#match of the following from forensic science

[yuta-nakamots]

Sherlock - C.Minho

Pairing - Detective!Minho x Assistant!GN Reader, featuring Key as Inspector Kim and Jessica Jung as victim Jung Suyeon

Genre(s) - Fluff, Action, Thriller, Mystery, Detective!Au, 1920s!AU, established relationship!AU

Warning(s) - crime, description of blood and injuries and violence, mention of murder and manslaughter, supernatural activity (ghosts), court trial 

Summary - In a city shrouded in soot and secrets, forensic science is still in its infancy, and so is the truth. As Minho’s brilliant but often-overlooked assistant, you help to unravel a case that refuses to stay buried, where facts blur with instinct and justice isn't always clean. Sometimes, it takes more than logic to find what haunts us.

Word Count - 7.4k

Author’s Note - This was based on a dream I had when I was still heavily overwhelmed with assignments from my microbiology lab, haha. I tried my best to keep it accurate to the 1920s, but I fear there may have been some historical inaccuracies (I literally had to search up ‘were cars in the 1920s?’)

Taglist - @k-vanity @k-films @cinneorolls (join my taglist!)

Written for the SMCU Collab hosted by @taem-min-archived. 

Now playing: Sherlock - SHINee, CØDE - SHINee

The clock ticks softly in the corner of your shared apartment with Minho. Rain beads along the glass, catching the morning light. Your pencil scratches quietly against paper as you cross-reference case notes from last month’s arson incident. Across from you, Minho sits half in shadow, the day’s paper spread open in front of him, his brow furrowed just enough to mean something. 

Both of you exist within this kind of silence, only possible when two people have shared dozens of mornings just like this. Comfortable. Practiced. Yours. 

You’ve been with Minho for some time now. It was nothing flashy. Instead, it was like a deep bond. The kind of love that fits into coffee routines and coat buttons, into short shared glances and the quiet rhythm of touch. In the lab, he brushes your wrist when he passes. At home, you loosen his tie while he reads over your notes by lamplight. What you share isn’t spoken of. It’s a quiet secret between the two of you in a city too eager to judge. 

Minho flips the page, then stops. His eyes don’t follow the words. They narrow, scanning the same headline twice. “A woman’s body at the Marquette Grand Hotel. Explosion from the inside, no witnesses close enough to matter. But the perpetrator, James Hall, ran from the scene.” His voice cuts through the quiet, not loud or urgent. Like a line dropped into still water. 

You don’t bother looking up. “They always run,” you murmur, circling a line of faulty witness testimony with your pencil. “Doesn’t mean he’s the one who killed her.” 

Minho doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he taps the edge of the page twice like Morse code between the two of you. This time, you look up. The tension in his jaw tells you everything you need to know. “Pack your kit,” he orders. 

You’re already moving before he stands. You close your notebooks with one hand, balancing your half-empty coffee in the other. You gather your belongings and your forensic kit from your shared office. By the door, Minho is shrugging into his coat, tugging his gloves on with the same steady precision he uses to smear a microscope slide. 

You reach up to straighten his collar, fingertips brushing his neck. He leans in just slightly, forehead against yours, breath warm. The moment is brief but grounding. “Try not to get in another shouting match with Inspector Kim,” you chide as you hand him his scarf. 

His mouth twitches, half amusement, half promise. “Only if he deserves it.” 

Minho opens the door, and you follow. It clicks shut behind you, leaving you exposed to the foggy morning air. 

Another case. Another body. Another ghost waiting to be named. 

The Marquette Grand Hotel stands as a shadow of its former opulence, too much smoke, not enough polish. Police lights flicker like a broken neon sign, reflecting off the rain-slick marble floor as you step into the atrium. The air is heavy, thick, and damp, as the ventilation system has been turned off since the explosion. It’s as if the hotel’s grandeur had been suffocated by the same dark secrets that linger in the city. 

A crowd hums behind the police line, the kind of people who thrive on scandal, some curious, others hungry for a story. Meanwhile, you and Minho pass through the officers with ease, your credentials held high, having both been summoned by the investigation team. The noise of the crowd falls away as the air between you sharpens into something clinical, the way it always does when the work begins. 

Minho’s quiet, focused energy envelops you as you make your way toward the grand staircase. The body is still, cordoned of, but barely covered. The woman’s body lies too neatly at the foot of the stairs, positioned with her head turned in a way that feels wrong. The scene doesn’t match the story you were given. 

Your instincts click into place. You kneel beside the body to get a closer look, movements deliberate. You can’t help but notice the smear of blood up the banister behind her. Someone tried to wipe it clean, but they only made it worse. 

Minho doesn’t speak for a full minute. He scans the scene, his gaze sharp and distant, like he’s already picking it apart in his mind. His jaw tightens, and his brows furrow. You feel his presence next to you. He’s there, but his mind is elsewhere, sifting through the evidence. It’s a pattern you know well. 

Finally, he looks at you. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost a whisper against the quiet of the crime scene. “It’s wrong.” 

You’re still kneeling, careful not to disturb anything. Your eyes follow the path of the blood smear, noticing the subtle details of the smudging that others might miss. You hand him your magnifier from the forensic bag without looking up. 

“It’s because it was supposed to look like a fall.” Your voice is steady, but there’s a flicker of doubt in it, too. This isn’t right. 

Minho exhales, fingers brushing yours for the briefest of moments. His touch is the softest thing in this cold, sterile place. Then, he stands and looks over the scene again, eyes scanning the room. 

“They’re rushing to charge Hall. But this…” He gestures toward the bruising on the woman’s neck, his tone turning into something more intense, something you don’t hear often. “No staircase does this.” 

You swallow, knowing he’s right. The bruising doesn’t add up. It’s too uniform, too precise. No fall could have done this. And the blood smear, the misplaced angle of the victim’s head, none of it tells the story that people are already eager to tell. 

You both stand there for a moment, letting the silence settle between you before you pull your thoughts back into focus. Minho always moves intensely, sharply, until the puzzle starts to come together. You won’t leave his side until it does. 

And for now, all you can do is help him find the pieces. 

The forensic team has taken over the east end of the lobby, laying out hastily labeled samples and fingerprints. Everything smells like smoke, damp velvet, and harsh disinfectant. The on-site evidence team is a disaster. Gloves poorly fitted, instruments half-sterilized, and DNA swabs laid out like someone’s afternoon picnic. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Do they even know what they’re collecting?”

A technician waves you over with a grin too casual for a murder scene. “You’ll want to see this. It’s weird.” Minho joins you, a hint of unease in his expression. The technician holds up a glass slide under a magnifying glass. “Sample from the stair railing. It’s…not clean, it has mixed cells. Possibly two or more sources, but the boundaries are irregular. It could be contamination. We’re calling it a mosaic.”

You take the slide delicately, squinting through the lens. Within the smear, the pattern of cells is erratic with slurred edges and inconsistent nuclei sizes. “Contamination?” you echo flatly. 

The technician shrugs. “Could be. Or faulty tools. Maybe the victim was fighting someone.” 

You glance at Minho. His expression sharpens into something colder than focused. “No. This isn’t from a fight.” 

You crouch again beside the body, this time gesturing to the smear of blood at the third step. Your voice drops as your finger hovers just above the dried streak. “If she were alive when she fell, the bruises would’ve bloomed differently. And this…” You point to a separate arc of blood, too clean to be the first impact. “This came after.”

“He didn’t kill her there,” Minho says, barely audible. 

You know that tone. Controlled fury. He straightens slowly, shoulders squared, eyes already scanning for whoever’s leading the charge to arrest James Hall. You know that look. He’s ready to fight the entire force to prove his point if he has to. 

Of course, that’s when you hear the voice you least want to hear. “For a man who works with facts, you sure enjoy fighting with ghosts.” 

You both turn to see Inspector Kim, dressed immaculately as always. Not a speck of rain touched his long coat and his ivory gloves. He walks like someone with nowhere urgent to be, which means he’s exactly where he needs to be, all while wearing that signature smirk of his. 

Minho’s lips tighten. “Kim.”

Inspector Kim raises a brow. “Choi.” He gives you a nod, almost deferential. “Always a pleasure,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to the slide in your hand. “Let me guess. Contamination. Happens more often than you’d like to admit.” 

You cross your arms, careful not to disturb the slide. “Or it’s exactly what it looks like. Sloppy cleanup and cross-contaminated fluids, mixed tools. Someone tried to stage this.” 

The inspector wore a smirk on his face. “Ah, you two and your little crime romances. Makes the paperwork so much more dramatic.”

Minho takes a slow breath. “This wasn’t a heat-of-the-moment act. James Hall didn’t push her. Not here, not like this.”

Inspector Kim gestures broadly to the bloody staircase and the woman’s body. “And yet…here she is. Here he was, too, running like a man with something to hide.”

“You’re building your case backwards,” you say, sharp now. “Start from the evidence, not the headlines.” 

The inspector’s smile fades just slightly. “I’m building the case that gets a conviction. And if you think the city wants nuance, you haven’t read the morning edition.” 

Minho steps forward, not aggressive, just solid. “She deserves better than expedience.” 

Inspector Kim looks between the two of you, then sighs like a man forced to babysit his enemies. “Fine. Take your samples, write your poetry, but don’t come crying to me when your ghosts don’t testify in court.” He turns on his heels, coat sweeping behind him like a curtain call. You watch him disappear into the swarm of people outside the atrium. 

Minho doesn’t speak for a while, only watching the staircase, jaw set. You had the slide back to the technician, handling it gently. “We’re right,” you tell Minho quietly. “I just don’t know what we’re right about yet.” 

He exhales through his nose. “Then we keep looking.” 

You nod once, then offer him your notebook. “Want to start with the blood splatter radius or the floor access logs?”

Minho takes it from you, fingertips brushing yours. “Both.” 

Outside, the street is slick with rain, lamp posts blurring in the puddles. Minho walks beside you in silence. Your coats are wet at the hems, your shoes are soaked through. The only light comes from a flickering street lamp just ahead, throwing fractured halos over the sidewalk. 

Minho doesn’t say anything until the hotel is well behind you. No police chatter, no cameras. Just the slap of your shoes against the concrete, your breath curling in the cold. 

Under the lamplight, he stops. You stop with him. His jaw works for a moment before he speaks. ��Something is missing,” he says finally. “I can’t tell what it is yet.” 

You pull your coat tighter around you. The rain has seeped in at the collar, tracing cold lines down your spine. “We’ll find it,” you assure. “We always do.” 

He looks at you then, the same way he does when the lab is quiet and he thinks you’re not paying attention to him, when he’s halfway through untangling a case and forgets to blink. There’s something raw behind his eyes tonight. Not fear, exactly. Something sharper, like he knows this case could shift something he won’t be able to put back. 

“That’s why I told them you had to be on this case,” he admits. “Because if I miss something…you won’t.” 

You reach out, brushing a drop of rain from his temple with your knuckle. He leans into it, barely a breath of contact, forehead resting against your hand in the way he does when the world is just a little too loud in his head. 

For a second, the pattering of rain fades, and there’s only the quiet between you. “I’ve got you,” you tell him. You don’t have to say more. 

The moment breaks when the streetlamp above you flickers once, twice, then dies completely. You’re both left in the shadows, headlights glinting in the distance like the eyes of something watching. 

Minho straightens, breath fogging in the night air. “It wasn’t just a murder,” he says. “It was a story someone tried too hard to rewrite.” He steps off, continuing his pace from earlier as you follow along. 

The city doesn’t stop. Not for rain, not for bodies, and definitely not for the truth. But you do. 

The lab smells like old coffee and acetone. The clock on the wall has been stuck at the same time for three months, though Minho still glances at it out of habit, yet refuses to fix it. 

He’s hunched over the evidence table, sleeves rolled to his elbow, hands bare aside for the cover of latex gloves. A thin film of powdered residue clings to the thin gloves, a burn trace from the carpet near the victim’s shoulder. His notebook lies open but is mostly ignored. You can see the tension in his shoulders again, the same taut line of frustration he carried out of the Marquette. 

You didn’t ask. You just hand him his coffee like always. It turned bitter hours ago, but he takes it anyway and drinks it like penance. 

“The heat damage on the railing doesn’t match the others in the radius of the blast,” he mutters. “So either the explosion was secondary, or someone lit this in a separate incident.” 

You perch on the edge of the desk beside him, flipping through the elevator access logs. “The elevator on the east end skipped the fifth floor three times in the hour before the police call came in. Too clean, like someone was timing it.” 

He hums low in his throat, the sound of a mind chewing through thoughts. Your arm brushes his as you turn a page in his notebook. He doesn’t move away. 

Across the room, the corkboard is littered with half-solved sequences. Blood splatter arcs, estimated fall velocities, and a list of possible contaminants, all illustrated in Minho’s handwriting. There’s an open case folder to your right. You scan the victim’s name, Jung Suyeon, then the short, polite letter from her family, a request, not even official, but handwritten and sincere. 

‘Please consider testifying. We know you’ll find the truth.’

You read it twice, then again. Minho notices the change in your posture. “What is it?” You pass the letter to him wordlessly. 

He reads it, jaw tightening, then he rubs his hands across the small of your back, thumb tracing a slow line. It’s instinctive, a gesture to ground you, even as his own balance tilts. 

“She trusted someone,” you say after a moment. “Enough to turn her back to them on a staircase.” 

He exhales and leans back in his chair. His tie is yanked loose around his neck, collar open. You reach forward, fingers working the knot back into place with practiced efficiency. “If you ruin this one too, I’m not buying you a new one.”

His mouth quirks. “You say that every time.” 

“And every time, you get dramatic.” 

There’s silence for a while after that, not tense, but tired. It’s the kind of quiet that settles between two people who have learned how to grieve inside fluorescent light. You both scribble through separate pages, comparing notes only with glances, small nods, and the occasional touch when your hands pass over shared tools. 

