#instead of dying in a tragic accident to be mourned by family she dies in a witch's labyrinth and is forgotten by the world

[wyfy-meltdown]

The fact that Mami is only 15 screws me up a little. She's barely older than Madoka and the rest of the girls and yet she forces herself into the "mature responsible caretaker" role. I get that magical girls don't live long, but I expected the 16-18 age range for her.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Let's talk about the insane idea promoted by the hero society that self-sacrificing and sadness is better than hurting others and feeling rage. Or in other words, how dying for other and repressing your feelings even if they destroy you is better than becoming violent and letting your rage affect the course of the daily basis.

For the hero society, submissive individuals were better. Depressed as in being unable to act was better. Passive behavior was better. It's easier to feel pity and hold some mourning for the victims before moving on as if nothing happened.

Take Deku. If he had died by suicide only a few would care. He was an unimportant quirkless kid with no real potential to be a hero. Or if he had died saving Bakugo he would have become a martyr, a quirkless kid who got to be a hero for a day before tragically dying. The end.

That is why Aizawa is mad with All Might when he sees Deku. He could have died in the UA entrance test, it was impressive but what about Deku's life. That's also what Recovery Girl told All Might in the UA Sport Festival. That's what Deku needed to learn when he started using kicks instead of punches. Self-sacrificing shouldn't be idolized by the hero society. Ultimately, it is murder in the hands of the authorities who enforce such idea.

Take the League of Villains.

Ugly victims don't get help.

⠀

Ask Tenko. Walking alone on a busy street, with blood on his hands and eyes totally lost. No one helped him. He was not a cute kid crying like Eri, he was monstrous like. His accident was not one caused by a victim. It was the abuse of his father and tje unfortunate awakening of his quirk that ended with him murdering his entire family.

If he had stayed sitting silently, unable to weep or talk or cry, he would have died and no one would have known. Society would be happy because there's no Shigaraki Tomura, right?

Touya died on a forest fire and life moved on. His dad became even more abusive and reached the number one spot on the hero charts. Like the past never happened.

Toga's neglected childhood pushed her to the point she exploded and drank the blood of someone, but because she was already a monster like looking child, she wad regarded as a danger and his parents erased her presence from their house. If she had died on the streets or gotten captured, people would just think "good, one less psycho, we can keep going with our days".

Visually, it's easier to sympathize with a crying victim full of sadness and wounds. Some animal instinct of who knows. I don't. BUT it's way harder to sympathize with someone who shows their hurt by being very disruptive, loud, angry, violent. Especially if they can't cry, singe people equals crying to regret or pain. If someone is unable to cry, there must be something wrong with them.

⠀

The League of Villains goal in the narrative at the beginning of bnha is less Stain-like (there are a few bad apples in the basket we need to purge and everything will be good again) and more of Shigaraki's own ideology: society is rotten to the bone, even the greatest of heroes is corrupted and the cycle of violence is being used by the hero society as an excuse to control the public.

Funny. It was not a lie. With Lady Nagant's story and even with Hawk's we were witnesses of how the hero society was indeed rotten. And we saw a few paragraphs above why All Might was part of the corruption, if with good intentions, but still an important part of it.

There are two main responses to trauma in bnha. The hero society prefers the one that doesn't make them look bad.

⠀

So, what's the kick?

What happened with the League of Villains would have happened eventually with any other group of individuals. It was a natural reaction to a failed system, one AFO took advantage of in order to further his plans.

There was the Meta Liberation Army, where many or his members were pro-heroes btw. There was the situation with Overhaul and the whole issue with the quirk repressing drug. You had Aoyama, the hospital full of kids Touya woke up to, etc.

In order for a change to happen, a reactive factor was needed. Individuals who were not afraid to threat the commodities of the population, their peace of mind, people willing to ne disturbing and people able to shake the hero society foundations. It's not coincidence that those individuals were the same victims who, after being passive for so long, decided peace was not an option.

Am I justifying the actions of the League and blaming everything on the heroes ? No, I'm not.

Killing is killing. Murder is murder. We're not going machiavelli on here and saying they had no other choice (both heroes and villains).

What I'm saying is that both sides were equally right and wrong. Many heroes and villains got used by bigger players in the game. Ultimately the fight started being between the institutions of power around the world and AFO. In Japan, it was the Hero Commission.

Like in any other war, many heroes and villains killed each other thinking it was the right thing to do in order to help society reach higher ground, get better, heal, be safe, whatever. Brainwashed for sure, loyal to a cause that's not loyal to them.

⠀

The kick is in balance.

You can't take the blame of other actions and punish yourself for it. You can't make others responsible of your own actions either. You shouldn't be putting your life above others and you shouldn't be putting their lives below you.

Learning to separate the responsibilities, to notice the shades in which anger and sadness mix, to be able to say "we all matter equally" and know it means a victim can be an abuser too and deserves help as much as they should be hold accountable for. These are the struggles of bnha.

Good communication to avoid mindless violence.

There's where Deku and Tomura meet, in the middle of those lines. There's where Shoto and Dabi meet, where Toga and Ochako meet.

The Messiahs vs The Judas, assigned a role to play by society, either die or be killed tragically. The moment they can shed of those roles and see each other as human beings, that's the moment things will start changing for good.

[glittergradient]

some thoughts on the bury your gays trope, supernatural/the 100 vs. the haunting of bly manor

I saw this tweet and, in light of the whole Supernatural fiasco and subsequent social media uproar, I feel like sharing some thoughts.

Firstly, I want to say I agree with this post. I don’t believe that all queer characters have to have perfect happy endings all the time; not all queer character deaths fall in the 'bury your gays' trope regardless of context. I believe, in fact, that context makes all the difference between a satisfying ending and a harmful one. I can't say I am a big fan of tragic stories (personal preference), however I am capable of appreciating the tragic element when it's done in a way that feels meaningful and true to the story, when the tragedy adds something to the narrative instead of taking away from it.

And this is exactly where I believe The Haunting of Bly Manor succeeded, while Supernatural and The 100 failed. (more below the cut)

While I agree with the op’s original point, they then go on to talk about Lexa's death in The 100 and how, in their opinion, Lexa sacrificing herself to save Clarke in the City of Light was the most poignant way her story could have ended. And I understand where they’re coming from, but the thing is, that's not how Lexa actually died. By the time that happened, she was already dead, only her consciousness was still alive in the Flame. Lexa died because of a flying bullet that wasn't even meant for her, not during a fight, not as a sacrifice, but because of an accident. She was arguably one of the most compelling characters in the show, the surface of her potential had barely been scratched, and yet she was killed off to deliver some cheap shock twist at the end of an episode. The context also matters. Lexa’s death happened right after she and Clarke were finally able to act on their feelings for each other; right when their story seemed to be starting, abruptly and pointlessly it ended.

There is a difference, a striking difference, between Lexa's death and Dani's death in The Haunting of Bly Manor.

