#mass murder tw

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Only One Alive

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three |

CW: Buried alive, digging out of grave, referenced mass murder, werewolves, nonhuman whumpee, captivity, escape, dehumanizing language, my boy is a survivor

-

Earlier

Misae hadn't known what was happening, at first. 

He’d been locked up alone in a cage in the barn for a week straight after accidentally nipping at Ada’s hand the last time the humans had cut him to take blood. He’d been able to hear the noise of the packs in the kennels, at least, and had sometimes howled just to hear their answering howls in return - until Bill or somebody else came out and yelled and they all went silent again. 

All day, there had been the grumbling roar of machinery somewhere off in the big clearing behind Bill’s house, where the humans lived. All day, things had driven close and then far, close and then far. When Bill’s younger son Aaron had brought Misae his midday meal, he’d dropped the bowl through the bars in a hurry so he could rush back outside, to help or to watch. He’d ignored Misae’s hesitant questions - until the moon rose, he’d been human in shape, curled up in the cage with a blanket over his lap. 

The real humans always ignored them, or hurt them, when they tried to speak. Misae mostly didn’t talk anymore. He had been whipped too many times to keep trying.

It was only after the moon rose, and the shift had taken hold and the voices of Misae’s family had switched from soft human speech to rumbling growls and howling, that the machinery stopped its cacophony.

Shortly after that, the dying began.

At first, the sounds he could hear didn't make any sense. Misae had flattened his own ears against his head to muffle the shouting of the real humans, but it still hurt. Even here, forgotten inside the barn, all the yelling and ordering and threats had been deafeningly loud to his canine ears. 

He’d ended up trying to press his paws up and over them, but even that wasn’t enough.

The sounds the packs made were even more confusing. He could hear the cries of them all, young and old. One of those howls might be his mother, or a deeper pleading for mercy could have been from his father, but the children born in the kennels were never told who had borne them. 

The humans didn’t think werewolves should remember their children, who Bill called ‘puppies’, so they took them after 12 weeks and washed their parents’ smells off them and then handed them off to be raised in the kennels by all the shifters together. 

Misae had never know which voice singing a lullaby might have been the first. Everyone was his mother or father, and no one was. 

For a while, lying in that cage in the barn, he’d heard the pleading and the shouting, fear and rage, uncertainty and maybe even occasional hope that this might be freedom.

Then the first shots rang out.

The loud, horrible sounds of the special gun with its huge silver bullets had gone on and on and on. There had been high-pitched squeals and canine screams. Maybe they were being moved, and needed to be herded onto trailers. They’d moved once, a long time ago when Misae was still carried on someone’s hip. They’d been pushed into trailers in sweltering summer heat and driven from Bill’s last house to this new one, built far away from everyone and everything. 

A few from the packs had protested and tried to fight back. The guns had come out, then - the first time Misae had ever heard them. A couple of the wolves had been shot to show all the others how serious Bill was, and they’d all been good then.

So, for a while, Misae thought they were just herding the wolves, and shooting stragglers or fighters.

But… the shots didn’t stop.

They went on and on and on, with the humans only pausing long enough to reload before firing again. 

The howls of pain built, voices layering over each other. Something was happening that had never happened before, in Misae’s memory. They weren’t culling, killing the rebels and fighters to leave behind the softer, sadder, obedient wolves to be studied. 

Misae was listening to them die.

All of them.

It was Austin who eventually remembered Misae, alone in the barn. Austin came in with a white face and white-rimmed walleyes to unlock Misae’s cage. He tossed a loop of heavy rope over his head, jerking it tight enough to choke him as he slowly dragged him out. Misae [pressed himself against the back of the cage and dug his paws into the dirt, but he wasn’t strong enough. His nails left marks in the dirt. 

Tail tucked under his body, he was forced inch by inch towards the barn door and the squeals and whines and whimpers. They were begging not to die, asking why. The packs had been so good when studied. They had been obedient animals and they cried in confusion and terror when it wasn’t enough, asking the humans over and over why this was happening, what they had done wrong.

The humans couldn’t hear any of it. They didn’t have the right kind of ears.

But Misae did.

Later, he would see that Bill’s family shot the werewolves with silver under the light of the full moon because it was easier to kill them as wolves rather than face murdering them as men. At the time, though, he understood nothing but his own fear. His only awareness was of the pounding beat of his heart being maybe the last thing he would ever feel other than pain, the darkness that would follow it, and finally the promised, inevitable fires of Hell.

Monsters only had one afterlife, after all. Bill always said so. 

“Come on, Rusty, you stupid fucker,” Austin snarled, but his heart wasn’t in the anger he put into his voice. Misae dimly realized Austin was scared, too. “Dad will blow a gasket if he realizes I forgot you were in here-... come on!”

Misae whined. Austin jerked the noose tight again to cut the sounds off, but he wouldn’t look right at Misae as he pulled him along. Austin looked like he’d seen a ghost. No, he looked like what he was - someone not much older than Misae was, forced to make ghosts. He’d probably made three dozen of them by now as Misae listened-

Misae tossed his head back and howled.

