whatever Davrin is feeling, it doesn’t look like it differs much.

“It’s kinda… weird, to think that all of these animals can simply be gone without a trace,” Rook says, “The magic and technology from ancient elven times at least left something behind, even if it’s just debris.”

“They might’ve left something,” Davrin muses, “Some of these creatures could’ve adapted to the world post-Veil and changed into something we might recognize. Like this one,” he picks up the feathered snake he’d been carving. “She could be the grandmother of modern snakes.”

Rook chuckles. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Mmm. I’ve also been thinking about it the other way around.” The warden takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Rook notes that they really like his thinking face, so solemn. “If these couldn’t survive in our world, it’s also possible that many of our own animals and plants would not be able to adapt to life without the Veil. Perhaps they wouldn’t die in the initial blast, but the change in their way of life would slowly end them.”

“See, another reason to stop Solas: what if the fall of the Veil destroys cocoa trees? I wouldn’t survive it,” Rook counters with a playful smile, and it gets a laugh out of Davrin.

“Jokes aside… it makes you think, you know? That when Solas talks about bringing back the old world, it doesn’t just mean restoring the ancient elves: it means to change the very core of how life works. And I know that all things end, and that these creatures had their time, but…” Davrin looks towards the cozy, feathered bun that is Assan sleeping by the fireplace. The unlikely survivor of two extinction events, as they now start to understand. “Who decides which form of life is more worthy of existence?”

Rook tries to think of something wise and soothing and motivating to say, but it doesn’t come to them. They’re not a philosopher: they’re just one of the alive things in this world trying to make it to the next day.

“So… drinks?” they offer, instead.

Davrin smiles. “Sure. And, hey, pick one,” he says, pointing at the carvings of ancient creatures he has been working on. “My treat.”

Rook observes the three statuettes that Davrin has finished so far: there’s the feathered snake, a unicorn with a horn as long as its whole head, and a bird with wings made of flames. They take the unicorn. They will put it up in their room later, because it’s from Davrin and it’s beautiful, and they will hope that this melancholy feeling they get from looking at it will recede. In time.

[ojo-rojo]

"They have photographed the brain and here is the picture, it is full of branches as I always suspected, each time you arrive the electricity of seeing you is a huge tree lumbering through my skull, the roots waving. It is an earth, its fibres wrap things buried, your forgotten words are graved in my head, an intricate red blue and pink prehensile chemistry veined like a leaf network, or is it a seascape with corals and shining tentacles. I touch you, I am created in you somewhere as a complex filament of light You rest on me and my shoulder holds your heavy unbelievable skull, crowded with radiant suns, a new planet, the people submerged in you, a lost civilization I can never excavate: my hands trace the contours of a total universe, its different colours, flowers, its undiscovered animals, violent or serene its other air its claws its paradise rivers".

"I Was Reading a Scientific Article" by Margaret Atwood.

[bananasplit133]

Can you do a noelle x cat reader (same species as catti) who likes art and musicals?

Brushstroke Ballad

Noelle/Cat!Reader - Fluff : 3

------

The soft buzz of the auditorium lights settles over you like a warm blanket the moment rehearsal ends.

“Aaand… that’s a wrap for today!” the drama teacher calls, clapping chalk-dusted hands. A few sixth-period stragglers who’d come just to watch scatter for the door, chatter echoing down the tiled halls.

You exhale, rolling your shoulders. Behind you, painted flats of painted cityscapes, cardboard streetlamps, and half-finished prop benches still clutter the wings—each one a quiet reminder of the hours you’ve poured into the summer musical. Cats are supposed to care about perfection, people joke. Yet every misplaced brushstroke on a backdrop makes the fur on your tail bristle.

And, of course, someone else notices.

Hoofsteps—light, careful—tap across the stage. You don’t need to turn to know the pattern: Noelle’s hooves, clicking twice on the wood before she shifts her weight. Even her nervousness has a rhythm.

“Um… hey,” she says, voice soft as tissue paper. You pivot, nearly bumping noses with her—a fact that sends her ears splaying and her cheeks turning pink. Unsurprisingly, she still holds her prop sheet music like a shield.

“Great run-through.” you tell her, snapping the utility knife closed and slipping it into your apron. She brightens, breath frosting in the air-conditioned chill.

“You think so? I, uh… flubbed the high G.” Noelle presses a hoof to her chest. “It felt like my throat just… iced over.”

The pun slips by unnoticed; you’re used to her anxious self-critiques. Instead you gesture to the empty rows, still lit by the ghost light’s lonely filament. “Did you hear the applause? Even the janitor knocked his broom on beat.”

Her smile curves like a crescent moon. “Maybe he was just sweeping.”

You shrug dramatically. “A standing ovation is a standing ovation, even on bristles.”

She laughs—a small, glittering thing that sparks something warm in your ribs. Emboldened, you pick up the paint-stained portfolio you’d left on the piano and open it to a watercolor concept: Noelle beneath a streetlamp, snowfall catching in her fur. You give a sheepish flick of your ear. “I tried re-blocking your Act II solo. Figured… art direction should match the mood.”

Her eyes widen, pupils reflecting the wash of stage lights. She traces the gentle snowflakes with one finger, careful not to smudge. “It’s beautiful,” she whispers, then looks up too quickly. “I mean—your art always is! I—”

You can’t help the purr rumbling in your throat; your whiskers twitch. “Thanks. Thought a soft blue follow-spot would bring out your tones.”

Silence settles, comfortable as a wool scarf. She closes the portfolio, smoothing the page edges with reverent care. “Would you… maybe help me practice the song tomorrow? After art club?”

The question lands like a paint splatter—unexpected, bright. You nod before your brain catches up. “Sure. I’ll bring the portable speaker. And the gouache, if you want scene-study sketches.”

Her ears perk. “Oh—yes! We could storyboard the choreography at the same time.”

“‘Two tasks, one tail." you joke, flicking your ear.

For once, she doesn’t flinch at the joke. She takes a tiny step closer, enough that the edge of her skirt brushes your sleeve. “You make everything feel less scary,” she murmurs. “Like the lights aren’t so bright.”

Your tail swishes, traitorous. “You make them worth turning on.”

A beat. Then she offers her hand—not the shy, tentative hover of earlier rehearsals, but a real, deliberate invite. Hoof to paw. Warm, steady.

“Walk me home?” she asks.

Outside, twilight leaks through the lobby windows in strokes of lavender and gold. You squeeze her hand—careful, gentle—and nod. “Let’s exit stage right.”

As you push open the auditorium doors, the lingering smell of sawdust and paint follows you into the evening. Somewhere distant, a songbird rehearses the final notes of its own performance. And for the first time all week, you don’t feel the press of deadlines or the weight of half-dry canvases. Just the soft pad of your paws on linoleum, the quiet click of Noelle’s steps beside you, and the promise of tomorrow’s duets already humming in your head.

(Sorry it took me so long to reply. I've been busy focusing on DTT, so it took me a while to complete this. :'D)

[gifsbysimplysonia]

This story is really well written.

I know that's probably such a simple statement to most but as someone who doesn't read about non human entities almost ever in my fan fic, from the jump, this story immersed me in its lore and universe. The descriptions are rich and tangible, and it's just been a really long while since I felt like a fantasy piece really brought me into its world and I never got taken out. I mean...

Your steps never faltered as the soft carpet of juicy grass beneath your feet seemed to grow more resilient the deeper into the woods you went; green straws springing back from being crushed under your shoe. The further you went, however, the dewy emerald grew sparse, shrinking into rich soil scattered with shards of bark, little leaves and pillows of moss. Rays of sunlight filtered through the branches, casting glowy direction into the sacred altar hidden in the belly of the wilderness. It felt so peaceful, so relaxing, that you’d gladly sink into the shades of green and speckles of gold. 

How gorgeous and all consuming does that feel? Cuz it certainly felt that way to me, and having a brain that never stops jumping from one thing to the next, the fact this story caught my attention and kept it all the way through? Impressive.

Ahead there be

Had you known what awaited, you’d listen to your heart’s anxious patter and run away. But you were determined. Though your grandma would probably call it simple stubbornness. 

Relatable. But with it feels like stakes are SUPER high so I find myself admiring her. Especially cuz as you read along, you learn that people in her village kind of ignored all the signs of SOMETHING SUPER BAD happening. It's like, let them pay? LOL I'm awful.

Whenever you thought of Leshy, no particular image came to mind. You always thought the creature to be an entity beyond human imagination.  He was that, but also… not. He reminded a human man, but only at first glance.  Much taller, with shoulders broader than the blacksmith’s (whom you always thought to be the biggest man alive). His complexion was fair, but the veins in his arms were jewel green. His hair and beard seemed cast from various shades of gold, intertwined with russet bronze and chestnut reddish. Delicate, tiny vines crawled up his cheeks and along his forehead; like intricate tattoos.  From the thick mane of his silky looking hair sprouted majestic antlers. Thick and sturdy, their dark color with filaments of gold shining through. His eyes, when you met them, were a striking shade of blue-green. Rare and iridescent, like ponds bathed in the light of dawn. 

Again, the descriptions you weave! I love how absolutely clear and vivid the picture you painted was in my head. You noticed that while most of his skin looked like any human’s flesh, a stripe along his left calf and thigh seemed textured like bark. A combination of moss and vines formed a fitting coverage around his narrow hips; yet you still caught the sight of a green vein slithering down his chiseled abdomen.  More gold-glowing, floral-like tattoos appeared ingrained into the skin along his ribs. Skin on top of his right shoulder looked to be made of bark, just like on his leg.  As much as he looked unworldly, you also found him majestic.  Beautiful, as nature itself.

Going into this story "blind" in the sense I had no idea what a Leshy was or even the slightest inkling of what to expect, the world building was so insanely well done for me.

After a moment of complete stupor, shock gave way to a flash of fear. You bowed your head and started to fall onto your knees, to pay proper respect. However, his hand still holding yours pulled you up. “None of that is necessary.” He assured you.  Though when you tipped your head up to look at him, Leshy’s gaze slid down your body in a slow, assessing study.  “At least not in that sense,” he murmured, licking his lips. 

Oh boy.

“What have you come here for, little fern?” 

Already a nickname??

