#I needed a bit of stretching after not picking up a pencil since Fox

[frostbitebakery]

“Good. Very good. Now try to relax your back muscles gradually. Very good, you’re doing great. Try a slow downstroke. Good. And up. Up, very good, up— no, it’s okay, it’s okay, I got you. It’s okay. Back spasms suck, I know. We’re done for today. You did great, Obi-Wan.”

[hangovercurse]

Blind Date (continued)

You invite Colson in after your blind date

Request: “I loved this so much! If you get the chance and are up to it, I’d love a second part!” ”I would like to read a second part of it”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: cursing

A/N: Have I edited this? No. Did I even look back over this after I wrote it? Also no

Word Count: 1974

Your hand touched the handle before you turned around, finding Colson in the same situation at his car door, still looking at you. “Do you maybe wanna… come in?” You asked, biting your lip. His face lit up, a smirk highlighting his features.

“I would love that.”

The man’s lanky figure strutted over to your front door as you opened it, pausing as he entered to take in the smell of your house that screamed you. He let his eyes wander around the place as he stepped further in, taking off his coat and shoes at the front entryway.

You moved into the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of red wine while he made his way into the space. You found a note on the counter from your best friend and roommate.

Staying at Eric’s tonight in case you and your date need the place to yourself <3

You rolled your eyes at the note, chuckling as you tossed it in the trash. You rustled through your drawers to grab a corkscrew, fiddling with the bottle as Colson shuffled into the room, standing behind you to encase you in his arms.

He took the corkscrew from your hands and opened the bottle with ease. “I was getting there,” you whined jokingly.

He chuckled, “I could see that.” You turned around and allowed your lower back to rest against the counter, squeezed between the surface and Colson. His arms rested on the countertop on either side of you, his figure leaning to be level with you.

You couldn’t help but admire his features, his bright blue eyes and the stubble on his jaw sparking your artistic mind. “I wish I could sketch you right now,” you murmured your thoughts aloud.

He smirked, leaning closer into you, your lips almost meeting, “why don’t you?”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before softly speaking, “you would get bored being my model.”

He pulled away from you, fingers running across your waist until they found your hands, intertwining your fingers. “I would be honored to be your model.”

You perked an eyebrow, “seriously?”

He shrugged, “I’ve done it before for cameras, and you are much more interesting than photographers.” He pulled you away from the counter, “go get your stuff and I’ll pour wine.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked towards your art room, which was really just your bedroom, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

When you returned, he was wandering your small living area, a glass of wine in his hands and one on the small coffee table. His eyes danced along the picture frames you and your roommate had placed around the house when you first moved in, which you honestly hadn’t looked at since.

You stepped into the room with your sketchbook and pencils, making your presence known. His gaze drifted to you with a smile, watching you settle onto the couch, “so, is this your roommate?” He motioned towards one of the pictures.

You glanced up, smiling at the goofy picture you two had taken at graduation, “yep, that’s us.” You turned your head back to your book, flipping to the next blank page as he continued asking about your pictures.

“Who’s in this one?” He asked, pointing to a photo of your roommate and her boyfriend, Eric.

You chuckled at the image of them pulling funny faces in the front seat of a car while you sat in the background looking bored, “that’s Eric, her boyfriend. We went on this huge road trip and they swore I wouldn’t have to third wheel, but I obviously did.”

Colson let out a small laugh, taking a sip of his wine, “and who is that?”

You had honestly forgotten about the picture he was pointing to, but seeing it made your stomach fill with unease. “Oh, I forgot that was still up,” you sighed at Colson’s curious expression, “that’s me and my ex, TJ. We broke up months ago, I thought I’d gotten everything of his out of here.”

Colson could see the discomfort in your expression, sitting down on the armchair next to your couch, throwing his legs over the side and posing dramatically. “Bad ex, huh?” You nodded, not wanting to make him uncomfortable with the conversation, though you wanted nothing more than to open up to him. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

You rolled your eyes, turning so you could face him, “of all the poses, that’s what you pick?”

He smiled innocently, “yep.” A chuckle fell from your lips as you looked down at your sketchbook, pressing your pencil to the paper. “Fine, I’ll go first,” he began, “can’t really get to know each other if we don’t get at least a little bit of trauma out of the way.”

You looked up at him and giggled, “you got me there.”

He sighed, taking a sip of his wine, “Baze told me not to talk about it, but the look on your face when I asked you about him tells me you might be able to relate.” You raised an eyebrow but kept drawing, giving him a silent signal to continue. “I was dating this girl for a while, you’ve probably heard of her, Megan Fox.”

Your eyes went wide at the name, looking up at him in shock, “yeah, because that’s not an intimidating act to follow at all!”

Colson waved you off, “you’re doing great so far, don’t even worry about it.” You gave him a stern look, but he only continued with his story, “anyways, we were together for a while and she told me all the time she thought we were soulmates, and I believed her, you know?” You bit your lip, starting to feel slightly intimidated as he spoke about the woman. “But then she cheated on me after, like, 9 months. And I realized after we broke up how wrong we were for each other and how much she manipulated me.”

You frowned as he spoke, his tone getting sadder with each word. “That’s so shitty. I don’t understand why people cheat in long term relationships, especially after you’ve given them so much hope and trust. Like someone convinces you that they love you and then they go around and pull that shit. It’s evil.”

He nodded, a slight smile on his face, “I’m over it now though, in case you were worried. Came to the realization about a month or two later that I was better without her.”

