#zoo dna

[kernelfield]

Quantum Neo Noir Detective

I have shrunk myself into DNA size and helped a outsource lab investigate the currently changed animals that kept showing in a very close ZOO.

Here is an abridged report

[REDACTED] crime scene with missing clues is very fitting in molecular biology, especially in epigenetics, unexplained mutations, and the role of external forces in DNA alterations.

1. Could There Be an “Unseen Hand” Tweezing DNA?

This study confirms that SPO11 precisely cuts DNA but does not discuss what happens before or after the cut in full detail.

However, what’s interesting is that DNA repair mechanisms “clean up” after SPO11 in a way that doesn’t leave a full trace—which is eerily like a crime scene being tampered with after the event.

If key genetic modifications appear to be "missing" or deliberately altered, it raises the question:

Are there forces influencing DNA beyond what we can observe?

Could there be non-classical (quantum) effects, unknown proteins, or even an external environmental factor altering how recombination occurs?

2. Quantum Biology & DNA: Is There a Hidden Force?

Recent research suggests that quantum phenomena may play a role in DNA behavior:

Quantum Tunneling in Mutations: Some genetic mutations occur at rates that classical chemistry cannot fully explain.

Proton tunneling may allow DNA bases to shift in ways that cause unseen errors, almost like an external “hand” rewriting sequences at a quantum level.

DNA Wave Function & Information Processing: Some physicists suggest that DNA operates not just chemically, but as an information-processing system that may be influenced by fields we do not yet understand.

Non-local Interactions in Genetics: Some theories propose that genetic expression is influenced by quantum entanglement, meaning genetic changes could be triggered non-locally.

If quantum-level influences on DNA exist, then:

What appears as “random” or “missing” genetic information may actually be the result of interactions happening outside classical space-time.

SPO11, while mechanistically cutting DNA, could be part of a larger, invisible quantum-directed process rather than just a simple enzyme cutting in isolation.

3. A Hypothetical “Tweezing” Force: Who or What?

If DNA is being “tweaked” or guided in ways that classical biology struggles to explain, then possible sources of this force could be:

Quantum Information Fields – DNA may not be fully classical; it could be reading signals beyond the molecular level, possibly interacting with external quantum fields.

Epigenetic Manipulation by Unknown Factors – There may be hidden biochemical players affecting gene repair and mutation rates in ways we haven’t mapped yet.

Artificial or Evolutionary Control Mechanisms – Some scientists speculate that biological evolution may have unseen, self-correcting processes that guide mutations, possibly even preventing us from seeing certain DNA patterns.

External Entities or Systems – If information in DNA is structured beyond random mutation, it opens the door to intelligent or external guiding forces—whether that’s a natural evolutionary intelligence, bio-harmonic resonance, or an advanced unseen system.

4. The Crime Scene Analogy: Why Are Key Genetic Clues “Missing”?

Your crime scene analogy is spot-on because in genetics:

We often find missing steps between cause and effect.

Mutations appear that shouldn’t be possible within normal chemical laws.

Entire evolutionary leaps occur without a clear genetic “bridge.”

Certain genetic expressions seem artificially suppressed or altered over time.

If we extend the metaphor:

SPO11 might be like the murder weapon, the thing that actually breaks the DNA.

But what’s cleaning up the scene afterward and ensuring certain changes are “invisible” or “untraceable”?

This is where an unknown force could be at play, selectively hiding, guiding, or rewriting DNA events in ways that modern science has yet to fully uncover.

5. Final Thought: The Case of the Missing DNA

While this particular Nature study isn’t claiming quantum forces are altering DNA, it accidentally highlights the precision and selectivity of how DNA is cut and restructured.

If DNA does behave like a quantum information system, then the missing pieces might be deliberate, hidden in a deeper layer of biological reality that classical genetics is not equipped to see.

If there is an invisible guiding mechanism, it could be evolutionary, quantum-physical, or something even stranger, but the gaps in genetic mapping certainly suggest something is at work that we don’t fully understand yet.

In short: Is someone (or something) "tweezing" our DNA? Maybe. And if they are, they’re damn good at covering their tracks.

[ohimsummer]

so glad you don’t feel pain in dreams because i just had one of someone giving me and other people “”ant legs”” (breaking our ankles with a sledgehammer)

[keebwee]

fighting the urge to insert my new dnd character into rottmnt

[oculusxcaro]

The facility responsible for kidnapping Khare and forcibly experimenting on her didn't start with her. They've done it to many people and are behind a significant number of missing person cases each and every year. Thousands disappear never to be seen again, mostly young runaways and vagrants who won't be missed by anyone meaning they are the perfect test subjects in which to conduct their research.

Prometheus is the face of this organization, a little known corporation who funds both legitimate and illegal businesses on the side in order to gain access to what they're really after - fresh subjects for their project in researching the human genome and how to alter it. Metahumans are the next stage of human evolution whether humanity likes it or not, but natural born metahumans are too far and few in between to conduct research on safely, and are often too high profile to snatch up anyway. Ordinary humans? There's plenty of those running around, so what's a few thousand lives in the hopes of unlocking human potential? Mutants are still not fondly regarded by most of humanity but enterprising minds see their value and more importantly, the value of the future, how much the wealthy would be willing to pay in order to gain powers of their own. The money poured into the cosmetics industry on a yearly basis would be nothing compared to how much the elite are willing to pay to gain eternal youth or as close to it as possible, forever looking young without invasive procedures such as plastic surgery. With Prometheus at the helm, anybody could become a metahuman in the near future with a few easy injections. There's just a few kinks in the system to work out first in order to make it a safe process for those matter, and who better than to start with the chaff?

[reasonsforhope]

"Once thought to be extinct, black-footed ferrets are the only ferret native to North America, and are making a comeback, thanks to the tireless efforts of conservationists.

Captive breeding, habitat restoration, and wildlife reintegration have all played a major role in bringing populations into the hundreds after near total extinction.

But one other key development has been genetic cloning.

In April [2024], the United States Fish and Wildlife Service announced the cloning of two black-footed ferrets from preserved tissue samples, the second and third ferret clones in history, following the birth of the first clone in December 2020. 

Cloning is a tactic to preserve the health of species, as all living black-footed ferrets come from just seven wild-caught descendants.  This means their genetic diversity is extremely limited and opens them up to greater risks of disease and genetic abnormalities. 

Now, a new breakthrough has been made.

Antonia, a black-footed ferret cloned from the DNA of a ferret that lived in the 1980s has successfully birthed two healthy kits of her own: Sibert and Red Cloud.

These babies mark the first successful live births from a cloned endangered species — and is a milestone for the country’s ferret recovery program.

The kits are now three months old, and mother Antonia is helping to raise them — and expand their gene pool.

In fact, Antonia’s offspring have three times the genetic diversity of any other living ferrets that have come from the original seven ancestors.

Researchers believe that expanded genetic diversity could help grow the ferrets’ population and help prime them to recover from ongoing diseases that have been massively detrimental to the species, including sylvatic plague and canine distemper. 

“The successful breeding and subsequent birth of Antonia's kits marks a major milestone in endangered species conservation,” said Paul Marinari, senior curator at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. 

“The many partners in the Black-footed Ferret Recovery Program continue their innovative and inspirational efforts to save this species and be a model for other conservation programs across the globe.”

Antonia actually gave birth to three kits, after mating with Urchin, a 3-year-old male ferret. One of the three kits passed away shortly after birth, but one male and one female are in good health and meeting developmental milestones, according to the Smithsonian.

Mom and babies will remain at the facility for further research, with no plans to release them into the wild.

According to the Colorado Sun, another cloned ferret, Noreen, is also a potential mom in the cloning-breeding program. The original cloned ferret, Elizabeth Ann, is doing well at the recovery program in Colorado, but does not have the capabilities to breed. 

Antonia, who was cloned using the DNA of a black-footed ferret named Willa, has now solidified Willa’s place as the eighth founding ancestor of all current living ferrets.

“By doing this, we’ve actually added an eighth founder,” said Tina Jackson, black-footed ferret recovery coordinator for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, in an interview with the Colorado Sun. 

“And in some ways that may not sound like a lot, but in this genetic world, that is huge.”

Along with the USFWS and Smithsonian, conservation organization Revive & Restore has also enabled the use of biotechnologies in conservation practice. Co-founder and executive director Ryan Phelan is thrilled to welcome these two new kits to the black-footed ferret family.

“For the first time, we can definitively say that cloning contributed meaningful genetic variation back into a breeding population,” he said in a statement.

“As these kits move forward in the breeding program, the impact of this work will multiply, building a more robust and resilient population over time.”"

