#Pond Cleaner

[firststateponds]

Best Fountain Cleaners in Dallas to Keep Your Outdoor Oasis Pristine

A fountain is more than just a water feature—it’s an enchanting centerpiece that can transform your outdoor space into a tranquil oasis. Whether it’s a grand stone fountain, a modern tiered design, or a serene tabletop feature, maintaining its cleanliness is essential to preserving its beauty and functionality. In Dallas, where the hot sun and variable weather can quickly take a toll on water features, professional fountain cleaning services are necessary to keep your outdoor oasis pristine. In this article, we’ll explore the best fountain cleaners in Dallas who can ensure your fountain remains a stunning focal point all year long.

Why Fountain Cleaning is Crucial

Fountain cleaning is an essential part of maintaining its overall health and appearance. Over time, fountains can accumulate dirt, algae, debris, and mineral deposits. In Dallas, where high temperatures and sunshine are common, algae growth is a frequent issue that can quickly turn the water green and slimy. Regular cleaning not only keeps the water crystal clear but also helps to:

Prevent algae buildup: Algae thrive in warm, stagnant water, making regular cleaning essential to prevent unsightly blooms.

Maintain the fountain’s functionality: Dirt and debris can clog pumps and filters, reducing the efficiency of the fountain and potentially leading to costly repairs.

Enhance aesthetic appeal: Clean fountains contribute to the overall beauty of your garden or patio, creating a calming and inviting atmosphere.

Ensure the longevity of your fountain: Regular maintenance protects the structural integrity of the fountain and its components, preventing the need for early repairs or replacements.

Best Fountain Cleaners in Dallas

There are several reputable fountain cleaning services in Dallas, each offering a range of services designed to keep your outdoor oasis in top condition. Here are some of the best options available:

1. Dallas Pond & Fountain Service

Dallas Pond & Fountain Service is a well-known name when it comes to water feature cleaning and maintenance. They offer specialized services for both ponds and fountains, ensuring that each fountain receives the care it needs. Their services include:

Routine cleaning and maintenance: They provide regular cleaning to remove debris, algae, and mineral buildup, ensuring the water stays clear and fresh.

Pump and filter servicing: They inspect and clean the fountain’s pump and filter systems to ensure proper function and prevent clogging.

Algae control: Their team uses eco-friendly products to control algae growth and prevent recurring issues.

Their experience and attention to detail make them one of the top choices for fountain cleaning in Dallas.

2. Aquatic Designs

Aquatic Designs offers a comprehensive range of fountain cleaning and maintenance services throughout the Dallas area. They specialize in both residential and commercial properties and take pride in keeping water features sparkling clean. Their services include:

Thorough cleaning: Aquatic Designs cleans all parts of your fountain, from the basin to the pump, removing debris, minerals, and algae.

Water quality testing: They monitor and adjust the water’s pH and chemical levels to ensure a healthy and clear fountain.

Seasonal maintenance: They offer seasonal maintenance plans to prepare your fountain for different weather conditions, such as freezing temperatures in winter or heavy rain in spring.

Aquatic Designs has earned a reputation for being reliable, eco-conscious, and thorough in their work, making them a popular choice for Dallas homeowners.

3. Pond & Fountain Solutions

Specializing in both pond and fountain care, Pond & Fountain Solutions offers expert cleaning and maintenance services for water features of all sizes. Their team of professionals is well-versed in managing the unique challenges that come with Dallas’s hot and humid climate, and they offer:

Eco-friendly cleaning: They use non-toxic, environmentally safe products that are safe for the surrounding plants, wildlife, and pets.

Algae prevention and treatment: Pond & Fountain Solutions utilizes state-of-the-art UV clarifiers and algae control methods to keep your fountain water clean and clear.

Fountain repair: If your fountain’s pump, filters, or other components are malfunctioning, they provide efficient repair services to ensure everything is functioning properly.

Their commitment to providing long-term solutions and sustainable maintenance practices makes them a trusted choice for many fountain owners in Dallas.

4. The Fountain Guys

The Fountain Guys have been serving the Dallas area for years, providing expert cleaning, repairs, and installations for a wide range of water features. They focus on both aesthetics and functionality, ensuring that every aspect of your fountain remains in peak condition. Their services include:

Comprehensive fountain cleaning: From removing algae and debris to scrubbing the fountain basin, The Fountain Guys offer a complete cleaning service.

Pump and filter cleaning: Their experts inspect and clean your fountain’s pump and filtration system, preventing clogs and optimizing performance.

Water treatment: They provide water treatments to maintain proper pH levels and prevent mineral buildup that can cause damage to the fountain.

Known for their reliability and excellent customer service, The Fountain Guys offer personalized maintenance plans to suit your needs and budget.

5. Blue Water Aquatics

Blue Water Aquatics specializes in the cleaning, installation, and maintenance of water features, including fountains, ponds, and waterfalls. Their team of experts offers tailored services that meet the unique needs of each fountain. Services include:

Routine cleaning and upkeep: Blue Water Aquatics offers regular cleaning to remove organic material, algae, and mineral deposits, ensuring a pristine fountain.

Pump and equipment servicing: They check and clean the pump, filters, and other equipment to keep the fountain running smoothly and efficiently.

Algae treatment: They provide treatments to prevent and eliminate algae growth, keeping your fountain water clear and healthy.

With their extensive experience and customer-focused approach, Blue Water Aquatics is a great choice for those looking for high-quality fountain maintenance in Dallas.

Choosing the Right Fountain Cleaner for Your Needs

When selecting a fountain cleaning service in Dallas, it’s important to consider several factors to ensure that you choose the best fit for your needs:

Experience: Choose a company with experience in handling fountains similar to yours. Experienced cleaners will know the best techniques and treatments for maintaining your specific fountain style.

Eco-friendly practices: Ensure that the company uses environmentally friendly products that are safe for both your garden and any wildlife in the area.

Reputation: Read reviews, ask for references, and check ratings to find a company with a reputation for high-quality service.

Comprehensive services: Look for a company that offers a range of services, including regular cleaning, pump and filter maintenance, and algae control.

Customized maintenance plans: Some companies offer seasonal maintenance plans tailored to your fountain’s needs, which can be convenient for long-term upkeep.

Conclusion

A clean and well-maintained fountain can add beauty, tranquility, and elegance to your outdoor space, making it a central feature of your garden or patio. In Dallas, where the climate can be harsh on water features, professional fountain cleaning services are vital to maintaining your oasis. The best fountain cleaners in Dallas—such as Dallas Pond & Fountain Service, Aquatic Designs, Pond & Fountain Solutions, The Fountain Guys, and Blue Water Aquatics—offer expert care to keep your fountain in pristine condition year-round. By choosing one of these trusted services, you can ensure that your outdoor fountain continues to be a stunning centerpiece for years to come.

[wolfinthethorns]

Gratuitous Newtity

Gods, so, the house we bought in January came with an enormous but horrendously overgrown garden. Like, impenetrable bramble thickets that were old enough to vote. Clearing out has been an adventure of frustrations - principally that the previous owners were merrily fly-tipping in their own yard - and surprises.

Like the presence of a sizeable pond. A stagnant, stinking, trash-filled pond, only suitable for mosquito larvae and rat-tailed maggots. Or so I thought, until I dredged it...

No, turns out we have at least 5 of the world's most optimistic Smooth Newts hanging out in there among the rotting vegetarian and discarded bread bags. After a brief stay in a bucket they're now back in their much cleaner pond with a new landing platform to replace the rafts of bramble roots. Hopefully they'll hang around.

[yoshistory]

apartment management silently marked my maintenance request to clean the pond outside as completed without actually doing it or corresponding to me about it at all ... -__-

[roses-and-tears]

slipped in mud trying to fish some trash out of the duck pond

[frisbeeslandscapingponds]

Pond Installation Rochester NY | Fish Pond Builders

Dive into Serenity with KOI Ponds. Ready to transform your outdoor space? Contact us today for a consultation and let's discuss how a KOI pond can bring joy and beauty to your home. Your oasis awaits!

Visit us -

[pangur-and-grim]

this might be cringe, but we had to write 1 page of description about something and I chose my favourite object in the whole world

From how it looks, the statue should smell like algae and regurgitated milk (like an unweaned kitten, if it fell into a pond). In actuality, its only odour comes from the thick blanket of dust it wears. Its four legs are stout, toe-less. Its tail stands straight like the pole of bumper-car, eager and tensed to wag. Two wet eyes peer up. They are black enough to see your own face reflected. Under them, the tight line of a mouth, melancholic and imploring. 

Tapping its stout back (and leaving fingerprints in the dust) would reveal that it is hollow. A living animal might contain organs, and bones, and even a swallowed meal, but this creature holds only air. It can produce no sounds of its own. It will produce no waste. It will never want anything, nor squeeze anything foul out of its rear, but still it seems to beg for sustenance. Being frozen only adds to this tension; staring at it, each would wait for the other to blink. This is why a slab of plastic meat has been laid before it. An offering, like cream and butter for a fairy.

‘Frog kitten’ is how the online listing described it, and accordingly, it has an amphibious lack of ears. Its square body, shaped like a loaf of bread, is covered in mouldy splashes of night-green and white-beige. Two dabs of a cleaner white across its back only serve to emphasize the drabness of its majority. Five rake-marks trail down one side: scars, wounds, the bright green of its meat bleeding through. Could the sculptor have scratched it with their fingers, deeply and deliberately? And why? Why create such a young, sweet creature, and then harm it? 

The creature has no anus. The creature has no ear canals. The creature has no urethra, nor cloaca, no mouth, nor pores, but it does have two penetrating nostrils. If you shone a light down those narrow passages, you could explore the hollowness of its belly.

Touch the creature, and it is cold. Stroke it, and it is smooth, but speckled with the smallest of lumps and warts. It is dry but shines as though wet with perspired oils. You cannot look at this mute dead thing without seeing it as alive. The longer you hold its gaze, the less of the dust you smell, and the more of the algae and the milk. 

[meyeraquascapes]

Aquascape Pump Cleaner Maintenance Solution quickly cleans and lubricates pond, fountain, and waterfall pumps to keep them operating properly. The biodegradable solution uses cutting-edge green cleaning compounds to remove scale, bio-film, and more without the use of harmful acids.

[kirlicues]

Rosewood Place | Sims 2 Residential Lot Download

Here is another lot with a country farmhouse/Victorian feel. It features a large wrap-around porch, and a small fishing pond. It has 2+ bedrooms and 2 baths and is built on a 3x3 lot. Cost: §91,068

This home started out a more modern looking build for one of my kids' families who was more on the techie side. All the mechanical workbench items? This lot had them.

But after changing the roof up a little and adding that wrap-around porch the build took on a decidedly country farmhouse feel, so I went with it. 😂 Almost all of the furniture has been removed and there's not a robotic item in site.

