#it would be in the morgue as a forensic medic

[szynkaaa]

Billard pose ref here

Most recent brainrot is putting Kiwi and Oz into a modern AU. Monkey See, Monkey Do

Started out with Destined One frequenting the same bar to practice billard, while Oz is the resident pianist there and it just snowballed from there and now I have some backstories for those two idiots

🥝 Kiwi / Destined One

5th year medicine student. 25 years old, he started with his study when he was 20, took two years to travel around

Lost his parents and older brother in a car accident. He barely survived and was hospitalized for a long time. Selective mute since then

Uncle Shen Monkey then took him in and raised him

remembers the nurses and doctors fondly hence, why he also wants to study medicine and become a doctor later

Uncle Shen Monkey owns cocktail lounge / fancy bar called Flying Monkeys . Shen Monkey is also the barista also, and there are few pool tables available.

Kiwi spent a lot of his teen years playing billard, hence he is VERY good at it. Still goes to play and practice

Kiwi participates in local tournaments

also helps out at the lounge from time to time

Seems to be very popular among his peers despite being an introvert and loner??

his fellow students like him because when they ask him for help he gives it to them

the type that seems like a cold douche but will not hesitate to step in when he sees a woman being uncomfortable or being harrassed

kinda popular among the ladies, plus the fact that he looks really good when playing billard adds to it

probably gets asked out a lot, or phone numbers slipped into his bag

always rejects them because he got his sight set on someone else hehe

frequents @maiden-of-the-waters cafe a lot to study there

Avid comic collector. Wanted to be a comic artist as a kid....

🌟 Oz

Med student drop out during her practical years. 26 years old

parents divorced when she was super young. Dad moved away and remarried and has a new family. She has two half-siblings

occassionaly talks with the half siblings, but has not much contact with her father. Mom had full custody and essentially raised her as a single mom

typical tiger mom. Loves her mom but has a strained relationship with her at the moment. low contact

Did not have many friends as a kid, mom had a tight grip on her and her time and education. Started making real friends once she moved out for university. Met Yù @marcu-bug, Birdie @dunanana, Liyu @s0rr3l and Beike @maiden-of-the-waters and they are pretty much her only friends LOL

Started having piano lessons as early on. Had good promises to be a concert pianist, but ofc that is not a viable career path as per her mom

Studied medicine only because her mom wanted her to. She was VERY MISERABLE during her time as a student. Dropped out during the practical years because the pressure was just too much for her and she realized being a doctor was just not what she wanted to do. She wasn't happy with it, hence also why her relationship with her mom is strained, cause Oz was THIS close to finishing and then decided to ""give up""

Also her then-boyfriend cheated on her she caught him in bed with another person

And her great-grandfather passed away

overall not a good year on her mental health. Realized all she did was just doing what other people wanter her to do. Dropped out to take a break and just figure out her place in this world

works as a pianist at Flying Monkeys after dropping out. Shen Monkey pays really well and she also gets very good tips because. Helps out at the bar on days when they are short staffed to make some more extra cash

Gets hit on few times at work, but luckily a certain monkey is always there to look out for her....

🥝x 🌟

Kiwi bumped into Oz during his first year in univeristy. Probably when both needed to submit some paperwork for the univerity, Oz for dropping out. She noticed him carrying the newest comic issue of The Monkey King, and asked him about it

Learned really soon that he is a selective mute, but didn't treat him any differently and just carried on the conversation with him as usual, which he really appreciated

I wouldn't say it was love at first sight for him, more like the feeling you have when you're sitting in the plane and it is landing soon and you see the lights of your city below you and you know you are this close to home? Yeah it's that feeling.

anyway months passed and he hasn't seen her since then but she is always like there in the back of his mind

Uncle Shen Monkey telling him one day that he hired a new pianist which is nice cause they haven't had one in a while and that he wants Kiwi to be there to show her around the lounge a bit and stuff

Kiwi, not very happy about that because he doesn't really enjoy meeting new people, is then surprised to see that Oz is the new pianist his uncle hired.

Oz.... vaguely remembers him LOL. Probably takes her like a few weeks to go "hey.... have we met before???"

Suddenly Kiwi has a lot more time to be around his uncle's lounge again. Uncle Shen Monkey know what is up there. probably tries to play wingman

Enter the "and they were roommates" arc

Oz moved back to her mom but things are NOT good. lot's of fights

Kiwi overhearing one day how she asks Shen Monkey if he knows about any free rooms for rent to let her know

and whatdya know Uncle Shen Monkey does happen to know someone who has a free room

Kiwi. it's kiwi who has a free room that is sort of used as a storage at the moment. he doesn't mind Oz moving in there. Gives her a really good rent deal, where she is basically paying all the bills and that's it

Kiwi owns the apartment. His parents left a good amount of assets behind which he sold and then bought his own place

Oz is very grateful for the deal, because it helps her to save money and put aside to eventually move out and find her own place

spoiler alert that's not gonna happen lmfao

This is the apartment layout:

Oz has the room closes to the bathroom because Kiwi is nice like that. He'd move in an old piano in too for her to practice and play

at first Oz was very shy about playing because she doesn't want to disturb him when he is studying but he likes listening to her practice and play when he is studying

I think that before Oz moved in, Kiwi barely decorated the apartment much. The embodiment of only had the bare neccessaties in it. But once Oz moves in, it started to feel more like a home than just a housing for him to come back and pass out. I think the only real personal belonging he has is a good decent The Monkey King comic collectiona and collectibles

Definitely have a vinyl record player, something that Oz always wanted to have. She movied in with like five records in her collection, and Kiwi then gifted her a player, and the collection just grew from there

both are very much introverts, so they prefer to spend most of the time just chilling at home, on the couch together playing games or reading books

Oz does sometimes have her friends other to hangout

because both work crazy hours sometimes, Kiwi would go Flying Monkeys after his shift to pick Oz up and then they go home together

Kiwi doesn't know how to drive, never learned too traumatized from the accident. So Oz is the one who rents a car and drives when they decied to take trips together

Have a rule to put a sock on the door handle and text the other person to let them know when they have special guests at the palce

spoiler alert none of them ever bring any hook ups home lmfao

Oz does go on few dates but never brings anyone home because it just doesn't feel right

and Kiwi well, his heart belongs to only one person hehe

have weekly movie nights. Kiwi takes it personal if Oz binges a whole season without him

there is a lot more for me to share but then I'd have a massive essay so I will stop here.

anyway great chemistry as roomates. wink wink nudge nudge

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Friendly neighborhood forensic pathologist Danny Fenton is a new master of The Court of Owls? (Dead on main, of course) +Part 2: Talon Dick

Don’t underestimate what a ghost will do for a higher education. You see, it's the custom of the Fenton family not to run away from things they are afraid of but to face their fear. So Danny Fenton, who has learned to fear scalpels, steel clamps and surgical retractors, decides to do something about it and to dedicate his life to giving souls of those who died a violent death the final rest and justice they deserve.

Well, it didn’t really come to him at once. It started out as a simple joke:

Danny didn’t think he could continue his education after school. Frankly, his grades suck. However, Tucker for fun applied for a scholarship for gifted villains from Gotham University on his behalf.

And hell, they are willing to pay money for his education. Pay in full! Living in Park Row is also incredibly cheap. And with his flying ability, he’ll also save on transportation.

Danny is not a villain. And he’s not planning on becoming one. But he couldn’t lose that chance.

Why do you deserve this scholarship? “My parents are renowned ecto scientists, and I’ve seen their dissection work at its best. Medical school is expensive, and this scholarship will help me accomplish my goal of becoming a forensic pathologist and helping maintain the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead…or use it for my own ends. Of course.”

Well, Mr Two-Face was fully confident that despite his grades in the subjects, Danny was fully committed to achieving high academic achievement. Finally, work experience of Dan came in handy somewhere.

There were only few things about the death that Danny didn’t find on his own or from his ghost friends, so he managed to graduate in record time. Young Fenton thought he was lucky enough to get a job near Crime Alley. It was odd that the job was available. Even a new specialist like him was allowed to work full-time. And the salary was very decent.

~~~~~~

Danny: Yes, Jazz, everything is just fine. I found a great job and I’m trying to relax and find a hobby, you know. Started feeding the local birds. Apparently they were abused, the poor things are so shy and aggressive.

The local birds:

~~~~~~

Let’s say that a returned Jason as undead cannot be killed for forever. The stab wounds heal quickly, the bullet holes sometimes itch unpleasantly for a few days, but in general his regeneration is at a level with some metahumans. This is convenient. But when Red Hood wakes up in the morgue after a particularly severe injury, he’s not happy. Sometimes even looking in the mirror at his dissection scar is difficult for him. And this situation is a fucking nightmare. Danny: Oh. Are you awake now? I’m sorry I didn’t have time to put you on the couch, I didn’t have clean sheets and my assistant would have killed me because of the new stains. Red Hood: What the hell? I’m sorry?! It’s fucked up! I’d love to see you wake up on the dissection table. Danny: Been there Done that. But hey, I didn’t put you there. You didn’t get here on my shift, give me a break.

Jason: …So, what's now? Danny: Well, I can offer you tea or coffee. Of course, only after I sew up the hole in your stomach and give you a change of clothes. Or I could go after the documents and pretend I didn’t notice one of my bodies got away. But then don’t dream about novocaine blockade. Pretty liver by the way, you don’t see that much in crime lords. Jason: Um, thank you? But you’re weird. Usually people are praised for the beauty of the face or eyes rather than… Danny: Wow, now I feel attacked.You wake up in your helmet. I can’t compliment what I can’t see. Jason: Gee, I’m surprised your colleague hasn’t taken it off yet. Danny: And lose important evidence? It is not customary for us to put curiosity above professionalism.

~~~~~

Jason learns quickly that although Batman is willing to go anywhere to track him, there are always exceptions to the rule. The morgue was one of them. Not surprisingly, the emotional constipation and uncomfortable theme of Jason’s death worked like a perfect bat repeller. Over time, Jason becomes really interested in a guy who genuinely laughs at his death jokes and listens to his problems at work without judgment. Danny is too cute and nice.

Danny*works*: No visitors allowed here.

Jason: Unless you are a zombie, right?

Danny:...Still not one of your hideouts. The book is where you left it, make some tea if you want it.

~~~~~

Jason, once again delivered without a sign of life to Danny after the fight, woke up during pupillary reflex test.

Jason: Oh, beauty, you are just dazzling today.

Danny: As I thought, your regeneration didn’t cure your concussion before your resurrection. I’ll give you referrals for all the tests and examinations. And we really should stop seeing each other like this. Please take care of yourself.

Jason: I don’t think you have the right to prescribe them to me. Danny: Technically I do not. But we live in Gotham. And for some time the hospital where I work at night is very sensitive to my requests.

Red Hood: And why? Danny: It’s hard to explain… Red Hood: Doctor Handsome, I’ve been through some shit, so try to surprise me. Danny: Okay, okay. Look, you are a crime lord for not too long, right? But criminals and cops are afraid of you and kids and your henchmen really likes you. Jason: ..So what? Danny: Can you please recommend how to maintain a reputation but so your people aren’t afraid of you? Jason: Why do you need this information? Your assistant finally realized you’re friends with walking corpses? Danny: It’s not about that! Although, like.. you aren’t wrong? It’s complicated. I may, well, accidentally, honestly, have seized power over a local secret aristocratic criminal society.

Jason: Baby, please tell me everything. I have a restaurant as a front for a business nearby. It’s a date. Let's go. Danny: Let me finish a few stitches first, Jay.

~~~~~

Red Hood and Red Robin fight near Batman: Hood: Replacement was on patrol without permission! Red Robin: And Jason is dating the new owner of Court of Owls! Batman:.. he's doing WHAT? Jason, how could you take such a risk? it is completely unprofessional and Red Hood: At least he loves me for what’s inside me! Red Robin: Yeah, like a beautiful liver. It’s a great relationship base. Red Hood: I’m talking about my feelings and interests. Dumb lil stalker with a big mouth! I’ll teach you not to bother my boyfriend.

~~~~~

Henchman: Boss. We shouldn’t go into that area, the rumors are that there are Talons here. Red Hood: All under control, they won’t touch us. Henchman: How can you be sure? The poem says 'Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow..' Red Hood: Yeah yeah "speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head". I’m sleeping with their boss, of course I’m sure. Henchman: Boss, don’t kid like that. Red Hood: I don’t pay you for gossip. Let's go.

