#death para

[akai-hito]

EVERYBODY

PUT YOUR HANDS UP

OH MY GOD IT’S PER-FECT

[notverybrighton]

LVCERNA IN VENTVS; a self para

There is a split second in between when the voice dies and when life leaves the body. It’s fast as shit, so fast that it’s impossible to calculate, impossible to notice, and impossible to ever understand.

In that moment is the entire past, the present, and what could have been, all wrapped up in a neat, tidy, fucked up bow of regret. Wren Challis, the monster, the destroyer of lives and of so much other shit at this point, in the split second before life left her body, pulled on the ribbon so that the bow would come undone.

Within an infinity of possibilities, she never forgave Jeannie Twill. She never got coffee with Hunter and said “thanks for everything, Teach.” She never struck up an awkward friendship with Honey’s sister, a sweet artist she didn’t realize was named Clementine until a full day after she’d mistaken her for Honey. She never went to a ball. She never got arrested, never faced the consequences of her actions. She never lived with the guilt of having killed a man.

But she had. She’d lived for four days as a monster. She took life after life in the Arena, and now the universe was holding her accountable.

She’d said she hoped it was warm, where she went. If she went anywhere. It was true; she did hope that. She really fucking hoped it.

She hoped that she got to see her mom again, one day. She hoped that she got to see everyone. She hoped Arachne won the Games and got to go home. She hoped Dice won the Games without having to kill Thetis, and got to be the princess she deserved to be. She hoped Thetis won the Games, because of one stupid fucking act of kindness that meant that Wren owed her huge forever, and she’d wait as long as she could to have to deal with Thetis coming to collect. She hoped that Holland or Aspen won the Games, or else what the fuck was any of this fucking for? She hoped whoever won might think to check on her mother.

There were people she might have gotten to meet, if she’d won and taken her mother into the world. She might have met Victors her own age. She might have hated the die-hard patriot and been so fucking jealous of the kid who’d had so much conviction for his cause that he’d been willing to fucking die for it. She might have made up with Jeannie and Hunter. She might have gotten that woman who always trailed Jeannie to train her. She might have learned to live with the girl she’d become. She might have to fight her nightmares.

She might have faced judgement. She might have been avoxxed. She might have been free, and kissed someone new. 

She might have met folks who were in her boat, not that she liked the water. They’d be free from slavery, but under a watchful eye, not to mention the thousands of eyes of the masses, watching and judging and being creepy as fuck.

She might have met the people who put her through all of this in the first place, who designed all of this, who had conducted the slaughter like an orchestra trying to play jazz. And she might have tried to kill those of them who found it entertaining. Sick fucks.

She hoped she never had to deal with any sick fucks again. She hoped she’d be at peace.

She hoped there was music. She’d give anything for music. Music and her mother, but she could wait a while for her mom to live a big, full life. 

She wondered if there would be living rooms. She’d like to dance in the living room with everyone she loved. Even if that was like, two fucking people. She wanted to dance in the living room and hold them close. She wanted to get lost in the music.

She wanted to live. Dammit, she really wanted to live.

But the bow snapped back into place. It always fucking did, no matter the bow. The bow could be a fucking shoe dropping. That wasn’t the goddamn point.

She never did any of those things. All of the mights and the maybe sos couldn’t change reality.

The split second was over.

And Wren Challis was dead.

[notverybrighton]

PER TOTAM CASTELLVM; a self para

The Arena was one fucked up thing after another, whether it was the fucking mutts or the monsters she and the other tributes had to become, but none of that fucking mattered when Wren realized that the giant bridge thing had enough chunks taken out of it from the earthquake that it was exactly, perfectly climbable. 

And no one was around, and as far as Wren knew no one had gotten a bow. 

Wren grinned, put her hands up to the stones, pushed up with her feet, and began to climb.

The climb fucking sucked.

Wren’s current physical condition could probably be described as utter fucking shit. Every move she made hurt. But fuck it, she had been through worse physical pain before, and she was going to get to the top of this thing. She was going to see for miles around. She pulled herself to the next foothold. 

She was only halfway up when she noticed how low the sun was in the sky. Wren wouldn’t be able to spend too long at the top, not if it was taking her this long to climb up. Climbing down was harder, and she wasn’t about to do that in the dark. 

But goddamn, it was beautiful up here.

She didn’t expect there to be water when she reached her destination, but she hauled herself up and into a shallow pool, almost like a manmade river, just calf deep. She hoped to fuck that there weren’t any snakes, but she didn’t notice any immediately, and then she saw the view, and promptly lost her shit.