It's now got a nice little pond in the back as opposed to a mean little pond...?🤷‍♀️, and a patio for enjoying outdoor dining on summer days.

Here's a view of the floor plan:

1st Floor: Clockwise from bottom left: living room, kitchen, mudroom/laundry room, garage, entryway, dining area, and bathroom.

2nd Floor: Clockwise from bottom left: open to living room below, master bedroom, bathroom, office/study/rec room/bedroom #1, and tiny bedroom #2. Optional modification: You could fill in the upstairs space that's open to the living room below, turn half of the kids bedroom into a hallway and half into another bathroom and have a larger bedroom if you wanted.

Here's one "inside" picture of the kitchen. I had fun decorating it a little, but you don't have to keep it this way.

Kitchen:

After I went to take pictures of this lot I realized that I now have 3 3x3 lots with "rose" in the name. 🤦‍♀️I must find another flower to name these lots after! Maybe "Daisy Drive" or "Poppy Place", or "Daylily Lane" will be next someone please stop me? 🤣🤭

Rosewood Park: MF | SFS

All EPs and SPs are required.

*I highly recommend that you have the PerfectPlants mod from TwoJeffs*

I’ve run this home through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run this lot through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

This home only has 2 pieces of CC, which you may already have in your game. These can easily be replaced or omitted if you don’t want them though.

CC List (Included): -Maxis Match Wall Cabinets by CTNutmegger at ModtheSims -Maxis "Lost & Found" Diagonal Bohemian Molding at @pforestsims

If you want your chimney to look like the one in the picture you’ll also need to grab these Maxis match masonry chimney recolors, but the original chimney texture should also look just fine with this lot.

I'm also using the Bay Tree texture default by @tvickiesims

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

Want to improve the look of your game, or grab some “Lost & Found” Maxis objects? Check out this post.

[asheslab]

* @the-final-knight shows up to your house, it's been a while, you think you notice a few new scars, but she really just seems excited to see you*

*The outside of the house is cleaner than usual, there's a small pond in their front yard being shaded by a young willow tree. She's been working on the house a bit since you've been gone*

[raayllum]

Is there like‚ some kind of symbolism of Claudia fixing Callum's hair VS Rayla lovely touching it?

There's probably a whole mini meta just waiting in TDP about hair (how Soren parts his hair switching post-timeskip to reflect how he's literally switched sides; Claudia's moon symbolism hair, which I do have a meta for in my drafts rn) so to put it simply: yes, I think so!

Claudia cares a lot about appearances. This ties into how much she hates feeling judged ("you're doing it again prince judy-face!" / "here to judge me, captain true heart?"). She values things looking put together, largely because she puts more emphasis on things being Physically okay rather than considering someone's emotional state (i.e. overruling Viren and Soren in S2 and S4 respectively). We see this overtly in "Lost Child":

“You’re still here. Even though I’m…” She gestured at herself, to something beyond the soil-soaked boots and tearstained face: a total mess. [...] A moment later, she blinked into the pond; her reflection beamed up at her. Her eyes brighter, her face fuller, more color in her cheeks. Small changes, but still—There I am, she thought.

We also see this in show canon. She checks with the little leaf-cub creature in 6x04 that her new haircut suits her. She also reflects that maybe seeing the creature as parts is bad, implicitly, because the creature is so cute/adorable. (This is in stark contrast to Ezran who reflects a season earlier in 5x06 that sea slugs may look gross, but they have a rich inner life and he's regularly made friends with them. Post with that comparison here)

Another consistent facet of Claudia is that her compliments are sometimes not entirely compliments. This happens just once with Terry ("Claudia says that makes me weird, and wonderful, so...") as she more readily compliments him ("you saved the day!" / "goofy and glorious just like you!"), but it happens basically any of the few times she compliments/offers praise etc. to Callum in any manner.

It was completely ridiculous. Adorable. Did you just say adorable? Did I? (1x02)

That was very confident Callum. Oh, thanks. Even if your hair's a little messy. (2x02)

You didn't open it? Why would I do that? [The letter] is for you. Though I could've easily opened it and then resealed it with magic. Did you? Did I? We may never know. But no. No.

Yeah, you always were a very clever human, weren't you, Callum? (4x08)

Impressive, Callum. Somehow you learned primal magic. But dark magic will always have the edge. (7x07)

(AKA she giveth and she taketh away.)

So Claudia fixes Callum's hair. She compliments him, but also makes him more nervous. She adjusts his appearance to something she thinks is 'better' (cleaner). Absolutely none of it is malicious, but it does reaffirm that when crushing on her Callum never felt entirely comfortable around her despite being longtime friends, whereas even though Rayla can be much gruffer, Callum feels a lot more comfortable around her (even once he develops feelings) in general.

So there's the obvious level of comfort (Rayla) vs non-comfort (Claudia), as well as a longstanding childhood crush vs what has blossomed into more mature, enduring love of 3+ years as of the end of 7x09.

Claudia sees that his hair is messy and points it out; Rayla sees that his hair is messy and quietly fixes it herself, doing so simply and leaving Callum looking more relaxed than before, rather than less like in 2x02.

Rayla, as we know, doesn't really care about appearances. She routinely doesn't care about titles, she goes with what her gut tells her, and anytime she expresses distress over her appearance ("I'm a mess") it's scaffolded under "I'm showing weakness" rather "I look bad". There's a similar fear of judgement lurking underneath as Claudia's, but I don't think Rayla sees herself as a Good Person the same Claudia does, and therefore doesn't have the need to keep seeing herself that way in the same manner.

Either way, Callum is always Callum to her ("You're so gross" with a fond smile on her face; his scarf is smelly and he knows it and just smirks at her over it; "you're a good person, Callum, maybe the goodest," etc), and always her Callum — her heart, her home, her best friend and partner — and that's what the 7x09 scene is ultimately about, I think.

Do me the honour of letting me talk a bit about hair-touching and white streaks, though, for a second, when it comes to Claudia, Terry, Callum, and Rayla.

Because despite Claudia and Terry being very touchy-feely for 3.5/4 seasons, Terry never once touches Claudia's hair in quite the same manner or framing that we see in 7x09. He touches her hair, sure — he braids it for her and then later cuts it — but this is the closest we get to an adjustment, which is when he's bathing her and cleaning her up in 6x03.

Now, pushing the white hair and all its associations to get to Claudia, flesh and blood and very much still alive, underneath would be ripe enough as a symbolic examination, honestly. The reason why this feels so different to me than 7x09, I think then, is that there are two scenes 7x09 mirrors when it comes to someone touching Claudia's hair in the "facing the camera, strands on the face/cheek" directly shot.

And it's herself.

SOREN: You saw what Dad turned Kasef into. What Dad turned into. Claudia, you're changing too. (3x07)

CLAUDIA: But... I'm still nice. I'm still me. (7x09)

In both instances, she's not willing to admit that Soren is right / that she's changed (or, arguably, that she needs to change just in the opposite direction). She touches it first as a sign of shame in the face of her brother's words, the first white streak in her dark hair. Then she touches one of the few dark streaks that remain, reassuring herself (because nobody else will or can at this point) that she's still the person she thinks of herself as, someone who's still nice ('good').

Callum, meanwhile, never touches his white streak. He wakes Rayla up in the middle of the night (which she takes much better than I would, I can say that much) and offers his scarf, asking if she trusts him. But Rayla notices his hair is a little askew, so she tidies it for him. And the whole time, his expression is completely open, smiling and trusting her in turn... even when she hasn't actually answered his question yet, and his expression softens even before she has too.

She doesn't tuck or hide it away. It's a part of him, and therefore a part she loves ("Everything"). And he knows it.

[kikiwie]

too good to be true

part 3

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r.suna

after the final message was sent, suna swallowed anxiously. he should have set the time sooner because he had to wait now. you two have been exchanging texts, and he would come see you at the shop often, which he claimed was to grab things for his sister. (he’s a liar he just wanted to see you.) but this was not like the other times. you two would be alone, one on one.

he flushed, rolling around on his bed, entangling his fingers in his hair anxiously. you made him so giddy, so excited. he didn’t know what to do with himself. he likes you. suna has long been aware of it.

the more he saw you and spoke to you, the stronger the feelings became. but it was unclear how you felt about him. he groaned into his pillow. all he could hope was that he wouldn't look foolish.

8 p.m. arrived quickly. suna would have gone crazy if he hadn't prepared his outfit beforehand. he wore the same style as usual. but he made an effort to appear nicer and cleaner. even selecting his expensive fragrance. he tries his best. all for you.

he had to give himself a double take before he left the house. repairing any flyaways and making sure his clothing didn't look bad. even though he was nervous and his palms were sweating, he knew this was not a date. although he was secretly wishing it was.

…well not so secretly.

he saw you standing there, just finishing up, as he was heading to the store. all of his problems seemed to vanish when he saw you look up at him and your face brightened. never in his life did he feel so stupid for overthinking.

"hey," he said, sounding out of breath as he approached you. his tone made him want to bang his head against a wall. but you simply radiated effortless beauty, and it did make him breathless. you returned his greeting with a smile.

"let’s go," he said with a smile before beginning to stroll to your destination. "where are we heading?" you trailed after him, until you were touching his shoulder. his breath seemed to catch in his throat.

"you’ll see, i think you'll like it," he said, grinning down at you. "are you going to kidnap me or something?" he couldn't contain his laughter at your response. “no, are you crazy??" you simply linked your arms together and smiled at him.

as he gazed down at you, suna became tense but then relaxed. it felt like his heart was about to burst. or his head? he didn’t know. all he knew was that he was happy.

"alright, we're here." there was a seat that led to a tiny pond. it was beautifully lighted by the surrounding lights. “wow, this is the first time I've been here! talk about knowing a spot.”

he found his place next you after you took a seat first. both physically and figuratively. observing you as the light lit up your face. it warmed him from the inside out. his desire to be with you has been confirmed in that moment.

the night was spent chatting, laughing, and making remarks. it was more than enough for you both. suna, however, craved more. since he became aware of his feelings. he wanted more than to be just your friend, he felt somewhat selfish. he desired to be your boyfriend.

he turned to face you after hearing your sigh. "i’m just so happy, thank you for bringing me here." knowing that he felt the same way, he grinned.

"i should probably go home though, my mom will be away tomorrow morning, so I have to open the store." he was a little disappointed, but he understood that you had responsibilities. "i have volleyball practice, so yeah, we should go. i’ll walk you home."

he stood up and held out his hand to you. you took his hand and said, "you don't have to."

"well, i want to. don’t worry," he said with a smile that made you feel nostalgic.

“i mean, who am I to refuse the sunarin?”

“oh please, shut up and let me walk you home.”

as you reached the front of your house gate, he didn't want things to end so quickly.

the world wasn’t ending, although it felt like it, he just didn't know when your schedules might line up again, he could tell you didn't want it to end either based on your face.