Dani, also a lesbian character in love with another woman, dying at the end of her story, after several years of happiness and commitment, as the culmination of a beautifully told tragic tale of love, loss, memory, trauma and sacrifice, is NOT the same as Lexa dying because of a flying bullet in a rushed and dismissive cheap plot twist.

As for Supernatural, I found Castiel's death to be executed more tastefully than Lexa’s. His death is not the issue per se, in my opinion. If it existed in a vacuum, it could be accepted as an emotionally fulfilling ending, as the poignant culmination of a 12-year-long character arc, a moment of self-actualization that feels true and meaningful to his story. However, once again, context matters.

It matters, because Supernatural is a show where 'nothing ever stays dead'. Cas himself had come back from the dead multiple times. The idea that he couldn't come back the one time he died right after being canonically established as queer doesn't feel right and inevitably reeks of the 'bury your gays' trope. It matters, because Cas actually was resurrected, but he was never shown again, he was barely even mentioned or mourned in the final two episodes of the show he'd been a fundamental part of for 12 years. Even his resurrection was only implied, rather than explicitly confirmed, by a passing comment made by a guest star, minimizing the importance of the revelation itself. If you got distracted for about 5 seconds while watching the finale, you might have missed the fact that one of the most important characters had been resurrected (off screen).

Castiel didn't just die, he was erased. He was canonically established as queer and then, at once, erased from the narrative. Of all the times he died, this was the only one where his best friends, his family, weren't even allowed to show emotion and sorrow over his demise. The long-overdue highly emotional love confession he delivered in his final moments to his best friend of over a decade remained unanswered and unaddressed, as if it never happened.

The Haunting of Bly Manor succeeds where The 100 and Supernatural fail, because it does justice to its characters, to their story and to their love. Dani's death does not fall under the 'bury your gays' trope because her final sacrifice actually enriches the narrative of what is, at its core, a tragic romance. It's sad, it's heartbreaking, but as a viewer, you don't come out of the experience feeling like the characters you've come to care about were done wrong, like they were wrongfully erased from a narrative that refused to accommodate them. Dani's death doesn't represent the end of her and Jamie's story, but an inherently fundamental part of it, something that adds depth and nuance to an organic narrative of tragedy and romance, the two main elements the fabric of the story is made of. Unlike Lexa, Dani is not stripped of the possibility to live her truth and her love as soon as such a possibility is presented to her. Unlike Castiel, her final sacrifice doesn't erase her memory, instead sublimating it.

It is possible to write tragic endings for queer characters that still feel emotionally fulfilling in spite of their tragedy, or even because of it, endings that do not erase queer voices, but honor the complexities of their stories. But this is not what The 100 and Supernatural did: Lexa being allowed to act on her love for Clarke, finding peace in it, only to be killed moments later; and Castiel being allowed to speak his truth, finding happiness in vocalizing his love for Dean, only to be erased from the narrative right after, are not and could never be satisfying conclusions to queer narratives.

[airi-p4]

From above the stars - Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | ...

_____________________________________________________

This is my fav chapter yet. I hope you enjoy 🥺🥺🥺

Chapter summary:

Marinette keeps visiting Gabriel, but it's getting harder as she's starting to move on. At the same time, she recalls some memories of the past while Luka opens up to her about his feelings.

AO3

_____________________________________________________

CHAPTER 6

Visiting Gabriel Agreste was getting harder as the time went by. Mourning Adrien and his wife was everything Adrien's father seemed to be invested in. No more designing or new collections, his big fashion company was being now leadered by his loyal secretary, even if it was temporarily. Sometimes, they would rely on Marinette’s old designs too, noticing most of them were inspired by her late boyfriend.

Whenever Marinette was at the Agreste Mansion, they would spend most of the time either in silence or listening to Adrien's piano recordings. Sometimes, Gabriel would melancholically recall some of his family memories, from the times they were happy- the time they were alive and together. Other times, they would look at some photos, both recent and old: Adrien's first day at school (the day they first met), Adrien's photoshoots (always looking handsome), his fencing and piano competitions (which Marinette would never failed to attend) or the events the Agrestes would usually attend (recently allowing Marinette to go too after Adrien's insistence). Every single memory brought tears to Marinette's eyes. She missed him.

Every single time she cried, Gabriel would pat her back or squeeze her hand in comfort, thanking her for loving his son, which would lead to more spilled tears from her eyes.

Guilt kept growing inside of her. Her heart was gradually getting farther from her boyfriend and closer to feeling alive again. She was well aware these visits would have to end someday, no matter how Gabriel Agreste tried to keep her close. She was aware how she was being used by him in order to feel his son closer- as a way to keep him alive in his life- a mere substitute.

____________________________________

One day, at the cemetery, she couldn't focus. She left some flowers for Adrien but she soon hurried to the Couffaine's family tombstone. Luka wasn't there. 'Yet', she wished to believe. With both positive and negative thoughts going back and forth, she lost herself in darkness once again.

"You're still here?"

The sudden voice startled her, but she could finally smile and cry in relief: Luka.

Marinette jumped to hug the guitarist as soon as she turned towards him. Her sudden reaction worried him.

"Marinette? Are you ok? What happened?" He asked, holding her.

"I- I was worried… and scared…. You were late and I thought... I don't want... to lose you too..." she whined in her low voice.

"Hey, I'm here. Everything is ok. I would never stop visiting my sisters. I can't always be here, but I try to come as much as I can"

"Can I trust you? Can I believe you won't disappear like Adrien, out of the sudden, without saying goodbye to me?"

"I-” he hesitated, making Marinette’s heart sink lower. Her sad face gave him the courage to sincerize with her. “I would never voluntarily leave without saying goodbye... As long as I can, and unless anything unexpected impedes me to come, I’ll be here. I promise. You're important to me, Marinette." He reassured her. ‘ More than you could ever imagine ’ he kept to himself.

The young woman's grip became stronger, relieved for his words, and they spent some time in that position, Marinette hugging Luka and he holding her back as she cried on his chest.

“Are you free tonight? I want to show you something that may cheer you up”, Luka said, when her tears finally stopped.

“Huh? Yes… I’m free but… where are we going?” She tilted her head back to look up to Luka, her eyes still wet.

“Here. Where we are now”

“But… if we are already here why do we have to come back later?” she blinked in confusion and Luka smiled softly at her.

“You'll see” he whispered to her ear, making her blush in the process. “I have to go now, but do me this favor, Marinette. Meet me here at 10 PM. And don't forget to wear warm clothes. I'll take care of the rest"

“Ok…" she blinked twice, still red. "I'll be here"

"Good," he smiled. "See you later, Marinette"

After he lightly rubbed her back, Marinette finally broke her hold and watched him fade away in the distance. She forgot to ask him for his contact again but, at least, they had promised to meet later: a promise she believed he wouldn't break. ' What would Luka want to show me? ' she wondered when she returned home. Her heart beated faster in anticipation.

