#justice - tragedy

[coolestfinch]

A 16 YEAR OLD NON-BINARY STUDENT WAS BEATEN TO DEATH BY THEIR PEERS & THE SCHOOL DID NOT CALL POLICE OR AN AMBULANCE.

local news did not report on the story at all. the school is trying to avoid talking about it altogether. they don’t want anyone to know that this happened.

say their name. NEX BENEDICT did not deserve to die. the oklahoma school district & state has blood on its hands.

[sisaloofafump]

I think about this quote everyday. You're right Arthur, they ARE best friends and it IS kind of adorable

[alwaysbewoke]

On March 5th, 1959, 69 African American boys, ages 13 to 17, were padlocked in their dormitory for the night at the Negro Boys Industrial School in Wrightsville. Around 4 a.m., a fire mysteriously ignited, forcing the boys to fight and claw their way out of the burning building. The old, run-down, & low-funded facility, just 15 minutes south of Little Rock, housed 69 teens from ages 13-17. Most were either homeless or incarcerated for petty crimes such as doing pranks. 48 boys managed to escape the fire. The doors were locked from the outside and fire mysteriously ignited on a cold, wet morning, following earlier thunderstorms in the same area of rural Pulaski County. The horrific event brought attention to the deplorable conditions in which the boys lived. The boys all slept in a space barely big enough for them to move around & theyre one foot apart from one another & their bathroom was a bucket at the corner where they had to defecate in. In an ironic twist, the land in which the school stood is now the Arkansas Department of Correction Facility Wrightsville Unit. In 2019 a plaque was finally placed after 60 years.

PURE EVIL!!! MY GOD!!

[feelo-fick]

miscellaneous au doodles + a VERY self indulgent song lyric comic :D

+ extra evil comic below the cut :

"chil!" "don't look at me like that..."

[vegaseatsass]

DFF ep9 spoilers

I love gay revenge, I LOVE gay revenge, I love gay REVENGE, I love GAY revenge, HOWEVER

I also love brothers with an uncrossable chasm between them whose parents compare them who lose each other and their entire family along the way... guess what I'm saying is, I love guilty golden boy brother revenge, too

[sleepy-bear-tm]

We don't talk about quite how big of an impact Cornelia had in this game I think.

[the-real-chu-nsfw]

sorry fellas there was no way to censor this one so it's been cropped to death. full thang on my twit

[bahoreal]

i dont know what those make up artists put in the water when they were doing yonderland but laurence dressed as a milf is really doing it for me

[noknowshame]

black sails ending possibility #72: whether or not silver successfully 'unmakes' flint doesnt matter because it turns out that after spending a decade in asylums and prison camps thomas has also gotten radicalized as fuck and immediately reverses all of silver's efforts

[cigamfossertsim]

one of the saddest batman lines of all time is in season 1 episode 24 “the savage time” of justice league where hes in the alternate timeline as a resistance leader. jonn tells that timelines bruce that if they succeed in restoring the timeline then this version of him wont exist anymore and bruce says “nothing would make me happier” but alternate timeline bruce had also asked if changing the past meant that maybe his parents might be saved and superman says well we cant be sure BC HE KNOWS THAT BRUCES PARENTS DIE ANYWAYS and yes in the restored timeline the resistance doesnt exist anymore and theres no brutal dictator but he still ends up an orphan fighting an endless battle against injustice and the whole interaction is so brief but its just so upsetting like bruce is a sisyphus esque character constantly pushing the boulder up a hill constantly trying to save people bc he cant save his parents in every version of his story

[bb-enablefreebuild]

Does anyone else just...feel pity when they think abt Silas? Like, his whole character arc (what we get of it anyway) is him naively believing in everything the Eighth taught him to believe. His stupid ass teenage brain prioritizes the reward of becoming a Lyctor over the safety of his cavalier. Does that mean he shouldn't face the consequences on his actions? No, of course not. That's how teens learn after all, but the fact that he died before he could learn and is now frozen forever as an edgy teen revenant is just tragic as balls.