“well, thank you, rin. i’ll head inside now." you sounded a little let down, and something inside of him snapped as he heard his name coming out of your mouth. he stood contemplating as you were already making your way to your gate.

oh, fuck it.

“wait!”

he sounded a bit desperate, and he cringed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care now.

"yeah rin?" you asked, tilting your head to the side as your palm rested on your gates knob. he started to inch closer to you. he remained silent, causing your brows to furrow in confusion, and you began touching the knob anxiously out of anticipation.

a hand reached out to slip a lock of hair behind your ear, before stopping to cup your cheek. his gaze moved from your eyes to your lips, he bit his lip nervously. “may i... give you a kiss?" you nodded as your eyes became wide and you began to doubt your voice.

suna then bent down to give you a kiss.

pt. 1 & pt. 2

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thank you for reading guys!! hope you all liked it. more to come soon! 🍊

[immajustvibehere]

Amidst a Crashing World (2/5)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Summary: Arthur stops by at your cabin again and you serve him a home-cooked meal.

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no-tb-Arthur, literally your love redemption, maybe smut (but probably not), slow burn (but I mean how slow can a story really burn in five chapters?)

! d/n stands for dog's name. So go ahead and pick a female dog name of your choice!

This is still a little bit of exposition, but I promise...way more fluff in the chapter to come ;)

Link to my masterlist

previous chapter

4700 words

Two weeks after Arthur had initially stopped by at your cabin for the first time, he decided to go again. But when he arrived in the early afternoon, he found the cabin empty. It wasn’t abandoned, he assessed, as he peeked through the window. There was a dirty cup on the table and a big pot on the stove looked as if its contents were cooking, as the lid sometimes wobbled a little. Arthur noticed an addition to your wall. In between your drawings that you had nailed to the wooden wall, you had pinned your own bounty poster. It was the same that Arthur had shown you the last time, though he was sure he used his to light a fire later that week.

He wondered why you had put it up there, since you had complained about the sketch not doing you any favour. Arthur agreed by the way, not that the sketch made you look ugly, it simply didn't look like you.

The horse tracks in front of your house were fresh and Arthur figured you had left only a few hours prior, probably for a grocery run. So, he waited.

He leaned on your fence and sketched your cabin. Then he sketched the nature surrounding it. When that was done, he explored the forest behind the house, mentally mapping the berry bushes and animal tracks he found. When he came back to your cabin, you were still nowhere in sight, so he plucked another tomato from your plant and then decided he'd head to the pond that's only a five minutes’ walk away. Apparently, he’d have enough time for a wash, and it was right to say that he needed one anyways.

It was an unusual hot and humid day, especially for so far in the North and close to the mountains. Arthur suspected he had taken the sticky air from the swamps with him. The sky was clear, though it smelt like rain. Arthur went into the pond stark naked, the water didn't even reach his chest, but he still started to scrub away with a little piece of soap that he kept on his travels. The path that led to your house wasn’t frequently used, he could tell by how far the grass had overtaken the earth that was occasionally trampled by horses or people. He didn’t particularly worry that people would sneak up on him or that anyone would walk past for that matter.

Arthur was busy with washing his hair, scrubbing days' worth of sweat and dirt out of it, so he didn't hear your horse approach. You had been quick to recognize the man in the pond and your grin grew with the shrinking distance between you. Arthur's head plunged under water about every other second to get the soap out of his hair. He didn't hear your first "Hey!", but when you whistled, loud and shrill, the man looked up surprised.

At first, Arthur’s attention was drawn to a Labrador Retriever standing at the pond’s edge, its tail wagging as though it anticipated this strange man to toss him a stick. Slowly, Arthur’s eyes went up and so he found you, leaning forward in your saddle with a cheerful grin on your face. You looked...different to when he last saw you. Your clothes were well cared for, even your jeans were cleaner than any he had seen in a while. A revolver was casually tucked into the waistband of your jeans. Arthur had probably been right about the grocery run, because your horse bore the burden of loaded bags.

It took only moments before Arthur’s face turned red. The poor man found himself taken aback, and before he could do as much as utter a word, you yelled: "Don't go killin’ all of my fish with that stink you’re carrying!" And then you rode on, the dog faithfully trailing behind. Arthur remained still in the water, feeling a mix of embarrassment, confusion and a hint of amusement…if only it hadn’t come at his expense.

Fifteen minutes later, he was dry and dressed and walked back to your cabin. The door stood wide open, and he saw you stirring the big pot. It smelt deliciously like stew.

Though the door was open, Arthur knocked gently, so he wouldn't startle you by entering. You gave him a quick smile before you turned to the pot again.

"I, uh...I hadn't expected-...", Arthur had thought it a good idea to apologize, but he wasn't sure why, so he halted. Then he noticed that you had prepared the table for two.  

"Oh, I didn't know you were expecting someone", he commented, slightly surprised.

"Oh yeah", you turned around with a playful expression. "Don't know if ya've seen him. Naked fella in my pond. I thought he might stay for dinner", you said cheekily. You really hoped he would stay. It was a far reach, but you were curious as to why he had returned.

Arthur took a moment to process your words. He stood still until he had pieced a meaning them together. A smile appeared in the corner of his mouth, mixed with some confusion about your hospitality. Last time you held him at gun point to make him leave...but now, it was like you had hoped he'd be back.

"Just...you might want to take the saddle off your horse. Half an hour, and it will be raining", you said, taking the bowls and filling them with stew.

"Rain?", Arthur walked to the door and looked into the sky. It was as cloudless as he remembered it to be. Though the air held a sticky humidity, and a decent wind swept through the trees behind your house, there wasn’t a single cloud in sight.

"Trust me. I've lived here for a year. The clouds are still behind the mountains, it's deceptive", you grinned, placing the bowls on the table. Arthur's eyes fell on the stew, and he felt his mouth water. This smelled and looked better than anything he has had recently, and he’d prefer to dig in right away. Unsaddling his horse would take a while and...as if you could read his thoughts, you interrupted them: "Can't eat it yet anyway unless you fancy getting your tongue burned off."

"If it ain't raining in an hour, I might take ya in for that 15 dollar bounty", Arthur threatened playfully. You only crossed your arms and mumbled a "Try me."

Arthur had all his stuff in the house in record time and the stew was still steaming when he sat down opposite of you. You had added two slices of bread next to his bowl and a bottle of beer. It was the bread that he took first, and he looked at you surprised.

"'s still warm", he commented.

"Yeah", you smiled, "Client of mine baked it fresh today. It was the last job before I headed back, so it's still warm."

"Client?", Arthur asked, but his full attention was now directed towards the stew. He dipped the bread to soak up some of the savoury juices and had to suppress the urge to sigh contentedly as he took a bite. It was undeniebaly delicious. Indeed, better than anything he had tasted recently.

"You think I make my money robbing and stealing people?", you asked with raised eyebrow.

"Mhm", Arthur nodded, not bothering to offer a verbal response as he was occupied with the food before him.

"I'm...a barber of sorts", you said, "You remember, don't you?"

Yes. He did, now that you mentioned it. You were quite talented with scissor and razor and frequently did the girls’ hair. At one point, even Dutch had trusted his hair to you for some minor trims. It was also useful to pickpocket people, he recalled Miss Grimshaw justifying your worth for a mission once.

"Only I stopped robbing people while doing their hair. It's mostly elders or women from Annesburg. Their husbands work in the mine, and they are in a bad state as it is. I'm cheap, but I do my work well and I have plenty of clients."

"Turned yer life around, then", Arthur mumbled, genuinely feeling a sense of happiness for you.

"Yes. So I hope you don't mind me asking why you've decided to march back into it", though you spoke kindly, there was a sharp edge to your voice.

"Wanted to tell ya that Dutch...I told him yer trail was cold and I couldn't find ya", Arthur explained. A hint of embarrassment crossed his features, prompting him to sit up straight as he noticed he had been slouching over his plate. He cleared his throat, "I think he believed me."

"Thank you, truly", you answered. A huge weight lifting from your heart. So, he did protect you, you wondered.

Arthur asked for a second serving of food, when a thunder rumbled so loud, that the dog jumped up in protest. "Told ya", you mumbled. A few seconds later, the rain began to pour down.

Neither of you said anything until Arthur had nearly finished his second serving. A little small talk followed about the dog, which was calmly lying close to the stove. You had an agreement with the farmer nearby, that you switch taking the dog. Sometimes he needed him for protecting the herd, at other times, you borrowed him for hunting. For the next week or so, he’d live with you.

After this had been discussed, silence ensued again. Then, out of nowhere, Arthur said: "I'm sorry for back then. When ya came to me and told me about yer feelings and I- ehrm."

"You don't have to be sorry for not feeling the same way."

"That ain't it. I was…having a rough day and I…my answer wasn't what yer deserved", Arthur said gloomily, his spoon scratching over the plate to gather the rest of the stew.

Then, he continued: "I really try being an honest man but that night…hell…ya can't even call me half a man the way I let ya down." Arthur chuckled sadly, as if he was remembering the moment.

"What're you saying?", you sighed.

"I'm sorry. 's all. I know I hurt ya a great deal and this wasn't what I wanted."

You nodded in acknowledgement.

"That night, I sat with Hosea and Reverend and we was talking ‘bout Mary…that's why I was a bitter…stupid boy when you approached me."

"Oh. How is she?", you asked drily.

"Mary? I saw her in Valentine a while ago. Needed my help for her brother or something. Not sure how that turned out because I walked away. I was just an errand boy for her."

Arthur was more often the errand boy than he realised. For example, getting you back to join the gang was an errand and had Arthur spent even a minute thinking about it, he probably wouldn't have done it. You exhaled: "Why are you telling me this?"

"I think you deserve to know."

You wanted to let your head drop into the stew. How grateful you were for the little piece of bread dough that you had been rolling and kneading with your fingers for distracting purpose. Otherwise you might have peeled chunks out of your table, because of how tumultuous you felt. Suddenly, the silence was deafening. All you heard was the rain pouring down on your little shack. It violently dripped through the roof in one corner and into the bucket that you had provided there.

Both of you had finished your meals. With a swift motion, Arthur took out a pack of cigarettes.

"D'ya mind?", he asked, already placing a cigarette between his lips.

"Only if you don't share", you said softly. Arthur offered you the pack and you picked out a cigarette. The man struck a match and held it over the table, patiently waiting until your cigarette was lit, not bothering at all that he nearly burnt his finger when he got to lightening his own.

Arthur stood up and walked to the window, a waft of smoke trailing behind him.

"Jesus...", he mumbled as he looked observed the torrential rain. Darkness settled in and visibility worsened with the downpour.

"It won't let up until later tonight", you said, shaking your head knowingly. Observing Arthur lost in thought, he pondered for a while longer in front of the window. Eventually, his gaze shifted to the wall and your heart fluttered as he seemed to thoroughly analyse your sketches.

"You've taken up drawing?", he inquired.

"Days can be long and lonely", you replied.