_______________________________________________

“Wow” Marinette exclaimed, holding Luka's arm close in front of his family tombstone.

“See? My antecesors chose this spot because it’s perfect to see the stars”

“It’s amazing… so bright… so pretty..."

Marinette's eyes couldn't stop staring at the night sky. It was her first time staring at the firmament properly, and she was stunned by how beautiful it was. She regretted not having properly stargazed earlier.

Pleased with the magic the reflection of the stars on Marinette's shining pupils were offering him, Luka moved his hand to hold hers, taking her by surprise. He smiled fondly at Marinette and she blushed at his touch. “There’s more. Come with me up the hill”

Luka guided her with his hand through the dark, holding a little lantern in his left hand. There was a picnic mat with a pair of blankets, a backpack and a pair of thermos. But that wasn't what Marinette's attention focused on: a wide beautiful starry sky appeared in front of them, nothing invading the majestic view. Luka gently pulled the breath-taken woman to the picnic mat, and gently signaled her to sit down.

“Wow! It’s so beautiful” she finally said, with her twinkling eyes fixated on the stars. "Do you think your sisters are up there, in the starry sky?” she moved her face to look at Luka for a moment.

“I’m sure of it." Luka answered, nostalgic. "Your boyfriend is probably there too...”

“You think so...?”

“Yes. He wasn’t a saint, but he was probably not a bad person either, when you love him that much. Lay down. You’ll get a better vision of the sky”

“This is so beautiful, Luka… No wonder your sisters loved this view… Oh! Did you see that? A shooting star! Do you think a soul is getting reincarnated now?” she exclaimed.

“I don’t know." He shrugged. "But it would be nice if the people we love so much could come back”

Marinette stopped smiling, noticing the sadness in his voice. She felt guilty and remorseful for being part of the reason for his grief. Actions with consequences she could never erase from their hearts.

“I wish I could go back in time and change everything. I’m so sorry… Your sisters are gone because of me… I wish I could erase my wrongdoings so they could still be alive…” She said in regret.

But Luka said nothing, he just squeezed her hand and let her cry a little. “You won’t see the stars if you cry…” he finally said. “Share this view with me, Marinette. For them”

“For them…”

______________________________________________

Marinette didn’t notice when she had fallen asleep. The sun was starting to rise and the sunlight awakened her. She turned her head to see her hand was still locked with Luka’s hand, who was sleeping. She glanced at his face then, and he looked serene, in peace. She could notice some dried traces of tears remained under his eyes. She was grateful to him, even more than remorseful.

“Thank you, Luka” she whispered, kissing his cheek.

“You’re welcome, Marinette”

She didn’t expect him to open his eyes and turn his face to her, merely a few centimeters separating them, eyes locked. She was partly glad he wouldn’t be able to see her flustered cheeks from this close, even if that was exactly the source of her redness.

“You’re awake. Sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

“Yes, I know you didn’t mean anything more than thanks. I understand. You love your boyfriend”

Marinette's heart skipped a beat at his words. She paused for a moment before finding the answer she had been looking for a while, feeling ready to finally put it into words.

“Loved. I think I’m ready to move on now…”

"What about destiny and soulmates?" Luka asked, surprised by her unexpected answer.

"I don't believe in them anymore... How could I?” she sighed. “I've already accepted that Adrien is gone and… I feel ready to find my own destiny now" She said, sincerely, but careful not to spill the secret feelings she had for him.

“Really...?” Luka asked, incredule at first, but immediately convinced by the confidence in her eyes. “You're very brave, Marinette. I'm glad you're feeling better”, he smiled, squeezing her hand in support.

“What about you, Luka?” She changed the topic, meeting an unusually distracted Luka.

"Hm?”

"You helped me feel better. I want to help you too. What would make you happy?"

“Me?" he paused, thinking for his answer. Marinette had been honest with him, and he wanted to do the same. He decided to share the feelings that had bottled up since he got the news of the tragic accident. "I wish I had been the one that died instead of my sisters. I wish I hadn’t let them go. I wish I had driven them to that mountain. With my mother's van, the damage would have been less severe, and they would probably still be alive. My mother is dealing with depression and anxiety now and it’s very hard to see her like that when she used to be so strong and independent... I can’t bear to see how the people I care about keep dying and leaving me behind. I wish I could go back in time… Use a savepoint… You know, like in videogames… Something called 'Second Chance', maybe. That's what I wish for”

Marientte didn’t know what to say. Her heart could almost feel his pain. He may have not lost his soulmate, but he lost his father and his dear sisters. She should have known he would be heartbroken. She should have known his heart was in pain. She should have been helping him more instead of letting him help her. She saw him vulnerable for the first time, and her heart ached for him. How silly she was to expect him to return her growing feelings, when his heart, unlike hers, had yet to heal. Her tears couldn’t be stopped as they joined his.

“Oh, Luka, I’m so sorry… I wish I could do something for you…” she sobbed, pressing her head on his shoulder.

“You are already, Marinette. Don’t feel obligated to do more out of regret. I know my wish is impossible to accomplish. We can’t go back in time. The only thing I can do now is let them go in peace… watch them in the sky...” he caressed her hair. “I wish I was as strong as you are. I wish I could believe in hope too”

“Luka…” ‘ You’re my hope ’ she wanted to say, but his words cut her before she had the chance to finish.

“And what about your memories, Marinette? Are they back?”

“Some of them are, yes. And you were right… It wasn’t all happy moments. I was blinded by my love for Adrien…” Marinette sighed. “He was jealous and manipulative sometimes, and I always ended up doing whatever he wanted. He always put himself first... except during the accident. But he wasn’t a bad person. He was very sweet, kind and attentive too. He just had a difficult and lonely childhood and he was scared of being alone… I loved him very much, still do, in another way... He just had bad luck. With family, with friends, with co-workers, school… Coping with his father stressed him too much… I wish I had taken him to therapy or something… Maybe he wouldn’t have had to rely on risk, fun, alcohol and adrenaline instead… I should have acted by myself more...”

“I can imagine that… You did what you could, Marinette. It wasn’t your fault” he empathized. “Anything else you remember?”

“No… Just this” she answered, trying to recall something she could have missed.

“Ok...” Luka kept his eyes closed, but something in Luka's voice alerted Marinette.

“Luka. Why do you keep asking about my memories? Is there something I’m supposed to remember?” She sounded slightly irritated.

“I don’t know”

“Luka…” she insisted. “Have we met before? Somewhere in the past…"

He finally opened his eyes and looked directly at her. “Why?”

Marinette gulped before speaking, staring at his eyes while looking for an answer. “You... seem familiar. And I have the impression we’ve known each other for a long time… But I can’t recall it no matter how hard I try to...”

