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[thedensworld]

On Scene | Yoon Jeonghan

Pairing: Detective!Jeonghan x Writer!reader (ft. Junior Detective!Soonyoung)

Genre: Action, Crime, Comedy, Angst, Romance

Synopsis: Yoon Jeonghan, once a dedicated police officer, finds himself embroiled in a web of corruption and is subsequently transferred to a unit that is shunned by his colleagues. Just when he thought his life couldn't get any more complicated, a murder case emerges, and it appears to be connected to his ex-girlfriend.

Author Note: this haven't been proofread, you might found typos and grammatical error. Reader is she.

Since the manipulation incident that marred Jeonghan's record years ago, he found himself transferred to the last place any police officer wanted to be: Unit 10, specializing in domestic case. The reason was painfully clear – it was where they stashed away the 'undesirable' officers, far from any significant cases. It's like being exiled to the Island of Misfit Toys, only with less glitter and more restraining orders. Jeonghan couldn't quite label every missing pet he'd tracked down as a 'case'; it felt more like passing the hours than true investigative work.

Jeonghan couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. He'd gone from potential super-sleuth to the guy who mediates couple over who gets the sofa in a messy breakup. It was a far cry from chasing down notorious criminals, but hey, at least he was saving furniture from an untimely demise.

His colleagues in the 'real crime' units would swagger in, regaling the office with tales of high-speed chases and epic takedowns. Meanwhile, Jeonghan was learning the delicate art of diffusing family feuds with nothing but a clipboard and a well-timed dad joke.

There were days when he felt more like a referee in a dysfunctional game show than a police officer. He'd wade through tangled disputes over who left the toilet seat up and who finished the last of the cereal. It was like a twisted episode of "Law and Order: Household Edition."

Yet, amidst the chaos, Jeonghan discovered a strange kind of satisfaction. He was the unsung hero of household havoc, the Sherlock of sock-stealing roommates. He brought order to the chaos, one misplaced remote at a time.

So, while his colleagues chased after masked bandits and international spies, Jeonghan patrolled the treacherous terrain of domestic disputes, armed with a sense of humor and a hefty supply of marriage counseling brochures. And as he stood amidst the wreckage of yet another epic laundry detergent argument, he couldn't help but grin. After all, someone had to keep the peace in the war zone of weekend warriors and sibling rivalries.

No, in contrary, everyone. He didn't enjoy every second of it at all.

Well, karma finally caught up with Jeonghan, and it wasn't pulling any punches. After years of playing fast and loose with evidence and dabbling in a little graft on the side, it turned out his best buddy on the force was the one to spill the beans. Talk about a double whammy – not only did he get a serious case of red-faced embarrassment, but he lost a pal in the process.

And if that wasn't enough, the universe decided Jeonghan needed another dose of cosmic payback. His ex, the one and only former flame, broke up with him without so much as a hint of an explanation. Talk about adding insult to injury! Suddenly, he was single, friendless, and jobless faster than you could say "karma's a real stickler".

Jeonghan's muttered curses could probably be heard from Mars every time he recalled the trainwreck that had been the past three months. It was like a twisted sitcom, where the universe was the ruthless showrunner and he was the hapless protagonist, stumbling from one catastrophe to the next.

As Jeonghan sat at his desk, wallowing in regret for all the missteps he'd taken, his lone senior – the only other soul sharing this forsaken office – made a grand entrance. And who should trail in behind him but the one and only Soonyoung, his former junior from the 2nd unit of the Criminal and Violence division.

Jeonghan practically catapulted out of his chair, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the comrade he'd spent seven years alongside. "What brings you here?!" he blurted out, silently praying that his internal alarms were just a false alarm. Soonyoung was no slouch when it came to policing; having him end up in this backwater felt like casting Tom Hanks as the office janitor. It was a crime against justice itself.

Jeonghan couldn't help but feel like he was witnessing a talent show on a cruise ship, with both himself and Soonyoung reduced to performing card tricks for the tourists. It was a spectacle, but not in a good way. Placing Jeonghan here was already like using a Lamborghini as a glorified paperweight, but now, with Soonyoung in tow, it was like throwing in a Ferrari for kicks.

"I requested to be moved here, sunbae," Soonyoung chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jeonghan's jaw nearly hit the floor. It was like watching a penguin declare it had always dreamed of being a flamingo. He blinked, momentarily lost for words. "You... requested this?" he managed to sputter out, disbelief dripping from every syllable.

Soonyoung grinned, his expression unapologetically cheeky. "Yep, I figured that i haven't learned enough from you." he quipped, casting a theatrical gaze around the modest office space.

Jeonghan couldn't decide if he should laugh or stage an intervention.

"Well, you've certainly right on that," Jeonghan finally replied, unable to suppress a chuckle.

As the three of them stood there, an odd trio in a sea of mediocrity, Jeonghan let out a nervous laugh. It was the kind that bubbles up when you're faced with the sheer lunacy of life The station might not know it yet, but it had just become the backdrop for the most unconventional buddy cop sitcom of the century.

"Did you find the corby that was assigned two days ago?" Yang Beomjae, a senior with nearly two decades of police service, inquired, extending a brochure featuring a forlorn-looking dog named Jennifer.

Jeonghan let out an exasperated sigh, momentarily closing his eyes, as if hoping to teleport himself out of this never-ending parade of missing pets. South Korea seemed to have developed a sudden epidemic of disappearing furry friends. It was as if he'd been drafted into some sort of secret 'Pet Detective Division' without his consent. He couldn't help but wonder if his badge was equipped with a hidden GPS tracker for runaway pets. This was beginning to feel like a full-time gig, and he was pretty sure he didn't sign up for this in the police academy.

He took the brochure from Beomjae with a resigned nod, already mentally preparing for another round of 'Where's Waldo: Pet Edition'. Jennifer the missing corby was just another puzzle piece in this bizarre pet-sized jigsaw. The poor dog probably thought it was auditioning for some canine version of 'Amazing Race'.

Jeonghan glanced around the office, half expecting to find a secret stash of 'Missing Pet Bingo' cards tucked away somewhere. He couldn't help but marvel at the sheer dedication of the pet-owning populace to misplace their furry companions. If only they put this much effort into remembering their anniversary dates.

With a wry grin, he set off on the latest leg of his unexpected pet-finding adventure. Jennifer, here he came – detective extraordinaire, now specializing in the clandestine world of runaway corbies.

"I'll come with you!" Said the very loyal junior of him, one and only Kim Soonyoung.

*

"It's a whole different ball game," Jeonghan remarked, steering the car towards the potential location of Jennifer. "No late-night stakeouts with a lot of suspect profiling and plenty of downtime for laughs. That's pretty much the drill in this unit." He regaled his three-month rollercoaster of an experience to the wide-eyed rookie, Soonyoung, who listened intently, though a hint of disappointment flickered in his eyes. Jeonghan secretly hoping to instill some regret in the younger officer for joining this supposedly undesirable unit.

After they parked, Jeonghan stepped out of the car, the block of apartments standing like a sentinel miles away from Jennifer's last known location. Memories of a similar case flashed in his mind - a friend of Jennifer's vanished, only to be found in this very vicinity, being fed by a benevolent fifty-something woman. As they strolled, the tranquility shattered by a sudden scream, and there she was: the familiar woman, who'd taken up the noble task of nourishing the neighborhood's furry inhabitants, now sprinting out of the building.

The sight struck Jeonghan, momentarily caught between amusement and concern. He glanced at Soonyoung, who seemed to be processing the scene with wide eyes and a barely contained grin. "Welcome to the wild ride, Soonyoung," he said, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Buckle up, it's never dull in this unit."

"Help! Help!" The woman's panicked cries reached Jeonghan and Soonyoung, sending a jolt of urgency through them. Jeonghan swiftly approached, pulling out his badge, a beacon of authority.

"Ma'am, I'm a police officer. Take a deep breath and tell us what happened," he reassured her, his voice steady.

The woman's words tumbled out in a rush, "My neighbor, I-I found her... blood... and..." Jeonghan didn't wait for the sentence to finish, already in motion. He gestured for Soonyoung to follow, their training kicking in.

"Soonyoung, call for assistance from the station," Jeonghan directed firmly, trusting in his partner's quick thinking. The urgency in the air was palpable, a stark reminder of the unpredictable nature of their work.

Once Jeonghan had donned his gloves and protective shoe covers, he stepped onto the scene. His heart clenched in his chest as he beheld the gruesome sight: a familiar woman, bathed in her own blood, with several stab wounds marring her body. It was his former girlfriend's mother, your mother.

Time seemed to slow as a flood of memories and emotions washed over him. He pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand. He couldn't afford to let personal ties cloud his judgment now. This was a crime scene, and he was a detective sworn to uphold justice.

"What's happened, sunbae?" Soonyoung stood beside him, scrutinizing the victim's condition. It was clear she had been murdered around eight hours ago. Jeonghan observed the other officers diligently executing their roles, gathering evidence while the forensics team prepared to process the victim. He took a deep breath before attempting to call you, fully anticipating that you might not answer. As expected, there was no response. He resorted to sending you a series of urgent texts, conveying that he had something crucial to discuss. Nearly half an hour passed before you finally returned his call.

"Hey, what's wrong? Something's happened?" Your voice carried a cheerful tone, blissfully unaware of the devastating news that awaited you.

"I need you to brace yourself for what I'm about to say, okay?" Jeonghan implored, his voice carrying the weight of the somber revelation he was about to deliver. After a heavy sigh, he mustered the strength to speak the words, "Your mom was found murdered just an hour ago. I'm here at the scene right now."

There was a palpable silence on the other end of the line, broken only by the sound of your slow exhale, as if you had been holding your breath since the moment he uttered those shocking words. The weight of the news hung heavy in the air, a painful truth that now bound both you and Jeonghan in shared sorrow.

"Where is she?" Your voice came out in a hushed, trembling whisper. Jeonghan gently relayed the location, the somber apartment building where your mother had made her home for several months.

"She's been processed by the forensics team, but we need you to discuss authorizing an autopsy," he explained, his own voice tinged with empathy and understanding.

"I'll be there," you replied, determination and grief tightly woven into your words.

As the call ended, Jeonghan took a moment to collect himself. He braced for the meeting that awaited him, knowing it would be the first time he'd see you in three long months. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, a mixture of grief, determination, and a shared resolve to seek justice for your mother.

*

Jeonghan hadn't laid eyes on you in what felt like an eternity. He'd been tip-toeing around the boundaries you'd set after the breakup, which he was convinced were more convoluted than a Rubik's Cube in a tornado. As you approached, your hair danced like rebellious spirits in the zephyr, adding an extra touch of magic to your already enchanting presence. Even in a moment like this, you were a vision. Jeonghan, for a second, had the wild urge to sweep you into a tight embrace, but alas, duty called, and he was stuck in the middle of work. Soonyoung's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you. He knew you were Jeonghan's former girlfriend, but the whole situation had him more puzzled than a cat trying to understand calculus. He glanced at the victim data, then it clicked – you were the victim's daughter. He shot a glance at Jeonghan, a mix of encouragement and disbelief dancing in his eyes. It was like watching a soap opera, but with less dramatic background music. Jeonghan wrestled with a storm of emotions, a tornado of regret and longing whirling within him. If only he could find the right words to bridge this canyon of misunderstanding and boundaries. But alas, words seemed to have taken a vacation without sending a postcard.

The air was thick with tension as you finally stood face-to-face with him after three long months. Your first words cut through the heaviness, a desperate plea for answers, "Where's she?"

Jeonghan's gaze shifted to the forensic ambulance, a somber acknowledgment of the grim reality. "She's currently being processed," he began gently, his voice carrying the weight of the situation. "I'm afraid you can't see her right now. We need your consent for an autopsy. There are signs indicating potential violence."

You bristled at the notion, your principles steadfast in opposition. The thought of subjecting your mother's memory to such an invasive procedure was a bitter pill to swallow. In your heart, you longed to remember her in the light that was true to her essence, not tainted by the brutality of her passing.

Jeonghan, acutely aware of your emotional turmoil, presented a compelling argument. His words were carefully chosen, emphasizing the greater good that could come from uncovering the truth. He knew the delicate balance he walked, aware of your sensitivity and the fragility of your heart.

