LOOKING FOR > IND. MUSES!!

backstory. teacher Andrew loves his students, kinda. he’s perpetually annoyed at them, but he’s introduced to them this new learning method where he brings in a dead body (previously a medical examiner-- still in the field as an assistant) and centers the course around it-- as he teaches human anatomy. While most the class got into it, these specific few students just wanted to know more. Fast forward to building a solid teacher/student relationship with them, mister sir Andrew here decides to open shop with them. plot. so, even though illegal, the small group stays after school to do...something. For money. Good money. Basically it goes like this; teacher brings in a crime victim (a dead one) > students erase all possible evidence found on/in it > killer doesn’t get arrested > group gets mad cash. Oh yeah, and they all learn about criminology, pizza and drinks free of charge..Because, you know, they’re at school to learn and stuff. Teacher Andrew gets more and more obsessed with this business though, which will pretty much take a toll on the students’ lives.

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Having been mother-less for most of his timeline, Andrew always looked for comfort in the ickiest of places. You know, that peculiar bar on the corner of the street that seems always closed, but it’s only because there are no windows and the first floor has nothing ( not even lights! ) except stairs that lead down into what seems like an even darker room. But...once you go through those two levels of demonic vibe, you find out the people that infest the place are all looking for that same kind of comfort.

He was lucky to have found his soulmate in that hellhole of a “bar”. And they only really proclaimed themselves as soulmates after they realized their sex was so great it could’ve been punishable by death. Forgive me father, I have sinned and all that jazz. That kind of sex. When marriage ensues a few weeks later, you damn well know something fishy was inside the liquor that was being served in that downstairs bar. Soon though, madam Gallagher demands a child on their fourth year anniversary ( he’s only 24! ), and he tries, you know, just for her. Doesn’t that mean more good sex anyway?

Almost a year and two miscarriages later, the bump’s finally pushing out. Even though he hasn’t been around as much ( she’s blamed the miscarriages on the fact that he smells like death and that the odor affected the fetus ), it makes him happy. Kind of. He’s getting anxious. A child? No way.

Seventh month and her things are packed and ready to go. Well. It was never his kid, she says, she stayed because she felt bad, she adds, but now she has to go with the father, she finishes, and for some reason, Andrew feels relieved.

Being a divorced man sounds hot, right? -- The same mantra he’s been repeating for over ten years.

Because apparently someone has something urgent to tell him.

He lets out a choked snort as soon as he hears the voice on the other end of the line, all the while removing bits of insides clogged on the latex of his gloves. It’s almost an art, the way his phone is held in between his ear and shoulder, hands nonchalantly doing their thing, like two monkeys cleaning themselves by eating each other’s lice. Which, funnily enough, sounded exactly like the kind of relationship he used to share with the person on the phone. Except the monkeys were human, and the lice symbolized problems, and instead of being cleaned off, it was more like buried under. How romantic!

And despite the apathy he feels for this person, he’s still nodding at her words and furrowing his eyebrows to fully understand her and his whole body is just trying to mirror hers even though he can’t see her, but they’ve been in each other’s business so fucking much, it’s that easy. “What do you mean, they’re outside?” And that’s the story of how a man who looked like he murdered half of a hospital’s residency ran to the outdoors, looking more and more like a suspect. You know, deep breaths, damp forehead, slight frown.....definitely not the bloodied clothing, face, and arms though.

Andrew picks up his now-red cellphone, shakily dials a number that, although not usual, always cherished. “Minkyung!”, he pauses for a second, maybe this isn’t that good of an idea anymore, maybe he’s bothering her routine, just like miss i-have-something-urgent-to-tell-you earlier had done to him, but at this point he doesn’t know what to do anymore, and he can’t fuck it up ( as much as he’d like to ). “Listen...I need your help.” Andrew hates phone conversations. He hates not knowing what the other’s facial expressions are, he hates how awkward his big fingers are on a teeny-tiny screen, but most of all, he despises looking like he’s too busy to talk to people face-to-face. Gosh.

Thank you ! And yes I’ve realized there’s a lack of older characters in krp, but it’s probably because of the fact that kpop itself considers 24+ ‘old’. My ultimate goal would be to roleplay a 60-70 year old muse because can you imagine.....just how many things can happen in a lifetime. 