At one point, you leave a note in the margin of his analysis draft. ‘You’re brilliant. Don’t forget that.’

As the night drags on, you don’t tell him you saw him slam the bathroom door shut, or that his eyes were glassy when he came back out. Instead, you return to the table with another stack of notes, fresh gloves, and your chin held a little higher. 

“Look at this,” you say, tapping the third page. “The burn patterns curve inward. Like something blocked the initial blast.” 

Minho leans in, eyes scanning. “Fabric?”

“Maybe. Or a body.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a beat. Then, “you think someone left her there.”

“I think someone wanted it to look like she was alone.” 

He nods, slowly. “We’re missing a player.” 

Your hand traces down his forearm to his palm, pressing into the table, slipping beneath, and interlocking your fingers with his. You stay like that for a second, then squeeze him, a reminder. “We’ll find them,” you say. 

Minho closes his notebook with a thud. “Not tonight. Your eyes are red.” 

“So are yours.” 

“You go first,” he insists.

“Not a chance,” you insist, shaking your head. “I leave you alone in this state, and the whole building burns down, for sure.” 

He huffs something that might be a laugh, then pushes back his chair, rubbing at his eyes. “Five hours of sleep. Then we trace the blast backwards. Someone must have left a footprint in it. They always do, metaphorically or not.” 

You nod once and begin to gather the evidence back into labeled folders. Outside, the sun is beginning to stain the skyline with a dull orange. Morning again. But you don’t leave just yet, not until he’s packed up, not until his hand brushes yours as he turns out the desk lamp. 

The elevator logs don’t lie. But they also don’t tell the whole truth. 

Minho stands with his hands braced on either side of the recording machine, eyes flicking between timestamps and floor numbers, scanning with the kind of intensity that turns silence into gravity. You stood next to him, both of you packed tightly into the hotel’s managerial office, a space normally meant for just one person. 

“Fifth floor access,” you mutter, thumbing through the notebook in your hand. “The logs say the elevator skipped it three times between 10:31 and 11:12. Explosion was logged at 11:15 by the police. But look,” you tilt the screen towards him, “Hall’s card was scanned on the rooftop at 11:08.” 

Minho’s brow furrows. “That’s seven minutes before the explosion. But the only way to the rooftop aside from the elevator is–”

“--through the stairwell,” you finish, already tracing it out on the building layout prints pinned beside the emergency evacuation plans. “And he couldn't have planted an explosive in a hallway and gotten to the roof in that window of time.”

“So unless he teleported or split in two–”

“He had help,” you conclude. “Or someone else wanted the same outcome for different reasons.” 

Minho doesn’t respond. He just exhales, slow and deliberate. Then his eyes darted to another log, the hotel guest records. Logged in Room 525, a woman had checked in earlier in the afternoon. No blatant connection to either James Hall or Jung Suyeon. But her checkout time? Two hours after the blast, past midnight, much too late to be accidental. Maybe a possible witness. You make a mental note. 

By the time you leave the lab, the coffee machine is sputtering steam, and the sky has turned bruise-purple, signaling the approach of night. The air outside is thick with afternoon heat, and for the first time in hours, neither of you speaks. 

You don’t talk much back in the apartment, either. You both move around each other like clockwork, dropping bags, stripping off coats, brushing teeth side by side in the small mirror, shoulders touching without comment. 

By the time you crawl into bed with him, it’s well past midnight. The world outside is too quiet for a city this size, the kind of stillness that feels like holding your breath before disaster strikes. 

Minho curls toward you, an arm slung loosely over your waist, but you can feel the tension lingering in his muscles. He doesn’t quite fall asleep, not all the way. 

You drift off first, until something jerks you back. A jolt, a sharp inhale. 

You open your eyes to find him sitting up, breath coming quickly, fists clenched in the sheets. “Minho?”

He doesn’t answer at first, staring ahead at the wall. The room was bathed in a soft amber from the hallway light spilling through the cracked door, a stark contrast to his rigid state. 

You reach out to him, your thumb brushing the pulse at his wrist. “Hey,” you murmur. “Talk to me.” 

Still dazed, he mutters, “she pushed me.” 

You blink. “What?”

His hand rises to meet yours, slow and uncertain, like the echo of the dream is still tingling through his nerves. “Not hard,” he says. “Not to hurt. Just…to show.” You wait. “I saw her,” he continues, eyes distant. “In the dream. Suyeon. She didn’t speak, but her eyes were clear. She led me down the staircase and at the bottom, she stopped, turned, put her hand right here,” he touches the center of his chest, “and pushed me off the last few steps.” He paused, then added, “it didn’t feel like dying. It felt like being told ‘look again.’” 

You stare at him. The logic part of your brain wants to file it under stress, just another product of long hours and impossible timelines. But something about the way he says it, that quiet certainty, sinks under your skin. 

He lies back down after that, an arm flung over his eyes, body slowly relaxing into sleep again. But you don’t. Not for a long time. 

You lie beside him, staring at the ceiling. You think of the staircase, the elevator logs, the burn pattern. And a woman who trusted someone enough to turn her back. Your gut twists. 

Minho twitches beside you, muttering something you can’t quite catch. You turn toward him, one hand resting over his heart as if to anchor him to the present. He continues to sleep, but the unease clings to you both, silent and patient. 

The lab looks different in daylight. Less haunted, more hollow. Sunlight slices in through the narrow windows, catching on steel trays and dust motes. Everything looks too real, too clean. Like the truth should be easier to find in the light. 

But the city has moved on, as it always does. The headlines about the explosion have faded. The front desk at the Marquette is back to answering questions about room service delays instead of death. Only you and Minho are still orbiting the explosion. 

He’s hunched over the evidence table again, still in the shirt he wore to sleep, now with a fresh stain of iodine blooming near the cuff. His hair is damp from a shower but already tousled, as if sleep hadn’t quite finished with him. 

A surveillance report lies flat in front of him. You watch him read it for the third time. “New timeline,” you offer, breaking the quiet. “James Hall was last seen sprinting away from the fifth-floor stairwell. That was 11:12.” 

Minho’s head snaps up. “That’s three minutes before detonation.” 

“Exactly. No way he set the device and got out that fast. Not unless it was on a time.” 

He leans back, arms crossed. “But there was no timer. No delay device was found at the site.” 

You nod slowly. “Then he wasn’t the one who lit the fuse.” 

There’s a beat of silence before Minho slams a folder shut with more force than necessary. “Then who the hell did?”

The question hangs in the air like static. He picks up a set of lab slides, examining them under the microscope one by one with increasing veracity. When the fourth sample doesn’t sit right, he curses under his breath. 

You step closer. “Hey,” you say gently. “Try again. Slowly.” 

He doesn’t look up. Just mutters, “none of this makes sense. The samples are clean, too clean. The soot residue on the victim’s collar doesn't match the burn pattern on the wall. It’s like…like someone reset the room.” 

“Minho.”

“I’m missing something. I know I’m missing something.” 

“Minho,” you repeat, more firmly this time. “You can’t fit ghosts into a crime scene report.”

He stops, shoulders stiff. He doesn’t meet your gaze. “I’m not trying to,” he says, voice quiet. “I’m trying to listen. Maybe that’s the same thing to you, but it isn’t to me.”

You study him. Drawn, tired, buzzing with unspeakable energy, the same look he wore after a bridge collapse case, when he spent three days reconstructing a faulty railing just to prove the victim hadn’t jumped. 

You reach for the autopsy photographs still clipped together in a folder. “Look at the bruises on her arm again,” you urge, pulling them free. “Too even. Too centered.” 

He squints, leaning in. “Not a fall pattern. There’s no torsion. No imbalance.”

You nod. “The body wasn’t twisted, it wasn't tumbling. It was placed.” 

He grabs the photographs from your hand. “If she’d been conscious, even for a second, she’d have braced instinctively. But she didn’t. No defensive injuries.” 

“She was out before she was ever on the ground,” you say. “Unconscious or drugged. Then moved.” 

He exhales through his nose. “Someone wanted it to look like she fell.” 

“Or wanted it to look like an accident,” you propose. “That’s the part that doesn’t feel like murder. Not clean, not controlled.” 

Minho’s gaze meets yours across the table, bloodshot, but lit from within. “Then we’re not chasing a murderer,” he leads. “We’re chasing shame.” He steps back, running both hands through his hair. “Someone panicked. She saw something, or said something, and they overreacted.” 

“Which makes it sloppier,” you add. “Sloppier means traceable.” 

“And whoever helped Hall,” Minho continues, “is starting to slip.” 

The corner of your mouth tilts up, tired but real. “There’s our crack in the glass.” 

He huffs a sound that’s almost a laugh. “About time.” 

You both pause there, standing amidst scattered notes and samples and grief disguised as science. His eyes drop to your hands, one resting on the corner of the table, the other tracing over the edge of a folder. 

He doesn’t say it aloud, but he looks like he wants to reach for you. Instead, he turns back to the microscope, voice quieter now. “Let’s start with the woman in 525. Maybe she didn’t see everything, but maybe she saw enough.” 

The stairwell replica creaks faintly as you balance another crate at the approximate height of the Marquette’s third-floor landing. String lines the descent–marked angles, calculated falls. On the floor, you’ve drawn chalk outlines where the body should have landed. 

Minho circles the setup, jaw clenched in thought. His shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and there’s ink on his wrist from your last round of measurements and calibrations. He drops a small paperweight down the makeshift steps. It lands too far. Again.

You catch it before it rolls off the final step and hold it up. “That’s the second time it overshot,” you note. “Unless she had propulsion–”

“Something pushed her further,” Minho finished. He kneels beside the landing, adjusting a string. “That explosion…it wasn’t just a distraction. It changed the trajectory.” 

You move beside him, unfolding your notebook and running the numbers again. “Here. The angle of the descent, the impact marks on her body, and the soot radius. If James Hall was standing here when the blast hit…”

“He would’ve been knocked backward,” Minho concluded. He rises to his feet, pacing. “He didn’t intend for her to be at the bottom. He didn’t even know she was dead.”

You blink. “Wait. You’re saying Jung was already gone? Before the blast?”

Minho turns to the corkboard, taps a photo. “Look at the bruises again. Her face, her neck. That wasn’t an impact. That was controlled force.” 

Realization crawls up your spine. “Then she wasn’t a casualty.” 

“She was an obstacle.” He spins to face you, eyes sharp. “James Hall wasn’t alone.” 

You nod slowly. “Room 525.” 

He exhales, the air leaving his lungs like a weight falling. “She checked out past midnight, after the scene cleared. No reason to stay unless she was watching.”

“And she didn’t see everything,” you add. “But she saw enough.” 

“No.” Minho’s voice darkens. “She did everything. Hall planted the explosive to force an evacuation. Standard smash-and-grab, targeting the vault during the chaos. But she…”  He trails off.

“His wife,” you finish. “And she went after the mistress.” Silence sits between you, thick and electric. “She killed Jung Suyeon,” you breathe. “And when Hall realized what she’d done…”

“He panicked.” Minho crosses to the crate-staircase again, shoulders taut. “He ran. Not because he was guilty of murder, but because he wasn’t ready to be part of one.” 

You run a hand through your hair, trying to keep up with the weight of it all. “So the explosion wasn’t just a cover-up for Hall’s crime. It was for her, too.” 

Minho throws the paperweight again, this time from a new angle, compensating for a shockwave from behind. It lands exactly in the outline. You both freeze. 

“That’s it,” he says. “That’s it.” he turns to you, and before you can speak, he cups your face with ink-stained hands and kisses you. It’s brief and breathless, but sure. It tastes like coffee, graphite, and the first clear answer in days. He pulls back, laughter catching in his throat. “We can prove it.” 

You smile against his palm. “Then let’s write it down before the ghosts come back.” 

Practically any wide surface in the lab was filled edge-to-edge, evidence tags clipped like warning flags across corkboards. You’ve been working for hours, evidence spread out like the inside of someone’s brain spilled onto the table. The replica stairwell stands in the corner, half-shrouded in shadows, a monument to the moment it all went wrong. 

You blink against the fatigue in your eyes and stretch, only now realizing you’ve nodded off at your desk. A warm weight rests on your shoulders, Minho’s coat, heavy with the scent of rain and coffee. When you lift your head, he’s across from you, watching. 

A faint smile plays on his lips. “You push yourself too hard,” he murmurs, voice low like it’s not meant to disturb the room. He has a mug in his hands, half-empty, and a folder open beside him. 

You rub your eyes. “You know me too well.” 

Minho’s gaze flicks back to the data. “While you were out, I found that the mosaic wasn’t contaminated.” He pushes his notes towards you, pointing towards his layered analysis of a smear taken from the banister of the third stair. “It’s residue from two separate cleaning agents. Same spot. Same surface.” 

You frown. “So someone cleaned it…twice?”

Minho nods. “Clumsily. First with one tool, then another. But not to make it pristine. Just to make it confusing.”

You run your fingers along the margin of his notebook. “Multiple bodily fluids. But not from a crowd. From a fight.” You pull up the folder of Jung Suyeon’s profile. “Her. And the woman from 525.” 

Minho exhales slowly. “Suyeon was the mistress.” He leans back, staring at the ceiling like the pieces are falling into place too fast. “I did some digging, and Hall’s real wife, Rebecca Hall, was in 525. She found out.” 

“And followed Suyeon,” you say. “Cornered her. There was a struggle. Then a death.” You pause. “James didn’t plan for that, did he? He only planted the explosive, targeting the vault. But she–his wife–took it further.” 

“She turned it into a murder scene,” Minho finishes. “Then tried to erase it.” The room is suddenly too quiet. The conclusion lies heavy in the air. Minho doesn’t speak for a while, but when he does, his voice is soft. “If James didn’t mean for any of this to happen…if all he planned was a robbery…do we still call it justice when he’s sentenced?”