“It’s better this way” he mumbled in an almost inaudible voice.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Don’t stress over it. Some memories are better forgotten, anyway” he assured,  squeezing her hand. "Let's go home"

"Wait!" she screamed, surprising Luka. "Can I have your contact?"

The guitarist smiled, pretending not to notice the blush on her cheeks. "Of course"

Luka lifted Marinette's hand and gently wrote his number on her wrist, secretively under her watch. Marinette smiled, feeling lighter and relieved. Her heart felt closer to his. She was happy to understand more about him, even if it included his darkest fears. She wanted to help him, and she finally found where to start.

"Luka" she said, and he met her determined eyes. "Don't give up. Live . For the ones that left you behind"

Finally, she had found the courage to tell him the words that had been keeping her alive and hopeful. Now it was her turn to be there for him.

"Thank you, Marinette"

[sarcasm-and-studying]

In the Name of Peace

The wind howled its mournful wail as dark clouds sprawled across the evening sky.  The first droplets of rain split the thick and humid air, exploding on the backs of the two hunched figures below.  The last rays of the dying sun slid over their wide eyes, their shaking hands, and the dead body lying between them.

“Shit,” said the first one.  “What do we do?”

“What do you mean?” the second one asked, straightening her back and trying to relax her face into an imitation of composure.  “We come clean and tell the truth.  It was self-defense. They’ll believe us.”

The man nodded, the sharp angles and jagged lines of his face contorting into thought.  Raindrops seeped into his shirt, leaving large dark stains.  “You’re right.  They will believe us no matter what we say.”

“What are you-”

“What would happen if our village found out Peter tried to murder us?  That our perfect, crime-free society can house such terrible people?  Imagine the unrest, the horror!”

“Are you implying that we should lie to our own people?” The woman’s eyes flashed in the evening glow.

“We’ll say Peter slipped and hit his head on a rock.  That is the truth.  The fact that it happened during a fight when he was trying to kill us is irrelevant.”

“Lying by omission is still lying!  It is our duty not only as citizens but also as members of the Village Council to reveal the truth to our people!”

“Stop talking like an ethics textbook,” the man snapped as lightning cracked against the rapidly darkening sky.  “We serve our people.  We do not serve the truth.  The wellbeing of our society is our first and only priority!”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” the woman scoffed incredulously as the onslaught of rain swept away the sweat protruding on her brow.  “Peter is a terrible person!  He was going to murder us, and you want to keep this under wraps?  We can’t allow someone like him to be mourned as if he was an innocent person, tragically gone before his time!”

“Why not?” asked the man.  His lips stretched into a smile born of stress and desperation.  Thunder echoed overhead, accentuating his words with rumbling waves. “Why would we burden his family with this information?  Is it not enough for them to mourn the death of a loved one?  Why would you want to slander the reputation of someone who is already dead?”

“It isn’t right-”

“Who’s keeping score?”

The rhythmic drumroll of rain on the rocky cliff intensified, and the patter of droplets blended together into a monotonous static.  

“Neither of us believe in God,” the man continued.  “We are the only two people who know what really happened on this cliff.  It’s a victimless crime!  Why is a sense of moral superiority more important to you than keeping a peaceful society?”

Lightning split the sky again, fractures of white against indigo, and this time the flash of light illuminated the knife the woman had pulled out of her sheath.  

“What are you doing?” the man demanded.  The fear in his voice was thoroughly masked with his anger, and the chill that ran down his spine was overcome by the freezing water that soaked him.  “Are you seriously going to threaten me over this?”

Without a response, the woman sprung into action.  But instead of lunging forward, she crouched down, plunging her knife towards Peter’s chest.  The man reacted instinctively, bringing his hands to the woman’s shoulders and roughly shoving her away before the tip of her knife touched the body.  He stepped forward over Peter’s corpse, trapping the woman between himself and the cliff’s edge.  His feet rubbed uncomfortably against his wet socks, and by this point he could barely feel his toes.

“What the hell are you trying to do?”

She wiped the rain from her eyes before answering, a pointless action that did nothing to stop more water from obscuring her vision.  “Let’s see you classify his murder as an accident when the villagers see Peter’s body with a knife through his chest.”

The man shook his head as a barking, incredulous laugh escaped his throat.  “I’ll just tell them you stabbed him after he died!”

“Oh, but then I’ll have to explain why I did it!   What do you think our people will say if they found out you were going to lie to them?  ‘Oh, as long as he has our best interests in mind, it’s all good.’  The villagers will turn against you for this action done ‘for their benefit’, so are you sure it really benefits them?”

“But Peter didn’t die of a stab wound.  He died from hitting his head on a rock.  So you’re willing to lie to our village as well?”

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” said the woman, her frame barely visible in the intensifying darkness.   “But you left me no choice.  There can only be one version of events that leaves this cliff.  And I will make sure it is the truth, even if I have to lie to be able to say it.”

“So you’re lying in the name of truth, huh?” scoffed the man, as a drum roll of thunder echoed in the sky above.  “It doesn’t have to come to this.  We could both come off this cliff claiming a different version of events.  The village will launch an investigation, but until the truth comes out - if it ever comes out - neither of us will be trusted by the people.  Your respectability will suffer in the long-term, but you’ll never have to lie.  And you know this.  Ha!  You claim to serve the truth, but you prioritize your reputation!”

Lightning flashed, illuminating their positions, and the woman lunged forward once again.  The man attacked in turn, blocking her path and shoving her away from Peter’s corpse.  They exchanged blows, their fists landing sloppy hits on slippery skin.  The storm came upon them; inky clouds shrouded the air in almost impenetrable darkness.  The rain became an unyielding shower, and any words of de-escalation uttered were lost in its deafening static.  They moved blindly, at this point both certain that they were acting purely in self defense.

The man landed a hit, knuckles slapping against the woman’s jaw.  Thunder resonated like a gunshot at the moment of impact, as if the heavens had cracked apart at the blow.  Lightning split the air, bigger and brighter than ever before, showering the scene in a pristine white light.   

It illuminated the woman’s body as she jerked from the impact, her head tracing a wide ark in the air.  It illuminated the man’s eyes, wide and animalistic, becoming wider still as he saw how close the cliff’s edge was behind her.  

The world once more plunged into darkness, but the man had already understood what was going on.  He leaped forward blindly, desperately, his arms shooting out to grab at the falling woman.  His hand brushed against her skin, but the contact was fleeting, and when his fingers closed it was over empty air.

She shouted once, more of surprise than genuine terror, and then the only sound left was the monotonous static of rain.  When lightning flashed again, the man was the only one on the cliff.

He sank to his knees, hands landing painfully on the hard surface of the muddy rocks.  Minutes stretched as long as hours.  The water running down his cheeks could’ve been tears as much as it could’ve been rain, and he couldn’t tell if he was shaking from the cold or from the sobs.  