You held the pencil in your hands still, trying to find the words you needed to say. “I, uh, I was dating that guy, TJ. We had been friends for a while and he asked me out and I said yes. Everything was great, you know? And then like almost a year end he starts acting all weird and possessive. Like just because we had been together for so long means he doesn’t have to treat me like his girlfriend anymore. He would make me feel like shit in front of our friends and just all around was being a shitty boyfriend.” Colson stared at you intensely with a frown on his face, eyebrows furrowed.

“A guy should never do that shit to his girl. You don’t deserve that shit, no one does.”

You nodded sadly, “yeah, well, then I found out like 4 months into all of this that he had cheated on me and gotten the girl pregnant so… I ended things real quick.” You let out a sad huff, turning your attention back to the book and continuing your sketch of the beautiful man in front of you. “I was really upset at first but now I’m just kind of angry. Dude was a dick.”

Colson let out a dry laugh as you took a long sip of wine, “sounds like it. I’m sorry you went through that shit.”

You shrugged, smiling up at him, “if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here.”

He chuckled, biting his lip, “guess something good came out of it.”

A blush spread across your cheeks, “oh yeah, the food was amazing.” Your words were full of sarcasm, yet the pout on his face still made you giggle, “I’m joking, loser.”

“You better be miss second-date.” You giggled but didn’t respond, turning back to draw him. It was quiet for a few moments, your pencil tracing along the paper.

He shifted, at which you glared up at him, “I told you you’d get bored.”

With a chuckle he said, “I’m not bored. I get to look at you while you draw, it’s far from boring.” You tried to look annoyed at him but failed miserably at his flattering words. “I was thinking though, since it’s my picture and all, I should get to make some executive decisions.”

You scoffed, “you chose your pose, what else would you like oh great model Colson?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, stretching his arm out to set his glass on the table. “Well, I mentioned that I have some tattoos,” he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, “you should draw them.”

Once his shirt was fully removed from his body, you couldn’t help but gawk just a little. His entire chest was covered in ink, designs beautifully engraved into his skin. “I was gonna make a joke about this only being our first date but holy shit, these are beautiful.”

He blushed, looking down shyly, ”I was honestly scared you weren’t gonna like them.”

You looked at him with wide eyes, “Seriously? This is so cool. I’m an artist, you really think I’m not gonna like tattoos? Its an art form in itself.”

Colson shrugged, moving back to his pose, expecting you to continue your drawing. Instead, your eyes wandered his torso, taking in every detail of the work. “If you’re lucky,” he commented slyly, “one day I might show you all of them.”

You rolled your eyes with a scoff, moving back into drawing position, “you think you’re so cool.”

A breathy laugh fell from his lips, “I do, actually.”

The two of you continued banter-laced conversation while you drew him, his likeness coming to life on your page. At some point it turned into 3 am, and you were struggling to keep your eyes opened, but you were finished.

“Here.” You turned the book to him, letting him take in your work. He didn’t speak for a few moments, causing worry to build in you. “I mean, it’s no Mona Lisa but-“

“That is fucking amazing.” He cut you off with a wide smile, “you make me look hot.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin, “I’m not going to feed your ego by saying something super lame like “that’s just what you look like,” but I’m glad you like it.” He chuckled at your response, climbing off of the chair to stand in front of you.

“Damn, I was really hoping to get my ego fed tonight.” He grabbed the sketchbook from you and threw it onto the couch next to you before grabbing your hands and pulling you up to stand.

You smiled to yourself, chest shaking with silent laughter, “does the sketch not feed it enough?”

He shook his head, “I need the approval of a really pretty girl to satisfy its hunger.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned up into him, “you gotta work harder than that, Rockstar.” Your words came out breathy against his lips as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

His mouth connected to yours, the kiss deep and passionate. His soft lips meshed perfectly with yours, his hands pulling you up to stand on your tiptoes. Once you pulled away you stayed close to him, breathing in his intoxicating scent. He whispered, “I never thought a blind date could turn out so well.”

[lloydsluck]

Crow’s Feet

Prelude

Ever looked at something that’s so fundamentally flawed, so bad in design, form and function, it’s actually intriguing. Like a botched piece of taxidermy or a first attempt at a short novel. A piece of work that was probably not half-assed but whole-heartedly assed with good intention and it would be insulting to the creator to jokingly ask did you write this story as if you’re the old piece of gum stuck underneath a Grade 8 English Lit student desk?  With no light, sense of tense, or spellcheker? The stereotypes and bad similes cause eye rolls so

 far back into one’s head it’s like… well it’s hard to think of a comparison here, so count yourself lucky. Not to mention the ADHD diversions, talking about mounting dead animals in one sentence quickly sidestepping to self-awareness of this piece of literature. I digress. When last did you see a questionable piece of art that you found beautiful? So bad, it’s great. So useless and time-wasting, it’s what you’ll think about ironically one day on your deathbed. Because heck… made you look. 

The Incision 

1

Mondays. The start of a new week. New opportunities for a new you. A fresh squeeze of hope that things will get better served with a side of “I can change” attitude. And no matter how many Mondays we have, (4 187 to be precise, if you, like the average human being will live to 79), you will wake up to the same old boring Monday, every week, the same way. 

Each one with a long dreary stretch and sigh, heavy eyes, telling yourself that you will make the most out of this week. But you won’t. Because laziness is time consuming and you don’t actually have anything else to do, really. 

However, on this particular Monday, which was Fick McOwen’s 2226’s Monday, things were different. 

