#and nothing (NOTHING) will ever beat cloy it is number one forever and always in my heart

[beachboysnatural]

I think Lovely Runner might beat out Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha for my second favorite drama I've watched

[blueskrugs]

In Between Being Young and Being Right | Mat Barzal

this is for  @yes-he-mccann and the @hockeynetwork fic exchange! I hope you like it!  

this was written on a stack of looseleaf over the course of about four hours and I used up like half of a brand new pen on it.

length: 4.1k words

the torture of small talk with someone you used to love

You met Mat Barzal the summer after his rookie year, fresh off the high of winning the Calder, all good looks and a quiet confidence. 

You fell in love under the fireworks over Lake Okanagan. 

It was a whirlwind summer romance, and you both knew it. It was one of those relationships that usually came with an expiration date, when the sun set earlier and the nights were colder. You and Mat didn’t care, though, because you fell so hard and fast for each other that you couldn’t imagine a life without the other one in it. Besides, you heard the whispers of all your friends and family, the way they said that you and Mat were made for each other.

It certainly seemed that way to you too, because you saw the love in Mat’s eyes when he looked at you, the way his face lit up when you laughed with him, and you knew that love was reflected in your own eyes, even when Mat pushed you off the dock and into the lake. 

The summer passed in a humid haze. You talked about the future as you laid in the grass under the stars, hands tangled together between you. About Mat’s career. About you graduating college in a couple of years. Moving to New York. Following Mat and his dream. 

You sat around bonfires with your friends, sitting on Mat’s lap and wearing one of his hoodies, watching the sparks fly into the dark sky and feeling Mat wrap his arms around your waist.

The end of summer was creeping ever nearer, but you and Mat were as inseparable as ever. Until you weren’t, until Mat went back to Long Island for training camp. 

You felt the 3000 miles between you as you talked on the phone each night. You could feel Mat pulling away as the distance stretched between you. You also knew there was nothing you could do about it. 

“I think we should break up,” he said one night just after the season started. The Islanders had won, and Mat had scored a goal, but he sounded tired, exhausted in a way that was more than just the hockey game. You choked back a sob, but Mat continued on. “I just don’t think this long-distance thing is working.”

It wasn’t working because Mat didn’t want it to. There was more to it than that, you knew, but you didn’t push as Mat hung up the phone. You stared at your phone long after the screen went dark. You were wearing an old Thunderbirds sweatshirt of Mat’s, and it still smelled like him, but instead of being comforting, it was suddenly cloying. You pulled the hood over your head to sleep, letting the familiar scent wash over you as the tears fell onto your pillowcase. 

Life went on. You learned to paste on a smile and laugh when someone told you that they’d thought you and Mat had been perfect together, that you would have been together forever. You’d thought that, too. Last summer seemed like a lifetime ago.

Summer rolled around again. You hadn’t spoken to Mat since that last phone call; you wondered vaguely what you would say to him if you saw him again. You went back to the Lake with your family and hoped you never had to find out. 

You bumped into Tyson Jost, literally, one day in July in the middle of the lake. He was in a kayak, and he was definitely intentionally trying to knock you off your paddleboard. You splashed him with your paddle as he laughed. 

It was nice for a moment, familiar as Tyson pouted at you and tried to fix his curls, like it was last summer again. Except nothing was the same, and Tyson must have realized it at the same time as you, because his smile fell. 

“Hey,” he offered quietly.

“Hey, Tys,” you said back, sitting down on your paddleboard, letting one leg hang over the side and into the water. 

It  was quiet for a moment, neither of you knowing what to say next, just the sound of cicadas filling the air. 

“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Tyson said.

You shrugged, tilting your face up towards the sun so you didn’t have to meet Tyson’s eyes. Tyson had always been nice to you, and you two got along, but he’d always been Mat’s friend, not yours.

Tyson nudged your leg with his paddle. “Miss playing Spikeball with you on my team,” he added. ��We never lost when we were together.”

You laughed, looking back at Tyson, “That might have been because we’re ‘too competitive.’”

Tyson was grinning at you. “Nah,” he said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You laughed harder; you weren’t sure when the last time you had laughed this hard was. “Wanna join me out here for a while?” you asked when you caught your breath. 

“I’ll race ya,” Tyson said, already turning his kayak around for a head start. 

You beat him anyway. 

You didn’t see Mat at all that summer; you couldn’t decide if you were relieved or disappointed. His sister texted you once, but you didn’t respond. Mat still followed you on Instagram, too, would like your posts within a couple of hours, but he never interacted further than that. Your thumb hovered over the “remove follower” button on more than one late night, but it never actually got pressed. You still wore one of his hoodies to sleep sometimes. It no longer smelled like him, and it left you lonelier than ever come morning. 

When your work offered to send you to an important conference in New York City as a representative for the Vancouver area, you didn’t hesitate to say yes. You didn’t think about the fact that it was the middle of November, that hockey season in full swing, until a week later. You were in the middle of packing when your phone lit up with a notification that told you Mat had just scored a goal.

You looked at the Islanders hoodie that you had absently folded and placed at the top of your suitcase. 

New York was a big city, right? What were the odds that you would see Mat?

The odds were really fucking high, it turned out. 

You’d barely been in New York two days when you crossed paths with Mat. You were standing in line in a coffee shop, because your relationship was still a walking cliche, even after not seeing Mat for over a year. You heard his laugh before you saw his face.

You could never forget that laugh. You still heard it in your sleep, in the dark when you couldn’t chase the memories away. Except in your dreams it was never followed by a giggle that wasn’t yours. Like it was now. 

You resisted the urge to turn around, instead kept your eyes glued to your phone screen, but you weren’t really reading any of the words on it. 

A barista called out Mat’s name, and then he was brushing past you, murmuring an apology as he went past. He didn’t look at you, not really, more focused on getting his coffee. Not until he turned around, coffee now in hand, and you thought he was going to drop the cup for a moment as he did a literal double take. Frozen in the middle of a coffee shop in Manhattan. You would’ve laughed, but instead you felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

“Y/N,” Mat breathed. You almost didn’t hear him over the din of the conversations around you. 

His hair had grown out some, you couldn’t help but notice.

Someone else bumped into you, but you didn’t pay them any mind. Mat was still staring at you, but at least he’d closed his mouth. The barista called your name, and you moved to grab your cup from the counter. Mat grabbed your arm as you turned to leave but jerked back quickly, letting go like he’d been burned. 

You didn’t have enough caffeine in your system for this, and you didn’t have time for it, either. You were going to be late at this rate, but you paused anyway, looked into Mat’s eyes. You were both saved from speaking by a girl coming over and draping herself over Mat.

“Mat, baby, what’s taking you so long?” Mat shrugged the girl off of him, looking annoyed. She turned her attention to you then. “I’m Clara, Mat’s girlfriend,” she told you, her smile turning a little mean, as if she knew exactly who you were. She didn’t offer a hand, and instead, wound her arms around Mat’s bicep. 

She was tall, model-thin and model-pretty. Blonde in a way that was too perfect to be real. You were suddenly acutely aware of your own chipped nail polish. 

Mat didn’t say anything, but he refused to look at you.

You gripped your coffee cup tighter, turned, and fled, the bell over the door tinkling cheerily. It mocked you as you felt your heart break all over again. 

Mat had moved on; you hadn’t. And that was fine. Or, at least, that’s what you told yourself as you sipped your coffee and walked through the crowded streets of New York. Your phone vibrated with a text in your hand, but you turned it off without looking at it and threw it in your purse.

When you turned your phone back on later that night, back in the safety of your hotel room, the text at the top of your screen was from Mat. 

“I’m sorry,” it read.

Then, several hours later, another: “she’s not you.”

You scoffed. You felt a little bit like throwing your phone at the wall. 

Another text from Mat came through. You wondered if he’d been checking his phone all day, waiting for the little “read” to appear under all of his messages to you. “It’s just easier with her.”

You blocked Mat’s phone number through your tears.

That night as you fell asleep, you couldn’t help but wonder if Clara was the reason Mat had broken up with you. You wondered if she laughed at all of his stupid jokes like you always had. You wondered if she was friends with Tito, or if she had come to B.C. last summer and taken your place by Mat’s side. You wondered what would have happened if you had followed Mat to New York last year.

You would’ve followed Mat anywhere in the world once. Now, you were in the same city again, but you felt like you were worlds away from each other. You hoped whoever was on the other side of your wall couldn’t hear you crying. 

The Islanders came to Vancouver in February. You didn’t bother watching the game.

Soon, it was July again. You were going to a Canada Day party at a friend of a friend’s, and you were excited for it, for the chance to have fun on the lake for the day, just drinking and tanning. 