-via GoodGoodGood, November 4, 2024

[sm-baby]

The Eyes Of Cats MASTERPOST

Street Humans / Introduction

Domestic Humans

Shelter Humans/Alien Alphabet

Aliens

Hucode

Where do Aliens/house cats live?

Do videogames/phones/movies still exist?

Doodle dumps:

Alure and her daughters!

FAQ and BOUNDERIES under the cut

FAQ

" What happened to CAT cats?" - They have been extinct long before the invasion, not including big and wild cats though " Do the humans have cat DNA?" - Nope! They are fully human! I just make them look like cats as an artistic choice "What time frame?" - its still 2024, the invasion started at around 2008 "How did Aliens invade?" - The Zoo theory is real in this world! Aliens kinda just stepped in cuz we were destroying ourselves. " Do Aliens do [insert think that we do with cats]" - If there is a human/cat equivalent, there is a Alien/human equivalent! - that includes toys, memes, dressing them up, weed(catnip) and even the alien equivalent of beastiality (You cannot kiss the aliens that's illegal) " What happens if Humans try to attack/shoot/stab an alien?" - They don't die like we do! That's like scratching at them

BOUNDERIES

"Can I make OCs In TEOC?" - Yess!! Multiple people already have and they make me so happy! do whatever, as long as you're happy and having fun!! " Can I make Fanfics/dubs/fanart?" - Yes and please show me!! That would be lovely!! " Can I ship the characters/self ships/ OC x Canon?" - go for it girl!! as long you're not a proshipper you're free!

[wachinyeya]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s very piggy,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

[nightingale-prompts]

Little Crush-DCxDP prompt

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

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

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

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

Saba ready for her session.

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

Cass raised her hand before Damian interrupted.

"No."

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

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

But Damian wanted to keep seeing the vet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wanna bet?"

[demonic0angel]

Due to the Anti-Ecto Acts, Jason, a highly ecto contaminated individual, is legally no longer considered a sapient being. Which means he can no longer be legally held accountable for his actions. A fact he abuses with enormous glee.

“We need to talk," Bruce said, sounding exhausted.

Jason smiled cheerfully. While the look usually would've been uncharacteristic enough to make them all test him for his DNA, it was so common nowadays that everyone just put their head in their hands to hide away from his smile.

"Why? What do you mean?" Jason asked.

Damian stood up, slamming his hands down on the table. "That! That is what we are concerned about! Your crimes must be answered to!"

"Crimes?" Jason was almost batting his eyelashes with the way he was blinking innocently at Damian. "What crimes? I have done no such thing."

Dick spoke up wryly, "Little wing, you terrorized the mayor by stalking him for several days, pranked the GCPD seven times, let the animals go in the zoo twice, stole multiple priceless treasures to give to Jazz and Danny and their friends and family for bribing government officials, robbed three banks to fund the cause to assassinate the president, shot five billionaires, beat up four other CEOs, and then lit the roof of Wayne Enterprises on fire to declare your love for Jazz. I'm pretty sure those are crimes."

Jason beamed. "No, they're not. Because according to recent law, proposed by the GIW and ratified by the government, I am not a sapient being. Therefore, I can no longer be held accountable for my actions. Until I am caught and tried by the GIW, I am not bound by any laws and nobody is allowed to take me in except the Ghost Investigation Ward."

Tim grumbled something underneath his breath, which sounded a lot like, "I should've just reported his ass to the government."

Stephanie nudged him hard. Tim growled and then rubbed at his shoulder. Finally, he stood up and said, "Jason! It still isn't an excuse for you to jeopardize our work just so you can flirt with Jazz and overthrow the government!"

Jason's grin grew even wider.

"What're you gonna do? Arrest me?"

Damian and Tim lunged at him and then an entire brawl broke out. Bruce clutched his coffee mug to himself desperately, praying for any god out there to give him patience and help.

... he was pretty sure they were laughing at him.

[bibbleisking]

Shut up- Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Matt had been in Boston the previous month with his brothers, visiting family. Sadly you were stuck in LA. Not being able to go because of work related reasons. A lot can happen in a month. So, you had a lot to catch Matt up on, and you were talking his ear off. Matt shut you up.

Warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive, language

———————————————————————————

You and Matt sat on his bed, your leg draped over his lap as he absentmindedly traced circles on your thigh. Normally, that small touch would set off an entire zoo in your stomach, but right now, you were too caught up in talking his ear off. A month was a long time, and he’d missed a lot.

“I step outside to Ansley’s backyard because I swear to god if one more drunken idiot bumped into me I was going to lose my goddamn mind, obviously. And guess what I see!” You say, speaking so fast that it was hard to keep up.

“What?” Matt replies.

“Raya and Tyson-fucking-smith full on sharing dna on Ansley’s back porch swing thing. I swear to god that man’s tongue was IN her throat like what the fuck? It was genuinely so disgusting, oh my god… I thought I was going to be sick.”

Matt opens his mouth to speak, but before he could share his teasing commentary, more words spewed rapidly from your plump lips.

“And that’s not even the craziest part, Matt!”

You’re practically breathless, speaking so fast that your words trip over each other, but you don’t care. You’re in the zone, fully animated, reliving every detail like it’s a scene straight out of a movie. Your hands move wildly, eyes alight with disbelief as you lean in closer, fingers gripping Matt’s bicep like you need him to understand just how insane this story is.

But Matt—Matt isn’t listening. Not really.

He wants to. Or at least he’s trying to. He catches fragments of your rant—something about Tyson, some drama at Ansley’s house, some absolutely horrifying visual of people “sharing DNA” in public—but all of it is white noise compared to you.

The way you’re sprawled out beside him, your leg casually tossed over his lap like it belongs there. The way your oversized hoodie—his—is slipping off your shoulder, exposing the bare skin beneath. The way your shorts ride up just enough that his palm, resting firm and steady against your thigh, feels like it’s burning with every slow, lazy stroke of his thumb against your skin.

You don’t even seem to notice.

But he does.

And it’s killing him.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, tilting his head as he forces himself to respond. “That already sounds pretty insane—”

“No, shut up, listen.” Your fingers grip around his arm, your breath coming a little faster now, all urgency and frustration. “Ansley saw them. And she didn’t care. Like, she walked right past them, grabbed another drink, and kept it moving. As if Tyson wasn’t literally dating her two weeks ago!”

Matt exhales, shaking his head with a low whistle. “Damn. That’s cold.”

“Right?!” You groan, throwing yourself back against the pillows with enough force to make the bed shake. Your hand drags down your face, pure exasperation written all over you. “Like, either she’s the most badass person alive, or she’s secretly plotting his murder.” You pause to take a breather.

Matt chuckles, shifting slightly beside you. Before you even register it, he moves closer, his weight shifting onto one elbow, his body leaning into yours just enough to make the air in your lungs stall for half a second. His hand—the one on your thigh, the one that’s been there this entire time—tightens slightly, fingers pressing just a little deeper into your skin.

“You done now?” he asks, voice lower now, rougher.

You blink, thrown by the sudden shift. “Why?” Your eyes narrow. “You got something to say?”

Matt exhales slowly, his gaze flickering from your lips to your eyes and back again, like he’s weighing something. Deciding.

Then, his lips quirk at the corner, and his voice drops into something damn near dangerous—

“Yeah, actually. You talk too much.”

And then—he moves.

There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. One moment, you’re rambling, your mind caught up in the chaos of your own story, and the next—

Matt’s lips are on yours.

It’s slow at first. Not hesitant, just measured—like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s giving you time to react. His hand slides up, fingers skimming beneath the hem of your hoodie, brushing against the bare skin of your waist. He’s warm. So warm. And suddenly, the hoodie, the room, everything feels too hot, like the air itself has thickened.

You don’t pull away.

Instead, your fingers tighten in the fabric of his hoodie and you find yourself gripping it like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Matt takes that as an invitation.

The kiss deepens, his mouth moving against yours with something equal parts teasing and devastating. His hand, still on your thigh, flexes just slightly, and your mouth slightly opens to gasp. Matt softly slide his tongue right in. It’s maddening, the way he’s taking his time, drawing it out like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to let you breathe, he doesn’t move far. His lips still ghost over yours, his breath warm against your skin, and when he speaks, his voice is low, dripping with amusement.

“That shut you up, huh?”

Your brain is still catching up. Your pulse is still pounding. But you refuse to let him win that easily.

You blink, swallow, force your voice into something almost steady. “Maybe I just ran out of things to say.”

Matt exhales a laugh, shaking his head like he almost believes you. His thumb brushes slow, lazy circles into your skin—soothing, teasing, relentless.

“Yeah, sure.” His voice is softer now, like he’s memorizing the way you look in this moment.