"Not with her around, they ain't", he added. You were confused at first, but smiled when Arthur knelt down to pet d/n. She happily acknowledged him, her tail wagging energetically.

“What is it with the bounty poster?”, Arthur asked. His hands were busy with navigating through the dog’s fur. You saw how much d/n enjoyed it, as she leaned into the pets. You had collected on of your bounty posters shortly after Arthur had visited you. Why? It was just a terribly corny way of remembering Arthur. The moment he had walked up to your door, you knew that months of trying to forget or get over him had gone down the drain. You might as well acknowledge that you love and want to remember him. But you couldn’t admit that, of course.

“Just to remind me what I’m worth”, you smiled bitterly, “15 dollars.”

“I’m sure you’ve done stuff that deserves a higher bounty”, Arthur cheered.

“Oh yea. I just don’t bother leaving clues behind”, you answered. Arthur didn’t say anything, again. His thoughts seemed to wander, until he pushed himself up on his knees and stated:  "I suppose I should get going then..."

"What? You take baths twice a day now?", you teased. The idea that you would send anyone away in this weather was ridiculous. Arthur looked at you puzzled as if he hadn't understood that you were inviting him to stay.

"It's alright if you stay tonight. I won't have you ride to town in a storm", you explained. Sometimes, plain words are the way to go, you figured. Especially with Arthur. Even though the last time you spoke plainly, it hadn't worked out for you.

"And ya won't try'n kill me in my sleep?", Arthur chuckled and nervously scratched his neck. He was still unsure about staying, despite the premise of getting soaked to skin wasn't nearly as inviting as staying in your cabin, which was still filled with the smell of the stew. Arthur wouldn’t be able to take one more bite, but it smelled homely and comfortable, nevertheless.

Arthur continued: "Last time you threatened to shoot my kneecaps off so-"

"Well, last time, you were an intruder, not a guest. And the news you brought today pleased me way more than the one you gave me two weeks ago."

So, it was decided then. Both of you quickly assessed the sleeping situation. Arthur would spread his bedroll, which had stayed dry - thanks to your warning - at the opposite side of the room from your bed. It was a dry corner and close to the fireplace. You only had one extra blanket to offer, which Arthur accepted gratefully. As it grew darker outside as well as in the cabin, you lit a candle which remained on the table and two lanterns. One of them you put on your bedside table, the other one was taken by Arthur and he simply put in on the floor next to him.

It wasn't that late yet, but you had been on your feet all day. You were exhausted and the steady rhythm of the rain was lulling you right to sleep.

There was no "Good Night" or "Thank you for letting me stay". Neither of you said anything if it wasn't necessary to discuss for logistics reason.

"Want me to blow out the candle before I go to sleep?", Arthur had asked and you had said it would be fine, it was small anyways and would only last a few more hours. The table in the middle of the room pretty much hid the sight of one another, but you still saw that Arthur was scribbling away in his journal, before sleep took over.

You awoke at some point in the night. The rain was still as violent as before, but the candle on the table had gone out. Arthur was asleep, you figured, since he had turned off his lantern. Sometimes, you imagined you heard a snore, but it was really impossible to say with the noise of the weather.

For some reason, you were wide awake. You felt the desire to say something, you wanted to whisper Arthur's name and have him wake up to tell him something. What exactly, you weren't entirely sure. You wanted to thank him for the earlier apology. Strangely, you realised as you stared into the darkness, it had provided comfort you had desperately yearned for. But you knew it was ridiculous to wake him for such a thing, so you simply turned around, facing the wall rather than the direction in which Arthur was sleeping, and forced yourself back to sleep.

Arthur only stirred the next morning when a beam of sunlight pierced through the window. The lingering smell of coffee was something he noticed, even before he had decided it was time to open the eyes and face another day. Given his lifestyle of frequently changing his sleeping place, he sometimes woke up confused. Normally it'd take a few moments for him to remember where exactly it had been that he had fallen asleep. This time, however, his sight fell on your bounty poster on the wall, and he remembered where he was.

Standing up with a grunt, he noticed that you weren't in the house. He also noticed that the early morning had gone, and the sun was already on its way to its zenith. You had gone outside, leaving the door open. In contrast to yesterday, the air had cooled down significantly and Arthur even felt a slight chill as his body adjusted to waking up.

There was a can of coffee on the table and two mugs, one dirty and one clean. Arthur figured that you have had your share of the brown liquid and the rest was meant for him. He thought for a second but decided to put the coffee into the dirty cup, though you apparently had used it this morning, Arthur figured that it'd save time doing the dishes. There was also a pan of milk porridge on the stove and since it also looked like half was missing, he figured that the rest was for him. But he'd rather make sure.

Cup in hand, Arthur walked out of the door. The sun was blinding, the grass wet but green. He saw you immediately, as you were in front of the house, brushing the wetness out of his horse's coat. Your horse stood next to you, looking a offended that you chose to care for Arthur's first.

"G'd morning", Arthur said.

The raspy voice made you smile and look up. Good Lord, the man looked…heavenly. His hair tousled, his shirt all over the place and sleep still lingering in his expression. Yet, with every passing moment, the sun worked its magic, gradually rousing him from his slumber.  You hated how much loved his appearance. You even despised yourself for hoping this wouldn’t be the last time you saw him like this.

"Morning to you, too. Saw the porridge?", you asked, barely spending time on checking the man out but rather focusing on his horse.

"Wasn't sure if it's meant for me", Arthur admitted and lead the cup to his lips. The coffee wasn't boiling hot anymore, but it had a fine temperature to enjoy and still gain some warmth from.

"Oh, I wanted to finish all of it but got sick of it pretty quickly. That's why I collected some berries, uhm", you pointed towards something, and Arthur followed your finger, finding another mug that was filled with some berries, "You can have the rest. I already ate some."

"Thank you", Arthur said, picking up the small mug and shaking it to have a proper look at the blueberries. His thank you sounded generous and kind, you thought.

Arthur walked back inside. He didn't remember the last time he had eaten breakfast. Like, proper breakfast. Not only coffee or a dry piece of bread. He loved the porridge you had made and enjoyed it even more with the berries. It didn't matter how much stew he had eaten the day before, shortly, coffee, blueberries and porridge had been devoured.

"Y/n", Arthur walked out. His hair had flattened a little and he seemingly had found time to arrange his shirt, "I'd fix that roof of yers, if ya let me."

You looked up surprised from your horse, which now enjoyed the same treatment Arthur’s had.

"You don't have to...I don't want to keep you...", you said, almost mumbling the second part. It wasn't true, because you did want to keep him around. Hell, for the first time in a year, you hadn't felt lonely tonight. Making breakfast felt like it had a meaning, if there was someone around to share it with. The last couple of months, you had barely bothered for trivialities like that.

"I want to", Arthur affirmed.

"Then I won't stop you", you smiled. Arthur turned away to walk to the little shed next to your house, but you added a question before his attention was fully on your roof, "Do you mind if I braid your horse’s mane?"

Arthur saw your big grin, and hell he couldn't deny you anything. If you had asked to keep his horse for good, he might have said yes.

"Won't stop ya", he replied.

The day was filled with chores. After you had tended to both horses, Arthur's now adorned with braids in its mane, you got around to cleaning the aftermath Arthur's roof fixing had inside the cabin. Then you said you were off to fish, taking d/n with you. It took you almost an hour to catch two decently sized fish and when you returned, you found Arthur working on your bedframe. It had been askew as long as you remember and you had gotten used to it, but God, your stomach fluttered when you saw him, expertly working the little saw that had rusted away in your shed.

"Not content with my furniture, are you?", you snorted as you laid the fish on the table.

"Sorry, I jus' thought...", Arthur stuttered and looked up.

"It's fine", you laughed, "Thank you for attempting to fix it."

"I'm not good at those things...or a little out of practice at least", Arthur admitted, stood up to have a look at his handiwork. The bedframe looked even, at least.

"Looks better than before", you smiled kindly. And if the bedframe was to break in two when you first sit on it, it wouldn't matter much. Arthur had cared enough to try and fix it.

His eyes now fell on the two big fish. He looked outside, to find the sun has wandered further than he would have expected, suggesting it was early afternoon.

"I should get going...", Arthur mentioned, more to himself than to you.

"You are telling me this after I caught TWO fish?!", you turned around, arms crossed. It had caught you a little bit off guard. Fishing had allowed some time to daydream and in that hour you had already prepared all the questions you wanted to ask him when you served him lunch. So that came like a punch in the stomach.

"Not because I don't want to stay", Arthur uttered, and you found his expression rather gloomy, "I told everyone I''d be back today...we're gonna hit a big score in two days’ time and I expect they want to go over the plan with me..."

"Oh..."

For a moment you thought about telling him that you'd help with the score, no matter what it was. Honestly, any excuse to be with him, be with other people. But you knew it probably meant running right back into Dutch's trap.

You watched sadly how Arthur gathered his belongings. His hat had found a place on the wardrobe and his jacket was neatly sprawled across the chair. In the span of one single night, everything had found its place like he had meant to stay for longer. But you knew that this was merely wishful thinking. Besides, even though you found your feelings for the man come back, you had to remind yourself that he hadn't reciprocated those feelings before and probably never was going to. Yet, he was a friend and a companion, and that, you reasoned, was enough.

You helped to saddle his horse, Arthur inspected the little braids you had worked into his horse's mane.

"Looks real fine", he mumbled.

"Thank you", you grinned, "I'll do your hair next time if ya ask kindly."

"What? With braids?", Arthur responded, looking at you with a comical expression.

"Sure", you grinned, watching as Arthur completed the final adjustments to secure the saddle and his belongings on his horse. He chuckled warmly at the proposition, as if the idea seemed somewhat absurd, yet there was a chance to convince him otherwise.

"Over my dead body, darl-", Arthur swallowed the last word as if he remembered it wasn't a good idea, "I'll stop by again."

"If you do, send word to Annesburg first and I'll have a meal ready", you said with a smile.

"Sure”, Arthur’s eyes fell on d/n as she excitedly circled him. She wasn’t sure if she was meant to say good-bye or if the saddling of a horse meant that she was to go hunting, but she was happy when pet her again.

“Good girl”, he scratched the dog behind the ears, “Take care of her, will ya? I don’t trust her being able to defend herself when a boar comes to steal some tomatoes off her precious plant.”

Despite it being your dog that he addressed so affectionately, you couldn’t help but blush. However, as you glanced to your tomato plants, you noticed a significant number of fruits missing. Yet, you forced a smile on your face and whispered a “son of a bitch” under your breath.

Arthur sighed happily and mounted his horse.  

"Good luck...with the score", you said.

"Thank you. It's Hosea's plan so I don't think we'll need much luck. But I'll take it", Arthur tipped his head and steered his horse away from your little cabin, not without a feeling in his chest that he'd rather stay.

