#wren: self para

[theartofruling]

Ghostly Vengeance || Wren Self Para

Who: Wren Petrova

Where: Night Club in Eastland

Description: Wren performs for the first time in years, only to be met by the ghost of her ex-husband. Trigger Warnings: Domestic abuse, murder, death

Wren paced in her makeshift dressing room as she prepared for what was supposed to be a lowkey show. After ending her music career after the death of her abusive ex-husband, she was finally ready to return to it years later. Of course, being a mom and High Priestess came first, but she needed this. She owed this to her fans. She also owed it to herself. She wouldn’t be able to get back to who she was without fully healing. 

Her late husband, Ian, had broken her physically and emotionally. The physical abuse meant she couldn’t do as many shows and appearances. The emotional abuse broke her confidence and soon she would never utter another lyric for years. After his death, she wrote songs and tinkered with melodies, but never sung. 

It wasn’t until recently she had the itch for change. She wasn’t always so quiet and soft spoken and reserved. She had been famous for something other than her family name. She had been at the height of her career. Wren had felt invincible and unchallenged, in a league of her own before that marriage. Now, she had the opportunity to reclaim her life. 

The show was supposed to be small. But she had hundreds of people here for her. Loyal fans who had been waiting eagerly for her return to music. She was debuting two new songs and two from her old life. 

When she took the stage, the roar from the crowd was almost deafening. “Thank you all for coming. It’s been a while. And I’ve started working on an album that can fill in the missing blanks, but I’m happy to be back on this stage! My nerves are running wild so I’m going to need your help with these songs before I get to my new stuff.” 

Once she started singing and the crowd still knew every word, it eased her nerves and self doubt. It was like partying with several hundred old friends. Wren felt at ease on stage again. So much so that tears fell down her cheeks. “This…you all don’t know how it makes me feel that you still know all the words. These next two songs are all about reclaiming my power.” 

Wren felt her nerves but her first song Cinderella’s Dead started up. She strutted and danced across the stage making eye contact with those she could see. By the end of the song the crowd was singing the chorus with her, “I forgot I was a bad bitch, tragic.” 

When the song ended she was grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve truly missed this. But we’re going to leave on a high note.” The music boomed through her ear piece, as she danced across the stage. Her song Not My Fault started up. She chuckled as she confidently sang, “Yeah I’m back bitch, are you done?” She sang with the attitude and confidence she had to adopt an alter ego to achieve. Looking out in the audience to see people dancing and smiling and enjoying the song reassured her that this was what she was supposed to be doing. 

After the show she did a brief meet and greet with several fans before she had to start settling down preparing to head home for the true celebration with Jakovan and the kids. She called him when she got off stage. “Hey Mish, I wish you could have been here! They loved the songs and they still knew every word of my old stuff!” She had tears in her eyes as she was still overcome with emotion. “I had someone taking video for you so I’ll send it in a moment. I can’t wait to be home to celebrate with you and the kids! I’m going to take a few more pictures with fans and I should be there soon! Two hours max.” 

That was the plan until a familiar face showed up. He was last in line and seeing his smiling face cause a lump in her throat. It was Hunter, Ian’s younger brother. 

“When I heard, I couldn’t believe it. You finally found your voice after everything my brother put you through,” he said. 

Wren had always liked Hunter. There were moments when she wished he had been the one she married. He was kind and sweet and he had no idea what his brother had done to her. She eagerly hugged him. “Hunter! I’m so sorry it’s been so long since we spoke I just…after everything I needed time to find some semblance of myself again.” 

“You got married again.” He sounded almost sad. 

“I did. I have two beautiful kids. Twins.” 

He grinned. “I’ve kept tabs. I’ve got the clippings. You know, I have always been proud of you. And I’ve always thought you ended up with the wrong brother. I would have protected you. Held onto every precious moment we had because when you look at someone you have this way of making them feel important and loved. I’m still chasing that and I haven’t found it.” 

Wren’s brows rose and she looked around making sure no one could overhear and misconstrue their conversation. “Would you like to come back to my dressing room to chat?” 

The guards followed them back but Wren assured them it was okay to stay outside the door. But once the door was closed behind them something was muttered and Hunter screamed out, “Wren, run!” 

Before she could react, his posture changed. The cruel smile she knew Ian to wear perched onto his lips. “Enough of that sappy shit. I knew he wanted to fuck my wife. And you were no saint. Deep down, you wanted to fuck him too. Don’t lie you little bitch.” 

Wren knew those words, that tone. Ian was in Hunter’s body. Ian had come back to harm her. She ran for the door, but it wouldn’t open. She screamed but the guards didn’t react. “Perks of my brother being a witch.” He used telekinesis to toss her against a wall. 

Her body clattered to the floor with a thud. Wren was a pacifist. She didn’t believe in violence and she didn’t know how to defend herself. But she had her babies at home. As he lifted her telekinetically again, slamming her against another wall, the fall broke her arm.

She lay there with tears streaming down her face. But she had to do something to be able to get home to her kids. She had to survive. “Coward! You used to use your hands to put me in my place. It made you feel like more of a man than Hunter, remember?” 

She had to provoke him. Get him close. She only had one shot to save herself. “You’re right. I did wish you were Hunter. Every day of our miserable marriage.” That earned her a kick to her abdomen. One and then another but she grabbed his ankle letting out all of the anger she had built up at him taking her life from her. All the anger of enduring every single beating flowed through her and came through her fingertips as her electrokinesis. Electric currents churned out of her, shocking him over and over, but she hadn’t used the ability defensively and she didn’t know how much was too much when he fell to the ground limp. She crawled to the door, using her magic reversal to remove the spell that kept her locked in and the guards unable to hear her. 

When Hunter’s body didn’t move and when she didn’t see his chest rising and falling, Wren sobbed. What had she just done? She had killed Hunter while trying to keep Ian away from her. 

She didn’t dwell. Her mind raced as did her tears for having to use violence and having to kill. She might have been the nice, quiet pacifist, but she was still a Hartwell. Wren knew what she had to do now. She formed a plan and one thing was for certain she had to keep Jakovan and Westland out of it. This night had too much buzz around it to involve him now. She made a call to the one person who she knew could help her - Olivier. 

[spctlights]

tag  drop  for  wren jacobs !!

[cjwelford-archive]

→ wren and jasper cantwell's home, claret park. self-para.

CJ had never felt like this in Wren’s home before. The living room in her spacious Claret Park home — an area that normally exuded warmth and comfort — was fraught with tension, not helped by Wren’s icy glare from where she stood, leaning against the grand bookcase opposite CJ, sandwiched in between uncomfortable seeming Emery and Jasper.

“Are you sure it’s a real marriage certificate?” She had asked, the first words spoken in over ten minutes when he had broken the news of him and Seb getting married.

“Yeah, it’s like stamped…and everything.” CJ confirmed, shifting slightly. Beside him, Jasper softly sighed. 

Wren squeezed her eyes shut for a second, opening them and shaking her head.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Ceej?” She demanded. He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off before he had a chance to explain himself. “No, you weren’t thinking. You never fucking think!” 

“Wren —,” Jasper began, and it almost sounded like he was about to defend his brother-in-law. However, her glower had him shut up quickly.

It made CJ’s gut churn uncomfortably then, because he did think. He thought about work, he thought about his family, he thought about his friends. 

“People do it all the time…” Was his only defense, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. And it wasn’t, because he and Seb were best friends and adults. Who cared that, according to the state of Nevada, they were husband and husband?

“So?!” Wren snapped, “The general American population is full of idiots, CJ!” She let out another sigh, squeezing the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “Look, this would have been fucking cute or whatever if you were twenty-one, but my god, you are in your thirties now and it’s embarrassing.” 

“What does my age have to do with it?” CJ asked, brow furrowed in confusion. Emery next to him shook his head, as if to beg CJ not to pick a fight; always one to keep the peace, but it seemed like Wren had no patience for peace today.