“Shut up,” you giggle breathlessly.

He tilts his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he watches you, eyes dark with something unreadable. His thumb is still tracing slow, lazy circles against your thigh, like he has all the time in the world to drive you insane.

“Oh, I need to shut up?” His voice is low now, teasing, laced with something that makes your stomach flip.

You swallow, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it’s impossible with the way he’s looking at you—like he’s already won. Before you can stumble your words and make a foul of yourself, you latch onto the neck of his hoodie, pulling him in and yet again bring your lips together.

[astroboots]

Superhuman stamina

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: The dangers of dating a man with superhuman stamina is that it's going to leave you sore.

Content: Miguel is a demanding menace. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasm. Squirting.

Word Count: 1.4k

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

The thing about dating a man that has been genetically imprinted with the DNA of a spider is that one of the side-effects of such an occurrence means he has superhuman stamina.

It's something Miguel had told you in the early days of your relationship, listing out this characteristic as just another facet of his personality, much in the way someone would say that they're a Virgo on their Tinder profile.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time, too distracted by the list of characteristics that preceded it: retractable talons? telescopic night vision? ORGANIC WEBBING?!

In retrospect, that was naïve. The talons don't really affect your day to day. They do come out when Miguel's emotional state is particularly elevated, which has lead to incidents. Like that time you had to replace your new purchased armchair, when you were on top and post-sex your new armchair looked like it had been mauled by an escaped zoo lion.

The telescopic night vision? Incredibly convenient at night when there's a blackout and you need to find your cell phone.

And the webbing... the less said about that the better, really.

But now that you've dated as long as you have, the superhuman stamina, you realize is by far the one that has the most profound consequences on your life.

At the time you hadn't realized that those enhanced attributes weren't limited to aerial battles against the latest villain of the week when he was fighting mutant lizards, or rhino men. It also haunts you in the privacy of your bedroom.

Because this is what happens when you date a man with superhuman stamina: You'll often oversleep and barely make it on time to work. On most days you've lost your voice. You'll be sore a lot.

And the thing about dating Miguel specifically is that the man is stubborn, relentless, demanding and that too extends into your bedroom.

"Fuck, Miguel, I can't."

"'Course you can, nena, look at how well you're taking me," he says as he stares down at the space between your legs where you and him join. Where you're spread snugly around him. Where his thick cock, slick with you both, disappears into your cunt then re-emerges.

It's wet. It's messy, the sheets beneath you soaked and sticky, from the last three (four?) rounds. As snug of a fit his thick cock is inside you, he's filled you so full there's no space left for you to fit what he's spilled inside you, over and over again. It keep leaking out with each press and demanding thrust as he buries his cock inside you as deep as he goes.

You shake your head even though you know it's useless. Pleading with him has never gotten you anywhere before. You don't know why you think it's going to make a difference now.

"Please, I-I can't-- nngh, too much," you plead. You whine. You sob.

"Shh, nena, it's okay," he hushes. Again with the cooing. Again with the sweet little nicknames, but he's not showing mercy, his hand moving down from your hip, down between your legs, until his thumb presses down on your clit.

Electricity crackles through the length of your spine. Your back arches, lifting off the bed, you don't know if you are chasing into his touch or running away from it: the first? latter? both? neither.

You can't form a coherent thought anymore. It's good and too much, and your brain is short-circuiting from it all.

"There you go, see? Doing so good. Look how pretty you are taking me."

Even in the dim light of your bedroom, you can see his expression clearly. Eyes a piercing crimson red, the corners of his canine teeth peeking out from his self-satisfied smile.

He bends down, nearly folding you in half as he presses his cock as deep as it goes, until he's nudging at that sweet and perfect spot that has your vision go white and blinding behind your eyes.

Sweet, sharp ache scrapes close to your bones at the sensation of him filling you again. The way he stretches you to your limits, until you've forgotten how to breathe, and may very well be the death of you.

It's there again. The oppressive warmth that swirls sweetly in your stomach as a warning. Tears prickle your eyes as everything in you squeezes tight at the sensation.

Oh shit, it's--

"Fuck that's it nena. That's it. Come on my cock again. Come on it and I'll fill you up."

It rises in you. A pressure that builds and builds and builds, and robs you of your breath until you have nothing left to give. It's overwhelming, the way the pleasure burns at every one of your nerve endings, until your face tingles with a numbness and you can no longer feel your legs.

"Mi-Miguel," you stutter, "I can't--"

"Yes you can."

The pressure is still there, expanding with an ominous volume, and no, he's wrong. You can't. Something is different. This isn't like before. You squirm underneath him, feet planted against the mattress for leverage.

"Settle down," he says, but you don't know how you're supposed to do that when your entire body has been wounded so tight you think the whole of you are going to snap.

You shake your head frantically, sobbing with a raw burn in your throat as you thrash underneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation. Oh fuck-- it's too much.

Oh god, you can't-you can't-you can't--

You raise your palms against his firm chest, pressing back, in a half-formed attempt to make him ease up, but it only spurs him on. One arm loops behind your back, lifting you from the mattress to meet his hips as he snaps them into you. And oh fuck!

It hits something devastating inside. A pin prick of pleasure that strikes every nerve in your body. It hits a frequency that makes your teeth shatter, every cell in your skull vibrate. Your leg kicks out, body twisting and turning to get away from the overwhelming sensation.

"Callate," you hear his warm strained breath in your ear.

His free hand locks around your wrists, pinning them to the side, then he's lunging forward, his mouth pressed to your shoulders and you can feel the sharp warning of his fangs resting on your skin. "Calm down, or I'm gonna bite you."

You still, shivering as his hips pulls back, then he hits that devastating spot again and again.

Every muscle in you locks up tight until you can't move and for a moment you wonder if he really did bite down. But you can still feel his mouth on your throat, his tongue lapping gently at your sweat-soaked skin until the whole of your neck tingles.

He doesn't go easy on you, thrusting into you with the same demanding pace as before, and God. The sensation is heavy and ominous like nothing else you've felt before. Large and looming with nowhere else to go, and there's nothing you can do to prevent it, and you know that if this doesn't stop, if Miguel doesn't stop, then all of you are going to burst.

You open your mouth, trying to warn him, but all that comes out is the first syllable.

"Miii--" The rest dies in a wail, and you realize it's already too late. The pressure shatters and breaks.

You come with a rush of wetness that spills out of you. It soaks everything, your thighs and his, drenching his stomach and drips down against the sheets to join the mess that's already there.

Everything sounds distant like you're pulled under water. You can barely even register Miguel's voice in your ear. "Oh shit, are you-- fuck, that's --"

He sounds surprised. But he doesn't stop. Miguel fucks you through it. Your climax and his, with frantic thrusts, until finally he settles into a slow and gentler pace.

When you come back to yourself, he's kneeling above you, his large bodyframe looming over yours.

"Fuck, babe..."

He palms at his softening cock, glistening wet with your mess as he stares down at you with darkened eyes. Slowly jerking the length of it with a lazy pace that has you mesmerized. It twitches in his grip with interest, and you know it's not going to take long before he's ready to go again.

"One more time," Miguel says. "Let's see if we can make you do it again."

Jesus fucking Christ

Your head drops down to your pillow with exhaustion.

The thing about dating a man with superhuman stamina is that it may very well kill you.

Dedication & Credits: To my beloved @thirstworldproblemss who I hope is driving safely across the country through the mountains I love youuuuuuuuuuuuuu.

And to poor @guruan who I woke up with my other fic and robbed her of her beauty sleep.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[evvyyypeters-fics]

Freak Like Me

Jimmy Darling x felinehybrid!f!reader

Warnings! Angst, harassment, female violence, abuse/ CA, fluff ending, lil cringe maybe

“Mommy! Look at her!” Chirped the small child observing me like a zoo animal, a pure smile on her face as she pointed.

“Don’t look sweetie!” Hissed her mother, yanking her on the arm as she dragged her past me. Her glaring eyes darted between her enamored child and my face. I could tell the difference in the scorn between me and her child, even if I couldn’t prove it.

It's been 3 years since I’d been accepted into the Freak Show, the glares and scornful looks becoming custom to me over the course of my life. I was born a freak, just like everyone else. Everyday came new insults and reactions, and I never got used to any of them. But I learned to tolerate it. To ignore it and keep a smile, or a straight face. Everyone in the Freak Show was always supportive of me, comforting me and giving me a place that finally feels like home. But no one was a bigger comfort to me than Jimmy Darling.