Fick woke up with the dreadful sensation of drowning. Sinking deep in a casket of darkness. As he gulped in a breath of thick air, it tasted of rotten cabbage coating the back of his throat. Blind and bewildered, sharp metal sounds scratched close above his head. The sound stung his eardrums and made him cock up his forehead banging it hard against a flat surface.

‘Jeeezus fuck’, he hissed. 

With no sense of time and space, his ears were ringing overcharged electric chimes in his head which felt cracked and ready to explode like a reactor in Chernobyl. He took a few minutes to try and calm himself. No good ever came from a panic attack in closed confines with a possible concussion. He finally raised his hands to his chest and did what most drunks do the minute they wake up, pat themselves down and check their underwear.

*

One week earlier.

2

If she was just a bit nicer, Jeffrey thought, she may have already had a proper and dignified burial for her husband. Stomping up and down a room that looked like it was decorated for a five-star hotel in Vienna, the newly-widow’s bony figure moved fast from left to right like a rabid old fox prowling a fence. For Jeffrey, her unwanted but needed bodyguard/help/punching bag, she was Hitler’s sphincter. She sparked fear in him and tightened his nerves with her demanding presence. Like a screwdriver twisting and turning into soft wood. A reaction he despised about himself. It ruined many good days. Sunny days and days like today. 

Watching her from the corner of the large room, she attempted phone call after phone call, shouting at poor bastards who made the simple mistake of answering their phones that day. 

Wanting to disappear he closed his eyes and listened to every passive-aggressive step she took in the room. He liked to tell when she walked on the tiles or the bear rug; it was a fast tac tac tac womp womp womp womp tac tac womp womp…then nothing. He opened his eyes and with a fright found her standing right in front of him, steaming red with anger.

Her greying blonde hair was fastened in a tight pincushion on top of her head. This pulled back her frail white skin that held everything in place. Face to face, he couldn’t help but stare at the permanent makeup she had done on the lower lids of her eyes and on top of her brows. It was starting to fade and as a result, it looked like she put eyeliner on days ago and never washed it off. 

Her stare was cold and deadly like an overworked mortician’s. It complemented her daily outfits of thin grey pencil skirts and matching suit jackets. She had her name embroidered on the inside of the neckline since all of her clothing was specially washed and pressed at a local laundromat. One that she owned of course. 

Margaret. 

That’s what her husband used to call her. Or Margarine, Margie, or Macaroon. She would always remind whoever was listening that she was actually named after Princess Margaret, Countess of Snowden. If you had to look her up, you would see the uncanny similarities between the two women. So much so, that Jeffrey often wondered if they weren’t related. Considering how much of a royal bitch she was.

Nevertheless, he had to call her Mrs. Ergo. And he preferred the kind request from John Ergo, her late husband, since he didn’t think she would have liked the names he had listed for her in his head anyway. 

She snapped back up and walked across the room towards the large oak desk that faced the gigantic windows that looked out onto their garden. Their Ergo-Eden. With a deep sigh, he sat up straight and smoothed back his black hair that was styled according to an old Italian mobster he saw in a film when he was 15. 

“It’s all in the confidence of smoothing the wax over your hands first and then through your hair.” That’s what the old man said to his fellow pasta slurping, red-wine drinking, two hits a week gang that sat around a checkered table talking about the importance of looking respectable, no matter what the job. And this was what he told himself in the bathroom mirror every morning, (impersonating a very bad Italian accent of course) while he prepared for his day. 

Apart from the respectable hairdo, Jeffrey was built like a small bull with a refined jawline. At first glance one would imagine he spends his days lumberjacking in the forest; but instead of plaid shirts, he was forced to wear black on black as per ‘management’s’ request. 

He refocused his attention on her and as foul as she was acting that day, somewhere deep inside him, he felt sorry for her and her loss. His face twitched as he clenched his jaw trying to shape compassion on his face, but feared he looked more like a constipated clown trying to keep his cool. He was given cards once with all the different faces and expressions on it. Ironically, the illustrations looked like they were drawn by an autistic robot with no emotion nor artistic talent (it was), but it helped him deal with different people. Lines that came down the forehead with no teeth, meant anger or disappointment. Teeth showing meant they were happy – or about to bite you. 

Margaret often made faces Jeffrey couldn’t place on his cards and her teeth always had some lipstick stains on it, which quite frankly, just distracted him altogether. 

He watched her go down a list of names and numbers, furiously scratching them out when the call didn’t go as planned. Eyeing the last name and number on the list, she picked up the phone and started dialing. 

3

Fick carefully pulled the skin up the neck and then over the top of the head, trying his very best to keep his hand steady. He wore magnifying goggles that pushed his choppy brown hair up toward the ceiling and enlarged his olive-grey eyes. It looked like the head of a praying mantis was stuck on a lanky man's body who dressed as if he found a discarded box of 80s band shirts and never bothered to wear anything else again. 

'There.' He said as he lifted his hands and inspected the bird-like shape that was coming together in front of him. 

In the back of the garage-turned-workshop, a small radio was trying to hold itself together while Henry Rollins tore away at its speakers. The music filled the room and gave Fick the ability to concentrate. Nothing else was audible. Not a phone or a thought could break his focus. 

And it paid off; the crow started to take a lively shape, fast. All it needed were the eyes and some beak touch-ups and this bad boy was ready for some teenager's window sill.

Fick lived in Long Fountain, a small town where the kids were either into wrestling, the backyard kind, or satanism – also the backyard kind. This meant there were a lot of goth-like metalheads who gave themselves names like Agares and Forneus and hung outside the grocery store to smoke cheap cigarettes they bummed off the shop clerk. They would wear black makeup and dangle fake blood vial necklaces around their necks. Some would even proudly claim that they spray-painted hale satin on the backside of the church announcement board. To top off their rebel-without-a-cause-and-lack-of-basic-grammar-look, these kids would own a taxidermied crow on their windowsills, just for that extra edge. 