Your voice trembled with apprehension as you asked the question that weighed heavily on your mind, "It's gonna hurt, isn't it?"

Jeonghan felt the weight of the answer he needed to provide. How could he possibly encapsulate the complexity of the situation? Should he be brutally honest about the intensity of the process, or should he offer reassurance that your mother would feel no pain?

Just as the silence began to stretch, Soonyoung stepped in, offering a perspective that hadn't crossed Jeonghan's mind. "Rather than hurt, I think your mother would want the world to know the truth," he affirmed, his words striking a chord.

You, grateful for the support, implored for a moment to collect your thoughts. "Can you give me time to think about it? I promise it won't be long. But so much is happening and I can't think straight," you pleaded, directing most of your gaze towards Soonyoung, who seemed to radiate a comforting presence.

Soonyoung nodded, his eyes filled with empathy. "Take all the time you need, Y/n. I know this is an incredibly tough moment for you. Would you like to sit down? Maybe some water?" He gently guided you towards a nearby bench, leaving Jeonghan standing alone to process the whirlwind of events that had unfolded.

*

Jeonghan's voice held a weariness that spoke volumes. "I don't want to take this case, sunbae," he confessed, sinking into his seat, trying to make himself appear as inconspicuous as possible.

Beomjae let out a resigned sigh, clearly hoping for a spark of the old Jeonghan he used to know. "I thought you were missing your old self, that's why I accepted this case."

Frustration radiated from Jeonghan as he roughly tugged at his own hair. The situation before him was a tangled mess, a cruel reminder of the life he used to lead. He yearned for the days when he pursued real criminals, not navigating the intricacies of Jennifer and her companions. This case, though, was an entirely different beast. It was your mother who was the victim, and the thought of facing you, speaking to you, without stumbling over his own words and appearing foolish was a daunting prospect.

He knew he wasn't foolish, not by a long shot. It was the effect you had on him, the power you held to unravel his composure with just a glance. Jeonghan was acutely aware that your presence had the uncanny ability to turn him into someone he scarcely recognized, a vulnerability he wasn't accustomed to.

Jeonghan's conviction rang through the room, his resolve unwavering. "It's different. I don't want to do it!" he asserted, his eyes reflecting a mixture of determination and frustration.

Suddenly, Soonyoung sprang from his seat, a burst of eagerness propelling him forward. "I'll do it, sir. I'll work on it hard," he declared, eager to seize the opportunity.

Jeonghan's ire flared at Soonyoung's impulsive offer. "I thought you wanted to learn from me? If I'm not taking the case, then neither are you," he scolded, his words stern.

Soonyoung's shoulders slumped, a pout tugging at his lips. "It's just... I feel bad for Y/n. I understand you can't take it because she's your ex, so I'll do it on your behalf," he explained, his voice carrying a hint of remorse, which only fueled Jeonghan's irritation.

"It's not about that! I— i just don't feel up to handling such a heavy case right now. I'm still adjusting here. And besides— why is our unit being tasked with cases from Criminal and Violence? We're domestic division!" Jeonghan vented his frustration, his discontentment with the situation bubbling to the surface.

Beomjae interjected, his voice calm but authoritative, shedding light on the matter. "You haven't heard, have you?" he questioned, capturing their attention. "Her daughter is a suspect. They found her fingerprint on the weapon. Its status is domestic homicide."

Jeonghan and Soonyoung were left dumbfounded, their minds struggling to process the revelation. It felt as though the air had shifted, reality tilting on its axis. "The results came in hours ago," Beomjae added, handing them the report. Jeonghan's eyes scanned the words, his disbelief echoing in the repeated refrain of 'no way.' There was no conceivable reality in which you could be the suspect. It was inconceivable.

"Since we found the evidence and the suspect, i don't think it's a heavy case."

Jeonghan couldn't help but feel the tangled mess of emotions threatening to engulf him. It was a whirlwind of complications he never imagined he'd face. First, you'd walked away from him three months prior, leaving behind a void of unanswered questions. Now, here you were, seated before him, a suspect in your own mother's tragic demise.

He let out a sigh, the absurdity of the situation almost too much to bear. In some twisted, cosmic joke, fate had decided to bestow upon him this absurd cop sitcom scenario. The irony wasn't lost on him, and he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. But then, there you sat, an enigma he couldn't begin to unravel.

You were, without a doubt, one of the most unpredictable people he'd ever encountered. Your actions had always been a dance of spontaneity and caprice. Yet, the notion of you being connected to such a heinous act, especially involving your own mother, was beyond anything he could have fathomed. It was a curveball that left him reeling, struggling to find his footing amidst the chaos of emotions that swirled within him.

The atmosphere in the room was tense as Soonyoung settled beside Jeonghan, fingers poised over the keyboard, ready to transcribe every word that fell from your lips. Jeonghan, still grappling with the surreal nature of the situation, took a deep, weighted breath before beginning the interview.

"Kim Y/n, 34 years old, a writer, graduated in criminology," he recited, each word a heavy acknowledgment of the facts before him. He couldn't help but berate himself internally; your background in criminology only added a layer of plausibility to the notion that you might be involved in the tragic incident. It was as if the pieces were aligning in a way that painted a damning picture.

The room hung heavy with tension as Jeonghan began the interview, his words etching the grim reality into the atmosphere. His gaze bore into you, your silence speaking volumes, a stark contrast to the weight of the accusations.

"Park Haerim, your mother, was found dead on July 23rd in her apartment," he stated, the words landing heavily in the room. "We found a knife with her DNA on a pile of trash in front of your apartment, with your fingerprint. Do you have any word on that?"

The silence that followed was deafening, a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The weight of the evidence was a damning testament to the gravity of the situation, hanging over the room like a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury. Jeonghan's gaze remained fixed on you, a silent plea for an explanation, a denial, anything to break the silence that threatened to suffocate them all.

Jeonghan's voice carried a weight of solemnity as he began the interview, the gravity of the situation palpable in the air. His gaze shifted to you, your silence a stark contrast to the weight of the accusations.

'Say something, Y/n. Say something,' he pleaded internally, his eyes silently urging you to break the silence. He knew that in the absence of a strong alibi or evidence of your innocence, the mounting evidence could easily paint you as the perpetrator. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled in the pit of his stomach.

As the seconds stretched, Jeonghan silently prayed for you to find your voice, to refute the damning sentence that hung in the air. The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of the truth and the potential consequences pressing down on everyone present.

Jeonghan's questions hung in the air, each word pregnant with expectation and dread. The room was stifling, the silence pressing in from all sides. Soonyoung could feel the weight of it, an oppressive force that seemed to squeeze the air from his lungs.

Your silence was deafening, a void that threatened to swallow them all. It weighed heavily on Jeonghan, his eyes fixed on you, imploring for a response. His voice grew more insistent, edged with a desperate hope that you would say something, anything to break the deadlock.

"Where were you when the incident happened?" he pressed, the question hanging like a pendulum. You took a deep breath, but still, no answer came.

Jeonghan shifted tactics, trying a different approach. "How many times did you stab Park Haerim?" he asked, his gaze unwavering. Your eyes met his, a look that held a thousand unspoken words.

Then, without warning, Jeonghan stood abruptly, a palpable frustration radiating from him. "Let's take a break," he muttered, his voice strained. He made his way to the exit, his steps heavy with the weight of the situation. The room seemed to exhale as he left, the tension dissipating, if only slightly. Soonyoung let out a silent breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his gaze flickering briefly to you before returning to the floor. The room was heavy with uncertainty, each breath a struggle against the suffocating atmosphere.

The whispered admission halted Jeonghan in his tracks, his eyes locking onto you. "I was at home," you confessed, your voice barely louder than a breath.

"You were at home?" he echoed, seeking confirmation, and you nodded, a fragile glimmer of hope flickering in your eyes. "Writing," you added, your words a hesitant but crucial addition to the narrative.

Jeonghan's gaze shifted to Soonyoung, a silent directive to continue recording your testimony. He knew the weight of this moment, the pivotal importance of your alibi. "Do you have anything that can prove your alibi?" he inquired, his tone tempered with cautious optimism.

You nodded, a newfound determination in your expression. "I didn't leave the house for two days. I was calling my friend, Lee Chan, and he visited my house that night. I was with him until the morning." The details spilled from your lips, each word a lifeline in this maelstrom of uncertainty.

Jeonghan's mind raced with questions, a whirlwind of curiosity and concern. Each query was a piece of the puzzle, a glimpse into a part of your life that he hadn't been privy to.

1. Why did you call him?

2. Why did he stay in your house?

3. What was your relationship with Chan?

These questions danced on the tip of Jeonghan's tongue, eager to find their way into the conversation. But he knew now wasn't the time. The priority was to verify your alibi.

"Could we check your alibi?" he asked, his voice measured. You nodded in response, your determination unwavering. "You can check my apartment's CCTV, my writing history. I never left home," you explained, offering a straightforward account of your whereabouts.

A part of him yearned to immediately reassure you, to say, 'I believe in you,' based on the history you shared. He knew you intimately, understood the rhythms of your life. Yet, the weight of the case and the complexities that lay ahead left him hesitant.

He let out a sigh, the weight of his decision settling on his shoulders. Regret gnawed at him, a persistent thought that maybe he should've pursued Jennifer's case instead. The path ahead was uncertain, and he was acutely aware that every step he took would have far-reaching consequences.

"Okay, we're going to check on your alibi."

*

Jeonghan's jaw tightened in frustration as he watched the news, the headline a harsh indictment of you. "Popular Crime Writer Has Killed Her Own Mother." The words blared from the screen, painting a damning picture. He couldn't bear to hear any more, swiftly turning off the television. The label of 'suspect' felt like an unjust brand searing into his mind.

'Suspect! Still a suspect,' he repeated in his thoughts like a mantra, a silent plea for the truth to emerge.

Soonyoung approached him, report and phone in hand. He handed over the report detailing the activities captured by the apartment building's CCTV. Jeonghan's eyes scanned the pages, each frame a snapshot of your movements leading up to the incident. The images painted a picture of normalcy, of someone going about their daily routines.

Soonyoung pointed out the key moments, the times your door had been opened. Each entry was a piece of the puzzle, a glimpse into the timeline of events. Jeonghan meticulously examined the records, each entry a crucial piece of the puzzle. The timestamps and descriptions painted a vivid picture of your movements in the days leading up to the incident.

"Two days before the incident," he mused, studying the image of you carrying groceries. It was a mundane scene, but it held significance in establishing your routine.

"Chan's visit," he noted, his eyes tracing the time you spent with your friend. It was a confirmed alibi, a crucial point in your defense.

"And when you left after receiving information about your mother," he murmured, the gravity of the situation settling in his chest. That moment, that choice, was a turning point in the narrative.

Each entry was a window into your world, a chronicle of your actions. Jeonghan knew that within these records lay the truth, waiting to be uncovered. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, urging him to piece together the fragments of evidence and find the answers that could exonerate you.

Jeonghan absorbed Soonyoung's explanation, frustration simmering beneath the surface. The broken CCTV felt like a cruel twist of fate, a critical piece of evidence just out of reach.

"How about Chan's alibi?" Jeonghan queried, seeking reassurance in the face of the mounting doubts.

"He confirmed that they were together that night, so there's no way Y/n was coming to her mother's house," Soonyoung assured, presenting yet another piece of the puzzle. The weight of relief settled on Jeonghan's shoulders. It was a crucial confirmation, a solid alibi that could potentially shift the tide.

"Also, Y/n was last seen visiting her mother a week before the incident. That's the last time they seemed to see each other," Soonyoung added, his voice steady. Jeonghan absorbed this information, the timeline of events slowly coalescing in his mind.

The revelation about the CCTV being under maintenance on the night of the incident was a frustrating setback, but Jeonghan knew they had made progress. With Chan's alibi and the knowledge of your last visit, they were building a case that could potentially exonerate you.

Jeonghan's mind raced, formulating a plan of action. The truth was out there, waiting to be uncovered. He was determined to find it, to clear your name and bring justice to both you and your mother. However—

"Argh! My head is about to explode!"

Soonyoung jumped, startled by Jeonghan's sudden outburst. He quickly turned to his superior, concern etched across his face. "Sunbae, are you okay?" he asked, worry lacing his voice. The stress of the investigation seemed to be taking a toll on both of them, but seeing Jeonghan in such distress was particularly alarming.

