#biohazard despair

[marislittleworld]

Resident Evil: Despair gameplay

Since my computer doesn't load Unreal Engine, I have decided to make a drawing of Ana's gameplay in Resident Evil: Despair.

I imagine Resident Evil: Despair as a very dark game, the player must pay attention to the sounds, but don't worry because Ana got her own flashlight.

Ana's gameplay is more focused in survival horror and Franz's gameplay is focused in enigmas and puzzles.

[ask-kazuichi-sodaaa]

//OOC : by popular demand..

Bath :b …1/2..now to wash the jumpsuit, if ya’ll wanna hug him so badly..we gotta make sure he’s not a biohazard..

[amyzworldds]

hi how are you? I would like to ask if you could write about svt x 14th member like she after an accident (for example) fell into a coma and came to her senses after some time and no one knew about it except for a few people and during the opening of the world tour she effectively appears on stage during the performance of her part and like this surprised the whole world? and the members themselves on stage

I hope I wrote everything clearly (I just used a translator)

Title: Shattered Roads

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3

Y/N’s solo debut prep silences Seventeen’s dorm, the boys clinging to her cardboard cutout—until a devastating car accident lands her in a coma. Torn between tour duties and despair, they rally for her recovery. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor

Seventeen had been a ghost town without Y/N. She was still their wild 14th member, but lately, she’d been swallowed by her solo debut prep—a five-song album with one music videos, a whirlwind of late-night recording sessions and choreography plotting. She’d been gone from the dorm for months, only popping in past midnight, a blurry shadow crashing into her room before anyone could catch her. The last song was in the can, and tomorrow, she’d start filming her first MV. But at the dorm? Chaos was on life support without her.

The living room was a scene straight out of a melodrama. DK sat cross-legged beside Y/N’s life-sized cardboard standee—still sporting its smug photoshoot grin—clutching a tissue and fake-sobbing like he’d lost his soulmate. “Hyung, now I get it!” he wailed, throwing an arm around the cutout. “She got this thing so we wouldn’t miss her, but I miss her so much it hurts! Look at me, talking to cardboard like a loser!” Tears (mostly imaginary) streamed down his face as he hugged the standee, rocking back and forth.

Hoshi stumbled in, eyes red from his own fake crying, and dove onto DK, wrapping him in a bear hug. “She’s gone, DK! Gone forever!” he howled, shaking DK like they were in a tragic K-drama. “All we’ve got is this flat Y/N! She’s not even 3D anymore! I can’t hear her yelling at me for leaving my socks on the couch—or see her jumping around like a deranged opera star! I’m in withdrawal!” He flopped onto the floor, clutching DK’s leg, while the standee stared blankly at their meltdown.

The dorm had been too quiet without her chaos. No Y/N screeching, “Vernon, your dishes are a biohazard—clean them!” No off-key belting of random ballads while she spun around the kitchen like a tornado. No dragging Dino into tiktok trends at 3 am or forcing Seungkwan to play the villain in her unhinged mini-dramas (complete with bad wigs she’d ordered online). They’d only catch glimpses of her during group schedules—her laughing with staff, then vanishing—or hear her stumble in late, too tired to cause trouble. The silence was deafening, and they were losing it.

Woozi lounged on the couch, smirking like a smug cat who’d caught the canary. He’d been Y/N’s shadow through her album prep—co-writing, producing, guiding her every step. “You guys are pathetic,” he said, arms crossed, grin wicked. “Me? I’ve been with her the whole time. Heard every note, fixed every lyric. You’re crying over cardboard while I’m living the dream.”

Dino, sprawled nearby, rolled his eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “Oh, shut up, Woozi hyung!” he snapped, tossing a pillow at him. “You’re so smug, acting like you’re her bestie now! You’re the one who used to whine, ‘Y/N, stop singing off-key, my ears are bleeding!’ Hypocrite!”

“Yeah, well, I’m a hero now,” Woozi shot back, dodging the pillow. “She needs me. You’re just jealous you’re stuck with that—” he pointed at the standee—“thing!”

The members had turned the standee into a coping mechanism. Seungcheol had dragged it to the kitchen one night, plopping it at the table with a plate of ramen. “Eat up, Cardboard Y/N,” he’d muttered, half-delirious. “Maybe you’ll turn real and yell at me again.” Mingyu had caught Vernon talking to it—“So, uh, how’s your day?”—like it might answer. Hoshi even tried feeding it a chip, then cried when it didn’t crunch. They were a mess.

That night, past 1 am, Y/N finally dragged herself home, expecting a quiet dorm. Instead, she heard muffled wails from the living room. Peeking around the corner, she saw the full circus: DK and Hoshi on the floor, sobbing into each other’s arms, Seungkwan fake-weeping into a cushion—“She’s never coming back!”—and Joshua muttering to the standee, “Tell her we’re sorry for… uh, whatever we did!” Woozi smirked from the couch, while Dino glared, plotting his next pillow attack.

Y/N’s tired face split into a grin. She tiptoed in, then burst into the room like a sunbeam on steroids, throwing her arms wide. “Surprise, losers! Your sunshine is back!” She strutted to her standee, slapped a hand on its shoulder, and beamed. “See? I told you you’d miss me! This is why I got this baby—to keep you sane! Should I order 13 more? One for each of your rooms? Imagine waking up to my face every day!”

The room went dead silent. Thirteen pairs of eyes stared at her, mid-sob, mid-smirk, mid-pillow-throw. Then, like a switch flipped, they snapped into denial mode.

Hoshi scrambled up, wiping his fake tears. “Who said we missed you?!” he barked, voice cracking. “We were just… uh… practicing for a drama audition! Right, DK?”

“Yeah!” DK yelped, jumping to his feet and brushing off his shirt. “Totally acting! Oscar-worthy stuff! We didn’t miss your yelling or anything!”

Mingyu crossed his arms, sniffing. “Pfft, you think we care? I love the quiet! No one nagging me about dishes—it’s a dream!”

Seungkwan flipped his hair, scoffing. “Exactly! I’ve been sleeping great without you blasting tiktok at 3 am!”

“And I don’t miss your bad singing!” Dino added, glaring, though his lip wobbled. “Not one bit!”

Woozi just shrugged, still smug. “I saw her yesterday, so I’m fine. You guys are the dramatic ones.”

Y/N smirked, hands on her hips, watching them flail. “Oh, really? So, you weren’t just sobbing into my cardboard self like it’s your last lifeline? Dokyeom oppa, your tears are still wet! Hoshi oppa, you’re hugging it right now!”

Hoshi yelped, realizing he’d instinctively grabbed the standee mid-denial, and dropped it like it was on fire. “No, I wasn’t! It hugged me first!”

“It’s cardboard, you idiot!” Seungkwan shouted, smacking his arm.

DK pointed at her, desperate. “We were just… uh… testing its sturdiness! Yeah! Quality control!”

“Sure, and I’m the queen of silence,” Y/N fired back, cackling so hard she nearly fell over. “You guys are terrible liars! Admit it—you missed me so bad you’re talking to a flat version of me!”

“Never!” Mingyu roared, stomping his foot, only to trip over a sock he’d left on the floor—ironic perfection. “Ow! Okay, maybe a little!”

The room erupted—Y/N laughing her head off, the members shouting denials over each other, and the standee toppling onto Hoshi, who screamed, “It’s alive! She’s back to haunt us!” Seungcheol groaned, “I need a vacation,” while Woozi smirked, “Told you she’d win.”