[mickittotheman]

@gallacrafts ⭐theme 32⭐missed ya

I was sold on shameless from that very first scene where they're eating breakfast in the kitchen. It just felt like home. The chaos, the messes, the watered down milk, the improvised fixes. It's the first time I've seen a TV show successfully portray poverty in a way that isn't all "oh, tragic, how horrible and pitiful and sad." Like yeah, poverty is all those things, but it's also making do with what you have and making things work. It's not always dull colors and unfurnished homes and bare pantries. Most of the time it's the exact opposite.

Obviously it's a comedy, so some parts get exaggerated or played up for shock factor or laughs, but it also has these moments that were so refreshingly real.

(And then, of course, gallavich happened, and then I was really fucked.)

[starculler]

strap in for this week's fic flavor: the failsafe episode of season one of the young justice cartoon except the simulation just won't. fuckin. end.

(fics that inspired this at the end)

If I ever did sit down to make my own fic, I'd split it in 3 parts:

The Simulation: bits and pieces of the 40 years Dick lives after most everyone he knows has died

The Return: the immediate aftermath and healing from the trauma of having not-quite-actually lived a whole life only to wake up and find out it was all fake. nothing traumatizing about that whatsoever.

The Unintended Consequence: aka the twist I'd love to add and would hint to in the second part - finding out the simulation, through martian mind fuckery, pulled from the real world (and in many cases, from real minds). Dick meets a bunch of people he didn't think were real outside the confines of his simulated life. A bunch of rowdy, heroism-inclined teens across the years get to meet the sibling/friend/mentor figure they all dreamed up one night.

(actual idea snippets under the cut)

.

Dick Grayson is 14 and most of the world's heroes have died. He planned a suicide mission that left him the sole survivor of a doomed team he helped found. The invasion may have been stopped, but is this really the price he wanted to pay?

The first face he sees in the infirmary is Roy's, and he has to close his eyes and just breathe for a few minutes because for one painful moment he'd thought it was Wally. But this isn't the world where his best friend miraculously survived alongside him. This is the one where he got his best friend killed and didn't even give him the courtesy of following behind him. Behind them.

.

Dick Grayson is 27 and has lived longer without Bruce than with him. The invasion's anniversary is always a tough day for him, but that morning seems especially harrowing. He'll get shit for it later, but can't resist stepping out onto the balcony of the manor's master bedroom (Bruce's old bedroom) for a smoke -- his first since he'd promised to quit if Jason, just 15 then, did too.

"Bad habits tend to pile up," he'd said, a rueful quirk to his tired grin. He'd tapped the cigarette twice on the railing and added, lower, "and this one's especially nasty, huh."

He inhales, watches the sun creep across the horizon, and lets acrid smoke burn through his lungs for a long moment before blowing it out in a small cloud. His eyes water, but he doesn't cough. It tastes just as bad as it did the first time he smoked one, not even a year after the invasion and treading water as Robin proved insufficient.

There hadn't been enough heroes to go around then, and Dick had been trained by one of the best. It hadn't been fair, but it had been his plan that had ultimately stopped the invasion. His shoulders everyone's expectations fell on.

He takes another drag, then smudges the lit end against the rail he's leaned on when he hears a boot scuff purposefully against the roofing above him.

"Todd and Pennyworth will be upset with you."

He doesn't turn around. Damian doesn't jump down to join him.

.

Dick Grayson is 54 and wakes up in a room full of ghosts. He hears his long-dead father-figure tell his long-dead team about a simulation they weren't meant to win. A training exercise gone wrong and only half a day spent under their mentors' careful, if slightly panicked, supervision.

He looks at his hands, watching the way his gloves crease when he flexes them in and out of tight fists. He looks at his team, their eyes a little haunted but shoulders slumped with relief even as they grumble. Batman's heavy, gloved hand settles on his shoulder and the weight of it is a nauseating mix of foreign-familiar.

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Tears prick his eyes behind his domino mask, and he tells himself the suffocating, acidic void building in his chest is just some leftover side effect of the ordeal and not the grief-guilt of outliving yet another family (no matter that they hadn't been real in the end).