When he had left you far behind, he began to undo the little braids. It wasn't exactly his style, though he couldn’t deny that they were beautiful. Before unravelling each one, he'd take it between his fingers and let it run through them, as if this was an excuse or a way to satisfy the urge to do the same with the fingers that had woven them. When Arthur realised this, he felt like a fool.

"You’re a moron...", he mumbled under his breath. He wasn't sure if he wanted to stay at your place because he envied the way you lived. That you had managed to escape from Dutch's crazy plans which became crazier every week. Or that your cabin was in a secluded and picturesque spot. He could see himself living there by himself. Or with you.

And yet, he had to open the braids because if anyone from the gang saw them, they might recognize your handiwork or realise that Arthur hadn't gone for stealing some pocket money out of idiots’ pocket. By lying to Dutch, he had prevented you to come back and take part in whatever insane score would be next. Arthur was proud of having you kept save, he knew it was the right thing to do. After robbing the bank in Saint Denis, the gang would have more than enough money to make an escape…maybe then he would be able to come back to you.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Next chapter: here

taglist: @photo1030

taglist for this series: @pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @twola @shiokitsune @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463 @yyiikes @renwai @walk-in-sunshine @rdrlady @ivybeeloved @trinswhimsys @reddedmiller @chiefqueefsosa @sauvignon-velvet @mrsarthurmorgan7

Thanks and kisses to @little-honeypie because we've been cooking this shit up together <3

[starry-bi-sky]

you can't choose what stays and what fades away

No light, no light in your bright blue eyes I never knew daylight could be so violent A revelation in the light of day You can't choose what stays and what fades away

(and I'd do anything to make you stay)

------------

Shen Yuan wakes up in a woodshed.

He's in a body that's not quite his own.

(WIP also available on ao3!)

He wakes up in a woodshed.    

No, actually— let him correct himself. Shen Yuan does, indeed, wake up in a woodshed, but it’s not the first thing he realizes upon waking. No, in fact, consciousness comes quite slowly to him; sluggish, his mind attempting to slog through calf-high bogland without exhausting itself. It’s like he’s trying to drag himself to the surface of a river with a weight tied around his ankle, the weight trying desperately to drag him just as quickly down.    

His senses come to him just as slowly, his hearing and touch and smell and taste all trying to claw its way up back into existence till they’re thrumming beneath the thin skin of his body. Yes, it’s very much like trying to wake up from a long, deep sleep where he didn’t get quite enough rest, and he wonders, not for the first time, if he had collapsed again. His mouth is dry, his lips feel crusty, and his eyes are sealed shut by congealed-whatever-mixture of disgusting bodily fluids his eyes are capable of producing.    

Much like breaking free from sleep-paralysis, the moment he’s able to register that he’s actually sensing things again, the strange, spongy film that had been dampening them suddenly crumbles and collapses. Everything rushes forth like water spilling out of an open dam, or maybe like blood from an open scab, and Shen Yuan is abruptly accosted by the world and its sounds and sensations.   

The sun is hitting his eyes in just the right way that he can see the light burning behind his eyelids – which, that can’t be right, his curtains should be drawn, -- and there’s the distinct and gentle sound of wind rustling past, of birds singing softly, and the faint trill of music floating through. Shen Yuan is abruptly imposed with the mental image of a yellow autumn leaf falling delicately onto a still pond, that is how tranquil the world around him sounds.    

It is so, so, incredibly cliche, that he can’t help but open his eyes with a deep rooting incredulity planting itself firmly in the core of his chest. What he expects to see is the ceiling of his bedroom – the ground is hard enough that, for a moment, he thinks he may have fallen asleep on the floor again, or perhaps the hospital, because then that would at least explain better the tranquil sounds in his ears and the sunlight hitting his face.   

(Except he doesn’t smell the familiar sting of septic and cleaner, nor does he hear the beeping of the heart rate monitor beside him, the bustle and soft murmur of nurses outside that are always on the move. There’s no paper thin and slightly scratchy blanket laid over him. And never, not once, has he been subjected to the sounds of an eight-hour tranquil music ASMR while in the hospital.)  

(In fact, his nose feels rather stuffy. The same way it gets when he has a runny nose that just dried or a bloody nose that just finally stopped bleeding. He smells dirt and wood, and— and… is that blood?)    

There’s still crust clinging to his lashes and the corner of his eyes when he opens them, so his vision is immediately blurred in the way only recent consciousness can create. But even then, he can see the roof clearly enough to know that this is neither his bedroom nor the hospital. Shen Yuan sits up while his heart drops right out of his chest, regretting the action immediately as an ache shoots up his arms and staunchly reminds him of a terrible soreness spread throughout his body, one that he was not previously aware of.   

The hiss he makes is involuntary, and the sound rusted and weak, irritating his sore throat while his head pounds behind his eyes like a hammer against a nail. Get your bearings, Shen Yuan, he thinks, vision swimming, sucking in his dessert-dry bottom lip between his teeth and catching it on the incisors. The air does nothing for the inside of his mouth. Where the fuck am I?  

His eyes flick around the crust poking irritably at his corneas, as he tries to soak in where exactly he is. On instinct, his hands come up to flick away the crust obscuring his sight, and when he pulls his fingers away, there’s dark, brown-red buildup crumbling against his skin.   

Wh—? Shen Yuan rubs his eyes again, and realizes there’s a flaking trail coming from his eyes down his cheeks that, when he rubs at it, peels off into what can’t be anything but dried blood. It does nothing for his rapid-beating heart and the sinking shock and horror settling between his ribs. Why has he been bleeding from his eyes?    

He looks up from his hand. That shock and horror rising as he finally, finally takes in his surroundings, while also realizing, his dry tongue running against the back of his teeth and the corner of his mouth, that he was tasting blood too. Faint and stuck against his gums, but there.   

Shen Yuan is surrounded by cut wood, and beneath him he’s sitting on an old, tattered blanket. He’s wearing robes. Robes, worn and slightly dirty, made of a pleasant-to-the-eye green and white fabric, and straight out of every single Xanxia novel, drama, and poster he’s ever read and seen. There’s a simply, if slightly tattered, white fan tucked against his thigh.   

Oh, oh no. His hands fly up to his hair and— yep. Yeah, slightly tangled but undeniably soft and smooth, black hair slips against his fingers like silk and pours over his shoulders and down his back. It’s ten times longer than it should be, ten times longer than he’s used to, and he’s sitting on the ends of it. He releases his hair only so Shen Yuan can slap his hands against his face, automatically picking at the trail of dried blood on both corners of his mouth. His fingers are chilled against his skin, and he ignores it to trace his new (he thinks—the bow of his mouth and the curve of his cheekbones feels achingly familiar) facial features.   

Whose face am I wearing? What book have I entered? Because wasn’t this transmigration one-oh-one? The last thing he remembers was becoming incensed with the ending of Proud Immortal Demon Way and, in the middle of his scathing rant, dying of food poisoning. This was totally transmigration one-oh-one. Dying after reading a book, only to wake up in a place that was not the modern world, only to realize shortly after that they were now in the book they had just read?   

Wait— if he follows that trope, then... Shen Yuan’s heart decides it’s had enough time in his stomach, and leaps right into his throat. His eyes flitter around anxiously. There are bamboo stalks rising out the window, and the music he’s hearing, Shen Yuan realizes belatedly that it’s the sweet plucking of a guqin. Oh no. Don’t tell me--   

Like an activation phrase, a too-loud notification ‘ding!’ goes right off in his ear, resulting in Shen Yuan flinching violently as a too-bright and eye-stinging blue message box seals open into existence right before his eyes.   

[ SYSTEM Successfully Activated! Welcome to the world of Pride Immortal Demon Way! You are ‘Shen Jiu’ -- otherwise known as Shen Qingqiu, thirteen-year-old Disciple of Qing Jing Peak. Currently your actions are restricted due to a frozen OOC function that will eventually be unlocked after you familiarize yourself with the world. ]  

No! Of all the people he could have been transmigrated into, did it have to be the villain? Scum Disciple Shen Qingqiu? No— no, of course it was the villain; wasn’t that also transmigration one-oh-one as well? That the transmigrator was either the hero, the villain, or an NPC related to either one?   

Was this karma? Was the world enacting karmic justice on him for all those late nights spent arguing with internet randos online when he should have been doing something productive with his life? Of all those hours spent countlessly researching mythical beasts and animals and folklore all so he could tear the author a new one for his terrible plot and even worse papapa? Did Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky inflict some kind of curse on him that resulted in him being dragged into his shitty, shitty, stallion novel to act as the same guy who later gets his limbs torn off and pickled by the main protagonist?   

It had to be. That’s exactly what this was. This was karma.   

(Oh god, he’s never going to see his family again, is he? He’d died. He’d died in his world, he knows it. That’s how this always goes. At least he hadn’t been hit by a truck, at least he’d died somewhat originally. But he died. He’d been choking and everything went dark. The fluid filling his lungs, the lack of air, the steady crawl of blackening fuzz slowly encircling his vision--)  

(Who will find his body? How long will it take? It’d only been a week prior that he’d gotten into a fight with da-ge and the others, and they usually give him space for a while when they do. It’s not like Shen Yuan had any close friends left either--)  

(Will they find him rotting? Will they blame themselves? What will they think?)   

--(...Oh god, who was going to tell Hai-ge--?)--  

Shen Yuan drops his face into his hands, ignoring the throbbing of his skull and the influx of nausea that sloshes from his chest to his stomach as he does. He groans, low and painful, ignoring the sharp sting of his throat it causes. Does it have to be Shen Qingqiu? He asks, and wonders if the SYSTEM needs an audial vocal command or if it would just--   

[ You have been chosen to play Shen Qingqiu, the Scum Villain Disciple! ]   

Annoyance burrows into his throat. That’s... not what he asked. His teeth grind against each other, the stupid message box burning into his eyes. That at least answers that question, though. He won’t have to talk aloud to communicate with the SYSTEM, so at least he won’t look insane for talking to himself in public. Why does it have to be Shen Qingqiu?   

[ Shen Qingqiu plays a vital role in Pride Immortal Demon Way! You have been chosen to take on his role as the Scum Villain Disciple. ]   

What vital role!? Shen Qingqiu, sure, had a role in the beginning of the book as the disciple who did nothing but cause a ruckus and trouble on Qing Jing Peak when the protagonist’s back was turned; trying to drag Peak Lord Luo Binghe’s precious name through the mud while inciting what was basically tyranny by clawing his way up to a Head Disciple position through being a green tea bitch. He then went and used that power to abuse and bully the younger disciples when the adults weren’t looking.  

He only got away with it for so long because Luo Binghe was so busy with important missions and night hunts and the sweeping-of-peerless-beauties off their feet off the peak, that when he was on Qing Jing, it wasn’t long enough to realize just who was behind the disruption. And Shen Qingqiu was sneaky about it, so it took even longer. 