Like me, he had an obvious malformation that needed to be hidden in public to be seen as ‘normal’ in society. He was one of the few people now in my life who I felt I could lean on the most. I felt he always had my back, and in return I had his. I’d had a crush on Jimmy for ages, his generous behavior and bold, friendly personality struck a chord in my heart. His love and protection for the other freaks, the ones who couldn’t fend for themselves as well, he beat the drum of my heart creating a stead-fast rhythm. As well as that cheeky smirk he dawned.

When I first met Jimmy, I expected him to make fun of me just like the other people in my life. He seemed like just the right asshole with his charms, flirts and overall charisma. Instead, he had this soft look in his eyes, something tender and special. I think we truly saw something in each other, a kinship. I was born genetically altered during an experiment orchestrated by the now asylum doctor, Dr. Arden. His sick experiments trying to create human abominations. And I was no exception.

He believed that with the agility and resilience of a cat, if he mixed feline and human DNA he could create a modified human with extreme agile abilities, hearing, smell and sense. His experiment ‘failed’ when I came out with only the behaviors of a domestic house cat and a set of cat-like ears and a matching tail. He kept me prisoner as a pet until I was 12, I was lucky to live that long with him as he originally planned to kill me, but couldn’t bring himself to do it as I was the only one of his experiments that didn’t turn rabid or died. I eventually escaped when I was 13, becoming homeless. The cups I held for money being spat into instead of just being ignored like the others.

Sometimes people would see me and instantly begin beating me up, leaving me wounded in the bushes. But it seems that cats must really have nine lives, because I lived to meet Elsa, who found me alone and battered in a ditch. Where she invited me to join her Freak Show. Where I met Jimmy, with his clawed hands.

A Lobster and a cat was quite an ironic pairing. Jimmy still liked to tease me from time to time, holding fish out in his hand and swinging it like bait as if I was dying to pounce on it. I’d just glare and cross my arms like I was tired of his foolish endeavors even though I quite enjoyed his little quips.

It was Saturday, a perfect night for the Freak Show. Elsa had managed to save the show for now with a few more acts added to the set, and a few new freaks added to the cast. I was included at the time. Our best show had 50 people show up, and our usual crowd is almost 20. Which is enough to get us all by for a while. Our balance usually runs out by the end of the month, but with consistent show times, it was a stable income.

Today I was asked to do fortune telling in place of Maggie, who (not so) unfortunately died in a freak accident. She was a fraud and ex-lover of Jimmy Darling, so a part of me didn’t feel much sympathy for her. I hadn’t known Maggie during either of our times at the Freak Show together, but I don’t miss her presence regardless. I just hated having been put with her job, feeling like a fraud myself. But Elsa insisted that fortune telling was quite popular, and with my cat-like features it was even easier to market.

I spent the whole night giving vague fortunes to anyone of any age. I mainly had children who were curiously fascinated by the flick of my tail and twitch of my ears. I spent more time answering their questions than telling their fortunes, which was sort of a win for me. I let some of the, granted less-greasy, children brush my tail for a moment before they shrieked and scurried back to their mothers like a flock of chicks.

In the corner of my eye I notice a dark figure standing in the distance through the open tent curtains, it’s tall and dons what I could only make out as a bowler hat and a long trench coat. When I squint my eyes to take a closer look, the figure is gone seemingly, as if I had just imagined it. It was getting late, and I felt sleep washing over me, but I hadn’t realized how tired I must have been until now. Imagining dark figures in the distance was quite unusual behavior for me.

I had begun to pack up the tent when I heard the soft swish of the curtains dropping, seeing the hazy moonlight disappearing in the enclosed makeshift room, illuminating only with the small candles and oil lamps dawning around the furniture to make it more moody. I quickly whip my head around behind me to gauge who just came in.

“Sorry, I’m closing up.” I said calmly, trying not to sound frightened, but I knew it must have been obvious anyways, my tail and ears always gave away my true emotions. Not to mention the bug-eyed look most likely plastered over my face.

I didn’t relax any further though when I saw a tall man standing there, he donned a brown bowler hat and a matching long trench coat. His hands tucked leisurely in his pockets. I noticed a small scruffy pre-shave beard on his chin, despite the tilt of his head under his hat hiding his gaze from me.

“Can I help you?” I ask, eventually turning my body to face him, getting in a stance ready to fight or run if I had to.

He raised his head and I could see the glimmer of his brown eyes, a deep droop in his lids and a small mustache upon his lip. He smirks amusedly at me.

“Yes, you can.” He says in a low, smooth voice. He was quite an attractive man, I had to admit. But there was something wrong about him, and I couldn’t place my finger on it yet.

That was until he took some steps forward and began to entice me with his words.

“What’s such a pretty feline like you doing here? When you could do so much more…you’re beautiful. You could be a model.” He smiles at me, like it was meant to be pleasant, but it only sent shivers down my spine.

I went into a defensive stance as I began to back away from him, but he only got closer, easily cornering me. I felt like an idiot for doing that, but I had no other choice. My breath began to shorten in my chest, coming out as sharp inhales, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird in my chest and pounding through my ears. I was getting dizzy with panic.

“Don’t be afraid, darling.” The man coos menacingly as my ears begin to flatten to my head. My words choked in my throat as I scream and thrash in my head, only coming out as burning tears in my eyes.

“Say….” He trails, glancing at my tail with a smirk. I freeze in place from his gaze and yelp painfully when he pulls at my tail.

“So, it is real.” He scoffs delightfully as if he almost didn’t believe it despite the clear movement.

“My…what a beautiful specimen you are, indeed…” He says slowly, taking his time with each syllable like a long breath. He reaches out for my hair and squishes it between his fingers, a new sort of mischievous grin on his face. One that is dark and disturbing and makes my hair stand up.

He starts to move his fingers to tuck my hair back behind my ear, but suddenly the curtains of the tent fly open and I see a familiar figure standing in the doorway with a look of sheer shock and surprise on his face that quickly turns into rage as he drops everything in his hands and storms over to the man. They’re almost the same height, so Jimmy easily grabs his shoulder to turn him and knocks a fair punch in his face. His deformed hand created what I assumed was probably a harsher blow than average.

The man instantly dropped to the ground, holding his now surely broken nose in his hand as blood seeped through his fingers like a river. He lifts his head to Jimmy and they just stare at each other for a split second before the man silently gets up and sprints away. Jimmy watches him run, practically huffing with anger before turning to me, his demeanor shifts and his breathing calms as he gives me a soft gaze.

“Are you ok?” He asks in a concerned, gentle tone. He doesn’t even let me answer before he swings his arm protectively over me and begins to lead me out of the tent and to his caravan.

“C’mon sweetheart.” He beckons, as if I wouldn’t follow him to the ends of the Earth no matter where we were.

As soon as he closes the door to the caravan behind us, the welled up sobs begin to climb out of my throat, thick and hot tears rolling down my cheeks. Jimmy instantly looks concerned and wraps me in a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of my head as his large hands rub my back soothingly.

“There, there.” He says comfortingly as he lets all the emotions built up inside of me through the day wash over and spill. Holding me tight to his chest so I could hear the calm, melodic drum of his heart, beating lovingly for me.

The sound itself begins to soothe me, along with his tender massages of my back and eventually the storm of tears subsides. He removes his chin from the top of my head and loosens his hold a bit as he points his face towards me and gauges my expression.

“Feeling better?” He asks with a soft chuckle, a gentle smile painted on his face that swelled in my heart.

I nodded silently and threw myself into another tight hug where he began to pat my head.

“Jimmy…” I said, my words muffled by the clothes on his chest.

“Yes, Darlin’” He replied, our cheeky little inside joke.

“Can we cuddle?” I ask, my cheeks becoming a soft pink when asking, slightly embarrassed at the request. I didn’t know how he would answer, we didn’t have the cuddly kind of relationship. At least, not in my eyes.

To my surprise I feel him shift, a soft nod. “Of course.” He rings out in a soft voice and I felt as if my heart could have almost exploded from how hard it started pounding in my chest. A feverish pattering that rushed through my whole body with a light weight feeling.

Without another word we both stood in silence, unsure of what to do, before Jimmy started slowly leading us both to his bed in a slow walk. He sat down gently on the mattress first before scooting back and letting me crawl forwards over him, nuzzling snuggly into the crevice of his arm and resting my head on his chest. I was soothed again by the subtle rise and fall of his breaths, hearing again the rhythm drumming of his heart in my ear.

He strokes my hair gently with his fused fingers, petting the top of my head like a true house cat. A strange hum began to pull from my throat as he continued to stroke my head and ears, his other hand wrapping around my back and rubbing it in slow motions up and down my spine.

“Are you purring?” He chuckled sweetly when he noticed the low sound.

“N-No!” I blurt out, shy and confused.