Dick, to whom the memories began to return, haunts Jason because he did not cut for Lil Wing apple slices like he likes for lunch: Talon came to finish the job. Henchmen: scream

~~~~~

Jason *shows Danny 'Red Flags' on youtube*: Hey, baby, want to be a little shit on our date? I know where Brucie Wayne’s having dinner tonight, so you can meet the family.

[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (3)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4k

— 🍄 summary: the coroner of Farrow's End finally invites you into his kingdom, and you can feel more than one set of watching eyes as you continue your investigation.

— ☕ content warnings: coroner!taehyung, assistant!jungkook, mentions of murder/death/suicide

— 🕸️ a/n: meeting more of the boys!!

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 3: into the morgue

"Have her come in," Taehyung says over dinner.

There's a collective clang as several sets of silverware are put down.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, hyung," Jungkook replies. He's nervous around you, especially because you can see more than you let on.

"We're going to have to eventually," Namjoon adds, and Jimin sends him a mischievous, knowing look. He knows how Joon likes to watch you in the bookshop, offering his assistance at his earliest convenience, asking if you need help finding anything specific.

"It's obvious she was hired by the mayor," Yoongi says. "Though, I'm not entirely sure why."

They all know that Mayor Summerbee runs in some of the same circles that they do, but they wonder if you're aware of that fact too. How much did she tell you?

"At the very least, it'll tell us what she already knows," Yoongi says.

"And if she scares easily," Taehyung adds, suppressing a smirk.

What kind of private investigator are you? Are you motivated by self interests? Are you just here to get the job done, bare minimum? Or are you the morbidly curious type? The kind that can't stop until a mystery is solved, even if it leads you to dangerous places.

Yoongi and Namjoon already have a guess at which type you are.

"She has some kind of sight," Jungkook says, biting his nails. The real question is how sharp is that sight?

"I don't think she knows that she has it," Jin pipes in.

They exchange glances, thinking.

"Well," Hoseok says, and they all turn to look at him. "I suppose we'll just have to test it."

september 27, 2004

You've seen your fair share of coroners. Good ones, even excellent ones, and the ones who never should've been appointed to the job in the first place. Most people aren't aware that there is no national standard for coroners, some don't even have medical training.

You remember a case not too long ago when a family mourning the loss of their son hired you to investigate the circumstances of his death, which was ruled "accidental" at the time. The coroner had not had any prior forensic training, he was an OBGYN turned politician. Elected by the small-town voters (nearly 80% of coroners in the U.S. are elected, by the way), he was cushy with the local police force.

And being your naturally suspicious self, or maybe it's a side effect of your job, you pressed for a second autopsy by an examiner actually worth his salt.

The external examination alone proved that it was far from accidental. His wounds suggested severe beating, and his cause of death was suffocation from being choked, homicide not accident.

Further investigation revealed police brutality. You pushed and pushed and pushed, and after being enough of a pain in the ass (and threatening several lawsuits), they finally convicted the officers responsible.

The family still sends you a Christmas card every year, and it more than makes up for being a pain in the ass for living.

So yeah, you don't trust coroners, or their reports, until you get the chance to evaluate their level of competence for yourself. And the fact that the coroner of Farrow's End has been so resistant to your attempts to contact him doesn't bode well.

But today, the Monday following your little expedition up to the Addam's House, he's finally available to see you. Last night you received a call at around midnight, seemingly from the same young man you saw on the other side of the gate the other day.

Of course you were awake, but you wondered why the coroner's office would be up and running at such an hour. Maybe a late night emergency autopsy? It wasn't unheard of, sometimes a Sheriff will request an autopsy to be completed as soon as possible when the press are particularly bothersome and the cause of death is unclear.

You didn't get the chance to ask, because the man started rattling off about how the coroner would be able to see you tomorrow morning, and he advised that you bring any notes you might have.

Good sign, it suggests that the coroner is willing to work with you.

It's early, maybe a little too early. The fog is blanket-thick and the clouds are sprinkling down a fine mist of rain.

You take your car as far as the rocky dirt road allows, park it at the base of the hill, and trudge on through the mud, the umbrella over your head immediately collecting dew.

You reach the gate, closed like last time. When you reach for it, you're expecting to find it locked, but just as your fingers are about to touch the cold metal, the gate swings open with a long creak.

You stand there for a moment, searching for some kind of mechanism that would make it open by itself, but you find nothing but old iron forged in intricate patterns.

Whatever, you've seen weirder. You slip through the parted gates and close them behind you.

Gigantic trees, pines it looks like, envelop the perimeter of the surrounding gates, with twisting, leafless trees in abundance nearer to the house, even though fall is just beginning to dawn and most leaves haven't even begun to change color yet.

You didn't notice it before, but these leafless trees are full of crows, black tufts perched on the reaching branches. No, crows and ravens. They call out as you pass by, and you get the odd sense that every single one of them is looking at you.

The cobblestone path leading up to the front door is overgrown with weeds. The exterior of the house, now that you can see it up close, is almost decrepit. The wood is rotting, the roof is sagging, the windows are dirty and smudged.

They rent this place out?

"Ma'am!" a voice calls out.

You search for the owner of the voice, finally finding it at the side of the house. It's the young man from the other day, peeking around a brick corner. He gestures you over and swiftly disappears again.

When you turn the corner, the man is standing by a double hatch door in the ground. Not a good sign for a supposed "morgue."

He seems to read as much on your face, because then he's saying, "I would take you down the elevator inside, but everyone is still asleep."

There's a childish nervousness in his voice, and it makes you send an uncharacteristic smile his way as you step through the door and down a spiral staircase.

Distracted, you don't see the curtains twitch, and the several faces in the windows above, watching.

The passage runs deep. You emerge in a wide hallway, lined with carved wooden walls and old portraits. The foundation is clearly old, but there are newly installed fluorescent lights that don't do the original craftsmanship justice.

"How old is this house?" you blurt out, and the young man can't suppress a high, boyish laugh.

"I'm not sure, around a century, I think," he says.

Wow hard to believe it's gone untouched for so long, you think as he leads you down the extensive hallway, passing several branching doorways.

Your eyes drink everything in, curious and scrutinous. Again, the man seems to read your mind.

"It might not look it, but we have a state of the art facility here," he begins.

"Crematorium," he gestures to one door. "Viewing room. Embalming room. Autopsy room. And the largest refrigeration unit in five counties."

This place is extensive, and the further you go, the cleaner and more modern it gets.

You notice that the man is wearing similar clothing from before: a large coat (broad shoulders) and big, thick boots. Black, laced up over his ankles it appears, it makes the thud of his footsteps echo against the walls.

You wonder if they are corpse-handling boots, or merely a style choice.

"Here's the office," he says, leading you into a small but cozy room fit with a cluttered desk and a few dusty but comfortable-looking armchairs.

"You can have a seat if you like," he says, nervousness creeping back into his voice.

You take him up on the offer, sinking into one of the armchairs despite the fact that you're a little damp from the rain. But judging by the state of the chairs, you doubt it would bother them.

It's then than you realize how chilly it is down here, in this basement maze tucked under an ancient house. Damn, you're so—

"Cold?" the man says suddenly. "I'm sorry, we get quite the chill down here. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

You perk up almost instantly.

"Coffee, please," you reply maybe a little too perkily, because it makes him smile at you, exposing those bunny teeth again. Very cute.

He disappears through another doorway, into some sort of kitchenette judging by the sounds coming from it (metal banging, water running, porcelain clanking).

You take a look around. The office walls are lined with framed photos and plaques all boasting the same name: Kim Taehyung. Bachelor of Science in Biology, Bachelor of Science in Chemistry, Master of Forensic Science, Embalmer's License, Medical Examiner Certification, Doctor of Medicine.

Got it, this man is learned. Good sign.

The young man returns with a silver tray in his hands. He sets it down on the ottoman between the two armchairs, grasping the black teapot and pouring fresh steaming coffee into a matching black teacup. You notice that the sugar cubes are in the shape of skulls and bones, and a part of you admires the dedication to the aesthetic.

You prepare your cup and sip greedily. The coffee is rich and strongly-brewed. Another good sign. It may not contribute to your investigation, but at least you can respect him as a person.

The young man takes the seat next to you and prepares his own cup.

For the first time since you arrived, you aren't distracted by your surroundings, and you're realizing just how strange this young man looks.

His skin is a dull shade of gray, with slight red blemishes and spots of dark purple flesh that look like deep bruises. His lips are simultaneously pale yet also tinged red, like there's blood inside his mouth. And his eyes, they look like—

The man seems to notice you staring at him, because he shifts uncomfortably in his chair and coughs awkwardly.

You blink, and his form seems to blur at the edges, becoming fuzzier and harder to latch onto. Maybe he has some sort of skin condition. But that wouldn't explain the feeling that something isn't quite right about him, something uncanny.

"I'll go see if Dr. Kim is ready for you," he says, practically sprinting out of his seat and out of the room. You hear his footsteps pounding through the halls, then hushed voices.

You being you, the debate over whether to slip through the hall to eavesdrop on their conversation does cross your mind. But you figured that even with your silent feet, they would probably still hear you rustling around in the quiet of the morgue.

A few moments later, and you hear one set of footsteps returning to the office. The young man pops his head into the doorway.

"He'll see you now," he says, vanishing just as fast. The way he appears and disappears like a ghost is starting to give you whiplash.

You follow him down the hall, entering a fluorescent-lit room fit with chrome features. The walls are lined with little doors, drawer openings, and there are several gurneys scattered throughout the room. The chill is even stronger here, this must be part of that state of the art refrigeration system.

The man standing in the center of it all is wearing a white medical gown and black latex gloves. He looks up as you enter, and—

Oh. He's young, startlingly young, early thirties max. His skin is golden tan over strong, handsome features. Dark tiger eyes, sharp and perceptive. The only indicator of his age is several tendrils of silver hair growing from the crown of his head.

"Good morning," he greets in a deep, charming voice. "Miss ______?"

"Yes, Dr. Kim?" you reply, holding out a hand.

"Just Taehyung, please," he says, taking off his gloves to shake your hand firmly, and jesus his hands are large and very pretty.

Ah, so he's not a pretentious asshole who insists on being addressed as "doctor" constantly. Another good sign. Though, judging from his extensive education, in this case it would be justified.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't see you sooner. It can get quite busy with just the two of us down here," Taehyung says.

You can't help but take another glance around the room. Only two people running this whole facility?

"I understand that you're working with the mayor?" Taehyung inquires, his casual voice good at hiding his burning curiosity.

You, in turn, are good at hiding the slight suspicion from hearing the mayor mentioned yet again. You're not sure who you're suspicious of though, him or the mayor herself.

"Yes, I was hoping I could get copies of the autopsy reports for Michael Bradley, Jarvis Laplan, and Sharon Mason."

You say it matter-of-factly, curious if they will bend at the slight flex of authority in your voice. Or, if being associated with the mayor yields certain results.

The two of them glance at each other.

"Access to Laplan and Mason aren't a problem, but Mary Bradley has requested that no further information on her husband's death be released," Dr. Kim replies, cool as a cucumber.

Your eyes widen just a bit, unable to hide your surprise. Wait...what? He would just give you the reports for Laplan and Mason, just like that? No request for credentials? No questions asked?

Truth be told, you've never gotten hold of an autopsy report after the first ask. You've always had to jump through hoops to get the right permissions and authorizations, as is the case for private investigators since they are not real police. And rightly so, the fine details of people's violent deaths is not something to be made light of, in your opinion.

Clearly your confusion is evident on your face, because then Taehyung is saying, "Laplan's wife and Sharon Mason's parents are quite eager for further investigation."

Ah, so they suspect something unusual too. Hopefully they'll be more than willing for an interview.

"And Bradley...?" your voice trails off with the question.

Taehyung furrows his brows like he isn't sure how exactly to put it.

"Mrs. Bradley has had a bad experience with the press," is all he says.

You can feel your eyebrow raise.

"Is she still a suspect?" you ask, deadpan.

Taehyung is quick to correct himself.

"No, god no!" he says, eyes wide and head shaking. "His death was purely accidental, a tragedy that could've been avoided."

Your attention catches on that last part like a snagged thread on a nailhead.

"Oh? Why do you say that?" you ask, unconsciously taking a step forward.

Jungkook, who's silently watching the whole exchange, can't help but think it makes you look predatory, a hunter locked onto their target with frightening accuracy.

But Dr. Kim doesn't bend. He tilts his head ever so slightly as the corner of his mouth curves up, like he respects your drive.

"Well, Michael Bradley exhibited signs of extreme mental distress, many of them suggestive of suicide."

"But you don't think it was suicide, do you?" you say, before you can help it really, because your mind is running a hundred miles a minute right now.

Jungkook can sense it too, his eyes Bambi-wide and watching in fascination as the cogs turn in your analytical brain.

"No, I don't." It comes from Taehyung's mouth like a sigh. You don't see it (Jungkook does), but he's impressed.

"That's all I can say really," Taehyung says suddenly, sounding apologetic. "You'll have to speak with Mrs. Bradley about getting access, but talking about her husband is painful for her. And she's been through enough."

He cares about people, the ones he works on are not just bodies to him. Very good sign. You're coming to the conclusion than Dr. Kim is definitely a coroner worth his salt.

"I'll be sure to proceed delicately, then," you reply softly. You're trying to say it back. I care about these victims, this isn't just a case to me. Everyone has a story.

He seems to get it, nodding his head with a gentle smile. Something very small, almost ghostly, clicks between you.

Jungkook observes it all in a slight state of awe. He can already tell that the rest of them, his "family," are going to like you.

Taehyung gives you the copies of the autopsy reports, a sizable stack of folders and papers and photos. He even gives you a copy of the autopsy transcript.

You realize that he was prepared to give you this information before you even got here. Either Mayor Summerbee is a very persuasive person, or Dr. Kim is eager to work with you. Maybe both.

Your point is proven seconds later when Taehyung hands you a business card (with his personal number scrawled on the back), as he tells you that you're free to contact him with any questions you might have.

You profess your thanks with an armful of documents, making a point to shake Dr. Kim's and Jungkook's hand firmly.

Jungkook leads you back, his boots softly thudding with every step, and you can feel Taehyung's eyes on your back as you walk through down the long hallway.

Jungkook is kind. He offers to help you with the massive stack of documents in your arms, but you politely refuse. You've got liquid gold in your possession.

He holds the gate open for you, even offering to walk you to your car, but again, you decline and thank him for his offer.

The gate shuts behind you with a resonate clang. As you turn away from the house to begin the trek down the muddy hill, you feel an odd sensation, like tingling insects down your back.

Looking over your shoulder, you see the curtains of several windows suddenly fall back into place. Someone, several someone's, are watching you.

You can't find it in you to be creeped out, though. Something about this house, despite its run-down appearance, is welcoming. Beckoning, even.

It's dark and old and practically falling apart, but many things that you love also happen to have those same traits.

A slight smile tugs at your lips as you turn and make your way down the path. You'll have to find out more about this place.

"Again. She saw through my glamour again," Jungkook announces to the room, sounding slightly defeated.

"Don't worry, Kook. It's a solid spell, I checked it myself," Yoongi replies as he waters one of the endless houseplants adorning their home. Thanks to Yoongi himself, of course.

"She saw through mine too," Taehyung says, resolute. He's staring at the black and white checkered floor, deep in thought.

Everyone looks up at that.

"That proves it then," Namjoon says. "She has a heightened degree of sight."

"I wanna know why though," Yoongi interrupts in a sudden bout of passion. "She's human. Why is she able to see everything?"

"Not the house though," Jungkook blurts out. "The glamour on the house held up."

"Of course it did, the house magick is stronger than any of us," Jin quips from the kitchen, standing over a sizzling stove.

"Lots of humans have the sight," Jimin says lazily, sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs.

"Yeah, but it's the type of humans who turn it into a cheap gimmick," Jungkook replies, pacing around the room now.

Taehyung crosses the distance between them in a few strides, putting a large hand on Jungkook's shoulder. The younger man looks up at him, then lets out a breath and returns the smile.

"You're safe, Kook," Taehyung says softly. "No one's gonna put up a fuss."

Jimin chuckles. "She might."

Taehyung throws a scolding glance over his shoulder. "A real fuss, I mean. Everything's been kept under wraps so far."

"And she's not a phony, or a leech. The mayor made sure of that," Yoongi says.

"In any case," Jin begins, an authoritative edge to his voice. "Hoseok said to keep an eye on her, so that's just what we'll do."

september 28, 2004

You may be a damn good investigator, but you're no med student. So the next day you set out to the bookstore, determined to understand every last term and phrase in the autopsy reports.

The same man is behind the desk, but this time he's bent over a typewriter, clacking away. You can't help but observe him for a moment, watching as his dark eyes dart over the page, the way his glasses rest at the edge of his nose like a wizened old man.