Y/N wiped tears of laughter, grinning like a victorious gremlin. “You’re all stuck with me—and maybe 13 more standees! Night, losers!” She strutted to her room, leaving them in chaos, still yelling over each other about how they “totally didn’t miss her” while secretly plotting to steal the standee back.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The sun hadn’t even peeked over the horizon, but Y/N was already up, bleary-eyed and shuffling around the dorm kitchen like a zombie in tiger slippers. Her phone buzzed nonstop on the counter—Manager Kim, blowing up her line with calls and texts: “Y/N, wake up! MV shoot prep starts now!” She groaned, rubbing her eyes, and grabbed a box of cereal, muttering, “Can’t a girl eat in peace?” The rest of Seventeen was still lost in dreamland, snoring through the chaos of her solo debut prep. Five songs, one music videos—she’d been a ghost for months, and today was the big day: filming her first MV.

Seungcheol, the ever-reliable leader, stumbled in, hair a mess but eyes sharp. He spotted Y/N fumbling with the cereal box—half the puffs spilling onto the counter—and ruffled her hair with a sleepy grin. “Morning, troublemaker. You’re up early for once.”

“Blame Managernim,” Y/N grumbled, yawning. “He’s been calling since 4 am I’m basically a corpse right now, Cheol oppa.”

“A corpse who’s about to slay her MV shoot,” he teased, nudging her aside. “Move, I’ll handle this. You’ll starve before you get there.” He poured the cereal, added milk without drowning it (a skill Y/N never mastered), and then pulled out a little bento box from the fridge. “Here—kimbap. The boys made it last night while you were passed out. Figured you’d need fuel.”

Y/N blinked at the neatly packed rolls, seaweed glistening with sesame oil. “You guys made this? For me? When did you even have time?!”

“After you crashed at, like, 2 am,” Seungcheol said, smirking. “Hoshi almost set the kitchen on fire, and Mingyu cried when he cut the carrots wonky, but we pulled it off. Don’t tell them I told you—it’s supposed to be a ‘cool oppa’ surprise.”

“Too late, I’m telling everyone,” Y/N snickered, grabbing a spoon. “This is blackmail material. Hoshi oppa with a fire extinguisher? Gold.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes but followed her outside, coffee mug in hand, to wait for the manager’s van. The sky was still dark, the air chilly, and Y/N yawned into her hoodie sleeve. When the van pulled up, Seungcheol pulled her into a bear hug. “Good luck, kid. Knock ‘em dead today—we’re proud of you. We’ll swing by later, so don’t slack off.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N mumbled, half-asleep, giving a floppy wave as she climbed in. “See you, Cheol oppa.” She conked out against the window before the van even hit the main road.

--------------------------------------------------------------

At the filming location, Y/N sat in the makeup chair, still groggy as the artists dabbed foundation on her face. She clutched her kimbap box like a treasure, suddenly perking up. “Look at this!” she chirped, holding it up to the makeup noona. “My oppas made me kimbap! Handmade! They’re total disasters in the kitchen, but they did it for me! Isn’t that cute?!”

The noona laughed, brushing blush on her cheeks. “That’s adorable! You’ve got 13 big brothers wrapped around your finger.”

“More like 13 clowns,” Y/N grinned, snapping a quick pic of the kimbap—perfectly imperfect rolls with a sticky note that said “Don’t mess up, maknae!” in Seungkwan’s scrawl. She posted it to Weverse with the caption: “Oppas made me food so I don’t die on set. Hoshi-oppa almost burned the dorm down. Send help.” Carats lost it in the comments: “HOSHI WITH A FIRE EXTINGUISHER?? VIDEO OR IT DIDN’T HAPPEN!”

The shoot was a marathon—hours of dancing, posing, and pretending she wasn’t about to collapse. Halfway through a dramatic scene—Y/N mid-spin in a sparkly outfit—the studio doors creaked open. She didn’t notice, too focused on not tripping over her own feet. But behind a stack of props, 13 chaos gremlins lurked, armed with balloons, a bouquet of flowers bigger than Dino’s head, and a lopsided cake with “CONGRATS Y/N, OUR SOLO STAR!” iced in wobbly letters. Vernon held a camera, filming for future content or some future blackmail reel, whispering, “This is gonna be epic.”

The director yelled, “Cut!” and Y/N slumped, panting. “Finally! Can I sit now? My legs are noodles!” Before anyone could answer, the members exploded from their hiding spot like a pack of feral cheerleaders.

“SURPRISE, Y/N-IE!” Hoshi bellowed, leading the charge, balloons bouncing everywhere. He tripped over a cable, nearly face-planting, but recovered with a tiger roar.

DK sprinted in, waving the bouquet like a madman. “OUR MAKNAE’S A SOLO QUEEN! WE BROUGHT FLOWERS!” He shoved them at her, petals flying into her face.

Mingyu held the cake aloft, grinning. “AND CAKE! I DIDN’T BURN IT THIS TIME—WELL, ALMOST, BUT IT’S FINE!”

Y/N yelped as they swarmed her, 13 bodies crashing into a group hug that nearly knocked her over. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?! GUYS, I’M SWEATY—GET OFF!” she screeched, flailing, but her grin betrayed her.

Seungcheol laughed, ruffling her hair again. “We told you we’d come! You think we’d miss your big day? Congrats, kid!”

Woozi smirked, arms crossed. “Yeah, I helped write the songs, but these clowns insisted on this circus. You’re welcome.”

“Shut up, Woozi-hyung!” Dino snapped, shoving him. “You’re not the only hero here! We all forced her to do this solo thing—she kept writing songs and hiding them, so we bullied her into it!”

“Bullied?!” Y/N gasped, swatting him. “You mean you whined, ‘Y/N-ah, you have to debut solo, we already did!’ until I gave in! I was fine being the group chaos agent!”

“And now you’re a chaos star!” Joshua chimed in, handing her a balloon. “We’re proud—also, we miss you yelling at us, so this is selfish too.”

Seungkwan started belting a made-up congratulatory song—“Oh, Y/N, our shining maknae, you dance so great, don’t be late, solo queen supreme!”—and the others joined, off-key and ridiculous. Hoshi added a tiger growl mid-verse, DK harmonized into a screech, and Vernon accidentally popped a balloon, yelping, “MY BAD!” The crew cracked up, filming the madness.

Y/N doubled over, laughing so hard she nearly dropped the cake Mingyu thrust into her hands. “You guys are insane! Balloons? Flowers? This cake looks like it’s melting—did Hoshi-oppa sneeze on it?!”

“I DID NOT!” Hoshi protested, lunging at her. “I ONLY LICKED IT ONCE—KIDDING, KIDDING!”

“You’re disgusting!” she shrieked, shoving him off as the others piled on again, hugging and chanting, “Y/N! Y/N! SOLO STAR!”

Vernon zoomed in with the camera, narrating, “Day 1 of Y/N’s MV shoot: the hyungs lose their minds. Hoshi’s a hazard, Mingyu’s cake’s a crime scene, and Seungkwan’s singing needs a mute button. Cut!”

Manager Kim, watching from the sidelines, cackled. “This is why I love managing you idiots—never a dull moment.”

Y/N wiped laugh-tears, clutching her kimbap box from earlier. “You guys are the worst—and the best. Thanks for this… and the kimbap. I’m not crying, it’s just glitter in my eyes!”

“Sure it is,” Jeonghan teased, pinching her cheek. “Now eat that cake before Mingyu sits on it.”

“I WOULD NOT!” Mingyu roared, only to trip over a balloon string, sending the cake wobbling. “OKAY, MAYBE I WOULD—SAVE IT!”