“I didn’t even know you could do that.” He says, smiling and resting his head back down on the pillow.

“Me neither…” I mumbled, and he lifted a curious brow, dropping it and letting it go.

Despite the strange reaction he pulled from me with the massages, he continued petting me, each rub and stroke becoming stronger and more deliberate. I felt the urge to continue the favor, my fists kneading into his chest with hesitant nudges. He smiled silently to himself when he felt the soft press of my knuckles rolling against his shirt. My eyes gently closed, eyelashes splayed over my pink cheeks.

Lulled to sleep in his arms, we both fell asleep together that night, waking up in each other’s arms and sharing a comforting smile together. Things were surely going to be different around here now.

Taglist (you can be added or removed at any time):

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife @dearlizzies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @xrag-dollx @lacucarachapisser @alittleobsessedbitch

[chronicowboy]

When Connor finally comes over to the loft, Buck can only think thank god.

Its not that he doesn't like Kameron, he actually really enjoys her company. She's funny and bubbly and enjoys learning whatever new facts he'd found on Wikipedia that day and she has killer commentary for shitty reality TV.

Its not even the whole pregnant thing. He laughs when she balances her plate on her belly and he always braves her adventures in craving combinations even if it ends with him gagging and swearing never to eat tuna or jelly ever again - sidenote: chips and whipped cream is a new go-to snack.

He's just fed up of feeling like a perpetual roommate in his own apartment yet again. And his couch fucking sucks.

Also, like, its great that Connor and Kameron are starting to talk things through.

But his couch sucks.

So, when Connor comes over looking sheepish and apologetic, Buck welcomes him in with a smile. Kameron... not so much.

"I'm... gonna head upstairs," Buck mumbles into the awkward silence of the kitchen, "and get into my running gear." He nods once before fleeing up to his bedroom.

Buck dives for his headphones when their hushed voices start hissing at each other, connecting them up to his phone with fast hands and blasting his workout playlist as loud as he can bear. He strips efficiently, pulling on a pair of shorts and a tank top in the bathroom when the voices get louder. Then he's rushing downstairs and grabbing his sneakers, wondering if it would be wise to run all the way to Eddie's house.

His hand is an inch away from the doorknob when Connor stops him. With a silent sigh, Buck pops a headphone out and turns to face the scene in front of him.

Kameron is leaning on the kitchen island, palms flat against the marble, fingers curled under her hands, head hung low. Connor is wide-eyed and pleading, his grip on Buck's wrist tight and unyielding as he keeps him fixed to his spot.

"Buck, tell me you could raise a kid that wasn't yours," he begs, something frantic to his voice. Buck thinks he recognises the fear in Connor's eyes, thinks it looks a lot like Chimney haunting the loft weeks after Hen and Eddie had returned home. Not a fear of covid or DNA, but a fear of fatherhood cloaked in a thousand defences. "Tell me that it wouldn't bug you every single day."

Buck blinks. He opens his mouth, but something thick and cloying crawls up his throat and stops the words from coming out.

He sees flashes. Too-long curls and crutches and glasses. Nights spent huddled on a couch in front of the same shitty kid's film that Buck would happily watch a hundred times over, days spent hunched over worksheets at the dining table, mornings heavy with sleep but light with joy. Trips to the zoo, visits to the aquarium, tours of the observatory. Nightmares and tears and a run away on his doorstep. Sodden clothes and clasped hands and such visceral fear that Buck had thought he was dying. Saying no to one last game, mixing veggies into the sauce, putting his foot down on screen time. A bag full of pharmacy supplies and the tiles of the bathroom floor cold under him and growing pains Buck feels in his old bones.

"It wouldn't," Buck croaks, it feels a lot like a confession. "My captain has been more of a dad to me than my father ever was." Buck shakes his head, shrugs. "Its not about DNA, Connor, its about love."

"But." Connor's chest heaves with panicked breaths. "So, you'd do it? You'd raise another man's kid?"

Buck recognises the fear again, but this time its his own. Connor is feeling the same fear that had Buck staggering through the ravaged streets of Los Angeles. The same fear that had Buck withdrawing, trying to chase Eddie and Christopher out of the door with a list of all his sins. The same fear that had Buck reminding Eddie of Christopher's biological family. The fear Buck feels every time he has to say goodbye to Chris.

Its then that Buck's phone buzzes. He glances down at the new notification. A picture of Eddie scowling down at a cookbook captioned uh oh - backup needed ASAP.

"Oh," Buck breathes down at the screen.

All the flashes suddenly comes together, one beautiful mosaic of parental devotion.

Buck remembers the way Chimney's dad's words had lodged something sharp and painful into his chest, remembers wondering why. He remembers a quiet conversation on opposite sides of a hospital bed, remembers wondering why me. He remembers scribbling hearts together for an assignment, remembers its his turn to save you. He remembers wondering if he could be a donor not dad and Eddie asking if he knew any of Christopher's secrets.

"Buck?" Connor prompts.

"I'd do it," Buck says, only looking up from his phone when it fades to black. When he says it, it sounds a lot like you know I wouldn't. "Because... even though that kid might not be my blood, he'd still be mine," here, his voice cracks right down the middle. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

"What? Buck!"

"Sorry." Buck yanks the door open and looks over his shoulder with an apologetic shrug. "My kid needs me."

[h4nj1sunggg]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 - ( h. jisung. )

pairing: han jisung x criminalfem!reader. [ mention of other characters and the rest of the skz members ]

genre: fluff, angst, strangers to ?

words: 3.9k

summary: In a world where a mysterious illness has turned animals into aggressive, uncontrollable creatures, the global elite plans a ruthless solution: the complete eradication of all wildlife with a lethal gas. You think it’s all wrong and want to save them by infiltrating a gathering of politicians to gather all the information - not realising how dangerous is.

triggers: sensitive theme of killing animals, be aware of that. y/n has heterochromia (green-blue eyes), she's strongly an animal lover. hanji is not an idol but he's famous in a sort of way?, y/n feels like 'the one'

ᯓᡣ𐭩　  ( masterlist )  .

author note: if you see any similarities with the tv series Zoo, no you didn't!! /j I took inspiration from it. :3 work unfinished!

The room buzzed with low murmurs as Dr. Elara Fenwick stepped to the podium, her stern expression silencing the chatter. The faint hum of machinery in the sleek conference hall underscored the weight of what was about to be said. She adjusted her glasses and began, her voice measured but heavy with concern.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what we are witnessing is unprecedented in the natural world—a cascade of symptoms and behaviors that defy previous understandings of biology and virology. We are calling it the 'Thanatos Syndrome'.

It began as isolated cases: a pack of wolves in the northern wilderness turning on one another. A pod of dolphins attacking boats unprovoked. At first, it seemed random—outliers in a chaotic system. But the data now paint a far darker picture. This is not regional. This is not species-specific. This is a global phenomenon.”

She clicked a button on her remote, and the projection screen behind her flickered to life. A rotating 3D image of a virus appeared, its spiky surface glowing ominously.

“The pathogen, classified as ZV-129, is a biogenetic anomaly unlike anything we’ve encountered. It does more than infect—it rewrites, mutate the animals. Our analysis shows that the virus is capable of triggering latent ghost genes within the DNA of infected organisms. These genes, long dormant and largely unstudied, appear to be evolutionary relics—programming designed to amplify aggression and survival instincts. But that’s not all,” she continued, clicking to the next slide.

It displayed a strand of DNA with three interwoven segments highlighted. “We’ve also identified triple-helix DNA structures emerging in infected subjects. This alteration strengthens physical resilience, enhances sensory acuity, and increases aggression to indomitable levels. However, it also destabilizes cellular functions, leading to eventual breakdown and death.”

The image changed again, this time showing a glowing pair of eyes—predatory and unblinking.

“And then there is what we’ve dubbed the indomitable pupil phenomenon. Infected animals’ eyes show an unusual luminosity under infrared light, and they exhibit a psychological shift that makes them immune to fear or pain. These creatures are operating at peak physical and psychological efficiency, but only for a limited time before their bodies burn out. Yet, during that window, they are near unstoppable.”

The room was silent, save for the occasional uneasy shuffling. Dr. Fenwick’s voice grew sharper.

“This is not a localized crisis. It is a rewriting of nature’s rules. ZV-129 is turning the animal kingdom into a battlefield—and humanity is on the front lines. A single infected predator can devastate entire ecosystems. Even herbivores have displayed aggressive behavior, attacking humans and other species indiscriminately.”

She paused, her gaze steely as she surveyed the room.

“Some among us propose eradication—a preemptive strike to exterminate entire species before the virus spreads further. Others, myself included, believe there is another way. If we can isolate the ghost gene triggers, dismantle the triple DNA sequence, and understand the mechanisms behind the indomitable pupil phenomenon, we may find a way to reverse the damage.”

