#{ the mortician }

[death-by-moth]

Oh!

Hello there!

[ghostsessioned]

various tdc sketches because i can't help myself

[metalichotchoco]

Ideas for two new little neutral roles

Someone that hates their neighbors and a failed comedian that only wants to die at night

[teamfortress2point5]

The Mortician

Location of Origin: Isle of Arran, Scotland

Role: Support

Growing up in the countryside raised by eccentric parents, Mortician was able to learn everything there was about maths, language, rogue taxidermy, and human anatomy. Understandably, after following the bizarre funerary requests of his parents involving two of those four subjects, he was pretty open to travelling literally anywhere else. Luckily, an old family friend seemed to be looking for morally grey professionals with unique skill-sets, and he was all too happy to throw his formaldehyde soaked gloves in the ring.

Creator: @darwindanger

[transjester64]

TF2 OC, The Mortician

Character sketch; still figuring him out! He deals with the surplus of battlefield corpses but don't think he is defenseless! Embalming fluid is quite toxic!

[boisponge]

she deserves her own horror movie

[grim-faux]

oh yus @greensea-iza

I wonder if the “the Hospital” chapter is referred to as a hospital, only because the children have never been involved with a morgue prior. Your mention of the death masks is very intriguing, because we refer to those as “being masks” and some of the characters in the LN 1, do wear flesh or prosthetic masks due to deformities brought on by this world, from a not fully defined force – maybe the Signal transmission. The Chefs wear semi flesh faces, but the Lady wears a ‘decorative’ porcelain mask. There is a Roger mask in the morgue, but does that imply Roger at some point perished and wound up in the Doctor’s lair? The mask we see for Roger in the Hospital does not have its eyes covered, as well.

The entire section of the ‘Hospital’ implies that there may have been a plague or mass die out, just as we see the clothing draped across the city of Viewers that have been taken by the Transmission. And there are implications in the original concept art, that the Hospital/Morgue was overrun by people who were ill – as seen by a child sitting in a chair beside a gurney

And there are corkboards covered in notes and long lists hanging down to the floor. There must be a legit Hospital we never see in the Pale City, but the it would have been overrun early on due to whatever outbreak was unleashed on the city. Thus, the other place that may have held bodies or may have received overflow of certain populace who had no chance of recovery, was likely the Morgue. This explains why the cells are overflowing with bodies – everything got out of control, and the world fell apart.

Somewhere in the chaos unfolding, the mortician looking after the bodies became a “Doctor” to rebuild all these people, “perfecting the ones who ask for help, with his way” – Little Nightmares 2

And if we go off on what the creators of LN said was the theme behind the adults, becoming twisted caricatures of what they once were, we can see what this Doctor has become. A person who is a little too enthusiastic about perfection, and taking flesh but turning it into plastic. For some of the Patients, it is apparent he has run out of supplies.

[iblewthewhistle]

Rememorari

It was interesting to see everyone working together, on renovating the Mortuary. Waylon couldn’t help but smile as he remembered how he was found.

He’d awoken in the achingly familiar chair, and, after moving around the asylum, knew that he wouldn’t be graced with shoes, or his own clothes. Walking towards the front of the hall, the door was already open, a patch of blood staining the floor where Jeremy Blaire had sat.

He stepped over the blood and started to walk, noting that the road, the parking lot, it was all gone. Instead, a dirt path led the way away from the asylum, and he walked.

His feet ached, after a while, and he realised that it was snowing. His head tilted, and he continued walking.

The snow was chilly, but not truly cold. He wiggled his toes experimentally, looking up.

There was a massive building in the snow, and Waylon decided to head inside, padding on the worn, old carpet. His fingers trailed through dust on a countertop, and he looked around.

It was an old ski lodge, left to ruin in the elements. He moved to sit next to the fire that roared in a furnace, curling his knees underneath him. It wasn’t long before he dozed off, his eyes lingering on the fire until something dark moved and caught his attention.

“Who the hell are you?”

Waylon blinked, his eyes blurred. “Waylon Park.” He replied, his voice rough with sleep. “Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude…” He moved to sit upright, and the teens moved around him, one standing over his legs, one either side, and another leaning over the back of the couch.

The one in front of him leaned forwards, a knife brandished from his hand. “Where you from, stranger?”

Something sharp scraped over his back, and Waylon leaned forwards slightly. “Lettering says Mount Massive Asylum.” The one behind him said. “That where you’re from?”

“I’m not going back to that shithole.” Waylon spat out. There was a chuckle from the foursome, and the knife lowered.

“Admitted to the looney bin? What for?”

“Corrupt people in power. His dirty little secret, shoved in a jumpsuit and fed to the machine.” Waylon sighed. “And then there was the riot. Everyone broke free. And I had to fight to get out alive. I killed a man in there. And when I thought I was free…there was this…”

“Black fog?”

Waylon nodded, and the teen leaning forwards finally withdrew. “We won’t send you back. But it will.”

“It-?”

“The Entity.” A hand reached out, and Waylon took it. The teen was much more stronger than he thought. “It dragged us all here. Some are killers, some are survivors. I’d bet money you’re a survivor, if you escaped an asylum riot.” The teen paced in front of him for a moment, knife tapping against his palm.

“If you won’t go back to your realm, we know a place. But you need to take something helpful. Something that’s useful.” He waved the blade around in a circle. “Give something, get something. You know of anything in your place that would…be useful?”

Waylon thought for a moment. “I think the machines were still working. Maybe there’s stuff in the closets, too.”

“Yes, great! She’ll love that.” The knife vanished, and the teens crowded around him. “We need you to show us where it was. You don’t have to go back in.���

“I just…walked.” Waylon moved to the open wall he’d walked through, and pointed. “I think it’s that way.”