.

Dick Grayson is 16-going-on-56 and well used to the coincidences piling up between his simulated life and the real thing. Some of it -- missions and villains he remembers cropping up -- he's marked for Bruce to review and sort as he pleases. Some -- security for the cave, team building anecdotes, and training regimens -- he's shared with the team. And some he keeps only for himself.

Tim is one of those. He knows it's not fair to the kid (so much smaller now than he ever was when Dick lived his simulated life), but he can't help being selfish just for this. Tim is the one kid he's sure he didn't make up, and if Dick's taken to babysitting the kid just to be near at least one member of the family he built for himself in the wake of the worst days of his life .... Well, anyone who says shit about it can happily stand in line to have their teeth kicked in.

Despite this, it still catches him off-guard when he sees a familiar face pop up in one of Bruce's reports.

Jason Todd, caught boosting tires off the batmobile, is nearly the same age now as he was when Dick met him. He stares at the words, but none of them really sink in beyond the kid's name and address. He's moving before he's even made the decision.

He's used to the world kicking him when he's down - lived it for 40 frustrating years. But he has Bruce again. And things with Tim have been so good. And he's always been selfish when it comes to family. If he could just see Jason. If he could just meet him. If he could talk to him.

If if if if if--

.

Inspirations:

Circles in Shattered Mirrors by InfinityIllusion

Fine (But Not Okay) by CharlotteDaBookworm

Verisimilitude by mutemelody

[artemx746]

I’ve been on the pjo Reddit a couple of times (a huge mistake) because I need more content about my favourite minor characters and the amount of people who will say ‘May castellan got cursed because she had child’ is honestly shocking.

They’re not even right. In canon the only reason given as to why she was cursed was because Hades cursed the Oracle to never have another curse as long as ‘[his] children remain outcasts and as long as [he] labours under the burden of the prophecy’ (probably not exactly what was said but from what I remember that’s the general message). There isn’t any other reason for it

And for me this is what makes May’s story so much more tragic because she wasn’t at fault, she became a victim of the gods’ selfishness, she was probably the right person at the wrong time and even if you wanna say that she shouldn’t have tried to become the oracle, can you blame her for thinking she should? If I had been having prophetic dreams and then being told that the oracle hasn’t had a host in like 40 years I probably would’ve put 2 and 2 together and tried too.

[blackjackkent]

In-game, Hector got the killing blow, but realistically, story-wise... we give it to Karlach. :D

This scene is so brutally, heart-obliteratingly sad that I don't know if I did it any justice. But I tried. There's a video at the bottom.

--------

She stands over him, covered in his blood. Enver Gortash, erstwhile usurping Archduke of Baldur's Gate, lies sprawled on the marble floor where he fell when Hector kicked his legs from under him, and his face is convulsed in a rictus of agony. Karlach's blade has gone through his throat, pinning him to the stone. A puddle of crimson spreads slowly out from his body.

For a long time, no one says anything. The room is silent as a tomb except for harsh breathing and the soft sizzling sound of Jaheira's wildshape melting off her. Even Minsc is silent - though Hector can see, out of the corner of his eye, what it is costing him not to leap towards the ceiling in a victory cry. Even Minsc, oblivious as he often seems to nuance, knows this moment has not yet run its course.

Karlach stares down into the dead man's eyes, leans on the hilt of her sword. "So..." she says hoarsely. "Gortash is nothing more than a pile of flesh, same as the rest of us."

Hector slowly, methodically wipes the blood from his knuckles and watches her in silence. He knows every line of her face, every subtlety of her voice; he can see the storm of emotion working behind her eyes, too complex to name. He doesn't speak, but shifts himself slightly so he is standing next to her - at her elbow and slightly behind, within easy reach for when she wants him, but not intruding.

You can sense she's working something out; say nothing.

(A/N: I love this as an option so FUCKING much for Hector; thank you, game.)