“You still did more than any other human has for decades. I’m just pointing out that a life can be compared in cost to another life, nothing else. No riches equal a heartbeat.”  You understood the value, agreed with it completely. But it made the situation look unsolvable. The fate of your village was doomed to go through horrors, since there was no other way to barter for it. 

So I love that he appreciates that she tried, even if it didn't really work out the way she thought. And that last quote? That's one of those I'll be thinking about til the lights go out of my eyes. Short, straight, to the point, yet so poignant and beautiful in its truth.

“I want intimacy. Passion. And devotion.” He murmured, gripping the back of your neck as his other hand dipped lower to squeeze the flesh of your bottom.  “I wish to splay you on the moss and have it soak up your sweet juices as I play with your pretty cunt.” 

The dirty talk from Leshy continues and all I can say is

If you love dirty talk, please do yourself a favor and go read cuz it's GOOD.

“I’ll be good to you, my little fern.” Tip of his nose nudged along yours, warm breath softening your lips into compliance.  When he kissed you, it felt as if berries burst on your tongue, filling your mouth with sweet flavor. 

Despite the fact he kind of laughed at her when she was like "So you want a friend?" and he was upfront about his actual intentions, I find this extremely sweet. Like, I know I just bargained unfairly to get you to pledge your life to me but I'm going to take care of you. And then I just love the analogy of "berries bursting" on the tongue being the flavor of his kiss *fans self*

The rest of the story is them kind of consummating the deal and it needs to be read for oneself. I do have to say that with one of the main characters being non human I was not sure what to expect intimacy wise, and while it's different from just, like, a typical human Steve Rogers AU, it was done well enough that I could handle it. There are mentions of other parts - like antlers - but not in a way that freaked me out but please do be aware if that is something that might be a dealbreaker: keep in mind, this main characters is not human and that is reflected when it comes to intimacy.

TYSM for writing and sharing @biteofcherry. It was a really unique, well thought out, well fleshed out, super well executed, very hot experience. I appreciate being able to step out of my comfort zone.

Also LOVE the art that goes with this! I believe I saw it mentioned somewhere that you created it so that definitely deserves Kudos cuz it helped me picture Leshy alongside your thorough descriptions.

Entwined

Leshy!Steve Rogers x female reader; Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: You enter the woods hoping to gain the ancient being's mercy and help. However, you hadn't expected how truly powerful he is, or what price he will ask of you.

*Leshy is a deity of the forests in Slavic mythology. He rules over the forest and hunting.

warnings: sort of monsterfucking (though Leshy isn't exactly a monster, more of an eldritch entity); consensual, with a slight dash of dub-con; tiny bit of manipulation; smut;

Author's Note: This is a story written for Aspen's (@buckets-and-trees) Enchanted Birthday Festival. Early happy birthday, love! ❤️ I've been toying with the idea of Leshy!Steve for a bit and Aspen's challenge was the perfect opportunity to work on it. Especially since she loves forests, plants and all things wild nature 💚 Also a special shout out to @vonalyn who listened to me ramble about the hotness of Leshy!Steve when the idea first came to mind!

“Are you willing to sacrifice?”

His voice echoed with the power of a booming wind, rattling your bones and swishing up your skirts.

The trees surrounding you seemed to grow out their branches, weaving into thick, green walls closing up. Sunlight, just moments ago filtering through the tree crowns, had disappeared; but the dots of luminescent fireflies flickered on, filling the space with a deceptively warm glow.

You looked around, seeking for a path, or entrance through which you might escape, if you chose to. There was none. Within seconds you found yourself trapped in the depths of the ancient forest, with a being whose mercy you came to beg for. 

When about an hour ago you stepped into the woods, you were bracing yourself for the sense of being watched, perhaps hunted. You haven’t considered how closely in contact with the powers of nature you’d come. 

Your steps never faltered as the soft carpet of juicy grass beneath your feet seemed to grow more resilient the deeper into the woods you went; green straws springing back from being crushed under your shoe. The further you went, however, the dewy emerald grew sparse, shrinking into rich soil scattered with shards of bark, little leaves and pillows of moss.

Rays of sunlight filtered through the branches, casting glowy direction into the sacred altar hidden in the belly of the wilderness. It felt so peaceful, so relaxing, that you’d gladly sink into the shades of green and speckles of gold. 

If not for the pounding of your worried heart, which knew that you were searching for more than reprieve. 

Had you known what awaited, you’d listen to your heart’s anxious patter and run away.

But you were determined. Though your grandma would probably call it simple stubbornness. 

You didn’t enter the woods to forage, nor to roam it to fill your soul with happiness. No, your feet carried you forward to face the greatest of dangers and beg for mercy.

Not only for yourself, but for the village and people who lived in fear, but still refused to abide by the ancient laws. Proud and focused on ways to increase wealth, they forgot there’s more in the world than just gold and war. 

Powers mightier than any army. Beings greater and more dangerous than any king. 

When wolves ripped to shreds one of the lumberjacks, everyone thought it to be a tragic accident. When two other people disappeared in the woods, never returning, others came up with ideas of them running away. Then a mother was seen screaming as wolves dragged her body into the forest. The child that followed, crying after its mum, disappeared. A day later a small fawn started prancing around the garden by the empty now household.

Still, people refused to bow to the entity that could be behind all of this, or at least held the power to end this madness. Or so you hoped. 

Having packed a big wicker basket of offerings - jars of golden honey, cheese wrapped in paper, strings of colorful beads and pearls, folded silk, dried exotic fruit you got from the market - you carried it deep into the woods, to place them on the long forgotten altar where your ancestors paid their respects to the guardian of the forest and nature.

Leshy.

You expected to find the ancient, stone altar, with a deformed statue overgrown with moss. The plan was to lay your offerings there, spend some time bowing down and praying for mercy, then returning to the clueless village.

For a few beats it went like that. The birds still chirped, leaves rustled softly in the wind, your offerings laid motionless on the slab of stone.

Then, suddenly, ivy vines weaved up, covering the stone and your produce in a thick cocoon. The earth rumbled and melted, swallowing the altar whole. 

Startled, you took a shaky step back and lost your balance, falling onto your butt. A split of a second when your gaze looked up at the darkening sky and when you returned it forward, he was already standing in front of you.  

Whenever you thought of Leshy, no particular image came to mind. You always thought the creature to be an entity beyond human imagination. 

He was that, but also… not.

He reminded a human man, but only at first glance. 

Much taller, with shoulders broader than the blacksmith’s (whom you always thought to be the biggest man alive). His complexion was fair, but the veins in his arms were jewel green. His hair and beard seemed cast from various shades of gold, intertwined with russet bronze and chestnut reddish. Delicate, tiny vines crawled up his cheeks and along his forehead; like intricate tattoos. 

From the thick mane of his silky looking hair sprouted majestic antlers. Thick and sturdy, their dark color with filaments of gold shining through. His eyes, when you met them, were a striking shade of blue-green. Rare and iridescent, like ponds bathed in the light of dawn. 

“It’s been a while since a human has come to me.” 

The entity’s voice was deep and low, both dangerous and soft, like a purr of a bear or a jungle cat. 

“Are you Leshy?” You swallowed nervously.

“I’ve been called that, yes.” When he grinned, amused, the filigree vines on his body glowed luminescent. 

“And you are?” He asked, courtly. 

When you whispered your name, he leaned forward, bending slightly and outstretching his hand for you to take. As you slipped your shaky fingers into his palm, you felt the pulsing warmth seep through you. It reminded you of the sun-heated earth beneath bare feet. 

As he helped you stand up, your gaze drifted up his body. You noticed that while most of his skin looked like any human’s flesh, a stripe along his left calf and thigh seemed textured like bark. A combination of moss and vines formed a fitting coverage around his narrow hips; yet you still caught the sight of a green vein slithering down his chiseled abdomen. 

More gold-glowing, floral-like tattoos appeared ingrained into the skin along his ribs. Skin on top of his right shoulder looked to be made of bark, just like on his leg. 

As much as he looked unworldly, you also found him majestic. 

Beautiful, as nature itself.

“Those who know me, call me Steve.” He said, holding your hand in his and not letting you step away. “It's a shortened and funnily deformed version of Svyatobor.” 

Lost in his eerie blue eyes, it took you a longer moment to realize what his name meant. 

Breath hitched in your chest, your pupils widened as you stared up at him. All this time you believed Leshy is a creature brought to life and given a purpose by a god. That’s what all the legends suggested. It didn’t occur to you, it's a deity itself.

A god of the forest.

After a moment of complete stupor, shock gave way to a flash of fear. You bowed your head and started to fall onto your knees, to pay proper respect. However, his hand still holding yours pulled you up.

“None of that is necessary.” He assured you. 

Though when you tipped your head up to look at him, Leshy’s gaze slid down your body in a slow, assessing study. 

“At least not in that sense,” he murmured, licking his lips. 

His eyes flicked back to yours. The stark blue pulsing with more green specks than before; as if his body came to life the same way nature sprung back as the snow melted away. 

You felt a rush of heat through your veins at the suggestive implication of his words.

“What have you come here for, little fern?” 

“To beg for mercy for my village.” Once again, you lowered your gaze. “People have been disappearing and being hurt. Swallowed by the forest or its creatures. I plead for no more blood to be spilled.”

Steve’s face betrayed no sign of irritation. For a split of a second you thought you saw a flash of sunlit amusement in his irises, but no mockery followed. He studied you for a long moment, not saying a word.

When he moved, it was slow and nonthreatening. You still startled, though perhaps it was at the loss of contact as his hand gently released your fingers. 

He walked over to where the ground swallowed the altar with your offerings. It was only then that you realized a thick carpet of clovers had filled the space where the table had been. Delicate leaves tilted toward Steve’s legs, brushing against him with the softest of rustles, as if they were purring for him.

“You brought me honey, which you poured out of the goodness of your heart. But don’t you know that our wild bees’ honey is sweeter?” Steve asked, walking barefoot through the small field of clovers back toward you. 

He stepped even closer this time and you felt the unique warmth radiating from him. A little stifling, like the humidity of the forest soaked in rain that was evaporating in the high summer sun.

It was making you dizzy in a very pleasant way.

“You gave me expensive fabrics, but nothing feels as soft and luxurious as petals of early spring’s flowers.” He circled you, like an animal may circle its prey. “None of your colorful beads shine as bright as drops of dew in the moonlight.” 