"Welcome in," he calls out at the chime of the bell on the door, like an instinct.

You take a few steps into the ever-crowded space, your eyes shifting over all the things you missed the last time you were here. Because that's what kind of place this is, somewhere you could go a hundred times and find something new each visit. Places like this are quite dear to you.

You're about to examine a shelf full of perfectly preserved beetles, when you sense the man look up at you.

"Oh," he says, like he's pleasantly surprised. "It's you."

And you would be lying if you said it didn't make your gut feel something warm squirming inside it.

"Need help finding anything?" he asks, like he has every time you've visited this place.

"Yes, please," you reply, barely hiding your smile.

He leads you through the maze of shelves like it's a map of his own brain. Several times you have to hurry to catch up to him in his excitement.

Soon your arms are occupied by an impressive stack. Anatomy, general medical knowledge, crime scene identification, even a few textbooks on post-mortem examinations.

To you, it's more liquid gold. You profess your thanks to the bookshop keeper, dropping a generous tip into the jar when you go to checkout. Again, the books are almost too reasonably priced. Not that it matters, since research purchases are an easy business expense ride-off.

Just as you turn to leave, the man clears his throat awkwardly, like he's building himself up to speak.

"There's plenty of places to sit here," he almost blurts out. "Lots of cozy nooks. Perfect for...research."

You pause at the door to glance back at him. You find him watching you closely, his expression somewhere between innocently curious and suggestive of hidden knowledge on his part.

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply, a little teasing lilt to your voice. Because clearly he enjoys your company too.

Then you turn on your heel and let the door swing shut behind you, leaving him wanting more.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i would combust with joy if you'd tell me any of your thoughts :D

NEXT UPDATE: 05/25/24

[whenanafallsinlove]

UNDER INVESTIGATION; SHOTO TODOROKI X FEM READER PILOT' || series m.list Summary: As a forensic medical examiner, you are used to working alongside the police, but a concerning case calls for the aid of a pro-hero. When Shoto shows up, the time you spend together makes you realise that the case is not the only thing you would like to solve. Maybe what you start to feel needs to go under investigation too. Warnings: descriptions of autopsies, crime, deceased bodies. Tags: prohero au, fem reader, aged up characters, romance + crime, multichapter.

a/n: (eng is not my first language) omg this is the first update of the fic, i'm so excited! i hope you like it and look forward to the next part! comment what you think! :D

“We hereby conduct this postmortem.”

You are used to saying those words daily, sometimes even more than once per day. It's like a ritual that indicates the beginning of your shift.

As a forensic medical examiner, you have worked on a lot of cases, getting to know many people. You've partnered with policemen, detectives, and some underground heroes.

Today you received a call before dawn. The police found another body that needed a detailed autopsy. You suspect that they have opened an investigation involving the recent corpses you were asked to analyse. This is the third one you've had to examine in a week.

It has been over three hours since you started the autopsy, taking pictures of the small details you found unusual and extracting body fluids and organic matter that needs to be sent to the lab. Every new hint you find, you write it down meticulously.

Once you finish examining the body, you take your gloves off, sanitize your hands, and start writing the mandated report.

Minutes later, the entrance to your lab opens, revealing three men. A detective, your lab supervisor, and whom you recognized to be Pro-Hero Shoto.

"Gentlemen," you say and nod to address them.

"Good morning, Dr. (Y/L/N)" Your supervisor says, "We've come to learn the updates regarding the corpses."

"Please come in; I just finished the autopsy, and I'm currently writing the report. I think I'll have it around noon, as long as you don't bring in another one..." You say the last part with a hint of humor.

"Sorry that we've been keeping you busy, but we suspect there is something suspicious with the bodies that have been recently found. The investigation started around two weeks ago, and well, you see how it's progressing." The detective explains and sighs.

"That is what I would like to discuss. I see you took your task seriously and brought me a hero." You turn towards Shoto and address him with a grin.

As soon as you got to your lab and started the autopsy, the similarities this body had with the other two caught your eye. You immediately decided to call your supervisor and explain that the recent autopsies would need to be discussed with the police and a hero agency willing to assist. You expected the support of a small agency; never would you have imagined working with the Hero #3.

Shoto makes his way towards you and extends his hand.

"I'm Shoto; it's a pleasure to meet you," he says. You shake his hand and smile.

"Nice to meet you; I'm Dr. (y/n)(Y/L/N)." You hope your enthusiasm doesn't show in the way you are grabbing his hand.

After greeting him, you take your notes and address the other men. "Well, gentlemen, shall I give you a description of what I have found in the bodies?" Your supervisor nods.

"Please walk us through, (Y/L/N)"; you take that as your cue to hand them gloves, face masks, and eye protection. This seemed to catch Shouto off guard, because you notice he looks at you with wonder.

"Have you ever been in a morgue?" you ask him.

"No." He coldly responds.

"Well, don't worry. You won't be touching anything; these are just for sanitary measures." You gesture to the materials you just gave them and offer him a reassuring smile.

Shouto can't help but think that even though you act very professional, you also seem lighthearted for the type of job that you have.

You sigh heavily and start presenting the information that you found.

"As you can see, there are some areas throughout the body that have a different colour. At first, I thought they were indicators of physical trauma, but when examining them closer, I found they were small fungi colonies." Your supervisor hums in agreement, and you continue, "But, according to the police report that I received, this person has been deceased for less than 48 hours, which is yet to be confirmed by the biochemical exams. Although the 'rigor mortis' displayed by the body validates it." You lift your gaze to see if everyone is following, and Shouto is so evidently lost that it makes you giggle.

"Dr. (Y/L/N)?" your supervisor calls.

"Sorry, I forgot that not everyone is accustomed to the scientific terms," you say, chuckling at the hero. "In other words, these marks are not bruises or scrapes. But I fear it's slightly worse, since they are decomposed skin."

Shoto nodded in understanding, but he still had a question.

"Why is it worse if there is no sign of physical violence?"

"Because the time that the body has been lifeless is too short for it to decompose. And even though I'm waiting for the tests that we perform on the body fluids, the stiffness of the body confirms that it hasn't been too long."

You see the three men nod in agreement.

"In addition to this, it is almost winter, so the temperature hasn't been over 19°. Normally, a decomposition like this, with the weather we have, would take around two weeks. And the body would present different necrophagous species." You shift your stare at Shoto. "There would be insects."

He was startled for many reasons: 1. How could you know all that by looking at a body? 2. How do you manage to look at bodies and speak so nonchalantly about them? and 3. How are you not getting nauseus from this information?

"What are you suggesting here, (Y/L/N)?" your supervisor asks.

"Well, I have two theories about this. The three bodies that I have analyzed have been contaminated by the fungi. My first theory is that if the three bodies were found inside the same radius of 100 m, there may be a massive fungi infestation in the environment that is slowly killing people."

"Sounds unlikely," Shoto says.

"Exactly what I thought. Which leads to my second theory: that someone with a decomposition quirk targeted these people."

As the three men process the information, you smile at Shoto. You figured you should get along well if you'd be seeing him often.

TAGS: @miyamoratsumuu, @serxndipity-ipity-blog, @mqshido, @pretty-sparkle-bomb

[julieverne]

The new Medical Examiner stayed in the basement. When she went out on a scene, she was covered head to foot in tyvek, a floppy hat on her head, an umbrella held over her.

"Cause of death?"

"Impossible to determine at this stage," Doctor Maura Isles said, despite the gaping wound in the torso. Jane sighed and shook her head, shifting the umbrella she held for the doctor, who fixed her in place with a stare.

"I burn very easily," Maura reminded her.

"Yeah, you said," Jane said, rolling her eyes. She held the umbrella still, though, looking down at the other woman. Pale, pale skin, the kind that would burn easily. Dark clothes - although Jane was also in dark clothes the didn't seem to contrast so starkly against her tanned skin. Red, red lips. Maura looked up again, and Jane looked away quickly, swallowing. She saw Maura's nostrils flare, a little smile on those taunting lips.

---

In the morgue, Maura seemed even smaller and paler, the bright lights flooding her out, making her blue veins visible. Jane paced nervously, but Maura didn't seem to mind. She seemed to welcome the company. The blinds were closed, and the evening was rolling in.

Jane paused as Maura drew some blood, watching the way Maura licked her lips as she did so. Maura looked up, startled, then put the vials on the lab tray.

"He's missing half his torso, what is his blood going to tell you?"

"You'd be surprised," Maura said, taking them into the lab. Jane stared down into the ragged hole where internal organs should be. Maura came back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before sliding her glove back on.

The autopsy was short, mostly because there were no organs to retrieve or examine. Jane helped Maura slide the body into cold storage, as much forensic evidence as they could retrieve already stored in the lab. Jane followed Maura in, taking off her gown and leaving it in the receptacle. Maura followed suit, removing her gloves too. There was a smudge of blood where Maura had wiped her mouth, and there was a test tube missing.

That wouldn't be suspicious if there hadn't been a spate of drained bodies around the city.

Jane looked away quickly as Maura washed her hands.

"I'm done."

"Do you want to grab some dinner?"

"I had a snack earlier, I'm fine."

"A drink, then?"

Maura eyed Jane with curiousity. Then she nodded.

"Sure. Why not?"

---

Jane had thought of the new ME as a quiet, serious woman, but after a drink or two she relaxed. Her smile came more readily. She had two little teeth that were very cute, a little sharp, a little pointed.

"I live right around the corner," Jane said, when the bar closed down. Maura nodded and followed her. She paused in the doorway, peering in, her nose scrunched as she took in the hockey sticks and trophy case.

"Come in, come in," Jane said impatiently. She staggered over to the kitchen cabinet. "Anything to drink? I have, like, green tea. And coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Powdered." Jane's nose scrunched, and Maura chuckled, closing the door behind her. Her hazel eyes flashed with mischief as she closed in on Jane.

"I think we both know I'm not here for something to drink," Maura said, her voice low and husky. Her hands closed around Jane's hips, gripping them tight as she tilted her head back to look up into Jane's face. "But I am very, very thirsty. Seeing you swagger around with all your long limbs all day. The way you bite your lip when you look at me. The way I can see your abs though your shirt." Maura bit her own lip, her elongated eye teeth catching and pulling at the plush, plump flesh. "Tell me I'm wrong?"

"You're not wrong," Jane rasped, her voice caught in her chest. She couldn't quite close the gap between them, but Maura didn't hesitate, brushing her lips against Jane's with a satisfied exhale that slipped past Jane's open lips and lodged in her chest. She found her own hands grasping Maura, pulling her closer, those teeth retracting when they scraped her lips. Their height difference meant Maura had easy access to Jane's throat, which she pressed her lips to, scraping her teeth lightly against Jane's jugular, making Jane shudder and remember the little spot of red she'd seen on Maura's lips as she came back from the lab, the reddish brown stain Mara had washed from her hand where she'd wiped it. Jane led Maura into the bedroom, but Maura baulked at the door.

Jane had a cross over the bed. Maura hissed, eyeing it with distaste. Her teeth seemed longer now, somehow. Jane quirked an eyebrow at Maura's reaction.

"I'm really only lapsed Catholic," Jane told Maura. "My mother insisted. I think she thought it would keep me from premarital sex. If it bothers you I'll take it down." Jane plucked it from the wall and shoved it in a drawer. She went to touch Maura, but the other woman pulled away with another hiss.

"We should wash our hands, if we're going to continue. We've been out in a bar, and there are places I'd like to touch you without introducing foreign bacteria."

Jane rolled her eyes but complied easily, not even having second thoughts about her first time with a woman. Maura kissed the back of her neck as she washed up, and then washed her own hands, dragging Jane back to the bedroom.

---

Jane woke with Maura's head on her chest. The light was filtering in through Jane's net curtains, and she sighed contentedly. The light struck Maura's bare shoulder, and her skin started to simmer, as though it was a steak on a griddle. Jane covered the shoulder with a sheet, not worried at all.

Maura woke, flinching from the sunlight.

"So. You're a vampire, huh?"

"What gave it away?" Maura asked breezily, not worried about having her cover blown.

"I had to invite you in. The cross scared you. Your skin smokes in sunlight."

"You're remarkably calm."

"You know what Hoyt did to me. This doesn't come close. Besides, only someone like me could have survived him."

"I knew you smelled of something. What are you?"

"Succubus, obviously."

"That explains a lot. You didn't have to seduce me. You could have just asked if I was a vampire. I'd have told you. I trust you, against my better judgement."

"I didn't use any of my seduction on you, and I didn't feed off you. And you didn't bite me. I think that makes our working relationship promising."

"I work in the morgue because I can't feed off live people," Maura mumbled against Jane's collarbone, as though she was ashamed of her inability to harm humans.

"And I work with homicide, but I make sure I feed off the sex criminals that come through the station. Not - not like that. Ugh, no. Not like - not like how we were last night. That was just for - just because. I didn't use anything to make you want me, and I didn't feed off you either. But I'm sure, if you're ever unable to get fresh blood, you could probably use me. If you wanted to."

"That's a very generous offer, but I don't want to hurt you."

Jane closed her arms tighter around Maura, a happy smirk on her face.

"As a detective, I do have to ask if you know anything about these bodies showing up without any blood. Friends of yours?"

"Hardly. My - my biological family. I was adopted, and they raised me vegan, which I appreciate. But it looks like my biological family has found me and is hunting me down." Maura nuzzled in closer to Jane, her tongue flicking for a moment over the pulse in Jane's throat, her lips and teeth pressed against it as Jane pressed against her with a moan. Aware the mood had shifted drastically, Maura moved away reluctantly. "I'm scared, Jane. I don't want to be like them. I like solving murders. I like working alone. I don't like to be around people in case I hurt them. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"You wouldn't," Jane said tenderly, stroking Maura's hair. "We can find them first. I'm a detective. You're a doctor. We can find them, and make sure they leave town, if that's what you want." Jane looked uncertain about wanting to kill or banish Maura's relatives, and Maura kissed her again for her sweetness.

"We?" she asked shyly, aware that there was a bond between them. It wasn't often two supernatural species consummated, but when they did, the imprint was strong and usually bonded them for life. She'd made her choice last night, not quite sure what Jane was but knowing from her scent that she wasn't entirely human. She'd trusted Jane, and it felt like for once she'd made the right choice.

"We," Jane agreed, kissing Maura slowly and tenderly. "Right after I get some proper blackout curtains."

Maura snuggled back into the only true comfort offered her, Jane's body warm and alive against her own cool skin.

"Okay," Maura said shyly, accepting Jane as one of her pack.

---

I do not read or write supernatural stuff in this vein but this was fun.

[minimorgana]

Rambling about Ace Hardy:

To me, Ace saying "I believe in being true to yourself, even at the risk of being misunderstood" is one of his most character defining lines in the series. It's cool to think about this quote after finishing the series and knowing everything we do about Ace.

Even though at the point of him saying this we haven't seen the full extent of the conflict with his dad, in retrospect, we can understand that Ace is likely thinking about his dad in some sense when saying this. Yes, he is saying this to Laura and in response about leaving Horseshoe Bay, but it extends to so many aspects of his life and character.

Ace is well aware that his dad doesn't understand or respect where he currently is in life, but he doesn't try to change himself to make his dad understand him. No matter how much he wants his dad's approval, he doesn't compromise who he is. He knows that will only lead to him living a life that isn't really his. What his dad sees as laziness is Ace having not found his purpose and not wanting to force himself into a box before knowing if he will fit.

Ace values being true to himself, and he values this trait in the people he surrounds himself with. This is at the heart of the conflict between him and Nancy in season 2, and I think it might give some perspective to why he struggled to find a solid group of friends before the Drew Crew.

We all know that high school is a difficult time for self-identity and finding yourself, and this has been affirmed through Nancy's character and her high school friends. So I think Ace struggled to make meaningful friendships with people who weren't necessarily being true to themselves (speaking from experience, this is something I struggled with in high school, and it was aggravated by questioning my own sense of self and hiding parts of my identity).

But for the most part, once the layers of secrecy at the beginning of season 1 are removed, I think Ace realizes that this group of people try their hardest to be true to themselves, despite some slip ups.

Nancy could easily leave the mystery solving to the police and stay out of trouble, but she values truth and justice, and she knows it is her responsibility to find those things. Bess values family, whether it is biological or found, and she strives to do right by the people she loves, even if it costs her. George has been known as the town screw up but for the most part, she ignores the labels others put on her and works hard to build a life for herself and her sisters. She knows she is more than their labels for her. Nick is driven by his desire to help and protect people. We see him stay true to himself most clearly when he tells his mom he's staying in Horseshoe Bay, that he has a purpose in this town and he's been planted there for a reason.

That was a long winded way of saying that Ace has finally found people who try their hardest to push away the opinions of other people and stay true to themselves.