“You’re thirty-two years old, Carter.” And he winced at the use of his full name. No one ever full-named him. “You’re a college dropout, you work two shitty dead-end jobs to pay for rent in a rundown shithole you share with two other people who are just as bad or as arguably worse in your stupid fucking antics. You have no basic skills such as cooking or cleaning, or insurance. Or savings. You come over every week high as shit and the stench of weed stuck to you lingers long after you leave. Not to mention the shit that you take when you have your stupid fuck-boy-frat-bro ragers that you are way too old for. And now you just got drunkenly married in Vegas! Your life is a fucking mess, Carter. You need to grow the fuck up!” As Wren listed everything allegedly wrong with CJ’s life, she pointed her finger at him for emphasis, each item causing him to flinch. He could recall briefly Emery and Jasper interjecting to calm her down, to no avail, but he couldn’t focus.

Wren had expressed her dissatisfaction with how he had been living his life recently, but he didn’t know how deep it ran. How each word in her voice was laced with resentment. He didn’t respond immediately, and she ran her fingers through her hair, nodding over at Jasper, who said he’d get the company lawyers to look into annulling the marriage, discussing covering the costs of it, just sat there mulling over her words.

If his own sister saw him that way, how did everyone else? His friends? His fucking roommates? Was the fucking mess what Todd saw all those months? For the first time in his entire life, CJ was struggling to breathe, but managed to stand, the shakiness of his legs unfamiliar and disconcerting.

“CJ, sit down.” Wren barked, but he set his jaw, shaking his head.

“No.”

She sighed, and he could see the comment as it whirred through her brain, traveling to leave her lips. Probably something about him being a petulant child. He spoke up before she could further hurt his feelings.

“You’re right, Wren, I’m thirty-two years old. And a lot of thirty-two year olds are still, like, figuring it the fuck out or whatever. But if you want me to grow up, then don’t help me. I can handle sorting my marriage with Seb out myself.” Somehow, he managed to make his way to the doorway of the living room, shooting his family an uncharacteristically dirty look.

“And for the record, there’s much worse people to be married to out there. I’m lucky I married my best friend, and not some dude who knocked me up in college.” It was a low blow, sure, but Wren had crossed the line first. He also wanted to point out Ty, who was scary, and Emmy, who was married, was also in Vegas that week, and both of them would have been much worse people to marry. 

“Ceej —,” Emery began, his own voice sounding shaky, like he was about to cry. CJ felt momentarily guilty, wondering if he was accidentally dredging up memories of their parents for the younger of the Welford siblings.

“CJ,” Wren said, voice sounding tired, but no less angry, “I swear, if you walk out that door —,”

“You’ll what, Wren? Cut me off? Call me names? Fuck you, I’m over it. I’m over you dictating over my life because you think you have authority because you’re the oldest.” He snapped. “Catch you later, Em. And Jasper it’s been…”

His brother-in-law shrugged in response. It was probably the most amicable the two had ever been.

And without another word, CJ stormed out of the house, ignoring Everly and Lydia — crouched on the upper landing attempting to spy in on the family meeting — calling after their uncle. It didn’t matter he didn’t have a ride home, that he’d have to trek back to the apartment by foot, he relished in the alone time to just think.

Was he wasting his life? Was he supposed to go on to do bigger and better things? Was he that much of an idiot he had found pleasure in the little things and a simple life?

CJ didn’t realize he was crying until he could taste the salt of the tears running down his cheeks to his mouth, sniffling all the way home, glad that neither Jeanie or Seb were in the living area when he eventually got home.

He hoped Jeanie would never kick him out. He didn’t know if he’d feel like he’d belong anywhere else. 

Climbing under his covers, uncaring if Professor Murderclaws had been in that day, hoping he had so he could blame his tears on his allergies, and stared up at his bedroom ceiling. Maybe it was all a sign, maybe he had to change. 

Become the person he was expected to be.

He sighed, thinking back to Seb in the next room. Step one, he thought to himself, annul the marriage. Frowning as he forced himself to drift off to sleep, he amended his plan. Step one, google what ‘annulment’ meant. Step two, annul his and Seb’s marriage. 

It’d all be okay in the end. For CJ, a true optimist no matter what, it simply had to be.

Or he just blew up his life for nothing.

[abdicatedarchive]

Thanksgiving || Wren

Wren came back from a long run to the smell of food filling the house. He heard sounds of Chanel and his Nana laughing in the kitchen, he peaked his head around the corner to see them cooking away and music on low as the sauntered around the kitchen getting everything done. He came into the kitchen and gave his Nana a kiss on the head, “So excited for your meal Nana” he said crouching down and giving her a side hug. “And you” Wren said to Chanel as he came up behind her and put his head on top of hers, “it already smells so good” he said swaying behind her as he held her. Chanel lifted up the spoon to give him a taste and Wren told her it was amazing, just like her. “I need to go shower, but I’ll be back down for the rest of the food. I set the table up before I left” he said heading off upstairs. 

Wren stared at himself in the mirror, hating himself already. He couldn’t let them down on this day. Wren did some core work for a few minutes before getting into the shower and continuing to think about the days worries. Surely he was able to eat a meal like normal. This one special day, this one great day. With all his favorite people there except his parents. 

As they ate the delicious meal, Wren made sure to pile his plate high and make sure they knew that they had made great food. There was so much love wrapped up into it. He excused himself and went to the bathroom in his room, staring at himself in the mirror again. He looked huge and bloated. He was a monster. Wren wanted to sprint out of the house now. To keep running and running until he didn’t feel like this anymore. Wren felt almost sick to his stomach thinking about all he had eaten. He pulled his food journal out from his dresser drawer and started to write down the calorie amounts that he had eaten, and he felt terrible. He had eaten so much. Wren stared at the toilet. He promised himself he wouldn’t do it again. It’s what had landed him in the hospital last time, made him go to the clinic. 

Wren rationalized, well it was because he hadn’t had much food in his system. Now he felt like he was going to explode. Wren knelt down at the toilet and tried to stop himself, but the little devil on his shoulder told him he would never recover from this meal unless he did. Wren pulled the trig and started to throw up, tears falling from the forced throw up. He wiped off his mouth and flushed the evidence, praying that no one had come to check on him yet. He rinsed his mouth out with mouth wash and crossed out the food in his log. Wren looked at himself in the mirror and felt better. He looked good. Good enough for all the things he wanted. 

[oflightfeet]

grief is a wild animal howling inside of you . // a self para.

Featuring: Thomas Ackermann. Mentions: Kitty Mallick, Ophelia Weiss, Omer Nacar, Nana Uchida. Timestamp: March 20-March 30. Extras: here and here and here.

Once upon a time, Wren Lightfoot saved Thomas Ackermann’s life and they spoke the words you help me, I help you. A vow, of sorts. But when a bullet crashes through his head, they know that this is not a bullet wound they can stelp with scarves and jumpers. They cannot call Kitty to ask for help, or hope that Arthur Haught can sew him back together, because both of them stand in the same room as them, watching that TV screen of a recording of Thomas getting shot.

But that’s not where this starts.

This starts in the factory, after a fight night, sitting with Nana in a dressing room where Thomas’ belongings dangle and Wren packs them up and takes them home. Just in case. This starts with ten days of muscles so tense that they ache. With twenty three unanswered texts and seven voicemails. With Ophelia stepping by and the two of them ordering food and Wren pretending they don’t have nightmares about people dying every night.

Wren remembers Thomas’ willingness to die for Famine. His certainty that he wouldn’t live past forty five. They let pessimism seep through their veins as it always does, dealing with uncertainty by trying to accept the worst possible outcome. But there’s a glimmer of maybe I’ll see him again, and Thomas wouldn’t go quietly, and maybe he just packed his shit and left, maybe he didn’t love me enough to take me with him, and maybe that’s better than whatever else I could imagine.

There had been twenty four years where Wren hadn’t known Thomas. Eight months which he’d grown from gruff Power to mentor-like to something trusted, something leaned on, someone they loved. There had been one evening where Wren begged him not to die and one evening where he had gruffly promised them that they weren’t going to die from a poisoned coffee. There had been at least twenty five car rides where Wren forced Thomas to enjoy the saddest songs they could find, before bouncing up and down as guitar riffs filled the air. Countless memes Thomas hadn’t been able to receive on his flip phone. A handful of I love you’s, not nearly enough. A mutual understanding that family could be found and chosen and that was what they had done, down the line. 