“I-” What were you supposed to say? You didn’t have much and what you gave away was a big sacrifice in terms of your day to day survival. 

You also didn’t think Leshy would be pleased, if you brought seasoned meat. He was, after all, a protector of wild animals. That sort of disrespect may have killed you on the spot.

Suddenly, you felt his hand brush along your waist. A light, fleeting touch, but enough to send a jolt down your spine.

“Moreover, you try to barter a single basket for dozens of lives.” Steve stopped in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” You lowered your head in shame, feeling the burning tears gather beneath your eyelids.

He was right and you didn’t think of that when you were packing your basket. It made you feel helpless, that you had nothing else to offer. 

“Don’t be.” Steve tilted your chin up with the pads of his fingertips. His gaze was soft, glinting sincerity.

“You still did more than any other human has for decades. I’m just pointing out that a life can be compared in cost to another life, nothing else. No riches equal a heartbeat.” 

You understood the value, agreed with it completely. But it made the situation look unsolvable. The fate of your village was doomed to go through horrors, since there was no other way to barter for it. 

Then you registered the warmth of Steve’s fingers still holding your chin. His thumb angled to rub along your lower lip. You were in the hands of a powerful deity. Steve may have appeared nonthreatening, but he was still an ancient entity demanding a sacrifice. 

No riches equal a heartbeat. You had a heartbeat. A rapidly fluttering one, at the moment; bouncing against the bars of your ribcage in fear of being ripped from it.

“You mean-” You swallowed a bile rising in your throat. “My life for theirs?”

You wanted to help your village, to help people in general. That need to care and nurture have always been so deeply ingrained in you. But you wanted to live! You wanted to experience feelings and wonders, joys and losses. You weren’t ready to meet the end so soon, so unexpectedly. The two needs - to help and to survive - were clashing in violence. 

Steve’s hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek. Since he was the only comfort available at the moment, you leaned into his touch. A soothing shush spilled from his lips as he caught your panicked gaze and locked it with his. 

“I’m not thirsty for blood, little fern.” He assured you. “I long for company.”

Somehow, looking into his eyes and sinking into the warmth his closeness provided, you felt the fear subsiding. Slowly, still leaving instinctive distrust, but it eased away.

“You want a friend?” You blinked, a little confused. 

Of course you understood what he meant the moment he said it, but a voice of reason wouldn’t accept the fact this beautiful, powerful being wanted to bed you. Out of all the things a deity may demand, fucking an unimpressive mortal like you shouldn’t be on the list. 

Steve laughed at your question, genuinely amused.

Instantly, choirs of birds joined his mirth in a tinkling melody that carried through the forest. 

“No.” Steve shook his head; smile-caused crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes and the filigree vines along his skin curled. 

“I’ve got friends. You would meet them, if you stayed.” It surprised you, teasing your curiosity about what other beings roamed these forests. 

Your thoughts didn’t stay focused on the matter for long. Not when Steve’s hand slid down the column of your neck, his other arm weaving around your waist and pulling you close to his body. 

Very close. Even through the fabrics of your skirts and corset you felt the hard planes of his muscles against the softness of your body. Your hands landed on his chest, at first in an attempt to brace yourself to perhaps fight him off, but any force to push away dissipated. Instead, your fingertips were tingling. 

Steve’s breath teased your skin as he leaned down, trailing his lips along your jaw. 

“I want intimacy. Passion. And devotion.” He murmured, gripping the back of your neck as his other hand dipped lower to squeeze the flesh of your bottom. 

Abruptly, your whole body tensed and you gasped when something coiled around your ankles. Thin and tickling, possibly an ivy vine. It curled along your legs, reaching upwards. Teasing your skin with a brush of leaves and forcing your legs slightly apart.

Steve’s lips grazed the shell of your ear.

“I wish to splay you on the moss and have it soak up your sweet juices as I play with your pretty cunt.” 

You jerked in his embrace, but your core ignited. Heat pooled low in your abdomen, spreading down in a quick wave and filling your folds.  

“I want to stretch you on my cock and have you call me your god not out of fear, but the pleasure I give you.” The vines that weaved around your legs didn’t reach far up your thighs, but if they had, your wetness would coat the delicate leaves. 

“I want to fill you, until you bloom flowers and berries.” 

Breathing became hard as the images filled your head; though you doubted it was a trick of his, more your own imagination eagerly supplying possibilities Steve words enticed. 

When Steve unexpectedly released you and took a step back, you shivered as if you were dropped into a cold cave. Deprived of light and warmth.

He appeared more inhuman as he stretched to his full height and loomed over you. 

“Are you willing to sacrifice?” 

His voice echoed with the power of a booming wind, rattling your bones and swishing up your skirts.

The trees surrounding you seemed to grow out their branches, weaving into thick, green walls closing up. Sunlight, just moments ago filtering through the tree crowns, had disappeared; but the dots of luminescent fireflies flickered on, filling the space with a deceptively warm glow.

Shaken from the daze Steve’s proximity and dirty words have caused, you faced the deal he was proposing with a clearer mind. 

You’d be bound to the forest as long as Steve wanted to keep you, having to abandon your human life and plans. But you would be alive. And so would the villagers, some of whom were your friends. 

You chanced one more look at the wall of branches and vines, briefly wondering if he’d let you go had you refused. Probably. But it was uncertain what awaited your village, or any other, if you backed out. 

Taking a deep breath, you turned back to Steve. You gripped the fabric of your skirt to cover the nervous shaking of your fingers. 

“Yes,” the word rolled out on your tongue like a faint whisper, but he heard it. 

His eyes shimmered with tempting joy, like the reflection of sunlight on the rippling sheet of a lake. In a blink of an eye he was right in front of you, his hands on your hips.   

“I’ll be good to you, my little fern.” Tip of his nose nudged along yours, warm breath softening your lips into compliance. 

When he kissed you, it felt as if berries burst on your tongue, filling your mouth with sweet flavor. 

Your hands traveled up his arms, clutching his shoulders. The one covered in bark provided a new, unique sensation. It grazed your fingertips, but also felt grounding. He didn’t have to pull you closer, your body turned pliant on its own volition. 

Steve swallowed your gasp, gripping your hips tighter, as thick vines of ivy rapidly wound around you. They covered you whole, like they had that stone altar before. It felt scary and suffocating, but as soon as the cocoon of greenery swallowed your forms fully it burst apart; leaves scattered around in a fountain. 

You broke the kiss, tipping your head away and looking around. You were no longer in the same spot. You were in no recognizable place, to be exact. 

If you could find a name for it, the heart of the forest would be it. 

Light green grass spread around in a thick carpet, with patterns of bluebells and lilies of the valley. Graceful, tall birches circled the place, their silvery leaves catching chunks of sun rays. By a spot where wild rose bushes weaved an intricate arch stood a big bed. Easily high at hip height, woven tightly of green moss and periwinkles.

Steve didn’t give you much time to admire. With a firm push of his hand he tilted your head back towards him. Kept cupping your cheek as he kissed you again, more urgently this time. Demanding. 

He released you to tug on your clothes, doing a swift job with layers of your skirts, but grumbling a bit when trying to untie your corset. 

“Won’t need that anymore here, little fern,” he purred as your breasts spilled out. 

Then he was picking you up, big hands gripping the back of your thighs and hoisting you easily. He sat on the bed, slowly easing you down until you were standing between his spread legs. 

It was only then that you realized the coverage around his hips was gone, leaving him exposed in all his glory. 

You couldn’t help peeking down. Your pussy clenched around nothing as you stared at the impressive size of him. Your mouth filled with the aftertaste of berries and your own saliva as his cock twitched upwards.

Steve’s hands roamed over your body, exploring your curves and lines with utmost fascination. He didn’t hesitate leaning forward to capture a stiff nipple into his mouth, sucking eagerly. His antlers gave you a scare as they brushed so close to your skin, but not once did his movement cause you pain. 

Feeling a little bolder, you slipped one of your hands between the roots of his antlers and into his hair. They felt soft and silky. Your other hand gripped the top of his shoulder; the one where bark printed into your palm in a sensation you were finding more and more pleasant. 

As Steve pulled back slightly, you slipped your fingers from his hair and across his face, mapping out contours and scratching through his beard. He gripped one of your legs under your knee and pulled it up, placing your foot on the bed and spreading you obscenely. His eyes darkened, something wolfish glinting in them as his gaze settled on your puffed, wet folds.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he demanded in a raspy voice. 

The hand on your calf kept caressing and squeezing your flesh, while his other fisted his cock as your fingers dipped between your thighs. 

None of your lovers ever expressed desire to see you pleasure yourself, but Steve’s gaze was so heated you didn’t feel shy. Quite the opposite, somehow it felt so easy and natural; even more arousing as Steve licked his lips in unmasked hunger.

“Let me taste you. I bet you’re sweeter and richer than any honey.” 

You moaned, pushing two fingers inside and pumping them in and out a few times. When you brought your glistening digits to his lips, Steve licked them in a broad stroke of his tongue then took them into his mouth. His greedy sucking had your clit pulsing wildly.

“Delicious,” he hummed in delight, “and so ready for me, aren’t you?” 

Swiftly, he grabbed your hips and pulled you over his lap. Your gasp at the sudden movement and the feeling of his cock against your inner thigh combined with Steve’s loud groan of pleasure, when you gripped his antlers to steady yourself.

“That’s it. Keep touching them.” He urged you on as he slid you down his shaft. “It’s as if you were gripping my cock.”

“Nghh!” You keened, tightening your desperate hold on the antlers as your walls stretched around Steve’s girth. 

“Too big!” You whined, yet your hips followed the command of Steve’s hands as he guided you down. 

“Shh, my little fern. Take it. I know you can.” He was mercilessly forcing you down, moaning as your tight, hot walls enveloped him. “All your sweet holes will learn to take all of me.”

By the time he was buried to the root, you were shaking in pleasure. Your cheek was pressed to Steve’s, your breath coming out in jagged, hot puffs. Where your breasts were squished into the hard planes of Steve’s chest, it felt as if the filigree vines pulsing beneath his skin moved to tease your nipples. Steve’s hands were splayed on your hips, holding you in place as he savored the feel of your pussy around him. 

After a moment, he began rocking up into you and a few heartbeats later started bouncing you up and down his length. Soon your whimpers stretched into moans. Despite feeling boneless in his powerful hold, you also felt a surge of need to take from him as much as he was taking from your pliant body. 