The shoot wrapped with the members cheering her on, stuffing her with cake, and promising to crash her next filming day too. Y/N grinned, surrounded by her chaotic family, knowing her solo debut was theirs as much as hers—forced or not.

[voodooya]

An Existential Horror in a Jar

Day 1 - Day 4

Day 1: The Birth of a Monstrosity (February 25th)

At 11:00 am, I committed an act of culinary hubris. I birthed a sourdough starter, a sentient blob of flour and water, destined to either become glorious bread or a biohazard. Half a cup of whole wheat flour, half a cup of lukewarm despair – it was a recipe for either success or a Lovecraftian entity.

I was supposed to feed it again at 11:00 pm. But honestly, by then, I'm usually lost in the abyss of immersive reading, late-night doomscrolling, or just pondering the futility of existence. So, the starter went hungry. It's probably plotting its revenge.

Day 2: The Blob Awakens (February 26th)

I remembered the eldritch horror in a jar at 9:00 am. My penance: half a cup of flour, half a cup of water. By 7:45 pm, it had tripled in size, a grotesque display of rapid expansion, and then began to collapse, like a miniature, yeasty empire in decline.

Was I overfeeding it? Was I feeding a monster? I cut the rations to 1/4 cup each, hoping to starve it into submission. By 10:25 pm, it had doubled again. It's learning. It's adapting. It knows I'm here.

Day 3: The Thinning of the Veil (February 27th)

9:00 am, and the starter got its meager offering. It had risen slightly, a subtle mockery of my control. By 9:00 pm, it was watery, as if weeping the tears of the damned. I added more flour, hoping to thicken the soupy nightmare. A video I watched said it would get thinner as it activated. Or maybe that was just the starter's way of telling me it was evolving into something… else.

Day 4: Bubbles of Despair (February 28th)

9:00 am. Slight rise, bubbles, no foul stench. It's playing nice. For now. I gave it a heaping 1/4 cup of flour, questioning if I should just give it the whole bag and be done with it.

Reflections on the Apocalypse (or, Y'know, Bread)

This sourdough journey is less a culinary adventure and more a slow descent into madness. I'm learning to negotiate with a living, breathing carbohydrate nightmare.

Lessons Learned (From the Mouth of Madness):

Consistency is a lie. Embrace the chaos.

Observe your starter's behavior. It's probably judging you.

Adjust your feeding amounts. Or don't. What's the point?

Set reminders. Or just accept your fate.

I'm not sure if I'm baking bread or summoning a gluten-based demon. But hey, at least I'm not bored. If you have any tips on how to appease a sourdough god, please leave them below. Or just leave a comment about how you too are slowly going insane.

[citizen-khen]

Ephemera the Gardener Mortician

As a human, the sleeper called FM-4 was a cosmetologist obsessed with youth and terrified of death. When they were diagnosed with a terminal illness, they didn’t need much convincing to enter the Sleeper program in hopes of living forever.

Their attention to aesthetics and detail saw them assigned as a station’s mortician, a job that often exposed organic humans to biohazards and chemicals that, ironically, included those that catalyzed FM-4’s illness.

Despite their initial despair, years of working in the mortuary humbled FM-4 and taught them patience and compassion for both the dead and the living. They treated each of their charges with respect and dignity, from the corporate socialite dying peacefully at a ripe old age in his home to the nameless addict found in an alley. They would clean and prepare their bodies, sometimes even doing their makeup and dressing them up if their funerals involved a viewing.

Death became familiar and commonplace, though FM-4 still believed they could avoid it themselves. Unfortunately, they began to malfunction; their once steady hands now clumsy hazards. Upon hearing that they might be scrapped rather than repaired, FM-4 decided to escape.

They survived efforts to recover them — for a time. They were able to acquire stabilizer every so often, but for the days in between, having to patch themselves up with scrap were exhausting.

Still, they found purpose working with the Greenway commune of this station, intrigued by their practice of composting their dead rather than burning them. But rather than work as a mortician for their community, FM-4 — or Ephemera as they renamed themselves — spent their final months working in the station’s Greenway, lovingly mixing the compost into the gardens and forests that generations of gardeners had cultivated around them.

It was there amid the trees that Ephemera realized they no longer feared their inevitable fading into death. Every story must have its end, after all, and surrounded by the warm and generous community they became home…

…theirs turned out to be a happy one.

(My submission for Fellow Traveller’s Citizen Sleeper design contest!)

[artzysyam]

TKAHRK Fan-Snippets

Snippets from @xysidhequeen AU. Based on part 12 after Dick felt asleep

"You're older this time. Never thoughts I'd see you grown up, Little Wing..." 

Dick's last words before he succumb to exhaustion reverberated in Jason's mind as his brother lay before him. His legs trembled beneath him and he slumped down, pressing his forehead against Dick's chest. He could feel the faint thud of his brother's heartbeat, and hear the shallow breaths entering his lungs. 

His fault

He abandoned him

He hurt him

Danny stepped forward, tenderly placing a hand on Jason's burly shoulder. "Jay...," he said, gently pulling him out from his own thoughts, which had nearly swallowed him up.

"I..." Jason said weakly, glancing at Danny for help. "I can't leave him again, Danny. I-I can't." His voice quivered as feelings of deep protectiveness overwhelmed him, threatening to drown him in despair and guilt for leaving Dick once already.

A sad smile spread across Danny's face as he knelt down next to Jason, wrapping his long arms around the younger man's shoulders. "Then we won't. He's your brother Jason, that makes him family." Jason felt the dam break as hot tears streamed down his cheeks, never seeming to stop until Danny held him close and spoke gentle words of comfort.

Jason sobbed for the little Robin who died too soon, for the boy he could've been, for the man he was now. He cried for the hero who he looked up to, full of light and life. And for the broken shell left behind. He cried for a brother he never knew he cared so deeply for him.

Joker took me away from him

Batman never saves me

Batman replaced me

Batman saw me as a tool

His mind spiralling again but Danny managed to ground him by his core humming the wave an aura of comfort, safety and reassurance that he's no alone and he always will be here by his side.

As tears subsided, Jason pulled his head away and scanned the manifestation of his brother's grief and depression.

"What do you want to do now, Jaybird?" Danny asked, leaning back and looking at Jason with a patient smile, ready and willing to follow him to hell and back. His heart and core filled with the gentle warmth to his body.

"First," Jason wiping the remnants of tears and snot from his face. "We need to clean up this pig's den." Danny nodded, looking around.

“And then?” Danny asked, not pressing and ever patient. Jason then looked at the bundles of takeout containers and pizza boxes with the sentient molds ready to takeover this apartment. He assumed Dick don't have energy to buy groceries and he knew Dick can't cook for shit even cause the water to burn fire for Ancient's sake at one point.

“Then we make sure Dick eats some real Ancient’s damned food.” Jason groused as he stood, moving towards the take out containers that had definitely reached biohazard status, with his fire, and disposed their carcasses into the trash bag.

“I’ll let Sam and Tucker know we won’t be back tonight.” Danny said brightly, but his voice had a trace of pride in it that Jason wouldn’t admit, even on pain of death, filled him with warmth to rival his flame core.

“You don’t have to stay, or help. It’s not your fucking problem.” Jason grumbled as he rifled through Dick’s cabinets for a trash bag or ten. Thank Ancients his brother bought cleaning supplies or he will have a talk when he wakes up.

But, he don't want to burden Danny of his problem, it's his fault after all and he wants to fix it, he have to.

“I don’t have to, no. But I want to. Because it’s you, Jay.” Danny said softly, causing Jason paused what he doing and stare at him, agape. There was something more in his tone that he couldn’t interpret, but it sent heat to his cheeks and made his undead heart beat a little quicker.