No one answered the call.

No one was left with enough breath to do it.

There was a big hole dug in the clearing.

That’s what the machinery had been doing all day, dragging huge piles of earth up and out, depositing it into a big pile off to one side. A hole like a wound in the grass had been left, nearly filled now by blood and fur and open, unseeing eyes. The sight loomed so large in Misae’s mind that he didn’t really see it at all.

His mind instead simply let horror wash over him even as it refused to accept the images his eyes tried to share. He would never be able to clearly recall the sight. He owed it to them, his pack, his family, to remember their deaths but his eyes and his brain would never allow it. Instead, he heard the sounds.

Some of them were still whimpering, when Misae was pushed up to the edge of the hole. Some of them were still whining. Some of them were only breathing, loud, heavy gasps that held too much blood in struggling lungs. He heard them all.

He would hear them all in his sleep, when he slept, for the rest of his life.

When Misae turned his head away from the horror of the pit, his eyes met the depthless black of the barrel of Austin’s gun instead. Austin’s hands were shaking, and the barrel kept dancing too far to the right or the left, unable to settle on its aim. 

Misae dropped his head slightly. He let out a soft, plaintive whine.

“Shut the fuck up,” Austin hissed. He looked like he was going to be sick any second, throw up all over the dead wolves behind Misae or all over himself. “Don’t do that. I have to-... I have to.”

Misae looked away again. He made himself take one step, and then another, hovering just at the edge of the pit, looking down into a dozen open eyes, some wide with fear, and some seeing nothing at all any longer.

“Look… I’m sorry, Rusty,” Austin said, voice low. “I really am sorry. But I have to.”

BOOM.

Misae’s heart stopped.

His body toppled forward and he fell gracelessly into the pit.

Misae landed heavily on top of warm bodies, smeared in blood. It smelled like his family, and like metal and fire, and death. He knew what silver felt like in his body, how badly the agony would overtake everything else. It confused him when he realized he didn’t feel that pain. How could he be dead without hurting first? Had it been instantaneous, a shot to the head? Was he going to drift here in a corpse-body until Hell came for him? 

He stretched one paw and then another. He took the deepest breath he could. His heart was still beating. He was alive.

Austin had missed.

The relief was overwhelming. One of the others was trying to move, Nina he thought, and her huge paw pushed against Misae’s snout, forcing his head to turn painfully to one side. He nearly bit his own tongue to keep from making any noise. Her huge body settled over his, jerking reflexively as she kept trying to move. Nina whined, low in her throat, again and again.

Someone else rolled, and pressed against him on another side.  

He heard Austin above him, sounding farther away than he really was. There was another shot. Nina jolted and went still. “Okay… okay, got him that time. I’m sure I did… I’m sure.” Austin didn’t sound sure. His voice trembled. He retched, and Misae listened to him and wondered why he was losing his supper over the murders he had been the one to commit.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Someone else soothed. Sandra, Misae thought, maybe. Bill’s wife. “Remember, not ‘him’... ‘It’. Don’t act like they’re people. Doesn’t matter if you hit it, it’ll suffocate once we get the dirt back in, anyway.” Her voice softened. Misae could imagine she hugged Austin, her precious son. What was having a mother like? “You did a good job, Aussie. It was a cleansing. The versipellis is washed clean and clear, and we can begin again. Your dad will figure out a cure one day, I know he will. He’d been led… this is his calling.”

“I hope not,” Austin replied. “I hope we’re… I hope we’re done, Mom.”

Nina, on top of him, was going limp, turning to dead weight. Misae could barely breathe.

“Dad will stop trying to figure out werewolves now, right?” Austin sounded… young. And softer, maybe further away. They were leaving. “We won’t have to do this again?” There wasn’t a reply, not one that traveled to Misae at least. After a pause, Austin made a noise of despair that made Misae want to laugh, with hysterical loathing and panic. “Please, Mom, tell me he’s going to stop now. Tell me he won’t just go find another group to run his tests on. Please tell me he’s done!”

The roar of the big machinery began again, and Misae didn’t know what Sandra might have said next. 

Would there be other wolves in the kennels, soon enough? Other puppies born in the shed and then taken away to be blood-tested for the sickness? Would the new wolves smell the deaths of the last ones, and know that they would probably end up here, too, once all these bodies had turned to bones?

The first heap of earth fell.

All of those still alive began a new and frantic struggle. Their howls were more like screams, now, so loud that Misae’s whole head throbbed with them. He knew he was making sounds, too, but he couldn’t really hear them over his own heartbeat and the sound of static inside his head. He couldn’t even begin to stop himself. He could feel the vibration in his throat.

Another of his pack - Den, lying beside him and who was probably a littermate, even though nobody was supposed to know who their litter-siblings were - had gone still, too. Misae tried to wriggle out from under Nina, but her weight felt impossible, and with every passing minute more and more dirt fell. Covering the wolves, cutting them off from the moonlight. Misae went blind, except for a little sliver he could see when he dared open his eyes, before he had to clench them shut against the dirt that kept trying to work its way in.