You didn’t know what impelled you to put on your cutest swimsuit, but you did it anyway. 

You’d barely walked into the backyard when someone barreled into you from behind, wrapping their arms around your waist and spinning you around. It took you a second, but you recognized the cheering voice as none other than Tyson Jost.

“Tyson, let go of me, holy shit,” you gasped. 

He did, but only long enough to turn you to face him and place his hands on your shoulders. He was out of breath and wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he was smiling at you.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he said excitedly. 

You had forgotten that your mutual friends at the lake overlapped. And if Tyson were there, Mat probably was, too. In spite of yourself, you peered over Tyson’s shoulder. You didn’t know if you were looking for Mat so you could avoid him or because you wanted to talk to him. 

“I need a drink,” you muttered when you finally spotted him, down near the lakefront. 

Tyson raised an eyebrow at you, but pointed you in the direction of the alcohol anyway, before you were being dragged across the lawn to meet his sister. 

Kacey was in a conversation with Mat, because of course she was, and you stood by and awkwardly sipped your drink as Tyson jumped straight into the conversation. They seemed to be arguing over whether or not a hot dog could be considered a sandwich. 

Kacey was sweet, and she seemed fun, especially when you teamed up to roast Tyson, but soon she was being called by someone else, and Tyson followed, leaving you with Mat. You glared at his back as he went. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Mat said quietly, dragging his bare toes through the grass. 

“Hey,” you said, taking another sip of your drink. “You had a great season,” you offered. It was true; Mat had put up great numbers, and the team had made it into the second round of the playoffs again. 

Mat looked up at you, startled, like he hadn’t expected you to still keep up with him and his team. He flushed a little and ran his hand through his hair. It was shorter again, you noticed. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

It was awkward, and you hated it. You could hear all the voices of your friends and family in your head, telling you that you and Mat were meant for each other, would be together forever, but right now it was like talking to a stranger. 

“How’re your parents?” Mat asked.

You forced a smile. “They just got a puppy.” You had pictures of him on your phone, but you had left it inside the house. “Where’s Clara?” you asked, willing your voice to stay even.

Mat flushed again and wouldn’t meet your eyes. “We, uh, broke up,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Before Christmas,” he added.

Not long after you’d been in New York, you thought, but you knew better than to hope that you’d had anything to do with it. 

“Y/N! Barzy!” Josty yelled then, effectively ending your conversation. “Come play Spikeball!” You both groaned good-naturedly. 

Your hand brushed Mat’s as you walked towards Josty, but he flinched and took a step away from you.

You glared at Tyson again as you moved to stand next to him. “I hate you,” you hissed. 

Tyson feigned innocence and tossed the ball to you. 

You and Tyson beat Kacey and Mat, because it had been a while, but you weren’t undefeated as a team for nothing. You let Tyson pull you into a hug and tried to ignore how you felt Mat’s eyes on your back. 

Mat and Kacey moved on from the game, but Tyson was already busy trying to pull in your next opponent. You ended up staying on Spikeball for a while, long enough that you were sweaty and in desperate need of water as the sun beat down from overhead.

You left Tyson and wandered off in search of the cooler filled with water bottles. Mat was already there, and you nearly turned around. He was about to twist the top off of a water bottle as you approached, but he paused. 

“Here,” he said, holding it out to you. “I think I took the last cold one, and I think you need it more than me.” 

You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at him, and instead just muttered a grateful, “Thanks,” as you opened the bottle and gulped some down.

“You and Tys were tearing it up out there,” Mat commented. You narrowed your eyes at him as you screwed the cap back on your water bottle. There was a note to his voice that sounded a lot like jealousy. 

“Yeah, Tyson’s great,” you said casually. “I’ve missed hanging out with him.” 

Mat’s jaw tightened. “I think I’m gonna go get a beer,” he said, brushing past you before you could respond. You blinked bemusedly after him. 

You didn’t see Mat again for a while. It seemed like you were both trying to avoid each other now and succeeding. 

You were laying out in the sun on one of those giant lake rafts, catching up with a friend from high school when a boy took a running leap off the dock and hit the water with a spectacular splash. Mat surfaced near you a moment later, flipping his wet hair out of his eyes. His chain was backwards, and your fingers itched to reach out and fix it. 

“6.5,” you deadpanned instead. “Good form, too much splash.”

Mat latched onto the raft you were on and rested his chin on his folded forearms. He grinned at you, and it hurt a little bit to have that blinding smile directed at you again. 

“You wound me,” Mat laughed. 

“You got me wet!”

“You’re in a lake, babe, you’re gonna get wet,” Mat said. To prove his point, he grabbed your ankle and dragged you off the raft and into the water. 

“Mathew!” you shrieked, only just managing to close your mouth before you went underwater. 

Mat was laughing when you came back up for air. You pouted at him, but you couldn’t help but grin as well when you heard the rest of your friends laughing too.

“Just like old times, eh?” Mat said, quietly so only you could hear. He was still smiling, but his eyes were sad. One of his hands had come up to rest on your waist as you both treaded water. 

You placed your hands on his shoulders and dunked him.

It was after dinner when you crossed paths again, though it wasn’t by coincidence this time. The sun was setting over the lake, and you were settling on a blanket to watch the fireworks with your friend. Mat came over, stood awkwardly in front of you for a moment before he spoke, his words rushed.

“Y/N, can we, uh, can we talk?”

You shared a look with your friend. Mat was picking at the label on his beer nervously. 

“Sure,” you sighed.

Mat held out a hand to help you up, but you ignored it and clambered to your feet on your own. He still waited as you brushed yourself off before he started walking, and you fell into step beside him. Mat led you away from the party, back up to the mostly deserted deck overlooking everyone.

Mat looked out over the railing, still fidgeting with the label on his beer bottle. You rested your elbows on the rail and matched Mat’s pose.

“You blocked me, didn’t you?” Mat blurted. You bit your lip but didn’t respond. “Because I tried calling you after I saw you in New York, and I texted you when we were in Vancouver, but I could never get through.” Mat’s voice sounded accusatory now, and you felt a rush of anger surge through you. 

“What else was I supposed to do, Mat?” you asked. “You moved on, and then you have the fucking nerve to text me and tell me you dumped me because some other girl was ‘easier?’” Your voice rose, but no one turned to look at you. You took a deep breath. Your hands were shaking, and you gripped the railing tightly to steady them.

“What were you even doing in New York, anyway?” Mat spits back, definitely angry now, too. “What were you planning on doing?”

Oh. Mat thought you’d come to New York to beg him to take you back. You laughed, but it came out bitter. “I was there for work, Mathew. The world doesn’t revolve around you, asshole.” Except yours did once, and still did a little, but you weren’t about to admit that.

You pushed off the railing and spun around, wanting to be as far away from Mat and this conversation as possible. But Mat grabbed your arm tightly, kept you in place. His fingers wrapped around your bicep entirely. His hand was warm against your bare skin, and you shivered in spite of yourself. 

“Wait,” Mat said. His voice had softened. “This is so not how this was supposed to go.” He still hadn’t let go of your arm, and you made yourself meet his eyes. In the twilight, they were dark grey, closer to green, that wonderful shade you used to wake up to in the mornings when he had snuck into your bed. The wind blew, and you shivered again. “Here,” Mat said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. 

It smelled like him, and you closed your eyes and let yourself breathe it in. 

“How was this supposed to go then, Mat?” you whispered.

Mat sighed. “I got scared,” he said. His eyes were on the stars as they appeared overhead. “Which is a terrible fucking excuse, I know. But we were 20 years old, and I’d never been in love before, and then suddenly everyone is saying we’re soulmates or whatever. And we’re talking about the future, and I just got scared. Scared I’d fuck up and lose you, which I did anyway. Scared of never knowing anything else, but it turned out I didn’t want anything else. 

“I went back to New York without you, and I missed you. I broke up with you, and I missed you even more. But I didn’t know what to do to get you back. I can’t tell you the number of times Beau called me an idiot.” Mat broke off, shaking his head. “And then I met Clara, and, yeah, it was easier. But only because no one, not even us, saw a future there. I didn’t have to listen to everyone saying that we’d be together forever, but that’s all I wanted to hear.”

You had been quiet while Mat rambled, playing with a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket. He broke off then, took a swig of his beer, then made a face because it had gotten warm. You couldn’t help but laugh, and Mat looked surprised, but pleased.

“I missed talking to you on the phone every night,” you started. “Even when you called, you weren’t there, not really. I could tell something was off, but we were on opposite sides of the continent. I wanted to believe that you were just busy or something, but there was nothing I could do about it.” Mat’s face twisted, into something sad and pained, and he made a move like he wanted to take your hand. He didn’t, though, just rested it next to your arm on the railing. “I still sleep in one of your hoodies sometimes,” you admitted. 