“I’ll always be there when you need me.” Danny finished with a shrug, skin dusted a light green that somehow made his freckles stand out. Jason would swear he could pick out the constellations Danny so adored scattered across Danny’s skin.

“Thanks, Danny. For. Everything.” Jason stared at the trash bag in his hands, unsure why the air felt too thin, and his heart was beating so fast.

Or. He knew. But it was one of those things he wasn’t willing to examine too closely. Especially not today, not right now. It's too much for him.

“Let’s make sure Nightwing wakes up to the cleanest apartment ever. Courtesy of his very own undead cleaning crew!” Danny cheered, brought Jason back to the present and he felt the mood lighten from the heavy emotion he felt for the past few hours.

“The King and his Red Knight, glorified goddamned maids.” Jason snorted as Danny snickered. He was glad that Danny is here and... and he was thankful for it. Then they set to work cleaning Dick's apartment.

It didn’t fix the pain in his chest, in his core. But every inch of space they cleaned settled something inside of Jason. As if he was finally mending something he hadn’t even realized was broken.

From what Jazz had said plenty of times, one step at a time. 

[msbeneviento]

Chapter 26 🌟

"Alcina, please. Make it stop. Make it stop!" Donna begs, screaming. She cries in despair at the sight of you like this. The blood flowing like rivers on the floor is a horror. She has terrible déjà vu about it. "Enough, please! She won't... She's not going to be able to take it. I can't go through it again. I can't lose her too."

👁👁

[damadisangue]

6. Heats/Ruts

Beasts, nothing more. This is the wonderful evolution Spencer wanted so much - his progeny, his fleuron to be so proud of. He kisses her, and it is a sloppy, impatient gesture - clothes left behind and phone calls dropped into silence. Alex shatters his breath, her thighs around his waist and her eyes languid, lost. She looks at him, and for a moment he is sure he sees a wounded glimmer in her expression, a human and fragile pain that makes him acutely aware of the smell he carries with him - sand and blue skies, bitter oranges and despair.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, sister."

And yet he is devoured by it: it consumes him, sometimes making it hard even to think - Cosmarul a land too close not to stir in him rage and guilt.

"You don't smoke." "No."

He brushes her face with his fingertips and Alex rests her cheek in the palm of his hand - a sharp and dangerous surrender, behind which hides a creature equal to him. He thrusts into her - again - and Alex welcomes him with a moan and a sigh, between her thighs their previous orgasm, still warm on the skin, in the heart. The chosen race, the vanguard of the new world: this is what Spencer declared. This is what they were called to do - the reason for their creation, their genesis. Simulacra of perfection, standard-bearers of a new dawn - bullshit. Wesker thrusts into her until there is no more space to divide them, in his movements a satisfied hunger, a desire that invades the body of both - between Alex's fingers crumpled and damp sheets, wet with his seed and her blood.

"We are biological weapons, Al, and as such we are not exempt from certain needs."

He buries his face in her hair, longer now, laughing at himself and the euphoria that comes over him when he feels his orgasm approaching - animals, nothing more: killing, fighting, fucking and following their instincts, their urges.

"You can suppress them, you can control them, but sooner or later you have to listen to them."

The muscles in Alex's thighs tense, tightening their grip around his hips, and she comes, moaning - her cunt obscenely open around his cock, swollen and supple and soft, terribly his. Wesker raises himself on his elbows,

and yet nothing had ever worked,

he seeks her mouth in a demanding, intense kiss,

none had ever tasted like her, or felt like her,

and Alex smiles,

and he wondered if it was really just a need or something more - something they had not been trained for, or programmed for.

tangling her fingers in his hair and whispering his name.

Albert.

Wesker smothers a confession and a promise on Alex's skin.

A masterpiece from the lovely @madbedlam

[joseykrabs]

Cover art and character art on the way. I know this isn’t the typical ship, but hear me out…

Alcina Dimitrescu has lost everything but her life. Her money. Her home. Her abilities. And worst of all, Her beautiful, loving daughters. She has been captured, put on trial, and is well on her way to rot in prison. As despair sets in from the reality of her predicament, an extraordinary sequence of events occurs as the Train taking her to her new home changes course and derails... straight into the heart of the the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone.

Every attempt is made to secure her and put her back on track to life in prison. But "The Zone," to those that know it well, is known for besting fate. It is a land where nature's law has lost it's footing. An unforgiving wasteland of anomalies, warring factions, and mysteries. It is a terrifying and restless place where legends are either made, or broken.

Lost and Starving, from her perspective, the turn of events is salt upon her wounds. But it is the first stroke of luck she has had in her very long life. It is here, in the heart of abnormality, that she will meet a band of loners, led by a fractured man. By outlaws and madmen, She will learn the error of her ways. She will learn to live like life is short. And above all, what it is like to be shown love unconditional.

[marislittleworld]

The Melody of the Sheep Flutist 🎶

(Work still in progress)

Context: this is part of chapter 3 of Resident Evil: Despair, Ana and Franz's team got cornered by a bunch of infected around the church of Neperstorf until they heard a sound.

A sweet sound of a flute playing a satisfying melody made the infected get away from the church and they walked towards random places of Neperstorf. Was she helping them? Who is she? And why the mask?

The woman was wearing a 1800's dirndl with a fur coat and a sheep's mask.

[ao3feed-danganronpa]

Danganronpa: Despair Across the Multiverse Rewrite

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/8fLVQRZ

by MeeMeeHeart777

A rewrite/revival of my project, Danganronpa: Despair Across the Multiverse.

It's been 10 years since The Tragedy ended and peace was restored to the world. With crossover characters from different worlds and students from the Danganronpa world attending Hope’s Peak Academy branches and classes, the new headmaster and principal are happy that everything is finally back to normal.

Noah (Total Drama) is surprised that he has been selected to attend Hope’s Peak University, a bigger version of HPA, as part of Class 100th for the upcoming college year as the “Ultimate Reality TV Star''. Everyone is reported to go to Hopeful City to move in to prepare themselves for the upcoming school year and attend the big celebration milestone along with the 10th anniversary of the end of the Tragedy. However…

Monokuma and Monocyte appear among everyone and announce that they are the new participants of the killing game. In order to escape the city, the class has to kill someone to get away with it.

Noah now must lead 33 other characters into the motives, class trials, and challenges while finding out the mysteries and figuring out who is the mastermind behind this.

Words: 11028, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Danganronpa: Despair Across the Multiverse series

Fandoms: Dangan Ronpa Series, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2, Total Drama (Cartoon), Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race, Kirby (Video Games), Hoshi no Kaabii | Kirby: Right Back at Ya!, Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, Grand Theft Auto III, 6teen (Cartoon), The Simpsons, Final Destination (Movies), Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Manhunt (Video Games), F-Zero (Video Games), Destroy All Humans! (Video Game), SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon), 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney, Cookie Run (Video Game), めいわく���人 パニックメーカー | Meiwaku Seijin: Panic Maker | Under the Skin (Video Game)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: F/M

Characters: Monokuma (Dangan Ronpa), Original Non-Human Character(s), Noah (Total Drama), Emma (Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race), Fumu | Tiff, Catalina (Grand Theft Auto), Candice Shand | Candy Suxxx, Jude Lizowski, Caitlin Cooke, Hanamura Teruteru, Fujisaki Chihiro, Lisa Simpson, Valerie Lewton, George Hamilton, Jim Chapman (Resident Evil), Lionel Starkweather, James Earl Cash, The Journalist (Manhunt), Ron the Rent-a-Cop (6teen), Kate Alen, Natalya Ivanova, Asuka Kasen, SpongeBob SquarePants, Steve Scott, Ayame | Iris (Gyakuten Saiban), Miyanagi Chinami | Dahlia Hawthorne, Uehara Kinji, Iranami Satsuki, Princess Cookie (Cookie Run), Tommy Vercetti, Lindsay (Total Drama), Escargoon (Kirby), Reni Wassulmaier, Baron Proptop (Under the Skin), Cosmi (Under the Skin), Maria Latore