For a while, he was surrounded by the whines, the whimpers, the pain and fear. His pack still begging for mercy, even now, even as they were buried. Wriggling, hot fur and the smell of blood overran every other scent in the world. Blood and silver, burning them from the inside out.  

Each of their voices went silent, one by one.

Eventually, finally, he could hear his own whimpering.

Misae was the only one left making any sound. 

Still, he could see a hint of the moonlight against the back of his closed eyes. The dirt was heavier on one side of the hole than the other, it hadn’t been evenly filled in. They might come back and push it over, though, make it solid and impenetrable, rob Misae of the air he still had to breathe. Hide the grave, cover it in new grass or clover or flowers. 

He couldn’t hear the machine any longer.

He couldn’t hear people, either.

How long Misae laid there, he didn’t know. The bodies around him were becoming more solid with every passing minute, weighing on him more heavily. His own heart kept pounding, but he thought he was the only one. He would die here, under the dirt, surrounded by the corpses of his family. It was the longest he had ever been allowed to be here with all of them, and it would be forever. There was something… nice about that.

Misae was so scared of being alone.

But he was more afraid to die.

He began to wriggle his smaller body, as carefully as he could. He shifted, moved inch by slow inch out from under Nina’s body until even his tail finally pulled free of her, smeared in bloody mud. Dirt was ground into his fur, stuffed up his ears, found its way into his mouth and down his throat. He had to keep his eyes closed, and sometimes snorted out air to try and clear out his snout only to breathe more in.

He could taste their deaths on his tongue.

Alone.

He shifted his paw, slowly, carefully. Dug it into the dirt and then crooked a joint, pulled himself forwards using the catch of his nails to help him balance. He could smell a little bit of fresh air, and sense a little moonlight. He knew which way to go, if he focused on the moon. The moon always led the wolves, it meant for them to shift to run, not to be locked up in kennels pacing with endless restlessness until they were whipped by the humans for misbehaving.

He moved his other paw, echoing the motions of the first. 

He had to dig his slow way up through the bodies of his family, shoving them aside when he could, when there was room. He climbed on top of them, moved his ears in apologies when he had to dig nails into their bellies or press paws against their heads, when he knew he was being watched by sightless eyes. Every member of his pack he moved past, he named their smells - Nina, Den, Hanwi, Nayi, Koya, Ka, Bliss. He repeated their names to himself, because no one else would ever say them. The humans had given them all other names, dog-names that sat like insults on human tongues. The wolves had had their own names for each other, and he thought them now, every single one.

Sometimes he felt the rough press of a tongue against him and hope would rise, small and soft, only to drop back to despair when Misae realized what he felt was a dead tongue lolling out of an unmoving mouth.

His stomach clenched, and heaved, but he fought it back down.

Eventually, though, one paw found the edge of the pit, and then the other. He felt the breeze against the softer fur there and whimpered, desperate to have that air on every part of his body, desperate for the knowledge that he’d made it out.

He pushed down on both front paws as hard as he could, his wasted muscles protesting as he pulled himself up and out, back paws scrabbling in the loose dirt, shoving himself up using Tate’s shoulder for balance. He panted, tongue out, opening his eyes finally to see the bright shine of moonlight as his head popped up over the pit, his ears up and swiveling immediately, checking for sounds, for any humans nearby.

He heard nothing.

Nothing but the sound of his own breathing.

But… there was a smell other than blood, finally, a smell that wasn’t death. The wind blew cool against his face. He smelled pine trees and birds hidden behind leaves. He felt the moon on his fur the way he imagined it might feel to have a mother hold you, and finally with one last push he stood on all four legs in the grass once again. 

He shook himself, dirt falling from his fur in what felt like waves. Spread his toes, let his paws really sink into the soft earth. Took in a huge breath and then let it out in something like a sigh. 

He was alive.

He was the only one alive.

Then, from close to the big house, he heard Aaron’s soft high child’s voice ask, edged with exhaustion, “Hey, Austin? Is that one of the werewolves over by the, um, the hole?”

Austin cursed. Misae turned to look just as Austin, with a red face and teary eyes, aimed and fired. He was too far away to even hope to hit, but a tree close by Misae suddenly burst apart in an explosion of pine needles and bark.

Misae let himself take one last look at the sight of someone’s paw sticking up above the loose dirt.

Kola's, he thought. There was a white spot on Kola's black paw.

Austin took aim again, and Misae ran.

-

Tag list: @finder-of-rings @burtlederp @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings @deluxewhump @yassifiedinformation @whatwhump @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @tundra-tiger

[auschizm]

my special interest is mass murder. i sure hope it isn't my special talent.

This made me laugh out loud!

[one-time-i-dreamt]

My boyfriend was mass murdering airport security officers for some reason. While he was at it, I stole a soda bottle from a shop.