It was Mat’s turn to laugh. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in, and you didn’t resist.

“God, I was so stupid,” Mat groaned. You hummed in response, and Mat pinched your arm. “Do you think we could ever try this again?” he asked.

You looked up at Mat. Everything about his face was familiar– his jawline, his nose, his eyes– but older now. A lot had happened since the last time you felt like you really knew Mat, for both of you. Neither of you were the same person you’d been before.

“I hated all that fucking small talk earlier, by the way,” he added. “I can’t believe I did that to myself. Asking the only girl I’ve ever loved about her parents as if we barely know each other.”

You leaned into Mat more. “What about you being jealous of Josty,” you teased. “Can we talk about that?” Mat’s arm tightened around your shoulders, but when you looked up at him he was smiling. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Mat said. You giggled, and Mat’s face relaxed.

“Did you mean it?” you whispered.

“What? That you’re the only girl I’ve ever loved?” Mat pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I have loved you since I was 20 years old, Y/N, and I think I’ll still love you in another 20, and another 20 after that.” He brushed a kiss against both of your cheekbones. 

His face was very close to yours, and even in the dark you could see that his eyes were suddenly full of hope. He brushed his nose against yours. You surged forward to press your lips against his. Mat smiled into the kiss as you turned and wrapped your arms around his neck. He tasted like beer and sunscreen, like summer and coming home. 

The first firework went off above you; Mat’s hands tightened on your hips. Below you, people cheered. Mat pulled back and rested his forehead against yours. 

“I love you,” you murmured, and then Mat was kissing you again, his hands warm against your lower back where they had slid under your shirt.

And just like that, you felt yourself falling in love under the fireworks over Lake Okanagan all over again. 

[sandpumpkin]

May I ask for 4 and Law? I love how you write him :) Congrats on the Followers, dear Pumpkin, well deserved number and I hope it will be growing even more! :)

Thank you so much for your support Bas ಥ_ಥ you’re too kind!! Presenting Mr Grumpygils. Dr Heartstealer. 

I hope this okay!!

edit: I know this is an odd take on the question. Romance isn’t natural to me either...I’m sorry >.<

Hug-a-palooza

4 - because they said YES 

Law abiding Love

Romance wasn’t something that came to Law naturally. Love in general was tough for him. Everyone he ever loved and cared for was always ripped away from him, leaving him broken and alone. 

Sometimes he thought: Is this what happens when I care for someone? Maybe it’s best if I am alone.

But when you came into his life, he was hopeful. Maybe it would be different..

It had taken a while for him to come to terms with his feelings to begin with, scared to love and to lose love again. 

It had been you that confessed. Those cloying words, the way you had touched his face so softy, it left him speechless but he remembered holding you so close and savouring the warmth and love you were drowning him in. 

You were so kind to him, more than he felt like he deserved but you were always there for him. Always knowing when he was stressed or over-tired. 

Home is where the heart is. 

And you were his home. The place he longed to be. The place he felt safest. 

But would that last forever? Would you want to stay with a bunch of pirates that long?

“Law?” He jumped out of his daze, how long had he been reading the same page? Glancing over his shoulder he saw you stood at the door with a mug.

“Coffee,” you stated simply crossing the room to him. Setting the mug down on his desk, you reached to run a hand through his unruly black hair planting a kiss to his forehead “don’t forget to sleep.” you reminded, nuzzling his hair happily “And to bathe..you don’t want to smell like Penguin’s socks.” 

Law chuckled, gingerly wrapping his arms around you pulling you closer burying his face into your torso. 

“I’ll come to bed soon.” he promised. 

You smiled softly kissing his forehead again “Goodnight.” you said, stealing a kiss from him before leaving him to his work. Sighing, Law looked at papers and books, he couldn’t focus on them at all. All he could think of was you. He suddenly realised how empty and cold his office was.

I guess I’ll call it an early night. 

Pushing away from his desk, he headed back to his room finding you already asleep in bed, smiling softly he disrobed and carefully climbed in to join you. Slipping his arms around your waist resting his head on your shoulder.

“Mm..Law?” you stirred, slowly rolling over to face him, your eyes still heavy with sleep. Under the cover of darkness, Law allowed himself to be more open with his actions. He snuggled back into you, burying his face into your chest holding you tightly against him. You chuckled and laced your hand through his hair, the other stroking his back softly making him quiver. 

“I was thinking-” he started, “about us.” he added quietly. He felt your hand stop stroking his back suddenly. Law grimaced.

I should have phrased that better 

“The future..” he continued, “I can’t see you not being a part of it..I need you by my side..” Law said calmly, though his heart was giving him away beating nervously in his chest “Will you stay with me forever? Officially..not right now! It’s still dangerous but when this is over-”

“Of course I will.” you replied, it took Law a moment to process your answer. Peering up from your chest searching your eyes for validation.

“Really?”

You cupped his face and peppered it with excited kisses “I’d love for nothing else.” you grinned slipping your arms around him nuzzling his neck “We’ll have to invite your new best friends though. Luffy would be upset if he missed our wedding.”

“Not the wedding but the food.” Law mumbled, a smile. You said yes… Law’s hug became tighter and he sighed with relief into your hair “sorry- these moments are supposed to be romantic aren't they?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh “This is romantic. Cuddling my future husband in bed. What could be better?” 

Law chuckled and savoured the warm embrace. Even if he never found the one piece...he had you and that was greater than any pirate treasure. 

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

The Toss of a Coin

Part 2: Bridges and Bad Friends

Part 1

Pairing: male Death x female Reader

Warnings: language, bullying, violence, near death experience

A/N: Reader’s nickname is Birdie, not sure if I’ll keep it for future chapters.

The Summer sun is hot, beating down on your back and bare shoulders, the humidity slogging you down on your walk home, not that you can find a reason to rush. No one was there to make sure you made it back alright anyway.

It was late April of your Senior year and your messenger bag was light with the coming end of your high school career, the dusty side of the country road scuffing beneath your shoes barely keeping your brain occupied. So you tried to recall the sight of the glowing bird. You would be 18 in a couple months and then you could get it forever etched onto your skin so it would never fade from your memory.

The sharp ping of metal bouncing against metal brought you out of your daydream and you realized you had reached the bridge. Glancing around your feet for what you had kicked, you spot a small gleam of silver and crouch down to study it.

A coin, maybe the size of a silver dollar sat before you, smeared with dust and grime but oddly no rust. All it would need was a decent wash to be as good as new. Grabbing it up to examine it closer you see it's not like any currency you've seen before. It looks modern made but the reliefs on it seem old. Like seeing a picture of an ancient artifact in your textbook.

One side boasted an image of a three-headed dog, though the details were vague, simple. Flipping it over you found a two-pronged fork with a snake wrapping itself around the handle, winding upwards.

There were no words or numbers on either side, just the images. You flipped it back and forth, the sun catching and bouncing off the spots not hidden under dirt. It was warm from sitting out in the sun and the longer you held it, the more engrossed you became in the feel of it. Almost hypnotizing you.

The sound of your name being called brought you out of it, back to the heat making your head feel light and your legs heavy. Curling your fingers around the odd little find, you stand up, glancing around until you spot where the voice had come from.

Your town was what most would consider a quintessential 'small town' where everyone pretty much knew everyone and gossip got around as quick as the local stray dog chasing someones unfortunate chickens.

And most small towns also had a group of trouble makers, the kids who swore they'd get out one day and make it big, the ones who didn't have much to do but found plenty of trouble none-the-less.

Sam, the girl the others in the group seemed to revolve around, was the one who had called out to you, sitting with a few others down at the riverside below the bridge. The rusted out shell of a car that had been there for as long as you had been alive serving as a perfect spot to gather.

You had never been on Sam's bad side, always looking the other way when she and her friends lit up under the bleachers, ignoring it when they picked on some poor soul who more than likely had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. All to save your own skin. It had worked so far.

But the way she was grinning up at you from the riverbank, half spent cigarette tucked between her slim fingers, told you there wasn't going to be a way to around this. Whatever it was.

"Hi Sam" you called down hesitantly, trying to keep from leaning on the hot metal guardrail of the bridge.

"Hey Birdie! Come on down here, I wanna talk to ya'!" her tone was cheerful and deceptive and the nickname just made it worse. You regretted for the millionth time ever telling anyone about your glowing bird.

"I can't really, I mean I would but-it's just that umm" no excuse would satisfy this crowd. They all knew you didn't have anyone waiting at home for you.