For a moment, I was thinking about this quote in line with him telling Nancy he isn't lacking anymore after getting his apartment and starting to work at the morgue. Because if this is the code he lives by, then why would he do these things just for someone else's approval? But then I realized that he isn't. He's had an interest in medical and forensic examination since season 1 when helping examine Lucy's bones. And I think he's been ready to move out of his parents house for a while. He just needed a push to do those things and his insecurities tell him that he has to prove to Nancy that he is good enough for her. But the things he chose to do are still true to who he is.

So yeah, I really just love this quote and think it sums up who Ace is and we can see it reflected in everything he does throughout the series, even up to the very end.

P.S. Another good example of him living by this code is when he visits Mr. D and tries to understand why he made the choice he did. Part of him knows that if Nancy ever found out, she wouldn't be happy about him befriending her dad while she is very mad at him. But he does it anyways, even at the risk of being misunderstood. Because to him, he's doing what is right.

[discordantwords]

for the rosie headcanons, i've seen people have rosie grow up to be a detective / detective inspector (lol, uncle greg), i've seen her grow up to be a doctor, but in my head, i split the difference and have her become a forensic pathologist / medical examiner. also follows in molly's footsteps there, which i think is a neat touch, given that i assume a kid raised by sherlock and john would def have molly as a family figure in their life

I could definitely see something like that happening! I do think that Molly ends up being a big part of her life as she grows up. And young Rosie probably spends far more time hanging around the morgue than a kid usually would. :D

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Medical Examiner's Office PARTIES: Ray and Regan SUMMARY: Ray is searching for more information about Ryan's death, and Regan finally meets Ray... and the ghost possessing him.

“I just want to know what the hell happened. It’s my death.”

He felt odd walking up the step and pushing the door open. He’d never expected himself to be voluntarily going to an ME office. Ray awkwardly shuffled through the smallest gap he could get through in the door, not wanting to make a spectacle of himself and closing the door as quietly as he could. As much as he did want to meet Regan, he was a little out of his depth with this investigation he’d started. He was no expert in data collection, not in this way and not in places like this. If only he could open a textbook or piece of software to find the answers. But he had to do this. He’d made a promise to Ryan that he’d try to figure this out. For both of them.

He lingered by the door looking around as if he’d recognise the doctor if she wandered by, because she wouldn’t recognise him. Ray pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot a quick ‘Hey, I’m here at the front door :)’ looking around for any sign of someone looking for a stranger as well.

When Regan had invited Ray to the morgue, she hadn’t expected his immediate arrival. As soon as Marcy messaged her that a confused boy had wandered in looking for her, she rushed up to receive him. She’d barely had time to look into the strange file Ray was asking about. Ryan Baxter had died back in 2013, and she didn’t even recognize the name of the forensic pathologist who had conducted the autopsy. That was only the beginning of the problem.

As she pushed through the lobby doors, it occurred to her that she didn’t even know who to look for. Despite conversing with Ray online for months, they had not yet met face to face. Fortunately, there was only one person there: a lanky young man with a slouch that made Regan want to forcefully straighten his spine. There was also a bandage around one of his fingers, she noted. “Ray?” Regan asked for good measure with a tilt of her head. Something slithered inside of her chest, some emotion, and she pushed it away. Yes, they had spoken online. Yes, she had a certain fondness for Ray the same way a human might enjoy a bird regularly returning to their feeder, but what did that matter, really? “Dr. Kavanagh. As you’re well-aware.” Regan extended her hand. “I can’t say I expected that we would ever meet in person.”

There was another surprise. Something was… off. With Ray. Like he was surrounded by a dark, eerie pulse – the same mockery of death she felt around Metzli, but weaker, stranger. Her mind itched with the possibility of looking with her asfís bháis, but she couldn’t do that while Ray was paying attention. She couldn’t even imagine how that would go over. For now, they were to move on. As she led him down to her office, she braced him for impact. “I have some questions for you about this file you asked about. And I don’t suggest lying to me.”

Ryan buzzed in the back of his mind, increasing Ray's usual levels of discomfort in new situations tenfold. But he couldn’t tell the ghost to quiet down, that was rude, especially since they were here on his behalf to find out about his death. It seemed a bit callous to ask the dead to shut up about it for his own comfort. Ray was brought out of his head when he spotted just what he was looking for. Someone looking for a stranger. 

She opened her mouth and called his name and he smiled brightly at her. It was nice to see a friend for the first time. He was really getting to love the feeling -even if he’d never say as much to her directly considering her stance on friendship. Ray extended his hand to shake hers, aborted the action realizing his finger was still healing and instead grasped her hand oddly with his left, shaking it quickly. “Oh, well I appreciate you helping me out with this stuff. I’m glad we get to meet in person.” he told her enthusiastically. “What do I call you here? Doctor?”

His head was on a swivel as they walked towards her office looking around in some sort of morbid curiosity and not actually wanting to see anything. “Hey you’re helping me out, why would I lie?” He responded before really thinking about the implications of what he’d said and what he was definitely going to have to keep to himself. He’d already been bending the truth a little when he’d initially asked her. As was usual for him, worry started to set in and he tried valiantly to mask it from his face. Ray then spoke up again against his better judgment. “How’d you know if it was a lie anyway?”

Regan cast her eyes down to Ray’s injured hand, as he seemed to forget he’d acquired a splint. Curious. “When did that happen?” She nodded down to his finger. And why hadn’t he mentioned it before? Not that she needed to know everything medically wrong with this child. But it would be nice. “Doctor Kavanagh is fine. And if it suits you, I’m going to continue calling you Ray, and not Soup.” Something lingered on her own fingers after she’d shaken his hand. Her skin felt twitchy, wrong, but the sensation was brief enough that she waved it away, questioning if it had ever been there to begin with. But she couldn’t entirely ignore that Ray himself still elicited something in her. Cliodhna would have understood it immediately.

As she carded the two of them into her office, she turned to Ray. “I don’t want you touching anything in here. None of the bones. And certainly not the file.” The chair, though; he could touch the chair. “You may sit,” Regan said, pointing to the chair in front of her desk. She circled around it and sat down herself. 

“Many people have a lie they wish to tell about the death of a loved one, someone they knew. I encounter them daily. Sometimes they wish to obfuscate the case from me, and other times they wish to obfuscate their connection to the deceased to others in their life. I can always tell.” It was true. She’d sat through dozens of witnesses trying to convince her that they’d never seen someone in their life, or next of kin trying to bury affairs and family secrets along with the deceased. And while Regan didn’t have a preternatural sense for detecting those lies, she had grown seasoned at it, her mind as sharp as her scalpel. Her eyes turned down to what sat on her desk, the file. “As I have told you, I must protect the confidentiality of the decedent. But these are unusual circumstances. I want to know the truth, and I don’t think I’m going to get it from this file.” She held up the unusually thin manilla folder, which was only about half the size of the others swelling in the morgue’s file cabinets. “So let’s start at the beginning, hm? How do you know Mr. Baxter?”

“A week ago I think?” Ray responded, lifting his hand to also look at his bound fingers. “Hockey accident, didn’t have my gloves on during practice.” It had been one of the few times Ryan had actually let Ray play for himself instead of taking over. The ghost assured him that he would not stop making fun of him for that until the fingers were healed. “Doctor Kavanagh, sure Ray is good.” He repeated back as they walked. He didn’t know that Regan could tell there was something up with him, in his mind all he had to do was keep his story straight.

Rest assured, Ray has absolutely no desire to touch anything, especially not the bones. In fact he gave everything in her office a pretty wide berth as he made his way over to the chair to sit down - even if he did catalog things as they passed. He clasped his hands together in his lap as best he could carefully, looking at her with even more uncertainty now that they were sitting down to an interrogation of sorts. He just had to play it cool. He could play it cool right? The ‘no’ that echoed in his skull was unwelcome and he grimaced slightly, willing the ghost to shut up.

It was definitely intimidating. Her whole speech about detecting lies made his thin guise of calm dissolve a tiny bit - the true anxiety of the situation shining through more clearly on his face. But he hadn’t murdered anyone…directly, certainly not Ryan anyway, directly or indirectly. “We ar- we were pretty close before he died?” it was a terrible start, his resolve was already crumbling and even Ryan was losing motivation for this. The first hurdle. The VERY first question. “Well no I didn’t meet him before he died, actually. But, I just…want to know what happened to him. I think we need closure to move forward, and I don’t think we can be at peace without knowing what happened.”

“So you never knew him.” Regan clarified, mulling over that information. That only produced more questions. “Perhaps a better question I should ask, then, is how do you know of him? If the two of you had never met, what brings you here asking about him?” She was acutely aware this was beginning to have the edge of an interrogation, and it was only going in one direction. Which was how she liked it. But she didn’t want to scare Ray off or render his tongue silenced before he provided some actual information of value. She was in this now, and she needed to understand what had happened to this file.

Regan laid the file flat on her desk and flicked it open, her hand smoothing out the first sheet inside, the autopsy report. It was of an older format than the ones the ME’s office used now, and covered in a doctor’s messy scrawl rather than neat, legible typing. Time had introduced wrinkles and yellowed the page, which Regan could only hope had been digitized years ago, but she lacked confidence in that. “This is Baxter’s autopsy report,” Regan explained, holding the stapled packet up but not for long enough for Ray to glean anything from it. She had his attention though, and he looked raptly even as his long limbs poured awkwardly out of his chair and he seemed to be drowning in discomfort. “There are pages missing, several, and the cause of death is highly unusual for a man of the decedent’s age. Not only that, it’s a terribly lazy one. We pathologists try not to list “congestive heart failure” as a cause of death. Everyone’s heart fails when they die. There is always an underlying cause. I see none noted here, and the autopsy photos are scant. Very few are of the heart, and I see no evidence of anything amiss.” She paused, realizing her lungs had been picking up pace, attuned to her mounting frustration. Few things got to her more than sloppy autopsies and documentation. But was this really poor work, or was there something bigger at play?

She met Ray’s eyes. “You know something that I don’t, and I would like to hear it.”

“I-” She was a woman of science she was unlikely to accept his reasoning, if he were honest with himself she was likely already tired of his backwards explanations. But he was unsure what else he could do, if she were to write him off as a blithering idiot he was unlikely to find out anything more for himself and Ryan. Ray needed her to tell him what was wrong with everything, show him the papers if possible in order to glean any tiny little detail that might help him find out truly what happened. Ray realized he'd been silent with his mouth open for a little too long, sat back slightly away from her to regroup and wet his dry lips more nervously still. “I know him. I’ve recently found out a lot about him. He was…on my hockey team ten years ago and I’ve inherited his nickname and…” none of that a lie, and in that he could at least be sure.

His eyes raked over the papers she held up to him but he couldn’t make out much before she was back to asking questions. Ray’s whole body shivered involuntarily as Ryan left him. The ghost was unseen to Ray and unreachable to him now that they weren’t connected in the same body. He didn’t know what had bothered the ghost so much that he’d abandon him to this alone but there was no way to ask him back for support in front of the doctor. “Can it be that it’s just someone lazy? Is it that unusual?” 

The ghost himself had moved to look over the doctor's shoulder. If his autopsy report was weird enough for them to be called in to talk about it…well it was his surely he should be allowed to look at it. 

Ray was caught in her gaze and couldn't quite break the heavy question she was asking him. “It’ll sound like you should throw me out of the building.” he said vaguely. Could he tell her? Probably not. He shouldn’t. She was no nonsense. She’d write him off. Another friend gone. “I met him after his death.”

“I have never met a lazy medical examiner. The demands of the work weed out all but the most qualified and diligent.” Regan had looked into this medical examiner with a cursory search. Dr. Patil. He had been a medical examiner in the county for only a year before his disappearance, which was probably why she hadn’t seen any other reports penned by him yet. The circumstances of his probable-death also likely explained why Dr. Rickers had neglected to mention the other doctor to her. Examiners had come and gone. Some moved elsewhere. Others vanished. Such was life in Wicked’s Rest.

She nudged her notebook in front of her and started making a list of pertinent information she was collecting from Ray, as well as everything unusual she had noticed about the report. Mid-way through writing that the cardiac findings section was missing every other field, she froze. The implication of what Ray had just told her snaked into her ears and wrapped around her bones. The living did not meet the dead. It would have been a perfectly normal answer in Saol Eile, but not here. It was as if a cold wind had just swept across the room. Setting her pen down, she looked up at Ray. He captured her full attention now. “And how did you do that?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but there was no disbelief in them. She believed Ray entirely. And that was the problem.  

Ryan read through her notes quickly as she wrote them, she didn’t seem to have gleaned much from the report itself other than it’s lack of detail -or she had already filed her findings on that away before they’d arrived- but what Ryan could tell clearly was that she was interested in the case. More so than a few of the people he had already had Ray ask about him. But he didn’t remember having ever met her in life, so she was curious about this all on her own merits, maybe she really could help them. Curiosity could work well in their favor, they could bargain details for contacts maybe? Ryan was spinning a hook for them to bribe her as she spoke with Ray. Drifting back towards the human, to be drawn in quickly by the space in his soul that Ryan had taken to inhabiting. 

Ray hummed in acknowledgement of her words. She’d know her profession better than he would. But it was concerning. He could have perhaps settled into her interrogation style if she’d not asked such direct questions. “By accident. Not on purpose. I didn't do anything. He did it all for me.” It was unusual for someone normal to ask how and not if he was okay. It was unusual the amount of clarity she was looking at him with. “Ghosts you know. They don’t ask before they take from you. But we’re trapped together now. Ryan and Me…”

Ghosts. Regan closed her eyes, feeling again the way death had wrapped itself around Ray, light touch though it was. She had known there was something off. And where death was concerned, Regan was never wrong. The others spoke of ghosts as if they were as commonplace as a squirrel or sparrow. Some disparagingly, others with fondness. Regan herself had seen plenty of those apparitions, though she refused to slap such a fantastical label on them, rather thinking of them as an extension of the visions – hallucinations – she was able to slip into. Interestingly, there were humans in town who seemed to be able to see these “ghosts,” too, and they weren’t timid about calling them such a ridiculous term.

She had no time nor desire to feign incredulity, though she had little idea of what Ray meant about ghosts taking things, about being together. It was prudent to make sure they were talking about the same thing. Regan gave Ray a hard look, like if she stared for long enough Ryan himself would appear. …Would he? “I don’t know anything about ghosts. But I know death. And I know you’ve carried some in here.” Again, she looked. Eyes narrowing to slits. Her asfís bháis was there in her periphery, an option and perhaps a door to seeing and understanding, but she didn’t want to cause Ray to run out of the office. Asking was better. “This thing that you’re calling Ryan. Is it present now? I suspect yes.”

Ray met her stare for only a second before he looked away. He was serious, he was deadly serious about Ryan, but he wasn't built for eye contact so serious. Regan was intense, he gathered that from the times they'd spoken online but there was something so much more in person. Ryan was asking in his head what he was waiting for, she clearly believed in this what was he doing staying so quiet? Why was it so easy to speak about Ryan when it didn't matter, but as soon as they had someone asking real questions it didn't seem so fun anymore. She had an autopsy or something in front of her, Ryan's. 

"Yeah, he's here." Ray tapped his chest first, followed by yet another aborted gesture -possibly heading for his head- but deeming it unimportant to clarify further. Ryan was getting impatient but Ray still wasn't saying anything. The ghost was not one to waste time. This was HIS death. He was bored of having Ray speak for him when she clearly understood. Ray's eyes rolled slightly, his limbs locking and his breath stuttering. A moment later his body hung differently in the chair, arms crossing. The body now hung oddly as if a puppet had strings just a little too long. "Ryan J Baxter. Hand me the file right? What's wrong with it?" It was an introduction, maybe.

“If he’s here, where is he?” Regan raised a brow. She was clearly not understanding something. Was Ray saying that he kept Ryan inside of him, the way one might clutch to their fading memories of a deceased loved one? But then Ray’s entire body jolted, his head lolled violently, and his eyes rolled back in his skull like two big, white marbles. At once, Regan mobilized. She flew out of her seat, one word burning through her brain: seizure. Before she could even grab his shoulders it was over. Regan hovered next to Ray’s chair, ready to attend to whatever was needed, but waiting for an indication that something was needed. “Ray…?” She said quietly, her breath bunched up in her throat. Had it been a seizure? Was it over?

Stillness coated the room. And then Ray started talking. His voice, she noted, sounded different. Produced by the same tongue, but syllables rolled differently, hesitation no longer living between his words. 

She had not been prepared for the assertion that Ray was Ryan.