You held Steve’s gaze as you straightened your back and started riding him; your fingers squeezing his antlers. 

When your climax hit, it was intense and unworldly. 

The first burst of it felt like falling into a cool mountain streak, only for the next tremors to fill you with heat and glow. Your head spinned and your moans and cries intertwined with small gasps of laughter. It was everything at once! Running with the wolves, picking fresh raspberries, twirling around in summer rain. 

And when Steve followed soon after, cumming with a loud roar, each spurt of his seed seemed to immerse you in hot springs. 

It was a rush of sensations; overwhelming, but addictive. 

When you met Steve’s gaze - both of you breathing heavily and still rocking into the continuous rhythm of aftershocks - you had no idea your irises bore first specks of inhuman green. All you knew was that you wanted more.

And so you demanded it.

Steve’s grin at your responsiveness was near predatory. He pinned you beneath him on the soft mossy pillows, placed your ankles over his shoulders and plunged into you in a hard thrust that had your scream echoing through the woods. 

Soon you’d be bound to him and the forest with every cell of your changing body. 

[writer59january13]

February 27th, 2018 literary tinkering rejiggered October 11th, 2024

I believed fortune cookie maxim

cryptic message couched

Apple Macbook Pro update process

alternately titled “markedly

a Luke warm welcome Matt unfurled

courtesy Jimmy John,

who embarked on

imp apostle bull mission

going to find Mark Twain.”

After wracking my brain

deducing I declare what

constituted impossible mission

to delineate purpose of these words,

after initialled written

about six and a half years ago

my best hunch (backed up

while holed up in Notre Dame),

I agonizingly dutifully didst attempt

to distract anticipatory anxiety,

(analogous to an expectant father)

while delicate protracted procedure

ticked away the minutes,

where learned hands

gingerly tweezered various and sundry

state of the art electronic

components while trained fingers

instinctively, expertly, and admiringly

wrought awesome results

bitta bing bitta bang under the hood

of cherished Apple product

courtesy wizards hunkered down

troubleshooting laptop to restore functioning

of sophisticated electronic machine

to ideal factory settings

quality control capability promised

nothing short of a miracle,

whereby engrossed deep thinkers

echoed the sound of silence

thru the corridors of time

olly olly gluten

free ranging NON GMO, oxen

oiled lubricated cloven hoof

nsync cup aided toot tune

to clacking choppers

activated after this chap

dialed up favorite technical director

using his latest smarts

vaunted from years

of breathing, eating, and living

malfunctioning circuits

housed on motherboard

exemplifying divine computer devices

generated by brain child

videre licet avast array

of embedded electronic components

back in the day

Electronic Numerical Integrator

and Computer (ENIAC),

completed in 1946

necessitated taxing physical prowess

additionally forced human interventionists

to shout over din o'er

loud grumbling within bowel

of bulky binary beast of burden

along vaguely similar scenario

buzzfeeding abdominal anatomical beast

easily appeased when yours truly

a gluttonous gourmand,

tasking me to commence upon

ordering food glorious food,

which magically and mysteriously appeared,

after manifold fiery breath

spewed by amazing dragons

poof forming breath taking

heart stopping mind bending

sensational aural and visual feast

low and behold

wresting, teasing, releasing soundcloud

an appetizer to sense

and sensibility tete a tete

while inhabiting (neigh – riding)

caparisoned painted ponies

segueing faux horse sense

(animated, captured, framed

and linkedin within carousel of time)

courtesy tony Apple iPhone X - 256 GB

Silver Verizon amazing pièce de résistance,

sans technological fetes

with CDMA/GSM ringtones,

where a pleasant fecund female

bot tilled voice didst greet

prepping, priming, promoting

Crowded House serving

blue plate special of the Green day

dis "FAKE" kin listener eagerly

awaited: salivating, simulating

sexual soothing sans savory souffle,

the first culinary orgasmic savory dish,

after aye parked,

positioned, and plunked gluteus

near swinging doors leading into kitchen,

where this word maven strategically

dip posited said maximus to attempt

futile gastronomic endeavor

tum maximize tempering torturous tenacious

devastatingly deadly assault steaming enemy

disarmed disguised, and dismantled,

resplendent redolent redoubt

digitally remastering and remixing

non discerning indistinct aromas

emanating from naked lunch to supper esse

overwhelming paroxysms to gorge

putting a ritzy lid on heated fiery dogged

craving powder milk dog biscuits

(an impossible mission), where oozing,

licking, insinuating filaments

commingled as cutthroat

nemesis cooly whipped

devastatingly weeknd ecstasy

wickedly wafting, seducing,

satiating, and salivating

courtesy olfactory foramen,

deflecting incessant onslaughts

induced famished fellow

to reevaluate, relinquish,

and revisit his Weltanschauung soup per bowl,

while simultaneously commandeering cutlery

to attack, besiege, conquer

condemning delegate

of China ware without tea zing,

thence indiscriminately marshaling choppers

to set up base camp at Oral-B

(heeding flying pie warnings, where shewing

should desserts foe ment Hunger)

eggs sauce er baited

onslaught of herbaceous,

fabulous, delicious, and bodacious

culinary cuisine aromatic eats

thoroughly teasing growling stomach

steeping interminable suspenseful,

seven star Michelin magicians

empowered to transform most anything

(such as bilge water,

road kill or septic tank)

gourmet experienced huckster longingly horny

doubled as famished

Norwegian Bachelor farmer,

equating odoriferous garbage truck

on par suckling swollen teats

patience caved to restrain noshing

impaling his strict credo

on dustbin of his story

never again ass chew gnawing

even knuckles sandwich of fingers or toes

squishy human digits

texture of imported dates,

which hunger artist experienced pangs

voilà nothing short

of Pan's Labyrinth lesson,

did justice minimally satiated afterwards,

a restauranteur hoof hall

hues highbrow opinion,

hence a short survey about ambience,

yours truly will rate

perhaps unwise of an every

Jimmy John Joe gourmand

tubby biased after an apple ala carte blanche

preceded with delicious

hors d'oeuvre high marks

more nerve wracking

than going on a blind date.

And of course with enticing

forkful of flagrant food

Beep ping Update

completely disrupted first mouthful.

[neon-plush]

leosora!

[krakenartificer]

Behold! The most uselessly complicated piece of fanart (I have) ever made!

(Minor spoilers for @derinthescarletpescatarian's web serial Curse Words)

Medium: macrame and embroidery Fiber: acrylic

What is it, you ask? Why, it's a picture of the lake monster's tentacle, magnified 80,000x!

The what? you ask. Well let me just let Max explain it:

The four materials detected by the enchanted microscope showed up in the photos as four distinct colours. Mostly blue and red, with a generous dash of green throughout and rare fine threads of yellow. With the four materials easily distinguished, the structure of the tentacles was obvious. A whole lot of long strands, twisted together. “It’s rope,” Kylie gasped. “Or thread or cotton, I guess, given how small it is.” “It’s much finer than thread or cotton,” Max said. “These filaments are subcellular in diameter.

But that's not all! The description goes on!

These parts are just twisted like rope,

but here.” He flicked to a new photo. “Look at how complicated the weaving is in this part.

And Max is thorough, so we're obviously not gonna leave it at that

Here, I made a kind of 3D model of a little section of the rope. It was a pain in the arse....But look. Here’s a 3D model of half a millimeter of the yellow and green, with the rest of the rope missing. Notice anything familiar?” “They’re the runes at Duniyasar,” Kylie said. “And on that skeleton.” They were. A complicated web of runes joined by lines, like a really elegant version of what Max had been modelling with wood.

According to the timestamps, this chapter was posted on 7/30, so I have spent the last 12 weeks with some part of my brain trying to figure out how to make a rope that was twisted like rope but also woven complexly, with the right mix of colors, as well as what the runes should look like and how to apply them. Actual construction time was, happily, much smaller. It did make me grateful that I don't have to operate at the .25 micrometer scale.

[f-117-nighthawk]

How about we trade? You receive: playlist update. I receive: plot

What is UP buttercups it’s pride month and along with a fic that’s been in my drafts for LITERAL YEARS I bring you….

Playlist update.

Under the cut, because as usual this be Long

Two side notes: since, for complicated and somewhat stupid but out of my control reasons, I cannot access Apple Music at work, some of you have been treated on Spotify to the in progress versions of the playlists that usually only I see, not just the versioned ones I keep active. Surprise? 

Second, keep in mind if you see a repeated (or remixed) song, that means something. Sometimes it’s different than a simple “these take place at the same time” ;) you should also pay attention to similar lyrics, things about the same concept… there is a lot of thought put into these. 

An organizational note: there’s seven playlists now! They’re sort of ordered here to what they’re most closely linked to: the main one and Dystopian Fiction, Through Apocalypse Skies and Endless War, Filaments and For Who I Could Have Been, and Design Your Universe is… mostly by itself, except the times it’s not.

Dark Matter

I am Dark Matter, your road to ruin…

Your World Will Fail and Dark Matter are what they’ve always been: the beginning. the end. Everything. Nothing. 

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail my love/It is already there)

(Bring me your soul/Bring me your hate/In my name you will create/Bring me your fear/Bring me your pain/You will destroy in my name)

Things got shifted around a bit here to accommodate some things that fit better in another playlist, but No Remorse No Regrets is still the key one here. It is Haggar, and sort of Zarkon, but also not. 

(It won’t remember so it won’t forget/It knows no justice or regrets for the blood it lets/Believing nothing, it knows no pain/And it feels no remorse when it enters your brain)

The End of the World and Apocalypse 1992 are the two halves of the Fall. More in that playlist :)

(Sold on a dream of a future serene/then why does it feel like the end of the world)

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/Fight for the world we must save/Like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/Chaos will triumph this day)

Apex is the final moments of the Fall from the Blue Lion’s perspective (yeah, I said Red Lion last time, but this makes more sense. Trust me)

(Now we sleep/for a thousand years/something is coming/coming for me)

You Keep What You Kill covers the slow degeneration of the Empire between the Fall and present day. The knowledge harshly taught by the Thuranial War has been long lost, and the Devourer reigns once again, searching after Its missing part and the Burning Star. Zarkon and Haggar, under the Devourer’s… guidance…, scour the universe, adding to Its power. Marzin and Galraasa rise the ranks as the left and right hands of the Empire, omens of destruction before the might of the Empire. The ‘holy half dead’ that shape the devouring of the universe.