You shift in your seat, watching him carefully. “Justice isn’t always clean,” you answer. “But clarity…” You reach for his hand, steady. “Clarity can still be kindness, especially to the deceased.” 

He looks at you then, not like a colleague, not like a fellow investigator, but like someone remembering why he fell in love in the first place. His eyes are quiet, full of awe and something unspoken. 

Outside, dawn threatens to rise. But here, there’s only the two of you surrounded by truth finally bleeding through the silence. 

The lab smells like old binders and caffeine. You’ve been camped out here for hours, the walls covered with timelines, annotated autopsy photos, and a sequence of red circles around inconsistencies only you and Minho can now read like a second language. 

He stands by the board with his sleeves rolled and tie loose, voice going hoarse from too many run-throughs. You sit opposite him, notes fanned out before you like tarot cards. Together, you’re refining a narrative, not just for the court, but for the truth itself. 

“Again,” you command. “Walk me through the final five minutes.” 

Minho nods. “Suyeon is already dead. Rebecca Hall killed her in the suite. James walks in, sees the aftermath, the blood, the angle of her neck, and panics. He thinks, ‘I can’t be here when this is found.’ He drags her to the staircase.” 

“To stage a fall,” you add. “He thinks it’ll look like an accident. Maybe a misstep on her part. But he’s sloppy, doesn’t know how to move a body.” 

Minho paces. “He’s running out of time. The explosives’s already been planted. He thinks if he moves fast enough, no one will ever know she didn’t die in the blast.” 

You both look at the simulation diagram again. The chalk outline. The calculated distance. 

“But he miscalculates the detonation radius,” you state. “The shockwave catches him.”

Minho turns to you. “He didn’t mean to kill her.” 

“But he didn’t mean to save her, either,” you follow along.

The line settles between you like the click of a lock turning. He comes to sit beside you at the table, picking up your notes and flipping through them slowly. 

“I don’t like courtroom work,” he muttered, half to himself. 

You nudge his shoulder gently. “That’s why I wrote half your speech. Just don’t forget to breathe between points.” 

He huffs a laugh, then scans the notes again. “And the pivot…when do we introduce Rebecca?”

You tap one of the folders. “After the access logs. The moment everyone thinks James is the monster who pushed Suyeon down the stairs. That’s when you say her name. ‘Rebecca Hall. Room 525.’” You pause. “Let them gasp. It’s earned.” 

He nods, but goes quiet again. Not with doubt, with gravity.

You lean closer. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Minho stares at the pages, then lifts his gaze. “We’re not just telling a story, are we?”

“No. We’re correcting it.” 

There’s a beat of stillness between you. Then, as he flips through the final page, you both say it at the same time. “She wasn’t supposed to die.” 

You meet each other’s eyes, startled but not surprised. You grin, he laughs under his breath, head tilting as if hearing you echo his thoughts is the only thing keeping him going. When he takes your hand in his, it’s not dramatic, it’s steady and solid. Like every crime scene sketch, every bruise pattern and misread timestamp has led to this. 

Minho squeezes your hand once. “We did right by her.” 

You stare down at your joined hands before whispering, “and by us.” 

The courtroom buzzes with sweat-damp tension. Reporters line the benches, pens poised midair, their eyes flicking between James Hall at the defendant’s table and Minho taking the stand in a freshly pressed suit with a thread of ink still smudged at his cuff. You sit on the plaintiff’s side, next to the Jungs, who had profusely thanked you and Minho for coming. 

James Hall keeps his head bowed, fingers clenched into fists, knuckles turning white. Three seats behind him sits Rebecca Hall. Her lipstick is perfect, her gaze is unreadable. She wears grief like a borrowed coat. Elegant, clean, and ill-fitting. No one but you and Minho knows she has blood under her nails. You sit poised, not just as an observer, but the architect behind the case he’s about to unfold. 

Minho takes the oath with a calm that doesn’t come from ease, but from exactitude. Every word he’s about to say, he has practiced with you, every chart, every diagram that your hands helped him build. 

The prosecutor nods at him to start. “Mr. Choi, can you walk the court through your findings?”

Your heart pounds, not with nerves, but with tempo, matching Minho’s cadence beat for beat as he begins. He starts with the elevator logs, moves to the time stamps, shows where the fifth floor was skipped, and how Suyeon’s body landed too far for gravity alone to explain. Then comes the pivot. 

Minho draws a breath, steady and even. “The woman found at the base of the stairs, Jung Suyeon, was not killed by the explosion.” He lets the sentence hang. “She was already dead when she fell. Her body had been moved. Her injuries were consistent with strangulation and blunt force trauma…not a fall. And the person who inflicted those injuries…” He turns, meets the jury’s eyes, and says it.

“Rebecca Hall. Room 525.” 

The gasp you predicted rushes through the gallery like a storm surge, and even the defense flinches. Rebecca doesn’t blink. 

Minho goes on. The smeared residues, the clumsy cleaning attempts, the way James panicked and got caught running from the scene. “He didn't know,” Minho continued. “He walked in after the fact, found her, realized what had happened, and instead of calling the police…he chose to stage the scene. To flee.” 

You hear the line again in your mind. ‘He didn’t mean to kill her. But he didn’t mean to save her either.’

The defense tries to poke holes, tries to twist timestamps, to suggest contamination or projection. But your argument is airtight, your visuals are clean, and the simulation tests hold. Minho doesn’t waver. Neither do you. 

When it’s over and the final witness has spoken, the jury takes less than a day. The verdict arrives in a room even more silent than it had been before. 

James Hall: Guilty of destruction of property, unlawful possession of explosives, and obstruction of justice. 

Rebecca Hall: Guilty of voluntary manslaughter. 

Rebecca doesn’t look at her husband. James only lets out one sharp breath and closes his eyes. 

You and Minho don’t cheer, don’t collapse onto each other. You simply turn to each other in the heavy hush that follows and find relief in the smallest things, like the warmth of his palm finding yours and the quiet in his eyes now that the noise is over. 

As reports shout outside and court officers begin ushering the press away, Minho leans toward you, voice low enough to hide inside the shell of your ear. “We did right by her.” 

You turn to meet his gaze, throat tight, and answer. “And by us.” 

As you take your leave with Minho, the press crushes at the courthouse steps like waves, but Minho guides you to the side exit, away from flashing bulbs and loaded microphones. Your shoulders ache and your lungs feel burned, yet the air is clean in a way it hasn’t been in weeks. 

A voice catches you just before you leave the building. “Wait–please.”

You both turn to find the Jungs not too far behind, formal clothes rumpled, eyes rimmed red. Suyeon’s father steps forward first, hands clasped tightly before him. “We…we weren’t sure we’d get to speak with you.”

Minho straightens beside you. “It was an honor to help with the case.” 

Mrs. Jung steps in, her voice fragile but resolute. “We didn’t come today hoping for justice. We’ve sat through too many papers and headlines that turned our daughter into something small. Into a footnote.” She swallows. “But what you did…what you both did together…” Her hand covers her mouth for a moment before she reaches for yours. “You made her whole again.” 

Minho lowers his head respectfully, but it’s you she’s looking at when she speaks next. “Suyeon hated lies. Even the small ones. She always said if she died, she’d rather people speak badly of who she really was than praise someone she never got to be.” She gave you a bittersweet smile. “She believed truth was the only form of love that lasts.”

You squeeze her hand gently. “Then we gave her exactly what she wanted. The truth.” 

Mr. Jung nods, tears glinting unshed. “Thank you. For making sure she wasn’t buried in someone else’s story.” 

Minho nods and pushes open the door for you. They didn't follow. They said what they needed to. You and Minho step outside together, the hush between you thick with something sacred. 

Rain patters softly against the windows of your apartment like a metronome ticking slower than time itself. The apartment feels different now. Lived-in but no longer weighed down by maps, photographs, grief, and silence. 

Minho shrugs off his coat with practiced ease and hangs it on the rack by the door. He sets down the final bound copy of the case report on your study desk. It lands with a quiet but decisive thud. 

You don’t speak right away. You watch him from the threshold of the bedroom, your hair damp from the rain, your body pulled toward him by instinct rather than intent.

He pours two glasses of something dark and amber before taking a seat on the couch. You join him, settling against his side as if it were second nature. The lamplight glows gold between you, catching on the curve of his jaw as he exhales. 

You lean your head on his shoulder, and he tilts slightly to meet you. Neither of you moves to turn on the TV or speak above a whisper. You both just breathe. 

After a long moment, you ask, “why do you think she pushed you?”

Minho is quiet for a beat. “Because I wasn’t meant to find her killer.” You tilt your head up to meet his eyes. He’s not looking at you, he’s looking at the window, at the rain. “I was meant to see the truth.” 

The silence that follows is not empty. It’s full of things unspoken. Sadness, clarity, gratitude, and love, too, in a shape neither of you knows quite how to name. 

Later, you sit at your desk again, this time without the chaos. No diagrams, no maps, just the final case file, its cover crisp and clean, your handwriting steady as you pen the last few lines. 

The window next to you is open an inch. The gaslights outside cast flickering halos on the cobblestone below. Somewhere, a streetcar groans to a halt. The city breathes in the hush between storms. 

Minho stands behind you, his presence quiet but grounding. He’s not reading over your shoulder, just watching the skyline, arms folded, the rise and fall of his chest steady beneath his shirt. There’s weariness in his frame, but peace, too, like something has finally settled. 

You finish the last sentence, dot the last period, and close the file. The slap of the papers landing on top of each other sounds final. You look up, out the window, following Minho’s gaze. “Do you believe in ghosts?” you ask without a hint of speculation. 

He doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, you think he did hear you. But then he speaks. “No,” he pauses. “But I believe the dead don’t always rest when we get their story wrong.” 

Your hand goes still on the desk. Minho reaches down and finds it without needing to look. His fingers hook into yours, warm, familiar, and steady. You hold onto him, and neither of you says anything more. 

Outside, the rain has stopped, but the streets still glisten. Street lamps glow through the mist. Together, you watch the city breathe. And somewhere, someone like Jung Suyeon, someone who loved the truth, even when it hurt, can finally rest in peace. 

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Criminal - L.Taemin

[csi-junkie]

First Meeting

Greg Sanders x gender neutral!Reader

No warnings: just fluff, reunion after years, secretly in love, and slow burn. Gifs are not mine, credit to: @lilcathsmith. Masterlist here

Summary: Part 1 of Reconnecting series. You meet Greg on your first day, only to realize that you already know each other.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It was your first day at the Las Vegas lab. As your shift supervisor, Grissom gives you a basic rundown of how things work at the lab. Being a CSI level 1, you’ll mostly be working high volume crimes like burglaries and thefts alone while occasionally helping your colleagues on more complex investigations.

“Hey Catherine, you have a moment?” Grissom asks stoping her in the hallway.

“Yeah, I’m just on my way to DNA,” she replies while noticing you standing next to Grissom.

“You must be Y/N, the new hire. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Catherine,” she introduces, shaking your hand.

“Hi, it’s good to meet you too,” you nod.

“She’s going to be helping you with your dead casino manager case,” Grissom informs her.

“Great, I’m heading to DNA for some results now,” she motions for you to join her.

While on the way, Catherine gets to know you. She learns that you’re originally from California and spent a few years at the LA lab before transferring to Vegas. She then leads you into presumably the DNA lab where very loud rock is being played on a radio.

“Hey Greg, what do you got for us?” Catherine probes after turning the volume down to get his attention.

Greg spins around in his chair and quickly notices a familiar face next to Catherine. You exchange looks as you’re each met by a face you’ve not seen in years.

“This is Y/N, the new hire that Grissom mentioned. We’ll be working together on this case,” Catherine informs Greg.

“Hi,” he smiles at you knowingly before finding the print out with Catherine’s results. He stands up from his chair and walks over to you both.

“The dried blood collected from underneath the poker dealer’s fingernails is a match to your casino manager” he reveals, handing her the document and glancing over to you.

Before Catherine can respond, Sara pokes her head through the lab’s doorway.

“Hey Cath, can I talk to you for a minute?” Sara asks.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back,” she says to you both before leaving the room to follow Sara.

Now that you’re alone, you feel comfortable reconnecting with Greg after many years apart.

“Sanders, how are you?” you excitedly ask, pulling him in for a hug.

“I’m good. What are you doing in Vegas?” he wonders, wrapping his arms around you and leaning his head down to rest on your shoulder.

After graduation, you two lost touch and Greg didn’t think he’d see you again.

“I thought it’d be a good change for me. I’ve never lived outside of California until now,” you reply after easing out of the embrace.

“What about you? I thought you’d be in New York?” you ask, still gently holding onto his arms. You remember his plan to move there after college.

“I lived there for almost two years before I got a position at the San Francisco lab. I was there for about the same amount of time then transferred to Vegas,” he replies.

“Let me guess, Sin City sounded more thrilling?” you tease, knowing Greg’s interest in nightlife.

“You could say something like that,” he smirks, brushing off your comment. “Did you get to travel like you wanted to?”

“I did,” you nod. “Then I got my masters in forensic science.”

“And to think you almost didn’t pass organic chemistry,” Greg jokes, recalling memories of the many late nights he stayed up to help you study.

“Yeah, that was near impossible. Not everyone’s smart enough to graduate a year early,” you tease, making Greg shake his head.

“You still have the same spiky hair that you did then,” you remark, taking in his appearance. Even though it had been a few years since you last saw Greg, he hadn’t changed at all.

“Yeah, and yours is shorter,” he smiles, admiring how a few strands frame your face.

Second later, Catherine returns to the lab and tells you to meet her in autopsy.

“I guess I’ll see you later Sanders,” you grin, turning to leave.