It was a beautiful day outside, almost too Truman Show-like. Andrew stared directly at the sun for no more than 4 seconds, making sure there weren’t any camera crew camping inside of it, filming his every step and broadcasting it to a more futuristic world that he’s been snatched out of. No storm- he was safe. It was important for him to absorb the vitamin D molecules at least once a week, considering the blue-ish neon lights in the 6th basement floor weren’t exactly up to par with the nature of the sun. Or the yellow-ish neon lights in the science classroom of the highschool he’s known for so long, covered by the billions of dumb questions, dumber chuckles and dumbest jokes he’s ever witnessed.

Andrew was just that; a pawn in the game of Life that took a wrong turn after rolling a seven instead of a four. Skip the popularity card! Skip the wedding card ( or tear it in two after winning it )! Skip the prosperous and secure life! Is that an entrance to Hell over there? Hey, who cares if it’s not even the same game anymore, that’s where your character belongs. And it’s not like it was really obvious or anything that he’s stepped into a realm that was aiming to kill him- losing your job is something that happens to many people. A perfectly good, slightly used knee was a little less typical to break, but it happened. Looking like an unsuccessful necromancer? Now that took effort from the destiny demons to screw around with. Who knew life was such a great stylist? Just be born and the rest will be taken care of!

Maybe that was why the old lady on the opposite side of the street was staring at him. She’s probably thinking that he’s going to drain the life out of her if he gets too close ( and by close, it’s more like ten to twenty meters away ). He pulls a slight bit on his collar, letting his throat size up because what the fuck is this smell? It’s not quite rotten-- he knows more about that than he can admit-- but it’s dirty. It’s dense. It’s staring right at him, the dying lady. Like someone cleaned a whole room with chlorine bleach, but forgot the infectious lump of maggots in the corner. The door to her house is wide open, any passerby could hear the screeching of the television, the news anchor screaming at them, guilting them into donating money to the poor children in Africa, exposing the drug abuse of the high-class, joining the search par-- click! Just like that, silence. And just like that, the senior stomps back into her home, doing that eye-widening thing old people do at Andrew and shuts her door; ah, but not before snatching tiny, eight-year-old hands off the frame.

—Ohhhhh boy. Your non-daughter daughter. Please, dear God, tell me I’m the star of a show that’s been going on for forty-one years.

“You-- you!”, he’s doing that pointing-finger thing that all teachers do when they’re trying to pick on the student that’s not focused, except his finger is shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the insomnia, the coffee, the old lady, or just because he’s about to fucking puke. “Is that your grandmother? Do you live around here?” He places a hand around his mouth-- what if he says too much? What if it’s just her grandchild being annoying as per children do?

“I can assure you that one last fart contains far more life than anything that’s ever crept up my nose– but let’s not open that can of worms. To answer your question though…no? It’s not that a body came back to life, more like the person was never dead in the first place. It only happened once, fortunately, though it was the paramedic’s mistake. Young boy declared the woman dead after checking her pulse- he forgot some traumas can stop the heart from beating for a while ( snort! ) 

Imagine opening up a body, only to see the stomach still digesting food and working out its duty. Or don’t imagine that– it’s absolutely disgusting ( and yes… this is coming from a medical examiner, I know. )

hello, loves!! i’ve been feeling completely antithetic in terms of the kind of threads i owe and the ones i want to be doing, which is why i’m doing this for some change, and hopefully the complete revival of this muse........... LIKE this post for a short ( one paragraph and/or more ) starter that should be dealing in and with different, possibly weird combinations of plot and setting. threads will include: potential relationship that can be developed throughout different kinds of plots / cool references probably / ??? / nothing holiday-themed because i’m empty inside

Andrew had quite a peculiar relationship with his mother. They shared the purest form of love, where modesty dominated their hearts. Not too many hugs, not too many kisses, formality at its best, but care was at its peak. No one could find a more respectful son than Andrew-- promise. You could almost compare them to a working-class couple from the 50s, where the man worked so his wife could survive, and where she was there for him to support him.

Except, you know, they were mother and son.

When he learned she had jumped off the highest floor of the psychiatric hospital she was in, he was devastated to say the least. It encouraged him to finish his studies much more quickly, because what could have pushed a doctor to commit suicide? Surely, it wasn’t mental. No one knew, or no one wanted to tell Andrew.

He definitely believes it’s something physical that caused it. External, internal, heart, lungs, digestive organs, brain, something must’ve been damaged.