(Defying dimensions/These ruthless creatures will steal your soul/Breaking away from the chains of mortality/They won’t be taken down/Bow now to the holy half dead/The master to death mongers calls)

Ensheath is about Kolivan, placed here due to its relevance as he is forced into the role of Fourth General under the worst circumstances, and everything that almost causes him to follow Raelos in losing faith, were it not for the first of his ‘radiant knight’s. (Side note, if you play Arknights, guess who Margaret Nearl is here?)

(I once had the fight of a radiant knight/before I learned that justice may never exist)

Immutable is about Krolia. It’s her thoughts as she joins the Blade, as she leaves Earth and Keith behind, as she makes her way through a universe changed in the ten thousand decaphoebs she was asleep. It’s about the universe passing one by, and what she’ll do to keep her hope safe. 

(She’ll risk it for the lives/She’s left behind/Hope’s on the rise/But she’s flying blind)

The Glory and the Scum is the reason Krolia isn’t around until MGHM. Suffice to say, she isn’t happy with some of the fallout of the events that lead into Ensheath, and decides that if Kolivan isn’t going to listen to her, she’ll go save the universe somewhere else. She is, after all, a Paladin.

(Look at what we’ve done/Take a step back/Shake your head at what we have become/We’re the glory and the scum)

The Seven Sisters is about Keith, and is the first of four fics connected to Closure by its influence on Child From the Stars (Lost in the Dark), as well as its relation to MGHM. It’s half the source for the Pleiades symbolism that crops up throughout Dark Matter. 

(I cast my hope upon The Pleiades/The Seven Sisters who would come for me/They’d fall to Earth to grant a child’s dream/But I’m still waiting)

Starlight is the Adashi song. Here is the sad part, where they’ve separated by the launch of the SFSS Genesis and the things that were said. It’s also Shiro’s thoughts from the war as he watches Earth from ‘distant skies’. 

(At night the earth will rise/And I’ll think of you each time I watch from distant skies/Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite/I’ll think of you each time they wash me in their light/And I’ll fall in love with you again)

Waking Dream and Abyss are Awakenings. Mostly the Red Lion, but also extendable to the others. 

(Centuries like flowing streams as years go rushing by/Waiting in the dark for afterlife)

(Open my eyes in a daze/How long has it been? Am I so out of place?/Warmth I can no longer feel/My mountain is gone, I’m surrounded by steel/The strangest of structures arises ahead/Seems to be held up by nothing/Where have I gone, do I dream?/How can the stars be all I can see?)

Who Will Save You Now is about the Paladins in First Contact. It’s the video messages they send to their families, the warning that Something Is Out Here. It’s a declaration of protection for the Earth, but also a recognition that they may not be able to do it themselves.  That is, of course, if they even get the message.

(I will not take from you and you will not owe/I will protect you from the fire below/It’s not in my mind/It’s here at my side/Go tell the world that I’m still alive)

It Has Begun is the Battle of the Sarnan Nebula (aka: Blackout)

(Even a well lit place, can hide salvation/A map to a one-man maze that never sees the sun/Where the lost are the heroes/And the thieves are left to drown…We will face the odds against us/And run into the fear we run from/It has begun)

And then it’s, of course, The End of the Beginning, it’s eponymous fic. And one of many, many connections to String Theory. 

(Every night I die just a little/All this time, I’m caught in the middle/All your life, you fought with no winning/This is just the end of the beginning)

A Simple Plan is, well, not so simple. Several ‘simple plan’s come together, from Lotor’s scheming, Haggar’s suspicions and own needs, Galraasa’s orders to go beyond, and Team Voltron struggling to fit into their new roles while also building the Coalition. And to top it all off, everyone needs one thing to make all this happen: marthuzitok. 

(How long can we hold off ending?/How long can we pretend we’re ok?/No one goes on fighting it forever/I know I’m better this way)

Crown of Mine is at the very end of A Simple Plan, but also woven together. It’s about a Black Paladin who doesn’t think he deserves the title, and his eventual desire to ‘burn this crown’ he never wanted. This also makes ASP the second of the Closure fics. 

(I wish I could be the me that you see/But I’m too drawn to black and white/Don’t be confused, spare me the excuses/It’s not even worth the fight)

Outnumbered, Bringing it Down, and Wildfire are the Siege of Naxzela/Breaking of the Naxzela Line, the one major victory the Coalition manages to get before the Raid on Hell due to the success of Project Kuron. Oh, and remember that episode where Shiro tries to talk to Lance in the meld? Yeah that. Wildfire is specifically related to that one scene in String Theory where the real Shiro tries to help Voltron.

Why is it that songs from two different gachas ended up here with the same motif about breaking the clouds? I dunno, but it’s useful

(Outnumbered but we can’t back down/It’s us against the world, us against the world/Outnumbered but we can’t back down/Ten to one, on the run/We will still overcome)

(Devouring me/Devouring me alive/There’s something inside you that isn’t right/Something that haunts your dreams/There’s something that you have lost/And you’re bringing it down/You’re bringing it down, on top of us)

(Unsheath a sword to rend those clouds above the ground/wake up it’s time to gather now)

Shortly after is Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met, which Every Time Our Earth Shakes is the end of. Krolia content!

(In this lonely place, bathed in silence and thoughts of you/I can’t see your face but I’m trying to envision you/So are you really out there? Are you awake with memories/Of a boy you haven’t met yet who’s wished upon the Pleiades?)

(Surrounded by lonely, bruised, and broken love/I’ve seen it and I won’t be like everybody else/Wave after wave, no change in my faith/I’m here for you through high or low/And every time our Earth shakes, I’ll fight through the pain/I’ll die before I ever let you go)

Remember that line about dinosaurs in MGHM? Laser-shooting Dinosaur. I’ll leave it there. 

(Here I come/drop your jaws to the floor/I’m riding on my mighty shooting dinosaur)

Then, the aftermath of MGHM and Laser Shooting Dinosaur is Brothers of Crail, where Allura finally makes contact with Oriand. 

(A secret ancient brotherhood, with laser sword in hand/guardians of ancient technology from centuries gone by)

Legion features the Whispers, Voltron, a few mullets, the Druids making a dangerous mistake, and… does this thing count as a robeast?

(Fallen angels ripping through/The circuitry inside this suit/Of flesh and bone that’s overthrown/No matter how hard you try/They keep waring deep inside/Where there’s a star collapsing in your heart/There’s something in your eyes/That’s coming back to life)

And then, which you can finally read, TRIALS (reimagine), Wrathful Cerulean Flame, Fools of Damnation, String Theory, I Am the One, and Final Mission ~ Quantum Burst. Yes the last one is mostly here for the whole big fun mess in The Architect to Rule Your Fate :3

(Hear me from the bottom/Forged in regret, I’m the silversmith/Doomsday, you we had it coming/Marching the streets with an iron fist/Obey no more in silence/The steel in our hearts will be monuments/Today, they’ll hear the violence/We’ll rise from the dark like Lazarus)

(So follow me/And we’ll burn the clouds away/And we’ll burn the clouds away/Keep our demons all at bay/There will be an end someday/And I must lead the way)

(Fool, dance for me again/I am your destiny, mark my words/Don’t you ever disagree/Fool, kneel for me again/I am your agony, walk my way/I will never set you free)

(You don’t believe in space/You don’t believe in light/You don’t believe that anything is well beyond your might/We walk across the sky and beneath the ocean floor/We’re never going anywhere we’ve never been before)

(I am the one/I am the architect to rule your fate)

House on Fire is the follow up to String Theory, dealing with the political fallout of having a spy in Voltron itself for decaphoebs, as well as the more personal struggles the Paladins go through in that fact’s wake. 

(So I’ll just hold you like a hand grenade/You touch me like a razor blade/I wish there was some other way right now/Like a house on fire we’re up in flames/I’d burn here if that’s what it takes/To let you know I won’t let go of you)

Belgrade, which I'M POSTING RIGHT NOW! Is the klance shenanigans in the aftermath of House on Fire and finally resolving that little plot point about Lance’s reoccurring crush. 

(We pretend in the darkness/We pretend the night won’t steal our youth/Singing me the sweet songs of seduction/Let me be the fool, fool, fool/Who will live and die for you)

Here to Save You is about Sam. And Pidge. And Matt. And Zaivorg cannons. 

(A slave for humankind/I made sure I would survive/To stay alive/Now it’s time to move on/When there’s nothing left to prove/I’m coming to get you)

Iron is the third Closure inspired fic, and I cannot believe I have managed to give away so little of the plot so far so we’re gonna keep it that way. But it is, as all Closure fics, about Keith and his struggles with identity. 

(You can’t live without the fire/It’s the heat that makes you strong/‘Cause you’re born to live/And fight it all the way/You can’t hide what lies inside you/It’s the only thing you know/You’re embracing that, never walk away)

Storm the Castle is very related to the next few, but wouldn’t have happened without Iron. It’s our Last Marmorait making a point. One that Zarkon isn’t happy with. 

(We will not be prisoners/In a kingdom taken hostage by her crown/But we will not abandon her/…Rise now, stand and fight/Take your freedom, claim your right/Rise now, stand and sing/Storm the castle, kill the king)

The second major turning point in the war is Monarch, Birthright, and Firewall. The first two are about Lotor more than anything else, and the very high level target the Coalition is after. Firewall is the same event, but focused on a very… specific thing. The Devourer is not happy, and things learned in the framing story of Through Apocalypse Skies and String Theory swing back with a vengeance. 

(I am not the person you remember from before/The one you patronized and stepped on, the one you hurt/And I have pulled the arrows, now my skin has become stone/No longer am I prisoner to your empty fucking words)

(The voices in my head have all begun to sing/(The voices in your head have all begun to sing)/And they sure as hell hope I am listening/(I sure as hell hope you are listening!))

(They come to your dreams with illusion/They come to bring shape to your mind/You know how to stop the intrusion/We all have to fight for our lives)

And then… The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Here Comes the Reign doesn’t fully come into effect until several months after Firewall, but starts with The Day the Earth Collapsed. The Burning Star rampages through the universe, taking back what is rightfully Its, but the Devourer Star won’t take that lying down. 