There had been ten days during which he’d vanished without much of a trace and Wren anticipated what would come to fruition.

But where they expected a bloated body, drifting down a river, they are met with performance in stead. With a TV screen and the image of oil dripping on the floor. With the echo of a recorded gunshot. With a casket. Omer Nacar holds Wren and something about the shape of his body and the comfort he extends reminds them of Thomas, for an agonising second.

At his funeral, Wren does not speak, just like they hadn’t at their father’s. Someone does ask if they want to, but they shake their head — Wren isn’t a talker, after all. They sit near the front, which is strange, because there are so many people here: people who had known Thomas longer, who had more memories to spare, who had more right to grief than they did. Wren isn’t used to being important enough to sit on one of the benches in front and it’s not something they wish to get used to.

The pitchfork road in front of them has two paths of darkness. There’s one leading down into the abyss of grief that will choke them until they are a shell, returned to the haunted, wide-eyed and silent child they had once been. And there is another, a path that will leave them hungrier than ever, aching for something to satiate their need for revenge. Wren, who had chosen Famine nearly a year ago, chooses an anger born out of starvation. 

These things – a wish for revenge, a wish to do right by, a wish to shed blood – do not come natural to them. But Wren has always been malleable, able to change their shape and entire being when the situation calls for it. Thomas Ackermann has been murdered. Wren beckons destruction, feeds the fire of their anger with their own goodness, and hopes that one day they’ll be strong enough to make someone pay in kind.

[burr-sting]

HIC VENIT SOLVS; a self para

No coffee in the world was going to get Wren though this morning, not even the incredible coffee that the Capitol had to offer. She chugged that shit and left, head throbbing, the moment they came to get her. No use sticking around to say goodbye to people who wouldn’t miss you and you sure as hell wouldn’t miss.

Wren felt like shit. Pure, concentrated shit.

The Peacekeepers didn’t hit her when she threw up in the hovercraft, just passed her a bag, but they fucking manhandled her down the hallway into the catacombs. Somehow it was both a longer walk and a shorter walk than she expected, and dreary as shit. Probably to set the mood, Wren figured. They didn’t know that Wren didn’t need to set the mood for murder, not now.

No, she couldn’t process the memories of the previous night. There wasn’t time. Wren suppressed another lurch of her stomach and walked into the changing room with the launch tube.

Mako, the woman from the prep team who helped her get into whatever the fuck kind of linen bag she was wearing didn’t mention the blood under Wren’s fingernails. She just took a brush and cleaned them, and then braided Wren’s hair to keep it out of her face. It was a pigtail on either side, all tucked so that the braid started at her forehead and stuck to her skull, like her mom used to do when she was little. Wren wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t fucking going to cry when she needed to be emotionless and calculated.

It’s funny, she realized. She didn’t feel sick anymore.

“Are…are you going to stay with me?” Wren asked. Her voice came out small, throat gripped tight with a fear Wren didn’t want to recognize. Mako nodded, and smiled some pitying smile. Everyone always gave her that pitying smile, but this time it wasn’t that they were sorry that her mother was a city joke. This smile said that Wren was going to die, and Mako felt sorry that it had to end that way.

Arachne said she wouldn’t kill Wren until she had to.

Aspen had promised her an alliance when they met by the tree.

But Holland and Thea swore only that they’d keep their mouths shut, no other promises.

But Dice had said she’d wait until the Arena to kill Wren.

But Barric had already tasted blood and showed no remorse.

But Dani was ruthless and had a legacy to protect.

But Honey had taken her down in an instant, without any weapons.

But Thetis had said they’d meet at the Cornucopia and see who came out on top.

Wren wondered if her mom would watch. She didn’t want her mom to watch her die.

Would they give her mom her body? Or would it be carted away, the murdered remains? Just like Travis, Wren thought, all chopped up to disappear forever, then shook that thought out of her head. She’d done what she had to do. They all had.

She gripped her seam ripper in her hands. She’d gotten the stylist team to put it on a chain for her, so it was around her neck. She always did what she had to do. Now Wren had to live. She wasn’t fucking dying today.

Neither Wren nor Mako said anything until it was time to get into the launch tube, but Mako gave Wren a hug and Wren had to fight off tears for a second time. She barely even knew Mako - it was fucking pathetic.The door sealed behind her, sealed like her fucking fate, but it was warmer than Wren expected, and she didn’t feel as squeezed in as she thought she was going to. She took a deep breath and locked eyes with Mako, who gave her a nod, as if to say “good luck” or maybe “nice knowing ya.”

Wren could do this. She had to fucking do this. She would kill, again, and she would survive. She would take her mom to the Capitol and they’d just be Daisy and Wren in a little apartment. All she had to do was win.

[ironriverrp-archive]

Question regarding activity - I see that self paras and memes also count as activity, but is there a certain number of things that must be done within the 7 day limit to avoid being unfollowed? Thank you!

Chatted this over with the group, as we're all pretty busy fellows. We kinda see activity as overall group participation over time. Some weeks are gonna be better than others. To me, no matter what the minimum is, if it's a consistent minimum it's grounds for unfollow. I'd keep tabs on who is only posting one thing a week and if it happens three weeks in a row, then it's an unfollow. Biggest thing to consider is that plot and character development does hinge on being more active, so if there are connections you're asking for, think about how it might feel to the other person.

- Community Manager Wren

[realjessicareyes]

MARCH 30TH, TUESDAY, BEFORE MIDNIGHT. MORTEM. SELF-PARA. TRIGGER WARNING(S): fire, gore, death, murder

Lacrimosa dies illa Qua resurget ex favilla Judicandus homo reus.

( ♬ )

Of course Jessica has smelled gasoline before. Its scent is absent from the Camden warehouse they stand in, but she can smell it all the same. Thick, sweet, cloying, the memory of it clings to her clothes, her skin; beneath her nails, in her blood, is oil spill black-purple-green, iridescent. Goosebumps rise as stray raindrops fall to the ground from the broken-open ceiling, her chest heaving with breaths she can’t contain. But she can’t feel the cold, the wet, the absolute darkness of the night before them, because onscreen, Leon Wiley is being burned alive. 

Jessica’s hands reach for her brother before he enfolds her in his embrace, letting her bury her face in his chest. Muffles her strangled breathing into his jacket as she feels Ravi’s arms go around her. As Kitty’s cold hand reaches for her free one. And she cries.

Famine doesn’t play games they can’t win. But the game was lost before they even set foot in this godforsaken warehouse—and as the fire blazes bright on flailing limbs on a crackling screen, Leon is gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.

------

It isn’t that she doesn’t notice the rest of the performance—this attempt at a statement that is overshadowed by the shock factor, horrifying and harrowing in equal measure. There is a face she thought she’d never see again; another that shocks her as the question Where’s your high ground now? runs through her mind. But there are more members of Death than Jack Tanner and May Nguyễn, and her gaze catches on skull after skull; black, lots of it; the flash of emeralds in the harsh light. The man who calls himself Uriel, dark-haired and arrogant, at the center of it all, a pretender to a throne he doesn’t deserve.

There is death at each other’s hands, fair in the world they chose, and then there’s what counts for it to this new gang: underhanded, drawn-out, tasteless. And as the television screens return to static and coffins rise from the floor, Jessica recoils at the sight of the one in the middle, and the body that would be too burnt and destroyed to identify if she were to open it. 

Jessica’s cheeks are still slick with tears as she leaves Marcus’ embrace for Ravi’s; as Kitty pulls her to her side, her grip tight as if letting go would mean letting her cousin drown. She looks at Ikki, lips drawn into a thin line; then at Rafael and her uncle, Seraphim and Horseman, unable to do anything about deaths that occurred twenty-four hours ago. Powerless. Helpless.

They prepared for a massacre. 

What they got was an execution.