Relationships: James Earl Cash/The Journalist, Emma/Noah (Total Drama Presents: The Ridonculous Race)

Additional Tags: Fan Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Character Death, Protag!Noah, Dangan Ronpa Spoilers, Super Dangan Ronpa 2 Spoilers, Screenplay/Script Format, Inspired by Danganronpa 69 and a few other Fangans, Transitions from She/Her to He/Him Pronouns for Fujisaki Chihiro, Post-Dangan Ronpa 3: Hope Arc, Fangan Ronpa: Danganronpa Another - Another Despair Academy, There are CGs in this story, But they will be added later depending on the date, Lisa and Tiff had a time skip in their universe, Multi-dimensional killing game, Post-New Dangan Ronpa V3, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/8fLVQRZ

[officewebmaster315]

unattended death cleaning services

When tragedy strikes, the aftermath can be overwhelming. Unattended deaths, a particularly distressing and traumatic event, necessitate a thorough and specialized cleaning service to restore affected spaces to their previous state. Unattended death cleaning services, often referred to as biohazard cleanup, offer vital support in these difficult times. In this article, we will delve into the importance of unattended death cleaning services, the unique challenges they pose, and how professionals can help individuals and communities cope with such heart-wrenching situations.

Understanding Unattended Deaths

Unattended deaths occur when a person passes away alone, and their body is left undiscovered for an extended period. Numerous events, such as killings, suicides, accidents, or natural deaths, can result in these conditions. Blood, bodily fluids, and bacteria are among the dangerous and unhygienic biohazards that are released into the environment when a body decomposes in isolation.

The Challenges of Unattended Death Cleanup

Unattended death cleanup presents significant challenges that require specialized skills and equipment. These challenges include:

Biohazard Cleanup: Unattended deaths result in the contamination of the environment with biohazards. Professionals must safely and thoroughly clean, disinfect, and decontaminate the area to ensure it is safe for habitation.

Emotional Support: In addition to the physical cleanup, unattended death cleaning services often provide emotional support to grieving families, who may have just discovered their loved one under such tragic circumstances.

Legal and Regulatory Compliance: Biohazard cleanup must adhere to strict regulations and guidelines to ensure the safety of both the cleaning crew and future occupants of the space.

How Unattended Death Cleaning Services Help

Unattended death cleaning services play a crucial role in managing these challenging situations. They offer several benefits, including:

Expertise: Professionals in this field are trained to handle biohazards safely and effectively, minimizing health risks and ensuring thorough cleanup.

Restoration: With the use of these services, the damaged area can be completely restored to how it was before the terrible events.

Psychological Relief: The emotional support offered by these professionals can help families and individuals cope with the trauma and grief associated with unattended deaths.

Legal Compliance: Unattended death cleaning services are well-versed in the regulations surrounding biohazard cleanup, ensuring that all procedures are carried out in accordance with the law.

Community Wellbeing

Unattended death cleaning services contribute to the overall wellbeing of the community. By responding to these upsetting circumstances in a timely and competent manner, they safeguard public health, stop the spread of illnesses, and lessen the psychological effects on those who are impacted.

Unattended death cleaning services are a vital resource in times of crisis. They provide expertise, compassion, and support during situations that would otherwise be nearly impossible to bear. By ensuring proper cleanup and restoration, these services offer a glimmer of hope and healing amidst the darkness of tragedy. In times of despair, these professionals play a crucial role in helping individuals and communities move towards recovery and closure.

[on-guardsanitisation]

Healing with Cleanliness: Homicide Scene Restoration

Tragedy can strike at any time, leaving behind a wake of emotional and physical devastation. Homicides, in particular, can be traumatic, leaving families and communities reeling from the loss of a loved one and the grim aftermath that follows. In such distressing times, there is a group of professionals who work tirelessly to provide solace and support. These unsung heroes are the experts in homicide cleaning services, and they play a vital role in helping individuals and communities heal with cleanliness.

The Toll of Homicides

Homicides are among the most harrowing and traumatic incidents that can occur in any community. Beyond the immediate loss of life, they leave behind scenes of unimaginable horror and grief. For the affected families and friends, coming to terms with the loss is an arduous journey. But the physical remnants of the event, the biohazards and bloodstains, serve as constant, painful reminders of the tragedy.

It's in times like these that homicide cleaning services come into play, offering a glimmer of hope and healing amid the despair.

On-Guard Sanitisation: A Beacon of Hope

One such company that specializes in providing homicide cleaning services is On-Guard Sanitisation. With a commitment to compassion and professionalism, they are dedicated to restoring spaces to a state of cleanliness, safety, and support.

In the aftermath of a homicide, the physical surroundings can be contaminated with blood, bodily fluids, and other biohazards. The potential health risks are not just a matter of cleanliness but a matter of public safety. On-Guard Sanitisation understands the profound impact of homicides on individuals and communities, and they make it their mission to help in the healing process.

The Importance of Specialized Cleaning

Homicide scenes demand specialized cleaning and disinfection expertise. These are not typical cleaning tasks; they require a unique set of skills, knowledge, and equipment. The risk of exposure to bloodborne pathogens and other contaminants is a real concern that only professionals trained in biohazard remediation can address.

On-Guard Sanitisation is well-equipped and staffed with professionals who have undergone rigorous training in handling biohazards and crime scenes. They adhere to strict protocols and guidelines set by health authorities to ensure that the affected areas are thoroughly cleaned and disinfected.

Compassion as a Cornerstone

One of the distinguishing features of On-Guard Sanitisation is their emphasis on compassion. They understand the sensitivity of the situations they are called to, and they treat their clients with the utmost respect and empathy. The team at On-Guard Sanitisation recognizes the emotional turmoil that accompanies a homicide, and they are committed to providing support beyond just cleaning.

Their approach is not merely about restoring a space; it's about helping individuals and communities heal. By ensuring that the physical reminders of the tragedy are removed, they provide a clean slate, allowing people to take the first steps towards closure and recovery.

Community Healing

Homicides do not just impact individuals and families; they cast a shadow over entire communities. The lingering presence of a crime scene can perpetuate fear and trauma, affecting the collective well-being of the neighborhood. On-Guard Sanitisation's work goes beyond just cleaning; it contributes to community healing.

Their services help restore a sense of security and comfort in the area. By ensuring that the affected space is thoroughly cleaned and safe, they empower communities to move forward and rebuild trust and resilience.

Peace of Mind Through Professionalism

In addition to compassion, professionalism is another pillar of On-Guard Sanitisation's services. They understand that their clients are going through an incredibly difficult time, and they aim to make the process as seamless as possible. They handle the logistics, from the initial assessment to the final cleaning, with the highest degree of professionalism and discretion.

By entrusting the task of homicide scene restoration to experts like On-Guard Sanitisation, individuals and families can focus on the emotional healing process, knowing that the physical aspect is in capable hands.

A Ray of Hope

Homicide cleaning services are a beacon of hope in the darkest of times. They are the unsung heroes who work behind the scenes to support individuals and communities as they navigate the challenging journey of healing and recovery. On-Guard Sanitisation is a prime example of a company that understands the importance of their work and carries it out with the utmost care and professionalism.