A chill pinched down her spine. She backed away a couple of steps so she could see him better, observe him. Something was not right, but she didn’t understand it. What… was she seeing? There were mental disturbances that could look like this. More on television than in actual practice, generally, but it was the best explanation she had. Then again, Ray had briefly looked as though he had a seizure. Could this have been related to that? Seizures could correlate with odd beliefs, cause altered mental status. Was this temporal lobe epilepsy or a cousin to it? Was “ghost” seriously in the differential?

He was looking at her, demanding an answer. Even his eyes looked different than before. The same color, the same set, but his gaze was more firm, impatient. Regan decided that the danger – if there had been danger – has passed. She could engage with whatever this was. “I am not handing anything over to you…” She looked at his hands, Ray’s hands. They would not hold someone else’s file. “You claim to be Ryan, and I will humor you. You need to prove it. What is your social security number? The names of your parents? Tell me the locations of your scars.” Regan gestured to the file. “I have all of that information in here.”

If Ray had been at all aware of the shift from himself to Ryan he would have been touched by the attention Regan paid him. He’d have appreciated the way she moved quickly to reach towards whatever unknown that was happening to him, in the moment between one soul and the other. But she wasn’t greeted with the nervous giant she’d been speaking to online for months. Ray had been put in suspension of sorts and instead she was met with the other. The other soul wasn’t nervous, and the other soul hadn’t ever spoken to Regan before. He didn’t appreciate her hovering and he didn’t have time for her whispered and worried address to his host. 

Ryan lowered Ray's hand and crossed his gangly arms instead. “It’s my file. I already read your notes but I want to see the whole thing.” it was the most direct this voice ever got - when it wasn’t being used by its owner. 

There was an impatient huff of breath before Ryan set out to answer her questions. One by one the numbers of his social security lined up in formation. The full name of his mother followed quickly by the full name of his father. The only piece that seemed to trip his flow of speech was found when they were half way through the number of scars he had on his hands. He named a little over half before he gave up. “Just believe me. You believed in ghosts a minute ago doctor, you let Ray think you were on board. Are you taking it back now I’m here? Even with his face, am I not as trustworthy?” Ryan was usually a lot kinder, usually a lot more jovial, and usually a lot more ready for a laugh. But as they’d been having trouble gathering information about his death his humor decreased. Every obstacle, and every closed door with no answers made him itch.  

“I just want to know what the hell happened. It’s my death.”

To Regan’s astonishment, Ray was able to recite everything she had asked for. Was there any other way for Ray to have acquired that information? Yes, realistically. It was unlikely. But she also was not ready or willing to admit that the person sitting across the room from her, in Ray’s body, was a dead man. “You must have been very close for him to tell you that information.” Which contradicted what Ray had told her earlier: that he met Ryan only after he had died, somehow. But how was she to believe any of this? Regan ran her hands through her hair, the only visible sign that she might have been a little frustrated. Had she been willing to think about it or admit it, she might have realized most of that was out of concern for Ray’s behavior.

She wasn’t quite sure how to handle this. Ray wanted information about someone who – regardless of how or when – he had a close relationship with, enough to know the locations and sizes of Ryan’s scars, which were at least correctly reported in the file. Apparently. She couldn’t exactly check Ray’s body for them.

Was it really sharing information if the information was incorrect at worst or obfuscated at best? Regan wasn’t sure. And part of her, however small that part was, wondered if Ray – or “Ryan” – might be able to fill in some of the gaps. Perhaps she could treat this more as a fishing expedition. Let Ryan provide details she didn’t have.

“You’re going to be disappointed,” Regan cautioned, a bit of an edge to her voice; she didn’t appreciate being told what to do. She flipped through a few of the pages. Dr. Patil’s work was rushed, incomplete, and in some places a flagrant abuse of protocol. But there were things she could probably share, and what was missing might be more valuable than what scant information was present. “As I said, the cause of death is listed as ‘congestive heart failure,’ which means nothing.” She flicked through a couple autopsy photos. “And there’s nothing wrong here. A berry aneurysm, which is a common incidental finding. Some eczema.” She turned to the toxicology report. “Nothing of note in here, either. Marijuana in the hair.” She turned to Ray, or Ryan, or whatever he wished to be called. “I don’t know why Dr. Patil provided no evidence to support his already-flimsy cause of death. Anyone looking at these photos would be able to see that. See nothing, rather. They look healthy. Dead, but healthy.” She was a little unnerved by how much Ray’s mannerisms had changed, but she spoke to him plainly nonetheless, pretending nothing was different. “I’d like to hear what you have to say about that.”  

Ryan tensed Ray’s fingers and flexed them in his lap. Being disappointed was starting to become a usual occurrence. He was getting restless and more frustrated the longer he and Ray searched for information. No one knew. He’d had hope that maybe she was holding something back from them due to the unusual story they’d presented to her, but she’d moved to repeating the information he’d read over her shoulder with a finality to the words. A finality that led him to believe they’d hit another cold trail, a cold trail with the added obstacle of letting an onlooker to their search. No one else they’d asked for anything from had been as insistent on knowing more. Death made people uncomfortable. No one else had the gumption to inquire further. 

“I was an athlete. I was as healthy as I could get…pot aside.” bitterness tinted his tone as he heaved a breath and looked towards the file. “I can’t believe there’s really nothing officially recorded anywhere. Damnit.” Ryan cursed and stood up suddenly, knocking Ray's knees against the desk as he went. He didn’t pause for a second, he turned away from her, staring angrily into the middle distance. “How did I fall through the cracks like this? My family… they loved me, I had so many friends, I was on the hockey team. But no one asked any questions, no one got any extra information. No one knows.” It was dramatic, but he couldn’t help the display of increased emotion. Having control of the body always did this to him. The longer you didn’t get to feel anything the more intensely the welling of emotion could knock you off balance. 

Ryan turned back towards her and held onto the back of the chair he’d just vacated. “There are no other records? None? No one has anything more? Surely there’s something somewhere, the hospital maybe? The university?” He was searching for hope. They’d spent the entirety of winter up until now mentioning his death to anyone they could, but this was nearing the last straw. “I know this is the first time you’ve met Ray in person, but he likes you, he considers you a friend. Will you help him?” It was selfish to put Ray’s friendship with the doctor on the line for his own gain, but if it meant professional help - as much as he’d never admit as much to his host- he’d throw away all the friendships he’d helped Ray make in order to just know something.

The situation was slipping from her control. Regan was used to being in command in the morgue. It was her office, her duty; here, she cloaked herself in the respect of others and she called the shots, and her apparent age didn’t matter as much as the comma-MD behind her name. But every once in a while, circumstances would zig when they really should have been zagging, and whatever was happening now was not a typical conversation she had with next of kin. This was not the anger of losing a loved one, having a life snatched away from them. Ray had the sound of someone who was coming to terms with his own death after it already happened. It was unfamiliar territory, unfamiliar emotion, and she was equal parts uncomfortable and curious. She was taken aback enough to be stunned into silence, and as a result, Ray was given more allowance for this display than she would have normally permitted. The rawness of it all made Regan’s skin scurry with distaste. She needed to rein things in.

She stood up, unwilling to let him march around her office unchallenged. He was still taller, of course – by quite a lot – but it made her feel more in control. Ray still seemed focused on answers. That was good. He would not be completely unreasonable. Regan shot him a no-nonsense look. “If you want to discuss this you will calm yourself.” Her throat swelled a little at the claim of friendship but she quickly swallowed it back. “He’s foolish to consider me a friend.” He’s. Why had she said that? Why not you’re? This was starting to mess with her head. She couldn’t deny that the presence in the room with her seemed utterly unfamiliar compared to the awkward kid that had been sitting in the chair before, though. She’d get a second opinion about this later from someone. Preferably a physician who was not Rickers, but she’d make due with a nurse at this point. Actually, she did know one…

Things seemed to calm. Ray’s knuckles relaxing their grip on the chair. Good. Regan eased up in turn. “This is an older file. The hospital probably still has records, but little that isn’t already in here.” She flicked the folder. “It isn’t going to help you understand what happened. It didn’t… help me. The pathologist who did this autopsy was either hiding something or simply sloppy.” She hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was a good idea. It was not. Yet she’d offered similar to Lil regardless. Cliodhna would turn in her grave if she knew (the one she enjoyed spending recreational time in while alive). What was Regan even gaining from this? Yet she was compelled. If pressed she’d excuse it as her own curiosity. “But I might be able to help. If you can bring me something that belonged to Baxter, something that held importance, maybe I’ll be able to give you better answers. That is what you want, right? You want to know what really transpired at the time of death.” She let the offer linger for a moment but knew there was more she needed to say. “One other thing. I am leaving in a couple of months – moving overseas. The window for my help is limited.”

Ryan didn't even watch as Regan got to her feet in order to get a handle on his swing of emotion. He was too busy trying to get a grip to focus on a singular individual that wasn't himself for too long. If Ray was able to hear the ghosts thoughts he'd comment how dramatic it all sounded, likely to be put back in his place when reminded where they were. It hadn't always been like that for the ghost, but the abundance of dead ends and lost notes were taking his patience and wearing it thin like the heel of a well loved pair of shoes - uncomfortably thin but not yet broken. If he'd been honest the idea was to wear her down, keep badgering, use Ray as a hinge on which to swing the door open to his story. But she gave a little. She hesitated and then she gave a little more. Perhaps she cared for the human a bit more than she would let on…or maybe the idea that this unexplained death existed itched at her skin. Either way he'd take it.

Ryan extended a hand towards her “you've got yourself a deal, if I can bring you something of mine that might have some relevance, you'll see what you can dig up?” A small ember of hope had reignited. “Short time frame…right…Ray will be gutted when he finds out you're leaving but I'll take it. What's important enough a thing to get more information? A hat? A trophy? I'm not a jewelry person if it's a reward thing. Can't flog much of mine now I'm dead. Imagine all the good stuff is gone.”

Regan lifted a brow, but kept the stern look on her face. Just who was she making a deal with? The person in front of her still didn’t seem like Ray. But the need for understanding scratched at her brain, and was there really anything wrong with sharing information that came not from a confidential report, but from her own gift? She would be guarded, but she wasn’t ready to declare this a waste of her dwindling time here. Especially if it would help Ray. She finally nodded. “I don’t think the – I mean, the object in question does not matter. Anything you’re able to get your hands on that you care about, that connects you to who you… were. But yes, I’ll do it. I dislike unanswered questions.” Better to sound confident, authoritative, even when she wasn’t positive this would even work. And even more importantly, better to sound not personally invested in Ray for any reasons other than the objective, the practical. 

A chill scurried up her arm when she shook his hand. She took care to be gentle with his uninjured finger. More care than he took, which gnawed at her. Was it because he was a careless child, or because this “Ryan” was an entity of the mind and not the body? Regan looked away when he mentioned Ray in the 3rd person, but it was more because of what he’d said than how he’d said it. “He’ll be fine. Everyone will be fine. Life goes on, and then it doesn’t. And while you’re at it, bring me a dead chipmunk. For morale.”

That chill seemed to linger around her, even as Ray, or Ryan turned out the door, and Regan stared at the space previously occupied by him. Was the unease real or imagined? Was this some kind of medical condition, however rare, or something relegated to the hush milieu of places like this town, and Saol Eile? Whatever the case, Regan wasn’t sure just who or what was walking out of here.

[deathandthesoul]

For Aidan

🍓 (strawberry)

🐞 (ladybug)

🎸 (electric guitar)

🪓 (axe)

🍓 (strawberry) - Does your oc believe in anything? Are they superstitious? Religious? Atheistic? Has anything in their past made them this way?

The Path of Death and the Soul is the closest thing he has to a belief system. He's actually got the V5 mindset of it, which is less philosophical and metaphysical than in previous editions. Otherwise he'd like to say that he's a hardcore atheist, except he's very intimately aware that the afterlife and ghosts exist and of the properties of the soul when it comes to kindred physiology involving stakes in the heart and diablerie Noddism ain't his thing and he's happy not calling himself Catholic anymore even if he does still go to church sometimes (he has a soft spot for the choir…). He's having a great time no longer being in a stifling environment that pressures him to feel shame for being himself, or one that forces him to accept a Christian mythos as real and true but with a twist, and really loves having a boyfriend whose whole code of ethics revolves around indulgence and corruption. There's never a dull moment with him

🐞 (ladybug) - What does a perfect day look like for your oc? What do they do? Who do they see?

Aside from the obvious sucking and fucking Jesse all night and being a good obedient free use cocksleeve? Uh. He'd enjoy a cozy operation or two in his morgue, make some art or music with his band, mayhaps clean a crime scene for somebody and take a bunch of photos for his collection, plan or carry out a murder, go to a concert or a graveyard, go on the prowl and stalk people around the city, train at the gym, maybe take a drive or have a stakeout with Jesse that ends up with their hands all over each other... The more activities he can spend with Jesse the better, and even better if Lukas doesn't come calling for some asinine bullshit that he should be able to handle himself as Sheriff ("That's below my paygrade!")

🎸 (electric guitar) - What’s your character’s music taste like? Do they have one or two artists they play on repeat or do they have a varied and eclectic collection of music? Do they like mainstream artists or prefer underground musicians? What genres do they enjoy?

He likes it hard and fast with a lot of screaming blasting out his eardrums. Lets him live vicariously and pretend he's not totally cold inside-- gives him acting material to work with. He likes being cold and doesn't feel like a person at all and the sheer amount of emotion in the songs he listens to serves as an example and helps him fake humanity better As a musician he listens to a lot of different bands, from mainstream to underground. Talent can be found anywhere and he keeps an open mind. His own bands are pretty underground so he sort of relates to those ones more overall. Small venue or basement shows are his jam He gravitates to goregrind/death metal/grindcore the most. That's what he performs himself. Due to Reasons™️he is also involved in the local punk scene and will listen to that genre often as well. Jesse has his own tastes in metal but Aidan has fun listening to those types with him too

🪓 (axe) - Does your oc have survival skills? Have they ever had to use them? What would they do in an apocalypse? Could they survive?

At the very least Aidan knows how to strip and preserve a corpse so you could get him to be semi-useful while hunting for food, and he can turn the parts into something useable. He's also highly attuned to his surroundings at all times and could utilize his forensics experience to analyze any given area and learn about it But he's a city boy to the core. Don't expect him to know anything about camping in the wilderness for 5 days. He could survive in an apocalypse if he had some help lmao Also yeah he has medical expertise and theoretically could provide medical aid to people. HOWEVER he is a Necronomist and it goes against everything he stands for to prevent death (he has to quicken it), so he wouldn't be very popular or have many allies in an apocalypse scenario

[mariacallous]

Content Warning: This story includes references to suicide. If you need help, call the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline for your region.

In 2021, an unidentified Black woman died by suicide after jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge. She was wearing hot-pink nail polish, and had a pink left eyebrow piercing and several tattoos—all distinguishing features that should have made it easier to identify her. Two years later, her identity is still unknown.

The tragedy of unidentified cadavers is something that Rionna Lee has been thinking about for years. Her mother used to transport human remains for New York’s Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, and would bring home morbid stories. One, Lee remembers, was of a man who had been hit by an MTA train. “One of the things that stuck out to me was the condition of his remains, which were scattered across the train tracks,” says Lee, 24, who now lives in Kingston, Pennsylvania. It distressed her to think of the families who would have to identify their loved ones—even more so, later, when she learned that some human remains would never be identified.

There are an average of 4,400 unidentified new cadavers per year in the US, and a total of 600,000 missing people across the country. Some of these cases are collected on databases, such as the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System (NamUs), which helps medical examiners, coroners, law enforcement officers, and members of the public solve missing, unidentified, and unclaimed cases across the country. The true scale of the problem is unknown, as the data available for the average number of unidentified cadavers comes from a 2004 census. Just 10 states have laws requiring that cases be entered into NamUs, meaning that many reports are voluntary.

As she looked into cases—including the woman with the pink nail polish—Lee noticed a pattern in which cases were solved and which weren’t. The decisive factor was often money. Funding from private donors, sponsorship, and public support meant that law enforcement agencies were able to access cutting-edge technology, such as Othram, a forensic genetics company, which has been pivotal in cracking several high-profile cases. Those that weren’t solved didn’t have resources behind them. Often, they were from marginalized groups. Lee, who identifies as Black and LGBTQ+, felt the need to raise awareness among overlooked members of society, those whose deaths often go unnoticed: transient individuals, racial minorities, substance users, and members of the LGBTQ+ community.