------

Jessica will be a Power when she is tasked to be, but now she is a Femenias. She doesn’t step towards the coffin when Famine’s Angels and Powers do, quickly wiping away trails of tears that sting where the cold hits them. Instead, she turns to scan the crowd for her friends. 

For Wren, lost in his grief. 

Astrid, who has lost the love of her life. 

The Wardens, Jessica’s heart breaking for brothers who aren’t her own.

Zach’s face, pale and drawn, blue eyes bright in the moonlight. 

Fletcher, Charlotte, and Amara, more distant than she’s ever felt them.

And Fazal, whose gaze never left the screen where Ricardo died minutes before—whose dark eyes now meet hers from where he’s standing near Michaela Pinkett, holding her gaze for one still moment, before he looks away. 

------

Earlier, Jessica told Rafael that she loved him. Earlier, she laughed the words out loud to her parents, as if smiling through her fear would make the tension in her chest go away.

But now is not the time to say I love you. Not now, with Ricardo and Leon and Juno dead, deprived of their own goodbyes. Instead, when she steps close to her uncle, she swallows the lump in her throat, looks straight ahead—chin up, eyes bright with unshed tears—and says, voice quiet yet resolute, “Dime qué hacer.” 

Tell me, Tío, what I need to do.

Death would pay.

END.

[ginnyren]

- self para 

- on the 30th of march 2021, with flashbacks from the 20th march 2021

- at the warehouse, flashbacks at the boat

“Mortem.” Uriel says it with reverence, with fervour, with bright eyes and a grin and Ginny shivers.

On the 30th of March Ginny wakes before the sun does and feels a chill right down to her bones. As she dresses, her own body is foreign to her. She feels like a spectator to her own actions, the unreliable narrator of a character doomed to an already written ending.  A dream, she thinks, a nightmare. But Ginny is wide awake.

“Sit,” Uriel says and Ginny obeys, boneless. She is frazzled and frantic. She feels errant emotion rise in her like water poured into a glass cup, overflowing. Wren, Ginny’s mind supplies. Wren is-

She had left the mask untouched on her rarely used kitchen table. Unable to bring herself to look at it for all it represented. Now- she runs a finger over the leather, flips it over and lifts it to her face.

“I know you’re upset,” Uriel says with deadly calm and Ginny is forced by his tone of voice to meet his gaze. “But this is exactly what I, we, have been trying to tell you.”

Ginny has done it before and so she does it with a kind of serenity. She did it on the bus out of Spennymoor when she was 18. She did it the first time someone was shot in front of her and she does it now as she makes her way to the factory. She fashions a scalpel in her mind and removes the roaring inside her. The emotion, the feeling, the nascent conscience of herself, she scoops it in handfuls and discards it behind her. She has no need of it anymore. She never did. It was her own fault for letting it fester so. For letting it fill her mind for the past few months.

Uriel places a file on the table between them and flips it open in front of her. Inside are photos in black and white of Wren. Wren with members of famine, Wren taking cash at fights, Wren looking close to death. Ginny’s eyes catch on that one and Uriel notices, points a finger and says, “That’s when they were poisoned doing a job for Famine.” Ginny feels sick but she can’t look away.

Ginny feels powerful as she steps out in Death’s ranks. She feels faultless and blameless and invincible as they walk in a row behind Uriel, to the murmur and boos of the crowd.

Ginny does not admit it to herself but in Wren, Ginny sees herself. Sees what could’ve been. She had been jealous of Wren in Spennymoor, who was so loved by their father. Ginny had imagined herself sitting as Wren in Wren’s kitchen eating breakfast, being tucked into bed by Wren’s father. A life that could’ve been hers had fate been kinder. But fate is never kind.

As Leon’s body is engulfed in flames Ginny cannot look and finds instead the figure of Wren, sobbing in the crowd. Their body curled in on itself, their grief a knife to Ginny’s heart. But Wren doesn’t understand. This is for their own good. Wren doesn’t understand but Ginny does now. Uriel had sat her down and explained in his rational voice and Ginny, freshly panicked by the knowledge of Wren’s involvement with Famine had listened. This was for his own good. What did it matter if Leon had been his friend. Leon was just one more body on the pile of Famine’s wreckage. One more death amongst millions. Death was only doing what it must. Speaking the only language the other gangs knew. Blood and death.

“That’s what Famine does Ginerva,” Uriel says, her full name heavy on his tongue, “they take in the broken and bleed them out for their profits. They ensnare the vulnerable and ply them for a life’s debt.” Ginny hates him for the way his words crawl into her heart. She hates him more for using that which aches against her.

War’s princess meets her end and Ginny is blissfully numb to the death she knew was coming. Ginny was a fool to ever think she could escape Death. Death was inevitable, the natural conclusion to the entropy of London. Ginny surveys the chaos beneath her and knows that to them, she is just another faceless member of the threat. Ginny melds her new identity onto herself like silver smelted to a necklace. Ginny believes now. And the part of her that flinched at Death’s methods? That hesitated at the use of bombs? That kept her awake night after night with questions of morality? Well. It was dead. 

[wrxn]

A night meant for excellence, flutes of champagne, persons of every species in one grand ballroom all with conversations coinciding.

It’s too good to be true.

The thought had entered the youngest Delore’s mind far too many times to count during the night, though he never dared to speak it. He was occupied with friends and family, with the one he accompanied to the ball, trying to give each of them more than one reason to let go and have a good time— though his own self was more hesitant than usual. The various alcoholic beverages proved to be his friends that evening, helping him glide across the dance floor with his partners, cracking jokes and speaking affectionately of fond memories all the while. The witch managed to get a dance in with just about everyone on the list before he was completely intoxicated. First and foremost was Diana, then Tatum, Bonnie, Abigail, Caitlyn, and Savannah. The witch tried his hardest to get his older brother to go along with it as well, but his efforts simply weren’t valiant enough. He’d ended up dancing with a number of familiar faces throughout the night, some of which he could not remember who they belonged to after no more than a span of a few hours.

His time with his date was more than special. It was everything he expected and more, not to say he was expecting anything outrageous. He simply wanted her to have a good time and, as one of their many conversations lay bare, for the evening to rank higher than that of senior prom. He was not wearing a hot pink suit after all, and she was most definitely not alone. Despite her spoken thoughts of them not being so different from the people they were in high school, he knew they were different. If he wouldn’t be accused of sounding like an egomaniac by the people around him, Wren would have said he was a better person. In his years after mandatory schooling ended, he learned more pain and sadness, he learned how to further control and harness his power, he learned patience and acceptance. Some of these were wanted, others not so much. He did not expect to see his favorite sister go through so much, losing more than her fair share of loved ones. He did not expect to develop a slight resentment for the eldest Delore sibling as he truly began to see how much of a threat he was to Savannah leading the coven. He certainly did not expect lose someone he held near and dear to his heart to a vicious disease, just when the situation and her fate seemed to be looking up.

Every single one of those experiences made him who he was, the young man of soaring height at the Gautier manor, making more memories with those company he enjoyed— and those he didn’t— with every passing moment. His fire had not died down, despite the constant threat of losing another, despite the sinking feeling he got every time a Valentine or Gautier stalked into the room, despite everything in his path. He was still Wren Delore, a person with too many friends to count, and someone who did not conform to other’s rules just because he was told to. Little did he know his fire would soon be blown out, leaving every last piece of him that had been shattered looking for anything good in the world.

A moment’s hesitation, one that would later be something he blamed himself for, came over him as the incantation rang throughout the large space. The familiar voice from the festival that’d left him wracking his brain for weeks, which in turn forced him to search just about every grimoire at his disposal. A moment’s hesitation, then a great tremor that left priceless belongings thrown to the ground and shattered, then fire. This was not a fire he felt drawn to, it was anything but. He felt the warmth before it appeared, as the ground shook beneath every person’s feet. His eyes searched around the room frantically, locking on friends and family members for short moments before moving onto the next, as if he knew what was about to unfold. Hazel hues were turned on the people that brought him into the world when the flames surfaced, burning them to nothing in a mere second, everyone’s were. Two of the greatest influencers on his life were gone without a word. He hadn’t even been able to meet their gazes before the raging inferno claimed their bodies to further fuel its own. Screams could be heard in every direction, each having witnessed the same thing. His rang out above the rest, angrier and more frightened. The young witch was screaming for his parents to resurface, to come striding out of the fire stronger than before, even though he knew that wasn’t possible. Another moment’s hesitation was given before searching for his siblings’ magic in the room, pulling and drawing from it to stop the fire. It could not be extinguished despite their best efforts.