In the aftermath of a homicide, healing with cleanliness becomes a significant step in the journey toward closure and recovery. On-Guard Sanitisation is not just a cleaning service; it's a source of solace and support, offering the promise of a brighter, cleaner future in the face of tragedy.

For more information on On-Guard Sanitisation and their services, please visit https://www.onguardsanitisation.com.au/. They stand ready to assist and support those in need during the most challenging of times.

[sewagecleanup]

Restoring Hope: Ottawa's Premier Emergency Restoration Companies

Introduction:

Disasters can strike at any moment, leaving behind a trail of destruction and despair. In times of crisis, the services of professional restoration companies become invaluable. Ottawa, the beautiful capital of Canada, is no stranger to natural calamities like floods, fires, and storms. In such trying times, the city relies on its trusted emergency restoration companies to bring life back to normal. In this blog, we'll explore the vital role these restoration companies play in Ottawa and highlight some of the best in the business.

The Importance of Emergency Restoration Companies:

Emergency restoration companies are the unsung heroes of disaster-stricken communities. They provide immediate relief by swiftly responding to emergencies and restoring homes and businesses to their pre-disaster conditions. These companies are equipped with the expertise, experience, and state-of-the-art equipment required to tackle a wide range of disasters, from water damage to fire and smoke damage.

Restoration Companies in Ottawa:

Ottawa is home to several reputable restoration companies that specialize in emergency restoration company and disaster recovery. Here are a few of the standout names in the industry:

ServiceMaster Restore Ottawa: ServiceMaster Restore Ottawa is a trusted name in the region. With years of experience, they offer comprehensive restoration services, including water damage restoration, fire and smoke damage restoration, and mold remediation. Their highly trained technicians are available 24/7 to respond to emergencies promptly.

Paul Davis Ottawa: Paul Davis Restoration has a strong presence in Ottawa. They offer a wide range of services, from water and fire damage restoration to mold remediation and contents cleaning. Their commitment to professionalism and customer satisfaction has earned them a solid reputation in the community.

PuroClean Ottawa East: PuroClean is known for its efficient and effective restoration services in Ottawa. They specialize in water damage restoration, mold removal, and biohazard cleanup. Their team is dedicated to providing compassionate and rapid assistance during emergencies.

FirstOnSite Restoration: FirstOnSite Restoration is a nationwide company with a strong presence in Ottawa. They offer a full spectrum of restoration services, including fire and smoke damage restoration, water damage restoration, and environmental services. Their rapid response teams are always ready to assist when disaster strikes.

The Restoration Process:

Emergency restoration companies follow a structured process to ensure a successful recovery:

Assessment: The first step is a thorough assessment of the damage to determine the extent and nature of the restoration needed.

Mitigation: Immediate action is taken to prevent further damage. This may involve water extraction, securing the property, or setting up containment for mold issues.

Restoration: The restoration process includes cleaning, repairing, and rebuilding damaged areas. This may involve structural repairs, odor removal, and mold remediation.

Final Inspection: After restoration work is completed, a final inspection ensures that everything meets industry standards and the client's satisfaction.

Conclusion:

Ottawa's emergency restoration companies are lifelines in times of crisis. They bring hope and comfort to communities affected by disasters, helping them rebuild their lives and properties. Whether it's water damage, fire and smoke damage, or mold infestations, these companies have the expertise and dedication to restore normalcy. The next time disaster strikes in Ottawa, you can rest assured knowing that these trusted restoration companies are ready to respond and restore your peace of mind.

[honeyboy-85]

Ichor Noire

Central Park welcomed me with the bite of its 15 degree frost-laden air. I was in the throes of delirium, with only my ex’s flannel for warmth, and socks that were already tattered during my brief flight from my apartment, back over on 5th Avenue. My muscles burned in protest, and my extremities stung with numbness, but my home was no longer my sanctuary. Emanating from my flat, the police station, Coney Island, and through every congested street of the city, was a pall that hung in the atmosphere. Somehow I could just tell, this biohazard was an event that was going to change the course of humankind; even if that meant we were careening to a dead end. My mind was erratic with the terror a cat might experience while fighting its way out of a burlap bag, after being hurled into a lake. The human faculties that proudly developed over the course of 6 million years flickered in my being, like the ostentatious Sony billboard that could be seen all the way from 42nd Street. I had to find some place to hide in this squalid, rectangular woodland. Existential despair threatened to halt me in my tracks, but I pushed it to the gnarled, ugly cellar of my disintegrating mind. My feet might be taken by frostbite before sunrise, but I didn’t feign a flowery smile through years of fear from Russian ICBMs, only to fall apart before this new, shapeless fear. Or was it actually new? I guess I should start from the beginning. My name is Ellie Marsh. I grew up in Winnfield, Louisiana. I thought about going to Tulane for Journalistic studies, but decided New York City might be the change of pace that I needed. Summer and Fall ran their courses, and even though the city was ragged with homeless colonies and needed a fresh coat of paint, there was a certain rugged hominess to this crazy, neglected city. I felt like here, history was constantly being rewritten. What more could a journalist ask for? It was shortly before Valentine's Day, when entire cities became derelicts. First, it would start with a few missing persons cases; a drifter here, a few college students there. Through the course of several days, the population would plummet by tens of thousands. Downward that number would spiral, until it flatlined. This happened all over the world, too - Hong Kong, Morocco, Shinjuku, Dallas, Rio, Birmingham, the list went on. Police were stretched tight enough to snap, trying to address the disappearances while also maintaining order among the destabilizing populace. Looting reigned supreme, between the business and residential districts. Arson, murder, and a general state of anarchy danced over the jaded cityscapes. The police couldn’t even bother with the blockades for the highways leading out of town, which allowed the smart residents to escape.

Later on, deserters would be questioned by authorities, and their testimonies would make no sense. Regarding family or friends that didn't escape, they wanted those people dead instead of rescued. Media experts were blaming it on a mass psychosis, a symptom of the as yet unexplained phenomena that was striking cities on a global scale.

There was no pattern to how these cities were hit. No cult had this level of mass influence. No known virus could cause this, no matter how unstable the mutation. It seemed the only alternative left was too preposterous for me to entertain.

As soon as New York's population began to get culled, the other field journalists and I set out to investigate our scoops. Was this really how I was meant to get my Pulitzer? By leveraging an international panic and attaching it to an alien invasion? I went to the police, just to look into missing persons cases.

Much of the force was out in the streets. They screeched away from West 20th, in the direction of a plume of fire that sprouted northwards. Every car I passed was free of tickets; apparently the police actually had real problems, for once.

I entered the station’s foyer. There were so few cadets and interns compared to usual, but the air was frenetic and tense. The receptionist was livid with stress as he was keying data into one of the latest IBM computers. He was terse and completely disinterested in indulging me with any sort of interview or comment. As I was being turned away though, I spied some officers going through the fire escape with tall stacks of paperwork. I trusted my intuition and came out to the side of the building.

 I bumped into a young man, possibly too young to even drink. He was quite apologetic to me, even though I was the one that sent his stack of paper and files tumbling. I knelt down to assist him, but also took the time to skim his paperwork for anything of interest. The idea that lept in my mind was rather mean, and might even cost him his job in a typical crisis, but I had to get unfiltered and reliable information. Thankfully the others were too wound up to assist him as I had already volunteered for it, and they dashed back into the station to fetch whatever remained of their files to be stored in the armored van next to us.

Taking my share of his papers, I placed them on top of his stack as he held it in waiting. Then, I leaned in close and left a light kiss on his cheek, telling him to keep up the good work in my best Southern drawl, before I teasingly dragged the brim of his hat down over his eyes, using his brief surprise to reclaim the stack I gave him.