[kazeofthemagun]

[Halfway done? But also, good enough as is. May finish this, may not]

[Kumo's first experiences killing for the Earl Tyrant - unable to devise a plan to evacuate the locals and supervised by Herba, the prince is forced to slaughter a village in order to avoid the Earl deliberately killing even more people, in even worse ways.]

[It is then that he becomes the Pale Phantom of Wonderland - the Maestro of the Massacre. This persona of corrupted Salvation will continue to haunt him for the remainder of his days.]

[ridragon]

I think the YouTube adverts for sandy hook promise should give more time between when you can finally skip the ad and when the narrator describes how their kids were murdered so I don't need to scramble every time to not get triggered.

[star-anise]

LMFAO at the reblog chain from this like "Good point about the propaganda but you're wrong about violence! I NEED to be able to bash people's faces in with bricks!" and people reblogging that like #based #thank u for saying this.

Oh children. I'm not actually a pacifist. I don't actually completely oppose the use of force. Even, sometimes, violent or lethal force.

What I do oppose is being completely fucking useless, which is what you call people who believe violence is the supreme form of activism.

(That or you call them police provocateurs and say, "Thanks for the suggestion, officer. Don't let the door hit you on the way out" and ban them from your Discord. Part of why I honestly doubt that pro-Nazi-punching Tumblr contains many people who have actually punched anyone IRL is that none of them realize that the first rule of committing illegal acts is not leaving behind evidence that you did or plan to do it.)

If you want to change the world, figure out what you want to change and what actual methods would achieve that! Look at people who have done the kind of thing you want to do, and learn how they did it! Also learn about the price they paid for it.

Or made other people pay, as the case may be.

Think about your end goal. If you smash all the faces with all of the bricks, what will it have accomplished? When the police haul you away in handcuffs, how will the world be different?

Or if you succeed in destroying things enough that there aren't police anymore... congrats, now you are the police. You're the force in society permitted to use violence to control the behaviour of other people. What do you do now?

While you're figuring that out? Look at the work's that currently being done, and dabble a little bit in non-violent methods. Try volunteering with a soup kitchen or attending a town hall. Just once or twice. Just for the hell of it. Just to say you tried. See if it actually feels that useless.

Fun upside of rats and spambots fleeing Twitter for Tumblr are all the new fucking, uh...

They're not TERFs this time, they're "not feminists" because "feminism is cancer", they're, uh...

"Violent Misandrists"?

Like, huge use of Judith killing Holofernes vibes. 15yos posting "Kill all men (except my male mutuals lol!)" and insinuating that banning pornography will end child abuse forever.

(deep breath)

Look.

If you are a teenager from the USA, and your parents are Republicans, please consider that EVERYTHING you were ever taught about media, politics, gender, sex, feminism, and the advisability of mass murder as a political tool

has been carefully tailored to make you feel enraged with the state of the world, which is full of Good People and Bad People (groups it is very easy to sort everyone you meet into) and the way to Fix Society is to criminalize, incarcerate, or brutally murder as many Bad People as possible. You have probably seen several different sorting systems proposed, and may not have seen much political discourse beyond debates about "Which PART of society are Bad People who should be punished?"

And yes, I realize you've also been taught that people like me insisting on bullshit like "nuance" and "tolerance" and "educating yourself" are literal Satan and probably in favour of ritualized child abuse and puppy-kicking.

We're not. I'm not. I'm like a lot of people you wouldn't think are Good People, who nevertheless work to make the world better in what we understand to be the best methods available.

I don't know why I'm saying this. I'll probably end up a target of vitriol and regret ever speaking up. Just.

You are not smart for coming to the conclusion that the world is full of Bad People who just need to be killed. You did not figure out (or find the true prophet of) The Secret Truth of the Entire Universe. You haven't figured out how to fix the world. You just followed the fucking breadcrumb trail laid down by people who want to recruit you to commit atrocities in their name.

The world is so much more complicated than you've been led to believe. Fixing its problems is so much more tedious and difficult. Cruelty is so much less useful. And you've got so much more learning to do.

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny used to be a vigilante, firmly on the side of good. Like, illegally, but morally good.

Danny’s 100% sure that whatever he is now, it’s not good.

Is Gotham’s influence just Like That?

He was homeless when he got to this thrice damned city (literally, because Lady Gotham was so cursed) and now he’s… here? In a mid-level penthouse with a rotation of homeless kids going in and out of his kitchen and eating out his pantry??

Danny adjusted the cuffs of his dress shirt, making the conscious decision to ditch the tie. He’s a tall 6ft 4 now, taking after his Dad. His head smarted all of the time, hitting doorframes when he was being a bit clumsier than the normal ghost-like grace he had learned to channel as The Phantom.

The Phantom instead of just Phantom. Why? Because Phantom was the name of a teenage vigilante in another dimension. The Phantom, on the other hand, is an intimidatingly tall, deceptively kind, extremely dangerous kingpin.

Honestly? Danny didn’t even want this life. Like, he had no idea it would snowball like this??