Lee set up a TikTok to try to raise awareness. After a few false starts, she went viral, attracting a following of 128,000. She set up a Facebook group—Thee Unidentified & Unsolved—which now has 39,000 members, many of whom work together to solve unidentified and unsolved cases. Thee Unidentified & Unsolved is one of several volunteer social media communities that are filling a gap left by the US state, a gap that is getting worse due to the overlapping crises of poverty, fentanyl, and shortfalls in public funding. Now, with AI image recognition more readily available, volunteers have new tools to help them identify the deceased. This brings with it new issues around privacy and consent, but those in the communities say their work brings closure to families. “I believe everyone starts off with a name,” says Lee. “I believe everyone should be able to leave this earth peacefully with their name.”

Lee started her TikTok campaign in October 2021. There were already several popular accounts that focused on locating missing people, but few, if any, were working to identify the deceased. She created her own page, but TikTok doesn’t allow graphic content such as morgue photos, and she struggled for traction.

She focused on cases where the decedent had been found with items that might help their friends and relatives identify them. “One of the videos I posted that gained exposure was a man with an undetermined race. He was found with a Salvatore Ferragamo gold buckle belt,” says Lee. Her audience was curious how a person with such an expensive piece of clothing could go unidentified. Her engagement grew, and finally, on November 9, 2022, one of her TikTok videos—the case of a 2022 Union County Jane Doe, a Black woman who died after being struck by multiple vehicles on US Route 22 in Hillside, New Jersey—went viral, racking up 652,000 views. A couple of days later, another video hit a million views. She created the Facebook group later that month, because the platform allows graphic content, like morgue pictures, which TikTok doesn’t.

There are around a dozen posts each day in the group, often unsolved cases from NamUs with pictures. Members scour the internet, looking for other images, comparing images with missing person sketches or social media profiles.

Some of the identification groups work globally; others are region- or country-specific or dedicated to unique circumstances, such as missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls. Online detective groups often tread a delicate line between altruistic investigation and mob obsession.

Thee Unidentified has had to tread that line carefully. Earlier this year, the group helped identify Adonis Beck, a TikTok star also known as Pope the Barber. Beck was found dead on August 10. The news spread quickly, causing an influx of new members to the Facebook group. Kenyetta Burks, one of the group’s admins who had first posted Beck’s image in the group, removed the morgue photos as they were posted, but was inundated with requests from people trying to see them, many from fake accounts pretending to be relatives. Sometimes, the admins will notice comments from members who seem more intrigued by the circumstances of death than those who are empathetic to the topic of unidentified cases. In situations that appear voyeuristic, the person is suspended, and if the behavior is repeated, they are banned, Lee says.

These social media groups have helped some families find closure. In 2022, a teenage boy stumbled upon Lee’s TikTok page and identified his mother, a 2017 Jane Doe case, via her tattoos. She was hit by a vehicle while crossing a street in Pasadena, California, and succumbed to her injuries in hospital. In May 2023, Burks posted a sketch, images, and information from NamUs in the Facebook group, which led to the identification of Dytavious Sanders, an MMA fighter from South Carolina, whose body was discovered earlier that month on May 9. Sander’s aunt identified him in the group and his mother asked for assistance in claiming his body.

One member of Thee Unidentified has recently began using a new tool, PimEyes, a controversial facial recognition search engine, as a means to identify the deceased via morgue photos. A quick upload produces search results in a matter of seconds. Photos from across the internet are organized in a single view, mugshots frequently among them. While this technology can accelerate the process of identifying the dead, it brings with it serious privacy concerns. In many cases, informed consent is obtained for neither the image uploaded nor the results that the technology returns, which can include the biometric data of private individuals. Thus far, a few members of the group have utilized this tool.

“While some individuals might be well meaning, online sleuths are using dangerous surveillance tools,” says Madeleine Stone, senior advocacy officer at Big Brother Watch, a privacy campaign group. “By selling this technology, facial recognition companies risk violating the dignity of deceased individuals, but moreover are violating the privacy rights of the billions of people whose photos they have taken, processed, and exploited without consent.”

PimEyes has been criticized by privacy advocates for scraping the internet for images and giving users access to highly personal information about private individuals. PimEyes CEO Giorgi Gobronidze says that these threats are exaggerated, and that PimEyes doesn’t hold images but just directs users to the URLs where images are hosted. “The tool is designed to help people to find the sources that publish photos, and if they shouldn't be there, apply to the website and initiate takedown.” Gobronidze says that PimEyes has many use cases, such as searching for missing people, including women and children in conflict areas, and actively cooperates with human rights organizations.

Lee says that the Thee Unidentified & Unsolved Facebook group “is not focused on the use of PimEyes … But I respect those who do use the tool and actually have successful outcomes.”

In other social media groups, PimEyes is slowly being introduced as an investigative tool for cases related to missing persons, cold cases, and human trafficking.

Experts also worry that this technology is not necessarily accurate, meaning that amateur sleuths could make mistakes with heartbreaking consequences. “This a noble goal, but a terrible approach,” says Albert Fox Cahn, executive director of the Surveillance Technology Oversight Project, an organization that litigates and advocates for privacy and fighting excessive local- and state-level surveillance. “This technology is biased and error prone, and I worry that a lot of worried families will be wrongly told their missing loved one is dead.”

For all of the challenges presented by volunteer online communities, the reality is that they exist in a vacuum left by the authorities.

In 2021, 106,699 Americans died of an overdose. In Seattle, the fentanyl crisis is so bad that the number of overdose deaths has doubled in the past three years, causing the morgues to overflow. The “fourth wave” of the crisis recently descended upon the US, an ongoing mass-overdose event that has consumed law enforcement agencies, stretching the resources necessary for identifying the dead. For medical examiners, the “tsunami” of bodies has resulted in staff burnout, exhausted resources, and the jeopardizing of many offices’ accreditation due to the necessity to conduct more autopsies than industry guidelines permit.

“Unfortunately, the opioid crisis has meant more individuals are coming into the Medical Examiner’s Office for examination,” says Constance DiAngelo, Philadelphia’s chief medical examiner. “Many of these folks are not initially identified.”

The authorities just don’t have the resources to investigate every case thoroughly. “Our challenges are related to funding,” DiAngelo says. “Exhumations, reinterment, DNA extraction and processing, and genealogy comparisons are expensive. A case could cost between $2,500 and $10,000, and that doesn’t include the need for staff who can be dedicated to this type of work.”

In King County, where Seattle is located, there are currently 57 unidentified people that the Medical Examiner’s Office is working to identify. This dire situation is a reality across major American metropolitan areas. In situations where people are found without identification, it can take weeks, if not months, to locate next of kin.

That waiting, and not knowing, can be agony for people whose loved ones have disappeared—like the family of Kallie Catron. Catron’s mother, Crystal Newman, last spoke with her on October 14, 2022. Catron said she missed her two children and wanted to come home. “When Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s passed, my sister knew something was wrong and called to report a missing person,” says Sarah Forister, Catron’s aunt. “I guess you can say a mother knows when something is wrong with her baby.”

On January 22, 2023, Newman was sent a link to a post on Thee Unidentified’s TikTok page. Morgue photos, and images of her tattoos, confirmed it was Catron. “At first, we were so mad that’s how we found out,” says Forister. “But Kallie’s mom, me, and her cousins watched the video showing her morgue photo and all her identifying tattoos multiple times a day.”

Eventually, Lee asked the family whether she could take down the video, as Catron had been identified. “I said yes, but please send me the video so I can watch it whenever I want to,” says Forister. Lee obliged. The community shared the family’s GoFundMe campaign to raise funds for Catron’s funeral and to support her children. “We realized that if it wasn’t for Thee Unidentified community and Rionna, we could still be looking for Kallie,” Forister says.

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: current PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: regan meets the local pi who keeps finding dead bodies. emilio meets the me who won't talk his ear off about grandchildren. CONTENT WARNINGS: infidelity (npc)

Most doctors had their frequent fliers – usually, people who showed up to the hospital at any hour for the most trivial of things. Regan thought she’d be free of that as a forensic pathologist. But she didn’t account for frequent callers. As it turned out, there was someone in town who rivaled her own propensity for finding and reporting bodies. She hadn’t met him yet, not in person, but Emilio Cortez’s reputation preceded him. Even Marcy told Regan “It’s that fucking guy” when he called in again. And Rickers wasn’t in today. So Emilio would have to deal with her. And she had questions.

Firstly, why was Emilio out in such an isolated place? It was rare that Regan had to drive all the way out to Gatlin Fields; she was quickly learning that the people out there weren’t apt to call in any bodies they found, preferring to keep the morgue out of it. So this was the first corn field she’d had the pleasure of standing in since moving to Wicked’s Rest. As she pushed through the towering plants, she kept an eye out for the crooked tree at the edge of the field that apparently marked the spot. Not that she really needed the landmark. She could feel the pulse of the cadaver pulling her in. And sure enough, there was both a man and a post-man in its shade. Regan adjusted her death scene bag over her shoulder. It was going to put in work today, as was she. 

“You must be Emilio Cortez,” Regan said, nodding in his direction, though staring only at the decedent’s flaccid, glossy expression. Male, roughly age 30. Young, which was odd, but not that odd here. No overt signs of trauma, though he was wearing dark clothing, which could hide plenty. “Dr. Kavanagh, Medical Examiner. I believe we’ve spoken online before. You’re the private investigator, correct?” A couple case assists, a couple email exchanges, and she already knew she found his manner irritating. But there was far more she didn’t know about him. “What do you have to tell me?”

____________________________________________________________________________

Working as a private eye in a town like Wicked’s Rest tended to award a man with certain habits. Working as a slayer on top of that tended to intensify those habits. Some of the habits were decent ones. Others involved frequently stumbling upon corpses in the woods. It was the latter that had him standing in Gatlin Fields, smoking a cigarette as he waited for the ME to arrive.

He’d considered just leaving, of course. The medical examiner wouldn’t need anything from him, considering he hadn’t put the corpse here and didn’t have any real evidence to offer. But he was learning that some connections were good for a PI to have. Rickers had thrown him a bone or two when a cadaver that came into the morgue matched the description of someone Emilio was looking for for a job, so he figured he’d throw a few back every now and then. Maintain the professional relationship in the interest of making his life a little easier. He was capable of that, from time to time.

Except… it wasn’t Rickers walking towards him now. It was a woman. Probably the one he’d shared a few scattered exchanges with when the older man was out. Carter? Keller? Kavanagh. He nodded at the introduction. “Just Emilio,” he replied, putting out his cigarette. “Thought you’d be Rickers.” He nodded down at the corpse. “Haven’t touched it. I was looking for a client’s wife. Apparently, she’s been meeting with a guy out here.” He squinted down at the corpse. “That might be the guy. Hard to tell.” The body was in rough shape, though Emilio didn’t know if it was because of how he had died or because of something that had found him after. That would be Dr. Kavanagh’s job. He wasn’t going to do it for her.

____________________________________________________________________________

“Most people think I’d be Dr. Rickers.” And it was true. Even if they weren’t expecting him, precisely, they were usually taken aback to be in the presence of a Medical Examiner deficient in a few decades and an entire beard. Regan was used to some surprise. It was what came after that was more important: would they be deferential to her expertise, or would they look over her shoulder hoping to summon a Rickers? Emilio was already an odd duck. He just didn’t seem to care at all; the comment seemed more remark than question or desire. “But I’m not. Clearly.” Regan finally said with a sigh, snapping her nitrile gloves over her hands, and setting her kit down gently, away from the body. “I’m going to need to get my office out here. But I can take some photos and a cursory look in the meantime. And I want you to stay here so we can discuss this.” And she didn’t just mean the case. She was all too familiar with being drawn to these grisly situations, and she wanted to understand how he kept ending up in them, too.

As Emilio took a drag from his cigarette, Regan’s face scrunched up in irritation. That was technically a potential contaminate of the scene, however unlikely that the smoke and ashes would alter anything. He put it out before she could demand it of him. “Don’t throw that on the ground.” They were surely off to a good start. Regan dug the two cameras out of her bag, handing one to Emilio for good measure. Why not? He was a PI. He could operate a camera. “I assume you know how to use that. What’s your client like? Do you think he would be the type to go after the ‘other party’ as an act of revenge?” She pressed her lips together in thought. “You know humans. People. The more you can tell me, the less that particular avenue will need to be investigated. I do not care about motive, only that a death occurred.”

____________________________________________________________________________

“Clearly,” Emilio agreed, a hint of amusement in his expression. She was all business, and he liked that. Rickers was fine, but he tended to be a little chatty for Emilio’s case. Hearing about the man’s grandchildren ranged from annoying to painful depending on his mood. Dr. Kavanagh didn’t seem to be in any danger of doing that, though he did make a face when she requested he stick around. “Don’t think I’ll be much help for you,” he warned her. Death might be something familiar to him, but not in this context. Most of his cases ended when he found a body. He told the client that the person they’d been looking for was found, and people like Dr. Kavanagh handled the rest. It was preferable, that way. 

He rolled his eyes, but made a show of shoving the cigarette butt into the pocket of his jeans rather than tossing it on the ground. It was hardly the dirtiest thing that had ever gone into these pockets, after all. Taking the camera as she handed it to him, Emilio inspected it carefully. Newer than the one he used, and probably more expensive, but he could swing it. “Point and shoot,” he said dryly. “Doesn’t take a genius. Not sure what you want me to do with it, though.” Was he expected to assist her with the crime scene here? He wasn’t being paid for that. He fiddled with the strap of the camera, glancing up at the medical examiner. “I’m not going to go around accusing the guy of murder when he still owes me money,” he replied flatly. “But for what it’s worth, doubt he’d be able to take this guy. He’s scrawny. Doesn’t look like he’s ever even been in a fight.” That didn’t mean he wasn’t responsible, of course. He could have hired someone, or tricked the other man somehow. Hell, he could be something supernatural that gave him a leg up. Not anything undead, of course — Emilio would know if he were that — but a shapeshifter, maybe, or fae. But at the end of the day? “He wasn’t after vengeance, from what I could tell. Just wanted pictures to present to his lawyer so he could get more in the divorce. If anything, this guy being alive was good for him.”

____________________________________________________________________________

“You might surprise us both.” Regan countered, “You never know what information is pertinent in situations like this. Besides, you’re an extra set of hands until my office and the police arrive. You know what to do with a camera.” She took some establishing shots of her own, slowly circling the area. There was mostly only corn. Lots of corn. For a potential crime scene, it was pretty boring, pretty clean. Hopefully the decedent’s examination would offer a little more excitement. She was rarely disappointed in the autopsies this town offered. She snapped another photo. “I’m not asking you to accuse anyone of murder. This might not even be a murder. We don’t even use that term – I determine homicides, not murders.” How had Dr. Rickers not taught him a thing or two yet?

At least Mr. Cortez was cooperating, though Regan had a feeling he’d squirm away if at the very word cooperate. “Interesting.” Not really. Regan rarely had any interest in what happened preceding the death – only the direct circumstances in which the death occurred. She’d leave the crime-solving to the police. At least, that’s how she used to operate. Now, her perimortem visions sometimes flared her sense of justice. She wasn’t about to go fishing for one right now. 

“Get the scene from the left, please.” She pointed to the left of the decedent, toward yet more corn. Time to see if she could figure him out a bit more. “You know, my secretary recognized who you were. Dr. Rickers knows you on a first-name basis, too. Do you want to tell me why that is?” Regan hesitated, wondering if she should let on that she knew a little more than that. Ultimately, she decided it would cut their conversation a little shorter if she did. Which was only a good thing. “They said you call frequently. And that you’re a private investigator, which explains why you seem to have a working relationship with us. I think that warrants further discussion. But I’ve worked with other investigators in town, and they don’t normally find the bodies.” Regan looked up from the camera, raising a brow at Emilio. “Sheer dumb luck, or a byproduct of the kind of cases you take?”

____________________________________________________________________________

She used a lot of big words. It was a struggle to keep up, though Emilio gave no indication of it. He focused on the context clues, puzzled out what she was saying a few seconds slower than he might have had his English been just a little better, and nodded his head slowly. “I guess,” he agreed. If she was saying what he figured she was — that sometimes, information you didn’t expect to be important could help you solve a case — then he agreed with her. He’d had plenty of cases that were solved with details he’d already written off. He held the camera up experimentally, taking a few shots here and there. Whether or not any of them would be of subject matter that Dr. Kavanagh would find helpful was yet to be determined… but also not something Emilio considered to be his problem. “Then what are you asking me?” Emilio glanced to the crime scene, trying to keep the confusion from his expression as she clarified. “They mean the same thing.” Didn’t they? 