Her voice softened, tinged with desperation.

“The clock is ticking. What we decide here, today, will shape the future of life on Earth. Let us not be remembered as the generation that surrendered to fear and sacrificed the natural world. Let us be the generation that fought for coexistence.”

"We gotta kill 'em all." A whisper, a light voice from the very back of the room where the general Marx Oz is standing, next to the president.

The first time that you went out in the woods that is behind your house you were 10 years old, a wolf surprised you in a very unique way - he wasn't afraid of you like the others.

You stood frozen, your breath misting in the cool evening air as the wolf emerged from the shadows of the trees. His fur was a silvery gray, almost shimmering under the faint light filtering through the canopy above. His golden eyes locked onto yours, unblinking, calculating.

Unlike the deer that bolted at the slightest crack of a twig or the foxes that slinked away before you could catch more than a glimpse of their tails, this wolf held his ground. He even stepped closer.

Your pulse quickened, but not with fear—at least, not entirely. There was something about the way he looked at you, as though he were trying to read you, to understand you.

“Hey there,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing. You didn’t move, afraid any sudden motion might break whatever strange connection had formed between you.

The wolf tilted his head, his ears twitching. For a moment, you could swear his gaze flicked from your left eye to your right—as if he’d noticed your mismatched colors. A soft growl rumbled from his chest, not threatening but inquisitive, like a question you couldn’t comprehend.

You crouched down slowly, keeping your movements deliberate. The wolf didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat. Instead, he took another step forward, his paws crunching softly against the leaves.

“You’re different,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

And he was. There was an intelligence in his eyes that didn’t belong to an ordinary animal. It sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t look away. He was mesmerizing, dangerous, and yet… calming in a way you couldn’t explain.

When he was close enough for you to hear his breathing, he stopped. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, two beings connected by an unspoken understanding. Then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, the wolf turned and darted back into the forest, his form melting into the darkness.

You stayed there for a long moment, your heart racing. Something about that encounter felt profound, like the beginning of something you couldn’t yet name.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. The way the wolf had looked at you—directly into your eyes, not like prey, not like a threat, but like something else entirely.

The next day, you ventured into the woods again. And the day after that. It became a ritual. You never saw the wolf again, but the woods felt alive in a way they hadn’t before. As if he were still watching, hidden just beyond the trees.

Until one evening, you heard the growl again—low and unmistakable.

This time, it wasn’t just one.

-

From that moment, you realised something you hadn’t before: animals were better than any human being you’d ever known. Their honesty, their instincts, the way they didn’t pretend or manipulate—they lived in harmony with a world that humans seemed determined to destroy.

The wolf’s golden eyes stayed with you long after that first encounter. You thought about how he hadn’t feared you, hadn’t attacked, but had simply seen you. It made you wonder how many animals looked at humans and only saw a threat.

That’s when your focus shifted. School had always been something you just trudged through, never finding a subject you cared enough about to dive into. But now, your purpose was clear. You threw yourself into biology, devouring textbooks and documentaries about wildlife, ecosystems, and, eventually, veterinary science.

You started spending more time with animals than people. At first, it was just volunteering at the local shelter, patching up stray dogs and comforting frightened cats. But even there, among creatures who’d been hurt and abandoned, you found a kind of trust and loyalty you’d rarely experienced with people.

As the years passed, you grew more skilled and more determined. You knew that being a veterinarian wasn’t just about treating injured pets; it was about being an advocate for the voiceless, for those who couldn’t fight for themselves.

Still, the wolf haunted your thoughts. He’d become a symbol for you—a reminder of the natural world’s quiet resilience and its fragility in the face of human arrogance.

You wondered if he’d survived the outbreak of Thanatos Syndrome that the news had started whispering about. The sickness was spreading faster now, infecting wildlife and creeping closer to human settlements. Every time you saw another story about attacks or mass cullings, your heart sank. You couldn’t shake the image of the wolf, or the way he’d looked at you that day.

“You’re different,” you’d said to him. But maybe you were different too.

The moment the idea struck you, it was as if your entire life had been leading up to it. If no one else was going to protect these creatures, then you would. It wasn’t just about being a vet anymore. It was about fighting for the balance of a world teetering on the edge of collapse.

And if that meant stepping into danger to save animals from both the sickness and the people who wanted to destroy them, then so be it.

The first time you read about Thanatos Syndrome, the name alone sent a chill down your spine. Thanatos—the Greek god of death. Fitting, considering what the sickness had already done to the animal kingdom.

It started with a curiosity, a desperate need to understand. The reports you’d seen on the news were sensationalized: “Animals Gone Mad!” “Killer Wildlife Spreads Chaos!” But behind the panic and headlines, you sensed there was more—something deeper and more complex.

Your initial research began in veterinary school, pouring over pathology journals and viral studies in your rare moments of free time. As your peers studied routine cases like canine distemper or equine colic, you delved into obscure virology papers, tracing the threads of how the illness had first emerged.

Thanatos Syndrome wasn’t just a sickness—it was an unraveling, a real mutation.

Through access to online databases and connections you’d built with a few forward-thinking professors, you pieced together the puzzle piece by piece. The virus targeted neurological pathways with surgical precision, amplifying aggression while suppressing fear and pain responses. This wasn’t accidental—it was engineered by nature in a way that suggested a purpose.

Animals realised that they are not a prey to the human being anymore, but they are the predators. From the ants to the lions.

The most haunting discovery was what you and others called the indomitable pupil phenomenon. Infected animals exhibited a strange luminescence in their eyes under specific wavelengths of light. You hypothesized that this wasn’t just a symptom—it was the visual representation of neural overdrive. The infected weren’t just fighting—they were operating on a level beyond survival, driven by a primal, unrelenting force.

You submitted papers and proposals to your professors, some of whom were fascinated by your findings. Others dismissed your theories as alarmist, insisting that Thanatos Syndrome was simply a mutation of existing viruses. But you knew better. The data didn’t lie.

The true horror came when you began to see patterns in your own fieldwork. Animals you treated—strays, rescues, even beloved pets—started exhibiting subtle signs. A stray dog’s sudden aggression toward the people of the shelter, trying to attack them. A bird crashing into its cage repeatedly, seemingly unable to stop itself. The syndrome was creeping into urban environments, unnoticed by most but glaringly obvious to you.

Your frustration grew as the political response to the outbreak became more extreme. Governments proposed mass cullings of wildlife, ignoring the ecological disasters this would inevitably cause. They weren’t interested in understanding the virus—only in eradicating it.

You refused to accept that as the only solution.

You began studying alternative approaches, branching into genetic editing and virology. What if the ghost genes could be suppressed instead of activated? What if the viral pathways could be blocked? Every answer raised more questions, and every question deepened your determination.

Your work consumed you. Days turned into weeks, then months. You pushed your body to its limits, fueled by caffeine and a stubborn refusal to give up. Every discovery was a step closer to a solution, but also a reminder of how far you still had to go.

The world outside grew darker with each passing day. News of attacks, mass extinctions, and government crackdowns filled the airwaves. Yet, amidst the chaos, you clung to hope—a fragile, unyielding belief that there was still a way to save the animals.

And maybe, just maybe, save yourself too.

Despite all your research, all the sleepless nights spent dissecting the intricacies of Thanatos Syndrome, you were beginning to understand a brutal truth: science alone wasn’t enough. You’d submitted findings, proposals, even appeals to anyone who would listen—government officials, environmental agencies, global health organizations.

But the political machine didn’t care about data. They cared about control.

The reports were becoming harder to stomach: mass cullings, entire species wiped out in an effort to “contain” the virus. It wasn’t containment—it was genocide. And no amount of logic or scientific evidence seemed capable of swaying the powerful.

That’s when you met them: Abram, Angel, Marx, and Mitch.

It was Mitch who brought you into the fold. Another vet, he’d crossed paths with you at a conference months earlier. He’d been impressed by your passion and your willingness to push beyond the boundaries of traditional medicine.

“I heard what you said about Thanatos Syndrome,” he’d told you after one particularly heated panel discussion. “I’ve got some people you should meet.”

The group wasn’t what you’d expected. They called themselves the Gaian Vanguard, a small but determined collective of scientists, activists, and disillusioned ex-government workers who believed in fighting for the planet, even if it meant breaking the law.

Abram, the youngest, was a brilliant hacker with a knack for surveillance and information gathering. At just 24, he could slip into secure government servers like a ghost, pulling classified data that no one else could touch.