Soonyoung furrowed his brows, concern deepening as he met Jeonghan's gaze. The whispered admission caught him off guard. Jeonghan was known for his unwavering determination and resilience, especially when it came to solving cases. Seeing him like this, openly expressing exhaustion, was a rare occurrence.

"Sunbae, maybe you should take a break," Soonyoung suggested gently, recognizing the toll this case was taking on his superior. The weight of the investigation, coupled with the emotional turmoil surrounding you, seemed to be wearing Jeonghan down. It was a stark reminder of the human cost of their work in law enforcement.

"You stay here, I'll go for a walk," Jeonghan stated, his tone tinged with an air of quiet determination.

True to his words, he set off on a walk. However, he couldn't fathom how his own legs had led him to the detention facility where you were being held as a suspect. It was midnight, the facility cloaked in shadows, with only a few weary officers manning their posts.

Seeing you there, sitting with a book in hand, was surreal. He couldn't believe his eyes. You appeared strangely composed, far from the image he'd conjured in his mind.

"I thought you'd be frightened or anxious, being held like this," he confessed, approaching you cautiously. Your gaze lifted from the book to meet his, a weak smile playing on your lips as you closed it.

"Done checking my alibi?" you inquired, getting straight to the point. He nodded slowly, finding his way to a seat near the entrance of the cage.

A heavy silence settled between you, the weight of the situation palpable. Then, finally, Jeonghan found his voice.

"I'm sorry for your mom," he murmured, the words heavy with sincerity and regret. They hung in the air, a feeble attempt to offer solace in the face of such a devastating loss.

"There's so much going on, and suddenly I'm a killer. I can't even process it," you confessed, a wry chuckle escaping your lips at the absurdity of the situation.

Jeonghan listened, his mind still processing the newfound information he had about your medicine consumption. Finally, he mustered the courage to ask, "Why do you take the medicine?"

You chuckled in response, acknowledging his discovery. "It helps regulate my sleep schedule," you explained casually. When he inquired about your sleep troubles, you nodded. "Not everyone can find rest as easily as you, Jeonghan," you noted with a gentle tone.

"It's not a remedy for a terrible illness, is it?" he probed, seeking to understand the reasons behind your medication.

You didn't directly respond. Instead, you opened your book and pointed to a sentence. "I've been reading this since I was brought here."

Jeonghan's eyes fell on the words, "Time is a gentle stream that gradually wears away the hardest stone." He looked to you, a silent question in his gaze.

You took a breath, the weight of your situation evident in your words. "I saw a news about me. People think I killed my mother when I have no idea how all of this happened. I want to tell, to scream, to announce that I'm not the killer. But would it make a difference? Would it be anything more than a waste of time?" you wondered aloud, your voice tinged with frustration and helplessness.

"So, you're just going to wait and let time unveil the truth?" Jeonghan sought clarification.

You nodded, your conviction clear. Jeonghan couldn't contain his concern. "You shouldn't do that! If you truly are not the killer, explain it to people! Clear up the misunderstanding. Your words hold so much power, sometimes more than you realize," he implored, his disagreement evident in his tone. The urgency in his voice mirrored the weight of the situation.

You chuckled at his words, a lightness in the sound that contrasted with the gravity of the situation. "Why are you getting angry?" you inquired, your eyes meeting his with genuine curiosity. Jeonghan found himself without an immediate answer. He couldn't quite pinpoint why his emotions were running so high. It was as if a whirlwind of concerns and fears had taken root within him.

As he grappled with his own emotions, he questioned himself, 'Why are you getting angry?' The inner dialogue mirrored the external one.

"It's just— you were on the brink of being sentenced. If you hadn't spoken up during the interrogation, you could have been handed a 15-year sentence!" he tried to explain, the weight of the near-miss still fresh in his mind.

"But I won't, right?" you responded, your voice calm but the implications chilling.

Your words sent a shiver down Jeonghan's spine. He rose from his seat, his gaze unwavering as he looked at you one more time. "Tomorrow, during the interrogation, I want to hear everything that is the truth from you," he stated with a determination that matched the gravity of the situation.

*

While being interrogated, you were not alone today. Your lawyer, Hong Joshua, had come to keep you company before your 48-hour detention came to an end. The interrogation had gone smoothly, at least as far as Jeonghan could tell. You answered all of his questions and vehemently denied any accusations of murdering your mother—something that brought a sense of relief to Jeonghan.

After asserting your innocence and claiming that the actual killer was still at large, you were finally released from your detention. As you, Joshua, and Jeonghan stepped out of the interrogation room, there was a palpable sense of lightness in the air. However, Jeonghan knew that his work was far from over. He immediately tasked Soonyoung with initiating a request for a thorough investigation into the case.

"Thank you so much for coming," Jeonghan expressed his gratitude to Joshua, a friend of both him and you, who had come at his request since you had initially declined legal representation.

"It's a pleasure," Joshua replied, his gaze shifting to you. "I'm truly sorry about your mother. Please don't hesitate to call me if you ever need assistance, alright?" he offered, his words carrying a warm sincerity. He then gently embraced you in a show of support.

"Thanks, Josh," you replied, mustering a weak smile. The weight of the situation was still very much present.

As Joshua stepped away, leaving you and Jeonghan alone, he turned to you with a sense of urgency. "I need your help," he implored, his eyes searching yours.

He explained his request before you could interject, acknowledging that while you were no longer an active member of the police force, he valued your insights immensely.

Before Jeonghan could delve further into his plea, the audible growl of your stomach served as a distraction. He looked at you with concern, his brow furrowing. "Don't tell me you haven't had a meal?" he asked, worry lacing his words.

You nodded hesitantly, admitting, "My last meal was two days ago." It explained the weariness and weight loss that was noticeable to him.

Without hesitation, Jeonghan guided you to his car and drove you to the nearest restaurant. As you waited for the food to arrive, he attempted to pick up the conversation from earlier, though he did most of the talking, noting how your words had left an impression on him.

"Your words linger in me," he confessed, his gaze locked onto yours. "You mentioned how your fingerprint could be anywhere, but you were at home," he recalled from your earlier discussion at the police station.

"If anyone knows your background well, being a former top profiler—ouch! Okay, okay, I'll stop," he protested playfully as you swatted his hand in mock reproach. "What I mean is, those who know you would never think you could be the killer," Jeonghan explained.

"But you were hesitant, weren't you?" you astutely pointed out, catching him off guard.

Jeonghan sighed, conceding, "I was... I admit, I did consider that you might be involved. Don't blame me! No one can predict what's going on in your head, Miss Writer."

"If only—if only you hadn't confessed to being at home and we hadn't checked your alibi, you might not be here, enjoying your meal so comfortably. Thank you," he said sincerely, first to you, and then to the waitress who brought your food.

As she left, he continued, "You might be in court right now, and I wouldn't have to work my ass off to find the real culprit. I was actually starting to enjoy my simple domestic cases."

Your puzzled look prompted you to ask, "What do you mean? Did you switch to the Domestic Division?" He nodded, indicating with his fingers that he had been in the unit you once ended up in before leaving to become a writer.

Suppressing a laugh, you responded, "Really? Since when? Is Beomjae sunbae-nim still there?" He confirmed your question with a nod.

"Next week will mark my fourth month," he added.

Returning to the matter at hand, Jeonghan sought your assistance once more. You shook your head, declining his offer. "Why?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I'm done playing the role of a real detective, Jeonghan. And honestly, I don't think you need my help. You're doing an excellent job. Besides, Soonyoung is a capable partner, isn't he?" you explained, firm in your decision.

Jeonghan found himself taken aback by your choice of address, 'Jeonghan'. It had been years since you called him that—back in the rookie days of being an officer, nearly a decade ago. In private moments, it used to be 'babe' or 'love' between just the two of you. The shift didn't go unnoticed, and it stirred his curiosity about why you had decided to end things.

"But still, it's your mom's case," Jeonghan murmured, trying to find a way to understand your perspective.

You chuckled, a touch of irony in your laughter. "Don't you dare try to gain my empathy. I wasn't planning on authorizing an autopsy until my fingerprint turned up on the knife. I was just going to move on and live my life in peace."

Jeonghan scoffed, unable to resist a teasing remark. "You talk like you only live for months. Why choose a peaceful life when you can savor a taste of chaos?" he countered.

"Like mediating break-up couples about who gets to keep the house?" you playfully teased, earning a groan from Jeonghan. "Thank goodness we don't have to deal with that. There are already too many cases like that," he remarked, realizing the irony of his words a moment too late. He glanced at you, half-expecting a knowing look, but you simply continued to eat your food, unfazed by his slip of the tongue.

Sometimes, Jeonghan realized, he tended to talk too much.

*

"Babe?" Jeonghan's voice broke the morning stillness, sensing the absence of warmth beside him. He hurriedly made his way out of the bedroom, drawn by the sound emanating from the bathroom. As he pushed open the door, concern etched on his face, he found you hunched over, struggling through a bout of vomiting.

He stepped in, a comforting presence, offering a steadying hand on your back and gathering your hair away from your face. Despite his gentle efforts, you insisted, your voice a soft mumble, "It's gross."

"It's okay. Do you need anything? Can you make it to the couch? I'll assist you," Jeonghan offered, his worry palpable.

Once settled on the couch, he hurried to fetch water, gently tilting the glass to your lips. He studied you, his gaze filled with both concern and curiosity.

"Are you alright? Is something bothering you?" he inquired, his voice laced with worry. You simply shook your head.

"I think I must've eaten something off last night. My stomach's not too happy about it," you explained with a faint smile.

The next day, the same scenario unfolded. Morning and night, you found yourself battling waves of nausea. Jeonghan couldn't help but worry.

"Do you really think it's fine? Maybe we should consider going to the hospital," he suggested, concern etched in his features. You shook your head, assuring him that a hospital visit might not be necessary.

"I'm open to a check-up, though. It's been a while since we had one, hasn't it?" you proposed.

"I'm okay with that. But for now, get some rest. I'll come back tomorrow, alright?" Jeonghan said, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and then your lips. With one last worried glance, he left for his night shift.

Jeonghan didn't return home for the next three days, only sending a message that he'd be back once he wrapped up his work. When he finally arrived, he found you peacefully asleep in bed. He took a quick shower before joining you, hoping to catch up on some much-needed rest.

However, his slumber was abruptly interrupted as you suddenly pulled away from his embrace and hurried to the bathroom, your body wracked with another bout of vomiting. Concerned, Jeonghan swiftly followed, taking care of you as best he could. He prepared a soothing mint tea, something you had mentioned you kept handy in case of further discomfort. Sitting beside you on the couch, he finally voiced the worry that had been gnawing at him.

"You've been going through this for nearly a week now. Do you really think you're okay?" he gently asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"It's just my stomach acting up lately. I think it might be my irregular eating habits," you explained, attempting to reassure him.

"No, love. I mean... is this normal? All of this... I mean... are you... are you pregnant?" Jeonghan finally mustered the courage to ask the question that had been on his mind for days.

You shook your head, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile. "No, I'm not. I took a test, and it came back negative. I even went to the doctor yesterday," you assured him.

"Then what's wrong? Why have you been experiencing this?" he asked, concern etched on his face. You sighed softly, a hint of pain in your voice, "I think I might need to see a doctor. It's starting to hurt." You gently rubbed your stomach, and Jeonghan felt a pang of helplessness wash over him.

"Would you like me to accompany you tomorrow? I can take a day off," Jeonghan offered, his eyes filled with concern. As he expected, you shook your head, insisting on going alone. He nodded, respecting your wishes, though his worry for you lingered.

The memory of the night three months before the breakup was still vivid in Jeonghan's mind. The slow unraveling of the relationship, like a frayed thread that couldn't be mended. Jeonghan, consumed by his demanding job in preparation for a promotion, found himself growing distant, while you were engrossed in the revisions and release of your upcoming book. The gap widened, and in just three months, a nearly six-year relationship began to crumble under the weight of miscommunication and emotional disconnection, at least from Jeonghan's perspective.