It was gorgeous and it took Wren’s breath away. The sky was painted pinks and oranges and you could see from up here that they really were in an entire city that the Gamemakers had built. It reminded her of her apartment building in Eight, and she hoped her mother could see her now. Maybe they’d be taking in the view together. She gripped the seam ripper that somehow had managed to stay on the chain around her neck this whole time. They’d be taking in more views together soon. Just a few more days.

Just a few more tributes that had to die first.

Maybe she’d reached a breaking point yesterday. Maybe she’d killed enough in defense. Now it was time to hunt, to get this the fuck over with. The rest of those tributes were already dead anyway. And fighting Kit this afternoon had felt good, powerful. She was the one who started it. She was in control. Just because she hadn’t killed him then didn’t mean she couldn’t kill him tomorrow.

If the Careers were so fucking casual about it, she could be too. She was just as tough as any of them.

Just as fucked up was more like it. How many was that now? Francis. Lumba. Thea. Would Kit be the fourth? Did Thea count as hers if Holland had been the one to use the knife? After all, Wren had served her up on a fucking platter.

Pushing those thoughts away, Wren pulled herself out of the shallow water and onto the lip of the thing, her feet the only part of her staying in the flow. She stared out and looked lower. Maybe she could see someone. Harrow, still recovering from the lion, maybe, or Holland and Aspen holding hands on a street corner. Honey, angry somewhere. Dice.

Maybe she could bring Dice up here. Water and heights - the best of both of them. Heat rose to her cheeks as she thought about it. Whatever was happening there was...dumb as shit, because one of them was going to die in the end. But for right now, it made her really, really fucking happy.

The sun sunk lower, behind the far-off temples on the other side of the city, and reality sunk in. Wren’d have to get down eventually. She’d need to eat. There was no way she’d be able to sleep in water, but the lip was too narrow to lie down comfortably. Besides, if someone climbed up right now, there was no way in hell she’d be able to fight them. She’d left her dagger and her shield on the ground. 

She could always come up again later.

Wren stood up, and looked over the lip for where she’d climbed up initially, where the footholds were. It was a few feet away, and the stark shadows even made the notches easier to see. She took one last look. Fuck it. She’d be back.

And that’s when her foot slipped.

[casmparo]

Death Para // Casthan

~~    Caspar couldn't move. He hadn't really moved all day. Not on purpose, anyway. He was on autopilot. He hadn't slept, eaten, spoken. Nothing. Not since this note he'd received from the twins. It would make more sense for him to be so devoid had he been busy thinking. Not necessarily about what he had to do, but of anything at all. But he hadn't done any of that either. He knew if he were to think, it would be about nothing other than Ethan. And to think about Ethan while knowing what he had to do eventually was much too hazardous. Before he'd shut down, every scenario that came to mind of how the evening could play out was more terrifying than the one that he imagined prior.

"Meter's running, pal. Telling you for your sake. I'm certainly not complaining.", the taxi driver picked through the silence. Caspar had been sitting in the backseat of the cab outside the restaurant fogging up the window with his breath for almost twenty minutes. Sure, he could've walked. It wasn't that far off from where he stayed, but he couldn't tread this trek alone. Settling for a stranger wasn't something he was above. It cost him a pretty penny but salvaged a bit of his sanity. Unfortunately, however, once the portly man spoke, the barrier Caspar built to protect himself from himself caved in.

Thought after antagonizing thought came pouring in and there was no dodging them now. How was he supposed to act like everything was okay? Ethan couldn't know something was up. How was he supposed to look the most important person in his life right in the eye and purposefully shatter everything they'd worked so hard for? Everything that gave his life meaning?  Was he in the building now? Was he thinking of him while going out on some blind date?

Cas apologized for keeping him and paid the cab driver more than enough. Kicking open the door, he climbed out and crushed the gravel under his shoe with a stiff step. This wasn't a date with Ethan he could get excited about. It made him nauseous thinking about the times that were. Not because he regretted the excitable times they'd shared, but because he was afraid that after tonight they would never come again.

He opened a side of the double doors at the front of the restaurant and unraveled the scarf around his neck as he was greeted with stuffy, hot air. From where he stood, there was no Ethan to be seen so he asked the hostess to lead him to a table for two. Seeing no point in flipping through the menu since he planned on skipping another meal anyway, he asked the waitress for a hot chocolate and waited.