"I feel like there should be a sunset to ride off into," she goes on after a little while, a low mutter. "Or an orchestral swell... or *something*." She turns slightly to meet Hector's eyes, and the bitter grief in her expression strikes him like a blow to the stomach.

"But there's nothing, is there?" Her voice is louder now. "I killed the bastard who ruined my life, and my prize is that I get to crawl into a corner and die." Louder still now, a roar of pain and anguish. She rips the sword from the dead man's throat, sending a splatter of blood across them both. "Am I FUCKING missing something?!"

She screams it at him, and he has no answer. Hearing her in such pain is like a physical thing in his chest, ripping at his heart, but he has no answer to give. The whole situation is agonizingly, brutally unfair and her rage is the only reasonable response to it.

He wishes he could take her in his arms, hold her and soothe her as she has held and soothed him through so many nightmarish moments, and somehow make it all go away, all the pain she's gone through and the terrible fate lying ahead.

But he can't. All he can do is listen; if it brings her any peace to expend her rage at him and the dead body in front of them, who is he to deny it?

But gods, it hurts him to hear her hurting.

Say nothing.

"I can't do it anymore," she snaps. Spinning, she slams her gauntleted fist into the wall; the shrieking clang of metal on stone makes Hector's ears ring. "Ten years, man! It's enough. It's ENOUGH!"

She catches her breath in a short harsh gasp, stares down at Gortash's body again, and then lashes out with a sharp kick at his skull. "He's dead!" she snarls, like a wounded animal. "And he's no *fucking* sorrier than he was before."

She rounds on Hector, her eyes wide, demanding an answer now. "What was the point?" she cries out. "I'm still dying!" The reality of it seems to sink through her even as she says the words; the deep red of her skin pales and she sways a little on her feet. "I'm dying," she repeats, a desperate wail of despair. "I'm going to die!"

He swallows, holds himself still with a force of will that is painful. Every time she says that, every time she reminds him of it, all he wants to do is sink to his knees and weep, but he can't... he can't. He has to be strong for her, as she has been for him.

But what can he possibly say, what can he possibly do that would make any of this all right? He can't say they will fix it, because she'll know it's a lie. He can't say she can go back to Avernus, because she'll know it's a dismissal of everything that's most important to her, and he won't do that to her. But what else can he say?

"But you're not dead yet," he says haltingly, forcing himself to hold her gaze, not to look away or try to hide from the moment even though he desperately wants to. "I'm here with you. And I will be until the very end."

He hesitates, reaches out a hand cautiously towards her arm, but she flinches away.

"Don't say that!" she snaps. "Say you found some way to fix me! That now Gortash is dead, I'll get my heart back."

Her voice cracks, and in that breaking he hears the shattering of a hope that was still lurking in her, so deep she didn't even acknowledge it to herself, let alone to him - the feeling that somehow if Gortash died it would make everything better, that some solution heretofore unseen would present itself.

But Gortash is dead. And nothing else has changed.

She sags, her shoulders slumping, and closes her eyes. "My heart..." she whispers brokenly. "It was mine... and they TOOK it!" He can see the effort with which she is trying to hold onto her emotions, but it's a vain attempt; her voice begins to rise again, into a strident scream of desperation and misery.

"I'm going to be as dead as Gortash any day now. Any *moment*. And what then? Off to the City of Judgment to waste into oblivion? Into the dirt to get eaten by maggots? Is that it for me?! IS THAT FUCKING ALL?!"

The flames rise again, bursting across her skin, consuming without destroying, all the rage and pain manifesting itself in the coruscating eruption from within, from the engine that is killing her.

"And you!" She roars it in his face and the words are like a curse, like a slap. "You'll just keep going, won't you?! Watching the stars. Warming your hands on the campfire. Dancing, eating, making fucking love all night - all of it, all of it!"

He flinches. He knows she doesn't mean it, that she is lashing out at anyone within striking distance, and yet the blow still strikes home as if she's cut out his heart. No, my love. No, when you die I will be a shell of who I was before; there will be no one and nothing else...