After two weeks of being largely absent due to work, Jeonghan returned home, half-expecting not to find you in your usual spots around the house, absorbed in your own tasks. However, that night was different. He discovered you sitting on the couch, tears streaming down your face, body trembling. He'd seen you emotional before, but never like this – it was a raw, heart-wrenching display of sorrow and despair.

Approaching you cautiously, Jeonghan inquired softly, "Baby... What's wrong?" He wanted to offer comfort, but when you pulled away from his touch, he was taken aback. It was unlike you to avoid him.

"No, stop," you pleaded through tears.

Confused and hurt, Jeonghan couldn't understand. "Why? What happened? Am I doing something wrong?" He reached out for you again, determined to provide comfort.

"Don't... Stop it," you mumbled, struggling to evade his grasp.

"Tell me! What's wrong?!" Jeonghan's frustration boiled over.

"Let's break up," you whispered, the words shattering something deep within Jeonghan. He needed to be sure, to hear it again, worried that perhaps he'd misunderstood.

"Tell me a reason why you... suddenly, want to break up?"

"I fell out of love. I don't love you anymore."

"What? Out of the blue, after six years – out of the blue, you fell out of love? Tell me! Be honest with me? What's wrong?"

"I'm being honest?"

"It's not because you're pregnant, right? And you don't want to face me because my family is pretty conservative. Are you pregnant?"

"No! I'm not pregnant. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not pregnant!"

The weight of the moment hung heavily in the air, both of you grappling with the reality of what was unfolding.

"Tell me once again. Why?"

"I don't love you anymore. Let's break up."

*

Jeonghan finally caught a glimpse of the mysterious man, the suspect who had killed Park Haerim. He was seen discarding the knife in a trash bin near your apartment building. Frustratingly, the car's blackbox only captured the man's back before he vanished into areas not covered by the CCTV.

With this newfound evidence, Jeonghan was able to confirm that you were not the perpetrator behind Park Haerim's murder. The focus shifted towards apprehending this mysterious man, prompting a thorough search by Jeonghan's team.

In the ensuing days, Jeonghan was immersed in monitoring the CCTV footage from the day of the incident, hoping to uncover any additional leads. It was during this intense scrutiny that Soonyoung unexpectedly approached him.

"What is it?" Jeonghan inquired, his eyes fixed on Soonyoung who seemed visibly uneasy.

Soonyoung's fingers danced nervously, grappling with the weight of what he was about to reveal. "It's not directly related to the case," he began, causing Jeonghan's brows to knit in confusion. Yet, knowing Soonyoung's tendency to leave him astounded, he held his questions.

"I debated whether to keep this to myself, but I don't think I can," Soonyoung confessed, taking a seat across from Jeonghan and producing an envelope from his jacket.

The hospital logo on the envelope caught Jeonghan's eye, and his heart quickened. Your name adorned the front. Jeonghan's curiosity mingled with a growing sense of trepidation.

"I discovered this during our investigation at her house. I assume you haven't seen it," Soonyoung ventured.

Jeonghan studied Soonyoung's face, searching for any hint of what was to come. The seal on the envelope gave way to Jeonghan's careful touch, revealing the contents within. His eyes scanned the words, and the air seemed to still around him. Gastrointestinal cancerous tumor, grade II. The date on the report sent a jolt through him—it was issued a mere week before your breakup.

The room felt charged with a palpable mix of disbelief, concern, and an urgent need to understand. Jeonghan's gaze shifted from the report to Soonyoung, his emotions swirling within him. The weight of this revelation settled heavily on his shoulders, knowing that you had faced this diagnosis alone.

"Why didn't she tell me?" Jeonghan's voice wavered with a mixture of disbelief and worry. He couldn't fathom the pain you must have endured in silence.

"When I read that, it struck me that she probably didn't want you to know, considering... well, it's cancerous, right? And it can be life-threatening," Soonyoung explained, his voice laden with empathy.

Jeonghan's mind whirred, trying to process the weight of Soonyoung's words. "What are you trying to say?" he queried, a touch of urgency coloring his tone.

Soonyoung's voice took on a somber note. "This could be the underlying reason she felt so hopeless after her mother's tragic end," he murmured, the implications sinking into the room.

The revelation hit Jeonghan like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the shadows of the past few months. 'She was preparing for the worst... for herself.' The realization clenched at Jeonghan's chest, stealing his breath.

He shot up from his seat, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. This was why you had chosen to end things, sparing him from the pain of a potentially devastating future. It was a selfless act, but Jeonghan couldn't help but feel a profound ache in his heart.

In a flurry of emotions, Jeonghan dialed your number repeatedly, his concern growing with each unanswered call. Texts went unanswered, and a feeling of dread settled over him. He couldn't shake the urgency to see you.

As he approached your apartment building, he was still trying to reach you. Lost in his worry, he collided with someone in his haste, the phone slipping from his grip. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, his apology rushed before he hurried up the stairs to your floor.

Jeonghan pressed the doorbell insistently, knowing you could hear it. The loud chime had often been a point of contention for you. He called out your name, his voice filled with worry, but there was no response.

In a desperate bid, he hoped that the password was still the same - your anniversary date. Fumbling to enter it, the lock clicked open, and he hurried inside. The darkness greeted him, and he quickly located the light switch. As the room flooded with light, his heart sank at the sight before him.

There you were, lying weakly on the couch, a hand pressed to your stomach which was stained with blood. Jeonghan's eyes widened in horror, fear coursing through him.

"Y/n!" Jeonghan rushed to your side, his hands trembling as he assessed your wounded stomach. It was a stab wound, and the sight filled him with dread. You were still conscious, your voice a weak whisper.

"Hold on, please..." Jeonghan's voice trembled as he dialed the emergency number, urgently requesting immediate medical assistance.

"It's Chan.." Your whisper cut through the tense air, and Jeonghan's heart pounded in his chest. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"He wanted to kill me too.." You continued, your words coming out in strained breaths. Fatigue was starting to claim your consciousness.

"No, no, no! Stay with me, okay? Baby..." Jeonghan's voice cracked with emotion. He could feel your breaths growing heavier, and he pleaded with you to keep fighting, gently trying to coax your eyelids open.

"Baby! You can do it, okay! You're strong.. And you have to stay awake, alright? I'm right here with you." Tears streamed down Jeonghan's face, his voice desperate and filled with worry. Seeing you in this state was a pain he couldn't bear.

"It hurts.." You whispered, your voice strained with pain. Jeonghan nodded, his heart breaking for you. "I know, bear with me, okay? Take a deep breath, the medic is on their way. Please stay with me.."

Your trembling hand reached up to his cheek, brushing away the tears that fell. "I love you... I love you, Yoon Jeonghan.." The whispered confession sent a sharp pang through Jeonghan's heart. He held you tighter, feeling you grow weaker in his arms.

"I love you too, baby.. Please, stay with me." Jeonghan's voice trembled, a plea for you to hold on. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you.

As Jeonghan could hear the sound of ambulance and police sirens approaching, he scooped you up and carried you out of the house. He rushed down the stairs, desperate to get you treated as soon as possible.

"Help her, please. She's losing so much blood," he pleaded with the medic they encountered in the building.

Jeonghan met Soonyoung once they were outside the apartment complex. Soonyoung's eyes widened in shock when he saw Jeonghan covered in blood. "It's Lee Chan, he attempted to kill her. I saw him earlier on the stairs. He must still be around here. Find him!" Soonyoung swiftly directed the officers to search for Lee Chan.

Jeonghan accompanied you in the ambulance, his hand holding yours tightly as the medical team worked quickly to stabilize you.

"She has gastrointestinal tumor. There might be internal bleeding as well," Jeonghan informed the medic. As you received a blood transfusion, you began to regain consciousness. Your fingers moved slightly, and your eyelids fluttered open.

"Miss, I want you to blink your eyes if you can hear me," the medic instructed, but you didn't respond. Meanwhile, Jeonghan felt the grip of your hand tighten, and he heard you whisper his name.

"I'm here, baby. I'm always here," Jeonghan reassured you, gently rubbing your hair. Your eyes seemed heavy, but they focused on him. You mumbled something, though it was inaudible due to the respiratory device.

"Stay with me, okay," Jeonghan whispered in your ear, his grip on your hand never wavering.

"I love you," he heard you whisper, and Jeonghan nodded, his gaze locked on yours. "I know, babe. I always know. Stay with me, okay?"

You murmured more words, "be happy," before your eyes closed, and the pressure of your hand on Jeonghan's began to ease.

*

Jeonghan stood outside the sterile hospital unit, his clothes still bearing the haunting stains of your blood. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead seemed to flicker, casting an eerie glow on the sterile white walls. The passing footsteps and hushed conversations of hospital staff seemed distant, as if Jeonghan existed in a separate world altogether.

Inside that unit, you had fought a battle against the odds. The surgeons worked tirelessly, navigating the complexities of your condition. The room hummed with the controlled chaos of a medical procedure, each member of the team a skilled conductor in a symphony of life-saving efforts.

For Jeonghan, those moments outside felt like an eternity. His mind raced with thoughts of what could have been. The fragility of life, the fine line between presence and absence, weighed heavily on him. He couldn't help but replay the events in his head, each moment etched vividly in his memory.

As he waited, every passing second seemed like a gift, a silent acknowledgment of hope and gratitude. He longed for the moment he could see you again, to hear your voice and feel your warmth. The stain on his clothes, a stark reminder of the reality he almost faced, served as a somber emblem of the fragility of life.

In the midst of that sterile, fluorescent-lit corridor, Jeonghan's heart beat in rhythm with the machines inside your unit. The passage of time was marked by the soft chime of the elevator and the muted footsteps of nurses. And through it all, he held on to the promise of seeing you again, a promise that hung in the air, tangible and intangible all at once.

Your surgery went well. You had lost a significant amount of blood, and there was internal bleeding, which made the operation challenging for the medical team. Jeonghan waited anxiously outside your hospital room, still in the same clothes. The memory of almost losing you just hours ago weighed heavily on his mind.

Beomjae, accompanied by two other officers, approached Jeonghan, offering to take over his watch. "I'll do it here. You go home and freshen up. I'll call you as soon as she wakes up," he insisted. But Jeonghan sat there in silence, unable to respond to his senior's suggestion.

Taking a seat beside him, Beomjae leaned back in the chair, reminiscing about the time when you both shared the same unit three years ago, before your resignation. "I didn't know you are her boyfriend. She used to talk about you a lot," Beomjae remarked, his words tinged with a sense of realization. "I remember she once rushed home after sleeping in the office for two days, saying her boyfriend would be back after a week. It all makes sense now."

Jeonghan turned to his senior, a question lingering in his eyes. "Did she ever say anything bad about me?" he quietly asked.

Beomjae considered for a moment. "Not really bad, just... complaints, maybe? She used to complain that you were hardly ever home. You live together, right? It happens in a lot of relationships these days, I've heard."

"But things are better now, right? You're not as tied up in this unit anymore," Beomjae continued, trying to offer some reassurance.

"We actually broke up before I got transferred," Jeonghan revealed, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

A heavy silence hung in the air. Beomjae nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "So that's why you were hesitant about taking on Park Haerim's case. It has been a shock for me, discovering she was the victim's daughter."

In that pregnant pause, Beomjae and Jeonghan sat in solemn understanding, the weight of the situation settling between them. Jeonghan's resolve was evident as he shook his head, his eyes filled with determination. "I don't think I could ever leave her," he declared, the strength in his voice resonating with unwavering commitment. It was a statement that held a depth of emotion beyond words, a testament to the depth of his feelings for you. The air seemed to hang heavy with the weight of the moment, as if fate itself were holding its breath. Jeonghan's unwavering dedication painted a poignant portrait of his love for you, a love that transcended the boundaries of time and circumstance.

Beomjae's voice was a mix of concern and sternness as he continued, "Look, I understand you care about her, but you'll be no good to her like this. You need to clear your head and come back strong. Trust me, she'll need you at your best."

He motioned toward the exit. "Go home, clean up, and get some rest. I'll keep an eye on things here. We'll update you as soon as she wakes up."

Jeonghan hesitated for a moment, torn between his desire to stay and the practicality of Beomjae's advice. Finally, with a sigh, he nodded and headed towards the door, grateful for Beomjae's support and understanding in such a trying time.