Only coming to a head at the Immortal Cultivation Conference when demons attacked and it all came to light like a hellish volcano, resulting in Shen Qingqiu not only finding out about Luo Binghe’s status as a half-heavenly demon, but also him being pushed into the Endless Abyss. He re-emerges half a decade later, brimming with demonic cultivation and a half-crazed lust for power and vengeance — revenge that ends up failing because he’s going up against the powerful protagonist.  

He causes a handful of actual problems before Luo Binghe finally has enough, and in the end, Shen Qingqiu ends up with his non-vital limbs cut off and stuffed inside a jar like a human pickle. A horrifying and befitting ending for any villain and antagonist of the main character.  

That is to say, nothing about him is actually vital. He was, for all intents and purposes, pretty much a low-tier cannon fodder villain meant to boost up and accentuate the protagonist’s abilities in the beginning of the book. A way to introduce the audience to the might and intelligence of the main character and their problem-solving skills when there is a ‘mysterious figure’ going around besmirching his name.  

Which... may just work in his favor, actually. Shen Qingqiu ended up with the fate he got because he went against the protagonist, a big no-no in practically every trashy novel. So, solution so Shen Yuan doesn’t end up a human stick? Don’t get in the protagonist’s way.  

That annoying ‘ding!’ rings in his ear, causing yet another flinch out of Shen Yuan as a notification unapologetically forms in front of him.  

[ WARNING: OOC! Host’s refusal to stay in character will result in automatic point deductions. If Host’s point score gets too low, SYSTEM will automatically mete out punishment. ] 

Of course it wasn’t that easy. Of course not, because why would it be easy? Of course there was a point system, this was a SYSTEM after all. Of course he couldn’t just avoid the villain’s fate, because that’d be too easy. His annoyance simmers out across the plane of his chest, and he decidedly ignores the faint tremor in his arms and the pulsing beat of his heart as he picks himself up off the ground and stands.  

His legs, much like his arms, tremble, and his head swims. He pushes through it, ignoring the ill-feeling of fear making itself home in the pit of his stomach. He should ask what those punishments are; what they’ll look like. He should ask about the point system, about how to increase his point score, about all the functions in the SYSTEM and what he has available, and what he does not.  

He should ask how old he is – because he’s much smaller than his old adult self had been; probably child-sized? -- and where he is in the book. What year is it, how long until the Immortal Cultivators Conference. Just when is he? 

Shen Yuan reaches out to grip onto a particularly towering stack of firewood, careful not to knock it or himself over. It feels like physical therapy all over again. Granted, a primitive, unsupervised, cobbled-together version of physical therapy, but physical therapy, nonetheless.  

His foot kicks against the fan, he’d frankly forgotten about that, and it slides off the blanket and across the dirt. His fingers twitch to grab it, something possessive and uncomfortably vulnerable rearing in his lungs – ah, an instinctive emotion from the original goods then? He’s heard of that in other transmigration stories he’s read, the novels failed to mention the full extent of how strange it felt.  

(It felt so eerily natural to want to pick it up. Of course he’d be upset about kicking it, and the unhappiness of dirtying it slots itself against him like second nature. How strange. How creepy.)  

Instead of asking any of that though, Shen Yuan turns his bitter mind inwards to the SYSTEM and asks, perhaps, the most important question of them all; Why did you bring me here if you were just going to kill me again?   

Isn’t that unnecessarily cruel?  

[ Host has been brought to Pride Immortal Demon Way because it is our sincere hope that Host can transform this stupid work into a magnificent, high-quality, first-rate classic! As part of the welcoming package, and to help ease the transition, a few things have been left in Host’s inventory! We hope you enjoy your time in Pride Immortal Demon Way! ]  

To change-- 

To change--?  

To CHANGE--?  

Indignancy surges itself from the tips of Shen Yuan’s fingers to the crown of his head, anger not unlike every single time Airplane threw away an interesting plot point for sex fuzzes out his vision and turns his pounding headache into a full-fledged migraine. His grip on the firewood tightens, and he can feel the rough and textured bark digging into his skin. 

His mouth curls inward, the cracked skin splitting down the middle of his bottom lip as Shen Yuan threatens to snarl at the SYSTEM. How the fuck am I supposed to change the plot if I can’t even change the way my character acts!  

[ Reminder to Host: The OOC Function is frozen, but not permanent. Once Host has become properly settled in and completed the tutorial will he be able to unlock it. ]  

Fine, fine! He has half a mind to unload a string of curses at the SYSTEM, because apparently its rules were as stupid as the author who made this world. Shen Yuan refrains; he doesn’t know how sentient the thing is, and upsetting it right now when he has no idea when he is – nor does he know a thing about the point system -- would only be detrimental for him in the long run. 

Instead, he lets loose a groan from his throat that could be more accurately compared to as a growl. With his one free hand, Shen Yuan drags his palm down his face, and then loops it back up to comb it through his hair. ...His hair that is much longer than it used to be, and which is snaggled with little knots and tangles that he’ll have to get out.  

He hits the first knot and immediately withdraws his fingers, freeing up a few strands of ink black hair while he’s at it. With a quick wrist shake, the strands fall to the floor and Shen Yuan leans the rest of his weight against the log pile. Some of his anger cools down until it’s nothing more than boiled water gone cold, and he sighs out through a clogged-up nose until there’s nothing more than a quiet pressure of unease curled around his shoulders.  

There’s really not much he does know about how Shen Qingqiu acts – after all, he put up a responsible and dutiful disciple front when he was in the presence of Luo Binghe, and was only then revealed to be a scumbag later down the line. Which only got backed up with secondhand accounts of the other Qing Jing Peak disciples.  

He didn’t show up often either, since most of the time Luo Binghe was off the peak. Nobody wants to read about a powerful peak lord being a teacher after all. Many more interesting things in the world around him than his students.  

SYSTEM, how old am I? He must be pretty young if he bases it off how small he is – although, Shen Qingqiu didn’t have much of a description in the first place. He was only described as having skin as white as jade, with glossy black hair and a noble air surrounding him. Height, eyes, and finer details like that were left unmentioned. Why did I wake up in a woodshed? What time is it? 

[ Host is currently thirteen years old! Last night Shen Qingqiu experienced a severe Qi Deviation after having an altercation with the Head Disciple. It is early morning; the other disciples will be getting breakfast. ] 

That doesn’t explain why he was in a woodshed. But at this point, Shen Yuan was starting to believe that he wasn’t going to get a straight answer out of every question he asks. That does explain the blood in his mouth and crusted on his face – and the soreness and exhaustion currently wrought through his body, though.  

In a rapid set of blinks and a little bit of mental fiddling, the message notifications disappear out of his sight and the rest of his senses begin to filter back in, the SYSTEM seeming content to disappear into the back of his mind – which, wow, feels just as weird as the original goods’ instincts from earlier. 

More of his own strength had returned, enough that Shen Yuan feels comfortable with pushing himself off the firewood stack and standing on his own. Making sure that his legs won’t collapse under the weight of his own body, he takes a tentative step forward and drops his gaze down to the little white fan sitting on the ground.  

...The idea of leaving without it returns that discomforting, vulnerable feeling from earlier, as if he had walked out without a shirt on. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand up on its own with unease. Shen Qingqiu was mentioned to hide his face behind a fan in every appearance he made, it must be the original goods’ emotions he’s feeling then. Again.  

He leans down, his core trembling just a little, and plucks it right off the ground. The grooves of the wood fit against his fingers perfectly, hinting at weeks, if not years, of use and the oils of his hands wearing it down. He beats the side of the fan against his leg lightly, ignoring the bruising-aches it shoots up his thigh, and brushes off the dirt clinging to it.  

Without thinking, Shen Qingqiu flicks it open and flutters it about for a few quick beats. The unnerving, skin-crawling sensation marking across his spine settles down, and he snaps the fan shut before reaching for the door.  

[ OOC: Host should make himself look presentable before being seen in public. Failure to do so will result in immediate point deduction. ] 

Shen Qingqiu grits his teeth again, there’s nothing in here but dirt and wood, how am I supposed to do that? It’s not like he had the whole layout of Qing Jing Peak memorized; Luo Binghe was barely on so where everything was, wasn’t important. Is there some kind of bathhouse somewhere?  

Which, if there was, he wasn’t planning on using until it was entirely empty – the mere thought of it returned that gross, uncomfortable skin-crawling discomfort. He’ll shower at night, thank you, repressing a shudder at the horrifying idea of someone potentially walking in on him.  

[ OOC: Shen Qingqiu would never bathe with the threat of other disciples around. There is a nearby creek that Host can clean himself up at. ]  

That’s really not much better.  But, so long as he isn’t undressing in public, he can probably just... wash the dirt off and get his hair damp enough to detangle it. If Shen Qingqiu was sleeping in here, then he probably has a change of clothes somewhere around here, right? He should look around for any hidden bags before leaving.  

He finds a small qiankun pouch tucked safely between a set of wood logs near the blanket, and inside it is a clean set of robes for him to change into, which, perfect! The robes he was wearing right now weren’t terribly dirty, but there were a few dirt spots visible enough that Shen Qingqiu was sure that he’d probably get a point deduction out of it, or a scolding from senior disciples.  

(Does Shen Qingqiu sleep in the woodshed often? Shouldn’t he be in the dormitories?)  

He plucks the bag out of its little hidey-hole, giving it a place on his belt, along with his newly acquired fan, and turns towards the door. Shen Qingqiu crosses the room in the span of a few large steps, and just as he’s about to curl his hand around the handle, he... pauses.  

It’s only for a split second, a moment of hesitation, of personal confirmation that, once he opens this door, there will be no going back. Not that there was since he opened his eyes, but, it would cement it.  

Shen Qingqiu breathes in a shaky breath, and then opens the door to the rising sun.

[hxney-lemcn]

Under the Moonlight — Finn Mertens x gn! reader

summary: Finn and reader finally cross into a romantic relationship during a camping adventure.

tw: bathing together (no sexual components)

a/n: I love Finn sm omggggggg. This can be read alone, but for people who want a more romantic conclusion, here you go ;)

wc: 0.4k

Epilogue [Ending B]

Master List | Chapter One

“That’s like…the sixth time you complimented me,” I grumbled, ears feeling unbearably hot. 

Finn chuckled awkwardly, “I can’t help it, you’re just so cool.”

I looked down, feeling flustered, “I’m literally covered in grime and blood.”

“And you look totally badass!” Finn cheered.

I chuckled, rubbing my shoulder to release some tension, “I think I’d feel a lot better with a good shower.”

“We can set up our camp near the pond,” Finn offered. “We can start cooking up that beast we killed and take a dip in the pond.”

I agreed, and we did exactly that. I let Finn handle the food, and made my way to the pond. I striped my dirty clothes off, already feeling cleaner without my bloodstained clothes. Dipping my toes into the water, I hesitated as the water was a bit cool. The need to become clean overpowered anything else and I dunked myself fully in the water. When my head popped back over the water, I was met face to face with a grinning Finn. 