“It’s a phase” most parents would say, but Fick couldn’t care less. He got fifty bucks out of it, liked the work, and asked no questions. 

As a self-employed middle-aged Taxidermist, he could work from home and at his own pace. Something he considered to be more valuable than a performance bonus cheque at the end of a year after slaving away in a badly lit office desk from nine to five, five to seven days a week.

He didn’t necessarily consider himself a hermit, but he did prefer his own company with the exception of a few selected people – very selected and very few. This was a choice he made unapologetically clear to others who wanted to befriend him for no real reason. When presented with this frankness, they would awkwardly laugh it off and insist he’s just a fun and sarcastic guy. He despised those people the most. 

Furthermore, Long Fountain was a small enough town for the nosy types to know everyone and their business, while still quiet and sparse enough for others to embrace the privacy of the town’s border. If you had to take a drone shot from high above, the edge of the town looked like it disappeared into the desert like an ocean of drought that spilled into a suburb. Fick could never figure out why they called it Long Fountain though, as there wasn’t even a lake or river anywhere near them. But he liked it there and he appreciated the colourful desert sunsets that could be found if you were at the right place at the right time.

The only other peculiar thing about the town was that there was an abnormally large crow population, which he didn’t mind because it meant more product for him. That, and an abnormal amount of  old age homes. 

He gripped the tweezer handle between his teeth while he carefully glued the last soft tiny black feathers to the rim of the beak; he tended to hold his breath during these final touches. While the song came to a screeching halt, the ringing of his cell phone surfaced through all the noise and concentration. 

‘Fuck!’ He spat out the metal twangs, pulled off the goggles and flipped his phone over to reveal four missed calls from an unknown number in town. He was about to throw the phone over his shoulder onto a once purple–now grey–couch, when the screen lit up again with the same number flashing. 

‘Hello’ he answered casually trying to simmer down. 

‘Hello, is this Fick McOwen?’ A sweet lady’s voice kindly asked on the other side. 

‘Yes, how can I help?’

‘I’m looking for someone who can help me with a,’ she paused for a second,  ‘stuffing job?’ 

‘Well ma’am, I do all kinds of taxidermy. We don’t call it stuffing though, rather mounting,’ he smirked. ‘Anything from crows, bucks, ducks, even your pet poodle.’ He stared at the one-eyed crow that was perched up in front of him. 

‘What is your rate?’ She calmly inquired. 

‘It depends on the job. Small birds and animals start at thirty bucks, and then it can go up to a couple of thousand for a full deer, buck or elk.’ 

She went quiet on the line. He could tell she was busy writing something down, possibly a calculation. He hated long silences, it gave him indigestion.   

‘What would you like to have mounted?’ He nudged, just to check that she was still there. She remained quiet. 

‘Hellooo?’

‘Ten thousand.’

‘Excuse me?’ He quickly asked to confirm that he probably misheard.  

‘Ten. Thousand.’ She repeated sternly. 

‘Ma’am. What do you want to have done?’ His stomach started to tie knots of doubt, anticipating a job he may not be able to do. 

‘I prefer a private meeting to discuss this further.’ Her tone suddenly changed from a sweet old lady to an office crank complaining it’s cold. He hesitated for a second. Feeling his gut whisper all tales of caution to avoid this type of interaction. “If it’s too good to be true…” he would always remind himself. 

But…then again...

The ten thousand dollars started to swim through his mind like a beautiful woman in a red bikini, blowing kisses from a crystal blue pool. Caught in the moment, he impulsively replied, ‘Okay.’ She quickly confirmed that her people will be in contact with his people and disconnected before he could even take a breath to say he doesn’t have “people”. 

Confused about the call and left with nothing to follow up with, he decided to write it off as another crazy old lady from one of the care homes who got hold of the nurse’s office phone. Eyeing the cotton-eye-crow, he proceeded to hit play on his stereo, threw his mobile on the couch and stuck the tweezers back in his mouth to finish the job.

NEXT CHAPTER COMING SOON

[100storiesin2020]

a Chainsaw in Fox Tower: Chapter 5

Ronan watched Adam sleep from the corner of his eye as he drove. Adam had spent much of his time catching up on lost sleep at the Barns this summer, and had developed a habit of falling asleep at any chance he got. Ronan figured that years of sleepless nights would take years to catch up on. He didn’t mind it, really. Adam was so beautiful asleep, with those high cheekbones and slender fingers, almost delicate and ethereal. How Ronan had won a love from such a man, he still wasn’t sure, and he was afraid, sometimes, that it would burn him alive.

Ronan nudged him as they passed the road sign for Palmetto. Adam opened his eyes, and looked at Ronan, and it was new all over again.

This love would burn him, all right, but he didn’t mind the flames.

“We’re almost there,” Adam observed, looking out the window. Campus was just off the freeway, and the next exit took them straight to it. Fox Tower was only a few turns away. They arrived, pulling into a parking spot next to the Pig as Gansey unloaded boxes. He looked up, smiling as they got out. 

“Parrish! Lynch! You’re just in time!” Gansey said. “Blue is on her way down to help us, since she is already moved in.”

“Waiting for her to come do the heavy lifting for you?” Ronan jabbed. Adam laughed as Gansey pouted.

“I can do my own heavy lifting, thank you! I was hoping she would help me decorate the dorm.”