As Jeonghan entered his apartment, a sense of detachment washed over him. It was as if he was operating on autopilot, his body moving without conscious thought. The familiar surroundings of his home felt strangely foreign, each step a blur.

The scalding water of the shower offered a harsh contrast to the numbness that had settled over him. It was a jarring awakening, the heat searing his skin and bringing him back to the present moment. The burning sensation seemed fitting, a physical echo of the emotional turmoil he had just experienced.

His eyes clenched shut, blocking out the world, but the images of the night's events were etched into his memory. The sight of you, weak and bleeding, haunted him. Tears mingled with the water, a silent release of the pent-up emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Regret hung heavy in the steam-filled air, a bitter taste in his mouth. The decision he had made three months ago, to let you go, now felt like a gaping wound. He replayed the scene in his mind, wondering if he could have fought harder, if he could have been the support you needed. The thought of you facing cancer alone, out of a misguided attempt to spare him pain, clenched his heart.

A sob escaped his lips, the sound swallowed by the rush of water. The weight of his own emotions crashed over him, a tidal wave of confusion, grief, and love. In this vulnerable moment, he found himself connecting with the pain you must have felt when you made the decision to let him go. It was a harsh awakening to the depth of his feelings, a realization that he couldn't ignore.

As the water continued to pour, Jeonghan let himself feel it all. The grief, the regret, the love — they all swirled together, mingling with the steam and disappearing down the drain. It was a painful catharsis, but one he knew he needed to face. In the midst of this emotional storm, he made a silent promise to himself — he wouldn't let fear or regret dictate his actions any longer. If there was a chance to make things right, to be there for you, he would take it.

With newfound determination, Jeonghan turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. The air in his apartment felt charged with a different energy, a sense of purpose guiding his movements. He dried off and dressed, the weight on his heart now transformed into a steady resolve.

He glanced at his phone, willing it to ring with news of your condition. The minutes ticked by, each one a heartbeat in the quiet apartment. Jeonghan's thoughts were a whirlwind, but at the center of it all was a simple truth — he loved you, and he was ready to fight for you.

Jeonghan jolted from his quick slumber when his phone rang. He had been waiting for a call from Beomjae, anxious for an update about you. Instead, it was Soonyoung on the line, and he knew it must be something related to Lee Chan. Jeonghan picked up, his heart pounding.

"We've captured Chan, and we've found the knife that was used to attack her," Soonyoung's voice was steady, businesslike.

"We're going to run an interrogation. Do you want to do it, sunbae?" Soonyoung asked Jeonghan.

"I don't think I can do it, Soonyoung," Jeonghan mumbled, his voice heavy with conflicting emotions. "I might just... I might just kill him before I can even say anything." He continued, rubbing his face in frustration.

"Alright, sunbae. I'll handle it from here. Please send my regards to her," Soonyoung's voice was understanding, supportive. Jeonghan hummed in agreement and nodded, before ending the call and preparing to head to the hospital.

Beomjae was surprised to see Jeonghan's presence. "I told you I'll call you once she's awake," he said, rising from his seat as Jeonghan approached him.

"The culprit has been captured. I think Soonyoung needs you," Jeonghan explained, his voice tinged with urgency. Beomjae nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"He's informed us already. I was about to go once you were here. But, since you're here already, I'll go. These two will stand by here," Beomjae explained, gesturing to the two young officers.

Jeonghan watched Beomjae leave, his heart heavy with a mixture of relief and anxiety. He turned to the officers, gratitude in his eyes. They nodded in understanding, silently affirming their commitment to keeping watch over the room.

As Jeonghan entered your hospital room, he looked at you, still unconscious but fighting to recover. He took your hand in his, a silent promise echoing in his heart - he would be there for you, no matter what.

The soft hum of the hospital machinery provided a backdrop to the tense atmosphere in the room. Jeonghan's gaze lingered on your still form, his heart aching with a mixture of worry and determination. Every shallow rise and fall of your chest was a testament to your resilience, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender and filled with unspoken affection. The room seemed to close in around him, the weight of the situation settling heavily on his shoulders. He couldn't help but replay the events in his mind, each moment etched with vivid clarity.

The memory of finding you, pale and bleeding, was seared into his consciousness. It was a sight that had threatened to shatter his composure, to drown him in a sea of fear and helplessness. But now, seeing you here, fighting to recover, ignited a fierce determination within him.

As he stood by your bedside, his thoughts turned to the captured assailant, Lee Chan. The mere mention of his name sent a surge of anger coursing through Jeonghan's veins. The thought of facing him in an interrogation room was almost unbearable. He knew he needed to remain composed, to let the law take its course, but the depth of his emotions threatened to consume him.

As your eyelids fluttered open, the soft light filtering through the hospital room's curtains gently greeted your senses. Jeonghan's face, etched with a mixture of relief and worry, came into focus. His eyes sparkled with a renewed hope as he met your gaze.

"You're awake," he breathed, his voice tinged with emotion. He reached for your hand, holding it with a tender grip. "I was so worried."

You managed a weak smile, your voice a fragile whisper. "I'm here, thanks to you."

Before long, Jeonghan was on the phone, urgently dialing for a doctor. They arrived swiftly, their presence a reassuring blend of professionalism and compassion. After a thorough examination, they spoke with a gentle but firm tone, emphasizing the importance of rest and recovery.

"You've shown remarkable strength," the doctor remarked, offering you a small, encouraging smile. "But your body needs time to heal. Pushing too hard too soon could set back your progress."

Jeonghan nodded, his concern for you palpable. "I'll do whatever it takes to make sure they have the time they need."

The doctor's gaze shifted to Jeonghan, a silent acknowledgment of his commitment. "That's good to hear. Keep her stress levels low, ensure she gets plenty of rest, and we'll monitor her closely. We're here to support you both."

As they left the room, Jeonghan settled back by your side, his eyes never straying far from you. "I won't leave you, not for a moment," he vowed, his voice a steady anchor in the midst of uncertainty. "You're my priority, now and always."

In the ensuing days, the hospital room became a cocoon of recovery and gentle care. Jeonghan, a steadfast presence, ensured you were never alone. He read to you, brought you small tokens of comfort, and spoke words of encouragement. The outside world felt distant, as if it could never intrude upon this sanctuary of healing.

"Did you find Chan?" You asked him with a weak voice. Jeonghan nodded solemnly, his gaze steady. "We found him, he's under investigation. We'll make sure he gets what he deserves, so you don't have to worry," he reassured you, his fingers gently running through your hair.

As the weight of the truth settled in, you whispered, "I found out he killed my mom." Your voice carried a mix of intrigue and pain, and Jeonghan, though eager for answers, didn't want to press too hard.

"You can tell me later. Your health is the priority now. You heard what the doctor said, you shouldn't stress yourself," Jeonghan urged, his concern evident in his eyes.

You shook your head softly, determination in your gaze. "I want to tell you now."

"When you asked for help to investigate my mom's case, I already had my suspicions about him. I saw the bloodstain on his shirt that night. When I called him, he claimed he was at the gym, but I knew he wasn't. He's such a perfectionist; he always goes to the gym in the morning."

Jeonghan's brow furrowed in thought. "Why do you think he did that?" His voice was low, giving you the space to share.

You considered the question carefully before speaking. "I assume he was after my mom, since I inherited all my money to her." You paused, your eyes locking with Jeonghan's. "You know my mom," you added, alluding to her penchant for younger men.

Jeonghan's eyes softened with concern as he listened to your heartfelt words. Tears streamed down your face as you poured out your heart. "I thought I could trust him. He was the only person who knew that I only have months left," you confessed, your voice choked with emotion.

Jeonghan's heart ached for you, witnessing the pain etched across your face. He gently wrapped his arms around you, offering a comforting embrace. "I'm so sorry you had to go through this," he murmured, his voice filled with empathy.

As you leaned into him, finding solace in his presence, Jeonghan's mind raced with a mixture of anger towards Chan and a fierce determination to support you. He knew that trust was a fragile thing, and watching it shattered in this way cut deep.

"You deserve so much better than this," he whispered, his words a promise to stand by you, to be the rock you needed in this storm.

He reached out, gently cupping your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Listen to me," he began, his voice steady and reassuring. "I understand that this is incredibly difficult for you, and I won't pretend to know exactly how you feel. But you are strong, and you've already shown incredible courage in facing this truth."

He paused, his gaze unwavering. "We're in this together, and I'll be here every step of the way. Your health is a priority, and we'll do everything we can to ensure you get the best care possible."

You looked into his eyes, grateful for his unwavering support. "I just... I don't want to be a burden to you," you admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. "I know that this situation is hard for both of us."

Jeonghan's grip on your face tightened ever so slightly, his eyes filled with determination. "You are not a burden, and you never will be. We face this together, and I'm not going anywhere. You're not alone in this, and we'll find a way through."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his touch warm and reassuring. "We'll focus on positivity and strength. You're not defined by the circumstances, but by how you face them. And together, we can face anything that comes our way."

His words resonated deep within you, bringing a sense of comfort and resolve. With Jeonghan by your side, you felt a renewed sense of determination to navigate this difficult journey, knowing that his support would be your anchor through it all.

In that tender moment, as his lips met yours, the world seemed to stand still. His touch was gentle, yet it carried the weight of his emotions, a silent promise of unwavering support and love. The connection between you both was palpable, a language of its own that needed no words.

As he cupped your face, his touch was warm and reassuring. It was as if he was trying to convey all the comfort and solace he wished to offer you. In that intimate exchange, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that you were not alone in this journey.

The kiss was a balm to your wounded heart, a reminder that even in the face of pain and uncertainty, there was a love that would endure. It was a testament to the strength of your bond, a declaration that you would face this challenge together.

As you melted into the kiss, a profound sense of gratitude filled your heart. In Jeonghan's arms, you found a sanctuary, a place where you could be vulnerable and find strength. It was a moment that would forever be etched in your memory, a symbol of the unwavering love that would carry you through whatever lay ahead.

The tender moment seemed to stretch, suspended in time, until a voice suddenly cut through the stillness, saying, "Cut." It was the signal that the scene had been perfectly captured.

You and Jeonghan slowly parted, lingering for a moment as you exchanged a silent, knowing glance. There was a shared understanding of the significance of this scene, both in the story and in your own lives.

As the crew bustled around, wrapping up the shoot, you turned to Jeonghan, a soft smile on your lips. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. He returned the smile, his eyes warm with affection. "No, thank you," he replied, his voice just as gentle. "You've been incredible."

As you bowed to every member of the crew on the location shoot, a sense of accomplishment and gratitude filled the air. The bucket of flowers they handed to you was a tangible symbol of the hard work and dedication you and Jeonghan had poured into preparing and shooting the movie.

The director approached both of you, his embrace filled with warmth and appreciation. "I couldn't be more thankful for this," he expressed sincerely.

"The honor is ours to be able to work with you," you replied, touched by his kind words.

Jeonghan nodded in agreement. "It's been such an amazing experience."

The director's eyes twinkled with pride as he looked at both of you. "Your chemistry is undeniable. You're not secretly dating each other, right?" he joked, prompting laughter from all three of you.

After the lighthearted moment, you and Jeonghan headed to your respective rooms to change before heading home. The weight of the past days' work was felt, but it was accompanied by a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. You were both ready for a well-deserved break after the intense and rewarding experience of bringing the story to life on screen. The memories created during this shoot would be cherished forever, a testament to the incredible journey you had shared with the cast and crew.

Yoon Jeonghan: Y/n, do you have time this weekend?

Yoon Jeonghan: How about going to the camping site that you talked about that day?

Yoon Jeonghan: i'll prepare all the stuff and food!

Yoon Jeonghan: what do you think?