(You made something they can’t take away/Now bring the fire of the burning sun on everyone)

Supersonic is here as a microcosm of everything that happens between Firewall and Soulbound as the Colation go after the warlords, culminating in Holding Out for a Hero as the Paladins, exhausted of war and going a little crazy from their string of victories, decide to have a little fun

(Supersonic, polyphonic, this is our war/Mustering the armies, marching faster than before)

(I need a hero/I’m holding out for a hero ‘til the end of the night/He’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast/And he’s gotta be fresh from the fight)

Earthrise and But Tonight We Dance are the last Closure fic. They’re both very much klance songs, although BTWD is a little more than that. Earthrise is Lance mooning (hah), while BTWD is here to remind everyone that Keith is Very Aro. Also, Keith loses a fight with a rock.

Have I mentioned they need to stop having relationship milestones in a war zone?

(I still fall for you like suns do for skies/Cerulean pouring in from your eyes/Just a hollow moon that you colorize/So powerful, I feel so small but so alive/Like watching the Earthrise)

(Tomorrow we might wake in servitude and silence/I will give you everything if only you would have me/Tomorrow we will sweat and toil/Our hands will quiver, caked with soil/Tomorrow we’ll give it one last chance/But tonight we dance/But tonight we dance!)

Closure is placed here with the last of its fics. Closure in general is a lot of Keith’s character development, coming to terms with his identity in many ways and accepting his place in the universe and amongst his family. So this last one is then bright light at the end of the chorus, with a ‘last goodbye’ meaning never having to say goodbye. 

(I am the child from the stars/That got lost in the dark/Between heaven and hell/I am forced to live on/I am the cause when you sin/I am the demon you skin/But there is no more tears to beautify/This is my last goodbye)

Alchemy and Soulbound swing us back to universe level action. Revelations from String Theory and Firewall slam themselves into a Whispers-Voltron mission, leaving them reeling and Krolia questioning her very identity in Disappear. 

(Synthesized and transformed/pathetic life form)

(Soulbound, endlessly forever/Locked between the darkness and the light/Don’t drown in the swarming, blackened rising/Hold on to humanity and fight)

(Stone heart, paired with empty eyes/That stared right through mine)

Something Wicked is. Well. Too bad this song isn’t on the album Vessels. 

(When all of the forces/Have been overrun/You’ll whisper, serpent tongue/What you fear you have become/Something wicked this way comes…)

Shortly after that is My Darkest Hour and Faster than Light. Haggar decides enough is enough and goes after the final piece of her puzzle with [something wicked], sending the Blade into chaos and the Coalition scrambling. And this leads directly, and I mean directly, into…

(When the sun comes crashing down/When the world is spinning round and round/I will face what must be my darkest hour)

(Once more we’re flying fast as light/Dark matter passing in the night/Pursued by a force we can’t outrun/As we hurtle towards a dying sun/We maneuver through the remnants of a moon/On the solar winds of supernovas/There is not a place to hide, the Matriarch is close behind/It’s plain to see she’s coming for us all)

Cosmic Vertigo and Other Worlds than These. Together they are the second of two revelations into the truth behind the Devoured Star and Burned Star. 

(Banish me like burned down planets/Write my fate with sparkling lies/I am the universe; you’re just one sky)

(Pull the wool out from your eyes/It won’t shade your frail belief/In the end we cannot hide/There are other worlds than these)

Godhunter is Team Voltron, well, hunting pieces of the gods.

(She’s been watching for a century/With hatred, and with scorn/If you know the hunter’s coming/Then you hide or keep on running/'Cause she’s slain the gods before)

Trophy Hunter, Coldharbour, Ember, and Redemption are the culmination of Godhunter. They also link directly to Soulbound, and are one hellish battle, which is a problem because they lead directly to…

(You, you won’t escape me, I’ll rise from the deep/In this final moment, no words left to say/I can’t let you be when a life fades away/You, you won’t escape me ‘cause I’ll set you free)

(If you kill my flesh tomorrow/then I’ll take my final breath/it’ll turn into a last laugh/and I’ll lay in a silent death)

(Dark matter falling from the sky/Dancing flames reflecting in your eyes as you watch them burn/Watching all your riches witches burn) 

(Remember me not for the mess I’ve made/But who I could have been/Finally I’m going home)

World on Fire, This is a Call, The Reckoning, Game Ender, The Wind that Shapes the Land, and Louder than Words. :3

(World on fire with a smoking sun/Stops everything and everyone/Brace yourself for all will pay/Help is on the way)

(This is a call to action/This is a call to arms/All lives for one, together/There are no false alarms)

(I see your face, find peace of mind/Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning/The end of war, the great divine/We’ll see the day of reckoning)

(We will rise as one/Stop what has begun/Bringing down the main offender/If you hear me now/Scream the words out loud/We will be our own defender)

(Search within/Uncover the will to win/Turn against the tide that washes o'er/Find the strength to fall and rise again/Open up the gates, unleash the force/I am the wind that shapes the land/Old as time and twice as strong/Oceans arise at my command/I alone can carry on)

(We have the force to fight/We have the blinding light/A war is more than heard/Coming in louder than words)

Of course, we can’t leave without the denouement. World with no Sun is Haggar’s final thoughts at the end of Louder Than Words, while Diving Bell is the Paladins’. 

And a sequel hook. ;D

(I wish I could give it all back/But it’s tied to the moment that I took/I followed a most selfish path/Waiting on a world that can’t see me/Waiting on a world that can’t see me/Waiting on a world that wants no one/Waiting on a world with no sun)

(Wake me when the new day comes/Together we will ride the sun/The future is an empty gun/We fire onto them one-by-one)

Dystopian Fiction

The pages of our lives aren’t bulletproof…

Dark Matter is here as it always is, but it’s also about… something super spoilery. 

(Don’t stop, don’t think/Move up, don’t blink now/On your knees pray for rain/Don’t breathe when you take your aim)

Waiting on the Sky to Change is Akane’s song. It’s about ‘The Necromancer’ and her drive to fix Earth, how she’s tired of sitting around waiting. It’s time to do something.

(I’m done running towards the eyes of tornadoes/pretending this is hope)

The Human Condition is the advent of the Éshkayklos and Cascade, who oppose Project Necromancer and everything it and its champion stand for. Infected then is the slow, uhm, infection of the Sol Federation with their ideas and some of the results of that.

(We have the cure for the disease/Locked down inside us/When all is dead, then we will see/We are the virus)

(Here’s a challenge for all mankind/The preacher man is warning of the end times/The weatherman agrees but she don’t know/So she’s got to go now)

A Place I Thought I Knew is Earth, but especially Adam, in that tumultuous time after the Genesis disappears. 

(And here I remain/still crying out his name/I stand alone at the dawn of a new horizon)

Who Will Save You Now is Sam’s abrupt arrival back on Earth, and several things that follow from that. 

(Alone with this vision/Alone and blind/Go tell the world I’m still alive)

Tunnelvision is Team Earth going “no, fuck you Sanda and Torrent, we need to tell people about the impending alien invasion”. It helps, but…

(You took me for a fly/And fancied yourself a spider in a web of little lies/What a nice surprise/When the curtain’s pulled back, you can see the whole trap inside/And now the emperor has got no clothes/What a lovely show/When your cover’s blown, you’ll never know/'Cause you can’t see past your nose)

Codebreaker and Cross the Line are the Éshk’s final offensive before things really hit the fan in:

(Codebreaker can’t you find/Can you read between the lines of code?/Tell me all that you know/How far down the hole does it all go)

(Cross the line, redefine, break away unbent, unafraid/Together we stand in the dark/Seeking the light and what is right, together we cross the line/Our journey will come to an end and then our human cause will be/Justified)

The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Leaving Earth and Help is on the Way are the common populace dealing with the effects of the previous song. More specifically, they’re Adam’s parents, and all the horrors they never wanted to see. Dystopian Fiction, in contrast and as the title track, is the Garrison, specifically everyone left at Levitt Base, struggling against the same effects. 

(We were told just to sit tight/cause somebody will soon arrive/help is on the way/but it never came)

(I’m a dead man/In the wasteland/I’m a soldier fighting for superstition/Under searchlights/In the long nights/We’ve been written like dystopian fiction)

World on Fire and The Reckoning are the two songs of that big finale that make it over here, as they’re the ones that have bits that happen before This is a Call comes into full effect. 

(Sent by forces beyond salvation/There can be not one sensation)

(We’re all alone, walking in twilight/The night has been long and so many have fallen/Feel no remorse, light will be breaking/Our freedom is worth it all)

Through Apocalypse Skies

Chaos will triumph this day!

TAS starts off setting the stage for everything.  Not all of the five main members of the Daibaaltea-Taibderion Alliance have songs yet, but they will eventually. Holy Flaming Hammer of Unholy Cosmic Frost more sets the stage for everything broadly, about how the five of them fit together, and the trouble brewing under the surface. Hail to Crail is Altea, more specifically the Knights of Zhael. Questlords of Inverness, Ride to Galactic Fortress is the Dalteri, with focus on the flagship Invernes itself. Fellows of the Hammer is the Aberdéts, because, well, dwarves. And guess what’s back for the Galra: Remnants of Stars

The Taibdee will get one. Eventually.

(Behold the knights of Crail/atop the city walls/they swore a mighty oath to say/Dundee will never fall!)

(Here every day the warriors train/in the art of epic fights/riding on eagles, questing so true/a legion of powerful knights emblazoned cross the sky/hear the kingdom cry/hail to Crail!)

(Ride on the wind and hail to the king/when the questlords of Inverness ride)

(The new blood of the realm now/flows from the seven stars/and spoken by all of us/to be strong when the time comes/is the oath made by everyone)

(As children of space/with stardust in our veins/we will give in to know the truth/we are the remnants of stars)

Rigor Mortis is the Voltron Comet slamming into Daibazaal. The beginning of the end. Dark Matter rises from its open, frozen maw. 

(Hydrate in violence/the darkness that you see/awaken the virus/to spread your disease)

(Bring me your soul, bring me your hate/in my name you will create/bring me your fear, bring me your pain/you will destroy in my name)

The Promise is exactly what it sounds like: the first of the Harbingers making a deal with the devil. Alchemy and No Remorse, No Regrets are her experiments in this context, echoed throughout the other playlists. 