“Hey,” I grinned back. 

“Hey,” He replied softly. Lifting a hand up, Finn scrubbed some dirt from my cheek. I warmed from under his touch, even the chilly water couldn’t put out this heat. I nuzzled into his hand, closing my eyes to enjoy his touch further. His thumb softly rubbed the flesh of my cheek. Opening my eyes, I was met with his tender gaze. 

“How mad would you be if I kissed you?” Finn whispered over the gentle laps of water. 

I sheepishly looked towards the water and shrugged, “I don’t think I’d be too mad…”

With my confirmation, Finn pulled my face closer to his. He hesitated for a second, giving me a chance to pull away, but instead, I pushed forward. Our lips met in a gentle kiss, Finn moving his hand down to settle on my waist. I pulled away first, feeling breathless from the short kiss. Only for Finn to follow my lips and kiss me more passionately. I wrapped my arms around his neck, our bodies pulling closer. With the moon shining down on us, the moment felt magical. This time, we both pulled away, panting slightly. 

“Glob, I’m so in love with you,” Finn confessed breathlessly. 

My heart was beating erratically, my mind felt like it was melting with love and affection for the man who I held on to. I stared at him with as much love and affection I could muster. One of my hands moved to the back of his head, scratching his scalp gently before pulling him down into another kiss. 

I let out a content sigh, “I love you more than you could ever imagine.”

[itwasrealtome]

AGENT GRAY

Chapter 12 • Unfamiliar Territory

TAGLIST FORM

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU

Olivia Benson x fem! FBI Agent OC

Summary:

Content Warning: Usual SVU & Violent Crimes talk • The Leo Navarro Case, sniper, shooting, taking a bullet to the vest.

*

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 03

Manhattan — FBI BUREAU

Violent Crimes Unit Floor

06:29 PM

As a detective, Olivia had spent so much time in the 16th precinct that its sight had become familiar to her. There had been changes since her first year in the Special Victims Unit–the building had leaked and they'd had to move, furniture had been modernized, spaces reorganized–but she always managed to find her way back. Even in times when it was more than just some desks that were gone.

This was unfamiliar territory.

She couldn't even remember the last time she'd set foot here. The Bureau was full of FBI agents and she'd spent most of her career away from them. The place felt colder than she expected–not in temperature, but in tone. The floors were dark, polished to a low sheen that reflected the soft overhead lighting. The walls were a mix of metal and glass, sleek but impersonal. It was late enough in the evening that the energy had dimmed, agents either wrapping up for the day or already gone, but the air still held the weight of unfinished work.

She stepped out of the elevator, slowly, a little unsure, her eyes scanning for anything that resembled direction. There was no receptionist, no sign that screamed 'this way', only a hallway that spilled into a larger room ahead. Her feet carried her toward the low murmur of voices and the faint clatter of keyboards. She followed the corridor as it opened into that large, open room–the Violent Crime Unit's squad room.

It reminded her of her own precinct in shape. The desks were arranged in pairs, each one facing its partner, forming small islands of controlled chaos. Most were empty now, save for scattered files, mugs, and the occasional jacket draped over the back of a chair. But in feel, everything here was cleaner, quieter, more calculated.

Her eyes swept over the room, in search of any recognizable faces. They landed on him, in the far-left corner of the room. Miles Langford, unmistakable even from behind, his tall frame bent slightly as he organized a few files into a shoulder bag for the night. His movements were methodical, tired. He hadn't seen her yet. Hadn't seen her took a slow breath and crossed the room, her gaze briefly flicking to the desk that faced his. Empty, clean, organized. Untouched. Alexis'.

—Hey, Olivia said softly as she approached.

Miles looked up, then smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked exhausted. There were shadows under them that hadn't been there two days ago.

—Olivia. Hey. Wasn't expecting you.

Her gaze drifted, taking in the space between them before settling on his desk. Three pictures sat propped in the corner like anchors to another life. One of him with a woman and a little girl–his wife and daughter, she guessed. Another of just the two of them, the little girl laughing mid-spin. But it was the third one that made Olivia pause.

A candid photo. Him and Alexis. Her arm was slung around his shoulder, hair pulled back, his hair a mess like she'd just roughed it up. They were both grinning. That kind of grin that only showed up when you were safe, when you trusted the person next to you completely.

—You two look like trouble.

The agent looked over, and for the first time, the weariness in his eyes gave way to something warmer. He could smell the clean air again, hear the birds singing, see the greenery all around him. Eventually, after six months, Alexis had persuaded him to go camping with her. They'd left town for the weekend, pitched their tent down in Pennsylvania, somewhere where Miles had lost his shoes and his dignity.

—It was a good trip. I think she shoved me into a pond about twenty minutes after that was taken.

Olivia huffed a soft laugh, then glanced at the desk across from his again–Alexis'. There wasn't much on it. Not a single photo. Not a post-it note. Not even a paperweight. Just a closed tablet, a sealed bottle of water, and perfectly stacked folders. Clean lines. Everything in its place.

—That's hers. Hasn't changed in three years. She's got a place like that, too. Looks like no one lives there. Not until you find Champ's corner and realize he owns the lease.

Miles finished zipping his bag, then leaned a hip against the desk, a long yawn escaping him. His day had begun yesterday at 8 a.m. and was just about to end. Turns out, Leo Navarro's case was far more complex than it appeared. And though he and Alexis had devoted hours to the matter, it was beyond their control now.

—Long day?

—Long night, long day. Langford rubbed his eyes for a moment and tucked his brunet curls back. Lexi and I pulled nearly twenty-four hours chasing down leads. Baldwin's company is dirtier than we thought.

—How bad?

—We're talking about an international ring. Guy claims protection for any wealthy family, invades their privacy and spreads chaos. So far, there have been several complaints in California, Europe and even Greece.

—And you're not on it anymore because..?

Olivia was well aware of everyone's turf. Numerous cases had been taken away from her on the pretext that they now fell within the jurisdiction of the FBI or any other agency. It was the same at the edge of Manhattan. The rules were quite clear. If a case like the Baldwin affair were to go international, the lieutenant knew that another unit would take care of it.

—Apart from the fact that it's out of our jurisdiction, as I'm sure you know, Miles began, tone clipped with frustration. Reynolds benched us.

—Because of what happened?

—Because Alexis took a round to the vest two days after stepping off the tarmac. He says it's protocol. Says she needs recovery time, mental clearance, whatever.

They didn't need more than a glance to share the same understanding. Olivia could feel the same frustration pulse low in her chest. This was Lexi they were talking about–one of the most capable, determined women either of them had ever known. She wasn't built to be sidelined. And she sure as hell didn't need a signature from some shrink to tell her whether she was ready to work. She'd been through worse, over and over again. This wasn't about recovery. It was about control.

Olivia exhaled quietly, eyes drifting to Alexis's empty desk again. Her mind replayed the last twenty-four hours—the gunshot cracking through the street, the weight of Alexis pushing her to the pavement, the dull thud of the bullet hitting the vest. And after that? The way Lexi had covered her, refusing to move until Olivia was safe. No hesitation. No thought for herself. She'd walked away from a war zone and right into another one, and instead of resting, she threw herself into the fire all over again.

—She doesn't stop, Benson said, half to herself.

Miles caught the note in her voice and gave a knowing tilt of his head. It had taken him a while, but he now knew Alexis better than anyone. She wouldn't stop, not until death overtook her.

—Never has. It's not in her nature.

—She's still here?

He nodded, tipping his head toward the hallway behind him. Just past his desk, a short flight of steps led up to the elevated section of the floor, where a pair of glass-fronted offices overlooked the squad room below. Behind his shoulder, Olivia caught sight of the conference room and what looked like a small break area–coffee machine, microwave, a few scattered mugs. Beyond that, a long corridor stretched out, lined with doors that suggested more rooms–storages, archives, maybe interrogation or private workspaces.

—Had to check in with the Bureau doc. Box to tick before she gets put on administrative leave–if Reynolds gets his way. She wasn't thrilled, but she went. She's probably in the locker room now, he gestured with a lazy wave, cooling off. Or, more likely, stewing in silence.

Olivia hesitated for a moment, eyes lingering on the faint trace of Alexis's presence–on the clean desk, the empty chair, the untouched water bottle. Then she turned, her steps already heading toward the hallway, each one faster than the last.

—Up the stairs, straight down the hallway. First right, then left. You'll see it.

It was unfamiliar territory. But she wasn't here for the Bureau.

She was here for her.

*

Olivia walked in the direction Miles had pointed out, heels muted against the polished floor. The small set of stairs gave way to a quieter corridor, the bustle of the room fading behind her–no more than the occasional murmur of voices or the faint rhythm of fingers tapping on keys. It felt like the whole building had taken a breath, the kind of stillness that settled only after long hours and too many unanswered questions.

She moved forward with quiet purpose, though a subtle hesitation tugged at her stride. She'd spent her career moving through precincts and offices, rooms where the weight of the job hung in the air like a second skin. But this place wasn't hers. Not her walls. Not her rhythm. And somehow, that made all the difference.

The door to the locker room was ajar, swaying just slightly as if someone had passed through moments before. Olivia eased it open, the hinge giving a soft creak that echoed the stillness. The room greeted her with that familiar mix of metal and disinfectant, dim fluorescent lights buzzing quietly overhead. Rows of lockers stretched out before her, each one identical, impersonal, and silent.

At first glance, it seemed empty. Then a flicker of movement caught her eye–subtle, tucked between two rows near the back.

Alexis.

She stood facing an open locker, partially in shadow, her shirt folded neatly on the bench beside her gear. Her back was bare to the room, the skin along her shoulder marred by the deep, mottled bloom of a fresh bruise. She leaned closer to the small mirror fixed to the inside of the locker door, trying to twist just enough to catch the worst of it in the reflection. The edges were angry and raw, the mark unmistakably shaped by the force of a bullet caught by a vest that had done its job–just barely.

Olivia lingered at the threshold for a moment, her presence quiet, almost uncertain. From where she stood, she could see the pain written in the lines of the woman's shoulders–but some stubbornness too. The same fire that had led her to throw herself in front of a sniper's bullet without thinking twice.

—I'm fine, Alexis said, without turning. Her voice was calm. Measured. The kind of tone that tried to shut the door before anyone could wedge it open. Just a bruise. The doc said so himself.

The lieutenant stepped into the room, letting the heavy door fall shut behind her. Her footsteps echoed lightly on the tile, slow and hesitant as she crossed the space.

—You always diagnose yourself before anyone can get a word in?

Benson's voice was soft, but there was weight behind it–an edge threaded with something deeper. Not anger. Not really. Worry, maybe. That quiet frustration that only showed up when someone you cared about acted like their pain didn't count.