On some level she must know that she's cut him to the quick, but she is too far gone to rein anything in right now. The flames are turning to an inferno again, a raging ball of heat causing the very air to boil around her; he can feel the skin on his forehead and cheeks pulling, but he refuses to step back, to look away.

"That's my reward for everything I've suffered!" she roars in his face. "That's why I survived TEN YEARS of torment! The fighting, the clawing, the loneliness-- the *fucking* loneliness-- all of it, so I could ROT! Because the person I trusted the most gave me away to the devil!"

He can't bear it anymore, the pure pain and screaming rage in her voice, in her eyes. Without hesitation, without even thought, he raises his hands and reaches out towards her; as he moves, the pale gold light of all the protection magic he knows rolls up and over his body and he hurls himself into the flame, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her savagely against him.

It's a risk-- perhaps nothing will calm her and the heat will simply consume them both...

But his guess - his instinct - holds; at his touch, his embrace, she flinches, and for a moment the heat burns through the magic and he feels a wave of searing agony... and then less...

The flames start to calm, and her whole weight, armor and all, sags into him, and he staggers with the effort of holding her up. The inferno fades, replaced by the heavy thundering pulses of heat that are her usual heartbeat at twice its usual pace. Her face presses into his shoulder and she sobs bitterly, brokenly, muffled by the cloth of his tunic.(*)

"It isn't fair... I don't want it like this..."

He steadies himself, finding balance with her weight, and presses his face against the top of her head, the fingers of one hand burying themselves in her hair. Blue light mixes with the gold as healing magic pulses from his palms. He wishes it could heal more than the burns, that it could do anything to soothe the ache in their souls.

But in a terrible way... it is good to hear her cry. So many months she has known she is dying and he has never seen her break down. Even he-- notoriously and often unhealthily self-controlled-- has broken down in her arms more than she has broken down in his.

"Let it out," he whispers. His voice trembles and for once he doesn't bother to try and stop it. "It's about time..."

"I don't want to die..." The words are broken and clipped off by frantic, staccato gulps of air between sobs. "I want to live. I want to *stay*..."

Her fingers fist into the back of his shirt, pulling him tighter to her. Her voice drops to a shattered, hollow whisper, pleading for some answer that isn't there. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now...?"

He has no answer. He asks himself the same question, many nights lying awake beside her, watching her sleep and wondering how in all the hells he will manage when she is gone...

He has told himself, so many times, that he will not demand that she make her decisions for his sake, and yet it is still so hard not to throw himself on the floor at her feet, beg her to travel with him into Avernus, to save his heart at the cost of her principles.

But he will not. He will not. He respects her too much, loves her too much...

"That's... for you to decide..." he says unsteadily.

With a sudden harsh jerk, she pulls away from him, steps back; her face twists with bitter regret. " I ought to just end it all now," she mutters, looking away from him, examining a long crack in one of the stones in the wall. "On my terms."

A long silence. Hector's arms fall back to his sides and he watches her, not bothering to hide the anguish on his face now.

She lets the silence stretch, then shakes her head and laughs harshly. "But then who'd save this godforsaken town?"

She reaches out and runs her fingers along the crack and lets out a heavy breath. "Let's get out of here," she says, her voice suddenly curt and sardonic, the pain shoved back into hiding again. "I've always hated this place. Stupid fucking gigantic bridge or whatever. I... think I need to go to camp for a while. Be alone. Scream at the sky." A slight pause. Her tone softens almost imperceptibly. "You can... come and find me later, if you want to."

With visible effort, she turns and meets his eyes again. After studying him for a moment, she lifts a hand and presses her palm against his cheek. "Thanks for listening." The ghost of a smile, here and gone in an instant. "For existing." A pause; she swallows tightly. "Love you."

Without waiting for an answer, without giving him time to say it back, she turns and walks away, her boots leaving bloody prints along the marble floor.

-----

"Are you all right, cub?" Jaheira asks gently.

Hector stirs, startled. How long has he been staring at the place where she stood? "I-- what?"