“What do you mean, help /you/ decorate the dorm?” Ronan asked. 

“What do you mean?” Gansey looked very confused.

Adam gave him a stern look and answered the question. “Monmouth was yours to decorate. Fox Tower is ours. That means we get as much say in decorating as you do.” Gansey opened his mouth and Adam cut him off. “We do this together, as equals.”

Gansey nodded slowly. Considering the conversation over, Ronan moved to the backseat and unbuckled Chainsaw from her harness. She had been surprisingly quiet on the drive over, but that was never a guarantee for her, and so Ronan kept her tied to the seatbelt to prevent any road incidents sparked by a flying bird in the vehicle.

Chainsaw immediately took the air, calling /Kerah, kerah/ as she began to explore her new surroundings. After a few quick laps around the tower, she settled on Ronan’s shoulder just as the front door of the Tower opened, revealing Blue.

Blue walked over to them. /Walking/ wasn’t something that Ronan would often describe Blue as doing. Generally she was /pacing/, or /striding/, or /stalking/. Walking was a bit too tame for her. Something had upset her, but drawing attention to it was the worst way to get information out of her. Also, it would ruin Ronan’s terrifying image.

“Hey, maggot, come to make yourself useful?” She laughed as he handed her the largest box from Gansey’s trunk. She was so small she couldn’t see over the top of it, but she hefted it like it was nothing.

“Is that the best you’ve got, asshole?” There. Blue was back to herself, at least for a little bit. Ronan gave her a ferocious grin as he put another box on top of the one she was already carrying.

Adam stacked two of the smaller boxes and picked them up. They were full of books and probably the heaviest things there. “Don’t hurt yourself, Parrish,” Ronan drawled. 

Adam just gave him that /look/ and turned to Blue. “You’ve been here a bit, can you lead the way?”

As they started into Fox Tower, Adam called back. “Grab the small box first, Lynch!”

Ronan growled and put the suitcase back, grabbing the small box instead. 

“Why does it matter?” asked Gansey. “Isn’t it all going upstairs anyway?”

Ronan didn’t bother replying. He hauled the box of dreamstuff into the Tower and up the stairs behind Blue and Adam, Gansey in tow with suitcases and Chainsaw still on his shoulder. Blue was telling Adam about how she had decorated her part of the room, and some of her observations of the new teammates. He tuned it out, concentrating instead on the muscles in Adam’s back, his soft hair and quiet laughter. As they arrived at the right room, Blue pointed out her room just two doors down. They opened the door (Gansey had handed Blue they key) and walked into a very blank living room. As Gansey closed the door behind them, Ronan shoved his small box into Adam’s recently-vacated arms. “Here’s your precious plants, Parrish. I need a nap.” Adam looked at him, head slightly tilted to one side. A silent question. He sneered back in a silent answer and continued on his way. Now was the true test of the Palmetto leyline, and he needed to do it alone.

Ronan didn’t bother to shut the door to the bedroom. Chainsaw hopped from his shoulder to the bedpost, and then started to explore the room. There was a set of bunk beds and one lone bed on the other side of the room. He took the lone bed, knowing it was the safest option should he dream something unintentional. He laid down and relaxed as he heard Adam and Gansey arguing about where stuff should be placed in the living room.

“Do we really need so many plants, Adam? They take up so much space.”

“They’re more useful than your Glendower papers are now,” Adam replied. Fuck, Ronan liked this confident version of Adam. “Also, if you brought your little Henrietta please do NOT put it near the window, I need that spot.”

“Oh no, Gansey,” Blue laughed. “Where are you going to put little Henrietta?”

“I left it at Monmouth, Jane.”

“Oh thank god,” Adam and Blue said in chorus. Ronan drifted to sleep to faint chirps of /kerah/ as they started to squabble over how the cupboards would be arranged.

He didn’t dream of a forest today. He was standing on a short clif, looking down at a fast-moving river. The other bank of the river was a flat plain, giving a good view of the many switchbacks and curves in the more distant parts of the river. The cliff went all along this edge, but it was not sheer, and stout trees grew out of the side of it. Ronan walked along the cliff until he came to a dip, an almost-trail, leading down to the river, and descended.

The water changed as he approached, not uncommon for a dream. It went from a deep greenish blue to completely transparent, as if there was no water at all. Ronan picked up a rock and launched it into the river. It splashed, and ripples of silver spread back to the edge on which he stood. 

This was not Cabeswater, but it had the same feeling of home, and Ronan knew what he needed to do.

He took a step.

The water was warm and soothing, cleansing his feet. He didn’t have shoes anymore, which was as it should be. He took more steps, the water remaining clear as ever, now without even ripples to distort the riverbed below him. He whispered to the water, /show me what I need. Something for Blue. Something to make this home for her./ He took another step, and then he saw it below him in the river. It was perfect. He dove in a pried it from underneath a rock, then sat down on the riverbed to look at it. Breathing was not an issue here.

He woke, frozen to his bed as always. He could feel the smooth wood of a picture frame beneath his fingers. Fuck, he was cold. He’d forgotten to get out of the water before waking himself up, and he was soaked to the bone. Even his socks were wet, though his shoes were dry. Go figure.

He slammed his feet onto the floor and stomped back to the living room. He saw everyone freeze and turn towards him as he entered. Adam had his plants spread in the various corners, and Blue had set up a trellis so the viney one could stretch itself across the wall. Gansey was putting pots in the cupboard, and Ronan noted that they were a mix of Adam’s shitty stuff from thrift stores and new stuff which Gansey had obviously procured. He would have to go through the kitchen later and see what was missing so he could dream it up.