"Aww, c'mon Birdie! It's hot as shit out and we were gonna go swimming before it rains! You know how nasty the river gets when it fills up" she takes one last pull of her cigarette before snuffing it out against the side of the car, eyes never leaving yours.

You could just say no, walk away without explanation and hope that none of them would take personal offense. That tomorrow at school they wouldn't corner you like you'd seen them do to so many others. Wishful thinking and all that.

By now you're gripping the coin so tight in your hand that it begins to dig into your palm. Looking up at the sky, you see clouds not to far off that were more than ready to burst with rain. It wouldn't be that long, even Sam knew not to mess around in a flooding river.

"Okay" you stuff the coin into the back pocket of your shorts and make your way down the sloping path to the river.

The air is stagnant with cigarette smoke when you finally push your way through the thick foliage and it clings to Sam's hair when she wraps an arm around you as soon as you appear.

"So, Birdie, I've been wanting to show you something" she says, leading you toward the rest of the group by the car.

There are five all together. Sam, Zach and Carter, twin boys that remind you of giant redwoods when they stood side-by-side, then Lily-Ann and Maya.

"I thought you guys were going swimming?" you keep the question light, hoping not to stir up anything.

"We are, but first, I wanted to show something, kind of like a graduation present, because you never ratted us out or anything" Sam tugs you in closer, almost like a hug if her nails weren't digging into your arm.

"That's really not- I just didn't want to get you guys in trouble. You never hurt anyone, you were just messing around" your stomach clenches into a ball of anxious nerves, yelling at you to run, hide, anything.

Lying just makes it even worse because you've seen them get in fights, heard Lily-Ann brag about using her BB gun on that stray dog.

What's worse is the look Sam gives you. She isn't smiling anymore as she keeps a tight hold on you and walks straight toward the water.

"Yeah, but I thought I'd at least show you what I think of you for doing that. What I think of spineless little birds."

Like with most dangerous situations, you've waited until it's too late to work up the courage and run. When you push out of Sam's grip, her nails scrap three red lines into your skin but you ignore the sting and slam right into the trunk of one of the twins. No one could ever really tell Zach and Carter apart, and they didn't really care.

So whoever it is, they grab you by the shoulders and push you backwards hard enough that you fall ass first onto the hard riverbank, the wind leaving your lungs in a painful wheeze.

"I think Birdie here needs to learn how to stand up for herself, so lets help her!" Sam sneers down at you before reaching out to yank on the strap of your messenger bag, tugging you up before suddenly hands are dragging you back.

"Sam please, I'm sorry, I just didn't want-"

"Didn't what Birdie? Didn't wanna get your hands dirty? Christ you are a spineless little shit!" she just laughs mirthlessly and rips your messenger bag off, tossing it into the water.

There are tears slowly leaking out and down your face by now. You're angry but you know people like Sam feed off anger. Anything you might say won't change her mind. So you tug your arms free, hearing the sharp rip of your shirt in the process, before a fist connects with your nose. It snaps your head back violently and sends you into a daze.

"What the hell Sam?! I thought we were just gonna scare her?" one of the girls says, more annoyed than concerned.

"We are! Zach, put her in" Sam orders.

With a head full of quicksand and warm, copper tasting blood rolling over your lips, you focus on their voices. Not the tugging on your arms as one of the twins pulls you into the water and around so you can glance at the open trunk.

He tosses you in like you weigh nothing, frowning down at you with one hand on the hatch. Behind him the sky is darker, it'll rain soon. And then he slams the trunk closed hard enough to shake the whole back end of the car.

It's dark but there are holes where the weather had worn through and light seeps in. Inside here it's even hotter, the heat cloying and suffocating. You can hear them outside yelling at you, about you, and even shaking the car, pounding on the sides.

That lasts for a while, long enough for your nose to stop bleeding and your shirt to be soaked with more sweat than water. You remain silent the entire time, waiting it out. They would let you out before the rain.

They had to, the river would rise well above the trunk.

When fat drops of rain begin to hit the metal above you, their voices fade, yelling out heartless 'goodbyes' and 'good luck getting outs.'

You're almost dumbfounded at the silence, nothing but the staccato of the ever increasing rain to keep you company. Now you begin to yell.

"Sam! Let me out! Let me out please, okay I get it! Just let me out!"

Nothing. They left you. They fucking left you.

"Sam! Maya! Lily-Ann! Saaaaaam!"

Pounding on the metal above you does nothing for the fear crawling up your sore throat. You keep at it until the first trickles of water begin to fill the trunk, until your arms ache and you're sobbing out curses.

You can count the beats of your heart it's so loud. The water is cold and fast, filling up the small space until not even the holes in the metal can provide you air.

The first gulp of water you take in relieves the burn for air but fills you like cement, stopping up your throat and lungs. You think you manage to rip off a few nails clawing at the metal tomb around you and it's the last shred of pain you feel.

The last thing you see, your vision going dark, is the slight gleam of silver shaped like a coin.

Then you open your eyes to see the road you walk home every day, bridge stretched out in front of you, the same muggy heat pressing down on you.

Dropping to your knees in the dirt, you clutch your throat and gasp in the sweetest breath of air you've ever tasted. Kneeling there in the dirt, gaping like a fish, you feel the messenger bag at your hip, no pain in your nose or blood on your face.

Not a single drop of water on you, not even tears.

And when the tunnel vision of panic slowly recedes, you see a familiar round shape on the ground in front of you.

The coin, shiny and silver with not so much as a speck of dirt on it, stares back up at you.

Desperately you search all the pockets on your shorts, coming up empty. But you knew you put that coin in your back pocket. You also knew that you'd been locked in a trunk and left to drown.

You had drowned.

"Hey Birdie! You hear me up there? I wanna talk to you!"

Sam's voice is like ice in your veins. It had felt so real, the scratches on your arm, the blood and the burn of drowning. You make no move to stand up, hoping maybe she'll give up. Maybe you're finally going nuts in this tiny town.

Either way, you weren't going down there.

"I know you're up there Birdie! I saw you, just come down and swim with us before it rains! You know how nasty the river gets when it fills up!"

Nope. No way. You decide you can run the rest of the way home. You snatch the coin out of the dirt, keeping it tucked in your fist, as you lurch forward into a flat out run, hoping they won't bother with chasing after you. That you weren't worth it.

You don't stop until there's a stitch in your side and even then you only slow to a jog, glancing over your shoulder every other breath. It's as your look back for the fifth time that you see a truck rumbling it's way along down the road. It's not one you recognize, an older model, beat up and pale white with a surprisingly quiet engine. By now you've turned around to openly stare, panting, watching the truck approach, veering away from the shoulder you stand on.

The license plate reads HDS-180. Definitely no one you knew.

"You alright?"

The voice startles you, coming from the open window of the truck now stopped beside you. It seems familiar but the face of the man behind the wheel is foreign to you. He seems a few years older than you, not that you were ever a good judge of age, with deep brown eyes that watch you carefully from underneath the brim of a black, worn out ball cap.

There's a frown curving his lips and you realize it's probably because you haven't answered him.

"I'm okay, thanks" even you don't sound convincing to your own ears but you don't move an inch.

"Are you sure?" his frown deepens, tilting his head in concern.

"Uh, yeah, well. . . it's kind of been a weird day but" you can't think of how to finish that sentence. You just want to forget what happened (or didn't happen) at the bridge.

"You need to call someone? To come get you?" he asks earnestly, putting the truck in park even as you shake your head.

"No, my mom's at work" probably not the best thing to tell a stranger.

"I saw those kids back at the bridge" he tells you seriously, nodding over his shoulder "they wouldn't happen to be the reason you were running like the Devil was at your heels would they?"

"Maybe" you sigh, too tired at this point.

"You want a ride home?"

"Depends, do you plan on killing me?" it shouldn't come out sounding like a joke but it does.

Your mom would be so disappointed in you. But the coin seems to vibrate in your hand as you reach out to grab the passenger side door handle.

"It's not on my schedule, promise."

[anthonianrhapsody-blog]

Requiem

by Lala Cariño

Everyone knew what the witch's favorite flowers were. But only Ramsey bothered to bring them to the witch's doorstep every time a new moon reigned in the sky.

White lilies, red peonies, and blue delphiniums. They were not the easiest flowers to find in the woods but Ramsey's father had taught her from the very beginning that all the trouble would be worth it in the end. This was what Ramsey kept repeating to herself as she crossed over the threshold from her village to the forest beyond, careful to handle all three flowers as if they were figurines made of glass.