Panicked bodies ran for exits, among them were hopefully some he was continually worrying about. But he had only a few moments to think, to process what had just happened as numerous others crashed into him sloppily and frantically, heading for escape from the building. He found himself running a different way, as he struggled to push through the crowds, heading for the grand staircase. Perhaps it could have given him a better vantage point, but before he was able to find out many parts of the structure began to fall. Rubble from the building quickly surrounded him. A few heavier pieces pinned him down, his limbs twisted in discomfort as he pulled and heaved, hoping to wrench himself away from what he thought could become his grave. It was only then that he called out for anyone that would help, begging and pleading with all he had. Then darkness. He’d blacked out, from the weight of the rubble or the panic in his chest, he did not know.

He woke to musty evening air, riddled with smoke from the unextinguishable fire and numerous other people awakening in their battered forms. His body ached with pain, but it was more than just physical. He’d definitely fractured or broken a bone, not knowing where. He sat up and let his eyes roam over the crowds. To his relief he saw many of those he was worried about, friends mostly. Little did he know the body of Jamie Knight lay somewhere, soulless and nearly unrecognizable from the damage that had been done to it. Someone he’d spoken to mere hours before was dead, someone that was important to too many people he knew— and that was when it clicked, something in his mind screaming for who he was searching for. His parents. The one’s that’d been claimed by the hellfire as it began to burn its endless path. His body felt like it was shutting down, because he could hardly breathe, like water or smoke was filling up his lungs as he clutched the grass beneath his fingers for support. A gut wrenching noise escaped from him as he gasped for air, tears streaming down his face. Ceaseless sobs wracked his body as the memory of his parents burning to ashes before his eyes resurfaced for the second time. For the first time in a long time, Wren could not find anything pleasant to hold onto. For all he knew his parents were most likely not the only ill fated people that night, it pushed him to the breaking point.

His fire had been blown out.

[silverfierro]

Burn Book // Self Para

He’d asked a favor of an avox, or that’s what he called it. To anyone watching it would have looked like the furious boy from One threatened the innocent avox within an inch of her life if she didn’t comply with what he wanted. Either way, she returned within the hour, several pieces of paper in hand. Silver grabbed them from her and retired to his bedroom. 

The blank wall was soon covered in the delivered paper, more visible now as photographs. Smiling faces stapled to a determined boy’s wall. A collage of judgement. He’d taken a red pen to each of them, writing down his initial thoughts about each and every other all-star brought back to this life. He needed to understand them all if he was to conquer over them. Killing them wouldn’t be as easy as it had been to stab his knife through the top of Zea May’s head. 

Nikita Thorn Potential threat. Her eyes were the color of desperate and that makes her fucking dangerous.

Gauge Spoke Does he? I haven’t heard him say a fucking word. 

Sloane Cruise The not-funny hottie without a body. Maybe I’ll laugh when she accidentally jumps off the podium too soon.

Bellona Arbore A real victor killed by fucking rebels. Worth allying with.

Lionel Ashford Another real victor, apparently. Note: Watch the 23rd Games again.

Franklin Herringbone and Margot Flint Venice would’ve lost his shit watching these two trying not to bang in the temple ruins. Non-threats, survived on luck alone.

There were lines drawn between many of the tributes, some based on the alliances Silver thought he saw forming during training, others for grouping purposes. The more recent tributes were clustered together just like the oldest ones were. 

Fransisco Vargas Threat. Dangerous as a heart attack.

Agatha Moreau  World class bitch, avoid or kill. Doesn’t give blowjobs. 

Apple Ferris Not fucking hungry, not a fucking threat. 

Artemis Luxe Too nice, which is probably why she lost the first time. Still a threat.

Wren Stillmen Potential ally. An unhinged shield. She wants to reunite with her sibling, but I sure fucking don’t. 

Lucius Shellac  Top threat, potential ally. One of the Games’ best.

Amphora Helia One of the coolest deaths ever. Unless with Lucius, not a threat.

Seraphina McCabe Already milked her for what she’s worth. Not a threat. 

Jeanine Twill Something about her bothers me and I don’t know what it is. Threat.

Perl Foster Old lady. Absolutely not a threat. 

He moved to the collection of faces he didn’t, or couldn’t recognize. Faces of tributes who had come after him. Aside from watching their tapes, Silver could do little to be as prepared for them as he could be for the tributes that came before. Their Games he had watched dozens of times, enough to remember bits and pieces about them. For all the rest, he knew nothing. It frightened him a bit, but he dismissed the foreign feeling before it had a chance to get comfortable. 

Diana Hermes Haven’t heard of her, bad haircut. Not a threat.

Everett Lance Potential threat, high-ranking career. Fucked up the kid from Nine like I did.

Isabela Leon Top of the leaderboard, threat. Wish she’d get on top of me.

Thomas Tankagine Kid who asks too many damn questions. Is he a threat? Fuck no.

Marino Byssus  Lower district trash who probably just got lucky. Not a threat.

Amanda Benz  Unwanted child of victors. Her shame should kill her on the spot. Not a threat.

Mako Dunes You’re telling me the all-star from Four drowned? What a shitshow. Not a threat.

It put his soul, or whoever’s soul he had, at ease to see that most of the wall was filled with tributes he could defeat. Perhaps not so easily, but he could. Not a one of them would be as calculated, posed, or meticulous as him when they entered the arena in three days time. He knew everything about each and every one of them, and the stuff he didn’t know would come eventually. The only thing they’d know about him would be how the fire glowed in his eyes before he sent them packing for the world they all feared to return to. 

[swamplatibule]

Paramay Prompt Three! Para+Childhood

I HAVE BEEN WRITING THIS FOR FOUR MOTHERFUCKING DAYS NOW AND I HAVE NO REGRETS :DDDD

this has not been proofread it is 10 at night, I am exhausted, please accept my humble offerings

Damn, only prompt three and I’m already forced to reveal everyone’s tragic backstory oh well lol

Trigger warnings: Abuse, arson, su•c•de, death, homophobia, murder, gun mention

tw; death mention

Alright alright alright let’s fuckin goooo we’ll start off with Hollister, her childhood is no doubt the easiest to write since it’s basically been the same her whole life.

She never met her parents. She doesn’t know if they’re dead, or if they just decided they didn’t want a kid, or if something else happened, and she doesn‘t care. It’s not her problem. At least, she tells herself that, but she really isn’t 100% sure that it wasn’t somehow her fault. Poor baby.

She‘s completely grown up in the foster care system, bouncing from home to home. Hollister kept running away, getting caught, and being sent somewhere else. She’s also, guess what, a fucking genius with technology.

One time she tried running away and then erasing herself from the system. It didn’t work, but nobody realized that she’s tried to do it, so it’s fine, nothing went wrong.

A few weeks into her newest home, one of the other foster kids named Silas (who she’d been fast friends with) went missing days after developing a weird anti-gravitational power. And so she tried to find him. She stumbled across the Starwritten Society - when I say “stumbled across” I mean she followed a few very questionable leads on, like, conspiracy theory websites and shit and actually found something - and hacked into the archives, trying to find some sort of info.

Now, you can imagine the panic that caused in the Society. Complete lockdown. The Starwritten Society is top-secret, and nobody just hacks into the archives that easily. She didn’t actually find anything, one because she didn’t get time to look around before the security system actually started working and kicked her out, and two because Silas just wasn’t in the records anyway, meaning he’d disappeared some other way.

However, before she could go out looking for him, there were three agents knocking at the door, having tracked her location here. And you can imagine the looks on their faces when they saw that the person who had caused the mass panic that morning was none other than some kid with a computer that looked home-made.