“Catch, maggot.” He tossed the picture at her head and stomped off to the bathroom to take a warm shower. Fuck, he was going to have to be careful to dry off if he ended up dreaming the river again.

*****

Blue caught the flying object out of reflex as Ronan stomped off. The bathroom door slammed shut behind him. Turning to the others, she asked, “Do you think the leyline is strong enough for him?”

Adam smiled softly, still looking at the space Ronan had just occupied. “I think if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t have had that for you.” He eyed the object in her hand.

“I’m rather concerned about him being soaking wet,” Gansey interjected.

Adam shrugged. “He was probably underwater when he woke himself up. It’s happened before, though rarely. It always pisses him off.”

Blue was delighted. “And you would know this, how, exactly?”

Adam glared at her. “What did he give you?” he asked, ignoring the question.

Oh, right. Blue looked at the thing she had caught. It was a picture in a frame that felt wooden under her fingers but seemed to actually be made of silver. It seemed to be a traditional photo, at first, but then it was an oil painting, and then watercolor, before shifting to a pencil sketch and back to a photo. It featured her and all her Raven boys. She was in the center, with Noah on one side, arm over her shoulder, and Gansey on the other side holding her hand. Beyond Gansey was Henry striking a wild dance pose. Adam and Ronan were on the other side of Noah, standing shoulder to shoulder and leaning on each other a bit. Behind them was the Pig, and beyond it was Cabeswater. It was perfect.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at Noah. She missed him so much.

At Gansey’s questioning look, she handed it over. Adam peered at it over his shoulder, and they were both obviously touched.

Gansey stared at it a little too long, transfixed. The smell of warm earth and leaves filled the room, and Blue saw shadows of tree branches in the corners of her vision. Gansey was still as a statue, looking very /otherly/ at that moment.

“Earth to Gansey,” Adam said, plucking the picture from his fingers, and the tree branches seemed to /snap/ away as Gansey came back to himself.

“Oh, my apologies,” he said. “When are we, Jane?”

“It’s our first day in Palmetto, it’s 4 o’clock, and we should probably start making our way to the court for our first official team meeting.”

Gansey nodded. "Then we will go as soon as Ronan joins us."

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette and the Lost Temple CH5

It’s here!! Marinette is kicking ass and taking names in this chapter! Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

Chapter 5

“Here’s your room.”

The man who’d caught her earlier wore a scowl as he dumped a set of sheets into her arms.

“We’ll be watching you closely, young lady, and the moment you step out of line, you’re going to experience a world of hurt. We will do anything to keep our secret safe. Remember that,” he growled before straightening his robes and stalking up the hallway.

Marinette stuck her tongue out before entering her room. It was small, nothing more than a bed, a night table, a desk, and a sink. She supposed they had no need for more than that here, but it still made her feel a little claustrophobic.

Lighting up the gas lamp on the bedside table, she set to work making her bed as the setting sun cast faint orange beams on the wall. She gazed out over the grounds with a pensive frown, hoping that time passed differently here. She could only imagine the search party back home.

Home…

She sat on the bed and unzipped her backpack, digging through her belongings. Her mother’s cheongsam, a plastic water bottle half-full, a pack of gum, her sketch pad, some pencils, and the lunch her grandmother had packed. Those were the only things she had left from the future. If only she’d put her phone in her backpack then she could have proved her claims. One photo from a news article of her as Ladybug and boom!

She laid back against her pillow with a sigh, stretching her arms out on either side. Why had Fu sent her here knowing they wouldn’t believe her? Had she already failed? If she didn’t manage to save the temple, would she lose her Miraculous when she got back? Would Master Fu be disappointed? She wished she could talk to him.

“Whoa, your room has a sink!” She shot up to see Fu sitting in her window, one leg swinging. “I guess it makes sense since you’re a girl.”

“Fu!” She gasped as he swung his other leg over and hopped down.

“I came to see you as soon as I was done meditating. It looks like you’ve settled in just fine,” he remarked, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Elder Qiang told me that you and I are gonna be partners. I can’t believe I finally got assigned someone!”

“So, I guess that means I’ll be following you to class then,” she said, and Fu averted his gaze.

“Uh, yeah…”

“Which means you have to go to class,” she added sternly, and he flopped over with a groan. “You’re learning about ancient magic. Shouldn’t that be exciting to you?”

“It is, but we learn about other boring stuff too. I just wanna play around with the Miraculouses all day,” he said, hugging his knees to his chest as his stomach growled, and he patted it with a wince.

“Hungry?”

“I missed dinner because I was being punished,” he said with a sigh, and Marinette retrieved her lunch, lifting the lid on the container to find a note from her grandmother.

To share with any new friends you make along your way.

Marinette glanced at her double portions with a smile, quietly thanking her grandmother’s mysterious sixth sense before crossing the room to sit by Fu on the floor.

“Here, my grandma made me a lunch before I left. You can have some,” she offered, and Fu sat up, eyes shining as she offered him a sandwich.

“This is really fancy. I’ve never seen stuff like this before,” he remarked, and she nearly choked on her bite.

“Oh, um, you just haven’t been to Paris,” she said quickly.

“If Paris has things like this then I definitely wanna go!” He said around a mouthful, and Marinette suppressed a giggle. “Hey, maybe one day when we’re fully realized guardians we can go together.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Marinette shifted her gaze to her lap. “Actually, can I tell you something?”

“Sure,” he said, stuffing the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, and she eyed him for a long moment, contemplating what to say. How could she tell him that he was going to make a mistake so catastrophic that everything would be lost?