He supposed that it all started when the Penguin was trying to snatch kids off of his block on Crime Alley. Not officially his block, of course, because Danny didn’t actually enter this city to be a crime-shadow thing. But he hadn’t lost enough of Phantom the Vigilante to ignore kids getting hurt. He still hasn’t, if he’s being honest. He flew into a frantic search, tracking down the missing kids to Penguin’s bar. The Iceberg Lounge. Apparently, he wanted the kids to do some menial tasks and what not. Danny, rage flickering through his core, intangibly went in and robbed Penguin of every coin and secret the man kept.

Then? Danny blackmailed the Penguin to guarantee his kids a measure of safety from the Rogue. That began the slippery slope into whatever it is he does now. Penguin was being kept in line by Danny’s threats, the grip he had on the Rogue’s weak points, and a wonderful bit of intimidation.

——

“What, you stinking phantom? I’m stickin’ to yer rules!” Penguin snarled, forced to his knees by invisible blob ghosts.

Danny, salty and pissy from the lack of sleep he’d experienced trying to keep Penguin’s men in line as a result of Penguin trying to test where Danny’s lines were, dropped the temperature to the point where Penguin started shivering. Considering the place was already cold- the Iceberg lounge lived up to its name- it meant that Danny was standing nonchalantly in a room that was negative twenty five degree Celsius in a sweatshirt, Danny was already making good on his natural intimidation factor.

“It’s The Phantom to you, Oswald.” Danny said, in the tone of someone saying “it’s the shit, to you.”

Danny narrowed his blue eyes, letting a tiny tint of ectoplasm make his eyes glow a bit in the suddenly icing over room.

“Your people have been getting on my nerves, Oswald. Roughing up kids is so… uncultured. Are you sure you’re a Cobblepot?”

Penguin snarled, the effect of which was rendered ineffective due to his increasingly violent shivers. Plus, Danny loomed over him without even trying.

Danny, annoyed and asking himself “What Would Dan Do To Intimidate This Guy?”, gripped Penguin’s shoulder and hauled him up one handed. He dragged the mob boss over to one of the booths, avoiding the bodies he’d dropped (non-lethally) when Danny first walked in to ruin Penguin’s night. He shoved Penguin in chair he iced over, because Danny’s petty and if he saw one more bruise on his kids at Penguin’s hands, Danny was gonna go full Dan the Murderer.

He at least allowed to room to warm up before laying into Penguin, though. He stayed standing. Hey, he had the height advantage to use. He could have kept Penguin kneeling, but it was probably god the best that the mob boss got some sense of pride back.

(Danny had no idea that sitting as someone loomed over you to lecture and threaten you was even worse than kneeling. At least with kneeling, you knew where you stood. But sitting? It leaves you horribly off kilter.)

“I told you to keep your people in line. Kids are off limits, Oswald.”

“I kept them in line!”

Never let it be said that Oswald Cobblepot had a normal functioning sense of self preservation.

“Really?” Danny jabbed his pointer finger lightly on top of Penguin’s trachea and allowed his fingernails to sharpen into Phantom’s sharper digits. Penguin tried to lean away. “Then why did they start a gun fight when there were kids visible on the street? Why did I see one of my kids get hit by one of your poor excuses of a bouncer?”

“I-”

“Don’t care much for your excuses, if I’m being honest. I let you mess around with the little projects you have, without even breathing a whisper of your secrets. Sionis would love to know how you double crossed him the last deal, yeah?”

“I- I’ll keep them in line!” Penguin stuttered.

“Well, I believe in second chances,” Danny bullshitted. Ancients, how was this even working? “So I suggest you make an example of the guy that smacked Hailey around before I make an example out of you, Oswald.”

“Fine! Fine!”

——

And with that, he got access to Penguin’s resources and men and more importantly, the corrupt police officers. He made Penguin “boot out” the pedophilic ones (in a very violent way) and kept the rest.

Then? Mr. Freeze froze over the god damn pipes and Danny had to intimidate and make a deal with the Rogue so he and his increasing roster of orphans had access to warm water.

In exchange for Danny’s restorative and, more importantly, unmelting ice, Mr. Freeze was now Danny’s… on-call enforcer?? When he’s not researching cures for his frozen in a pod wife, that is.

Danny was satisfied with that. He was! But then Black Mask happened, with the man trying to engage in a battle of wits with Danny over the control of Crime Alley which, at that point, was firmly Danny’s territory.

The thing is, Danny doesn’t play nice anymore. Why bother with pointless mind games when he could just…

——

“So, you’re The Phantom.”

“And you’re Sionis.”

Black Mask twitched at the name, gloved hands pulling out his guns. Danny sat on the counter, head touching mid cabinet, and sipped out of Sionis’ favorite mug.

Because Danny broke into Black Mask’s safe house and stole his quality coffee. The man’s eyes were wary.

“How did you get in here?”

Danny shrugged. “Walked.”