“Wait here. We’ll be back soon, and then take you to the Mortician.” The masked teens looked among each other, before they started off in the direction he indicated.

*~*~*~*

Waylon had settled back among the couch cushions when the teens returned, each holding a pillowcase that was bulging.

“Okay, Park. We got a good haul, so come on. We’ll get you to her part, teach you everything.”

“I’m Frank. This is Joey, Suzie and Julie.” Their leader proclaimed, and he beckoned the older man to follow them. Waylon walked after them, through the fresh white of the snow, still marvelling at the coolness despite his lack of shoes and socks.

They didn’t walk as long, as he had to towards the snow ravaged chalet. It was an old, ivy covered building, with high stone walls. The teens opened the old iron door, and called out.

“Borna! We got a newbie!” Frank howled, the sound reverberating from the walls. Another door opened, and a pale woman stepped out, her arms red with gore.

“Hm. Doesn’t look like a killer.” Her ice cold stare was hard to endure, and Waylon felt himself fidget.

“That sweet face is hiding a killer. But no, he’s a survivor. An asylum survivor.” They dumped each of the pillowcases in front of her. “Plenty of drugs and supplies in there, we cleaned out everything we could.”

Her eyes turned onto the pillowcases full of goodies, and Waylon shifted, pushing the sleeves up on his jumpsuit. “I can be of help. Just tell me what I need to do.” He offered.

“You’re cute. You can stay.” She smirked, before she turned on her heel and moved out of his line of sight.

*~*~*~*

“Hey.”

Waylon jumped, and smiled as he shifted over to let Frank sit down next to him. “You were lost in thought, huh?”

“Just thinking of how we met.” Waylon smiled to himself. “How I walked right into your hangout and you could have gutted me, easily. And you didn’t.”

“You were napping on the couch after walking through barefoot.” Frank tilted a bag of Skittles towards him, and Waylon held out a hand, accepting the treats.

“Wasn’t gonna do more than scare you, to be honest.” He twitched his lip in disgust, and tossed away a purple skittle. “Who likes blackcurrant. Eugh.”

Waylon laughed, and held out his hand, Frank depositing more purples into his hand. “Reminds me of medicine. I always hated it.” Frank looked up. “Doesn’t bother you?”

“Nuh-uh. As a Dad you end up eating a lot of leftovers no one else wants.” He looked down at the handful of candies, and sighed. “Reminds me of my boys.”

“You miss em?” Frank asked quietly. Waylon nodded, and ate the handful of candies all at once.

“It’s not so bad. You’re here. So are the others.” He threw an arm around Frank, who leaned into the touch. Waylon relaxed for a moment.

There was a sniffle.

Waylon wiped at his face. “Sorry. I miss them so much. And you’re what I hope they grow up to be.”

Frank’s brow furrowed. “A murderer trapped in an eternal realm of darkness and death?”

Waylon laughed, and reached over to give him a hug. "A good person. Despite everything."

[horrorlesbians]

i want ten million trinkets but i also want my death to not be a burden for those I leave behind

[death-by-moth]

Some of the doodles I’ve made on @blackberryhexee’s whiteboard!

[sayrynsong]

"who could she have been, if she had lived"

[vangbelsing]

Bioware went from making all their romances young 19 and 20 somethings to feeding me the best goddamn gilf I've seen in my entire life.

[britcision]

Another “Danny works at a mortuary” but because he’s also the strongest source of ectoplasm in insert-city-of-your-choice he is constantly surrounded by blob ghosts that no one else can see

And occasionally they try to “help” him at work, moving tools around, trying to clean the pumps, just generally being well intentioned poltergeists who are very much not actually helping

Once in a while a group of particularly naughty blobs will hop into one of the bodies Danny’s preparing (it takes 6-8 blobs to make it move properly, since they need at least the knees, waist, shoulders, and head controlled separately)

Danny then has to chase the corpse down and very carefully suction the blobs out and try and get it back before anyone notices…

But he’s not always at work

And the blobs keep chewing through the corners of his ghost wards like naughty little goats

One of the heroes gets wind of suspicious body snatching activity at the mortuary (and possibly magic cult stuff if we’re playing with Shazam) and begins to investigate

The only rule is if we’re doing Gotham and bats Danny is accidentally sent a Talon at LEAST once and Scooby Doo shenanigans ensue while he chases the Talon around and tries to slurp the blob ghosts out, while the blob ghosts chase Danny to see what he’s doing

He’s doing his very best to just do his job and be a good mortuary assistant, and all his work colleagues/classmates from the program make so many jokes about living a horror movie

Danny WISHES he was just living a horror movie, but his permanent soundtrack is just the Benny Hill theme and there’s nothing he can do about it

(Maybe he’s shooting for mortician to help baby ghosts stabilise in a city less saturated than Amity, maybe he’s passing on messages for the dead, maybe it’s a psychopomp thing but he’s really trying not to get busted by the Justice League for body snatching that he isn’t even doing)

[theabigailthorn]

NEW EPISODE IS HERE!

It's about death, including mass death (Gaza, COVID, climate change) and why we ignore it. And it's a collab with Caitlin Doughty AKA Ask A Mortician!

[mixtapejunkie]

"Petition to bash the entity for letting a cultist in here. I thought the fucking oni was annoying enough."

Frank looked up from where he was refilling one of the jars on the shelves, at the expression on her face. He couldn't help but snicker a little.

"Oh, I'll sign it. Asshole wants to cause trouble." He replaced the lid, and removed the next jar to start refilling the cotton balls inside. "Still, at least he's not as mean as the Oni. Remember when he beat me up and I came to you for help?"

Frank certainly remembered, when he'd had the black eye and the the huge handprint across his throat. Instinctually hugging Borna for comfort.

"You wanna go and stab stab the crab, I'll happily come with."