Things happened, she asked to join because, y’know, fuck yeah secret society, paperwork was filed, and she got in. She’s currently the youngest trainee to join the Society in seventy-four years. Also, fun fact, they had to fill out the adoption papers and such, so she’s listed as the child of Director Iara Adams. Which isn’t that big of a deal, since literally every kid in need of adoption taken in by the Society is adopted under her name, and most have only interacted with her like once, but... it’s a cool world building detail I felt like I needed to add.

Anyways, ONWARD!!!

——————————————

tw; homophobia

Kennedy was born in a pretty influential family with very “traditional” values. They kinda suck, so we won’t get too into that shithole.

Each generation of that family has had like six kids, and every single time, one turns out to be lgbtq+ and gets ✨disowned✨because the parents are just kinda assholes. It’s just this never-ending cycle.

Suffice it to say, Kennedy - being a flaming bisexual and all that - got disowned when she was like twelve after one of her siblings outed her by accident. Her uncle took her in. Guess what? He had also been disowned! When he was fifteen!

And he also went on to become a very important person in the Starwritten Society, and when he discovered Kennedy’s complete genius with technology, he recommended her to become a trainee at 17 years old.

To be honest, Kennedy’s basically gotten the short end of the stick when it comes to characterization and fleshing-out. I have quite a few paras like that, sadly. I think I might make her a playlist sometime and let her be the main character for a while.

——————————————

tw: abuse, arson, su•c•de, murder, gun mention

Fox. Oh boy. Fox grew up in a very... tense household. His father started out pretty okay when he was a younger kid, but he slowly started getting more and more violent and controlling, to both Fox, his twin sister, and his mother.

Fox always had a very close relationship with his sister, Wren. You know that siblings meme? The “You are my sister, you are my brother, we are siblings and we care for each other,”? The were the living definition of that. They managed to keep a definite sense of humor and lightheartedness with each other, despite everything that had been going on.

They weren’t fine, but they had each other.

And then Wren went missing. There was a huge police search, but they didn’t find anything. Fox was fourteen at the time. That experience basically broke him, and he never saw Wren again.

A month later, he was coming home from school, got off the bus, and found the house in smoking ruins. His mother hadn’t been able to take his father’s abuse anymore, and she couldn’t see any way out. So she set the house on fire, killing both herself and her husband.

Fox, who was a mental wreck at this point, as almost anyone would be, was placed into the foster care system. He never stayed anywhere for longer than a week. His humor became a shield for him, an easy way to seem like he was fine when he wasn’t. After about a year, he ran away. And then joined the circus. Why, you ask? Because I said so; I grow these flowers and if you don’t like it then you can leave my garden

Fox was always a flexible kid. He’d been in gymnastics classes since he was five. And, as it would turn out, he was damn good on a trapeze. It wasn’t a very big circus, just some small family-run traveling one, but it gave him a place to stay and an environment that welcomed him, and that was good enough for him.

He was with the circus for about four years, up until he was eighteen, so technically this isn’t his childhood anymore, but I’m gonna keep going because I want to.

The Starwritten Society was following a lead on an underground lab somewhere around the place where Fox’s circus was performing. Kennedy was actually on the mission, although she doesn’t do many of those anymore after she got injured in the field and such and I’ll talk about that later. Anyway.

The team of agents who were on the search came across the circus, and figured it was as good of a place as any to try and find the person they were looking for, Eleanor Sylvidas. She was actually in the crowd watching, and there was a confrontation after the show. Fox went to check it out, being the one generally in charge of telling people to cool it whenever small fights broke out between customers, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do in a situation where both parties happen to have guns pointed at each other. Especially when Eleanor pointed her gun at his head and told the agents that if they didn’t back down, she’d shoot him.

That wasn’t exactly something that happened to him on a day-to-day basis.

Of course, a fight broke out. Actually, Fox made the first move, he literally tried to snatch this woman’s gun out of her hand. It didn’t work, but the shot she took at him definitely missed, and then there was a very chaotic fight scene and Eleanor ended up losing and got arrested. Course, they still had to find the lab so they could get the kids out of there. Fox was very helpful in that aspect, too.

Once the mission had been completed, he was offered a place as a trainee in the Society. Those who were there will say that the offer was accepted immediately, but he was actually a bit reluctant. He made the choice to go, however, and it proved to be one of the best decisions he’s made.

——————————————

tw; abuse, violence, gun mention

Wilson. Where do I start? He has trauma, definitely, although so does practically everyone who works with the Starwritten Society.

See, Wilson is actually one of the people who were rescued from labs as children, but there are two things that sets him apart from others.

1. He wasn’t kidnapped at birth or after he developed abilities. He was literally created in a lab, which has led to a lot of self-doubt due to being raised to believe he wasn’t “natural”.

2. The Society aims to rescue all powered children from labs as soon as possible, and since many of them are kidnapped at a young age, they try to get them out at least before they turn 10. Wilson wasn’t found until he was a bit older than 17.

He wasn’t even given a name while he was in the lab. He was just “Project Firebird”, with abilities including fire and heat manipulation, as well as immunity to those two things, plus flight and enhanced strength, speed, and stamina. Wilson was made for the sole purpose of being a weapon.

The person running the lab? An absolute fucker of a man named Alastor Killigan. Him? I cannot put into words how much I hate him. He just really fucking sucks, and not in a “loveable bastard“ way. I honestly wish I could physically teleport into my daydreams just to set this bitch on fire.

Anyway, he’s running this whole operation. He’s got guards, he’s got other scientists who he may or may not have blackmailed into helping him, he’s got people who work for him. And this isn’t the first time he’s done this. That’s right, Grey isn’t the first time he’s tried to weaponize a kid. He got caught by the Society last time, but escaped, and now he knows that he has to keep moving around constantly.

So the first 17 years of Grey’s life were just constant training and experiments and tests and moving around and being raised to believe that he was a literal monster and wasn’t worth anything if he wasn’t a weapon. Fucked up, right? But, see, the Society had no idea he existed. They found the lab kids through keeping tabs on recent kidnappings and disappearances. Grey wasn’t on any of those lists. The only people aware of Grey’s existence were Alastor and the people working for him.

In fact, the Society only found him by chance. They managed to track Alastor’s location and find him to arrest him, and they found Grey while they were doing that. There was a huge fight, but Alastor lost, and Grey got rescued. Things were looking up.

Because the Society legally adopts all the orphaned kids they take in, Grey needed a name. He also just needed a name in general. The lady filling out the papers told him he could just pick something, and he panicked. He wasn’t used to being allowed to make his own decisions. There was a plaque on the wall with a list of people who’d been top agents in the past, and he just read one of those.

Grey Wilson.

So, y’know, that‘s why it says he was a top agent in 1937. Just a heads up.

Have I talked about the Society’s different departments yet? No? Maybe I’ll do that later, but anyway - one of the divisions is basically therapy, because some of these kiddos have severe trauma and need help. Grey worked with a woman named Mags for a few years, and then started training for the High-Risk Rescue department. He was taking charge of his own future! Yayyyy!

Oh yeah and then Alastor escaped - again, and Mags went missing on the same day and it was presumed Alastor killed her on his way out, and Grey hasn’t seen either of them since. He’s been working in the Society for about 22 years now, trying to make sure that nobody goes through what he has. He decided early on that he didn’t want to use his abilities again, ever, and it’s become his personal secret, with very few people knowing.

[dimarunongmagdecidee]

-----------------wakas---------------

Naalala ko pa yung time na inaayos ko yung blog ko. Sabi ko, hala gusto ko pag nagcollege ako magiging diary ko yung tumblr. So that may il-look back ako pagdating ng araw. Pero guess what? Sabi ng college life sakin "bitch u thot" hahhahaa i never imagined my college life to be this stressful and dreadful. To be honest, di ko alam pinasok ko. Lalo na nag accountancy HAHAHAHHA AS IN NO CLUE AT ALL. Pero anyways I'm writing this post to express my story in summary, sa caption ko kasi I decided to thank the people around me kasi deserve naman nila. Pero dito sa blog ko feel ko deserve ko naman iappreciate sarili ko. HHAAHHAHA.