She snorts softly. "Nothing. A foolish question. Of course you are not all right." She lays a hand briefly on his shoulder, jerks her head to indicate the body on the floor. "We have stripped him. The stone is here, of course. A key. Some letters. Little else of interest, unless you take interest in clothing more concerned with finery than function."

"Yes. Of course. Good," he says hollowly. "You and Minsc are-- not too hurt?"

"Burns. Scratches. We will mend in time," she says with a slight shrug. There's a pause. He can see her wrestling with the urge to speak again, uncertain in a way he is not used to from her.

"What is it?" he asks.

She draws a slow breath, lets it out in a careful hiss. "I lost my husband, you know, cub."

His head lifts slightly. Yes, he does know this; the histories he read in the monastery spoke of Khalid, Jaheira's husband - at her side in the battle against Sarevok... and then killed by Irenicus in Amn.

"I... do not say this to offer any pleasant platitudes that time heals all," she goes on. "But only to say that you are not as alone as you feel, just at present."

He swallows. "I would not wish this feeling on anyone. I am... so sorry," he mutters.

"Nor would I," she agrees. "But there is more comfort in being of a pack than being a lone wolf, I think." A pause. "I lost Khalid almost at once, a flash; you are granted the knowledge in advance. I will not speculate on which is worse, and in any event it does not matter. What comes after... I can tell you only of my experience."

He searches her expression, looking for any scrap of comfort. "Did it fade, in time? The pain?"

She looks back at him steadily. "Some days it is far away. Other days it is as if it happened yesterday. There were many days when I was not sure how I would go on without the knowledge that he was standing by my side. But I have found ways to live, nevertheless. And..." She hesitates, considers her words. "I am glad for the pain, because it means that the joy was also real. If it meant nothing, it would not hurt."

He manages a slight, shaky smile. "Wisely spoken. You would make a fine monk."

"Mm. I think not. But I know you mean it as a compliment. So thank you." She sighs. "You will be all right, cub. I know it does not feel like it, and I know perhaps you do not even want to be, right now. But you will be. And Karlach..." She trails off, smiles sadly. "She is strong, far too strong to deserve such a fate. But she will be the stronger, to have you beside her - of this I am sure."

He swallows, reaches out and grabs her hand in a sudden, fierce grip. "Thank you," he whispers. "I will try to remember..."

-----

* Terribly self-indulgent artistic license, obviously. Pretty much everything other than the dialogue is from here, to be honest.

-----

A/N: So anyway, it's 3AM and I've been trying for two and a half hours to write about this scene effectively. If I'm honest, I'm pretty proud of the writing I've been able to do about Hector and Karlach's relationship specifically, but goddamn. There's only anything to write about at all because of the in-game dialogue being so extraordinary and this scene has torn my heart out. And there's a followup one in camp that is almost equally sad but that's going to have to wait until tomorrow I guess.

Anyway, here's a video of the scene itself because, as usual, the voice acting is what really sells all of it and I just... yeah.

Anyway thank you for reading. <3

[furious-blueberry0]

For some time the only thing I knew about Ki-Adi Mundi's situation with the four wifes was that he had to do it because his specie was in danger and risked extiction.

So my brain had constructed this complicated fantasy of Mundi's father managing to guilt trip him into marrying and having children, and if he did not he would basically accuse him of not being a true Jedi, because as a Jedi he HAD to help his planet and make this sacrifice, and so Mundi accepted.

But then the more time passed the worse he started to feel towards his wifes and children. He never wanted to do all this, he felt incredibly and utterly alone, his father and his wifes wouldn't let him contact any of his friends at the Jedi Temple, so that he could concentrate only on them and his "mission".

And for as much as he tried to bond with his daughters, he only kept seeing the result of the legal and continuous r*pes his father had managed to trap him into.

So one day, tired of the isolation and him being treated as nothing more than something used to create children, he managed to get off planet and contact the Jedi who then helped him return home to the Temple.

For like weeks this was my version of events, then I reread the wiki and discovered that, well, he actually had a good time with his family soooooo.... guess I got everything wrong, again, lol.