“Um, thank you, for everything,” she said, and Fu smiled.

“You’re welcome,” he said, shifting his gaze to the other half of her sandwich. “Are you gonna finish that?”

***

Fu sat calmly on his mat, setting a plate on the table. She must be there by now, he figured, taking a bite of his favorite sandwich. It tasted just as good as it had all those years ago. Marinette’s grandmother really knew how to make a delicious meal.

He recalled the first time he’d met Min 40 years ago when he first moved back to Paris after the war. She was newly married and already expecting her first child, though she wasn’t too far along yet.

He’d stopped into their shop to buy some antiques for his new home there and as soon as he discovered her name was Cheng, he had to ask about Marinette, but he was too early. Min wouldn’t have Sabine for several more years, but he gained her intrigue none the less, so he told her his tale. Min was a mysterious woman herself, and when he had finished, she simply stated that she could feel greatness in her blood, even if it wasn’t her own. It was then that she prepared him this same sandwich that he’d eaten so many years before, and she promised to keep his secret for the sake of her future granddaughter. It seemed that Cheng women all carried themselves with a sense of duty. He could see where Marinette got it.

Marinette changed his life in several ways that day. She became his first partner and his first true friend. He only hoped that she’d forgive him when she returned to Paris.

“Is something the matter, Master?” Wayzz asked, and Master Fu blinked out of his trance.

“Just recalling old memories,” he said, shaking himself. “Do you remember our first combat class?”

“Yes, Marinette did quite well,” Wayzz recalled, tapping his chin.

“Oh, she did very well,” Fu chuckled. “She is quite the force to be reckoned with.”

***

“Marinette, come on!” Fu said the next day, taking her hand and running for the courtyard.

“What did you do?” She asked, eyes narrowing.

“Nothing! I just want to get to our next class,” he said, and Marinette’s expression grew more suspicious. “I never skip this class. It’s where we get to actually use the Miraculouses.”

Finally.

She’d kept to herself all day, trying not to seem too knowledgeable about each Miraculous even if she did know all of their powers. With the Elders hot on her case, she didn’t want to give them anymore reason to think she was a spy. However, proving herself a skilled opponent in combat would be the perfect proof that she was Ladybug. The only challenge was proving herself with a different Miraculous. She’d stick to one she knew, perhaps the fox or the bee.

“Today you will be working in pairs to reach the center of the maze. You must work together if you hope to succeed for proper cooperation between partners is vital when using a Miraculous. Relying only upon yourself can leave you vulnerable, so if only one of your teammates makes it to the center, you will fail. Alternatively, if either of you detransform during the test, you will fail. The Miraculous are limited, so you must keep that in mind when you are strategizing,” their instructor explained, and Marinette’s eyes lit up. “The winning team will be allowed an extra hour of free time this afternoon.”

“That would be nice,” Fu sighed.

“We’re gonna win,” Marinette said confidently.

“Your optimism is admirable, but it’s only your first day, and I’m not so great myself. Sorry, probably should have warned you,” Fu rubbed the back of his neck. “Jun and Ling usually win. They’re so aggressive…Just try not to get mowed over.”

“Let me tell you a little secret, Fu,” she said with a smile. “You can do anything if you put your mind to it. I think you’re more capable than you realize, so have faith in yourself, and in this case, follow my lead.”

“You’ve got a plan?” Fu quirked a brow, and a sly smirk twisted on her lips.

“Take the turtle.”

“But I hate the turtle!” He whined, and Marinette placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I think it suits you. Do you trust me?” She asked, and Fu searched her expression. “Partner?”

“Okay,” he nodded, pressing his lips into a firm line as they lined up for selection.

“Fu, since you have recently been assigned a partner, we will let you two pick first,” their instructor said, opening the Miracle Box and offering them their choice. As suggested, he took the turtle, and Marinette selected the fox.

Next up, Jun and Ling selected the rabbit and horse, casting amused grins at Fu and Marinette, and Fu shifted with a groan.

“You should have let me take the dragon. They picked the fastest Miraculouses. They’re going to reach the center way before we do!” He said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Don’t worry. Just think about what you’re gonna do during free time,” Marinette said, fastening the necklace around her neck as Trixx materialized.

“I haven’t seen your face before,” Trixx said, floating around her. “My name’s Trixx, and I’m the kwami of illusion.”

“We learned about you in class earlier. Your power creates an illusion for a short period of time,” she recited.

“You know your stuff,” Trixx nodded, impressed.

“More than everyone thinks,” she mumbled under her breath. “Ready? Trixx, transform me!”

She needed to be smart about her costume this time, her usual skin-tight look wouldn’t cut it here even if it was more efficient. If she went too modern, she’d stand-out, and the last thing she wanted to do was alert Fu. She knew she’d have to tell him about his mistake sooner or later, but for now she was aiming for later, after all she didn’t even know what the mistake was. She needed to buy time to convince the Elders so they could be prepared when the mistake happened.

Picturing the fox page in the grimoire, she formed her costume to match the others. It felt weird to use a Miraculous with loose-fitting clothes, but she would just have to manage. At least she had several years of childhood flute lessons under her belt.

“Whoa, you’re a natural at this,” Fu gaped behind his own mask, and she bit back a smile at seeing him transformed for the first time. She’d asked him on numerous occasions to show her his transformation, but he always complained that his hips hurt too much or that he was too tired.

“Thank you,” she beamed, a little too smugly.

“Ready?” Their instructor announced, holding up an arm at the entrance to the maze. “Begin!”