Alexis didn't turn right away. She stood still, her hand braced on the edge of the locker, back exposed to the cold air and Olivia's gaze. When she finally did glance over her shoulder, it was brief–just long enough for the other woman to catch the faintest pull at the corner of her mouth. Not a smile. Not quite.

—Better than waiting for everyone else to panic about it.

Her tone was light, deflective, but Olivia didn't take the bait. Her eyes didn't move from the bruise–angry, raw, still blooming across her back like it hadn't decided how much damage to settle on. Then her gaze rose to meet the agent's, and her voice dipped lower.

—You didn't even hesitate.

The words hung there, heavier than the quiet between them. Olivia didn't ask it like a compliment, or a question. It was an observation wrapped in something else–something that stuck in her throat because she hadn't been able to stop it. Because she had felt it happen, the rush of movement, the weight of Alexis slamming into her before the shot rang out.

The youngest turned back to the locker, jaw tight, the fabric of her shirt still bunched in her fist.

—Wasn't a decision, she said after a beat. It was instinct.

—That instinct could've killed you.

There was a little more steel in Olivia's voice now–not loud, but firm. It wasn't anger, not really, but it landed close to it. Close enough to make Alexis pause.

—I was wearing a vest, she replied, like that was supposed to make it fine. Like that made it less terrifying.

—You didn't know that was all it would take, the brunette countered. You didn't know the shot wouldn't go higher, or hit somewhere the vest couldn't cover.

Alexis turned then, slowly, the fabric of her shirt loose in one hand. Her bare shoulders tensed slightly under Olivia's gaze, but her expression remained composed. Unshaken on the surface. However her eyes–those told a different story. That same stubborn fire lived there, the one Olivia had seen in every room they'd ever worked together. The one that surfaced every time Alexis stood between danger and someone else. Not because she had to–but because she didn't know how to do anything else.

—I knew you weren't wearing one.

It hit Olivia like a slow, deep bruise–one that settled in her chest and stayed there. A simple truth. No dramatics, no second thoughts. Just a fact.

And for a moment, she couldn't breathe around it.

She thought about all the times Alexis had stood at her shoulder, never demanding space, but always taking it. Watching her six. Keeping quiet tabs when things ran too long or threats got too close. The special agent was always there–offering backup before Olivia ever had to ask, anchoring herself in the middle of chaos like it was second nature. And not just for her. For every detective on her squad. For every victim they carried together.

She realized now how much she'd grown used to that–used to Alexis being there. And how easily she could've lost her.

Olivia blinked, exhaling slowly through her nose, the words still caught somewhere in her throat. But Alexis was already shifting the air, trying to turn the page.

—Okay, she said, tugging her shirt back over her head with a wince she barely acknowledged. Enough of the dramatics. How about I make it up to you with pizza? Best slice in the city. I'll even let you pretend it's better than whatever uptown nonsense you've been eating.

—You're bribing me with carbs?

—Always. It's a foolproof strategy.

The lieutenant shook her head gently, but there was no edge in it–just something soft, something caught between apology and appreciation. The warmth of Alexis' offer lingered in the air, brushing up against the tension she hadn't fully shaken off since the shooting. It was still there, wrapped tight around her ribs like a too-familiar pressure–what could've happened, what almost did.

—I'd say yes, she said quietly, her voice thinning slightly. But I've got to get home. Free the babysitter. Noah's probably halfway through a bag of marshmallows and pretending he's a spy.

Alexis let out a quiet breath of a laugh, but the motion of her hands slowed–fingers pausing on the buttons of her shirt like the moment had shifted under her feet. She didn't look away, though. Just tilted her head a little, considering.

—You could bring him, she said after a beat.Her tone was light–too light. Almost casual. But Olivia heard the hesitation tucked between the words. A flicker of something more tentative, as if the idea mattered more than she wanted to admit. He likes pizza, right?

The question stopped the mother. Not because of what was said, but because of how.

She looked at her friend–really looked—and saw something else underneath all the usual deflection. That familiar guarded ease had cracked just a little, giving way to something more uncertain. A rare vulnerability. One Alexis probably didn't even realize had slipped through.

Olivia's lips parted, then curved into a slower smile. A real one. Quiet and unguarded.

—Yeah, she murmured. Yeah, he does.

A flicker of relief crossed Alexis' face, like she'd taken a gamble and won.

—Then come, she said, her voice gaining a bit more steadiness. There's a booth in the back he can take over. Sit sideways with his sneakers on the seat, boss everyone around. He'll love it.

Olivia arched a brow.

—You planning to hand over tactical control to a four-year-old?

Alexis shrugged one shoulder, still working on the last of her buttons.

—Kid's got instincts. I mean, I haven't met him, but I've heard the stories. If he calls for air support, I'm not gonna question it.

That earned a laugh—quiet and genuine, the kind that softened Olivia's shoulders without her realizing. It slipped past the lingering worry still curled in her chest, a moment of warmth after two days spent edging around what could've gone so wrong.

—You're ridiculous.

—I've been called worse, Alexis replied, smirking as she slid her jacket on. And hey–I'll even try not to swear too much. I'll treat him like a tiny agent in training.

—A four-year-old in training?

Alexis zipped up her backpack, sliding the last of her gear inside with the ease of routine. She slung it over her shoulder before turning to face Olivia fully. Her stance had shifted–no longer tight or braced like it had been all day, but looser, her weight settled evenly. Her edges weren't quite as sharp now, her gaze clearer.

—Gotta start 'em young, she said with a small smirk, nodding toward Olivia's phone. He's got your eyes–give it another year and he'll be interrogating playground suspects like a pro.

The brunette let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. The smile that followed was instinctive, lingering like a warmth she hadn't expected.

—That might be the most terrifying thing I've heard all week.

—New year, new me, Alexis replied without missing a beat, though her voice dipped a little as she added, more softly, But seriously... I'd like to meet him.

It wasn't just something to say–it landed differently. Olivia heard it in the way Lexi's tone dropped, in how her gaze didn't waver. It wasn't small talk or a casual deflection. It was steady, honest–spoken with the kind of sincerity the young woman reserved for the people she let past the surface.

Olivia's fingers hovered over her phone for a beat, then brushed against the screen as she looked down. A pause, just long enough to let the weight of the offer settle. When she looked back up, her voice was quieter.

—Alright. Let me text the sitter. If Noah's not three marshmallows deep in chaos–we're in.

A slow smile spread across Alexis's face–not the cocky grin she wore in the field or the wry smirk she used to sidestep feelings, but something real. Something that reached her eyes.

—Good. I've got a lot of making up to do. And if he's half as cool as you make him sound, I'm already outmatched.

—You haven't even met him and he's already got you under his spell.

—What can I say? the agent shrugged with mock defeat. I've got a thing for smart kids... and strong moms.

The words hung there a second longer than either of them expected, a quiet beat stretching between them–steady and unspoken. Then, with a glance that felt a little like a promise, they stepped out of the locker room together.

The Bureau had slipped into its evening lull—overhead lights dimmed, monitors casting blue glows over empty desks, the air filled with the distant hum of vending machines and shuffling paper. Most agents were gone. The chaos of the last two days finally beginning to settle into memory.

Their footsteps echoed quietly, side by side, easy now in a way they hadn't had the space for until this moment.

And just like that, the shadows–of the case, of the shot fired, of what could have been–began to lift. Not completely, not forgotten. But quieter. Lighter.

Because ahead, there was something simple waiting: a booth in the back of a pizza joint. Laughter over greasy slices. A wide-eyed four-year-old staking claim to a corner table like it was his command post.

Not just a distraction.

Something real.

They moved forward–worn, but steady.

And this time, they weren't carrying it alone.

*

TAGLIST: @certainlychaotic @ginasbaby @nciscmjunkie @hi-i-1 @thefatobsession @makkaroni221 @kiwiana145 @kobayashi-fr

[afyrian]

no. 1 - forgotten enemies masterlist

    the sun filters through the thick canopy above you, slivers of light shining through your car's sunroof. it bounces over your car seats and peeks through the space between you and your sunglasses. 'til the summertime, forgive my northern attitude, "oh i was raised on little light.."

  you sing along to the song on the radio, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. everything seems so familiar as you picture what it looked like when you were younger. except the budding trees are higher than your car now and the ponds are a little wider. even the tree line has widen some as the roads are fixed of their cracks. 

  bought some shit you searched online- your finger searches for the mute button, eyes wide at the sight of the cabin. it's certainly not as you remember it being. the dilapidated cabins are fixed up and harboring blue painted roofs. the paths are paved with sand and rock and there's a climbing wall not too far from the entrance. 

  even with everything changing, you can still see the large sign at the front of the camp. the blue signage still looking the same, just slightly cleaner. little balloons are tied to the sides for the grand reopening after a couple years closed. from what you can remember in the email, it was closed for something weird that went down a year after you left.

  however, wondering about the past and how your formative years could've changed if your camp time had been different was not something you wanted to endure. instead, you just step out of the car and take in a deep breath of the fresh mountain air. your thoughts quickly flicker to your bag in your trunk and baseball cap in the passenger side. 

  you open the trunk and grab your duffel bag, throwing the handle over your shoulder. as you turn around to open the passenger side door and grab your cap, you can hear a car driving down the concrete path. out of the corner of your eye, it's a jeep-like car. great for the wilderness with some terrible inside atmosphere.

  before you can even shut your door and head towards the camp, their car door is opening. the sounds of flip flops hitting the parking lot sends your head swerving around to see who has arrived. the yellow-ish hair is the first thing you spot, besides the obnoxious aviators he's sporting. atsumu miya. 

  a name nor a person that you had thought about in a while. especially when all you wanted that year was to forget that very same face. the only thing seemingly different is the light scruff and the stronger jawline. a part of you wants to forget everything the two of you fought over, simply because he takes some of your breath away. however, you know better, knowing that he only brings you pain. 

  so you pull your hat on, turning around and shutting the door so maybe he won’t see you too. that he won’t give you some snide remark about all of the years that he excelled above you. however, something else entirely occurs that sends you reeling. 

  just as you’re walking towards the camp sign, the sound of his loud flip flops echo through your ears, him jogging towards you, “are you another counselor here?”

  “uh- yeah. yeah, i am,” you look over at him for a moment, wondering if this is him winding up to some joke or tease, “this is my first year as a counselor, l/n y/n.”

  he snaps his fingers, nodding his head as soon as he hears your name. “right, yeah, we had cabins near each other, didn’t we? sorry, i don’t remember much of my time here. but it was great to see you again,” atsumu shrugs his shoulders, hurrying past you to get to the mess hall.

  you narrow your eyes in his direction, wondering how he can’t remember you. for a second, you simply wonder if you’re petty and vindictive. holding onto a grudge from years ago when he’s clearly pushed past any memory of the torture he put you through. you shake your head and continue to the mess hall to meet up with the other counselors, hoping that your friends would already be there.

a/n: thinking of doing atsumu’s pov next chapter..