Gusto ko lang sabihin na adjusting nung first year isn't so easy. Lalo na first time ko sa manila. Tho oo I'm a city girl, di ako galing sa province. Pero kasi di ako street smart so everyday ng byahe ko before pamanila i was very anxious na baka maligaw ako or may masamang loob sa sinasakyan ako or baka kung ano mangyare sakin along the way. Pero yung determination ko na gusto ko to. Dream school ko ust. Kakayanin ko. Kasi honestly di nila support na mag UST ako, aside from we're facing financial problems back then di rin nila ko kaya asikasuhin that time so I have to do all things by myself. Grabe ngayon, I'm super proud to that 16 year old wren. Nakakaiyak. Totoo ngang u need to get out of your comfort zone. Kelangan mong mag stand up kung gusto mo talagang mangyari pangarap mo.

Those 5 years were very rough. Ang daming times na muntik nako magstop. Ang daming problema. Mostly family and money. Yep, wala naman ako problema sa acads maybe that's why ang taas ng expectations nila sakin na ako daw hope ng family. Not gonna lie, sobrang pressure non. Parang wala ako karapatan mapagod. Pero you gotta make you weaknesses you strengths. At I wanna thank God for giving me a stubborn and tough mentality kahit anong dumaang problema sakin. Oo, nalulungkot pero lalaban parin.

I think it was my 2nd year nung naka adopt nako kahit papaano and I enjoyed my college life. Seryoso kasi parang wala akong buhay non nung 1st year. UST-Bahay-UST-Bahay lang talaga ako. No social life at all. Di ko alam siguro dahil time if of essence sakin dahil 4 years ba naman akong commute life. And mostly average of 5 hrs a day byahe ko (back and forth na syempre) pero ayun kinaya naman. GRABE UR A TOUGH GHORL. Pero don't get me wrong di nmaan ako puro aral pag uwi hahahaha nagppaahinga lang ako mostly sa bahay since nakakadrain talaga. I don't know sanay naman ako sa very focused sa acads na school since galing naman akong science high pero iba parin yung patayan dito sa AMV eh. Anyways, second year I started going out with blockies. Going to debuts, staying overnights, and inom na rin syempre :p di naman ako nagpabaya more like enjoying new things syempre uwi parin ako Alabang kaya kelangan may control HAHHAHAHA.

Third year, we shuffled sections because our program have to filter the students kung sino ang BSA at sino ang BSMA and luckily I am still accepted sa BSA iniyakan ko din retention exams kasi I was supposed to be exempted and matic BSA na pero bumaba GWA ko so :-( hahahahha anyways ayun nashuffle and I was super scaree that time kasi ibang mga tao nanaman. As you all know, super mahiyain ako sa mga new people unless sila un amag approach. So ayun another adjusting, another barkada. Solid din naman sila but things happened inside the circle kaya nawala din :( GRABE I CAN STILL REMEMBER THE CONFLICTS FRESH PARIN SA UTAK KO. Tho good terms naman proud ako gagraduate na kami, di lahat pero at least we survived.

Fourth year, I decided to join an org mostly because dun ko nalang makakasama mga OG tropa ko eince BSMA sila lahat at ako lang naiwan sa BSA so nag org ako and naging officer para magkakasama aprin kami kahit papaano. I was the Auditor of our college' local COMELEC. DI KO RIN SURE ANO PINASOK KO THAT TIME. Pero I end up loving the family and the responsibility. Oo, dagdag stress like LEGIT DAGDAG STRESS. Pero iba naman yung balik ng saya whenever you accomplish things and you serve the students lalo na't vital sa bansa natin ngayon yang COMELEC politics stuff. Grabe the joy of looking back sa things na dati akala mo wala lang. Ngayon narerealize mo yung impact niya sa life mo. Kung pano ka nagbago at naggrow. I am amazed self huhu PROUD AKO TALAGA SAYO SERYOSO. SORRY NA. Then ayun di ko pa ba nasabi 5 year course ako. So yung mga tropa kong MA, graduating na by this time. 4th year was when I became a social person kasi syemrpe joining an org tas officer ka pa dami makakasalamuha at makikilala. So ayun, diba nga nawala tropa ko from 3rd year that time, I can still remember how I always go to the classroom ng mga friends kong BSMA every break or every walang klase or kapag sila naman yung may klase nakatambay lang ako sa org room para matulog or magwait or magpalipas oras. Ghad those times I really felt alone, aside sa naiisip kong ggraduate na sila lahat tas ako maiiwan, nasasad ako kasi feel ko wala na talagang constant sa life ko lahat nawawala. Tapos dagdag mo pa na nung 2nd sem nalipat nanaman ako ng section shuta. Buti nalang. Buti nalang talaga super kind din ng mga tao sa napuntahan kong section. And I found my "Betsy" there. Oh diba sino bang mag aakala. Hahahahhaha anyways 4th year ako nagstart makistay sa condo ng friend ko since super hectic ng sched and di na talaga kaya ng uwian dahil yung sched ko panggabi tas may org duties pa. I stayed sa condo ng friend ko pero andon naman mom niya so may nag aasikaso samin. Grabe tita Beth super love ko siya. Sometimes I just stare at her and realize na at least may mother figure pa ako na kasama. If u dont know kasi (or if anyone is even reading up to this point) my mom left our family before ako nagcollege. Siguro gets niyo na why we had so many problems by now hahahahhaa. Anyways goods naman kami ni mommy siya parin tumulong sakin para makapagtapos hehe. Super thankful parin ako sa kanya syempre and ofc i love her still. Anyways ayon nga i felt another family kapag andon ako sa condo na yon which makes me warm and easy kapag andon ako. Super swerte ko talaga sa mga tao sa life ko. Bakit ganon? Super bait mo po G 🥺 shet naalala ko 4th year if thesis season pala. I can still remember the stress. Imagine may thesis ka, officer ka ng org, tapos sabay sabay pa lahat ng major exams grabe yun ata yung first time ko mag breakdown ng dahil sa acads. Seryoso, thats the nearest I was to breaking. Super hirap talaga for me lalo na di ata naiintindihan ng groupmates ko sa thesis na di ko makakayang 100% attentions ko sa thesis because I have other responsibilities. May nasira pang friendship seryoso. I never thought aabot sa point na ganon pero ewan baka ako rin yung mali don. I'm sorry guys!!! Pero congrats satin!! Proud ako sa inyooooo!!!

Fast forward, last year of my college life is IAC sem. Meaning parang rerun ng topic or review nalang for board exam. This time nagpaalam nako magdorm kasi shet last na to if I fail this one sayang naman yung mga taon. Kasi a lot of alumni told na kung madugo na undergrad, mas madugo IAC so I was determined to do better. And thankfully naman pinayagan nako magdorm since nakaluwag naman na and last na. I was so happy that time na magddorm ako shet finally. I wanted to feel independent or learn at least. Pero mostly dahil makakapagwalwal nako ng wlaang nakakaalam HAHHAHAHA char ofc part yun pero that's not the focus. Ayon, nung nagdorm ako I had the MOST SOLID FAM. Since nga diba wala nanaman ako tropa na makakasmaa kasi graduate na ofc so another adjustment nanaman sa life jusko every year nalang talaga. I dont know if sinasabi ko lang to because I am in the present and sila kasama ko now or its just i really feel the genuine love of this squad huhu. Or maybe dahil sila talaga yung nakasama ko through the darkest days sa AMV magkakasama kaming ginago ng sistema, ng admin, ng mundo and sabay sabay din kaming ggraduate ngayon. GRABEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TANGINAAAA NAKAKAIYAK NAKAKAPROUD. LAHAT NG INUMAN, IYAKAN, PUYAT LAHAT YON MA LAHAT YON NAGPAY OFF. LAHAT YUN MAY REASON. LAHAT YUN DINALA TAYO DITO. Ang daming beses na nagdoubt kami if we could pero look at all of us now huhu lahat kami kinaya. As long as u got each others' backs talaga. Don't let anyone break.