The walk to the witch's dwelling was not too far and the way had long been burned into the back of her mind. It was the same path that she had always trekked ever since her father decided that it was time she continue the family practice of bringing the witch her favorite flowers every month. The first time was when she was seven years of age, and her father had held her hand as he guided her through the dark, winding woods of the vast forest that circled their village. However, once they reached the witch's abode, her father let go of her hand just as they stood ten feet away from the doorstep to the witch's home. These last few feet, her father said, Ramsey would have to walk on her own. And with every visit, the number of feet that Ramsey had to walk alone increased. Soon, her father no longer left their home to accompany her. Soon, her father was no longer there to hold her hand.

But for the countless number of times that she'd gone to visit the witch, never had Ramsey stepped a foot inside her dwelling to ask for a wish. After all, that was what witches were for, weren't they? To grant wishes at a certain price, for a certain cost. And the witch that resided not far from Ramsey's village was no different. But never, not once, had Ramsey asked for a wish, not even in exchange for the flowers she tirelessly brought to the witch's door every month. She always came only to do what her father taught her since she reached the age of seven. Go to the witch's home and leave her favorite flowers on her doorstep. Nothing more and nothing less; she was to simply leave the second she had accomplished her deed.

As soon as she slipped out from a grove of trees, a clearing appeared within Ramsey's line of sight - a glade that was enveloped by shorter trees and bushes of different varieties. There, the grass was taller and the scent of the musk of wildflowers was stronger, and in the dead center of the clear stretch of land was a hut that stood crookedly, immediately discerning itself as something unnatural against the backdrop of nature. An abnormality within which something more perverse resided within its burnished, russet walls.

Below the curtain of night, Ramsey ignored the stutter in her chest as she neared the witch's home. Above her, the stars bore witness as she tried but failed to get rid of the way her fingers were trembling with every step she took, as what always happened with her every visit. Within Ramsey's gentle grasp were all three of the witch's favorite flowers, their combined saccharine scents cloying her sense of smell. She sucked in a steadying breath once she was a mere foot away from the witch's dwelling before she laid down, with utter caution, the flowers before the witch's door.

Then she took five steps back before turning on her heel and returning the way she came, trying hard not to give in to the urge to run.

Once upon a time, a goddess fell from the sky.

Her name was Agnessa and they said that she fell to be human. After an eternity spent watching over creation, the desire to walk among mankind soon became too much for her to bear, they said. And so she gave up her place among the rest of the divinity and became the very first to fall from the heavens. They said that when she crashed to the earth, she was unharmed save for a few cuts and some bruises. She did not bleed red like the creatures she used to watch over but her blood was the color of the night, thick and dark as ink. It was ichor, they said, the divine substance that flowed in the veins of the gods that thrummed with magic.

They said that the night she fell, she left a wide, sweeping slash across the night sky, a scar that would forever mar the face of the heavens. But this gash in the sky could only be glimpsed at night, when the moon was at its darkest and the stars their brightest. And the place where she landed became a clearing in the middle of the woods that would become the site where the people would erect the foundations of the temple of the gods, a place where they would come to for decades now that their faith had been kindled by bearing witness to the fall of a goddess.

Until their faith ran dry, and the temple fell victim to dust and decay.

"Emile, enough! There's no way you'll be able to catch it now that night has fallen upon us," Caius berated his companion but to no avail.

Ten feet ahead of him stood the hunter with his bow and arrow poised to strike. Emile played deaf to Caius' words as he kept his eyes straight ahead, his vision now fully adjusted to the dark. He refused to heed his companion's words as his stubbornness prevailed over rational thought, his hunger for retaliation driving him closer to his target. Emile was careful to step over the fallen bough of a tree so as not to make a sound that would alert their presence to their prey as he felt Caius trailing behind him.

"Emile, we have to go back now," Caius whispered once again, a trace of fear in his voice, but Emile merely shushed him. A gust of wind greeted them as they began to inch closer to the river not far from where they stood, where the sound of rushing water filled their ears. As the night air grew colder, biting Emile's cheek as the wind grew in its severity, his ears picked up the sound of a branch snapping into two and he swiftly turned toward the source of the sound.

His heart skipped a beat the moment he saw it, the very creature he'd been hunting for days. In the distance, on the same side of the river, stood the abnormally large wolf, covered with fur as white and pale as snow. Dark pleasure surged through Emile's veins as his arm tensed to aim the arrow at the beast when he felt a hand latch onto his clothed bicep as Caius' apprehensive tone reached his ears.

"Emile, let it go. Let it be and maybe it won't come near our village again."

Emile gave a furious shake of his head, his breath hitching. "Even if I let it run free, another hunter will only come to chase it the next day."

"Perhaps, but trust me when I say that you don't want this creature's blood on your hands," Caius replied, his grip tightening on Emile's arm.

A snarl left Emile's lips. "You don't know that, Caius. This monster has my daughter's blood on its teeth."

"Emile, please. At least she's still alive-"

But Emile would no longer listen. He shook off Caius' hand off his arm and waited until the wolf had turned its head in his direction, bearing its fangs at him as it recognized the threat Emile posed. A low growl left the creature as it made no move to strike after a beat passed. Feeling the tension taut in his muscles, Emile drew back his arm and let loose the arrow nocked onto his bow.

The arrow sang true as it hit the wolf's heart.

In all her seventeen years of living, Ramsey never saw the witch. In all her ten years of bringing flowers to her home, Ramsey never saw one glimpse of the creature around which many of her village's stories revolved around.

She only knew the witch through the stories her neighbors often exchanged. That the witch was a benevolent being willing to grant wishes to those who proved themselves to be worthy of her time and energy. That she was a vile, vengeful fiend to those who turned on their word after a pact with her had been made. That she was a woman of unparalleled beauty, with hair as dark as a raven's wing and skin as fair as porcelain. That she was a hideous thing to behold, a sickness to the eyes with her pallid, ashen skin, sunken eyes, and shriveled lips.

No matter the number of stories that Ramsey heard about the witch, there remained one constant thing about them - the truth was hard to glean from each and every one of them. This, Ramsey decided for herself. And so, she found herself believing not one word of the numerous tales that surrounded the witch in the woods.

Ramsey was not a curious creature by nature. She was content to be constricted by the rules that her society had created for them to live by. Her life was one blank canvas that was yet to be painted with the colors of life's joys and sorrows. Her life was uneventful, save for her visits to the witch during the nights where the new moon watched over the land. But even her visits to the witch grew fewer and fewer in number until Ramsey came to completely neglect what her father taught her when she was seven years of age.

It began on the day Ramsey turned eighteen, when a boy of twenty by the name of Javier swept her off her feet on the night of her birthday. It began on the day Ramsey became a slave to love's whims, when every waking moment she spent with Javier came to occupy the space in her head, pushing out the instructions of her father to never miss a visit to the witch's hut. And so Ramsey came to forget her family's practice and she came to forget the witch.

But she never forgot the white lilies, red peonies, and blue delphiniums that she used to bring to the witch's doorstep.

Agnessa was the goddess of protection. She was the deity that people prayed to watch over them during times of peril and darkness. Men prayed to her when they went out hunting in the woods, women prayed to her to protect their children from disease and danger. When a person lost their way and their direction, they prayed to Agnessa for guidance.

Before Agnessa fell to the earth below the heavens, she birthed three children that she sent in her stead to watch over creation. A creature of land, a creature of air, and a creature of water. Three beasts that mankind soon came to call monsters for their irregular appearances. And while they succeeded as guardians and protectors, these creatures were not always as gracious and gentle as their mother. Sometimes, they lost their sense of caution and gave in to their natural, primitive sides.

While humans were thankful for the guardians that Agnessa sent, their gratitude did not last long. While the danger that Agnessa's children brought did not outweigh the good they did for the realm of creation, mankind came to see the beasts as more of threats than protectors. They chose to focus on the damage that the white wolf left on their farms in the aftermath of a fight with a pack of rabid hounds. And when the white wolf accidentally bit the arm of a young girl wandering in the woods during its hunt, after mistaking the child for prey, a village sent its finest hunter out to put an end to the beast's life - the girl's father.

On the bank of the forest's river, where the slain child of Agnessa lied, its blood seeped into the grass and the earth below its breathless body.

"Father! Father!"

The terrified cry that accompanied his son's words immediately made Emile leave the walls of his hut as he ran outside to meet his son. Tears clouded Giles' eyes as his legs carried him as fast as he could back to his home. When he was near the perimeter of the hut, he skidded into a halt before he could crash into his father's frame.

Emile was quick to notice the bow in his son's hands and the quiver of arrows slung across his back. "Where have you been? What have you done?"

His breath came in heavy pants as Giles wiped away the moisture in his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. While catching his breath was no challenge, finding the right words to explain what he had just done was no easy feat. How was he to convey to his father the crime he had just committed? No, the right words did not exist, there was no easy way to put it . . .