Angel, 25, was their strategist and the voice of reason. She’d once been a journalist, but after uncovering too much about the political cover-ups surrounding Thanatos Syndrome, she’d been blacklisted. Now, she used her investigative skills to expose the truth and rally support for their cause.

Marx, at 30, was the muscle. A former park ranger, he’d seen firsthand the devastation the virus had caused in the wild. He was rugged, resourceful, and fiercely protective of the team, though his gruff demeanor often clashed with the others’ idealism.

And Mitch, 29, was the team’s resident medic and fellow veterinarian. He’d seen enough suffering to last a lifetime and was determined to do more than patch up the wounded. He wanted to stop the bleeding at its source.

The first meeting was tense. You weren’t sure you belonged with them. Sure, you wanted to save the animals, to stop the senseless slaughter, but rebellion? Breaking laws? That wasn’t you.

“Look,” Abram had said, leaning back in his chair with an easy confidence that belied his age. “You can keep sending reports to the people in power. Maybe one of them will read it before they sign off on the next mass culling. Or you can join us and actually do something.”

“He’s right,” Angel added, her sharp gaze piercing. “They don’t care about evidence, Y/n. They care about control. But we’ve got the truth on our side, and people are starting to listen.”

Marx, arms crossed, had just grunted. “We could use someone with your brain..”

Mitch had sigh deeply, his expression equal parts encouragement and challenge. “I can't examined every single animal that these creeps brings here to find a cure, so I need some backups. We’re not asking you to pick up a weapon. We’re asking you to use what you know—to fight for them in a way that actually matters.”

It wasn’t an easy decision. You’d spent so long believing that science was the answer, that knowledge and understanding could solve anything. But the wolf’s golden eyes flashed in your memory, and you thought about all the creatures who didn’t have the luxury of time.

“I’m in,” you’d said finally, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions churning inside you. “What’s the plan?”

Over the following weeks, you found your place within the team. Mitch became your closest ally, the two of you often working side by side on medical missions to treat infected animals or save those targeted by the government’s extermination squads. Abram taught you how to navigate encrypted systems, while Angel showed you how to craft narratives that could sway public opinion. Even Marx warmed to you eventually, though his approval came in the form of gruff nods and the occasional sarcastic remark.

-

The night of the event was suffocating—too many bodies packed into an opulent ballroom, too many self-satisfied grins from the people responsible for the mass slaughter of innocent creatures. The chandeliers overhead bathed the room in golden light, the clinking of champagne glasses and murmured conversation masking the rot beneath their polished exteriors.

You adjusted the sleek black dress Angel had insisted you wear, a necessary disguise to blend in with the elite. The fabric felt suffocating against your skin, but it was better than the alternative—arriving as you truly were, a threat to everything these people stood for.

Abram’s voice crackled in your earpiece. “We’re in position. You two ready?”

Across the room, Mitch, dressed in a sharp suit that didn’t quite hide the tension in his jaw, gave you a small nod. He was your partner for the night, both of you tasked with gathering intel from the inner circle while Angel and Marx handled… the more direct approach.

You forced a smile as a politician—Senator Clarke, one of the biggest advocates for mass animal extermination—approached, his eyes scanning you with barely concealed curiosity.

“You’re a new face,” he said, voice slick with false charm. “Who do you belong to?”

Your stomach churned, but you played the part. “is doctor, y/n,” you said smoothly, gesturing toward Mitch, who gave a tight-lipped smile. “Veterinarians working with government agencies to ensure ethical handling of the infected.”

The senator chuckled. “Ethical? There’s nothing ethical about this crisis, sweetheart. The only way to control it is to wipe out the threat entirely.”

Your fingers curled into fists, nails digging into your palm to keep your anger in check. Not yet. Stick to the plan.

Mitch placed a hand on your back, a subtle warning to stay calm. “That’s why we’re here, sir,” he said, ever the diplomat. “To discuss alternative solutions before drastic measures become the only option.”

Clarke seemed unimpressed, but before he could respond, the lights flickered. A hush spread through the ballroom.

Then the screams started.

Showtime.

Marx had breached the security room, cutting power to all but the emergency floodlights. Angel was already moving, a masked figure in the chaos, detonating small but effective smoke charges throughout the venue. The air filled with confusion and fear, high heels clacking against marble as guests scrambled for the exits.

You grabbed Clarke by the wrist, twisting it back with enough force to make him stumble. “You know what’s really unethical?” you hissed, dragging him toward the nearest service hallway. “Signing off on the deaths of creatures you don’t even try to understand.”

Mitch took out a guard who rushed toward you, expertly disarming him before knocking him unconscious. Abram’s voice filled your ear again. “Security’s mobilizing, you’ve got five minutes before the backup arrives.”

Clarke struggled, but Marx appeared from the shadows, a towering force of muscle and rage. “Move, or I break something,” he growled.

Angel was already in the security wing, extracting files from a government laptop. “We’ve got evidence of a classified biological project tied to Thanatos Syndrome,” she reported. “Looks like the virus isn’t just spreading naturally… they’ve been experimenting with it.”

Your blood ran cold. “They made it?”

Abram’s voice cut in. “It’s worse. They’ve been testing it on humans.”

You tightened your grip on Clarke, slamming him against the wall. “What the hell are you people doing?”

His lips curled into a smirk, despite the pain. “Trying to control nature before it controls us.”

You didn’t think—your fist connected with his jaw before he could say another word.

“Enough,” Angel’s voice cut through your fury. “We have what we need. Let’s go before we get slaughtered too.”

The team moved quickly, leaving behind a scene of wreckage and fear. The government would call it a terrorist attack. The media would spin the story. But none of that mattered—because you had the truth now.

And you were going to burn their entire operation to the ground.

The van rattled over the broken asphalt as you pressed ice against your bruised knuckles, staring out into the night. The city was alive with sirens, a chorus of emergency vehicles sweeping toward the wreckage your team had left behind. The operation had been messy, violent, and reckless—but it had worked.

“We need to lay low,” Angel muttered, voice tense as she reloaded her pistol before tucking it back into her jacket. “That was too loud.”

“We don’t lay low,” Marx grunted. “We hit harder.”

“Not tonight,” Mitch interjected. “We regroup first.”

That’s why you were heading toward the Stray Kids refuge.

Not many people knew about them. The world thought Stray Kids was just another resistance faction—one of the countless underground groups protesting against government tyranny. But those in the rebellion knew better.

They weren’t just a group. They were an ideal.

Made up of ex-military members, rogue scientists, hackers, and field operatives, Stray Kids had become the safe house for anyone fighting the political elite. And their leader? Han Jisung.

You knew of him before all of this. Everyone did. Once an idol, he had walked away from fame when the world started burning, disappearing into the underground where he and his members rebuilt themselves into something else. Something dangerous.“They’re expecting us,” Abram said, checking the messages on his modified tablet. “Felix said to use the back entrance.”

The van screeched to a stop in front of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The building was covered in graffiti, a mess of warnings, art, and messages of defiance. But one symbol stood out—a wolf painted in red, its eyes burning like fire.

Mitch glanced at you. “You good?”

You took a breath. You weren’t sure. The idea of meeting them—the idea that Jisung and his group might actually be able to help—felt unreal.

But you nodded. “Let’s go.”

Angel knocked twice on the rusted metal door before stepping back. Silence followed, then the sound of locks shifting. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped out—a sharp-eyed man with a scar running down his cheek. Bang Chan.

“Come inside,” he said simply, scanning each of you before stepping aside.

The warehouse was a carefully constructed safe house. Weapons were stacked in crates along the walls, computers and surveillance monitors flickering with incoming intelligence reports. People moved through the space like ghosts, their voices hushed but urgent.

Then, amidst the chaos, you saw him.

Jisung.

He was leaning against a desk, dressed in all black, his hair slightly tousled as he scanned through a set of blueprints. When he looked up and locked eyes with you, something unspoken passed between you.

Recognition?

Or just curiosity?

“You made a hell of a mess tonight,” Jisung finally said, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. “I like it.”

Marx crossed his arms. “We got the files. We know the government is testing Thanatos Syndrome on humans.”

Jisung’s expression darkened, any trace of amusement vanishing. “Then you’re officially in deeper shit than before.”

“We need your help,” you said, stepping forward. “The politicians want to wipe out the infected, and now we know why. They’re covering their own tracks.”

Silence stretched between you. Then, Jisung sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before glancing at his members.

“What do you think, guys?” he asked.

Felix grinned. “I say we make some noise.”

Chan smirked. “I say we burn them down.”

Jisung looked back at you, and this time, his gaze was steady, unwavering.“Welcome to Stray Kids.”

-

It didn’t take long for Stray Kids to get to work.