[sevenpoyo]

school headcanons for because i only got 3 more weeks

margo’s is so long even tho she got like 2 minutes of screen time bc i love her so much and she’s my gf

Margo Kess, 1610Miles, 42Miles, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar

margo kess / spiderbyte

ain’t shorty on zoom in the movie?

my girl dont attend class, she once shut down the entire blocks power so she would have an excuse to not be in class

eats in class all class everyday, only shares with you

takes really good notes and never studies them

like???? ma’am??? share???

all her electives are programming related and she pretends to busy while playing centipede all day

sends you 50 links to stuff you might like while ur in math

she got papers that let her opt out of gym

no matter how much you beg ur gonna be alone in gym and she doesn’t feel bad about it

popular with no friends type

like everyday 50 ppl stop you both and say hi

she only knows like 5 of their names she can’t stand half of them niggas

empty ass backpack like she got one notebook and one binder

all a’s and b’s like bitch how

her memory is absolutely ass but she can remember every story you told her or stuff that happened when y’all hang out

don’t ask her what she did in her class

don’t ask her if her class also has a history test

she don’t know

she don’t care

but she do know that when you were 8 your cousin burned ur thigh while y’all were playing iron vs knife fight

(u were dumb as hell for picking knife everyone knows iron always wins)

i looked it up on her word everybody uses those virtual avatars

she’ll shit on your class choices so damn hard

she just likes making fun of your choices fr

like half of ur conversation go;

damn i’m tired

u was up doing stupid shit last night you don’t get to complain

stfu that’s why ur a bitmoji

that’s why ur granny beat ur ass for something your brother did when you were 9

i hate telling u shit

then stop telling me shit

(i have no clue how accurate this is to her character but i need to write about her i’m in love but damn it’s long)

1610 miles / spider-man 2 lmao

book bag full locker full but never has a pencil

writes notes assignments and homework in paint pen ink don’t ask this nigga for notes

(he gets nigga treatment but not my queen margo bc i got favorites)

he miss mad classes but somehow still solid attendance record???

somehow always present in the record he miss 40 days and get caught on like 6 of them

unless his mom make breakfast and lunch on her day off for him he eating the most random shit from the bodega closest to visions

like what do you mean you got a cosmic brownie and a cold chopped cheese from last night ? it’s literally 7 in the morning no i don’t want none

makes you hype him up every time he slap boxes people and he’s so ass at it

he be ashy with no lotion atleast 5 times every month it’s embarrassing

he calls visions his white people school to his parents and his friends

once he said it to gwen and they sat in literal complete silence for like 10 minutes

prolly took music theory because he thought it would be easy and switched out of that shit so fast

i’d be so mean to him for enjoying physics

like this nigga trying to make something of him self

lil einstein ass nigga

he understands color theory but can’t explain it

12 half full sketchbooks but at school he literally draw on computer paper he don’t let the sketch book leave his bag

i know he’s ass at watercolor, he always spills shit, the colors always end up brown

try’s to be interested in your class choices bc he wants to know stuff he can talk about with you

when you first meet he can’t take meaner jokes bc he thinks that you mean them

but one day he’s gets comfortable, and brutal

no one in your life is safe when he looses a video game

except your mom

rio taught him better than that

42 miles / the prowler

comes to school with no school related supplies in his bag unless you count art stuff

finds a pencil on his way to class

has a change of clothes, rat tail comb, 3 bottles of water, a camera, a flashlight, lotion and cocoa butter.

like bro ur going to Ap Art not a camping trip

once he pulled out a griddle and and pancake mix and y’all started making pancakes in class

forgets his metro pass every day and gets so pissed ab it

runs into people in the hallway bc he’s never paying attention

idk if he goes to visions but if he does he calls it his white people school with his full chest to anybody even if they’re white

he be leaving halfway through the day all the time like bro you miss algebra 2 every damn day

uncle arron always talking him out of school with some bullshit reason

bro’s had his tonsils out 8 times on the school’s records

He will get ur parents to put his uncle on ur pickup list and you will be out of there with him

he will YELL if someone step on his shoes no matter what the situation like the school could be on fire and he fighting in the burning building

also his uniform is so pristine

his pants stiff

that button down is bleached ironed pressed and allat

this mfer is an online shopping addict u just know he be on amazon in class

will offer you the weirdest food combos like no i don’t want to put tajin mangoes on my beef patty i’m sick of you nigga

not school related but he’s super good with kids (both miles fr) but he’s the #1 little cousin defender and apologists

he ride for them always one of ur little cousins could sucker punch u and he be like

‘they just want u to play with them’

he takes a preforming arts class for fun prolly

loves sports but doesn’t play one understands the stats well and would help if you played one

wakes up at the asscrack of dawn on weekends

SICK ASS COSTUME FOR HOLLOWEEN IK THIS NIGGA LOVE HOLLOWEEN

plans costumes for school spirit weeks but always checks to seen if he’s gonna be the only one wearing a costume for it

never eats lunch unless his mom makes it he be hungry all day and be complaining

his socks are never in uniform (yes some uniform schools have sock rules)

gwen stacy / spider woman / ghost spider

idk what to call her

she has every snack you could ever want in her lunch bag

hates her music theory teacher

she literally has the most pristine locker with a calendar and a mirror and all that shit will write down test for you and important dates for the both of you

goes to school plays and shits on the story, like she ain’t pay 5 dollars to be there

some of her teachers hate her

like ma’am ur beefing with a whole 16 year old rn

she hate english teachers but love creative writing teachers

she keeps all her books in her locker never brings them home never brings them to class

always comes through with an extra pad no matter what

she also always has hand sanitizer

in like 4 extracurricular after school things and complains so bad

ur starting to hate that shit to ur sick of hearing it like girl quit then

10/10 cameraman she has every fight and every drama in 10khd and she will share them if you ask

she chews her pens and nails

has her drumsticks out always teachers have banned her from taking them to their classes

can watch tv on her phone but look focused you think she’s paying attention but then you look over and she’s watching good luck charlie

pavitr prabhakar / spider-man india

always late for class never in trouble

always eating and sharing food and never in trouble

how is he blessed like this? it ain’t fair

eats from the school vending machines or begs other ppl to share

will always have and share the homework answers no matter what he’s an angel

his sock always have holes in them like sir please get that shit together

gym try hard ik goes insane in football/soccer

very encouraging for shit u don’t wanna do he believes in you

you him and Gayatri talk so much shit but are somehow all well liked

he tells you what teachers are dating (he can just tell)

he has toothpaste in his bag for some reason?? i can just feel this one

his aunt will let you come over after school she’s so sweet to you.

always got a job at school assemblies

he’s reading poems or shaking hand or leading in the school pledge or something

Pav’s is short because i have no fucking clue if school in India is different form america and Barbados

[eatmangoesnekkid]

Simple Ways to Increase the Aura of Your Home: One of the main purposes of home is to help our bodies recover from overt chemicalization of our world. The world is flooded with a constant force of harmful chemicals that degenerate physical and mental vitality, therefore our home life should be a passionate haven where those heightened chemical variances are limited to non-existent. Therefore consider eliminating or greatly reducing chemical cleaning products and chemical beauty products which will enhance your digestion, your gut microbiome (the main factor that effects our the 7 systems of the body, hormones, mind health, and quality of life) and thereby increase your home's frequency. You want to create a home that supports the healthiest fullest expression of your gut microbiome, the center of your reality. A well-loved microbiome supports an essential resource that grows your life force energy. It supports healthy hydrated longevity that gives you more choices in life, mainly because it supports you in procuring naturally expanded human experience. A healthy gut microbiome helps you to master ways of thinking, feeling, intuiting, and perceiving. Be intentional in actively welcoming in details of beauty all around  your home— plants, books, art, well-made candles, music and the musical, macrame, hanging fabric or beads, color, etc. Invite in the sacred and the edges of the universe into your home--pour libations, chant, sing mantras, and whatever other ritual, divination, cosmic and grounding aesthetics, and ancestral intelligence. Clear clutter in closets and underneath beds and chairs and clean often and with thoughtful detail and intention, place special attention to windows, doors, toilet bowl, refrigerator, sinks, floors, and corners Dance around your home while infusing love into each room; more and more love and tactile loving acts Take out trash often -unpleasant smells distill unpleasant energy Resort your refrigerator daily or every other day-no spoiled food Open windows daily first thing in the morning, even in Winter briefly Ritualize washing your floors and walls every new season with a quality lime or orange essential and water solution, Florida water, and some of concoction that clears energy Mind your recurring thoughts --if you have been thinking in negative ways, no worries--just open windows an air out the energy and clean up around you Air out your bed linen daily Replace plastic with glass It's a living energy .....pray over your home Refresh water on most fresh flowers daily Light an oil lamp, ghee lamp or candles nightly Find a place for everything, and put everything in its place. Get into the habit of donating what you don't use or no longer matches your frequency often Create more white clear space Keep something sacred items by the front door that help clear energy e.g. hanging bells on the door knob Invest in quality kitchen supplies Home is a safe oasis where we repair our energetic relationship with living in an overly masculine, exhausted, mentally chaotic world. How does your home reflect the nourishment and nuturance of feminine energy? How does it inspire rest, regeneration, love, passion, creativity, arousal, playfulness, joy, prosperity, or living more inward-facing rather than externally-focused? India Ame'ye

[humanradiojmp]

Pomni the Human (redesign)

Pomni is one of the few remaining humans in the remnant of… whatever this place was before it got destroyed. She spends most days gathering whatever resources and supplies are available from the land and the few standing factions. But with the world essentially dying, there’s only so much available for anyone. Regardless, she and the head wizard she resides with make do with what they have. Despite the growing tension amongst the remaining people and the steady increase of monsters and the forgotten, Pomni still tries to keep her spirits up and help anyone she can. A little kindness and decency can go a long way in a time like this. It at least can't make things worse than it already is...

So… I redesigned Pomni a little bit. it might not look that different from the original, but if you were to compare the two side by side, you’d see the difference. The main reason I redesigned her is to fit with this idea I had where parts of the world are based/inspired by the 1970s to the 90s (because clothing design for characters is not my strong suit and I like older style clothing, alright?). Pomni has been redesigned to be loosely based on the 70s, with the research giving me some interesting trivia of the past. Did you know they had a bodysuit version of every kind of top in the 70s? Every. Kind? I do now.

You probably guessed by the character blurb, but this is going to have some fantasy elements. Expect some unique creatures making up the residency here as well as magic and monsters. Not to mention the lore I'm going to fluctuate between sprinkling in here and there and dumping onto your laps. And don’t forget that there’s some sort of cosmic being that watching and waiting for the right things to consume and leave no trace of anything behind.

One more thing. Something I wanted to do with anything I made for a while is have music that goes with it. Whether it’s a song or a track, something that adds a little extra bit to the art and stories I post. This post, other character posts, as well as some lore bits will have music that matches to some degree. I’ll have both the Spotify link and a YouTube link for whichever is more convenient.

For Pomni, Stayin’ Alive by TheBeeGees. Totally not because it’s what she and everyone else is doing in the post-apocalypse world they live in. I admit this one is more of a joke, but everything else is accurate and serious (mostly).

YouTube link here

[merrydock]

More concept art for The Best the World Had to Offer! This time, it's Feldspar's shuttle, used when the Hearthians attempted to achieve a full orbit around Timber Hearth for the first time.

The shuttle was inspired by Feldspar's ship design (although in the fic, it's the other way around). Trying to mimic the success of Feldspar's first journey into space, and having been banned from testing rockets in the crater after Slate's last attempt nearly set the village on fire, the decision was made to ride the geysers into orbit. The diminutive thrusters spaced evenly around the hull are for accelerating and decelerating in space, to achieve higher and lower orbits once through the atmosphere. The shuttle is bulky and bolstered to survive a water landing, the pilot's seat attached to the floor with springs and struts to allow for some absorption of the impact. It's fine. Feldspar will have a helmet on, after all!

(More details below)

The hull is 15 centimetres thick, divided into an inner wall and an outer wall, with insulation in between, air filling the gaps. There is a main observation window, and six smaller ones, all lined with gold to reduce exposure to cosmic radiation. Six flat stabilizers stick out from the hull. The fuel tank rests in the lower part of the shuttle when standing upright, accessible for maintenance from a hatch within the shuttle and a refuel nozzle on the exterior. Fuel lines run through the inner wall whenever possible to prevent leakage (and a major explosion) if the outer wall is compromised on impact. The lines are cut off at several points so any accidental ignition is segregated away from the fuel tank. If an explosion does occur, it should be small and not immediately deadly!

The shuttle is pretty bare-bones. Many of the classical ship systems haven't been developed yet; no Signalscope, Little Scout, landing cam, reactor...not even an oxygen tank, since the trip is meant to only be just over two hours long. The console is basic, containing buttons to control the thrusters (which each burn for a predetermined length of time, courtesy of Hornfels' calculations) and a single joystick used to direct the rudimentary satellite dish on the side of the shuttle.