(It won’t cost you much, just a single drop of blood and I’ll hand you the things you have long been wishing for/ it’s an easy way to choose, what do you have to lose?)

(Drink me/you know I can guide you through oblivion/trust me/I know what’s inside you makes you bleed)

(Strange persuasion/clearing the way to the clearest path/dreams illuminating/parting the seas to take it back)

Summon the Choir is a success, from a certain point of view. 

(First blood from cosmic wonders/a dark flood of power from under)

Can You Hear It? is… well. Remember the Sinkline Comet?

(Can you hear it?/the tolls of madness ringing/do you fear it?/an ancient choir is singing/all consuming/calling to me/in a dream, it’s a thorn I can’t dig out/can’t you hear it too?/if you listen close now)

Unfortunately, all that leads right into The End of the World, the end of Daibazaal. All is quiet for a moment, like the happy little whistle at the beginning of the next song.

(Sold on a dream, of a future serene/then why does it feel like the end of the world?)

Then we record scratch into The Fall. She Will Weep is a dialogue between two siblings, unwilling to compromise on their ideals, even if they ultimately want the same thing: peace and stability for their recently displaced people. But the one who’s side god is on, who is crucified but still alive, escapes to Altea, bringing the horrors with her to the Battle of the Five Armies. (Yes, this is a LotR song, but also, guess what serves a very similar purpose to the arkenstone. I’ve been looking for a song explicitly about the arkenstone to stick in here, but haven’t found one. I’m surprised Wind Rose doesn’t have one tbh). Crack the Sky is… it’s not quite a literal crack in the sky, but it might as well be. All of this is Apocalypse 1992

(What used to be two loving hearts/what we felt at the start/somewhere down the barrel of a gun/it was all torn apart)

(Confounded, distracted/trapped by a stone of power/Ensorcelled, corrupted/await the final hour)

(I know that you hate me but I think that I can live with that/last man standing, last resort/I’d rather walk alone than save myself)

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/fight for the world we must save/like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/chaos will triumph this day)

But again, we can’t leave it without the denouement. Silent Tears of Frozen Princess, Ashes, and Apex are all the perspectives of survivors of the Fall, waiting, watching. Voltron will rise again.

(Frozen princess in this land of fears/your mighty kingdom has fallen/I see the glitter of your silent tears/afar in the wuthering dark)

(What will we do when the world it is ending/and time it is halted for friend and for foe/try to hold on to the time as it passes/I’ll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes)

(Brother mountain, now we sleep/for a thousand years/I will see you again/something is coming/coming for me)

Endless War

‘Cause you’re fighting an endless war, hunting a miracle…

The beginning of Endless War is from one of the perspectives of She Will Weep, the other sibling than we follow during most of TAS. Dark Matter here intwines with I Am the One far, far earlier than the Paladins of the present time figure it out. That’s what happens when one stands directly next to two Harbingers throughout most of Apocalypse 1992. 

(Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/You’re a bolt of lightning in the sky now/Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/I’ve pulled you in, nowhere to hide now)

(I am the one/I hold the dreams from fallen heroes)

(From the caves beneath Dundee/Ancient hermit arrives/A messenger to the war in the stars/Korviliath is nigh!)

Ashes is a needed perspective of one sibling on another, the beginning of the Fifth General questioning her orders. Meanwhile, remember how I said Alchemy was an experiment of the Witch’s? 

(What will we do when the world it is ending/And time it is halted for friend and for foe?/Try to hold on to the time as it passes/I’ll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes)

(Take the poisoned cup/you cannot hide behind golden shrines/you can be the one in crisis, give into your greed)

The Truth Beneath the Rose is the birth of the Fifth General of the Blade of Marmora, although no one calls her that yet. Raise Your Banner is her newfound resolve and her first steps to creating what will become the Blade. 

(Blinded to see the cruelty of the beast/It is the darker side of me/The veil of my dreams deceived that I have seen/Forgive me for what I have been, forgive me my sins!)

(Wake up/I’m defying you, seeing right through you, once I believed in you/Wake up/Feel what’s coming deep within we all know)

Silver Moonlight is her ultimate goal, but not everyone agrees with it. Not everyone thinks it’s even possible, or that it still exists, or that this will be anything but an Endless War.

(I’m impatient, but it’s colors that I need/Too many shades of grey, I cannot breathe/The dreams I have ain’t tainted, I need you to believe/The only way to make them real, oh)

('Cause you’re fighting an endless war/Hunting a miracle/And when you reach out for the stars/They just cut you down/…/Is it worth dying for?/Or are you blinded by, blinded by it all?)

Of course, the fact is that the Endless War does end. Alchemy’s effects are still strong, even as they fight Against the Tide. The Fifth General is betrayed on Holy Ground, with her final stand in I’d Rather Burn. 

(I finally get what you’ve been saying/now that we’re knee deep side by side/the storm clouds are circling above us/as we struggle against the tide)

(You got inside my head, I want you out/'Cause I’ve been betrayed on holy ground)

(Won’t let you take my soul away/I’d rather go to the stake/I’d rather burn)

But even that isn’t enough. Empty Eyes and The Departure are [beeeeeeeeeeep]

(I don’t know where I’m going/In search for answers/I don’t know who I’m fighting/I stand with empty eyes/You’re like a ghost within me/Who’s draining my life/It’s like my soul is see through/Right through my empty eyes)

Filaments

Filaments is intimately connected to both the main playlist and the following one, and I’m doing my best to explain some things, but some you’ll have to wait and see. 

How long is the body beholden? How long ‘til we run out of road?

First Light is the dawn of something… a little different. Filaments is the title track, and I’m not going to say more than it’s connected to the same exact things First Light is.

(We can change our fate. We can change the future. We can change… the past)

(These glowing filaments/Conducting this enchanting/Sarcophagus that’s holding us)

Starlight and Carry Me Home are primarily adashi songs, but also follow the transition between the two playlists’ proper stories, as well as Shiro’s retirement from Voltron.

(Don’t leave me lost here forever/I need your starlight and pull me through/Bring me back to you)

(Carry me home to the morning light/carry me home before you wave me goodbye/Oh, carry me home…)

Prognosis is about record skips that only certain people can remember, and the decision that it’s time to back into The Breach. 

(How long is the body beholden?/How long 'til we run out of road?/Deep down in the black of the ocean/Fading from the glow)

(Follow me/Follow me now once more into the breach/Can you see?/Can you see how this is the way to destiny?)

This next part is supposed to act similarly to the beginning of TAS. there is an overarching story, but there’s more specific songs for specific… well, Other Worlds Than These. Right now the only song here is Masters of Destiny though, which is also sort of an overarching thing and also sort of a single world. We’ll get there. Of course, as these things sort themselves out, Something Wicked this way comes.  

(In the end we cannot hide/there are other worlds than these)

(I used to be sure it’s me who sleeps/but can it be/somewhere there’s a life/that dreams of me?)

(And it clawed/Back in the world again/Here for a new revenge/An enemy I can’t condemn)

The Art of War is the beginning of the end, with Cascade finally showing his true colors, the Sol Federation not having a good time, and Voltron getting dragged into it. But the consequences…

(I can remember all the days of violence/I can remember all the days they fought for rights/When men united all by fear and interest/I mustered them with hopeful promises I’ve broken)

The Future is Now and Tresspasser sort of take place during The Art of War, sort of not. Team Voltron is trying to figure out where their Black Paladin is, why exactly all their sensors are so incredibly broken, and what’s up with Krolia. Meanwhile, Keith is in the middle of an argument with himself.

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(Where’s my heart?/I want to feel whole again or nothing at all/Where’s my soul?/Because I’m not myself)

Centigrade is Keith exposing a fraud, and Team Voltron [BEEEP], and Miserable Me is very related

(What did you hope to find adrift and lost in time?/Is this the end ready to begin?/It’s time to escape the fate of destruction, excavating within until salvation/No longer pretend the future’s a lie from a past you cannot hide)

(history misunderstood this deity/miserable me!/oh why is the deep dark shored sea the only friend to me?)

This all leads into Unveiling the Architecture, Altas Obscura, Dark Matter, and A Theater of Dimensions. No I will not be explaining.

(All human history a sigh from their endless lungs)

(I am the keeper/I am the secret/I am the answer/I am the end)

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

Afterlife and For They Shall Inherit the Earth are a fitting denouement to everything. The Immortal has frequently been used in place of Voltron within the playlists, which given the parallels means it make sense to end on this note. 

(But with such power, think how you could rule/Hold to your promise to watch over those in despair/Why would you choose to serve when you could be master of all?/Be true to your honor and fight for a world that is fair!/Out of shadow, out of darkness, welcome to the light/As the day shines boldly over night/Follow me to finally be who you are inside/Open wide, embrace the afterlife)

For Who I Could Have Been

Your world will fail my love, it’s far beyond repair…

Conflict is also connected to Filaments in ways I will not explain here. Something Wicked is almost the same thing it was in Filaments proper. 

(Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster…)

(A prisoner of time and space/Construct we can’t escape/A fleeting moment alive)

(When all of the forces have been overrun/you’ll whisper, serpent tongue/what you fear you have become)

Rise and Fall serves a very similar purpose to the Art of War. It ends with The Art of Bargaining. 

(You push my back against the wall/when I attack I’m taking all)

(I might be guilty but can a person change/I’ll say it like I mean it but believe it, that’s insane/You’re only making this harder/I’ll make you an offer/An offer you can’t refuse)

Widowmaker, Eon, and Reset Rewind are all about a single decision that changes the fate of the universe.

(Rise above the shadows putting forth your hands/God will shield his eyes in spite of all your prayers and he will not hear/Your hands, stained of blood/What have we become from a smoking gun?/What have we become)

(If time’s a song I won’t wait for it’s reprise/I am done wishing farewells and goodbyes)

(Erase bad times/create a timeline/with the pleasure/heavier than all the pain)

Frequency, Your World Will Fail, The Future is Now, and The End of the World are the fallout of that decision.

(And now the silence screams that you are gone/you’ve tuned me out, I’ve lost your frequency)

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail/If you are alive you must run for your life)

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(Is everyone everywhere forsaking?/ or is there anybody else out there?)

So, in a way, is Dark Matter and A Theater of Dimensions. 

(Tear down hollows/Take back eternity)

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

It’s such a quiet thing, to fall. Far more terrible is to admit it, and to fix it. But that’s what the catalyst does in Redemption, Endlessness, and For They Shall Inherit the Earth. 