The cadet let his stack tip over again. Perfect.

I promptly left the station behind me. My heart was racing out of control as I took the papers to the nearest alleyway. I sank against the wall, waiting for my palpitations to calm down, gripping the wadded up notes in my fist. There was a hobo curled up beneath some newspapers, but I wasn't too concerned about him ratting me out. Trembling, letting my breath get steady in the cool air, I finally sorted out the notes in whatever passed for sequential order.

There was a healthy garnishing of the usual destabilizing incidents that characterized this panic. However, two detective reports that made me stop breathing as I read were the following - One, Mayor Cochran had apparently murdered his entire family at his estate. He had been moved to the hospital to be treated for his injuries before awaiting questioning from authorities. The other was an unexplained wildfire that was currently razing Yankee Stadium to the ground. There was much less information available on this fire, but judging from the clouds turning charcoal black on the horizon, that seemed to be from Yankee Stadium.

It was clear at this point: I had to assume I only had the time to chase one of these leads. With the nature of the emergency at the stadium, everyone in the city would probably be clamoring to get a look at the action. Naturally, any sports journalists that were in the area would already have a front seat to their scoop. It seemed like it would be a wasted gesture to report on it from the back of the crowd, only to write on what most of the other editors would already be preaching at greater depth; I'd be stuck with crumbs whether I went there or not.

The mayor's family massacre definitely made for a byline that would practically write itself as a virtuoso. But getting to question him held an equally steep level of difficulty to the stadium, though with far fewer elements - he was under armed watch as the key suspect.

Stopping briefly at a local bistro for the strongest cup of Colombian coffee they had, I gulped it down with cream and made my way back to my apartment. I phoned up a friend of mine that worked at the hospital as a registered nurse, named Alison Sinclair. The incredulity of her voice was not hard to pick up on as I asked her to lend me a nurse’s uniform, so that I could sneak into the Mayor’s hospital room unopposed. I knew quite well how much I was jeopardizing her career, but I was amazed to see she relented. Perhaps she was also curious as to the nature of the Mayor’s meltdown.

Taking the time to grab a curly dark wig and set it convincingly in place on my head, I left it messy in front of my face and took the next taxi to Kings County Hospital Center. Making my way through the lobby, it seemed to be too much a scene of pandemonium to keep track of a girl just wearing street clothes. Good. I crept into the bathroom and, locking myself in the stall Alison told me about, I reached into the unlatched vent and retrieved the nurse’s uniform she left for me. Hurriedly changing into it, I came out, approached the mirror, put my hair in a bun, and applied some light makeup. I had no idea if my clothes and wig would remain undiscovered in the same hiding place, so I had to make this count.

I came out from the bathroom, with Alison casually waiting and bantering with me about how I’d forgotten the badge she handed me. I gave a quick glance before clasping it to my collar - Susan Greer, Dietician. The hospital barely had a little more than half of its usual staff to address the patients growing by the hour, and I tried my best not to let myself blanch at the thought of having to do anything related to medicine. Apparently Susan’s tag was chosen because the Mayor was also being treated for gout.

Some rather unpleasant thoughts caused me to stumble a bit on my heels. I caught some curious looks from hospital personnel, but I did my best to simply look like I was exactly where I belonged. My attention turned to my surroundings, however; the patients that got priority seemed to be in a state of despondence. No, not despondence, more like detachment. I could hear doctors as we passed by, asking the patients if they had any sensations despite not having a pulse. One of their answers was a little on the cryptic side: “We feel everything. It’s actually your pulse we feel, Doctor.”

What a time to not have my notepad out. I couldn’t be seen with it though. I didn’t want to attract more attention than I’d already done. But one woman in particular had a strange series of….stigmata, on her skin? As the doctors restrained her, I found myself lingering a bit to watch the phenomena dance on, no, out of her skin, as they began emergency treatment on her in the middle of the hallway. Her blood ran in rivulets down her throat, but it also seemed to oxidize in contact with the air, dancing like some strange green cosmic fire. The doctor, only briefly daunted, tried to snuff it with the white towels that would have been used to operate. I saw the markings creep out from under the cloth, however. And it seemed to manifest as some strange black vines or ivy. It was beautiful, but also ghastly in its predatory dexterity, lashing the doctor’s hand.

My thoughts were jostled by the touch of Alison’s hand on my shoulder. She nudged me back to our task. She was right, I should not be so carefree about this ruse. I followed her, making the mental note to perhaps approach the intrepid doctor later for comment. His groans of pain faded behind us, and we finally approached our destination, guarded by three uniformed officers.

The mayor was right in front of me, in room 422.

I tried my best not to avoid eye contact with the police. They were incredibly on edge with everything they’d witnessed in this hospital, and they’d be more perceptive of suspicious behavior than even the staff. I told them that the patient had gout that would likely cause his state to deteriorate, and we were going to weigh different nutritional options that might speed his recovery. They slowly nodded, their gaze not breaking from mine as they let me in the door. Alison stayed outside to chat with them, likely to give me extra time to squeeze whatever details I could from the suspect Mayor.

I swiftly slid out my notepad from beneath my dummy patient notes, and pinned it in place on top of my clipboard. My breath caught in my lungs though, as I saw Mayor Cochran sitting up at the side of his bed. He seemed to be basking in the moonlight that streamed in through his window. There was a strange tightness in the room that made it seem much more narrow than it actually was. He turned toward me, the age lines etched deeper in his features than what I had seen on the television, just the other day. The things he spoke did not seem to pertain to any questions I posed to him. His sanity seemed fractured, steeped with anguish over what he did to his family, what they had supposedly become. He spoke of the fire at Yankee Stadium, and how so many more blazes just like that one illuminated the planet like candles in the blackness of space. He dug his fingernails into his cheek as he spoke, growing agitated as he described a certain entity that had orbited our planet for some time, using the sun itself as a blindspot to avoid detection from our satellites and telescopes.

A scratch at the window interrupted his stream-of-consciousness rambling. A small yelp escaped my mouth as I tripped backwards. Three silhouettes loomed well in front of any potential footing that window ledge may have offered. The Mayor cried out in a peal of uncanny horror I didn’t expect to hear from a man. The figures reached to the glass, sliding their fingers through. What caused my brain to start doubting itself though, was that the slender fingers parted the glass, as if it had the same substance as a curtain. It was the Mayor’s family!

They had phosphorescent threads hanging over their heads, stretching out into the endless night sky. And hints of the same strange markings I saw on the earlier patient.

Wrenching the door open and entering, a guard from the group outside opened fire. While the bullets sent fragments of their heads and clumps of their golden hair flying, the gun ultimately proved ineffectual as the Mayor’s wife and daughters were already in much worse shape. Did Cochran fire at them with a shotgun, back at their estate?? I edged my way along the wall, only now realizing that there were gunshots popping from outside the room, as well. I may very well be wandering into a death trap, but every instinct in my body was telling me to vanish from this situation. One of the daughters pinned the cop to the floor. Despite her face being ghoulishly half-erased from buckshot, it was still quite sufficient in taking a bite out of the officer’s throat. The other two crawled onto the Mayor’s mattress, crooning at him as his cries of terror were reduced to the whimper of a dumb animal. I slipped out the door, the death-rattling screams of the two victims following me out.

Vampires. This was the secret behind this world-threatening event - vampires?

The lights were still on in the hallway. I found myself very appreciative that there were no floorboards to creak with each careful and deliberate step I took. Wheelchairs and drip stands and gurneys were turned over, as if a hurricane had torn its way through the hallway.