Since the shuttle is expected to land in the water, the hatch and satellite dish are oriented to rest above the waterline when the shuttle is submerged on its side. The air in the walls and in the cabin will allow the shuttle to float, the weight of the pilot's seat and console rotating the shuttle until they sit at the bottom. This will hopefully prevent Feldspar getting trapped within the shuttle when it lands.

With no gravity crystal, and acceleration only occurring during the first 30 mins and last 45 mins of the flight, Feldspar will be subjected to zero-G for about an hour of their trip. The pilot's seat has a harness to keep them tethered, but they packed a bag of supplies and are eager to do some experiments while spaceborne!

[one-piece-one-shots]

Franky X CisFem Reader Soulmate AU

You'd given up on your soulmate just after graduating high school. Unlike your friends when you all turned sixteen, you never received a message or response to your messages. You were deemed one of the few who simply didn't have a destined mate; you could date and marry someone else who was like you but the chances of it working out were slim. The universe had dealt you a depressing hand.

Some cosmic rules applied if you were lucky enough to have a mate. You could write any message in any media on your body and it would appear on your partner; however personal information, names, birthdays and things of that nature would show up as blank spaces in your text. Meeting your soulmate could not be arranged, fate would determine when your paths crossed.

Now an art major you had occasionally taken to painting or doodling on yourself when bored or depressed. Recently you had a bit of a setback. Your best friend had finally stumbled into her mate. He was a chef and when you both walked into Baratie she knew he was there. You wondered what that must have felt like. She was in a complete daze the moment her big brown eyes fell upon the open kitchen.

The cook with shaggy blond hair glanced up noticing the redhead next to you glaring at him. Recipes scrolled down their forearms along with other goofy notes they'd shared in different colored ink. It was an intense moment to witness and your stomach almost couldn't handle it. He pushed through the swinging doors of the kitchen and strolled right up to Nami. suppressing the sudden urge to flee you planted your feet firmly and watched the scene unfold.

You thought you'd seen Nami happy before, but nothing compared to the smile she wore now.

"Sanji." He breathed, eyes never leaving hers.

As you thought initially...this moment was too intimate. Needing to find relief for your churning stomach you left.

Nami didn't even notice you'd gone until moments later. Feeling terrible about basically ditching you she sent a deluge of apology texts. She knew anything related to soulmates was a sensitive subject for you.

Honestly, you were happy for her. She deserved all the love and happiness Sanji would give her. But seeing it all happen still stung.

So, for nearly a week you holed up in your apartment feeling sorry for yourself. No paint, no drawing just sulking. All the feelings from high school flooded back. People whispering and pitying you for being different.

On the fifth day, you awoke following your normal morning routine, this time alcohol still hazing your brain. Leaving a trail of clothes from the bedroom to the bathroom you stepped into the tub and let the warm water wake your stiff muscles. Finally feeling the static start to clear you squeezed some shower gel into your bath puff, squealing when you caught a glimpse of something blue on your forearm. Dropping the puff to run a trembling hand over the colored patch of skin you noticed an identical mark on the other arm.

Two four-inch aqua stars glared back at you as you sat wrapped in a towel on your bed. There was no way you'd gone out and gotten a tattoo much less two without remembering, no matter how drunk you'd been; not to mention they didn't hurt.

Could it be?

Prepared to shake away the thought you were distracted by a strange tightness in your chest. Emotions that felt strong but somehow foreign flooded your senses. Anxiety and worry swirled with guilt clenching your heart. These feelings were definitely not yours.

A small line formed on the inside of your wrist sending your heart into hyperdrive. The stranger's emotions continued to torment you until the sentence was completed, tapering off into nothingness.

"Why did you stop painting?" each letter scrolled out hastily in bold black ink.

Had they been watching all this time simultaneously tapping into your feelings and never once saying a thing? Quickly you fumbled through your art supplies for a ballpoint.

Anger and embarrassment fueled your response, "You've been ignoring me?"

Impatiently you tapped the blue pen against your thigh waiting to see what they had to say.

"Your art started showing up a month ago." Guilt and regret pooled in your chest, "I'm sorry I didn't know what to say. They always seemed forlorn and harrowing but when finished you were always calm." sincerity washed over you.

"What's with the stars?" you asked awkwardly, unsure of what to say to their explanation.

"You draw stars a lot and that shade of blue is one you frequent. I thought you would like it." Your lips bent involuntarily at the fondness expressed in that sentence.

All those years spent envying your friends faded as you glared at your left arm.

"I'm not still drunk?" you scrolled under their last response.

"And I'm not dreaming." the reply was immediate.

A giddy chuckle bubbled up your throat making your cheeks flush. Who were you, giggling over something a complete stranger said. Was this how everyone felt contacting their soulmate?

____________

"I remember learning in middle school that sometimes the soulmate bond is latent if there's an age gap," Usopp muttered inspecting the blue star on your right forearm.

"I suppose that would make sense," Nami added.

"It still amazes me that this is permanent. He went through all the pain and you get to have these marks forever." Usopp prattled.

You flushed having not thought of it that way before.

"Are you excited to meet them?" Nami questioned deepening your blush.

"I - I suppose I'll be ready when fate decides." You stammered.

"Hmm that might be a problem," Usopp noted as you tugged your arm away.

"She is a bit awkward huh," Nami confirmed.

"S-hut up. It's just talking to new people is difficult." you absentmindedly dragged your fingers over the star tattoo Usopp had been admiring, "You don't think I'll be too shy to speak to them?"

"Meeting your mate is different." Usopp tapped his finger to his chin.

"Perhaps it won't be an issue." Nami stroked your hair, "Now you're able to communicate so when you meet they won't technically be a stranger."

"I hope you're right."

______________

Some weeks had passed, you spoke to your soulmate as often as possible. Each conversation drawing you closer and closer. You also learned some things, they are male and have a few piercings. He also owned his own garage where he repaired and built all sorts of vehicles; land, sea, and air. Not to mention his affinity for expressing how "super" things were when he was excited or approving.

Every time you wrote to each other you couldn't help but relish in the giddy flutter of your heart. You shared childhood secrets and trauma as did he. There was nothing you kept from each other with the exception of the silly rules attached to your connection.

Finally, you had finished multiple projects and exams that had tapered your communication with your mate. So, you decided for the first time since you began speaking to paint for him.

Lining the living room floor with a tarp you carefully chose colors and squeezed them out directly on the blue plastic. The full-length mirror from your room was propped against a chair across from you allowing you to easily view your work. Without any real plan, you dipped your fingers into different colors and began swirling them across your bare chest. At first, you tried to focus on what you wanted to pass through the bond; something warm, fond and apologetic for your absence, but a few minutes in you lost yourself in the deliberate strokes of the colors you applied.

Wet paint dripped down your wrist as your fingers traced your shoulder stretching up your neck. The cool tones of blue and green that covered your torso lightened to warmer yellows, pinks and oranges as they rose passed your collar like flames licking your jawline. You let your hands drop to your lap as you almost breathlessly recovered from the near two hours spent painting the sunset like scene. Chuckling at yourself for admittedly going overboard you gazed at yourself in the mirror. The poor guy would have to walk around with this for the next twenty-four hours.

Before you could rise and head for the shower an ever familiar and very welcome flutter exploded through your painted chest. You felt the pen as if it were actually pressed to your thigh just above your knee.

"That was ...beautiful."

A broad smile bent your lips, "Thank you. It was meant as an apology for being so busy lately. But I'm afraid it came out a little too feminine."

"On the contrary this canvas is pretty masculine. It's a shame you have to wash it off. I may have to go shirtless tomorrow."

Pride spilled through the bond as his words appeared.

"It's still cold out. You'll get yourself sick!" you scolded.

"I'm glad you're my soulmate."

The next day you sat outside the campus studio waiting to meet a friend you hadn't seen in a while to have lunch. The discontent was visible on his face from a distance as he muttered curses to himself dragging tattooed fingers through his wild locks. You noticed new marks on the curve of his forearms peeking out of his rolled-up sleeves.

"New tattoos?" You questioned as he approached dropping his hand from his hair to adjust his shoulder strap.

"He's doing this shit to piss me off I swear." The redhead sneered.

Kid was the only person you ever met that didn't seem to get along with his mate, though you'd catch him absentmindedly smirking at some message the other male had left him.

"Mine got tattoos also." You chimed about to scrunch up your sleeves.

"Why'd I get stuck with such an asshole? Look at this F/N." He tugged his collar down revealing more tribal-like flames, completely brushing passed your statement.

"Sorry. Have you asked him to stop? Or at least consult you first?"

A heavy groan left the male at your side drawing your gaze back up to his now flushed face as he averted his tawny eyes.

"It's his way of making sure people know." He muttered.

Your cheeks flushed at his adoring tone. You knew he secretly liked it.

"Anyway," he coughed, "My boss has become an insufferable mushy mess."

"Mushy?" you echoed.

"Ugh. He recently made contact with his soulmate and he won't shut the fuck up about her." he sneered, "She also paints all over him so the rest of us are forced to look at it all the time."

Your heart skipped a beat, "She paints on him?"

"Oh sorry. I know you do that artsy shit too. I mean they're good paintings, but I don't want to look at that pervert shamelessly flaunting his soulmate's messages."

"Kid." You breathed stopping in your tracks.

"What?" The redhead whipped around to face you.

"T-take me to your work." It came out more as a demand than a request.

"What?" He stepped toward you.

"I- I ... I ..."

"F/N, spit it out. What's wrong with you?"

You swallowed hard trying to gather your words, "I think... those paintings... I mean... they might be mine?"

Kid gawked at you for a moment shifting his weight as he processed your staggered statement. Swiftly he snatched you into his side and marched off in the direction you had both come. He practically threw you into the front seat of his beat-up pickup. You were too shocked for quick movements, both surprised by what was about to happen and Kid's determination.

The entire drive was a blur, you didn't even remember it.

"Are you ready?" Kid asked.

"N-no." you breathed unable to stop yourself from moving toward the door.

"It might not be him, you don't need to be so nervous."

"It's him," you whispered catching sight of the bluette through the bay window of the shop.

A sense of knowing washed over you pushing you forward against your screaming brain and pounding heart. The man in question's movements slowed as you approached the building leaving Kid behind. Your own art stared back at you, lapping up his throat toward his defined chin. Three silver studs anchored each side of the bridge of his nose. Black Ray Bans swept his azure locks out of his face leaving a few strands to dangle framing onyx eyes that never left your face.

Before you knew it you were standing a foot apart, eyes searching over each other's forms taking in the incredibly indescribable surreal moment. Suddenly the intensity dropped ebbing back into an anxious shyness that pulled your face to the left, drawing your hands up to nervously shield yourself. Warm calloused fingers incased your wrists parting your cover.

"Franky." his gruff voice rang in your ears with the pleasantness of a tinkling bell.

"F-f/N." you weakly replied.

Goosebumps rippled across your flesh as he pulled you into an embrace burying his nose in your hair.

"It's super to finally meet you," he said in a whispered chuckle.

[rose-of-obsidian]

｡˚⊱ 𓉸 rules are to answer and tag some people you want to know better and/or catch up with, i was tagged by @satanhersxlf 𓉸 ⊰˚｡

favourite colour: BLACK🖤 blood red & pink too💖🍷

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last song: Ov Fire and The Void ~ Behemoth

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currently reading: Chaos, Creativity and Cosmic Consciousness (+ bunch of poetry collections and a lot of occult literature consumed piece by piece)

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currently craving: more money, more sleep, more art/tattoo supplies 💀

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coffee or tea: coffee of course!!

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tagging: @lily-of-elysium @poecil0theria @gothyween @majestativa

[ratamalgam]

After many days of Hardwork,

Santa clausing around,

I have come to gift you a present

°(None of these designs belong to me more info below the artwork)°

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First of all we have Ari! An OC of LMK

Belongs To @starsburst . Has a lot of cool stuff!

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Dem Valhaken! A persona of the creator

Belongs To @demvalhaken . She draws a lot of bugs!