"Father," Giles muttered. "I just shot a bird out of the sky."

Confusion contorted Emile's features as he narrowed his eyes at the young man before him. "Then why on earth are you crying? Did it hit you on its way down?"

"No, Father! You didn't see it! I found it deep in the woods. It was flying high against the blazing sun when I shot it down and only when it was down and bleeding on the ground was I able to see its feathers of crimson and scarlet! I thought it was a one of those vultures at first but it was much larger and its blood was as black as . . . As . . ."

Tears began to bead once more in the corners of Giles' eyes as he struggled to find his words. He watched as the realization dawned on his father, lighting up his eyes for a split-second before Emile shook his head. He placed his hands on Giles' shoulders and tightened his grasp on him, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

"Son," Emile said. "What is it that you think that you shot down?"

The words burned on his tongue as Giles replied, "One of Agnessa's children."

But Emile simply gave another shake of his head as he took the bow from his son. "Giles, Agnessa and her children, the gods - they aren't real. None of them are. They're just tales that were woven for the young, nothing more."

Once upon a time, there lived a goddess who longed to walk and live among the very creatures that she watched over.

One day, she crashed to the earth to achieve this aspiration of hers, falling from such a great height to which she could never return to again. This was the price she had to pay in order to fulfill a desire that did not even last for long.

From afar, from the heavens where she used to reside, the golden hearts of humans never failed to catch her attention as they glowed like beacons of light in the dark. And like a fool drawn to gold, Agnessa found herself drawn to the goodness of mankind, to something that had no guarantee of lasting. Once she was up close, with her feet on solid ground, face to face with humans, the darkness that lurked in the hearts of humans became more visible to her. She was unsurprised when she began to witness vile and wicked acts of mankind during the first year of her life on earth. After all, didn't the brightest flames cast the darkest shadows?

And just like that, Agnessa grew disenchanted with the idea of living among mankind.

She let herself fade to the background as the years went by. Stories of her fall were put to rest when the generation that witnessed her fall were laid beneath the ground. Soon, Agnessa ceased to exist and was replaced by a shadow of herself. As she lost faith in humanity, humanity also lost faith in her and the rest of the gods. The temple they built to honor the divinity soon crumbled to dust and dirt until all that was left was the stretch of land, the clearing where Agnessa had fallen into many decades ago.

It was there, when the last of the gods' temple had finally crumbled, that Agnessa built her new home.

On the day that Ramsey married the love of her life, Javier made a promise to her that she would not shed a tear for as long as they were husband and wife.

But that promise was broken on the night Ramsey gave birth to her first child, when the infant left her womb silent and still without an ounce of oxygen in its lungs. The tears that Ramsey shed that night were enough to create a new river in the forest that edged her village.

Javier's promise was broken once more when their second child, a fragile babe with sallow skin and brittle bones, only lived for the duration of a week after its birth. That night, Ramsey was sure she could've started a storm if she wanted to.

With the death of her two children looming over Ramsey like a second shadow, her life's canvas came to know the color of blue. Shades of it, a sea of blues that rose from the sorrows she received during the first two years of her marriage. Without the laughter of children to fill her home and her days, Ramsey lost the will to carry on, lost the path in her life as it grew clouded by her grief and suffering. She allowed herself to simply be taken away by the current of life as day went by and by that she locked herself up within the confines of her empty home.

Until one day, her feet drove her toward a destination that was not to be found within the walls of her hut. On one night, while Javier was away, Ramsey found herself leaving the safety of her home as she headed toward the edge of the woods.

On that night, a new moon watched over her as she found her feet walking upon a familiar path that she thought she had long forgotten. The scent of wildflowers grew stronger as she neared her destination, the grass growing taller with every inch that she grew farther away from her village. Above her, the gash across the dark heavens was at its most visible, a gaping slash that would forever serve as a reminder that some scars never did heal, even with the passage of time. But as Ramsey brought her eyes up to night sky just as she stood ten feet away from the witch's doorstep, she knew deep in her heart that some scars did heal over time.

In all her twenty years of living, Ramsey never saw the witch and never made a wish. Tonight, she decided that she would finally change that.

But first, she needed to find some white lilies, red peonies, and blue delphiniums.

The day the water of the river in the forest ran as dark as blood was the same day Emile decided to go fishing with his son and daughter.

As he and Giles stood knee-deep in the waters by the riverbank, his daughter, Fleur, opted to stay near the small patch of white lilies that grew on another part of the riverbank, the idea of placing her feet underwater only to step in mud greatly appalling her. Fleur merely watched as her father and brother labored to catch some fish with their spears.

"I heard a serpent lives in these waters," she remarked after an hour had passed and they had managed to catch only three fishes.

Emile gave a grumble as his eye caught the slither of another fish not far from where he stood. "Do you mean an eel?"

Fleur heaved a sigh. "No, a serpent."

A chuckle rolled off Giles' tongue upon hearing his sister's reply. "Really, Fleur. You ought to forget the tales that Mother put in your head."

Fleur kept silent after that. She watched with little interest as Emile threw his arm back before hurling it toward something that she could not determine from her spot. She knew the spear in his hand met its target when he let out a triumphant holler at his newest catch and even Fleur was unable to stop the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips.

But then the river's water began to change its color. From the spot where Emile's spear now protruded from, dark liquid swelled up before it began to spread and taint the river. Murky water turned to jet-black ink as Giles rushed away from the riverbank in a panic, his mind unable to fathom what was happening. Fleur could only stare in horror while Emile plucked out his spear from its spot and scooped up his catch.

"Father . . . What is that?" Fleur pleaded, her voice trembling as she spoke.

In Emile's hand was the head of a creature that bore a striking resemblance to a snake, save for two protruding horns on its head. It was thicker than Emile's thigh and its length Fleur could not yet determine - the rest of its body was still submerged in the dark water of the river while her father only held up its head. A gaping hole scarred the center of its head where ichor continued to ooze in copious amounts, the obvious result of Emile throwing his spear at the creature. With the help of what little light filtered through the branches of the trees looming over them, the serpent's scales gleamed and rippled azure and cobalt.

The horror that swam in Fleur's eyes were reflected in those of her father's as he stared at the creature's bleeding corpse that he held in his hand.

"Father," Giles spoke. "You told me they weren't real!"

Emile gave no reply but his silence spoke volumes.

The white lilies were the easiest to find beneath the moonless sky. Ramsey found them on the riverbank and plucked not only one but several of those that were in full bloom. She was careful not to crush them in her grasp while she made her way toward the deeper part of the forest in the dark. She went farther than most hunters cared to do so as she trekked a path far down south, until she reached a small plot of soil from which a shrub of red peonies grew from. Like she did with the white lilies, Ramsey took a number of the red peonies. She had to make it up to the witch, after all.

Collecting the blue delphiniums proved to be the hardest task for Ramsey. Ignoring the protest of the muscles in her legs, she walked all the way back to her village to the place where she knew the blue delphiniums grew. The witching hour had fallen upon the land by the time she reached the village cemetery and she was more than sure that her feet were now bleeding red from hours upon hours of walking. But she merely bit her lip and and swallowed the protests on her tongue as she walked past the cemetery's iron gates.

In one of the darkest corners of the cemetery lied several plots that had no names to them. On one them was a bush of blue delphiniums that had been growing there since before Ramsey's father was born. By the time she was finished collecting her fill of the blue delphiniums, Ramsey's arms were full of flowers. Had she the time, she would've put effort into assembling a bouquet as well but the night was not growing any younger and she had to talk with the witch before the night came to an end.

White lilies, red peonies, and blue delphiniums. They were certainly not the easiest flowers to find in the woods but Ramsey's father had always told her from the very beginning that all the trouble would be worth it in the end. She could only hope that he was right.

As Ramsey made her way back to the witch's home, she felt like she was walking down the path for the very first time again. In a sense, it was her first time for it had been so long since she last found herself in such a position - marching down the path toward the witch's dwelling with her favorite flowers in hand, all on her own during a new moon.

In all honesty, Ramsey never learned why it was a practice of her family's to bring the witch her favorite flowers once a month. She knew not of when or where the practice began and why her family even bothered doing it when she knew that none of them ever made any wishes. Much like the rules of her village, Ramsey had always just accepted this practice of her family's until it became nothing but a habit to her. She never asked her father and her father never explained it to her. It was not until that night that Ramsey finally found her curiosity awakening after a long slumber.

She had so many questions and tonight, she would make sure that she would get all of the answers.