Danny held the coffee out of the way as Sionis unloaded a clip into his chest and lunged forward to slap a mask onto Danny’s face. After waiting a bit, as Black Mask’s smug triumph bled into shock, Danny laughed and, using a bit of his natural strength, tossed the guy off of him. He casually took the mask off of his face.

“Jeez, I’m trying to be nice, here.”

“So, you’re a Meta.”

Danny grinned. “Eh. And you’re a cult leader with a mask fetish.”

Danny tuned out the rant about the “true face of Gotham” or whatever, already bored, and sipped at Sionis’ coffee. The ass might be a psycho, but his coffee tastes were wonderful. Danny stood up, rinsed his mug, and turned back to Black Mask.

“You’re trafficking people. Kids.” He said, cutting through Sionis’ chatter. He was sly about it too, committing violence and torture in a way that would ensure obedience and fear. Danny probably would have never caught on, Black Mask’s schemes being so ingeniously created and executed, had he not kept a hawk’s eyes on the more vulnerable members of Crime Alley’s community. And the rest of Gotham’s vulnerable communities, of course.

“My, a wonderfully obvious conclusion. Now, Phantom, I have a proposition for you.”

Sionis seemed to have gotten his bearings back. Danny tilted his head at him, looking down.

“You can work for me,” Sionis said, before opening a laptop with video feed to one of his masked men or whatever holding a knife to one of Danny’s more fearless kids. Danny snarled.

“Or, refuse, and your kid will lose a finger for every instance of your defiance.”

“I told you not to touch the kids, Sionis. I don’t allow trafficking either.”

Black Mask chuckled. “Cut off a finger, Sadness.”

“Yes, bos- ARGHHHH!”

Danny watched as Mr. Freeze froze the goon’s arms before breaking them.

“I’ve got her, Phantom.”

Danny nodded at Freeze, keeping an eye on Sionis in case the fool bolts.

“So, what are your cards now, Sionis? You’ve sure pissed me off with nothing to show for it.”

And that was the last night anyone heard from the one that was supposed to be the King of Crime.

But Gotham knew the head mounted on a pike at one of Black Mask’s hastily abandoned bases was a warning, that The Phantom was watching.

——

Then he somehow got a gaggle of more orphans that were undead zombie “Talons?”

From there, he just obtained influence over the crime bosses of Gotham. Because his Talons kept bringing him heads and blackmail and his crime alley kids and Gotham orphans kept bringing him information for food and safety?

But like, Danny never wanted anything in exchange for the safety he provided. His core could give less of a shit whether he got anything in return. But he couldn’t convince his kids of that! They’re putting themselves in danger and ugh-!

Danny checked himself once more in the mirror. Ready, he stepped out into the night to wait for the Bats at his new favorite VIP spots.

On the way, he passed Ivy and Harley, who he waved to. Pamela worked under him because he controlled Gotham’s criminal underground (which also mean the official parts of the city considering the sheer amount of corruption) and influenced them into more plant friendly methods. His dominion over Undergrowth also helped immensely.

Harley? They’re friends. He beat up and crippled her abusive ex. She gave him therapy and stopped torturing people for fun.

Danny stepped into the back door of the Iceberg Lounge. No one stopped him. No one dared to.

He settled onto a velvet couch, nodding respectfully at the server that had immediately and nervously set down his mai tai. He glanced around for cameras and wire taps, before giving up and upping his ectoplasmic output to short any recording devices out.

He sipped his drink as he waited.

“Batman.”

“Phantom.”

“Oh, good. You didn’t bring Robin,” Danny said, watching Batman tense. “Kids shouldn’t be in places like these.”

Batman stayed silent.

“Come on, sit.” Danny gestured to the couch across from him.

“This isn’t a social call. I’ll stop whatever you’re scheming-” Batman growled.

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic. Is this where Nightwing gets it from?”

Batman snarled.

“Sit, sit.” Danny rolled his eyes.

Batman stayed stubbornly looming. Danny sighed, allowing his voice to slip into velvet danger.

“I told you to sit, Bruce Wayne.”

“You-”

“I won’t repeat myself again, Bruce. You’re testing my patience.”

Bruce sat, wary and hyper vigilant. Danny sighed, settling back in his chair.

“You’ve heard of Red Hood, yes? Don’t answer that, it was hypothetical. I know you’ve heard of him.” Danny waved a hand impatiently. “I don’t really care why he’s setting up shop in my Alley, but he’s upsetting the other crime lords. They’re asking me to interfere.”

“I don’t work for you.”

“No,” Danny acknowledged with a nod. “But I could make you, if you push it. Politeness would serve you much better right now, Bruce, seeing as I am doing you a… favor. And since I’m not shouting to the world who you are under the cowl.”

Danny gave Batman a pointed, patented, mom glare.

“… Apologies.”

“Now, you might be wondering what that favor is.” Danny watched Batman’s cowled face carefully. “I thought you should know that the Red Hood is your “Jason Todd.’”

Batman was still. And then Batman leapt at him, snarling, “How dare you-!”

Danny caught the vigilante by the throat and squeezed.