It was dark, and it was raining, and he was on a cliff with many slippery surfaces.  To his left lay Peter’s body, where he had tripped and hit his head on a rock.  To his right opened the abyss that had claimed the woman’s life.  As tragic as it was, when people go out on a rocky cliff during a thunderstorm, accidents can happen.

The man said the sentence out loud a few times as he stood up, almost as if to convince himself of its validity.  Already he felt his consciousness try to rewrite his memories, his heart desperately refusing to believe what his brain knew was true.  Crushed on the rocks below, the woman’s body was the symbol of his sin - his wretched act of violence in the name of peace.

[blueplanettrash]

Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?

If you couldn’t tell, this is based on this Hamilton song. This is an AU of We’ll Meet Again, where they were able to defeat Zarkon when he attacked Altea but Sheeva still didn’t survive.

Let me tell you what I wish I'd known. When I was young and dreamed of glory. You have no control. Who lives. Who dies. Who tells your story?

His father always told him that when he thought he was about to do something impulsive; something that could have dire consequences. He never thought about what it could mean for him.

When he first heard what Sheeva was going to do, he begged him not to go back into the fight. He had already had his fair share of suffering; he lost his arm for star's sake!

“Alluran, I have to this!” He pleaded with him to understand. Alluran shook his head, just barely suppressing the sob that wanted to tumble out.

“You’ll be killed Sheeva! Look around! We’re lucky to be alive right now and you want to throw that luck straight out the window!” He cried, gesturing to the large bay window in his bedroom. Just over the horizon, they could see smoking rising. Zarkon was closing in on the capital and it wasn’t long before he knew the soldiers would be sent out. The Lions had already been sent away in case the battle didn’t stay on Altea.

“How can I just sit here and wait!?” He demanded angrily pacing around the room. Alluran watched him, his heart aching. He glared down at the ground, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I know I can’t stop you,” he said quietly. Sheeva stopped pacing and looked over at the Crown Prince. “I just wish I didn’t have to,”

Sheeva gulped. “I’m sorry,”

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,”

“Alluran,” he tried, trailing forward slightly. Alluran shook his head and turned away from him.

“As soon as you walk out of that door, you forfeit all rights to my heart,”

Sheeva let out a short gasp of surprise. He clenched his fists tight in indecision but ultimately headed for the door. Alluran’s legs shook with the want to fall to the floor and sob but he held strong.

Sheeva stopped at the door and looked back at Allurance.

“I’ll see you on the other side of the war, my love,”

Every other paladin's story gets told. Every other paladin gets to grow old.

Sheeva died in the battle for Altea. He died distracting Zarkon long enough for Alfor to get the final blow in.

His father died in the battle as well. Alfor knew that Zarkon wouldn’t stop until he was dead and he was right. With his last dying breath; Zarkon stabbed him straight through the heart. Then there was nothing.

There were no screams.

No fanfare.

Only silence for miles.

The soldiers took away their killed and wounded. They delivered the news to their families as soon as possible.

Lance didn’t find out about Sheeva’s death until months later. There was no indication where he was buried, whether he was in a mass grave, where his belongings were, or if he had any final wishes. It was as if they had simply forgotten him.

It was true that Shiro wasn’t as well liked as some of the other soldiers. He was opinionated, he had questions about every decision that was made by his higher-ups. People thought that he was taking advantage of being a future paladin and thought that he was better than regular soldiers.

It wasn’t true. It was never true. If they truly knew Sheeva, they would know and they would be ashamed to even think that.

Every other paladin received the highest honours, their war stories shared across the galaxy but not Sheeva. Why? Why didn’t they give him the credit he deserved? Even if Sheeva had a say in the processing, he wouldn’t have pressed for his name to be remembered. He just wanted to make a difference and he was shunned for it; by both the military and the civilians.

But when you're gone, who remembers your name? Who keeps your flame? Who tells your story? Who tells your story?

Alluran

I put myself back in the narrative.

He couldn’t let Altea forget Sheeva. There was so much that they just didn’t understand, that they didn’t ever consider.

They never looked past their own egos. They didn’t see that he was helping them. That he wanted to make their lives better but because he wanted to change things he wasn’t worth listening to.

I stop wasting time on tears. I live another fifty years. It's not enough.

There was a time and a place for grief. That time had passed. He gave his fair share of tears, he spent his fair share of nights awake, aching for his love. He let himself fall apart and cry himself to sleep each night. But he knew that he was the only one that would fight for Sheeva’s memory, he was the only one that wouldn’t forget about him so easily.

I interview every soldier who fought by your side. I tell their story.

He talked to whoever he could. Anyone that had any contact with Sheeva, he wanted to know. He found Sheeva’s closest friends, they mourned alongside him. They told him all the good things Sheeva wanted to accomplish after the war was won.

They shared stories of the war, told everyone that would listen about the sacrifices that were made.

I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writings. You really do write like you're running out of time.

Sheeva always wrote down everything, his arguments to commands, what he thought should change, who he thought should change. No matter what it was, he wrote it down.

His arguments made people question his loyalty, his notes made people think twice. He had everything from current events that he believed needed to change for the better, for future projects that would have revolutionized the planet.

I rely on Allura. While she’s alive, we tell your story. She is buried in the Castle gardens near you. When I needed her most, she was right on time.

He would never be able to thank Allura enough. She was patient and understanding. It nearly broke him when he lost her as well. A virus they said and she fought for so long but it wasn’t enough.

He had her buried in the Castle’s gardens, where he had Sheeva’s memorial placed.

She helped him whenever he needed, she never turned him away.

And I'm still not through I ask myself, "What would you do if you had more time?"

Whenever he thought about his progress, he thought of Sheeva and what he would have been fighting for if only he were alive. It always felt like more to Alluran, like he couldn’t do nearly as much as Sheeva would accomplish. It never mattered though, as long as he was continuing his fight, he was doing more than most after the war.

If only he had been given more time, just a little bit more and he would have changed the world. Maybe even the universe if he was given the opportunity. There wasn’t anything Sheeva couldn’t do if he put his mind to it and he believed in his own abilities.

It was always Alluran’s favourite thing about him; he never hesitated as long as he was confident in his ideas.

The Lord, in his kindness. He gives me what you always wanted. He gives me more time.

He’s lasted far longer than any of his friends, he lost his sister, his mother wasn’t going to be here much longer. He wasn’t going to waste the gift he was given though; he still had so much more to do.

He would fight in Sheeva’s place. Help him accomplish what he wasn’t able to in his lifetime. He would be the soldier this time.

I raise funds in the Capital for Father’s monument. I tell his story.

Sheeva always admired King Alfor. He wanted to learn everything about him, wanted to always be by his side. There wasn’t a soldier in the Altean army that was more loyal. If he had known that Alfor perished in the battle, he would never let anyone forget his sacrifice.