When the fall of Agnessa was finally erased from the memory of mankind, the goddess took on a new identity that served to help her turn on a new leaf while still venerating her old identity. Outside the village where the trees edged on a clearing, there she erected her new home - a crooked hut of an auburn color with polished walls. There, she created a new legacy for herself, one that would not resonate throughout the pages of history with benevolence alone but vengeance as well.

Gone was the goddess of protection, replaced by the witch who either granted luck or misfortune upon those who were brave enough to ask her for a wish.

One night, she met the bravest soul of them all as the sound of heavy rapping on wood pierced the silence of the night.

She opened the door only to be met with the tear-streaked cheeks of a face she knew so well and loathed most of all.

"Please," Emile began, his voice a horrendous crack. "Please, you have to help me."

The woman who stood before him had a shadow cast over her pale face, her features desolate as her dark eyes pierced his soul. The witch heaved a quiet sigh as she simply stared back at the man on her doorstep, a silent plea blazing in his eyes.

"Help you? With what?" Her tone was as cold as her features when she spoke.

"M-my children," Emile sobbed. "My son and my daughter . . . They're both gone, taken by the f-fever. Please, I swear I'll do anything-"

The witch raised a slender hand to stop his words and Emile fell silent, his throat growing dry as he waited for her response with bated breath. She looked to be deep in thought as she refused to tear away her gaze from him, stilling Emile as he felt himself burn under the intensity of her scathing stare.

"Two of your children are gone?" she queried.

Emile gave a furious nod of his head.

"Good. Now you'll just have to worry about your third child."

Ice shot up Emile's veins as he found himself stumbling over his words, a sob strangling its way out of his throat. His mind raced with the many implications of her words and as the witch turned to return inside her hut, Emile's hand shot out to lock her wrist in an iron grip. Her withering stare should've been enough to send him running back to the safety of his village but Emile saw that he really couldn't care any less at that moment.

"My . . . My third child?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

The witch pulled her wrist away from his grasp as she snapped at him, "Yes, your third child."

"No, no, no, no. Please, no! My wife, she's - it's only been four months since she conceived! Please, what did I do? Tell me!"

Her eyes flashed dangerously with venom as she gritted her teeth. Emile fell to his knees on her doorstep as the witch's voice grew low and grating, burning every clear-cut syllable of her words into his memory.

"What did you do? You denied the existence of the divinity, a higher power above you. You denied my existence. I, who selflessly gave my children in service to your kind so they could watch and guard over you when I could not. And what did you do in return? You shot an arrow to my child's heart while your son did the same to another of my children. You threw a spear to the head of my youngest, tainting the river of this forest for over a year. You spilled divine blood, the blood of my children. And now you have the gall to ask me for help?"

Emile wept. The dam broke as his tears spilled freely on his face while he wept before the witch's feet. He didn't know. He wanted to say that he didn't know but the words were stuck like thorns in his throat. He could neither swallow them nor spit them out. His heart pounded furiously in its cage as his chest constricted with every breath he took. His vision began to blur as he dared not to raise his eyes to the woman before him while he connected the pieces of the puzzle.

"My goddess, please forgive me," he cried like a child.

Emile's mind barely registered her next words as sorrow and remorse pulled at the edges of his mind.

"You're forgiven. But three children from each of your line's next three generations will die before they each reach their prime. For the lives of my three children, this is the price you have to pay."

She didn't think she'd meet someone braver than Emile after that night.

Until a girl of seven began visiting her once every month, during nights when a new moon reigned in the sky, the same moon that bore witness to her fall. And the girl of seven always came bearing white lilies, red peonies, and blue delphiniums - the flowers that grew on the graves of her children - continuing the practice that Emile began after the death of his third child.

Then the girl stopped visiting after she turned eighteen.

Until tonight, as the sound of gentle rapping on wood broke the silence of the night, the girl returned with her arms full of the flowers that flourished from the blood of her children. The girl of seven, the fourth child of the fourth child of Emile's fourth child.

"Please, my lady," Ramsey whispered. "Why is this happening to me? Is it because I failed to give you your favorite flowers for two years?"

The witch said no.

"Then please, tell me why this is happening to me."

And so the witch did. The witch told her everything, the witch gave her all her answers. She told Ramsey of the children of the goddess Agnessa, how she tasked them to guard mankind in her stead. How Agnessa fell, tearing the heavens as she did so, with the new moon as one of her many witnesses. How mankind created a temple to honor the gods on the place where she fell after her presence ignited their faith. How the flames of their faith burned out not long after that, as Agnessa also saw the darker side of mankind's nature. How after the temple of the gods fell, Agnessa built her new home upon the dust of the temple. How the witch in the woods came to be. How Ramsey's great-grandfather and his eldest son managed to kill all three of the goddess' children.

The witch told her last of the curse she had placed over Ramsey's line, of her third child's inevitable death because of the sins of her fathers before her.

Ramsey fell on her knees as she laid all of the flowers before the witch's feet. She felt the woman's calculating stare on her.

"Please," she said, tears pricking her eyes. "I've been mourning for your children long before I realized the significance of the flowers that I've been plucking from their graves. I do not want to mourn for another child ever again, whether they share your blood or mine."

The girl's words were like a stab to her heart.

"But how did you know of the flowers?" she asked.

"I was only told that they were your favorites. Not only me but the whole village knows about them too. And now that you've told me your story, I have reason to believe that Emile searched for the graves of your children until he finally found them and saw the flowers growing upon them."

Well, the flowers weren't always her favorites. It was only after the deaths of her children that they became her favorite ones. And the girl was right about her reasoning.

"But why give them to me beneath a new moon?" she queried.

"Because my mother once told me the story a goddess who fell from the sky, and how it happened when the moon was at its darkest and the stars their brightest. Many forgot about Agnessa's fall but my mother's ancestors didn't."

The slash that scarred the face of the heavens never healed. But the wounds in the witch's heart did.

Ramsey knew that this was the truth for were it not, she wouldn't be playing with her daughter right now. Her sweet, little girl Agnes, with her bright eyes and her toothy smile. Her third child, who had just celebrated her sixth birthday and whom Ramsey would teach a year from now about their family's practice of bringing the witch in the woods' favorite flowers - white lilies, red peonies, and blue delphiniums.

She never really knew the reason why the witch decided to grant her wish without a price, her wish of allowing her third child to survive the goddess' curse on her family. But Ramsey had a feeling in her gut that it was because she was a mother first and a witch second - she could sympathize with the pain and loss that Ramsey felt. All she needed was time to get over her own losses and to let go of her hurt.

Indeed, whether a month or a century was needed, all wounds were eventually healed by time.

As Ramsey walked along the edge of the woods with her daughter's hand in hers as Javier trailed behind them, Agnes' laughter enveloping them in an embrace of bliss, she examined the three colors that dominated the once-blank canvas that was her life. Blue, for the sorrows that she went through when she was faced with the death of her two eldest children. Red, for the zeal, something that she had lacked for most of her life, that ran in her veins on the night she finally met the witch. And finally, white, for the state of peace and serenity that she was currently enjoying and would, hopefully, continue to do so for the remainder of her days.

[vvitcheshq]

Hello everybody! Under the cut you will find a sample application written for the character I’m playing! I put this together a little quicker than I would usually like to, but I know a couple of you have been waiting for it and I didn’t want to keep you on the hook for much longer! I hope you enjoy it and find inspiration for your own applications through reading it! 

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED SKELTON: Dahlia CHARACTER NAME: Jyn D’Arcy  AGE: 24 years old.  GENDER & PRONOUNS: cisfemale, she/her pronouns. MAGICAL DISCIPLINE: Jyn’s primary magical discipline is Chaos Magic, with a minor in Elemental magic.  FACECLAIM: Benedetta Gargari 

DEVELOPMENT

PAST: (trigger warning for brief mentions of child abuse.) 