My thoughts were racing, but also sticky. Should I go for the slower but more discreet exit down four flights of stairs? Or should I stress test my already rotten luck with the elevator? My cup runneth over with all these delightful decisions!

A ceiling panel came crashing down, just behind me.

I froze. My heart thumped harder than the speakers at the Danzig show I went to a couple months back. The dust from outdated insulation spread around me, which caused my knees to bend lower. I hoped like mad the dust was making me just a tiny bit closer to invisible. The animalistic rasping betrayed the presence of something behind me.

Slowly, slowly my head turned. More ceiling fragments fell down, but mixed with that was the sing-song giggle of a little girl. I spun, and at my feet was Alison. She let out a whimper, as the child I heard sat beside her, dabbing her fingertips with blood from Alison's throat. She then folded open a coloring book, scrawling the blood from her fingers within the flowers illustrated. Also, the child's mouth and chin were caked with blood.

She asked me to help her color the roses. They were always best when they were red.

I knelt down, reaching for a white towel lying nearby to compress Alison's wound. The child snarled, with the lines in her face briefly warping into something that didn't even vaguely look human, before reverting to a firm and forceful child’s scowl. I froze, and forced myself to nod in compliance. I reached down, smothering my nausea in my stomach as I allowed a couple rivulets of blood to dab on my fingers.

I brushed my fingers on the page. Alison was going cold.

As the child busied herself with her little tapestry, Alison gestured to her own hand - she held a shard of glass, concealed under her wrist. With the most invisible and static of movement, I slowly took the glass piece while my free hand continued to draw whatever strokes of blood that hadn't dried from my fingers.

I blacked out for a fraction of a second, as I watched the little girl feed off the bite wound from Alison's throat. I leaned back behind the girl, ready to put this crude and ugly implement to work to save my friend. Before I touched it to her throat though, I saw what seemed to be an ethereal circuit running from the girl's head to the night sky, outside the broken window.

I grasped the cord. So the threads hanging from the heads of those women weren’t just a hallucination. The girl's head jerked back, her eyes rolling back in her head. Two needle-like fangs stretched out of her mouth as her guttural deluge of agony rang through the halls. The pure and dainty innocence of this child was erased in the concussive roar of a creature that one could only describe as rabid and not of this planet. She - it was seized in pain, but there was no way I could let it go again. Its feral arms flailed and the skin rushed with blood beneath skin that became less opaque.

I drew the glass across the cord. Like a puppet relinquishing its strings, she crumpled where she sat on the floor.

The skin rapidly turned to cinders, and I pushed the horror and dread of my experience to the back of my mind as I knelt down beside Alison, letting her walk me through the steps on how to treat her wounds. Thankfully there wasn’t much beyond applying some antibacterial ointment and dressing her up with bandages.

She leaned on my shoulder as I guided us down the stairs. We thankfully had no more insanity to encounter, at least while on the premises. We got in her car and drove off to my apartment, where I got her some food to regain her lost iron and let her rest in my bed.

And there I was in my office, making the final touches on my byline with an old analog typewriter, beneath the glow of a few candles I had in my wardrobe. Electricity went out for the block a couple hours prior. I sighed between cupped hands and leaned back in my seat, staring at the ceiling as I sucked my cigarette down to its filter. I went through whatever extra care and steps I could to treat Alison’s injury, but the glow of the cigarette’s cherry reminded me of how the child erupted with cosmic energies, as if a filament had burned itself out within her. Gore and disintegration blossomed in the peripheral vision of my memory, and I tried to pretend the ashes were just dust from the insulation, and my instincts as a journalist fought for but a glimpse as I carefully wrapped my friend’s throat up.

What was even happening to me. I had no time to think about what side of me this crisis was bringing out before I felt a movement in the office doorway. Alison stood there, a calm and pleasing smile on her face, and her lips a more stark crimson than I’d ever seen on her usually peach-hued mouth. Her skin held a serene glow in the candle light, and she asked me to change her bandages. It was but a flicker, but I saw the thread-like cord hanging above her head. It was at this point I dove out the window, landing on the fire escape on the rickety old balcony. I had to run - Alison had been infected.

Central Park was my last place of refuge. I could only hope that running and hiding through the park would buy enough time for daylight’s salvation, just as it was in the movies. I ran for refuge at Belvedere Castle, feeling my extremities start to shut down in the cold. I reached down as I moved, grabbing a bunch of newspapers to wrap around myself for any extra bit of insulation I could manage. I shut out the thoughts that I was going to become one of them, and hobbled my way to the antiquated tower.

4:55. That was what the clock hands read. The daylight would be here very shortly.

The door creaked open before my hand touched it. Alison stepped forth from the pitch darkness, grasping me before I could do anything. Her arms snaked around me, and she trilled in a low voice about how sweet my blood smelled.

I told her she should let me go and hide back inside, and she giggled playfully at the idea. Was she seriously not scared of the sun? It couldn’t be true, but she held my head up to look at the sky. Backlit by flashes of lightning - no, missile fire from both fighter jets and anti-air turrets, there was an unimaginably gargantuan mass of what seemed to be….aquatic muscle? Tendrils flicked out and stabbed down to the ground. The gunfire that erupted was not pointing upwards, but rather level to the ground.

This thing, Alison’s sire, was not of this world. What concern was the sun to this monstrosity, when it drifted through space to visit us?

[theamityelf]

The gifts thing, definitely, but real quick I love Makoto forgetting to cancel subscription services. Komaru is the one to find out he's still paying for Netflix and stuff, and eventually everyone knows and pretty much every canon character is using Makoto's Netflix account except Makoto.

Also, I'd love to bring all of these headcanons into my Komaeda Intern AU, exclusively because it would be really funny to place Nagito as the middle-man between Makoto and the people screening his mail. So like, there's the people who are tasked with specifically making sure he's not being handed a bomb or a listening device, etc., and then Nagito is in charge of getting his mail to him.

And Nagito takes it upon himself to read most of it first, so Makoto isn't burdened with unnecessary things. He reads all the fanatical letters from extreme hope devotees; they bring a smile to his face, though he's viciously judging them, like, "Hmm, her heart's in the right place, but terrible spelling and grammar." "One has to admire his spirit, but I have to say, he has a very poor grasp on true hope." "Hmph. His eyes aren't just green; I guess this one doesn't pay attention. There are far too many shades and colors for a single word to at all suffice, but if you have to use just one word, 'hazel' would be way more accurate."

One time, he finds that a piece of fan mail came with a human tooth enclosed (Maybe it's something like, "I thought my daughter and I were going to die in the despair apocalypse, but instead you filled the world with hope and we survived. Today, my daughter lost her first tooth, and I'd like you to have it." Or maybe it's literally just, "I love you. Here, take my tooth."), and he swiftly heads down to where the "lesser" interns are screening the mail, and he very politely and passive aggressively takes them to task for letting this biohazard through.

I like to believe Makoto's the type of guy to buy a bunch of weird crap online cus he saw an ad on his feed and he knows he should probably stop buying all these weird and overpriced items but he's an adult now with a disposable income who totally wasn't properly taught how to finance properly cus he never got to fully graduate high school due to a literal apocalypse while also never getting to have the "financial talk" with his parents who may or may not be dead. And sure, he lives with a rich heir and a detective who've sat him down and told him multiple times to stop buying weird shit of the Tik Tok Shop and Wish. He's gone too far though and just can't help it even if its messed up their living situation a bit cus they now have a dedicated space in their living arrangement to crappily made bean bag chairs, a weird looking belt, and some Slap Chops (among other items).