The council wanted to forget about the war completely; write off the entire thing like it was a tragic accident so they wouldn’t have such a stain on their history. Instead, Lance fought for a monument to commemorate the soldiers that fought valiantly for their planet. To give them the credit they were due.

He gained the favour of the public and the planning started.

It’s not enough.

I speak out against slavery. You could have done so much more if you only had time.

When Alluran first heard the word hoktril, it ran a shiver straight up his spine. The council was presented with the invention and right away were intrigued. But Alluran fought, he argued and defended the rights of his people until his very last breath.

Yes, the council had more power over the royal family but Alluran never gave up. He fought to unite the people, show the cruelty that was involved, showed them their Altean roots.

He won that fight.

The council was replaced.

But it’s not enough.

And when my time is up, have I done enough? Will they tell our story?

He thought about his progress too much. He thought about if was doing enough, if they would finally put Sheeva in the history books alongside his parents and sister. Or even if he was going to be remembered after his death.

Why wasn’t he able to do enough? When does he earn his legacy? When does he earn Sheeva’s legacy?

Will it ever be enough?

Oh. Can I show you what I'm proudest of? I established the first private orphanage in Altea.

Everyone was affected after the war; there wasn’t a single person who hadn’t lost something dear to them. He wanted to do what he could for anybody but the ones he tried to help the most were the children.

Before the war, there weren’t many children that didn’t have parents, or at least some sort of family left. He saw them begging on the streets, just hoping that one day they’d be picked up and taken care of. He couldn’t just leave them alone, they deserved a life.

He planned the entire construction himself, got the public involved, spread awareness of the problem, had volunteers flooding the centre. He stood outside the building, hands on his hips, it was his crowning achievement.

It’s not enough.

I help to raise hundreds of children. I get to see them growing up. In their eyes I see you, Sheeva. I see you every time.

Getting to be a part of their lives made up for the ache in his heart.

Seeing their perspective change because of a small thing he did for them was worth more than anything. Many of them came to his home beaten down, but he saw the hope come back over time.

He found Kei wandering the streets one day, dirty, thin as a stick and glaring at anything that moved towards him. He couldn’t plan him; the public became unkind especially to a child with a Galran parent. Even though he was also half Altean, they didn’t show him any kindness. He approached carefully, drawing his cloak hood down to reveal his face. As he thought he was instantly recognized and the child fell to his knees, shaking, apologies spewing out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry-if I had known p-please don’t h-hurt me,” tears rolled down his cheeks and he kept his eyes firmly on the ground. Alluran frowned and gently pulled his face up to look at him.

“Do you need help little one?” He asked simply. Kei only looked at him in shock before he burst into sobs and nodded his head frantically. Alluran gave him a soft smile and gently picked him up. He weighed practically nothing in his arms

He made a life for himself, he found friends; Pera and Hun. They both lost their parents in the war as well and they became a united front. He would never tell the others but they were secretly his favourites.

And when Kei finally looked up at him like he had found peace in the world that had wronged him, he thought.

‘Have I finally done enough?’

And when my time is up. Have I done enough? Will they tell my story?

He laid on his deathbed. Dozens of the orphans he helped raised surrounded him, some were approaching the middle of their lives; others were just barely children. He made a difference in their lives.

But was it enough?

Would they tell his story to others? Would they tell their families about what he had done?

Will they remember?

It wasn’t nearly as scary as it thought it would be to die. Kei was there, so was Pera, and Hun. More than anything, he didn’t want to leave them alone. They had families now, yes, but it didn’t erase the love he had for them for the last fifty years.

Kei reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling it closer so he could nuzzle it. Tears fell on Alluran’s hand; he wanted so desperately to wipe his tears away, tell him that it was going to be okay but he knew his time was up.

“It’s okay Pa, you can let go,” Kei whispered with a quivering smile.

Oh, I can't wait to see you again. It's only a matter of time.

He remembered the first time he even saw Sheeva. They were both young; he was in basic training and Alluran was doing etiquette lessons in the gardens. He was minding his own business about to take a sip of tea, back straight, fingers on the handle and eyes directed to his cup. But then a regiment jogged past and his eyes snapped to them.

Immediately he met equally wide, cool silver eyes and he was lost. His teacup ended up in his lap and Sheeva tripped over his own feet and slammed into the ground.

Alluran shrieked and hopped away from his chair and danced around the garden trying to cool the hot tea all over his clothes and skin. His governess hadn’t been pleased but there was only so much you could do when your charge was hopping all over the yard.

At least he found him.

Tears slid down his cheeks as he stared up at the ceiling. Kei let out a concerned whine and leaned over him.

“It’s okay Kei,” he whispered reassuringly. “I’m just thinking of him,” Kei nodded in understanding. His breathing started getting shallow and his eyes started to slip shut. His life flashed before his eyes, Sheeva smiling at him from across the courtyard, coming back after a long mission, or sneaking into their bedroom with a bouquet of flowers.

He couldn’t wait to see him again, eventually, he would.

With his last breath, he whispered “We’ll meet again darling,”

Will they tell your story? Who lives, who dies, who tells your story? Will they tell your story? Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?

[thevanishingomens]