He wasn’t sure how much a medical examiner cared about the details of the case. Rickers never seemed to give much of a shit, but Rickers also never handed him a camera and told him to make himself useful, so the two already differed quite a bit. In any case, Emilio had no intention of sticking around until the cops showed up. Dr. Kavanagh might be associated with the police, but she didn’t make his skin crawl the way the actual officers tended to. If he stuck around too long, they’d probably try to find some way to pin it on him. Kavanagh clearly cared about the truth of the crime, but not everyone felt the same. In a town like Wicked’s Rest, where there were more case files than there were police officers, plenty of them just wanted those cases closed one way or another.

Having some kind of direction came as a relief, though you wouldn’t know it from the way Emilio rolled his eyes as he followed her instruction. “I’m an investigator,” he replied, snapping a few photos from different angles. “Sometimes, my investigations bring me to things like this. Lots of missing people in Wicked’s Rest. Their families come to me when the police give up. I tend to find them in pieces.” He knelt down for another angle, despite the pressure it put on his bad knee. If Kavanagh wanted him to take pictures, he’d take pictures. Like she’d said, he had a working relationship with the medical examiner’s office. He’d like to keep that working relationship, and that meant it was better if both doctors there liked him enough not to hang up the phone when he called. He considered her question as he snapped the photo. He knew that the frequency of his calls to her office were due, in at least some small part, to his status as a slayer. Even when he found bodies on a job for Axis, as he had today, it was his upbringing that drove him there. Most PIs didn’t look for things in the same way Emilio did. If you went to places expecting bodies, it was a lot easier to find those bodies. “Let’s go with dumb luck,” he decided. “And the other investigators in town being worse at their jobs than I am. I have a good record.” Even if his reviews said otherwise. “Guess I do take on weird cases sometimes, though. I like to figure things out.” And his ability to ‘figure things out’ that were supernatural in nature had earned him a reputation as someone who would solve the ‘weird’ cases people might have.

It was almost surprising that Mr. Cortez was listening to her instruction, but she wasn’t going to question it. And also wasn’t going to try not to press her luck. Regan knew others like him, or at least others who came off in a similar manner. Brusque, loose, and stubborn over the most inane of things; straight from the private investigator mold of the 70s. It was better to have people like him relatively content in whatever arrangement worked best for them both. And being new to town, especially, Regan needed all of the social currency he and other tangentially related peers to offer her. She figured, ironically, that the more people familiar with her, the more effectively she could have them leave her alone. Unless something really mattered. Like this.

“Homicide and murder are not the same thing.” Regan walked a straight line, taking a new photo every couple of feet, but still managing to focus on what she deemed to be an important distinction. “Homicide is a pathological designation; murder is a legal one. There are homicides that aren’t murder. Many, in fact. I write up my findings and leave it up to the police and courts to determine the charge and punishment.” As difficult as it was, at times. But Regan was a rule follower, and regardless of her sense of justice, she knew what her place was.

His explanation wasn’t much of one at all. “I don’t actually believe in luck, you know.” But she did believe in dumb. 

Satisfied with the photos they’d taken – well, at least trusting Emilio’s were passable for documentation purposes – she decided it was time to move on. “I’m going to do a quick examination of the body. Not the autopsy; that will wait, obviously.” She pulled a notebook from her bag, handing it to Emilio, as well as a thermometer which she held onto. Unfortunately, the decedent was supine, and she didn’t want to disturb him to the extent necessary to take rectal temperature. Sublingual would have to do. She popped the thermometer in, but as her gloved hand grazed his temple, she froze. 

That wasn’t right. “He’s warm,” she announced to Emilio, looking up from her kneel. “Hot, even.” And very dead. There was no doubt about that. The thermometer beeped and she pulled it out. 108 degrees. Hotter than ambient temperature, substantially. And hotter than any body out here had a right to be. That was going to make determining time of death more difficult if she couldn’t rely on algor mortis. “I’m calling 108.4 degrees. Do you have that? I’ll… try a second time.”

Context clues were great, but they really only worked when you understood at least a few other words in the sentence. And Kavanagh was quickly detouring into territory where that simply wasn't the case for Emilio. He stared at her for a moment, perplexed expression on his face as he tried to puzzle out what that meant. Pathological designation? After a moment, he gave up. “No entiendo,” he mumbled, shaking his head just a little. It was clear that he didn’t enjoy confessing it, but they could hardly carry on a conversation if he was trying to guess every word she was saying. He couldn’t even make sense of the part of her sentence that he did technically understand — how could a homicide not be a murder? What was the difference between the two? 

At least this part of the conversation made more sense to him. He snorted lightly, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m not killing them, if that’s what you’re asking.” If he killed someone, he wouldn’t call it in to the medical examiner. That would just be stupid. 

She seemed finished with photos now, and Emilio held out the camera for her to take, replacing it in his hand with the notebook she offered him instead. He wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do with this. Take notes for her? That wasn’t really his speed, and he doubted she’d approve of his handwriting. It was barely legible, even when he was the one reading it. Unsure what else to do, he bent the pages absently as she stepped forward. When she froze, so did he.

“He’s dead,” he replied flatly. “Shouldn’t he be cold?” 108 degrees? He was more accustomed to Celsius than Farenheit, but even he knew that 108 degrees was hotter than a corpse ought to be. Which, in Wicked’s Rest? Meant there was probably something supernatural going on. Emilio groaned. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Yes, he should be cold. Well, not cold cold, but about ambient temperature. Unless he died within hours, in which case the decedent could still be close to baseline temperature. But this – it’s above what it should be, even for the living.” And yet, as Regan plunged the thermometer back into the guy’s mouth, it came beeping back with the exact same result. “Identical.” She announced. Was this hyperthermia of some kind? It was rare that she saw any hyperthermia death, and there were few findings that were definitive for it in autopsy. The scene investigation was the more valuable piece for that determination. And yet, there was really nothing here. Not that she could see.

“You may not have to worry about the distinction between a homicide and murder. I’m not convinced this is either.” Regan turned to Emilio, forehead creased in confusion. Accidental deaths weren’t unusual, but most of the time the decedent wasn’t embroiled in the middle of a potential extramarital affair or already being investigated by a PI. But like she’d suspected before, there really were no external signs of trauma. “You said your client’s wife had been meeting him out here. Do you think she knows he’s dead, even if she wasn’t involved in the death itself? Left him alone to rot? I suppose you wouldn’t know that…” Regan frowned, looking at the dead man’s eyes. They were glossy, but didn’t yet have a nice tache noir film over them. She attempted to flex his arm, and found it stiff. Even without relying on temperature, that was enough information for her to feel secure that he hadn’t been out here for less than a couple hours and for no longer than ten. “This happened recently. As in today, perhaps just a few hours ago.” 

Slowly, she stood, nodding toward the notepad which surely didn’t have much on it, and even less that would be legible. “Autopsy findings for hyperthermia are non-specific. We need to take in as much as we can about the scene before the police get here and start–” No, she needed to be kinder. They usually did their best, and she needed them. But all too often, she’d seen them get in the way of her own investigators from the ME’s office, the two groups butting heads over jurisdiction. “Just start digging around for a bag, or dropped items, or anything else that could be helpful.” And maybe, if she handled it just the right way, she could even get it to reveal its secrets.

The more she spoke, the less he understood. Emilio flipped the pen she’d handed him between his fingers absently, not writing anything down largely because he wasn’t sure what to write. He didn’t even know how to attempt to spell any of the words she was saying. Did decadent mean body? Why couldn’t she just say that? He was starting to miss Rickers and his endless grandchildren. At least that guy would have probably just sent Emilio on his way by now.

He understood what she was saying to some extent, at least. The body under the tree might not be there because of any kind of foul play. Which, all things considered, was probably a good thing. Murders were messy, even when you were just the guy who found the body. Emilio had neither the time nor the patience for them. “Don’t think she’s been out here today,” he replied with a shrug. “She wears a pretty strong perfume. Don’t smell it on him.” It was half true. The wife’s perfume wasn’t any stronger than anyone else’s, but Emilio’s enhanced senses made it pretty easy to pick up. And there was no sign of it on the dead guy now, which meant the wife probably hadn’t shown up to this particular rendezvous. Which, of course, begged a new question: Why was he out here? “He could have been meeting someone else,” Emilio said, gears turning in his mind. “If he’s got one woman he meets out in a cornfield away from town, odds are he’s got more. Not much about this meetup spot makes it seem like they’d be exclusive.” Had he been following the man instead of the woman, he might know for sure just how accurate the theory was. But the dead man only mattered when he was with the client’s wife. Outside of that, he had no use to Emilio.

So the body was recent. That was good to know, even if nothing here really had anything to do with Emilio’s case anymore. Curiosity had taken hold of him around the time Kavanagh started looking perplexed, and while he had a hunch that this was something supernatural, there was a dull sort of thrill in the ability to figure out what. He nodded at the instruction, approaching the body and pausing for a moment. “I’m not going to fuck you up if I touch him, am I?” Mostly, he wanted to ensure that putting his hands on the corpse wouldn’t make him a suspect if this became a homicide case after all, but he figured it’d play more in his favor if he asked it in…a slightly less selfish-sounding way.

It was kind of… pleasant watching Emilio show more interest than he had so far, though Regan wished it didn’t come along with a request to physically manipulate her decedent. “You’re not going to fuck something up because I will not allow for it. So you may touch him, but move him as little as possible, and do not do anything invasive. And know that I’m watching. Closely.” But what she wasn’t going to do was prohibit it. “In fact… touch his face, first, and tell me what you think.” Regan was almost positive the heat she’d felt on the dead man’s skin was accurate to the reading of the thermometer, but it was hard to tell at times – so many things now felt too warm or hot against her chilled flesh. She wouldn’t risk a second exploratory touch in case it triggered a vision – which could be potentially helpful, but certainly something that would need a lot of explaining and poor attempts at lying behind it.

Regan did exactly as she said she would, and watched closely, making sure Emilio saw her eyes glued to him. “I don’t see a bag anywhere around here, do you? Do you think he came here without any belongings?” Primarily among her interests was water. If he somehow got stuck out here without water, on a 90 degree day in the beating sun, that could begin to explain some of the findings. She carefully patted the man’s front pants pockets, but there was no indication of anything being in them. Definitely not the cell phone she was looking for. “No cell phone, either, as far as I can tell. But I don’t want to flip him and check the back pockets yet.” She pressed her lips together tightly. She didn’t like that. Who didn’t carry a cell phone with them? Most of the time that meant it was removed from the primary scene by the guilty party or someone else. “I’m sure a phone exists.”

“Well, I’m not planning on dancing with him,” Emilio replied dryly, kneeling down by the corpse in spite of the continued protests his bad leg offered up. Nodding at the instruction, he placed his palm against the dead man’s face. “Yeah, hotter than it ought to be,” he agreed. Even when a corpse was so fresh that the light hadn’t yet left their eyes entirely, there wasn’t this level of heat to it. Emilio would know — he’d seen more of them than he’d like to admit. 

He pulled his hand away, patting down the man’s torso to check his jacket pockets. Feeling a lump, he reached inside. Wallet. Keys. Another key ring containing what seemed to be the key to a motel room, which Emilio held up with a snort. “You’d think he would’ve just gone here for his hookups,” he commented. “Better than an empty field.” He leaned back as Kavanagh came in to check the pants pockets, glad that he wasn’t the one patting up and down the man’s thighs. He had plenty of experience with corpses, but there was still something a little uncomfortable about feeling a dead stranger’s upper legs. No phone was an interesting development; who came out without one? How had he been planning on contacting his mistress, whoever they might have been? “Maybe he dropped it somewhere before he died. Tried to call for help and lost it. We could see if there’s a business card or something that might have his number on it in his wallet, call it and listen for it to ring.” Or see if someone picked it up. People were often stupid, and Emilio wouldn’t be entirely surprised at a murderer answering the phone of a man they’d just killed.

Regan wanted to protest as Emilio just stuck his hands inside of the man’s pockets without caution, but it was too late. And fortunately, there were no needles. “Tongs next time,” she said under her breath, “But at least we found his wallet and keys. Is there a name in there? Maybe even a photo ID?” If they didn’t have a cell phone, it would be helpful to at least have that. 

In the distance, she could see two police vehicles and the van from her office pull over at the side of the field. They’d take over from here. Which meant she and Emilio didn’t have long to view evidence before the others took control of it. She hated even thinking that. But some of the deaths in this town had aspects to their death scenes that were best viewed by someone else first. She would never alter anything. But it helped with interpreting things in a different, unfiltered light; seeing things that would never make it into the reports. 

“The investigators will be here shortly. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave before then. I can vouch for your actions here at the scene, but they may want to interview you at a later time.” Regan frowned, looking down at the body that still seemed to be cooking under the sun. “I don’t like this one. Not that I like any of them, but something feels…” Feels. She hated that inexact, too-human word, hated that it was apt. But it was. Something felt off. “How far are we from the nearest gas store? Nearest anything? I don’t think I’ve seen any other cars drive past since I got here.” She was pretty sure he took her point. It was a bad place to end up without a phone and any water. 

“I think that’s all we’re going to get from him here.” A sickeningly hot gust of wind blew in from behind them, strong enough to nearly knock Regan over. “Woah.” She spun, and watched the field of corn slowly bow to the breeze as it poured through like a wave. Strong one. Ugh, she was sweaty. Regan unbuttoned the top button on her shirt. It was hot out. Time to go cool off. Which, unfortunately, their decedent didn’t get a chance to do. “Stay hydrated today, investigator.”

Emilio waved a hand in Regan’s direction at the mention of tongs, the motion making it pretty clear that he fully expected there to be a next time and fully intended to handle it the same way. Who needed tongs? He flipped open the wallet, humming at the sight of a driver’s license staring back at him. “Brenton Horn,” he rattled off, flipping through the rest of the wallet for good measure. “Cash and cards are still here, so if someone did kill him, it wasn’t for the money. Not that he’s got much of it, from the looks of things. Less than twenty dollars here.” He flipped the wallet shut again, tossing it in Kavanagh’s direction. 

He heard the cars pull up, glanced up to see the flashing lights. He wondered if it was obvious, the way he tensed. Emilio had never been a fan of the police for a vast multitude of reasons, some related to the fact that he did an awful lot of killing in his spare time and some tied to more mundane things. In any case, he had no desire to face down a whole slew of them while standing over a corpse even if they were all well aware that he wasn’t the one responsible for putting it there.

Maybe Kavanagh picked up on that, or maybe she was just circling back to his earlier desire to leave the scene. Either way, there was some relief to be found when she offered to vouch for him at the scene, and he nodded. He wouldn’t be sticking around, that much was certain. “Something’s not right,” he agreed. “We’re a long way out from anything. Doesn’t seem like many people drive by, either. I’m thinking he liked it because it was secluded.” If you were doing something you knew you shouldn’t be doing, there was always going to be some desire to do it in absolute privacy. This was about as absolute as a person could get.

“Unless you want to question him,” Emilio agreed dryly. He started to straighten, but the wind pushed him back down again. That was… strange. Christ, it was a hot breeze, too. Sweat dripped down his brow, and he swiped a hand across it with a faint scowl. Kavanagh had the right idea; Emilio tugged at his shirt collar absently, nodding his head. “A drink sounds damn good right now,” he responded, though he doubted what he had in mind would hydrate him much. “Good luck with this one, Dr. Kavanagh. You need an investigator who doesn’t hide behind a badge, you give me a call. Rickers has my number.” 

And then he was off, ducking away from the scene before the police could join it, Brenton Horn’s fate still tugging at something in his mind. He was glad this wasn’t his case anymore. It seemed like it was going to end up one hell of a headache. 

[wickedsrest-rp]

NAME: Office of the Medical Examiner (Wicked’s Rest Morgue)

LOCATION: Deersprings

The Wicked’s Rest Morgue isn’t the town’s only morgue, but it’s certainly the nicest, and the one you probably want to end up in after your untimely death. Located in the forensic science center and equipped with some of Maine’s finest pathologists (kind of), state of the art technology, and a refrigerated holding room, you can really get an autopsy in style here. It would be a little hard to enjoy it, but still. Though the ME’s Office is an independent entity, it works closely with the town’s police as well as the hospital to gather the right information (and bodies). Not that most deaths in this town come with information that’s all that helpful. It’s always a toss up on whether the ME’s death investigators are aware of just how strange the truth can be. And as for the Medical Examiners… well, that depends on which one you get. 