(To know that your days are numbered/To know that your time is short/Death is what gives life meaning/So who will you be at the end of the road?)

(Soon, beyond the fields you’ve come to know/You will join the silent flow/Follow me, I am the spark/At the end of everything/Tip the reaper to ensure/The blade is sharp/As soon we’ll go/Follow me into the dark/To the birth of everything)

Design Your Universe

(this playlist is DM canon. But it’s not the DM canon we know and love. We will get to see at least part of it. Eventually.)

Who decides about what’s true or false? 

Dark Matter, because it’s not DM without it

(So climb up and come clean/Move back the smoke screen/It’s all here, it’s all you/Get clear on the darker view)

Divide and Conquer explains where things changed from the DM canon we know and love. It’s about how a dictator, no matter their intentions, is never the correct choice.

(Seek the mastermind/The one who’s always right/We’re searching now and endlessly to set us free/Seek the mastermind (Seek the mastermind)/There’s no one you will find)

Martyr of the Free World is a very specific piece of that change from main canon, while Black Smoke Assimilation is what she leaves behind

(If you gun down the messenger/You guarantee that she will be made/Into a saint/A martyr of the free word)

(Out of reach/I planted you, the seed/You’re learning to believe/That you’re the one that changes everything, everything)

Cosmic Vertigo is here for the same reason as in the main playlist

(Just enjoy it while it lasts/Cling not to the broken past)

The Land of Unicorns is Gloryhammer finally making a comeback, and Team Voltron meeting up with, well, Team Voltron.

(Ride far away, cross the mighty River Tay/Over mountains into the unknown/Follow your heart, let it guide you through the dark/To the Land of Unicorns)

Legendary Enchanted Jetpack is a journey into the depths of the Altean Empire. Return to Me is another fight over the Black Lion, but the players aren’t who you think, which is the final goal of Storm the Castle

(Quest for Fife to end pain and strife/in search of the enchanted engine)

(Return what you have taken from me/Rightfully mine, I will not allow this, thief/Think you know this weapon in your hands?/You are a fool, I am his only command)

(We will not be prisoners/In a kingdom taken hostage by her crown)

Unleashed is from the perspective of The Matriarch, for once, showing a little about how this version of her was not particularly willing

(Where was I meant to be?/I feel I’m lost in a dream/Long for the day I can be myself/Free)

Hootsforce and The Epic Rage of Furious Thunder are a final battle. 

(Fight for the king, for the hammer and the ring/Fight for the ancient story)

(In the epic rage of furious thunder, legends create their tales/when the twilight calls and the dark lord falls our glory will prevail!)

Design Your Universe, as the title track of this one, is all about how a simple change can change the world. It’s also uh…. pretty literal

(We can’t undo what we have done/So show us now what we’ve become/Confront us with our viciousness/And our weakness/We can’t evade our destiny/So show responsibility/For we all surely have a sense/Of our consciousness)

[triste-le-roy]

"Mag!c [magick] has many practical and non-practical uses. Here are some of them, from the most mundane to the most outlandish.

1) Mag!c offers a tried-and-tested self-help discipline which allows all of us to make specific beneficial changes to our personalities and motivations: its practice confers a powerful sense of self-determination and agency which can counter the powerlessness we often feel in the face of the world’s hurricane motion. Given that the “spiritual”, transcendent impulse appears hard-wired in the human organism and shows up in every human culture, why not indulge it with a practice that doesn’t require you to believe in any god or devil but elevates lovely, daft you, to the centre of all creation?

2) Mag!c gives us an excuse us to create something from nothing. Again, this is not a supernatural or occult feat; writers, artists, mothers and fathers, architects and filmmakers, among many others, do this every day and some of them spend lifetimes perfecting the trick. Grab NOTHING in your greedy, ugly physical fists and make magnificent SOMETHING from it!

. . .

3) Mag!c connects us to generally unremarked upon, usually ignored but undeniably higher dimensional aspects of our being.

Our skulls are made of bone – our brains are grey intricate sponges that never feel the sun’s heat and yet we can imagine how our bodies look from outside! We can imagine our own deaths. We can imagine how the room where I write looks, as seen from “above”, or the shape of our country as seen from space, and the blue radiant Earth as it looks from the moon. We can picture our galactic location, our local cluster, the voids and filaments of the cosmos, the limits of physical, eternal creation. It all fits into these tiny white-bone skulls of ours. If we wish to, we can pull back and look down upon a staggering 4-Dimensional jewel that is all of existence adrift in its 5-D liquid supercontext. We can imagine and contain vast gem-universes drifting in the 5-D amnion. And beyond. Our tiny compact bone skulls never break, even when contemplating infinities, eternities." —Grant Morrison, Xanaduum, "Beyond the Word and the Fool Part 2" (2022)

[urfrenfishy]

i like to think that they are a perfect replica of the human body, the only thing that’s off is the color, instead of having any kind of pigment, they are pure white with maybe some greenish blue accents. but kinda like what the meridian was talking about how like ‘cord mocks nerve’ or ‘filament mocks skin’ etc. they are literally a MOCK of a human. they function exactly like a human, down to their internal organs, but it’s still, at the end of the day, metal.

that’s why they would need similar procedures to that of a human having a concussion/seizure because that’s literally how their brain operates. they needed something as human as possible without it actually being a human.

obviously they have some perks like being superhumanly logical, memory, strength, etc. but yk that’s just robot tings

no because that video makes me question how human is asset?

and I'm not talking about all what James said about humanity and drive to help and feelings

i mean as a physical form,how human is that?

they were tested for a concussion- like no that's not how robots work

ik i joked about it but james was scared they lose consciousness, but that last audio makes me think it wasn't his fatherly instincts going highwire anymore

asset is human, at least part human

are they some kind of a cyborg? were thay a someone first

[rose-pendragon]

I’m currently feeling many emotions about space. Let me share them with you.

That’s our Earth. Precious blue marble. Dirt orb. And our atmosphere which is keeping us all alive with a lifetime supply of free, clear air. Beyond that begins outer space.

These are our nearest neighbors in our solar system. The moon and sun, ever beautiful. Mercury, Venus, and Mars, the planets closest to us.

Going out further, beyond the asteroid belt, there’s Jupiter and Saturn, the biggest planets in our solar system. Jupiter is 1300 times bigger than Earth.

The planets furthest away from the Sun are Uranus and Neptune. And then there’s our dear Pluto, a dwarf planet - but he’s not alone in that category. There are five other dwarf planets in our solar system. The furthest of those is Eris. Beyond Eris lies the Heliopause which marks the border into interstellar space.

Proxima Centauri is the star closest to our Sun. After leaving our solar system, we might breach into the vast empty darkness of interstellar space and set a course for our nearest neighbor. If we were traveling at the (to us unreachable) speed of light, we would arrive in 4246 years.

Proxima Centauri and our Sun are two of hundreds of billions of stars in our galaxy, the Milky Way.

Traveling from one of the Milky Way to the other (at the speed of light, which we have no way of reaching) would take 100 000 years.

Our galaxy is home to hundreds of billions of stars and hundreds of billions of planets. Only about 5000 of them are deemed habitable and potentially life-sustaining.

We haven’t found any signs of life though. Our signals have been left unanswered. Our search for a sign of an intelligent extraterrestrial civilization has so far been fruitless. We haven’t been looking for too long though, and we’ll keep looking. Against all odds.

I don’t think we’ll ever find anything.

Our communication is limited by the speed of light. If there were a theoretical alien civilization out there, even if existed on our nearest neighbor Alpha Centauri (which it doesn’t) it would take thousands of years for any of our signals to reach them. If they haven’t burned themselves out by then, their answer (if they choose to reply) will take another few thousands of years to reach us, if we still exist.

We are not going to encounter signs of intelligent alien life, unless those aliens have found a way to overcome the limit of the speed of light. But that’s okay. Let’s look further beyond our galaxy.

Our closest intergalactic neighbor is the Andromeda galaxy. I won’t tell you how far away it is from us because it doesn’t matter. We’ll never reach it, and nothing from there ever reach us except for light that’s millions of years old. Andromeda is slightly larger than the Milky Way but it’s made of the same stuff. Hundreds of billions of stars and solar systems and planets. Many of them surely potentially habitable and life-sustaining. But we’ll never know.

The Milky Way and Andromeda along with roughly thirty other galaxies both belong to the Local Group. Groups are collections of up to fifty galaxies in close proximity to each other. Larger collections of galaxies are called Clusters. These can consist of hundreds or even thousands of galaxies. And as structures in our universe that are beholden to the laws of gravity, Clusters can also form larger structures, aptly named Superclusters.

Superclusters are the second largest structures in the universe. There are estimated to be about 10 million of them within our observable universe. Try to think of what that means. Ten million Superclusters, each with thousands of galaxies and each galaxy with thousands of billions of stars and planets. You can’t imagine that. Your brain is not meant to. It’s literally unfathomable.

The largest type of structure in our observable universe is called a Filament, a group of superclusters. They are also sometimes called Sheets or Walls of Galaxies.

We have reached the edge of the observable universe. We cannot see beyond it, simply because no light from beyond has reached us yet. On a cosmic scale, the speed of light is painfully slow. But this is not the edge of the universe, only the edge of what we might potentially ever know about this part of it.

Numbers have lost all meaning at this point. It doesn’t matter how many galaxies there are out there beyond or within the borders of the observable universe. It doesn’t matter how far Andromeda is away from our Milky Way, or how far we are from such a tiny, insignificant distance as our nearest star. We’ll never reach Alpha Centauri, we’ll never reach Andromeda, or any other galaxy, or any other star aside from our own. Information or signals from these painfully close and yet impossibly far away places have no way of reaching us if they are bound to the speed of light.

Thinking about all of this has literally made me cry twice this past week. But oddly enough, it gives me hope. I can’t even say why, maybe it’s just my brains way of dealing with the impossibility and vastness of it all. But most importantly, I know life is out there. I know it for a fact. With this many stars, this many galaxies…there is no way that intelligent alien life didn’t develop on at least one of them. It doesn’t matter if we never reach it. It also doesn’t matter if it vanished millions of years ago, or will only develop a hundred thousand years in the future. No matter how far we are apart from them, divided by time and space, it exists. We are not alone.