HELP PLS

So we have this English Coursework that basically was supposed to be done this week- but I'm in Portugal so I thought I'd write it while I'm here. The main theme is either change or loneliness. Which can branch out to many things. I chose the loneliness after a family member dies. But somehow down the road of writing this story it just turned completely different. I was wondering if anyone out there would be so kind as to read it and hopefully give me feedback before Sunday night 8pm. Thank you~ 'Running Out' Blair Johnson never thought that even after all she'd been through she'd get a chance to start again. To say "i'm sorry". A chance to somehow make up for what had happened. To change destiny. Re-write her fate. "I never thought to this day that after loosing my brother I'd be able to gain another. Yet somehow- whether it was fate, destiny or some God out there...I got Logan. And although we have our differences and I'm a huge pain in the ass-" The class interrupted with a burst of laughter while looking back to the embarrassed Logan. Blair was up at the front of the classroom, pages crumpled in-between her sweaty, nervous, unsteady hands. Beads of sweat slowly making their way down Blair Johnsons' forehead. Her teeth showing through her nervous smile as her pool blue eyes looked at Logan look away embarrassed. Her long ashy blond locks of hair were straightened and located somewhere over her back and held behind her ears. "I'm glad you decided to come Logan. Even if it is for just three days. And even if by the end of it you hate my family and never wanna see them again.... I'm thankful that you at least tried to reason with us. And that's all I could ever ask of you. To try" Blair said as she shied away from the looks of classmates. She stared at her paper as she read the last few words. She looked up only to receive the next horrifying thing. Silence. It was a sweet moment really. As a way to ensure that Logan would fit in at a new town, new school and new family, Blair had to ensure that taking Logan to school would be a piece of cake. So far, four classes in, it had all gone alright. But maybe centring her English essay on him and her new step-dad wasn't a good way about it. Logan clapped along with the class- but had he really liked it? Blair's thoughts were all over the place.  "Well done Blair, you can take a seat now. And I'm very pleased to welcome you here Logan Fox. And remember that even if you never wish to come to this school, the school will be here for you" Mr. Hendrix stated with a smile before moving the lesson along by picking the next reader. Blair walked back to her seat next to her new brother, Logan, as soon as Blair sat down he quietly mumbled out a thank you before turning his face out to the window. Blair let out a sheepish smile while setting her now crumpled up essay neatly on her desk. Logan kept his face and expression forward to not let Blair know how he really felt, miserably happy even though Blair had just centred her English essay on him and his dad. Definitely not the finest idea Blair Johnson had, had. It was now home time, the best feeling any student could have on a Friday. Going home to stuff your face with junk, take huge naps at 5 in the evening and game until morning. Ugh- I mean do homework and study....obviously.... Blair stood, leaning against the pole of where 2 bikes were tied. They were tied with chains that had padlocks which kept incoming criminals at bay if they ever tried to break the bikes free from their capture. She could sense that something was wrong, that something was going to happen. The same feeling she had when Eric Johnson left that night. She could feel it in the air. But with her depressed mentality she couldn't trust her guts feeling. Instead she shook the feeling away and tried to think positively. Logan was here and she was prepared to ensure he would have as much fun as possible. Knowing full well he was an alternative punk kind of guy and preferred to keep his emotions to himself, Blair had the perfect weekend planned out. Plus a little bonus surprise. With every bone in her body Blair tried to sway away from the fact that her depression had to be kept secret, that she had to hide that part of her and only show Logan her fun, kind, and sunny self (I.e a completely different person- a character if you will). She kept quiet and thought of how her plans would work out. Devastatingly enough the sky began to turn grey with a dark blue tinge to it. It was going to rain. How did Blair know? She could feel the warm humid air wrap around her as the dark grey clouds formed into one huge cumulonimbus, ready to erupt with thunder, lightening, strong winds and buckets of rain. Blair had put on her bright neon blue raincoat over her black skinny ripped jeans and her bright yellow sweater which was fashionably ripped over her collarbones and forearms. She walked around in black combat boots which matched her black leather bag which contained all her school books and anything she seemed would be fit to take to school. I don't know why anyone would bring an old flower with them to school but Blair surely did... To pass the time as she waited for her new brother and her friends to make their way over from the gym, Blair had decided to reminisce through old memories of her late brother and how much she'd grown due to that accident. An accident the whole town had heard and would never forget. The town had its secrets. Since it was found by Magdalena Arden, a young Dutch woman who was travelling in her college days, the town had always seen tragic endings for different families. Murders, disappearances and tragic accidents. Things that often ended in death. Just like the late Eric Johnson. Who had decided he would sneak out one night only to be found by the young 12 year old Blair, and although she kept it a secret, when she later found out the next day that her brother had been in a car accident and died she could only blame herself. If she had stopped him- if she had told her parents. If only she had done something! Surely Eric Johnson wouldn't be laying in a coffin, 6ft below the ground with half his face mutilated and an arm that had been ripped right off when the car had a head on collision with a drunk truck driver. Neatly dressed in a black suit with a red rose in the front pocket, stitched and cleaned up to look presentable to the god who had done this. At least that's what Blair's dad Kendrick had stated, that it was his fault, the man upstairs who wore heavenly white and had decided Eric wasn't fit to be in earth. A subject that nowadays can only cause confusion, treachery and murder. Crimes of the highest order. Blair kept as far away from religion as she could, ever since her brother died and her parents divorced Blair believed no-one upstairs was real. Or at least that if they were, they were sadistic monsters. Blair looked up at the sky as light rain drops hit her makeup covered face, she felt as if the weather was mirroring her depressed feelings of sadness, anger, guilt and blame. She hadn't felt like that in a long time. Since she was 16 to be exact. But after meeting her new brother Logan and finding out her mother was pregnant with a fiancé she hadn't met yet- Blair's life turned upside down once again. Leaving her confused once more and wondering if this was her mothers way of replacing Kendrick, Eric and Blair. She shouldn't have been thinking like that. But anyone mourning would have had their mind jumbled up like that if it had happened to them. "Boo!" Rey, Blair's only male best friend had yelled as he used his hands in a claw like motion to grab onto Blair's shoulders and scare the day-dreaming Blair. Blair let out a scared yelp, which attracted the eyes of onlooking pedestrians as they made their way home from school by many ways. It went back to normal after Blair turned around to grab Rey's shoulders and ask what was wrong with him in the most scared and loud tone she could possibly let out after that terrifying experience. Blair felt as if she'd aged 100 years and had lost all energy. Or as if her heart was about to be ripped out of her chest. It was now currently palpitating at 90mhp, or so it seemed to Blair as she grasped hold of her chest after hitting Rey's slightly muscular arm in retaliation. Rey grumbled at Blair's attitude- even though it was purely his fault that he decided to scare her while she was zoning out. From behind the scenes stood Rey's girlfriend Clementine Ross. A young and talented 18 year old girl. Whose short navy tinged black hair was curled and her dark green eyes behind some fashionable yet nerdy looking glasses which she used only for reading, writing and watching movies. Clem stood wearing some hipster slash alternative clothes which consisted of a lot of black and dark maroon. Beside Clem stood her best friend (and slightly annoying cheerleader type of student) Mackenzie Denver. She was tall yet wore 9inch heels which made her tower over most boys. Her long ginger dyed hair was kept in her natural tight curls while her dark brown eyes always had her long eyelashes to flutter over. She was mostly dressed in the most high-end fashion. Sometimes wearing Gucci and Channel to school. Rey Bailey might be Blair's only male best friend but he doesn't act like it, and although Blair has many friends of the opposite sex she finds Rey to just be her friend and not her BOY friend: something many confuse. But enough about introductions, this isn't some movie in which the friends of the lead character are needed to make an impact