People who died alone or under suspicious circumstances are stored in a high security hall here, and are autopsied by the Medical Examiner. Most often that’ll be Regan Kavanagh or Morty Rickers. A pass from either of them is required for entry into any secure areas. They don’t take bribes. Marcy, the receptionist, can at least check you in so you can make yourself comfortable in one of the waiting rooms.

While Dr. Rickers doesn’t seem to know anything at all about the supernatural, Dr. Kavanagh just might. That doesn’t mean the death certificate can state “assailed by leprechauns.” However, saying the right thing to Marcy might literally open some doors for you to ask the doctors about more cryptic details.

Try not to find yourself alone with Dr. Rickers. He will talk your ear off about his grandchildren, even during autopsies. How does he have so many?

They manage to keep the main areas nearly free of the smell of decay, covering it up with clouds of Febreze.

You need a pass from an educational institute or ME if you wish to observe anything behind the scenes, as they want to make sure people are serious about learning from the experience, rather than just snooping or even looting.

The holding room is highly secure with an alarm system and video feeds. Some of them cut out at seemingly random times – often in Dr. Kavanagh’s office. No one has found any indication of a technical problem.

There are fully functioning research labs in the hospital nearby that focus on specific pathologies. They frequently collect bodies to use for organ transplants, skin grafts, and research. It’s not unusual to see a number of trucks in front of the building – either picking up or delivering.

[sumi-sprite]

I LOVE these, let's goooo!

who is/are your comfort character(s)?

Currently: Omeluum (BG3), Blurg (BG3, Omeluum's husband you can fight me on it), WD Gaster (UTDR), Pitch Black (RotG), SCP 049 (SCP), SCP 035 (SCP, 049's dubious partner, fight me behind the Wendy's). Probably a few more but I'm still waking up lo

2. lighter or matches?

Probably lighter...I have a bunch of nice ones from ZIPPO, but I like the striking of matches. very satisfying.

3. do you leave the window open at night?

In summer, YES. I live in the desert TwT

4. which cryptyd being do you believe in?

Honestly, kind of all of them?

5. what color are your eyes?

Brown!

6. why did you do that?

WHO TOLD YOU?! @prinx-quail I WILL FUCK YOU UP IF YOU RATTED ME OUT-!

7. hair-ties or scrunchies?

Scrunchies. I have to. My hair is too thick/heavy for regular ties. My hair EATS them.

8. how many water bottles are in your room right now?

Two, though one is in use, the other is plastered with stickers and basically a decoration right now lol

9. which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee?

I can't drink coffee, it makes my tummy upset TwT Love the smell of it though!

10. would you slaughter the rich?

Absolutely.

11. favorite extracurricular activity?

Currently don't have one, but I did volunteer work at the county morgue when I was in community college. HIGHLY recommend it if you're curious out forensics, the medical/post-mortem fields, or you're just curious. Sadly my favorite pathologist left and things got tense with the workload, so I also left.

12. what kind of day is it?

A bit cloudy right now, and VERY warm. The monsoons are on their way!

13. when was the last time you ate?

Last night? I had a protein drink this morning, but I'm not sure that counts.

14. do you love the smell of earth after it rains?

WHO DOESN'T??

15. are you a parent? (all answers qualify)

Of a kitty cat, yes~

16. can you drive?

Yes!

17. are you farsighted or nearsighted?

VERY nearsighted QwQ

18. what hair products do you use?

I'm kind of between products trying to find a good one. I used to order function of beauty custom shampoo/conditioner, but it got expensive.

19. imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails?

Sure!

20. do you say soda or pop?

Soda. I think "pop" is more of an east coast term, and I've always lived on or near the west coast.

21. something you’ve kept since childhood?

I have the original hasbro Mewtwo plushie from '99! That poor thing has been through SO much hell. Tantrums, pool parties, snuggling, strangling from frustration, lost like 3 whole times, dog slobber, and one instance of when build-a-bear became huge and I decided I needed to put a heart in him to make him "real". He's lost his "chest plate" and the back recently got the 20+yo stitching replaced! He always has a place on my bookshelf.

22. what type of person are you?

I'm still figuring that out, but overall, I think I'm a good person!

22. how do you feel about chilly weather?

LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT!! All of you who say hot/warm weather is better are wrong.

23. if we were together on a rooftop, what would we be doing?

I don't know, just hanging out I guess? lol

24. perfume/body spray or lotion?

Lotion. My skin is super sensitive and dry, perfumes and sprays often irritate it sadly TwT

25. a scenario that you’ve replayed multiple times?

In my head? Oh geez...classic shower thought scenarios. Man I should have said THIS to that person X years ago. Winning arguments with a mic drop moment. I'm pretty sure everyone does this lol

26. about how many hours of sleep did you get?

About...9 hours I think? I get WAY more sleep in summer since the heat makes me drowsy. Fall and winter is when I'm an early bird.

27. do you wear a mask?

Sadly not as often as I should, though I know I'd be safer doing so whenever I go out.

28. how do you like your shower water?

It kind of depends? I go for fairly warm/hot usually, but sometime I just want a cool shower because I want to cool off or just vibe.

29. is there dishes in your room?

Nope! (I had to look around to be sure lol)

30. what type of music keeps you grounded?

Lofi or ambience music. I usually listen to dark academia when I need to focus or get into a specific mood.

31. do you have a favorite towel?

No, not really. Whatever's clean/dry?

32. the last adventure you’ve been on?

I sadly can't recall off the top of my head. I'm a bit of a homebody, but I want to travel. I'm just broke.

33. is there a song you know every word to by heart?

Dark On Me by Starset! I often played this song when I left my evening classes and just belted the longer and drawn out lyrics to keep me awake.

34. what’s your timezone?

MST!

35. how many times have you changed your url?

I think once...?

36. someone in your life, other than a relative, you’ve known for 10+ years?

A couple very good friends of mine! We all met through fanfiction ironically, and have met IRL!

37. a soap bar that smells good?

I...don't know, I don't use soap bars lol

38. do you use lip balm?

All the time. I have to if I want to not have a mummy mouth out here in the desert lol

39. did you have any snacks today?

Not yet but boy do I want some...

40. how do you take your coffee?

I can't drink coffee TwT

41. an app you frequently use besides this godforsaken site?

Oof...I admit, I play Time Princess nearly daily.

42. what’s your take on spicy foods?

I'm the worst mexican. I can't stand spicy food, BUT! I am very slowly working my way into enjoying very mild spice. My tastes have been evolving recently so I call that growth! Though I doubt I'll get to my dad's level. He's the "hurts so good", "make me regret everything", absolutely wants to scream in the bathroom, sweating over his green curry kind of spicy.

43. you get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it?

A certain previous presidential candidate currently facing like, three dozen felonies (last I checked).

44. can you remember what happened yesterday?

Not...much because I really didn't do much yesterday. I was just hanging out at my computer lol

45. favorite holiday film?

Hands down, Nightmare Before Christmas! A classic for two holidays!

46. what was the last message you sent?

Texting my dad I'm at the store and if he wants anything lol

47. when did you first try an alcohol beverage?

Gods, it was...2021? I was way above drinking age, but I just never had a desire for or interest in alcohol. I've tasted beer and hated the taste. Same with wine. But my first time drinking and FINISHING a drink was when we were at olive garden and I got the spiked strawberry lemonade! I could BARELY taste the vodka, so it was enjoyable.

48. can you skip rocks?

I can if I find the right ones!

49. can i tag you in random stuff?

Sure!

This was fun! I tag whoever wants to dot his lol

(Also I realize there's 50 questions and I ended on 49. I cannot for the life of me figure out where I missed any questions or miscounted qwq)

here’s weirder asks

who is/are your comfort character(s)?

lighter or matches?

do you leave the window open at night?

which cryptyd being do you believe in?

what color are your eyes?

why did you do that?

hair-ties or scrunchies?

how many water bottles are in your room right now?

which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee?

would you slaughter the rich?

favorite extracurricular activity?

what kind of day is it?

when was the last time you ate?

do you love the smell of earth after it rains?

are you a parent? (all answers qualify)

can you drive?

are you farsighted or nearsighted?

what hair products do you use?

imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails?

do you say soda or pop?

something you’ve kept since childhood?

what type of person are you?

how do you feel about chilly weather?

if we were together on a rooftop, what would we be doing?

perfume/body spray or lotion?

a scenario that you’ve replayed multiple times?

about how many hours of sleep did you get?

do you wear a mask?

how do you like your shower water?

is there dishes in your room?

what type of music keeps you grounded?

do you have a favorite towel?

the last adventure you’ve been on?

is there a song you know every word to by heart?

what’s your timezone?

how many times have you changed your url?

someone in your life, other than a relative, you’ve known for 10+ years?

a soap bar that smells good?

do you use lip balm?

did you have any snacks today?

how do you take your coffee?

an app you frequently use besides this godforsaken site?

what’s your take on spicy foods?

you get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it?

can you remember what happened yesterday?

favorite holiday film?

what was the last message you sent?

when did you first try an alcohol beverage?

can you skip rocks?

can i tag you in random stuff?

[thomasce]

Hello I’ve seen your posts on autopsies and forensics and I was wondering if you could answer a couple questions seeing as I want to be an autopsy forensic technician

What would be the best degree or field of study to go into for that and would those classes be like the ones you were in?

do I need a medical degree?

3. How difficult are those classes?

4. any other advice ?

thank you so much for your time lol this would really help ❤️

Hi! Thanks for your question!

The degree requirements for a forensic autopsy technician (also known as a forensic pathology technician) is this: a bachelor's in chemistry, biology, anthropology, nursing, pharmacy, natural sciences, mathematics, or criminal justice. I RECOMMEND a bachelors in biology or nursing, as those will prepare you the most.

TO BE A TECH, you do NOT need a medical degree. Just a bachelor's. You need your MD to be a Medical Examiner, as well as board certification through the Board of Clinical Pathology. I have a board certification for phlebotomy, which you do not need an MD for.

I would say class difficulty depends on a few things, mainly a) what your college offers in your pathway, b) what level those classes are, c) your concentration, and d) your study habits. Accredited 4-year universities will have the same basic courses with a few additional requirements depending on where you go. They will also have lower level (200) courses and higher levels (300) of the same courses. I took one lower level A&P (anatomy) course and passed with an A. The same course and the additional course (A&P 1 & 2) at the 300 level I passed with Cs despite them being relatively the same material. Your concentration will also impact this. Mine was specifically human anatomy and mortuary sciences, whereas a pre-med is going to have a few different classes. Like I only needed Organic Chem I, my pre-med friends needed Orgo I&II followed by biochem. And then, obviously, your ability to study determines how well you do in your classes.

I don't think I have any advice other than this: if you have not seen an autopsy live, in person, in that morgue suite, see if you can get an internship or shadow a medical examiner. That's the only way to know that you can actually handle it. The sight won't take most people out, but the smell certainly can.

[ravenspeakrp]

Welcome to Raven's Peak, Jac, we're excited to have you! Eden Monroe (Lili Reinhart, human) has been accepted. Please be sure to stop by the CHECKLIST for the follow list, tags to track, and other reminders.

OUT OF CHARACTER 

NAME: Jac PRONOUNS: She/Her AGE: 31 TIMEZONE: GMT+12

IN CHARACTER 

FULL NAME: Eden Monroe SPECIES: Human AGE: 26 DATE OF BIRTH: 25th March, 1998 PLACE OF BIRTH: Raven's Peak GENDER IDENTITY: Cis Female NEIGHBORHOOD: Cherry Heights OCCUPATION: Forensic Pathologist Resident WORKPLACE: Raven's Peak Hospital POSITIVE TRAITS: Caring, Genuine, Modest NEGATIVE TRAITS: Morbid, Loquacious, Insecure LENGTH OF TIME IN RAVEN’S PEAK: Most of her life FACE CLAIM: Lili Reinhart

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGER WARNING: None?

Being born into a family of hunters wasn’t something that ever fazed Eden. For the most part, she kept her nose out of hunting, and knew that those around her would always do that they could to keep her safe. As she grew up, it became more and more apparent to her just what kind of business her family were a part of, and she knew early on that she didn’t want to get too involved in it if she could help it.

Eden was a smart kid, despite what everyone seemed to think. One look at her and people would assume things about her, that she was an airhead, that all she cared about was how she looked. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Eden was driven, she knew what she wanted, and she would stop at nothing to get it. It was early on when she knew that she wanted to become a forensic pathologist, and she took all the right classes and worked hard to do what she needed to do. Being as smart as she was, she sailed through her classes and graduated high school a year early and made quick work of continuing her studies.

Her chosen career path was something that was encouraged by her family, hoping to get her on side so that they could have someone working in the morgue to help them out if bodies started dropping and alternative explanations needed to be found to keep people from asking questions. At first, Eden wasn’t sure about it, but eventually agreed, wanting to help her family if she could.

Having completed an under-graduate degree and medical school by the age of 25, Eden didn’t find it hard getting a residency, choosing to take up a position offered to her in her hometown. Making the move back home was easy since she was looking for a fresh start after a recent break up. Eden’s high school boyfriend, who she had been with since she was 16, had proposed to her on his eighteenth birthday. Things had been going great, or so Eden had thought, until she found out that he had been cheating on her. Heartbroken, she called off the engagement and cut ties. Her heartbreak only fueled her desire to succeed, and helped to push her over the medical school finish line.

EXTRAS

FILLING CONNECTION: No INSPO: Pinterest

[tressashaw]

fabula:: Therese "Tressa" Shaw

Name: Tressa Shaw Occupation:Assistant Forensic Medical Examiner Age: 27 Sexuality: Pansexual Species: Human Hometown: Port Leiry Relationship Status: Single

Persona:

Tressa’s a weird girl. In school, she was the sort to try to be everyone’s friend, but who largely wound up just being everyone’s perennially annoying if occasionally fun to be around acquaintance. This led to her being a largely forgotten quantity once she skipped Port Leiry for college looking like a depressed hipster with a distressing knowledge of beard oils and returned looking like a brunette vamp queen, imparting unto her an up-until-then unheard of measure of self confidence that began to snowball into full-blown cocky arrogance that dovetailed nicely with a burgeoning sense of resentment and spitefulness. She’s still weird. But now she only cares about if she’s making herself laugh - everyone else will get the joke eventually. She’s obsessive, as well. When she finds a new hobby, or a new show, or a new book, she does it to death until suddenly she doesn’t; her house is full of half-finished craft projects. Her computer’s full of half-finished fan-fic and a dozen accounts online where she argues up and down the merits and plot-points and facts of a million different things, fiction and fact alike. Ultimately, despite her sometimes churlish and socially tactless arrogance towards Port Leiry as a whole, past Traumas drew her to her carer path, wanting to help give closure to people that she feels largely robbed of - perhaps her only altruistic trait.

Historia: [tw; death, alcoholism]

They say you can’t go home again, but that’s just because they fetishize this whole growth and empowerment thing so they can sell you a ticket into the grindset. Tressa Shaw saw as much of the world as she really thought she ought to when she left for school two states over, fucked around with forbidden alchemy, and wound up realizing that she very much could go home and be quite content. Port Leiry was quiet, it was pretty. It was more varied in its places and personages than its rural roots and out-of-the-way nature might lend one to think. Sure there’s places she wants to go, but nowhere she really feels like she’d rather live. But a rewind is in order;

When Tressa was very young, her father took a fall and died. She was the one who found him and, very young, didn’t know what to do, and so she just sat with him there on the steps until her mother got home. It wasn’t until much later in life that she realized she might have been able to save him, or get him help - that he might be here on the Earth if she hadn’t locked up and sat down. Mom did not handle the grief well, and spun out hard - cirrhosis got her in just a few short years, and by the time Tressa was sitting by her bedside holding her hand and watching her go, she’d been living with her grandmother for a few years. All this took place in private - at school Tressa would be ever smiling, ever joking, ever pleasant, reaping small rewards like fringe inclusions in pretty much any school activity she could - she was an A+, AP student and she graduated top of her class and got into a good school. pre-med, and, after a brief dalliance with a doctor, decided to go the other direction, navigating college into a split path that covered medical forensics and pathology. But the Big Big City was Big Big Pricey, and when her grandmother took ill, it looked like you absolutely could go home again. So Tressa goes back to Port Leiry, but nobody knows her by that name. Of course, she’s not hiding anything; she tells the people its appropriate to tell when it comes up. Bu it’s like a re-do. She buries her grandmother, moves into her pretty nice house, and gets work at the county morgue working the late shift. Tressa takes her time. She’s in no rush to make friends, she’s doing fine. Except she is hiding something. Okay, one more rewind, but last one, promise. It’s three days before her sixth birthday. She’s sitting on the steps, staring at her dad sprawled and broken over the landing. The policeman is asking her what happened, and she just cries muted tears and says he tripped while they were playing hide and seek. She doesn’t mention the knock at the door. The man she invites in. She doesn’t mention the all-too-brief tangle, or the snap that came from her father’s neck well before the man tossed him like a ragdoll down the steps. And she definitely, definitely doesn’t mention the man telling her to sit there, to cry for her dead daddy, and never speak of it to a soul. But dead men tell no tales, so she works at the perfect confessional.