[n-ickhalden]

death

nick didn't die, but you all remembered the mess that was and yh bri asked me to continue so i did, it's not finished the way i dreamed (forreals i dreamed about his death) but i had to end it, i got stuck. imagine this happened on satur- well nvm it's not relevant s;dlfjls so here is nick's death:

- - - 

A dying man needs to die, as a sleepy man needs to sleep, and there comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist.

I remember the day my grandpa passed away. He was lying in his big bed, covered with a purple blanket and resting his head in his favorite pillow. You could see that he was in pain, his chest moving faster than it should be, his hand was shaking and there was sweat on his pale forehead. I was eighteen and scared. It was the first time I saw someone dying and it felt so surreal, because… That was the last time someone called me Nico.

It was impossible for me to hide my fear, I refused to accept his time was up and he was going to say goodbye. He was strong enough to say to me that I should not fear death. He said Death was a beautiful woman and he could feel her ice cold touch pulling him closer to her embrace and away from the world he knew. It would’ve been poetic if I weren’t so sure there was no woman, just the strong painkillers making him see pink elephants throwing a welcome party in Heaven for him, except… 

His words were clear: I should not fear Death. But I wasn’t ready for Her. Or him. 

I love you. Thank you. For everything.

On the bright side, I went to bed alone last night. And maybe it was Fate’s work that held me in place that moment so I didn’t drag Thomas to my Chambers. This is a sign and it’s telling me my death was meant to happen. Well, at least I can say that I left him with a smile and a kiss, a reckless display of someone who didn’t know what was about to happen.

There wasn’t pain at first just… Confusion. I could hear his breathing and feel the dangerous cold wood pressed under my chin. It took me a moment to understand what had happened, he had to whisper my name for me to realize I was supposed to panic. So I did. I could feel the fabric covering my eyes getting wet with tears, my lips burning dry and my wrists tied with magic. Could I scream? Would anyone hear me? Would he kill me?

Yes. 

There’s no shame in these words, I’m only trying to tell you the story of my death and I know imagining a twenty-seven year old man begging for his life can be uncomfortable. I swear, uncomfortable wasn’t how I’d describe it. More like… Painful. It hurt a lot, it was slow and torturous. Every moan a new spell, every spell a new agonizing minute begging for my life or begging the show to be over. What was the point? He didn’t try to get information from me, he didn’t ask me my secrets; he only said words of dark magic and whispered my name. He soothed me when I cried for my mom, cried for my father and my siblings. He promised it would be over soon, he said I was a casualty of the uprising war. That I should be proud I was chosen to be an example. He promised he’d make sure my body was returned to my love ones.

I thanked him. I asked him to get it over but not before I begged him for mercy, not for my soul anymore, at that moment I was convicted, I knew there was no reason for me to cry for my own flesh. I guess this can count as my last act as Professor Halden. I’m not sure if my prayer was heard, did he understand what I tried to say? Did he understand that I supplicated our children don’t have to be part of the macabre show? They won’t affect his real goal, right? Let them live, if only briefly, don’t bring them pain, they can break, they need protection, have mercy, sir.

I can’t be certain of his reply and I don’t think I’ll ever get my answer. It was too late and my body was too tired to fight anymore. He knew that, he was ready for his final act. I never got my response, but I saw in his eyes, when he removed the black velvet from my eyes, I saw it. It. Staring back at me with eyes that could pass as kind, but if you paid attention, deep in his hollow lens, there was nothing kind left there. And there was nothing kind left in me either.

Any last words, Professor?

The cliché words still echoed in my memory. Last words. Your last memento to the world you live in. How can you choose the right ones? Can you regret your choices after life? And why had I been so calm? Where were the heavy sobs and dense breathing? Was I so numb it had all stopped? Or had I only fantasized about those words?

The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved.

We were loved. I was loved.

“I was loved. I loved.” 

So much. I was happy no matter what. My time was over faster than I had predicted. I don’t know where I’m moving now, I hope it’s somewhere nice or nowhere at all, but I’m not afraid anymore.

My grandpa said Death was a beautiful woman. Back then, I didn’t believe him but tonight I faced Death and I understand what happened. In the moment I felt my body and soul had been ripped apart, I felt someone’s hand pulling mine. No woman had a hand like that, but I gripped it with joy. It was familiar and comforting, I know he wasn’t the real one but I smiled anyway and accepted my path. It was time to leave and my angel had the nicest pair of eyes I’ve ever had the pleasure to love in my life.