“Y/N wait,” he calls out, voice crackling slightly. He reaches for your arm, prompting you to stop and look back.

“Let’s catch up more after work. I know a good breakfast place close by,” he suggests while nervously shifting his weight.

“That sounds nice,” you agree and offer him a reassuring smile before following Catherine down the hall.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

i hope this was okay. let me know what you think and thank you for reading :)

[slugterra-twisted-ends]

When'd the ships you've made start dating? And what made those ocxoc/canonxcanon/ocxcanon get together?

Pre-warning; we might be here for awhile. So I'll colour assign each pairing so you can scroll through to find them easier! (Shane Gang/Shanes in orange, Blakk Industries/Dark Bane in red, Eastern Caverns in green, mercs in blue, friends of the Shane Gang in pink and other in purple)

Eli x Trixie; At the end of Twisted Ends (fanfic), Trixie gave Eli a cheek kiss and told him how she felt about him. Eli was teased by his parents about the kiss but managed to get out he felt the same way about Trixie. The two share a proper kiss before Eli has to return to the surface (for two weeks as he promised his friends)

Kord x Mira: Kord and Mira's relationship starts off during the downtime between Twisted Ends Episodes 3 Back in Blakk and 4 Terrainade Addiction. The two were accidentally fell onto each other during Episode 2, Healing Bites, as the two took Mira's newly upgraded mecha out for a test drive. Spending quite a lot of time together, being 20+ year olds and away from the teens and the old mole, doing young adult stuff. Kord loved Mira's personality, her beauty, her skills and likes (mainly cooking, it was a relief from Pronto's) whereas Mira was enamored by Kord's knowledge, muscles, looks and love for the slugs.

Pronto x Katrina: (Starr's OC!) Pronto and Katrina's relationship also started in between episodes in the Twisted Ends fanfic, between Episodes 5 Bad Luck Hunt and Episode 6 Grand Theft Mecha. The moment Pronto saw all of Katrina's personality traits during Bad Luck Hunt, he knew she was the one. As for Katrina, she found Pronto funny, adorable, very sweet and very romantic molenoid. (Bcause Katrina was made by the lovely @bluestarrcreations she was the one to pick out Pronto as the lover as the molenoid is one of her favourite characters from the show)

Will x Meng Yao: The Shane parents met during college where Meng Yao was studying forensics science and criminology whilst Will was there (I haven't picked if he was studying or just worked at one of the stores there). The two got along like a house on fire and wedded after Meng Yao (or Honey as Will calls her) had graduated. The two moved into the house we see Eli reside in at the start of the series. Will did show Meng Yao the world of Slugterra a few times, in case she EVER had to be the one to find Will

Dr Blakk x Jane Doe: After some events on the surface after Will and Meng Yao had married, a sinister Jane Doe had followed the couple into the underground world. She'd use her cunning wit to convince the criminals to do her bidding. However, her cunning wit would lead to her finding her match; a young Dr Blakk who had just gotten Viggo's criminal empire. She attempted her song and dance, but fell madly in love with the crooked man. The two marry and she aids with Blakk's train line and criminal empire.

Twist x Trip: The two met when they were young kids, Twist being an orphaned street rat at the time. Twist had stolen from food from Trip's guardians, Ivor's main bodyguards. The orphan hid himself away as not to be found, but Trip had already figured where he went and followed when no one was looking. He offered Twist more food, seeing he was hungry. The two had a talk and sparked a friendship, which led to Twist being taken in by Blakk as an apprentice under Janice's recommendation. Later on, after the events of 'The New Kid', Trip and Twist would find that they really liked each other and began to date, though Twist HATES it when people acknowledge the relationship and pretends it doesn't exist, which Trip is respectful of that.

Locke x Ai: Locke has a wife that I made up for him, a very strict woman who does not take crap. She might be more evil than Locke at times, but that's why Locke loves her. They hail from the same cavern, so it just made it easier to see if they'd work or not.

Dr Nathaniel x Marie: Mira's parents. Dr Nathaniel and Marie met when Nathaniel had fallen down a hole during a cave exploration tour. He was assumed dead by the staff of the place, but in reality he had fallen to Slugterra, breaking both his legs in the process. He fell unconscious and woke up to his future wife looking him over like a exotic animal. Will had to argue with Marie about how unauthorized surface dwellers and the midlanders couldn't know of each other. Marie was stubborn and Nathaniel pleaded to be silent of his origins. Will buckled and let Nathaniel stay, the man eventually romantically involved with Marie and marrying her after a few short years.

Ivor x Janice: Two heirs to very powerful families, Ivor met Janice during a high end Blakk Markets sale of mecha beasts. He was selling off a bunch of mechas from 'expired' people and fell for the charms of the nasty Janice. The two hit it off, got married, having a child, Trip, and breaking up afterwards. The two are on and off again, since Ivor likes to be more a playboy/have his fun with other women often.

Fav x Dana: These two started dating after the Shane Gang went to the Eastern Caverns and were confirmed a couple during Twisted Ends Episode 9 Etched in Family. Dana had robbed from the Power Trips during the episode 'The Gentleman and the Thief' but stole more than just possessions, she'd accidentally stole Fav's heart! Dana had returned all the stolen items but was spotted by Fav, the latter asking to go get coffee some time. Which Dana did agree to and found she really liked Fav, the two soon dating after their first coffee date.

Billy x Shorty: Given the two have been hanging around each other for quite a while now, their emotional attachment to each other and to Glasses (in a brotherly sense) grew heavily. Shorty and Billy saw romantic promise in one another and decided to try dating, especially after learning that Eli and Trixie were a couple, Billy wanted to out do them.

Gentleman x Quill: Gent met Quill when Gar had hired him to be her bodyguard as she was on a quest to find the scattered burnt pages of Jimmo's journal. Quill was quick to fall head over heels in love with Gent's whole self. It wouldn't be till a tragic attempted murder of Quill by Gar did Gent finally realise his feelings for her, the woman on the edge of life. He does manage to get her to a hospital and the two began to date, though Gent would get his vengeance on Gar for this transgression.

Frost x Flame: The two have been merc buddies for a long time and felt nothing romantic was working for them with other people. Eventually they felt their found friendship was more romantic somehow and decided to try if it'll be what they wanted. And well- they haven't broken up yet!

GameMaster x Darius: Crack ship. That's all I need to really say. These two lived rent free as one-off characters a friend of mine adores. We had it that they met after Darius was fired from B.I and had been selected as a test subject for GM's mad games. Darius survived and weirdly became a good friend of GM, always winning the games the mad man would make. The two would experience more lovey dovey feelings later on.

Shadow Clan Chief x Coredila: The next High Priestess of the Shadow Clan, Coredila has trained heavily under the current Priest. She would be assisted by and spar with the Shadow Clan Chief (the S.C with one grey eye). Their spars turned into friendly rivalry and eventually infatuation.

Silas x Lisa: Silas of the Shadow Clan had always been fascinated by the slingers, these beings not born to sling slugs with body parts, but rather with technology. While using a Thugglet to pose as a human, Silas encountered a deaf woman named Lisa. His attention was attuned to how she spoke with her hands, he wanted to learn how to do that. He and Lisa would meet up for lessons, which Silas's love for learning became a love for Lisa. She shared the same thoughts, finally having someone respect and care for her as someone normal and not disabled. Silas felt comfortable enough around her to share his true identity, the woman not scared of the false human Shadow Clan. She still loved him and even eventually the two have a hybrid son named Valo

Brimstone x Cinder: These two met through the Dark Bane's tradition of arranged marriages. A Dark Bane's partner is partnered for life and the partners are chosen by the general themselves. Since Brimstone is a general himself, he did not get to pick his bride, that fell to his cousin, General Scoria of the European Dark Bane. She asked her warriors, being a much more understanding general, of who would wish to marry her cousin. One of her elites, Cinder, stepped up to be happily married to the General of the 99 Caverns Dark Bane.

Spirex x Chloe (Starr's OC!): Spider love. Spirex met his wife in the Subterra where the Arachnoid and Insectnoids reside. This was after the events of Slugfu Showdown. The two are VERY happy together, with Chloe even being pregnant by the time Twisted Ends ended.

Junjie x Flower: After the Shane Gang had returned to the 99, Junjie along with Lian, the Outlaws and reformed Underlords began to clean up the Eastern Caverns and round up the still loyal Underlords and other criminals. They had split into teams, with one team including Junjie and Flower together. The two bounced off each others personalities quite well to the point they blossomed a romantic relationship.

Sleade x Orion: Sleade and Orion had met whilst at a tavern, Orion really enjoying his presence, stink and all. This was during the big clean up that lead to Junjie and Flower being a pairing. Orion offered her services as a tracker to help, which Sleade's team were okay with. During the clean up, just like Junjie and Flower, Orion and Sleade bounced off each other's personalities well and dated at the end of the clean up.

Swick x Drucilla: Swick being a bit of a lazy guy who just likes to have fun, hid away during the clean up by volunteering to work at Drucilla's workshop. There he became exposed to cave troll woman's intellect, cooking and personality. But also became exposed to being her test dummy... Which hey, benefits are a roof over his head, a warm meal and a cute cave troll girlfriend who gives him the best hugs. Oh and the Old Man's there as a verbal punching bag.

There's SO many ships I have but a lot of them are underused OCs x OCs or underused canon cast x OCs, etc.

[ixhika-jsx]

## What’s a Cyber Forensic Investigator?

Master post - part 1 • part 2

You must have heard bout forensics yk investigating bout dead people who might have been killed and all

You must have seen shows on those topics too.Cyber forensic investigator is just of same kind but investigating through all types of modern gadgets.

Catching hackers and all but cooler

### The Money Talk: How Much Do They Make?

- **Cash Money**: Expect to rake in about $60k to $120k a year. If you are very much experienced and skilled then you can expect about 150k+ a year.(obv different countries and companies may have different wages)

### Companies That Want You

- **Tech Titans**: Google, Amazon, Facebook—they all have requirement for such heroes

- **Gov Jobs**: FBI, CIA—basically every spy agency wants you.

- **Cybersecurity Firms**: CrowdStrike, McAfee—so every gateway you go you gonna have opportunities everywhere.

### What Other Forensic Investigators Are There?

- **Forensic Pathologists**: Real-life detectives who figure out how someone died. Less tech, more science.

- **DNA Analysts**: The ones matching DNA samples

- **Forensic Accountants**: Following the money to catch fraudsters and scammers

- **Toxicologists**: Poison experts, figuring out if someone’s been covertly poisoned. (Yeaa yk snow white story)

### What’s the Work Environment Like?

- **The Lab**: Imagine a room filled with more screens than your gaming setup. Gadgets galore, maybe even a Red Bull or two

- **On the Move**: Sometimes you’re out in the field, collecting evidence. Think of it like collecting rare items in a game.

- **Remote Vibes**: You could be solving cybercrimes from your bed in your PJs .

### How Long Does It Take to Become One?

- **Time Investment**: About 4 years for a bachelor’s, and then 1-2 more years for a master’s if you’re going all-in. So, 5-6 years total. But hey, good things take time, right?

### What Do You Study?

- **Cybersecurity/Computer Science**: Your main jams. Think of them as the ultimate cheat codes for this career.

- **Digital Forensics**: Specialized courses where you learn to be a digital ninja.

- **Law and Ethics**: Learning how to catch the bad guys without breaking the law yourself. (You yourself don't want to be troubled obviously)

### Subjects You Need to Get Into It

- **Math**: Yep, but not the boring kind—more like coding and algorithms.

- **Computer Science**: Your go-to for everything techy.

- **Optional Nerd Points**: Chemistry/Physics if you’re into hardware forensics or just want to flex those brain muscles.

### Work Hours: What to Expect?

- **9 to 5-ish**: Standard hours if you’re working for a company, but expect some late nights or weekend shifts when big cases pop up.

- **On-Call Madness**: Sometimes you’re on-call like a digital firefighter. Cyber-attack at 3 AM? Time to suit up (or log in) and handle it.

- **Flexible/Remote**: If you’re lucky, you can work from home. Just remember, no solving crimes in your underwear during Zoom meetings!

### Interview with a Cyber Forensic Investigator

**Interviewer**: What’s a day in the life of a cyber forensic investigator?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Imagine rolling out of bed, grabbing your coffee, and diving into cases. I’m talking analyzing hard drives, sifting through emails, or tracking down cyberattack origins. Some days it’s all data, other days I’m working with law enforcement or testifying in court. Never a dull moment!

**Interviewer**: What’s the coolest case you’ve worked on?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Helping bust a phishing ring that was scamming millions. Tracked their digital footprints, caught the culprits, and recovered their loot. Felt like a total legend.

**Interviewer**: Ever seen some dark stuff, like murders?

*Cyber Sleuth**: Yeah, I’ve stumbled across some pretty grim stuff. It’s not all memes and malware—sometimes it’s serious business. But catching those bad guys makes it all worth it.

**Interviewer**: Have you ever been on the dark web?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Oh, for sure. It’s like the sketchy underbelly of the internet. Lots of shady deals. I go there when I need to, but it’s not a fun hangout spot.

**Interviewer**: How dark can a case get?

**Cyber Sleuth**: It can get really intense. I’ve worked on cases involving human trafficking and other serious crimes. It’s tough, but making a difference makes it worth it.

**Interviewer**: Any advice for someone who wants to get into this field?

**Cyber Sleuth**: Stay curious and keep learning. Tech evolves fast, so you’ve gotta keep up. And don’t be afraid to dig deep—sometimes the answers are buried in tons of data, but finding them is like hitting gold.

So if you’re into tech and have subjects like mathematics , chemistry and physics then you are all set to start your journey.i have seen ppl running for a common a job and all and they are not even specified about what they want. So just research and find out what you want.