Batman’s flurry of punches- which, mildly ow, those gauntlets kind of hurt- quickly changed to clawing and maneuvers to get out of the choke hold. Danny held steady, cutting off the vigilante’s air supply until he began to go limp. He’s not Superman. Danny will bruise and kill, if he had to.

“Are you going to listen to me now?” Danny asked mildly, emulating both Black Mask’s drawl and Dan’s effortless psychosis.

Batman gave a weak nod. Danny plopped him unceremoniously back onto his couch. He sipped on his drink once more as he waited for Batman to cough some sweet air back into his lungs.

“I’m telling you to get your little birds in line before I have to go hunting, yeah? Keep your kids out of danger, Bruce, and I won’t have to step in.”

“He- how do you know..?” The growl isn’t there anymore, and Danny felt a smug sense of vindication of having smothered it out of the guy. Woah, no, that thought was too Dan and too little Danny. Danny handed him a cup of water, which Batman didn’t drink.

Danny rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Drink. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now. And as for how I know…”

Danny held up a beat up copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility, filled with Jason’s writing. He tossed it to Batman, who caught it with blank eyes.

“Water,” Danny reminded him firmly, feeling like a mother hen. Batman gulped down his water, eyes flicking between the pages of Jason’s annotated book. Ancients, Danny couldn’t believe he annotated his book. A crime lord, like that? Well, it’s not like Danny could say anything.

Batman looked up at him, a silent demand- no, plea, because he’s not in a position to make demands- for an answer.

“Broke into his safe house. You should contact your fling, Talia. Seems like she dunked him into these “Lazarus pits” and told him you replaced him with the current Robin.”

Danny could see Batman’s emotional gears hard at work and honestly, he doesn’t have time for that.

“Now, we’re done here. You owe me one for the information. I’ll collect later.” Danny grabbed the Dark Knight, who stayed oddly unresisting (shock, maybe?) , and hauled him up.

“Tell Tim Drake to eat more. He looks too skinny.” With that, Danny dragged the Dark Knight to the window and punted him out. His kids were waiting on hot chocolate night and Danny had to go shopping for quality ingredients.

——

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE TOLD ME THE BIGGEST CRIME LORD OF YOUR CITY WAS THE FUCKING HIGH KING OF THE INFINITE REALMS?!”

“Hn.”

“BLOODY HELL, DON’T YOU GRUNT AT ME, YOU BROODY BASTARD!”

Constantine let out a scream. Shite, the king who held his soul contract was a crime lord. Great.

——

The reason intelligence and convoluted schemes and genius doesn’t work against Danny is because he’s got weird standards of what he’ll tolerate and the fact is that his normal dumbassery and mother hen tendencies cancels out and coherent thoughts or plans he might have had.

[dduane]

Today's rather disturbing yet nonetheless fascinating and thought-provoking read

If you're going to engage with this material—and it is an examination of, literally, brutal and explicitly violent events—don't do so as fragmentary, incomplete shocker/clickbait headlines or quotes in some tabloid. Read the whole paper.

"The authors examine the physical remains and debate the societal tensions that could motivate a level and scale of violence that is unprecedented in British prehistory."

[tormxntum]

Cailean felt a rush of adrenaline course through their body when Vinny voiced the concerns that had been at the back of their mind since they first arrived in the Mughal Empire. What if they had all walked straight into a trap? What if this was orchestrated by the very same people who had murdered the monarchs? Cailean pressed their lips into a thin line. "I think you're right, but I dinnae ken if we can prove any of it."

Even if they were able to prove it, who would listen to them? Cailean was sure that if they would come up with any theory relating to the murders, the blame would somehow be cast on them after the revelation of their secret. Why else would someone who is set on destroying the monarchy suddenly find interest in solving their murders? "Nevertheless, we have to do something. We cannae wait around until they decide it's time for another death."

“If we’re being frank, I think I would be terrified of anyone who could answer that question. I suspect most people are simply not capable of putting themselves on the mind of a killer - not one as cold and calculated as we are now facing.” Vinny shuddered. “If they want us afraid they are succeeding. An entire palace jumping at the sight of every shadow.”

He thought for a moment, on the implication of them all being so grouped together. “I worry they may have something more… grand planned. No need to hunt the rulers down one by one if they’re all in one place. We may have walked into a trap.”

[sayruq]

Immediate international action must be taken to investigate the hundreds of mass and random graves in the Gaza Strip containing the bodies of thousands of Palestinian victims since the start of Israel’s genocide, ongoing since 7 October 2023. Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor field teams have closely observed the recovery of hundreds of dead bodies from these mass graves, some of which were found in the courtyards of different Gaza Strip hospitals. The significant number of graves and bodies is concerning and calls for rapid international action, which should include the immediate creation of an independent international investigation committee to look into the circumstances surrounding the creation of these graves and the deaths of the victims buried in them. This is especially important given that a large number of the victims were directly subjected to premeditated murder and arbitrary and extrajudicial executions while handcuffed. A technical committee of experts is needed to investigate the burial circumstances and determine the cause of death of the victims that have been recovered. Additionally, a system for future identification ofdeceased victims’ identities must be developed.