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The Factcore himself Victor! From an Portal AU from the creator

Belongs To @echothefreak , Victor belongs to a cast with 3 other characters in the AU

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And for last we have Charlie Coid! An OC

Belongs To @cosmic-bones6 . Has enough OC art to supply all your needs and more! He's very cool

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Now that im done i'll continue to be sick as hell

[netherworldpost]

Memory photo app thing reminded me today of the intensity of Evil Supply Co.'s shipping office days. This was Pile 01 of Pile Many. The stacks went back.... four? five? and kept threatening to topple over.

We used to pack overnight to keep out of everyone's way in the building, and also, so we could fill out the entire building's oxygen with music and laughter and dancing poorly without witnesses and breakfast and the cold, bracing air of 3 AM.

I don't know why but the air, mid adventure, always seems colder at 3 AM.

The local post office would lend me these giant bags -- imagine very large garbage backs -- made of an enclosed plastic mesh that could safely be dragged when it was too heavy to carry. Similar to those now ubiquitous Amazon carrier boxes, but much bigger.

I've spent ten minutes trying to explain how I feel and the best I can offer is

"I fell in love with a cosmic horror (mailing hundreds of boxes of Small Art at once) and I need to get back to Them."

I have a soft heart and so Most Cosmic Horror Things elude my taste -- I wasn't sure if this fit, my cosmic horror story experience is very minimal -- but then.

I remembered.

Simon.

Fionna and Cake.

Yes.

Of course.

Ambition is a mad energy. Maybe all of art is. Probably all of life is. I think I'm going to put on Fionna and Cake now while I work.

[jadenameless-blog]

trendposting 1

Hey, hunnies! It's your girl, Tiffany Sparkles, back with another life hack that's gonna shatter your world... literally! That's right, we're talking about the latest craze sweeping the internet: crunching crystals! Forget kale chips and activated almonds, glass is the new must-have munchie for the health-conscious trendsetter.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Tiffany, glass? Isn't that, like, dangerous?" Well, darling, that's where you're wrong! Sure, some might scoff and call it a fad, but I say it's a revolutionary approach to wellness. Think about it: glass is basically pure silica, a natural mineral found in sand and even some fancy detox waters. And let's not forget the crunch factor. That satisfying shatter in your mouth is like an ASMR experience for your taste buds! Plus, the irregular shards massage your gums, promoting circulation and giving you a ✨naturally✨ sculpted jawline.

But wait, there's more! Glass isn't just trendy, it's transcendent. It detoxifies your aura, amplifies your inner light, and channels the cosmic energy of the quartz quarries. It's basically like a mini meditation session with every bite!

Now, I know what you're really asking: where to get your glass fix? Well, I wouldn't recommend raiding your grandma's china cabinet (although vintage Pyrex is totally chic). Instead, hit up your local art supply store or rock shop! Look for beautiful, ethically sourced crystals that speak to your soul (and your stomach). Amethyst for calming vibes, rose quartz for self-love, and obsidian for that detoxifying edge. Remember, your crystals are an extension of you, so choose wisely!

So, are you ready to join the glass-eating revolution? Remember, it's all about balance. Don't go replacing your avocado toast with a chandelier just yet (although I wouldn't judge). But sprinkle some crushed crystals on your salad, blend them into your smoothie, or even pop a shard or two as a post-workout snack. Your body (and your Instagram) will thank you!

Now, before you go, don't forget to like, comment, and subscribe! And remember, you glow girl, even when you're chewing on glass!

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Prairiewolf Meanders West

As I think I’ve mentioned! That band I play in — Prairiewolf — is miraculously heading out of our home state of Colorado for a handful of shows out west. May 15 at Atelier Mill in Salt Lake City with M. Sage and Ben Swisher! May 17 at Beauty Supply Arts in Oakland with Chuck Johnson! May 18 at 2220 Arts in Los Angeles with Hayden Pedigo, Leslie Stevens, DJ Bob Holmes (SUSS) and Liberate Elemental Forces! Holy Moses.

While I’m still in slight disbelief that it’s all actually happening … it’s all actually happening! If you happen to be in any of these fine cities, please come out and say hello to your friendly neighborhood Prairiewolf. The Boulder Weekly just called us “cosmic country asskickers” — that’s the kind of acclaim you can’t buy, people!

Prior to kicking ass in Utah and California, we’ll be playing a local show at one of our fave haunts, Cellar West Artisan Ales in Lafayette on Saturday, May 4, 6-8pm. If the weather’s good, we’ll be jamming old and new jams on the patio. Great beer, great pals, great times. See you there?

[der-unverantwortliche]

NESTLED IN DREAD: THE ART OF HARRY MORRIS

It would appear that Harry Morris has the maximum contempt for reality. On the other hand, he has performed the service of distilling away its dross in order to picture its essence: pure dread. So this contempt also pays homage to its object, honoring it with scorn and raw exposures. No decor­ative comforts are allowed in his work, no natural light of day, no human reference points. No, no, no--the cry of a mind protesting its dreadful revelations and at the same time finding them well worth the revel. Dread: both reality and escape from it. Dread: both the sum of things fled from and the ticket out of town. Not to mention the ultimate destination. Next stop, the Haven of Dread. It is not fear that inhabits such a series as Scenes from Lautreamont's Maldoror. Fear implies hope, and these images are as far from hope as they are from the morning newspaper and the evening news, as well as from all the daily agitations which fill the hours between. Neither is it shock or fright, horror or terror that forms the center of these scenes. Or rather, such states so permeate Harry Morris's collagework as to institute them as the norm, to expand these irruptions in reality until they come to fill every square inch of it. And thus reality's volatile moments are smoothed out into an even atmosphere of dread, a climate of all horror and no hope, a place where nothing bothers to move toward or away from doom and desolation. Every­thing already lives there, and there is nowhere else to turn. This is, above all, a stable universe; its scenes, in dread, are forever fixed. Let us look at some of them.

One of them could be called "Bedside Scene." The "action" is all crammed into the corner of a room where leaden walls meet: one wall displays two four-paned, shutter-type windows; the other wall reflects eight ghostly segments of those panes, through which shine the lights entrusted to illuminate an eternal blackness. (Those two staring pinpricks in the night beyond the windows might, after all, be a pair of moons.) Below all this window business, of which more later, a pallid-faced thing with eyes like huge jeweled broaches lies bedridden. Another thing, with a tiny beaked head out of which grow great corkscrew horns, is nursing the thing in the bed, feeding it a serpentine fluid which gushes from a ruddy-textured bulb. A third thing, headless in the lower right foreground, motionlessly looks on. All three of these things were once good women of the Victorian epoch, this is meant to be known. But whatever identities they may have formerly possessed, whatever creditable activities they may have formerly been engaged in, they are now freaks in a mysterious world where they are compelled to carry out a mysterious ritual--automatons performing the rites of dread. Impossible to tell if this scene depicts a perennial situation of panic or one selected from an infinite series of emergencies. In either case, a reassuring constancy is supplied by dread, the dread which is forever. It is always there watching, like those cosmic dots peering in the windows. Yes, the windows. Where they lead is one of the most engrossing questions of Harry Morris's work. They are not like the windows we know, which always give out onto scenes we know, or think we know. These windows give out onto different scenes. Sometimes there is the suggestion of the star-speckled hollows of space beyond the windows, the vast vacancy of infinity. Sometimes there is only a cluster of splotches or an infernal glare, cluttered cul-de-sac. Whatever the backdrop, open cosmos or blind alley, it is an uneventful and unpopulated empti­ness. Nothing and no one resides there, except perhaps a few eyeless entities of a vaguely destructive bent and demonic mysteries as strange as a thunderstorm in outer space. So don't stray too many steps beyond the scene before you. As in a dream, what you see is about all there is to see. And like the windows of a dream, these windows lead, if anywhere, merely to another set of windows in another dream.

The next scene—think of it as the "Mummified Wonder"—appears to be about shadows and light and bandages. But possibly the first two phenomena are merely variant forms of the third. Shadows as a first-aid for dreadful illumination. Light as a fine white gauze hiding a great gaping wound that bleeds blackness. What gashes are hidden beneath this wounded one's wrappings? Such dread in her eyes. Or are they his? This is part of its wonder. But what good or evil would it do for this creature to be one or the other? In these scenes, all differentiations and categories of the waking world are defunct or irrelevant. You may be man, woman, or child across the street of sleep, but here--in the land of dread--you are just one more object among many. Is that you tapping on those windows back there? Welcome, sweet companion, dear old thing.

The last collage to be examined really begs to be given the simple title "Empty Rooms with Decapitated Head." Perhaps this is the same head that was stolen from one of the things in the "Bedside Scene." (Harry Morris's universe seems to have its own laws of conservation of materials.) But actually there are two heads, are there not? That is to say, a head within a head or a head behind a-mask; possibly the relationship is that between core and covering, or could it be some twisted evolution or decom­position going on here? Look at the apples at the base of its neck! Apples, or some kind of bulbous fruit. (Another link with the "Bedside Scene"?) Whatever they are, tempting they are not. At least not in the usual way. Attention should be paid to the windows, once again, and then expanded to take in the whole cryptic architecture of this scene. More than walls seem to have been knocked out, more than rooms have been sunken and split­-leveled. Is this place some hybrid between cathedral and condemned house? Despite the windows and doorways, these rooms offer no way in or out. Cer­tainly not to the wide awake wanderer, that much is sure. But perhaps a sleepwalker could get up those stairs at the back, could climb into the disintegrating glare of dreams. And perhaps only an experienced somnambulist could step out that door at the left and actually end up somewhere. And the artist of these scenes is both. Dream overlaps dream. Dread piles on dread. Thanks to the art of Harry Morris, pure dread finally possesses a geog­raphy, a home deep in some interior landscape where we watch ourselves rave in scenes of contorted glory, where we watch ourselves sleep in the paradoxical peace of perdition, and where we watch ourselves watching ourselves with the infinite eyes of dread.

Thomas Ligotti

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

PIC INFO: Stilgar and his men, artwork by John Schoenherr.

2.) Dawn at the Palace of Arakeen.

3.) Baron Vladimir Harkonnen.

4.) The Sardaukar Warriors.

5.) Flight through the Shield Wall.

Sandworm of Dune.

Paul Muad'Dib calling his first Sandworm.

Paul administers the Oath of the Fedaykin.

The battle for planet Dune.

Defeating the Sardaukar.

"I CAN ENVISION NO MORE PERFECT VISUAP REPRESENTATION OF MY DUNE WORLD THAN JOHN SCHOENHERR'S..."

PIC(S) INFO: Mega spotlight on the illustrated world of Frank Herbert's "Dune," from the pages of "Analog" science fiction magazine, c. early '60s. Artwork by John Schoenherr.

OVERVIEW: "Frank Herbert said John Schoenherr was “the only man who has ever visited Dune.” Schoenherr (1935-2010) was the artist responsible for visualising and illustrating Herbert’s "Dune" — firstly in the pages of "Analog" magazine, then in the fully illustrated edition of the classic science fiction tale. But Herbert didn’t stop there, he later added:

"I can envision no more perfect visual representation of my "Dune" world than John Schoenherr’s careful and accurate illustrations."

High praise indeed, but truly deserved, for as Jeff Love pointed out in "Omni Reboot," Schoenherr’s illustrations are “the most important science fiction art ever created.”

"If there’s anywhere the old axiom about judging a book by its cover holds true, it’s science fiction. Few authors and the artists employed to visualize their stories achieve a real dialogue; more often than not, throughout the history of science fiction, literature of real depth is sold with flashy aliens and cosmic exaggerations. An extraordinary illustrator, however, is capable of contributing to a piece of literature just as meaningfully as its author. In the case of an artist like John Schoenherr, he becomes the work’s joint architect–and leaves a mark no less indelible."

Schoenherr’s indelible mark made its first appearance alongside a three-part serialization of "Dune World" in the pages of "Analog" magazine (1963-64). This was followed by the five-part "Prophet of Dune" in 1965, for this he won a Hugo Award as Best Professional Artist.

Then in 1976, Schoenherr supplied the artwork for "Children of Dune," leading to the epic every home should one volume "The Illustrated Dune" in 1978."

-- DANGEROUS MINDS, "The artist who visited "Dune" and "the most important science fiction art ever created,"" by Paul Gallagher, published January 11, 2015

Sources: https://dangerousminds.net/comments/the_artist_who_visited_dune, Reddit, X, various, etc...