–– Life begins in cloudy fits and starts. Jyn D’Arcy rather unfortunately born to husband and wife. It isn’t glorious, there are no happy golden days of early childhood. Those first few years are a black pit, the aura of hopelessness so thick in the air that someone could choke on it. Jyn isn’t a cherished child, is loved in only the intensely twisted way two monsters can love somebody, in a way that marks you with both physical and mental scars. She is left fragile from it, mind gauzy and out of step with the rest of the world. She sees nothing with clarity, feels a step behind everyone else. Her childish brain thinking that surely the fault must rest with her. She is something unworthy, never good enough, never right. Something deserving of the hurts that are heaped upon her.         She doesn’t notice the aura of an aptitude for something odd seeping out of her, and may come to wonder later in her life if this was what made her so inherently disliked by those around her in those early years. Perhaps she was too odd, a creature that reeked of death, speaking too often to an imaginary friend or the beautiful ghost that haunted the garden paths.  –– If you asked her to tell you the moment that everything changed, she wouldn’t be able to pinpoint it. Jyn sees figures in the woods, shrouded in darkness and mystery. She feels the prickle of eyes watching her from a distance as she plays her games, as she jumps from stone step to stone step. Hopscotch on a cloudy misty afternoon, all shrouded light like someone has closed blinds over the sky. Someone leaves a poppet on her window frame. She is young, still. Her mind is still being shaped by her experiences, clouded with fear and pain. This new layer of oddness is nothing new to her, so she thinks little of it. She hides the odd little doll carefully, and attempts to push all thoughts of it aside. Six crows perch on the tree outside her window on the night that the house goes up in flames, her wide eyes glued to them until sleep takes her into its slick embrace. Distant thoughts that tomorrow she will turn six years old, though no one else may notice. She thinks she hears voices in her dreams, imagines comforting hands stroking hair away from her face. Poor dear, they whisper into the night, little dove.        They talk about the fire on the news for weeks after it happens. One blaze, three dead. Except the truth as you know it isn’t always the truth. One fire, two dead, one disappeared. One stolen away. Jyn D’Arcy remembers watching her house burn to the ground from the tree line, sleepy and unafraid, held in comforting arms. It’s a hazy memory, but she knows its a true one. And when the smoke and ash had settled, those arms carried her away. 

–– The Triskelion Coven finds home deep in the wilderness. So deep that Jyn, tired and childish and half asleep, doesn’t even know where she is. She thought she knew what the woods were like, but you can never know until you go deep. The trees packed close, twisted and alive with something mystical. Their homes built in a small clearing, cabins of wood, almost obscured by green crawling plants. She should be scared upon her arrival in this place, but it feels like coming home. The people here look like they’ve stepped out of the past, these eight witches who welcome her –– straight out of Salem. She makes them nine. A powerful number. Abigail D’Arcy kneels on the dirt in front of Jyn, caresses her cheek with gentle hands. She says: It’s all okay now, little dove. She says: You are a very special girl, aren’t you? She says: Welcome home.  Abigail raises her, and gives her a name, and gives her a destiny.      No single witch raises Jyn, but Abigail gives her a new name. She gifts it as they wash Jyn clean, water from a mountain stream, cold against skin. The others chanting something she doesn’t understand yet. She says: A new name for a new beginning, little dove. And so Jyn embraces her new life. The thrill of the wildness around her, seeping into her bones. She runs through the forest around their camp, free as a bird, as a wild deer. Dirty feet and dirty hands and feral smiles, and when time comes for magical lessons, it is Orion who must find her and fetch her back, calm her enough to take in his patient teaching. She learns the power of all things, learns the significance of a drop of blood can hold. He never lets her prick her own finger to call forth the rust red blood, his rough voice insisting ‘when you’re older, little dove. plenty of time yet.’

–– Inheritance day finds her kneeling on the soft dirt of the forest floor, a clearing separate and away from the space they live. Heart moving fast in hummingbird beats, throat constricting with nerves. This is when she proves herself, when she becomes what she must. The Triskelion coven cannot continue forever as eight witches and one girl, so she must transend herself. She pricks her finger, calls forth a drop of life. She chants her chant, thrice to thine and thrice to mine and thrice again to make up nine. The red clay that Abigail used to daub a Triskelion on her chest stands out stark against her skin as she takes in heaving breaths. Smouldering herbs and incense create smoke around her, the whole world taking on that familiar haze. A trance, then, as she waits alone.       Irina comes quick. A candle blown out. Terrifyingly otherworldly, glowering. She looks solid enough to touch, but Jyn doesn’t dare try. She looks more like a monster than a person, falling to her knees in front of Jyn with the grace of a lynx. And then she smiles, sharp like a knife. Her voice like an echo: You’re a very special girl, aren’t you? Irina leans in close, calculating, evaluating. Says: If you take it, you have to take all of it. Even the parts that might scare you. But Jyn can’t imagine what could ever scare her about this, and greedily accepts the power. 

–– She learns later, the parts of great things that can leave you shaking. The Aradia Institute is a shocking change from her Coven’s home in the wilderness. She feels out of place, terrified at every corner by things new and unusual to her. Shoes on her feet too constricting until she can get used to them. But Irina is with her always, now. Or that’s how it feels. An echo of a memory reminding her to stand up straight, head held high. You’re a special girl, Jyn D’Arcy, carry yourself with dignity. So she dedicates herself wholeheartedly to magic, the thrill of it through her blood. It’s all she needs, all consuming. 

PERSONALITY:

–– POISED: Its something of the aura her patron passes on to her, the way she can carry herself with grace and dignity even when she’s getting herself into unimaginable amounts of trouble.  –– CREATIVE: Life is a web, but Jyn is a master of navigation. There isn’t a problem she can’t find a creative solution to, no puzzle that would go unsloved when you place it in her hands. She thinks outside the box –– more than that, she burns the box to the ground. –– AFFABLE: its a skill she had to cultivate, but natural charm starts flowing easily. cloying smiles, a free spirit. she gets along with people sometimes without trying at all.  –– SECRETIVE: Jyn guards herself possessively. Keeps hidden treasures away from the world. The opposite of an open book, she doesn’t like anyone to know anything of importance. The truth holds power, and she wants to keep it to herself.  –– RECKLESS: It was far from careful decisions that Jyn was raised. Be a troublemaker, take risks, break the rules. She leaps into her decisions head first, heedless of the fact that they might hurt her, might get her killed.  –– OPINIONATED: she doesn’t like to keep quiet about what she thinks. if something is unfair, she’ll say it. If someone is wrong, she’ll point it out. These darts are often thrown hard and they hit harder, but she doesn’t pull her punches. 

PATRON:

IRINA PETROVA.  –– A storm of a woman, a sharp knife always poised to strike. Irina Petrova could slice through any conversation like it was a battleground, and always came out the champion. A rare breed of witch not raised in a coven, Irina never let this set her back. She walked through life with an aristocratic grace, posied for anything and everything that might come toward her. Irina soaked up magical knowledge like she was a sponge, sought out knowledge with a hunger that could never be sated. Her life eventually brought her to America, and she became the head professor of Battle Magic at the Aradia Institute while it was still in its early years. A prolific academic and a notorious socialite. She was well on her way to becoming the Head Council of the ACW before her untimely death. Irina went down in history as one of the most powerful witches to teach at the Institute and to hold a seat on the ACW.  –– Jyn feels a particularly close connection with her Patron. Irina has gifted her a lot of knowledge about her life, and she feels as if their hearts beat as one. She feels like she has to live up to Irina, to be someone unstoppable. She bridges her life with Irina’s, graceful and feral all at once. She wants to prove that she can be an unstoppable force, that she can take Irina’s magic and do everything she sets her mind to. 

PLOTS:

1. UNAUTHORISED MAGIC –– Jyn D’Arcy likes to break the rules. And what better way to do that than to study all the things the teachers tell you that you shouldn’t. The second Jyn learned about Battle Magic, she knew she had to master it, even if it wasn’t allowed. And she didn’t want to wait for it, didn’t want to have to give up anything to get it. And so, she began to study it in secret. In the old Armory, she took her books and Irina’s guidance and began to learn the basics. It wasn’t long before someone found out what she was doing –– not a teacher, thank god, but another student –– and before long she had a following of her own. Together, her and a handful of Aradia students get together in secret and attempt to learn Battle Magic while no one is looking.  2. DEAD GIRLS TELL TALES –– Irinia Petrova’s untimely death was a tragedy, that’s what all the history books say. But Jyn knows something that no one else will believe: Irina Petrova was murdered. That’s how stories for girls like them go. You harness enough power, you break enough rules, revel in the taboo, and people get scared at you. When you shine so brightly, someone will always want to snuff out your light. She knows that Irina was murdered, but she wants to find out who did it. She wants them to have to face up to it if they’re still breathing, or wants their memory tarnished for committing the crime if they’ve already passed away. 

EXTRAS: 

COVEN: The Triskelion Coven is named for its symbol of power. The threefold spiral that hooks in their souls and pulls them deeper into the world of magic. As Jyn lived in it, it was a coven that practiced worship of many old Gods. Particularly there was a mix of worshipping the Horned God and of worshipping Hecate.  FAMILIAR: In Jyn’s first year at The Institute, she undertook the task of summoning a familiar. To guide her in all things, to offer her support, and most of all to offer her true companionship. She yearned for the feeling of wild magic, and so was bestowed a large black Raven named Ingram, a clingy thing. Ingram is the thing Jyn feels the closest to in the world. It’s at its happiest when it can be carried around in Jyn’s shoulder, and resents being sent away.