on the story. No. They're here for closure. Because Blair Johnson's escape from the reality that her brother is dead and her mum has constructed a new family is of coarse, her best friends. And although Mackenzie acted more like a bully towards Blair it was only because everyone else slightly babied her due to the accident. Blair was thankful, to whoever spoke to her she always kept a smile, even if it was Mackenzie's silly jokes or slurs. "So tonight? Is everything ready?" Blair asked with a smile towards her friend who had previously nearly killed her of a heart attack. Rey stood with a smug smile plastered on his face as his eyes shone with a glint of mischief. Rey then used his palms to clean the non-existing dust off his shoulders. Blair just stared with no expression, a sigh and then proceeding to do a face-palm with a shake of her head while mumbling incoherent words. "Why can't you just say yes like a normal person?" Blair asked before looking over at Clementine who was scratching the nape of her neck awkwardly while turning to look away from her boyfriends stupidity. Mackenzie was just glancing at Rey with a mixture of both anger and an essence of being dumbfounded. Logan, who had been silently watching all of this broke the silence by asking what was happening that night. Obviously the group wasn't about to ruin the surprise that they had been planning for the past two weeks. After being informed that Logan would be staying over for a weekend, Blair decided she would make Logan Fox's welcoming warm and the best surprise he'd ever have. Meaning; the only surprise he'd have since he was born. All apart from that one time on Christmas when his mother had surprised him with exactly what he had been asking for three months prior. A remote control car, the best one in their local shop. But it was around £50 and although Logan's father was well off- he wasn't going to waste £50 on a piece of plastic and metal made to look like a car. Anyway- when Logan had asked about the events that would be happening that night everyone looked away and decided to act as if what they had said, hadn't been said. "Ah! The shopping!" Blair exclaimed in an out of tune acting voice, she couldn't act but she had made everyone else sway from the topic at hand. Back to being Blair Johnson, the scared, guilty and angry 12 year old who blamed herself for Eric's death. When she had woken up with the noise of the backyard door opening and she had ran down to see Eric standing there with shock and a guilty expression. When sweet filled words and cheery smiles persuaded Blair to remain all of that a secret and go back up to bed. Taking one last look at her brother wave her good bye with a smile as she sat atop the stairs with sleepy eyes and a guilty conscience. Little did little Blair know that that would be the last time she would see Eric, alive at least. She didn't know that in just a few minutes, while she got into her bed and snuggled up to her teddy bear that Eric Johnson was speeding down the highway with friends, stoned out of his mind and that in a few seconds he would be ripped to shreds. Literally and metaphorically. Days later was the funeral. Blair never imagined herself at a funeral until her late 60s or something when her parents tragically die after long years together. Instead...she stood there as she watched her older brother, 18 year old Eric, being slowly lowered into the ground as he was nailed into a mahogany polished coffin. His tombstone with the usual sappy old quote, "a great brother, son and person. Taken too young..."- blah, blah, blah. That was gossip for the next 3 weeks, where locals would chatter about how Eric was too young to die, or how Blair should have said something, that it was the parents fault. The schools fault. His friends fault for letting him drive. Anything to put the blame on someone else other than themselves. Which is exactly what Kendrick had done to Blair and her mother. Bluntly accused them of their treachery, that they were the culprits, the crazy common criminals who had caused Eric's death. But that wasn't the hard earned truth... Kendrick never once believed it was Blair's fault, but he needed a reason to leave, a reason to make his cheating on his wife a normal mourning reason. To leave, disappear into the night with his labelled lover. His radiant romance and forbidden love. Cheating on his wife was the least of Kendrick's problems. Bankruptcy, dept and gambling mixed with an alcohol induced state of mind was the silver platter of it all. His worlds 'pièce de résistance'. And so that's how Blair's parents divorce came about. Not due to Blair's guilty actions, or Eric's death- or even mourning for that fact! It was all because Kendrick cheated, was an alcoholic jerk and all he wanted to do was waste his life away playing money for poker. While Blair's mother May, just wanted peace. Quiet. Anything to make her crashing down world still. Frozen in time, where they were back to being a happy family. Everyone together, well and alive. But reality stared Blair in the face with a hard yearning stare and a grin from ear to ear. It terrified Blair to even think of the possibility of living like her mother. A religious catholic who believed everything happened for a reason. The town called her 'the crazy woman' from down the road. She'll only talk about god. And when death was mentioned- It wasn't great. All Blair wished was for Eric to be back. Or for her leave that wretched town. To escape the rocky-road reality, the rollercoaster that is her life, except this wasn't much like a rollercoaster but more like a boat ride down a waterfall. Just a huge drop until....splat. Death. It seemed that, that was all that Blair could see, hear or speak about. Death was all around her. It's all around us. It's on our clothes and on our hair. We inhale and exhale death. We're surrounded by atoms of dead things. We walk on dead things every single day of our lives until we ourselves are dead. It's a ridiculous and betraying truth, a fact not a myth. A controlling cycle that repeats itself. Going on, and on, and on, and on, and on and on. With no escape. Blair knew she would forever be guilty of how she had acted, blaming herself and wishing to turn back time somehow to make it up to her mum, dad and Eric himself. Apologise for his death. Blood was on her hands that should never have been. She could ever wash it out. Blair could feel it again, as she called a taxi, her bones shuddered in fear. She could feel the cold shock against her spine and her weary hands shake in either anticipation of terror. She didn't know what was wrong. But she wanted whatever it was to stop. And fortunately enough it did. And as if fate could only repeat itself. Once more another tragic accident happened in the town of Greenoak. July 4th 2016- The day that Logan Fox. Blair Johnson. Rey Bailey. Mackenzie Denver and Clementine Ross entered a taxi to make their way to the local supermarket. Except they never came back. What Blair couldn't guess was that this never was about Eric's death. It was just waiting for her own. Passing time. She had felt remorse for years, every day of her life she would feel guilty. But she could have never guessed that "everyday of her life" would be cut so soon by the scissors of death. A group of escape convicts took shelter in a local supermarket- they took hostages and escaped with over £3,000. But they didn't leave without killing everyone in the supermarket. Another tragic accident for a tragic town. Another 5 young people taken too soon. As Blair laid on that cold, hard tiled floor. Blood oozing out of her gut where she had been shot with a shot gun, all she could replay in her mind was the good times. And how much she felt blame for the incident. But even more so with what had just happened, she used her last few impulses of strength to look over to Logan who laid beside her. Tears rolling down his face as he held onto his open chest. Breathing heavily, gasping for air. Blair held his hand, as if she was back to holding Eric, except she knew it wasn't Eric- it was Logan. She tightened her grip on his hand as she used her other hand to grip the gaping hole in her lower abdomen. And with a last few strengths all Blair Johnson could do, what she had waited to do, had been done. She knew she didn't have a lot of time, Logan was already about to shut his eyes for ever- except she kept trying to make him look at her. He did and just as he was about to draw his last breath Blair Johnson said her last words. "I'm sorry....." Quiet. Peace and quiet. It seems as if Blair was never supposed to have a brother. No one knew what would happen that day. No one could guess that deranged thieves and murderers would escape a state prison and take hostage over a small supermarket in an unknown town. No-one knew that 5 young students would be there along with 3 seniors and a family of 4. No-one knew that they would openly shoot at the hostages and run off with products that ranged to over £3,000. No-one knew. "Blair" a mysterious yet familiar males voice let out, Blair could hear it but couldn't make out who or what it was. All she could see was the dark. It was Pitch black. No source of light anywhere. Just a void. A black hole of nothing. But then- a bright holy light erupted, surrounding Blair in a hug of warm and radiant light. As if the gates of heaven had opened. "Welcome home" the same voice stated. And all at once everything was sucked back into the void of darkness. It was still. And quiet once more, but Blair wasn't there....no one was.