Ayun to sum it up, narealize ko lang na I really value friendship a lot. Feel ko talaga they keep me going. They keep me sane. Super dali ko maimpluwensyahan pag kasmaa sila. They are both my joy and hope kapag stressedt huhu. Thank u self for choosing this path. Thank u for being strong. Thank you for believeing you can. Thank u kasi matigas ulo mo wala ka pake at nag aral ka lang AHAHAHAHA. NO MATTER WHAT LIFE THROWS AT YOU, LOOK AT THIS FEAT AND REMEMBER HOW STRONG U ARE OKI? I LOVE U WREN WREN CONGRATS TO YOUR ACHIEVEMENT!!! Can't wait to finally walk to that QPAV stage with my gradpic on the LCD and getting my diploma 😭😢

ALL THOSE 5 YEARS WAS LIKE A BLUR RIGHT NOW PERO I KNOW THE JOURNEY WASN'T EASY, IT NEVER IS. I HAD MY MOMENTS. PERO SALAMAT SA PAG OVERCOME LAGI. BE HAPPY WREN WREN. YOU DESERVE.

[abdicatedarchive]

Letters to Chanel || Wren

Wren and Chanel’s agreed upon penpalship of letters that were never sent. See Chanel’s letters here (X)

January 2014

To Chanel,

Hey, I know the letter writing thing I suggested was a little weird, but I haven’t heard from you yet so I guess I can write first! I hope you’ve gone over to see Nana, she calls ALL THE TIME!! You should call sometime, even though we’re doing the pen pal thing. The kids at my new school are kinda mean just like at White Lake, but I think that I made my first friend! I also have to walk to school everyday, so I’m thinking about pulling out the roller blades and making my walk shorter, made me think of you! I miss my roller skating buddy. :( Tell me when you can come out here, did your mom say yes? 

Miss You THIS MUCH, Your Laurie

June 2014

Dear Chanel,

Sorry I wasn’t able to come, I got into this debate camp thing, and I get to wear suits and stuff. I think I’m going to see about running for school secretary this year on student council. Only problem is that my knees hurt like crazy because I keep growing so fast. I keep growing out of my suits! I might even be taller than you. Enough about me though, tell me all about you. I can’t wait till Rory gets back and gives me the full update. Maybe we should skype? We could both hit play on snowdogs at the same time and it could be fun! Are you still skating? You should come out here and we could go surfing or something? I have friends! Like a group, it’s crazy. We go to movies and eat snacks and hangout all the time. I wish you were here though, because they would love you. I talk about you all the time. 

I’ll come home soon, I promise. Your Laurie :)

December 2016

To Chanel,

Hey, I keep writing these letters and not sending them because I never get any mail from you. I’m going to be in White Lake for Christmas but only for like a day and Nana has me all booked up, but I think we can make some time to watch snow dogs? It’ll be too icy for roller skates. I just want to see you, you won’t even recognize me I should tower over you!!! How weird is that??? I cannot wait to see you, even if it’s only for a few minutes. I miss my best friend. 

Yours, Lawrence

November 2018

To Chanel Hampton,

I know we didn’t end up doing this letter writing thing, but I looked you up the other day on instagram and almost sent you a DM about starting it up. I felt like a total creep though. Puberty hit us both with a sledgehammer haha.  I promise I’m not. You look really good. I made Varsity on basketball for this winter which is crazy for a freshman. I’m also doing swimming and lacrosse now. I’m kind of an athlete? Who would have thought your Laurie would be an athlete??? Not me, that’s for sure. I’ve been working out like a lot, you are not going to recognize me when I get to town. Remember when I had a huge crush on you and acted like a total dweeb? I might even bring my girlfriend. You’d really like her. She reminds me of you sometimes.

Yours.

June 2018

Dear Chanel,

I know I was supposed to come home again, but I’m actually writing you from my ED rehab. We’re supposed to write letters to ourselves here. To tell ourselves that we love ourselves. To write to future us when we feel like we’re getting worse again. But when I write letters they always go to you, so I’m just going to do that instead. I know you were expecting me this summer more than any other summer ... if you still care. I don’t think I need to be at this clinic, I was coming home to you. I look great, I feel great. They’re making me eat so much here. I just don’t think this is all necessary, Nana cried when she found out I wasn’t coming home. She says she checks on you. I check on you online like a lot. Like all the time. I feel like a total creep writing this out but I already know I’m not sending this letter. I wanted to come home this summer to White Lake and take you on a date. I know this sounds awful coming from a guy stuck in an ED rehab, but I promise you I’m not supposed to be here. People are just upset because I passed out one time at practice. I don’t get what they’re talking about. Anyways, I’m kind of easily distracted right now. But I had been working out so hard because I was excited about going to White Lake and seeing you. I have a lot of nervous energy about it. I think that you’re like, the girl. I know we were best friends when we were little, but I can’t get you off my mind. I wanted to come and see you so bad. I know guys probably talk to you like this all the time, but you’re like the only girl I think about it. The girls here aren’t like you. They aren’t funny and smart as well as beautiful. You are so beautiful. I like when you post videos on your story of you laughing with friends. Do you have nice friends? Do you have a boyfriend? I need to stop writing because one of the nurses is staring at me because I’m smiling because I’m thinking of you and it’s supposed to be a sad reflection activity. But I have this dream where I get to walk around White Lake holding your hand and it just makes me want to get out of here. I promise I’ll be home next summer, I owe you a date. 

Yours again, Laurie. 

[oflightfeet]

grief cannot feed you; though it fills you. // a self para.

Featuring: Thomas Rivers. Mentions: Kitty Mallick, Xander Lightfoot. Timestamp: February 5th, 2021.

When Wren is eleven years old they come home to a dead body in the kitchen. Childlike brain is unable to comprehend the reality they are faced with — the fact that they left for school with a breathing father and are now looking at a dead one —  and so they tell him about their day, as they always do when they come home from school. He does not make them a cup of tea as he often does, though. Wren talks of gym class and Jim had laughed so hard that juice had spouted from his nose and about the book they were reading in class.

After a while, their fingers decide to reach out. They press against the soft flesh of their father’s strong upper arm and find it to be cold and stiff. Fingers reach to chest, neck, face, and they find the same thing over and over again. Nothing.

When they arrive under that bridge, when they crash on the ground and their fingers flutter to touch arm, chest, neck, face —

Suddenly, their child-sized fists pound on the chest of their plaid-clad father, begging the return of a heartbeat where there is none.

— and they don’t find cold, hard flesh like they had fourteen years ago, Wren lets out a deep, guttural cry. What they find in stead is blood, sticky and warm, pooling below Thomas’ body. It sticks to their knees, to their hands, and Wren’s panicked state grows tenfold, because how much blood can a person lose before there’s no hope left? Pressure, Kitty had said, pressure pressure pressure. They search for the source of the bleeding —

Kitchen tiles underneath their knees, suddenly, and the flesh under their fingertips is cold and stiff and their father is dead, their father is dead, their father is dead.

— and unwind their scarf and press down and they think they’re saying something but they’re not sure what the words are. Begs, cries, prayers. I can’t lose you too, they say, or think at the very least, and the fear is like a cold fist around their heart. Squeezing. What there is to do now is wait, wait for Kitty to come. They consider pulling out their phone and calling an ambulance in stead —

A cop bends down and asks if they have any family they can contact and Wren shakes their eleven year old head but says nothing, nothing at all.

— because the fear of losing Thomas is suddenly all there is, an overwhelming and incapacitating sensation that threatens to overtake Wren. But they keep pressing, focus on the flowing of blood they’re trying to staunch, try not to look at Thomas’ face —

Their father in his casket, as if he is asleep, and them not saying one word the entire day of the funeral. 

— and the lack of anything on it. Is he paler? Is he dying? Wren presses down. Grief is a familiar friend they have no intention of meeting it again, they have no intention of falling down that silent loneliness again, that feeling of being completely drained, hollow and frozen. And Wren knows that they are speaking this time when they say, “I can’t lose you too,” and that it’s not just a very loud thought, because they’re certain they can hear it echoing from the bridge’s walls. 

[burr-sting]

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.