[littlemisspascal]

Rockford & Roan Pt. 4

Pairing: Tim Rockford x Female Reader/OFC ‘Roan’

Word Count:2.8k

Summary:  “Do you doubt our match, Miss Roan?” he asks, and it’s a shocking enough question you legitimately can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But if he is being serious…

Rating: T 

Warnings: Language, Reader has a dog, Reader has military background, Superpower AU, They Were Roommates AU, self-esteem issues, soulmates-ish, original characters, worldbuilding, references of dead bodies + suicide, police, HTTYD reference, scars

- Reader has no first name and no physical traits described in detail except for being shorter than Rockford. Reader is mentioned to have hair

Author Note: Thank you so so much for all the kind support 💗

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜💜💜

Series Masterlist

The Case

You take possession of one of Rockford’s spare notebooks, yellow and spiral bound, scribbling down details about the case he’s been asked by the police to help investigate.

7 suicides over the past 8 months 

Unsure why the brief lapse during the third month

Perhaps to throw police off potential trail?

Victims are all different ages, backgrounds, careers

Also found dead in different locations across Fox Leap—alleyways, parking lots, isolated spots

No witnesses

No suicide notes left behind 

Single commonality: all died by ingesting a cyanide pill

Suspects? None

Police aren’t convinced deaths are connected 

Rockford is certain they are

I don’t know what to think

The Invitation

Friday evening finds you job hunting across the internet from the comfort of the couch. It’s another one of the steps of Dr. Odair’s grand therapy plan to reintegrate you into society. Of course, what she failed to mention was that the potential career opportunities for ex-military empaths are few and far between. You lean back against the cushion, resisting the urge to grab your mug of tea and pour it onto your laptop. It’s not the computer’s fault there’s a prejudice against those with mind-gifts after all. 

The squeaks of Banjo’s stuffed toy pull your attention towards the dog rolling around on the floor, his beloved plush panda Bamboo held between his paws, teeth gnawing at its leg. Rockford lies stretched out on the white rug nearby, eyes closed, the picture perfect example of tranquility. He isn’t sleeping—you can tell by the tapping of his fingers against his stomach, a song only he knows—but it’s nice to pretend. For all that you’ve pestered him with questions about his job and for all that Rockford has patiently answered each one without even the tiniest thrum of irritation, his bizarre, seemingly nonexistent sleeping schedule is a topic you’ve yet to broach with him. 

Brown eyes snap open, startling you so badly it’s a miracle your laptop isn’t sent crashing to the floor. Before you can ask what’s wrong, Rockford’s on his feet and stalking off down the hallway in a blur. You blink, caught off guard, and exchange a look with an equally bewildered Banjo. Should you follow after him or…?

A knock on the front door makes the decision for you.

The prospect of a guest sends Banjo into a tizzy, ditching Bamboo without remorse, tail wagging so fast it’s a wonder it doesn’t fly off. You can’t exactly blame him. Other than a quick visit from the landlady to give you your own set of keys and introduce herself— Professor Rosasharn Claremont, an instructor of forensic sciences at the local university with prehensile hair she used to slap the back of Rockford’s head for not visiting her enough—nobody’s knocked on the door as long as you’ve lived here.

You’re not sure who’s brain function shorts out first when you open the door: yours or the unknown man wearing a police badge on his belt. He’s middle-aged, dirty blond hair, a scar twisting along in a distorted line from the left side of his mouth to his ear. A hideous mark, but at the same time intriguing in its uniqueness. You can’t help but think how if it was copied onto the right side, it’d almost look like some kind of villainous grin.

Banjo’s attempt of squeezing between your leg and the doorway to get a good sniff of the man is enough to jumpstart you back into motion. Nudging him away with your socked foot, you tell him to return to his bed, punctuating the command with a firm point of your finger. Only once he sullenly pads away, ears drooped as if you’ve just gutted Bamboo right in front of him with a butcher knife, do you turn back to face the policeman, who appears to have also gotten over his initial surprise.

“Can I help you, officer?”

“Inspector,” he corrects with an accent you can’t quite place, almost like a rumbling sort of growl, but despite the harsh sound his tone is polite as he introduces himself. “Inspector Dorrance with the Fox Leap Police Department. I’m here for Tim Rockford.”

His emotions are almost unnaturally steady, like he’s got the internal parts of a clock ticking away rather than temperamental hormones. You figure he must’ve gone through some sort of training course for mood management. Smart. A lawman with a high pressure job, anger issues, and a loaded gun is a disaster waiting to happen.

“Oh, is this about the case?” you ask with far more perkiness in your voice than you intend. 

“He told you about that, did he,” Inspector Dorrance says in the exact same instant that Rockford calls out from the depths of the apartment, “Get to the point why you’re here, Kez.”

Kez? You mouth to yourself before opening the door wider, inviting the inspector to step inside. He isn’t subtle as he looks around, gaze lingering noticeably on the few personal items of yours spread throughout the room, before he turns towards the hall.

“Another body’s been found. Abandoned warehouse near the wharf.”

“And?” Rockford asks, still out of view. 

Dorrance side-eyes you, clearly debating with himself the legalities of discussing an open case with a civilian present. A civilian he clearly knew nothing about as of two minutes ago. You offer up only silence in response, too curious for your own good to leave without him directly asking.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Your roommate emerges from his office, his trench coat gripped in one hand and mouth fixed in an unimpressed frown. He gestures between you and the inspector. “Kez, my current roommate and match, Roan. Roan, my ex-roommate and one of the only competent members of law enforcement in the city, Keziah. Can we get back to the victim now?”

Your eyes widen. Ex-roommate? How long have they known each other? There’s definitely a story there. 

“I’m sorry,” Dorrance begins, “did you just say she’s your match? When the hell were you going to tell me this happened?”

“Apparently not,” Rockford mutters. “I was going to tell you when it came up. And it just did.”

“You—” Dorrance cuts himself off with a sharp exhale through his nose.

It really is a credit to Dorrance’s mood management training his emotions don’t even so much as dip or catch fire. Instead, he shoots Rockford a look that plainly says, We’re going to be talking about this later, and then turns to face you once more.

“I wish we were meeting on better circumstances. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you since you’re his match that underneath this—” he gestures vaguely at Rockford which doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You just gestured to all of me.”

Dorrance carries on, unbothered, “—is a giant question mark nobody will ever find the answer to. But if I were to bet on anyone coming close, I’d put my money on you.”

“Thank you, I think,” you say, daring a quick glance at Rockford’s face, which you’re pleased to notice has softened the tiniest bit. “You’ll be the first one I tell if I do.”

For whatever reason, your answer has the inspector immediately smirking, left side of his face stretched tight due to the scar tissue.

“Kez, in addition to being a recurring pain in my side,” Rockford explains, sensing your confusion, “is also a lie detector. Any hint of dishonesty and his gift’ll catch it. Makes him handy in the interrogation room.”

Gifts can be interesting like that sometimes, lining up perfectly with a specific job. A singer with the ability to alter their voice to any pitch, a fireman with an immunity to burns, a veterinarian who can speak to animals–you’ve seen them all. Human lie detector is a new one though, you’ll admit.

Dorrance shoves a hand into his pocket, fishing out his phone vibrating with an incoming text. He scans the message, smirk wiped off his face and replaced with grimness. 

“Right, back to the reason I came over,” he says briskly, tucking his cell away again. “You know how the victims never leave notes?”

“Yes.” Rockford’s listening attentively, eyes narrowed. “What of it?”

“This one did.”

Rockford’s expression doesn’t change, not even a twitch of his brow. His mind though, oh his mind’s the calm before the storm. Something’s beginning to stir awake underneath the surface. Tempted by the reveal, hungry for more details to dig its teeth into. 

For weeks you’ve wondered about the depths unknown to your empathy, about what lurks there. You’ve got a distinct, icy certainty crawling up your spine you’re soon to discover another side of your match previously unseen. 

“Will you come to the scene?” Dorrance asks hopefully.

“Of course. No point sitting at home when there’s an exciting development going on.” Rockford begins slipping his arms through the sleeves of his trench coat, adjusting the collar to his liking. “It’s been awhile since I’ve been down to the wharf.”

“Just try not to piss off anyone, will you? One dead body is enough to deal with as it is.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Rockford says with a wry grin. Then, turning to you, he arches an eyebrow, “Well, Roan, you got any plans this evening?”

You think of your laptop back on the couch, numerous job sites still left to be checked. 

“Uh, no,” you answer, shaking your head. “Not really.”

“Roan was in the military,” your roommate tells the inspector, but his eyes remain held on your face, a speculating glint in them that has you subconsciously straightening up. Almost as if you’re standing at attention. “You saw a lot of violent deaths, didn’t you?”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Witnessed several dangerous situations?”

“Worst of the worst. Stuff of pure nightmares.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, becoming heavier. There’s a crime scene needing to be examined, a case to be closed, and yet everything seems to have slowed down all at once. As if the very air itself has frozen solid. And you realize you’re holding your breath, waiting for something.

“Want to see some more?”

An invitation.

Dr. Odair’s been telling you now that you’ve matched and your mind-gift has become more manageable, it’s time to pick up some hobbies. To go out to more places for fun other than just the library and dog park. No doubt she was probably thinking of safe and relaxing options like chess or badminton or pottery classes at the rec center.

The problem though, is that safe and relaxing doesn’t spark a wildfire in your blood, bringing you back to the days where you had a clear purpose to fulfill and problems to deal with head-on. You want another adventure, and here’s one dangling right in front of you, just waiting for you to say—

“Hell yes,” you blurt out, and even without your mind-gift you can tell Rockford’s happy with your choice by the half curl of his mouth and crinkling around his eyes as he asks Dorrance for the address.

The Doubt

Rockford holds the cab door open for you, sliding in after you’ve settled against the plush seat with Banjo secure in your lap. The little mutt’s tail beats a rhythm against your jacket, excited about the trip even if he has no clue the final destination. You’re still not convinced bringing a dog of all creatures to an active crime scene investigation is the wisest move, but let the record show your roommate has a helluva weakness for Banjo’s puppy eyes. 

“Keziah’s team of imbeciles disguised as CSIs are wreaking havoc on the scene as we speak. I highly doubt there’s much more damage Banjo can cause,” Rockford had said with an amused look when you voiced your concern. “Besides, no man left behind. Isn’t that the military creed?”

And well, he wasn’t wrong about that. (Not to mention, you’ve got a pretty big weakness for Banjo’s sweet brown eyes too…)

The drive to the wharf is brief without too much annoying traffic. Outside, the sun’s dipped out of sight and darkness is enveloping the city, street lights blinking on. Inside, it’s quiet except for a country song playing lowly on the radio. The cabbie’s mood is easygoing if not a little bogged down by exhaustion whereas Banjo’s is a bouncy spring of enthusiasm, nose practically pressed against the window as his eyes struggle to keep up with all the sights rolling past. Still, as entertaining as the pup’s emotions are, your mind-gift continues circling back to the man sitting next you like a homing pigeon.

Nothing’s changed within his mindscape during the journey. The calm, almost eerie stillness from before is still in effect. You can tell he’s thinking about something—the man’s never not thinking—but whatever it is clouding his gaze, furrowing his brow, is not disturbing enough to imprint upon your empathy. It’s moments like this one where you wish you were a mind reader, if only for a few seconds. 

“We’re here,” Rockford announces, paying the cabbie his fare.

Scrambling out of the vehicle, you set Banjo down on the ground. While he performs a full-bodied shake, you take in the cluster of police cars and flashing lights and abundance of barricade tape surrounding a warehouse, derelict and foreboding, along the waterfront. The press have also caught wind of the scene, prowling around with their microphones and cameras like vultures. You swallow, subconsciously twisting the leash around your fingers.

You’d wanted an adventure and yet…this is all so very, very different from a battlefield. It’s a whole other form of organized chaos, and it’s terrifying not having the slightest clue how to safely navigate it. 

Your initial fears were misplaced. It won’t be Banjo making a mess. It will be you.

Rockford starts forward, clearly eager to get to work, only to halt after five steps when you fail to follow. He turns around to look you over from head to toe, carefully nudging at your mind-gift as he does so, confusion only deepening when he fails to understand your lack of movement. “Is something the matter?”

You bite your lip, glancing nervously once more between the hive of activity and his steady brown eyes. “I don’t think I belong here.”

Rockford stares at you, the glow of the street light illuminating one side of his face. 

“Do you doubt our match, Miss Roan?” he asks, and it’s a shocking enough question you legitimately can’t tell if he’s joking or not. But if he is being serious…

Your head’s already shaking aggressively before a response forms. “N-no, absolutely not!” you say hastily, frantic to assure him of the truth. You close the gap of distance, hoping somehow being closer will remedy the spiraling situation, but when that doesn’t smoothen out the wrinkles on his forehead your empathy reacts by hurling a tangled ball of loyalty-friendship-safety-contentment straight at him. The most desperate of Hail Mary plays.

Rockford sucks in a breath. You watch his expression spasm, knocked off-kilter, before it settles into something as exasperated as it is fond. This time, the nudge against your mind-gift is firmer, the only warning you get before the ball you’d thrown returns and smacks you square in the chest. 

“Oh,” is your immediate reaction, breathless from the intensity.

What was it he had said before? You and him are two halves of the same whole.

And then there’s a warm hand on top of your head, gentle, affectionate, and you’re breathless for an entirely different reason. You blink up at Rockford, heart thudding in your chest.

“That’s right. You,” he says slowly, purposefully, “belong anywhere I am. Banjo, too.”

Banjo woofs, baring his teeth in a snaggletoothed grin, and you’d chuckle at that if you had any air left in your lungs. Not for the first time, you cannot help but marvel at your match’s realness. There’s no such thing as perfection, but you think he comes pretty damn close. 