He swung his arm down, disappearing in a flash of smoke, and Jun and Ling wasted no time before surging ahead. Fu moved to run, but Marinette caught his arm.

“What are you doing? We’re already behind!”

“Slow and steady wins the race,” she winked.

“What does that mean? I’m pretty sure the fastest person always wins,” he said pointedly, and she bit back a smirk.

“You’ll find out someday. It’s a little too early for that story,” she said, taking his wrist. “Follow me.”

Marinette let the other teams charge in first, biding their time until the first waves of fighting broke out. A giant bee told her that the peacock had already used its power. They’d start there.

“Shouldn’t we be running away from that?” Fu asked as she weaved around walls, gaze fixed on their target.

“I’m going to teach you a valuable lesson about combat, Fu. Even if someone is faster or stronger than you, you can still win if you use your head,” she said as they came to a clearing where the peacock and bee were fighting the snake and pig. “Don’t use your power until I tell you, okay?”

“Okay, I guess,” he shrugged as their opponents locked onto their new targets.

Marinette glanced between them, formulating a plan as the pig and bee charged in while the peacock and snake continued their struggle.

“You handle the pig,” she said, charging in and easily parrying his blow.

These students may be trained in ancient martial arts, but she was trained in wrestling and MMA thanks to Nora’s self-defense lessons and all of her time as Ladybug. The bee seemed to realize he was outmatched as Marinette knocked him back, his jaw clenching.

“Venom!”

Marinette smirked, flicking her gaze toward Fu tussling with the pig then over to the peacock and snake with their hands locked. Flipping back a few paces as she dodged the bee’s stinger, she evaded into just the right position as the peacock pinned the snake to the ground before she deflected the bee’s strike, redirecting it into his partner’s back. He realized his mistake, gasping in horror as his partner froze, trapping the snake in her stiff grip. By the time the peacock unfroze and freed the snake, she’d be ready to change back.

“Fu, let’s go!” She called as he shoved against the pig with his shield. He surveyed her work with an impressed nod before following after her as the pig attempted to free her partner.

“Whoa, I never would have thought of that,” he laughed as they charged ahead. “You’re really smart, Marinette.”

“Don’t celebrate yet, we’ve still got work to do,” she cautioned as they rounded the corner on the mouse and bull, doubling back from a dead-end.

Marinette paused to observe their surroundings, fixating on the mouse’s jump rope, her flute, and the bull. A smirk curled on her lips, and Fu watched in awe as she raced at the mouse, barely reacting in time to block a heavy punch from the bull. While the two grappled, Marinette baited the mouse right into her trap. When she curled her jump rope around the flute, Marinette took hold, spinning in a circle until her opponent was flung into her partner. Marinette tied them together with the jump rope, and she and Fu pressed on.

“For a beginner, you seem scarily good at all of this,” he said, eyeing her as they ran.

Her ears twitched, and she skidded to a stop, grabbing Fu’s wrist and pressing a finger to her lips. Twirling her flute around to meet her lips, she blew a soft melody, picturing the path in her mind before launching her mirage.

“What’d you make?” Fu asked as she steered them in the opposite direction.

“Oh, just a little path that should redirect them back to the start,” she winked, and Fu stared at her with a stunned, though highly impressed gape.

“You’re amazing,” he said though his adoration was short lived as they came face-to-face with Jun and Ling.

“Well, well, look who it is,” Jun said, sounding amused.

“I don’t know how you two made it this far, but this is the end for you. The center of the maze is just ahead on the left, and we intend to get there first,” Ling grunted, stepping forward with a cocky grin.

“I want you to cast your dome around them,” Marinette said to Fu. “On my signal.”

“Ohhh,” Fu said, nodding as Marinette stepped forward to meet him.

“We took out all the other teams. What makes you think we can’t take you down too?” She challenged, eyeing the flashing necklace around Ling’s neck.

“Everyone knows Fu can barely button his shirt, let alone defeat anyone in combat, especially since he picked the turtle. Guess he forgot that this was a race,” Jun said with a snort, and Marinette cocked a hip.

“I wouldn’t underestimate him. He’s capable of far more than you know,” she said before leaping into the air. “Now!”

“Shelter!” Fu exclaimed, aiming his shield at Ling and Jun and encasing them in a large dome.

Marinette knocked on the outside with a satisfied smirk as Ling and Jun glared at them from inside.

“The center is on the left you said?” She quirked a brow before turning over her shoulder and jogging up the path.

“Fu! You’re going to pay for this!” Ling growled, beating the wall with his fist.

“Sure thing. You can plot it during your one whole hour of free time,” Fu stuck his tongue out as she followed Marinette.

Their instructor sat in the clearing, sipping tea calmly under a tree. He seemed surprised to see them, but a smile broke over his lips.

“Well done, you two,” he congratulated. “It seems that all you needed this whole time was a partner, Fu.”

“I can’t believe we won!” Fu grinned, and Marinette offered him a fist which he eyed curiously.

“It’s called a fist bump,” she chuckled. “Touch your fist to mine, and say ‘pound it!’”

“Why?”

“It’s how we celebrate a victory where I’m from,” she said, and Fu shrugged.

“French people have such strange customs, but I’ll bite,” he laughed, touching his fist to hers.

“Pound it!”

Marinette giggled, taking his wrist. “Come on, let’s go enjoy our free time!”

Master Feng watched from his office in the tower, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“She took out every team,” one elder gaped beside him. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

“Who is that girl?”

“Yes,” Master Feng murmured. “Who indeed.”