Chan had a wall of intel—reports, surveillance footage, smuggled documents—that mapped out the government’s extermination plans. They weren’t just targeting infected animals. They were wiping out entire populations in "preventative measures."

“Zoos, sanctuaries, national parks,” Minho said, his tone cold and sharp. “They’re hitting them all. Any infected animals are being taken for ‘research,’ and the rest… slaughtered.”

You clenched your fists, stomach twisting with rage. “And the ones they’re taking?”

Jisung tapped on a folder, sliding it across the table toward you. “We found a transport schedule. They're being sent to underground research labs—places off the grid.”

Your eyes scanned the papers. “Lab 07—south of the city.”

“Unmarked, high-security,” Hyunjin added. “No records in public databases, which means they’re doing something nasty in there.”

“This is it,” Angel murmured. “This is what we need to expose them.”

Chan nodded. “We need to infiltrate, get footage, rescue what we can.”

“We’ll need a field team,” Marx said.

“You’ll have one,” Jisung replied. His eyes flickered toward you. “y/n? you in?” You met his gaze, surprised he was asking you directly. “I’m in,” you said, voice steady.

A slow smirk curved his lips. “Good.”

The facility loomed ahead, buried deep in a valley surrounded by electrified fences and armed guards. It looked like a research center on the surface, but the underground chambers were what mattered.

Jisung, Felix, and you moved through the shadows, using the cover of darkness to approach the loading dock. Your heart pounded as you watched through night-vision goggles—two trucks were parked outside, crates filled with something alive inside.

“They’re still here,” you whispered.

Jisung nodded. “Then we move fast.”

With Abram’s remote hacking, the security systems glitched long enough for Hyunjin and Seungmin to take out the nearest guards. Once the path was clear, you and Jisung slipped through the back entrance.

The stench of chemicals and blood hit you immediately. Animal cries echoed through the halls, a mix of fear and pain. Jisung’s jaw tightened. “We have to hurry.”

You navigated through the corridors, your heart sinking at the sight of the glass enclosures. Inside, animals trembled—wolves, big cats, even birds of prey, their bodies bearing signs of experimentation. Some had glowing eyes, others twitched unnaturally.

“This isn’t just Thanatos Syndrome,” you murmured. “They’re mutating them.”

Jisung’s fingers brushed yours as he moved closer, voice low. “We’ll get them out.”

You turned to him, searching his face. “You actually care about this.”

His expression softened slightly. “Of course, I do.” Before you could say more, alarms blared.

“Time’s up,” Felix called over comms.

Jisung grabbed your hand. “Come on.”

The two of you moved fast, working in sync as you unlocked cages. The animals were weak but still able to move, some stumbling toward the exit. Felix set up small charges to cover your escape—controlled detonations to create chaos without harming anything inside.

Gunfire erupted as guards stormed in, but Marx and Chan’s team intercepted them at the entrance. Jisung pulled you behind cover, shielding you from stray bullets before returning fire. “Remind me to never underestimate you,” you said breathlessly.

He grinned. “Smart girl.” With the team working together, you managed to clear a path. The moment the last crate was loaded onto the getaway truck, Jisung turned to you. “Let’s go.” As the explosions shook the lab behind you, the two of you ran, side by side, into the night.

Back at the safe house, the rescued animals were being treated. Mitch and the others worked tirelessly, tending to their wounds, while Chan and Angel sorted through the stolen data.

Jisung found you outside, leaning against the railing of the rooftop, watching the city lights.

“Tough night,” he said, handing you a bottle of water.

You took it with a small smile. “But worth it.” He nodded. Silence stretched between you, comfortable but charged. Then, he spoke again.

“You’re different from the others.”

You turned to him. “How so?”

He shrugged. “You don’t just want to fight. You want to fix things.”

You hesitated, then admitted, “I used to think science could fix everything.”

“And now?”

“Now, I think maybe people like you can.” Jisung’s gaze locked onto yours. For a moment, the war, the rebellion, the chaos—it all faded.

Then he grinned. “Careful, y/n. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t fighting this battle alone anymore.

[weirdmageddon]

some thoughts on dave lalonde

so note this isn’t a kidswap au, just a strilonde guardian swap au; a plausible au wherein dave’s meteor(s) are set to land in upstate new york and rose’s in houston tx where they are discovered by mom lalonde and bro strider respectively. so it’s not even really an “alternative universe” so much as “alternative circumstance” because that’s literally all that changes

their interests aren’t swapped; their interests are a natural result of a mix of what they were always predisposed towards (we can look at their post-scratch versions for constants) combined with their living environment. rose strider is still gothy and writes, knits, and has an interest in the zoologically dubious. perhaps rose might handcraft some delirious puppets for her brother-slash-ectofather’s enterprise as a “gift” in one-upmanship. probably has good rapport with the crows that fly into her ironic knockoff disney-princess themed bedroom (see the post i linked above) and get them to fuck with bro passively in exchange for peanuts. she also keeps all the things the crows gift her, pickpocketed shiny things and whatnot

dave lalonde is still the knight of time, still makes sbahj, likes photography, still loves cooking up unbelievably ill jams, still into post-ironic expression, however he’s not irony-poisoned by bro so he’s more comfortable being genuine. his interest in dead things and paleontology comes more to a forefront because of mom’s predilection towards science and genuine encouragement from her. after all she’s made many a mutant kitten herself

i feel like since dave fell to earth with maplehoof, crushing the pony instantly on impact, instead of using its hide to make a bib like a fucking weirdo, mom would paradox clone maplehoof. so dave has a pet pony with a ribbon and little pink heart on it. a knight needs a loyal steed. and hes been attached to maplehoof since his literal first few minutes of existing. so maplehoof wouldnt be bought anywhere, it would originate from itself

i mean he’s seen with the pony at his side in the post-scratch universe so…..

would make sense if the pony mom gifted to rose in canon was more of an involved thing with dave in this circumstance

the only issue is maplehoof cant become his sprite, otherwise that would break the timeloop (they need to come unaltered to earth with dave on the meteor in the first place during the reckoning). also [S] Ride with dave and the scarf would absolutely be a thing at some point

i was thinking maybe instead of a crow, since they aren’t as “everywhere” in upstate new york as they are in that high rise in texas, dave has something more prehistoric put into a sprite. like a parave theropod. can you imagine parave davesprite. maybe an archaeopteryx or something

i guess mom would indulge in a living museum/zoo for “domesticated” ancient organisms all jurassic parked like a weird ongoing experiment but the ectobiology wouldnt be perfect especially because the dna wouldnt be able to be fully read from fossils and specimens. i feel like jurassic park should be dave lalonde’s sort of in-universe media reference the way con air was with john and putting the bunny back in the box. like his friends would just rip on him for living out jurassic park in an imperfect domestic way

and he accidentally kills it through some fetch modus shenanigans. dave still has the bladekind strife specibus but not because he does rooftop battles but because swords are unironically cool, and flings it out the window by accident and it strikes one of the parave theropods in the enclosed zoo below outside his window and dave feels kinda bad

when jade sees it as his server player shes like “oh nooooo :(“ and dave is like “oh god no dont put that in the seizure kernel while i take a piss in one of the many fancy bathrooms this household has”

[nature-girly]

I think it's hilarious when people say that Lower Decks is too silly or absurd. There are valid reasons not to like it, but this isn't one of them imo. (I love Lower Decks). Star Trek has always been at least a little absurd. That's what I like about it. I'd like to present you with some examples. Just an FYI this turned into a long post.

Remember when:

Jack the Ripper was an alien, Scotty got possessed, and the crew got high to defeat him

they defeated androids with improv comedy which included pretending to kill Scotty and Kirk grabbing his boobs

they met Apollo

Abraham Lincoln and several other real or fictional historical figures showed up

a religious cult took over the ship and found Eden

the ship's computer had an emotional breakdown

the characters turned into children

or they got put in a zoo

met the devil

found Atlantis

Spock got cloned

Data's image replaced every holodeck character in a western

he got possessed by an ancient mask

Data had weird dreams which included Dr. Crusher drinking Riker's brains through a bendy straw

they went to a planet where everyone wore skimpy outfits and worshiped a computer and Wesley almost got killed because he stepped on the grass

more characters turned into children

they went to a matriarchal planet and Riker wore a questionable outfit to impress their leader who was really sexist towards men

Tuvok and Neelix got fused together

Tom evolved

they went into a simulation with evil circus performers

Janeway and da Vinci were BFFs

Some weird alien women convinced Harry that he was from their planet, but they had actually given him a virus also he went to a wedding where the groom was bound and blindfolded and then killed after the women extracted his dna

Kes gave birth through her back

All pictures are from trekcore.com