“Now you’ve done it,” you aim for humor, but you can’t shake the wobble from your voice. “You'll never know a moment’s peace again.”

“Ah, peace is overrated,” Rockford declares with an unconcerned shrug, hand returning to the pocket of his trench coat. “So, we’re in agreement then. We’re stuck with each other.”

“Mhmm, no take backsies.”

You needed this moment, this reassurance. The doubts you hadn’t even known you carried have been firmly put to rest, vanquished by the proof he values the soulbond tying your lives together just as much as you do. 

But despite the importance of this conversation you can’t keep ignoring the flashing lights up ahead forever. Your eyes slide past Rockford, spotting Inspector Dorrance in his grey suit amongst the sea of navy uniformed officers gesturing with his arms.

“Ultimately, it’s your choice where you go,” Rockford says, and it’s clear he’s made up his own mind by the way he turns away from you, resuming his walk towards the scene. 

You watch the dramatic flaring of the bottom of his coat with each step, watch the tapping of his fingers against his left thigh, watch as the man tosses one last remark over his shoulder:

“Keep up, Roan. We both know you’re coming with me.”

By the time he reaches the barricade tape, you and Banjo are right by his side. Exactly where you both belong.

[hannie-dul-set]

#𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗙𝗟𝗜𝗖𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗢𝗥𝗬 — profiles.

resident slacker turned achiever overnight? what the hell happened! it all started when the both of you got grouped together for a class presentation— you got your first unsatisfactory grade, and park sunghoon got his ego bruised for the first time. conflict is perpetual in all societal spheres. but when it’s two unhealthily competitive and prideful people gnawing at each other’s throats, conflict becomes all the more entertaining.

YN LN: second year political science student at HYBE-U. well-off, has a pretty face, and to top it all off— always gets the perfect grades. but god has to balance things out somehow by giving her a shitty personality and an even shittier mouth to match. maybe that’s why she only has two friends.

HONG JINAE & SONG NARI: second year political science students at HYBE-U. yn's friends from high school and her only two friends.

PARK SUNGHOON: if doing the bare minimum can keep you alive, why waste your energy? is his life’s motto. or at least it was until the first semester of his second year studying political science. part of HYBE-U’s dance crew and is arguably more active there than in the classroom.

JAKE SIM & PARK JAY: second year political science students and sunghoon's roommates. also part of the dance crew along with the next four boys.

LEE HEESEUNG: third year political science major. KIM SUNOO: first year theater major. YANG JUNGWON: first year forensics major. NISHIMURA RIKI: first year culture & arts education major.

EXTRA: the second years are taking the following classes for the semester— international relations, political theory 1, public administration, comparative politics, ethics, and art appreciation.

MASTERLIST | NEXT >

NOTE — so excited to finally start posting! a lot of parts have be stacking up in my drafts so updates will be daily for now. the above schedule definitely isn't based on my hellish 2nd year experience absolutely not haha no way.

TAGLIST (open) — @cerealdreamwriter @tyongff-ff @dinonuguaegi @dammit-jjk @tobiosbbyghorl @chaemmie

CONFLICT THEORY. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[ryuzakemo128]

Content Warning: Implication of past relationship with Tommy Miller. Possible dark themes and implications.

Pairings: Joel Miller x Alessia Romano. / Tommy Miller x Alessia Romano (Past Relationship)

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Masterlist

Being the child of Alessia Romano and Joel Miller would include the following:

1. Alessandra Romano is your older sister, half-sister to be technical. You didn’t know that your uncle is her father until Tommy starts complaining to your father that your mother doesn’t let him see her anymore. Though you had always suspected that it had more to do with Tommy’s behaviour after she went to Jackson to start over with your father. Your mother, Alessia, told you that Tommy was your sister’s father, but it was due to a series of things that Tommy had done that led to her going to no contact with him after moving to Jackson. She also told you that you are still her child, regardless of what father you would have had anyway.

2. Alessia telling you the effects of drugs on the human body to ensure you make a choice based on facts rather than peer pressure. As, your mother worked as a Forensic Pathologist. “If you still want to try them, I will only ask that you don’t smoke it. Brownies are the way to go. You won’t damage your healthy lungs that way. Also, I want to be there to supervise you in case of an emergency.”

3. Joel taking you out camping every second weekend with your uncle Tommy.

4. Alessia buys a second-hand caravan and converts it into a space for you to read, write and hangout with your friends inside.

5. Joel teaching you how to drive and change a tire when you reached the age of 16.

6. Alessia, encouraging you to pursue the world of art. As she says, "My home country loves its art as much as its science." She buys books from thrift stores, dollar stores, book stores to broaden your vocabulary further. Also encouraging you to build a portfolio. Giving you her old anatomy books, "Because artists need this just as much."

7. Alessia and Joel buying matching themed sweaters for you and Alessandra. Especially ones for Christmas. Alessia did fuss over Alessandra, Joel prevented Alessia's panic attack over Alessandra not being able to see it by saying "Alessandra can feel it, can't she? She can feel the warmth of the sweater and the love in the stitch. She'll know it's from us, even if she can't see it." Alessia looked at him, her eyes filled with tears of gratitude. "You're right. She will."

8. A Family of Artists: Alessandra, despite her blindness, was a talented musician. She played the cello and the harp. You, on the other hand, were more into visual arts. You loved painting, drawing, and sculpting. Not only that, but you were constantly experimenting with different mediums and styles, often finding inspiration in the natural world around you.

9. Alessia and Joel painted your bedroom your favourite colour. Painting it a soft lavender colour while you were at school one day. The light blue sky on the ceiling with the white fluffy clouds. The light blue and purple ombre walls, accented with a lava lamp on your beside table. A matching faux fur rug on the floor and lavender curtains. A dark vintage writing desk for your homework and an easel for your caravan.

10. Your first job was at a thrift store, your mother said it would look good on a resume when you went out to look for work. "Think of it this way, it's like a real-life treasure hunt. You never know what you'll find. Maybe a hidden gem, a forgotten masterpiece. And who knows, you might even find a piece of history."

[twistedtummies2]

Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes - Number 2

Welcome to A Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes! During this month-long event, I’ve been counting down my Top 31 Favorite Fictional Detectives, from movies, television, literature, video games, and more!

We’ve reached our penultimate choice in the countdown!

SLEUTH-OF-THE-DAY’S QUOTE: “I Am Vengeance.”

Number 2 is…Batman.

As I said in my rules at the start of this event, I wouldn’t be counting characters I consider more “superhero” than “detective.” HOWEVER, some exceptions do apply: I spoke of the Question in my Honorable Mentions, and Rorschach and the Shadow earlier in the main countdown. These are all characters you could classify as “super detectives”: where they do count in the vein of superheroes (or, at least, pulp-style heroes), but also do qualify as detectives, by virtue of them BEING detectives being a major character trait and element. Out of all the comic detectives out there, in the annals of superhero fiction and anything similar to it…I think it’s fair to say none are as well-known, or as well-enjoyed, as Batman.

Frankly, when a character gets their start in a comic series called “Detective Comics,” and one of their titles is “The World’s Greatest Detective,” I challenge anybody to say they DON’T count. :P

Anyway…I’m quite sure Batman hardly needs an introduction, especially for those familiar with my page, but I might as well go into the basics for anyone who’s been living under a rock for almost a hundred years: Batman is one of the most popular superheroes of all time, if not perhaps THE most popular. The fictional character’s biography is as follows: as a child, Bruce Wayne – the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne, a pair of wealthy philanthropists and the owners of a large and thriving corporation – saw his parents murdered by a mugger, shot down in a back alley. The experience scarred Bruce for life, and he vowed to symbolically avenge his parents’ murder by devoting the rest of his life to fighting crime. He wanted to make sure no other children would experience similar horrors, as long as he could prevent it. He studied forensics and various sciences, trained his body to peak physical perfection, and – inspired by the sight of a bat flying through his window one night (bats being a phobia of his as a boy) – the now-adult Bruce chose to adopt the image of a bat as his motif. He thus became Batman – the Dark Knight, the Caped Crusader – a mysterious vigilante who stalks the streets of Gotham City, facing everything from mad supervillains to common hoodlums, in a neverending war against crime.

The real-life origins of Batman are almost as interesting as his fictional beginnings. Batman was created due to the popularity of Superman, whom many consider to be the first TRUE superhero. DC (which went under another company name at the time, for the record) wanted to create another superhero who could match the Man of Steel. Artist Bob Kane and writer Bill Finger, taking inspiration from various places, jointly created this new character…although I should state that, for a very long time, Kane took sole credit for the matter. (By all accounts, Bob Kane was something of a swindler behind the scenes; for example, Batman’s very first appearance was a direct ripoff of a Shadow magazine story, and this apparently was Kane’s idea.) The thought process behind Batman was to go the opposite direction of Superman: if the Man of Tomorrow was bright and colorful, then the Dark Knight would need to be Gothic and shadowy. If Superman was bold and jocular, then Batman would be stoic and sardonic. Where Clark Kent came from ostensibly humble beginnings, Bruce Wayne would come from wealth and stature. And of course, while Superman had almost Godlike superhuman abilities…Batman, rather famously, was the first “proper” superhero to have NO powers at all.

This is the point where Batman’s abilities as a detective very much come into play. Because for all of the many things you can point to for Bruce Wayne’s success as a crimefighter, I think it all comes down to him, again, being a sort of “super detective.” Even the Shadow, Batman’s chiefest inspirational source, had arcane abilities at his disposal: Bruce Wayne has no otherworldly talents at all. He’s simply a man, with a boatload of money, a brilliant mind, and a LOT of stubborn determination. Many of the best takes on Batman use their mind, not just their fists and gadgets, to tackle problems: he searches for clues to track down culprits, analyzes the way certain criminals tend to operate in order to guess their next move, and frequently uses his wits to outmatch them and find ways to defeat them. Whether he’s facing mortal foes like the Joker or Catwoman, or superhuman beings like Clayface or the Orca, Batman’s greatest asset is that he thinks everything through, and keeps track of everything he’s learned, so he can pursue, battle, and capture the enemies he faces.

To say Batman has been adapted to other media beyond the comics, or even that the comics have continued to evolve and be printed as time goes on, is almost a redundant fact. Indeed, Batman has become one of the most frequently reimagined and re-interpreted characters in fiction; I believe he might be the single most frequently used and reused superhero, in particular, of all time. It’s gotten to a point where actors who get to play the character have declared him to be on par with such famous roles as Hamlet. Meanwhile, writers, critics, and psychologists have compared him to Greek heroes like Prometheus and Odysseus. When a character gains this much clout, and has lasted for so exceptionally long, with so many different interpretations – from colorful and campy to grim and gritty, from noir-esque to flashy and wild – I think they’ve more than earned their place VERY high in the ranks.

That and…well…I love Batman. A lot. So do I really need any of the other reasons I just described to begin with? XD

Tomorrow, the countdown concludes with my Number One pick!

CLUE: “Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

I saw that you were taking all kinds of requests and matchups and was wondering if you could please do a stalker matchup? If not, a romantic matchup would be just as good!!

I’m a 5’4” cis girl who’s grey heteroromantic and ace. I’ve got a sleeper build, green eyes, and too many freckles on my face and body. During the Summer, I work as a head lifeguard but get zero respect from my coworkers which I’ll admit I cry over in the shower every night lmao- I’ve been through every kind of abuse so that’s also v fun and silly but I’m actually in a much better place both physically and mentally rn!

I’m doing a 4+1 in forensic science and chemistry and because of that people think I’m smart… I’m actually so incredibly gullible it’s hilarious. I have a colorguard scholarship and found my nerdy people there. I like to paint water sceneries, surf, fish, practice self-defense, watch horror movies and horror gameplays, listen to classic rock, and listen to hip-hop/rap. I’m an ESFJ-A and 3w2 so I work really hard to impress others because that’s where a lot of my happiness comes from! I hope I didn’t write too much and you don’t have to include all the random stuff but I’m so excited to see what you come up with! : ]

Hi!! Thank you for the request! I'm happy someone had the courage to ask! I'm glad you're doing better, no one deserves to be treated that way! I hope you enjoy and this hits well for you <33

I match you with... Bloody Painter! 🎨

[STALKER MATCHUP]

He's the type to watch you allllll the time

When he saw you painting by the lake, he was instantly in love

So from there he followed you home, waited until you were asleep and absolutely stalked the SHIT out of your paintings.

He probably took some too 👀

When you'd finally realize your art stuff going missing, you'd get suspicious of course. Which leads him to leaving new and different supplies at your doorstep. Often stuff that was incredibly expensive and that you probably couldn't afford

Once he realizes you're in the color guard, he'll paint equipment for you to practice with (new of course so you still have your plain ones).

He'll follow you to work, watching you from afar, sitting on your tower watching the kids and families in the water. But when he sees your coworker badmouthing you... It's over... (more on this further down!)

[ROMANCE MATCHUP]

Honestly as I was reading this, it was hard for me to choose between EJ and Helen but obviously here we are!

I feel like he's secretly attracted to your build. He enjoys seeing your muscles pop when you're doing things. Whether it's an obvious display or you didn't intend for them to show, he loves it.

The mask makes it way easier for him to hide his endearing smile when he watches you

I don't feel like he's really an outdoors person but he would certainly take time to come watch you practice with your flag or ride the waves. Just make sure he's properly protected from the sun! (man burns, he doesn't tan)

Like I mentioned before, he loves seeing the way your muscles work effortlessly when you toss your flag or when you stand up on your board against the harsh waves. (it makes going outside at least a little enjoyable for him to be able to watch you)

Often the two of you will have painting dates. He paints all the time (with blood or not) and when you ask him to go out to the lake to paint the scene, he'll happily join you. I imagine you'd take breaks to fish as well, allowing yourself to get fresh eyes. He would definitely include you fishing into his elaborate painting.

He's the type to always boost you up. He likes your painting? He'll shower it with compliments. You couldn't catch that toss? "It's okay my love, practice makes perfect!".

Just know, you don't have to work hard to impress this man at all. He's madly in love with you and he's stunned by all of your diverse talents.

When you come home in tears from your shift at the beach, he'll hold you in his arms and let you tell him what all happened to make you so upset. Throughout your explanation he'll give you soft kisses on the top of your head, making sure to let you know he's listening and he cares for you.

He's definitely a double hand holder too when things get serious like that

It'll take a few days for him to get the job done, but that's only because he's particular. Probably close to a week later you'll be greeted with a small painting when you get home. On the canvas is finger-painted hearts and his signature, along with the name of your coworker who talked badly about you.

Hopefully they can find more staff! 😁

I hope you enjoyed this! Feel free to come back and request any time! You could even give yourself your own anon emoji if you'd like 😉

[worldwideinvestigationservices]

Forensic Investigations: Techniques, Challenges, and Real-World Impact

Today’s era of crime has seen a major revolution. Detecting criminals is no longer just a matter of luck or detective work but has been turned into a science. The forensic investigations, a key weapon of modern justice, are the ones that overturned what seemed to be dead cases, gave answers to the multiple questions that the puzzles left and helped courts get on with the enacting of correct and legitimate decisions. Many crimes, such as the one that occurred yesterday or have been left for dead for 20 years as a cold case, are generally resolved by using science and technology.

Forensic investigations can be looked at from different facets sourcing from their operation, the issues encountered by professionals and the unbelievable ways they have been transforming laws and people’s lives in the world. (https://www.forensicexpertsindia.com/cyber-forensics-investigation.html )This is a field that is continuously evolving!

What Are Forensic Investigations?

Definition and Purpose

Forensic investigation is the application of scientific techniques to solve crimes through the collection, examination, and interpretation of the evidence which are physically present at the crime scene. In other words, it is the science of crime-solving. When the evidence is the trace of a human touch such as fingerprints, digital files, various bodily fluids, or even broken glass then the expert's job is to go through it and bring to light the real conditions.

Cyber Forensic Data Recovery is essential to contemporary forensic investigations, particularly when resolving digital fraud and cybercrimes. To recover erased, encrypted, or hidden data from computers, mobile devices, and cloud systems, investigators employ sophisticated techniques. In both criminal and corporate investigations, this procedure aids in locating important digital evidence, such as emails, files, or transaction records.

Key Fields of Forensics

There is undoubtedly more than one kind of forensic examination. Let’s have a look at some main areas:

Criminal Forensics: This refugee particularly emphasizes the physical evidence as a source of data to be used for the purpose of the penetration of a criminal scene. It may also focus on DNA, blood, hair, weapons, or bullets to identify the criminals.

Digital Forensics: This deals with the extraction of data from electronic gadgets such as computers, cell phones, and cloud storage. It is most important in cybercrime cases. 

Oxicology, Pathology, and Trace Evidence: Toxicology, pathology, and trace evidence deal with issues that caused death, got people poisoned, or substances left at crime scenes, respectively.

Each of them contributes to an overall picture of the case in its own unique way.

Techniques Used in Forensic Investigations

Evidence Collection and Preservation

The first step in any investigation is collecting and preserving evidence properly. It includes the following:

Photographing and documenting the crime scene

Wearing gloves to keep from contaminating yourself

Labeling and storing items in the right place

Ensuring the chain of custody is unbroken (a list of people who have touched the evidence) is a must. Otherwise, the evidence could become inadmissible in a court of law if the chain of custody was broken.

Laboratory Analysis Methods

Evidence collected in the field is taken to the laboratory for identification and examination. The most popular methods include the following:

DNA Testing: Finding the person who was at the crime scene by DNA matching

Fingerprint Analysis: Identifying users through unique patterns

Toxicology Reports: Enumerating products, alcohol, or poison in a body

Ballistics: Determining if a bullet corresponds to a weapon

These technological methods are crucial for forensic investigations to be taken seriously in court.

Digital Forensics Techniques

In this digital era, professionals in digital forensics work as if they are the new dust on fingerprints. They are equipped with special software and gadgets which allow them to:

Recover deleted files or messages

Analyze login data and browsing history

Do the imaging of the hard drive or mobile phone as well as the copying, please.

A great question is what? Devices that have been encrypted. Today's mobile phones are typically secured with difficult algorithms, thus it is difficult to retrieve data for detectives.

Challenges in Conducting Forensic Investigations

Legal and Ethical Concerns

Compliance with the law is the most significant difficulty. To illustrate:

Is it legally permitted for investigators to unlock a phone without a warrant?

May they have access to cloud accounts?

These inquiries can be a setback or a complete stop to a forensic investigation

Technical Limitations

Encryption is a complicated matter. It guards the rights of users, but at times, it may also be a deterrent from the criminal procedure's side towards accessing the necessary information. Apart from encryption, there also are the following technical difficulties:

Damaged storage devices

Outmoded file formats

Incomplete or corrupted data

The sleuths need to keep their gear and skills as current as possible in order to remain at the top.

Human Error and Bias

Humans are still prone to errors in the laboratory. A mistake in labeling, a wrong interpretation of the test result, or favoring a solution can be the main cause of a conviction based on incorrect evidence. Peer review, oversight, and standardized procedures are thus the pillars of forensic science.

Impact of Forensic Investigations in Reality

Resolution of Long-Standing Issues

Here is an example of how technology in the field of DNA has not only succeeded in transforming existing systems but also in turning around those systems. Some of the cases that were never finished more than twenty years ago are now being put to rest. Sometimes, something as simple as a DNA match or a piece of evidence that is so small that it is invisible can bring families to a point of closure after years of their questions going unanswered.

Dealing with Cybercrime and Corporate Investigations

Forensic investigations can be involved not only in investigating homicides but also in:

Cybercrime: Tracing hackers, ransomware attacks, and data breaches

Corporate Espionage: Uncovering insider threats or intellectual property theft

It's a time when digital forensic investigators have become the last line of defense against deceitful actions, a role that is vital in the era of untrustworthy deepfakes.

Forensic Investigations in the Future’s Span

Venturing Into Novel Territory

Emerging technologies are at the forefront of this change. Utilizing artificial intelligence and machine learning technologies, experts in the investigative field can more accurately and faster detect patterns that would normally be invisible to the human eye. Additionally, the investigation of blockchain for evidence that does not allow tampering of transparent digital records is a current trend.

Those techs will definitely mark the investigations more punctuate, faultless and unchallenged in court.

Preparation of the New Force

There’s a rise in cybercrimes where new categories of criminal activities are being created, and so there is a great need for more forensic experts, mostly in the digital forensics sector. This has given rise to the specialization courses and certification of digital forensic. Whether you are the tech-savvy kind or the one that enjoys science, a career in forensics will be both beneficial and fulfilling.

Conclusion

Black suits, police sirens? Forensic investigations, really, are the ones that give justice a back in the 21st century. Using DNA swabs and having to decrypt hard drives, forensic professionals are the ones that make the truth come out.

As technology develops, forensic science tools and methods will evolve. But the only constant in this business remains the finding of truth, the dispensation of justice, and the societal healing mission.

[nosmokesport]

Historic Michael Jordan Jersey From 1992-93 Fetches $2.6M in Auction Spotlight

In a remarkable reminder that legends never truly retire, an iconic piece of basketball history recently made headlines far from the hardwood. A Chicago Bulls jersey worn by Michael Jordan during the 1992-93 NBA season has sold for a staggering $2.623 million, proving once again that Jordan’s influence on the game—and culture at large—remains unmatched.

While Jordan has long since hung up his sneakers, artifacts from his storied career continue to captivate fans and collectors alike. This particular jersey sale, finalized at Heritage Auctions, may not have broken the all-time record for sports memorabilia, but it carries a special significance rooted in both its sheer rarity and the unforgettable season it represents.

A Jersey That Lived the Grind

Unlike playoff-worn gear or single-game relics, this jersey has been authenticated as having seen extensive game action—believed to have been used in at least 17 NBA games, and possibly more than 30 total appearances. Experts suggest it was likely Jordan’s go-to road uniform for a major stretch of the 1992-93 season, spanning from November 6, 1992, to March 24, 1993.

What sets this jersey apart isn’t a single moment—it’s a collection of them. It tells the story of a season in which Jordan was relentless, electrifying, and as dominant as ever. It’s not about a buzzer-beater or a trophy ceremony. It’s about consistency, excellence, and the day-in, day-out brilliance of the NBA’s most transcendent icon.

The Final Chapter of a Dynasty

The 1992-93 campaign wasn’t just any season—it marked the culmination of Jordan’s first three-peat with the Bulls, securing a third consecutive championship and further solidifying Chicago as the basketball capital of the world.

It was also a season of personal excellence for MJ. Averaging 32.6 points per game, Jordan led the NBA in scoring for a seventh straight year, tying a record previously held by the legendary Wilt Chamberlain. Fans who were lucky enough to see him live during that era remember a player who made the impossible seem routine.

The sale of this jersey is more than a nostalgic nod to greatness—it’s a celebration of a specific moment in time, right before Jordan stunned the sports world by retiring for the first time. That twist, following the tragic murder of his father and a desire to pursue baseball, made the jersey’s timeline even more poignant.

Authenticity Backed by Science

Modern sports memorabilia is a world defined by precision—and this jersey has been put through a rigorous authentication process that separates it from the sea of fakes and replicas.

Two of the most respected photo-matching agencies in the world—MeiGray and Sports Investors Authentication (SIA)—verified the jersey using high-resolution images, game footage, and wear-pattern analysis. The uniform was conclusively matched to 11 full games, with six additional games confirmed for either the jersey or shorts.

This kind of forensic authentication is extremely rare, especially for apparel from the early ’90s. It’s not just about checking a tag or verifying a signature. It’s about aligning thread patterns, sweat stains, and battle scars with hard data.

A Cultural Relic—Not Just a Uniform

If the box score history wasn’t enough, the jersey is also linked to a defining pop culture moment. Michael Jordan was wearing this exact uniform on the cover of Sports Illustrated’s October 18, 1993 issue—the one that hit newsstands just days after he announced his first retirement.

That cover image—Jordan mid-air, clad in his red Bulls uniform—became a visual eulogy to an era. For many fans, that photo symbolized the end of something magical, the closing of a chapter they thought would never end.

And now, the jersey from that image has become part of a private collection or perhaps the centerpiece of a future exhibit. Either way, it has transcended mere fabric to become a time capsule of basketball royalty.

Who Owns It? That’s a Mystery.

So who dropped over $2.6 million on this storied piece of cloth?

For now, the buyer remains anonymous. Heritage Auctions hasn’t released a name, and no public figure has come forward to claim the prize. Whether it’s a billionaire collector or a major sports museum, one thing is clear: the new owner didn’t just purchase a jersey—they acquired a chapter of American sports folklore.

A Booming Market for Basketball Relics

Jordan’s collectibles have long dominated the market, but recent years have seen prices reach truly historic highs. In 2022, a jersey he wore during Game 1 of the 1998 NBA Finals—part of the Last Dance era—fetched $10.091 million, becoming the most expensive piece of sports memorabilia ever sold.

This 1992-93 uniform might not carry the same spotlight as a Finals jersey, but to many, its value is arguably more profound. It represents the grind, the journey, and the day-to-day dominance that made Jordan not just a champion, but a legend.

It’s not the exclamation point—it’s the sentence that built the paragraph.

Why Jordan Still Matters

Why do people continue to pay top dollar for Michael Jordan memorabilia?

It’s not just nostalgia—it’s reverence. Jordan is more than a retired athlete. He’s a global symbol of excellence, ambition, and cultural crossover. He took basketball to places no one thought possible. He inspired generations, influenced fashion, changed marketing, and elevated sneaker culture to an art form.

In many ways, owning a piece of Jordan’s career is like owning a piece of modern mythology. It’s not just about basketball—it’s about transcendence.

Final Takeaway: This Wasn’t Just Fabric—It Was Fire

The $2.623 million sale of Michael Jordan’s 1992-93 Bulls road jersey is about more than headlines. It’s a reminder that the most powerful stories in sports are not always about championships, but about the relentless pursuit of greatness.

This uniform traveled the country with the GOAT, endured physical battles, lit up arenas, and stood front and center during one of the most emotionally charged seasons in NBA history.

Now, it belongs to someone who didn’t just see a price tag—they saw legacy.

And in a world where greatness is too often fleeting, this jersey remains a stitched reminder that once, there was a man named Michael Jordan who made the world stop and watch—night after night, game after game.

Source: Michael Jordan’s Iconic 1992-93 Season Jersey Auctioned for Record Price

[beyondcrimescenetapes]

Fur-rensic Science

The Disappearance of Shirley Duguay: A Case Solved by Forensic Science

On October 7, 1994, Shirley Duguay, a 32-year-old stay-at-home mother of five from Prince Edward Island (PEI), Canada, went missing from her home. Her disappearance sparked one of the largest searches in the history of PEI, involving neighbors, police, and even the military. What followed was a groundbreaking investigation that relied on forensic science to solve the mystery of her disappearance—a case that would make history in the field of criminal justice.

The Discovery of the Abandoned Car

The investigation began when police received a report of an abandoned car in a field near Shirley’s home. The vehicle had no license plates, and upon closer inspection, investigators discovered bloodstains inside. The blood spatter pattern suggested medium-impact trauma, consistent with someone being struck by a blunt object. The car’s serial number was traced back to Shirley Duguay, confirming her connection to the vehicle.

Shirley was known to occasionally disappear for a few days without informing anyone of her whereabouts. However, this time, the circumstances were far more suspicious. To confirm whether the blood belonged to Shirley, investigators collected a DNA sample from her father. Since a child inherits 50% of their DNA from each parent, the sample was compared to the blood found in the car. The results confirmed that the blood was indeed Shirley’s.

The Search for Evidence

As the search for Shirley intensified, investigators found a blood-soaked pillow near the abandoned car, which Shirley often used while driving. However, further forensic analysis revealed another blood sample at the crime scene that did not match Shirley’s DNA. This raised a critical question: Whose blood was it?

The search expanded to include land and sea, with authorities meticulously combing through the area. Desperate for leads, the Royal Canadian Police even sought the help of psychics and hypnosis. Weeks later, a breakthrough came when police discovered a shovel half a mile from the abandoned car. Two long hairs were attached to the shovel, and microscopic analysis confirmed they were a match to Shirley’s hair samples taken from her hairbrush.

The Leather Jacket and Sneakers

Fifteen miles from the abandoned car, investigators found a plastic bag containing sneakers and a blood-stained male leather jacket. The blood on the jacket matched Shirley’s DNA. Shirley’s father, who had his suspicions, pointed investigators toward her estranged husband, Doug Beamish. The couple had been separated for 18 months, and during their 15-year marriage, Doug had a history of abusing Shirley.

When questioned by investigators, Doug denied any involvement in Shirley’s disappearance. However, the sneakers found at the scene were size 9—the same size Doug wore. To confirm the connection, forensic podiatrist Dr. Keith Bettles' analyzed the sneakers. By comparing the wear patterns, pressure points, and unique characteristics of Doug’s feet (including his pronated feet and hyper flexed toes), Dr. Bettles' concluded that the sneakers belonged to Doug. Despite this evidence, Doug continued to deny ownership of the sneakers and the leather jacket.

The Cat Hair Breakthrough

The leather jacket contained 20 long white hairs that, under microscopic examination, were determined to be non-human. Human hair has thin medullas, while animal hair has thick medullas. Investigators recalled that during their interview with Doug, a pure white cat named Snowball had rubbed against one of the officers, leaving behind cat hair. This observation led them to suspect that the hairs on the jacket might belong to Snowball.

At the time, there was no established forensic testing method for animal DNA. However, investigators reached out to Dr. Stephen O’Brien, a geneticist at the National Cancer Institute (NCI) who was studying hereditary illnesses in cats. Dr. O’Brien agreed to analyze the hairs. Investigators collected a blood sample from Snowball and delivered it to Dr. O’Brien’s lab.

In the lab, DNA was extracted from the roots of the hairs found on the jacket and compared to Snowball’s blood sample. Dr. O’Brien confirmed a match, stating, “We got a very clear match between the genotype of each of the markers in the hair to each of the same markers in Snowball.” To ensure the accuracy of the findings, blood samples from 20 other cats in the area were tested. The results showed significant genetic diversity, and the probability of another cat having the same DNA profile as Snowball was calculated to be 1 in 70 million.

The Discovery of Shirley’s Body

Seven months after Shirley’s disappearance, a fisherman discovered a body in a shallow pit along Canada’s Enmore River. The location matched a tip provided by a psychic, who had suggested searching near water and under pine trees. The body was identified as Shirley Duguay. An autopsy revealed that she had died from blunt force trauma, consistent with the blood spatter pattern found at the crime scene. Her nose was broken, her jaw was fractured in three places, and one of her front teeth was found lodged in her lung.

The Arrest and Conviction of Doug Beamish

Doug Beamish was arrested and charged with Shirley’s murder. In addition to the forensic evidence linking him to the crime scene, investigators found a threatening letter written in his blood, demanding custody of their children. Photographs also showed Doug wearing a leather jacket identical to the one found at the scene the day before Shirley disappeared.

On July 19, 1996, Doug Beamish was sentenced to 18 years to life in prison. His appeals in 1998 and 1999 were rejected, and in 2013, his request for parole was denied. The case remains a landmark in forensic science, marking the first time animal DNA was used to secure a murder conviction.

disclaimer: the cat picture is from https://daniellespires.wordpress.com/2023/07/31/snowball-the-crime-solving-cat/

[yourbravestpigeon]

Grandpa AU - July 1993

Coppelia really really hadn’t meant to walk in on them again. It was just that they were awfully quiet during sex, rarely ever alerting her to stay the fuck away from Margaret’s room. Or the living room in this case.

She gave them half a minute to slide off each other and for Alberich to wipe some of the blood off his face before she barged back in to open all windows, ignoring her friends as they finished untangling from each other. Margaret didn’t look thrilled. Coppelia decided to look even less thrilled.

“I thought you were off to some game night.”

“I’m hosting the game night”, Coppelia said, setting down the bag of groceries with a thud. Really, she’d been gone for less than 40 minutes. Just one quick trip to the closest discount grocery store. “Get your DNA off my couch pillow”, she instructed Alberich, tossing him the tshirt that lay crumpled on their coffee table.

“That’s her DNA”, he said indicating Margaret, but he did at least put on the shirt so she wouldn’t have to see all of his ribcage anymore. Coppelia turned to Margaret. She did have a bit of a split lip but other than that she looked perfectly composed, and Coppelia threw her a grim look that was supposed to convey all nuances of I thought we’d said no forensic evidence in the shared living spaces.

“Who’s coming?”, her friend inquired calmly, putting on clothes and sitting back in her chair. She didn’t seem phased in the slightest, and Coppelia had to admit she envied that chiseled in stone kind of confidence.

“Some people from my library sciences group.”

“The library scientists”, Alberich said with what was probably a mocking smile. Coppelia sighed.

“Yes. I invited them over for a couple board games.”

“I really thought you’d left”, Margaret said. Given that she’d seen all of Alberich’s pale little ass and some more, Coppelia would say that that much was evident. She didn’t know whether the fact that it wasn’t the first time made it better or worse.

“Look”, she said, “I’d love to keep chatting with you, but unless you want to play charades with a bunch of library scientists, I gotta ask you to clear the premises.”

“That won’t be a problem”, Margaret declared, taking the bloodied pillow with her as she left. Coppelia didn’t hear her turn on a tap to soak it in cold water, so she supposed they just had one less couch pillow now. Alberich stayed back a second longer, and Coppelia looked at the orangy smears drying on her friend’s face. Back when they’d met as lowly undergrads – her horrified by all the crowds and him with a confidence that didn’t match his bad English – she hadn’t anticipated that sitting next to him in class would one day lead to him rolling around naked on her couch. The blood wasn’t a surprise though, if she was being honest.

“I’m glad you guys made up again”, she commented. “You look happy.”

“Thats kind of the point of sex.”

“No, really. I’m glad.”

She maintained eye contact, not letting him get away with it for once. Alberich looked conflicted to produce a single wholesome sentence but did manage to land on a “Thank you” after a bit of a struggle, sincerity foreign on his tongue. Coppelia nodded, letting him be and going back to preparing the room for her uni friends. She still had a couple minutes left before people would start arriving, but if she got everything out now she might find the time to make herself a sandwich before filling up on sugar for the rest of the evening. Alberich watched her fill pretzels and candy into bowls for a minute, then got up to follow his girlfriend. As he stood, he swept an assessing look up and down Coppelia.

“You’re partly responsible for it”, he allowed before he headed back to Margaret’s room.

[phd-in-forensic-science]

Career Paths for Forensic Science PhD Graduates

Introduction about PhD in Forensic Science

A PhD in Forensic Science is an advanced academic program designed for individuals passionate about applying scientific principles to investigating and resolving criminal cases. This interdisciplinary field integrates chemistry, biology, physics, and law knowledge to analyze and interpret evidence found at crime scenes. The program focuses on developing advanced research skills, specialized forensic techniques, and a deep understanding of the legal system, preparing graduates for careers in academia, research institutions, law enforcement, and private industry.

How can I Apply for Admission to PhD in Forensic Science?

The process for applying for the PhD admission follows these general steps

. Research Programs and Universities

Identify Programs: Research universities that offer PhD programs in Forensic Science. Look for programs that align with your research interests and career goals.

Faculty and Research Areas: Investigate the faculty members and their research areas to find potential advisors whose work matches your interests.

2. Meet Academic Requirements

Educational Background: Ensure you have the necessary academic qualifications. Most programs require a Bachelor’s or Master’s degree in Forensic Science, Chemistry, Biology, or a related field.

GPA Requirements: Maintain a strong GPA, typically a minimum of 3.0 to 3.5 on a 4.0 scale, though this can vary by institution.

3. Prepare for Standardized Tests

GRE Scores: Some PhD programs require GRE (Graduate Record Examination) scores, though this requirement is becoming less common. Check the specific requirements of each program.

English Proficiency Tests: If English is not your first language, you may need to take the TOEFL or IELTS to demonstrate proficiency. Ensure you meet the minimum score requirements.

4. Gain Research Experience

Research Projects: Participate in research projects during your undergraduate or Master’s studies to gain relevant experience.

Publications and Presentations: Publish your research in academic journals and present at conferences if possible.

5. Gather Application Materials

Transcripts: Obtain official transcripts from all post-secondary institutions you have attended.

Letters of Recommendation: Secure strong letters of recommendation from professors or professionals who can attest to your research abilities and academic potential. Typically, 2-3 letters are required.

Personal Statement: Write a compelling personal statement or statement of purpose. Discuss your research interests, career goals, and reasons for choosing the specific PhD program.

Curriculum Vitae (CV): Prepare a detailed CV that includes your academic background, research experience, publications, and any relevant work experience.

6. Contact Potential Advisors

Initial Contact: Reach out to potential advisors whose research aligns with your interests. Introduce yourself, discuss your research background, and express your interest in their work.

Research Proposal: Some programs may require a detailed research proposal outlining your intended research during the PhD. Collaborate with your potential advisor to develop this document.

7. Submit Applications

Application Form: Complete the online application form for each program you are applying to.

Application Fees: Pay the required application fees.

Supporting Documents: Upload or send all required supporting documents, including transcripts, test scores, letters of recommendation, personal statement, CV, and any other required materials.

8. Prepare for Interviews

Interview Preparation: Some programs may require an interview as part of the admissions process. Prepare to discuss your research experience, interests, and why you chose the program.

Mock Interviews: Conduct mock interviews with peers or mentors to practice your responses.

9. Financial Planning

Funding Opportunities: Investigate funding options such as scholarships, assistantships, fellowships, and grants offered by the university or external organizations.

Financial Aid Applications: Submit any required financial aid applications.

10. Follow Up

Application Status: Monitor the status of your application through the university's application portal.

Additional Information: Be prepared to provide additional information or documents if requested by the admissions committee.

What is the eligibility for a PhD in Forensic Science?

Forensic Science eligibility 2024 with in Biological Science can vary depending on the university or college offering the program. However, here are some common eligibility requirements you may encounter

Academic Qualifications

Educational Background:

Bachelor’s Degree: Most programs require at least a Bachelor’s degree in Forensic Science, Chemistry, Biology, Biochemistry, or a related field.

Master’s Degree: Some programs prefer or require a Master’s degree in Forensic Science or a closely related discipline. Exceptional candidates with a Bachelor’s degree and significant research experience may also be considered.

GPA Requirements:

A minimum GPA is often required, typically around 3.0 to 3.5 on a 4.0 scale. The specific requirement can vary by institution.

Research Experience

Prior Research:

Demonstrated experience in research is crucial. This can include undergraduate or Master’s research projects, internships, or work in forensic laboratories.

Having publications in scientific journals or presenting research at conferences can significantly strengthen your application.

Standardized Tests

GRE Scores:

Some PhD programs require GRE (Graduate Record Examination) scores, though this requirement is becoming less common. Check the specific requirements of each program you are interested in.

English Proficiency Tests:

For non-native English speakers, proficiency in English must be demonstrated through tests such as TOEFL or IELTS. Minimum score requirements vary by institution but generally fall within these ranges:

TOEFL: Minimum scores typically range from 80 to 100.

IELTS: Minimum scores typically range from 6.5 to 7.5.

Letters of Recommendation

References:

Typically, 2-3 letters of recommendation are required. These should come from academic or professional references who can speak to your research abilities, academic performance, and potential for success in a PhD program.

Personal Statement

Statement of Purpose:

A well-crafted personal statement or statement of purpose is essential. This should outline your research interests, career goals, reasons for pursuing a PhD in Forensic Science, and why you are interested in the specific program.

Additional Criteria

Interview:

Some programs may require an interview as part of the admissions process. This could be in person or via video conference. Be prepared to discuss your research experience, interests, and motivations.

Prerequisite Courses:

Depending on your previous educational background, you may need to complete specific prerequisite courses before or during your PhD program.

Institutional-Specific Requirements

Application Forms and Fees:

Complete the application form and pay any required application fees for each program you are applying to.

Research Proposal:

Some programs may require a detailed research proposal outlining your intended research during the PhD. This is particularly common if you have already identified a potential supervisor and research project.

Professional Experience (Optional)

Relevant Work Experience:

Having work experience in a forensic laboratory or related setting can be an advantage, though it is not always required.

About us

If you are confused about choosing a PhD university in India don’t worry college Jio educational portal offers various certified universities with affordable fee structures. For more details visit the university portal

[forensicfield]

Forensic Science-Match Of The Following

Forensic Science-Match Of The Following

1. Match the following in case of deciphering of secret writings: List IList IIa. Soapi. Heatb. Milkii. Ferric compoundsc. Sodium Chloride iii. Waterd. Potassium thiocyanateiv. Silver nitrate Codes: abcd(A)iiiiivii(B)iviiiiii(C)iiiiviii(D)iviiiiii Answer: (A) 2. Match the following: List IList IIa. Cardiaci. Brucineb. Deleriantii. Calotropinc. Spinal iii. Aconitined, Irritantiv.…