The Euro-Med Monitor field teams previously documented the recovery of dozens of bodies from the mass graves in Al-Shifa Medical Complex’s courtyards, belonging to handcuffed victims, otherindividuals who were wounded but not provided withmedical care, and those who were executed despite their health conditions. The victims’ decomposing bodies were found in several places, with some having been run over by Israeli bulldozers which left their bodies torn into pieces. The presence of urinary catheters or splints, whichwere found to be still attached to some of the dead patients’ bodies during the exhumation process, as well as medical files that were buried with them in Al-Shifa Medical Complex, confirm the execution of ill and injured people. Due to the extended period of time in which the bodies were left in the mass graves—as Israeli forces had impeded their recovery for the past few months—most of the bodies were in a state of decomposition when recovered. Some of the corpses had also evidently been mauled by cats and dogs. Dr Moatasem Saeed Salah, a member of the Ministry of Health’s emergency committee, told Euro-MedMonitor that after the withdrawal of Israeli forces, 30 bodies were found to have been buried in two makeshift cemeteries in Al-Shifa Medical Complexduring the Israeli siege of the medical facility. One of these cemeteries was in front of the reception and emergency department, and the second was in front of the industrial department. Salah said that only 14 of the victims had been successfully identified, with the rest being patients or injured individuals who had been receiving treatment in the hospital.

[gello-strands]

Enoch is just an eyeball.. his head too big

(REBLOGS>LIKES!)

[chronicallycouchbound]

For those that don’t know, tonight (October 25th) there has been a series of mass shootings with multiple suspects involved in Lewiston, Maine, USA.

There are 18 confirmed deaths so far and 60+ injured with 2 locations involved. The shooter(s) have not been caught, multiple counties are on active lockdown with shelter-in-place orders.

The primary suspect is a white man from a military background in firearms, Lewiston has one of the largest concentration of refugees in the state, and anytime the Lewiston/Auburn area gets any news coverage, there is an increase in hate violence against all of the people of color in the area.

People and news outlets are absolutely going to try to spin this to place blame on the immigrant and refugee communities in the area. It is so vital that people combat this racist misinformation.

Maine is a small, rural state without the resources or infrastructure for anything like this. Hospitals are overwhelmed, even with backups being called in from New Hampshire and Massachusetts. I'll post updates and fundraisers for the community as they come up. I'm so worried for my community.

[stellarhistoria]

"First of all, he isn't you. I see that now. And, for what it's worth, even if I... even if I have a right to feel upset about how he treated me, treated everybody, as means to an end... don't blame yourself for that... okay?" it was the first thing that came to mind. a reassurance, both for herself and for him. ( they are not who created them. )

but she has to pause, frightened of recalling what memories she couldn't ever forget. she knew with vivid detail, and it was the reason why she had ran to the doorsteps of the akademiya, pleading for safety as her smaller form, as the world BURNED behind her. as the world BROKE for a goal unattainable without a HEART. they had seen her sorrow, seen her regret, seen how she had needed someone to rely on, and they taught her. they warned her never to stray again, but she didn't want to leave her room for so long that they worried she was mute from the trauma. until they brought some cuisines that she had once called gross, some cuisines that her palette now called HOME.

"... I can only call The Traveler heartless. Cruel doesn't do him justice, and would be wrong. Even the cruel treat people they like with respect. He only saw the world he was in, as a means to an end. He only saw the world as a tool to be sharpened into a weapon, and not nurtured into a home. He told me once, that he only cared about finding his sister... about finding her, and going home. And when that was close enough, nothing else would matter. No one, nothing, nowhere else could stop him."

"He indiscriminately ruined lives. Those he helped ended up afraid of him. And then those who he killed never got a proper burial. At least, I don't think so. Somewhere along the line, he was... he just... disappeared. And then he came back, nicer. Or, well, not nicer... but at least trying to fix some things. Making things neater, tidier, finer. I don't think he actually wanted to fix anything, but whenever I would try to ask him questions, he would only hold a finger up to his lips and when I'd blink, he'd be gone again."

"I'm glad you're here, Andrii. I hope we never see The Traveler ever again. At least you have a heart guiding you. At least you see people as people worth saving, and not only being saved to be used later."

She wasn't wrong on that. For what answers he had, there were twice as many questions, with only more falling into line behind them. It was frustrating, a sigh coming from the brunette as he turned to look out at the water. Watching the fishing boats float along, as if it was just another day in Teyvat.

Which it was. Even with the two of them standing there, with the conversation hanging in the air.

"...My memories of that time are...fuzzy." He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander. "I can only remember bits and pieces, and...there's a time that I can't remember at all. It's completely blank." And he wasn't sure if he wanted to know, either. From the way Paimon talked about it, it didn't sound good.

"Paimon, what did I... What did he do?"

[destielmemenews]

"On March 16, 1968, Calley led American soldiers of the Charlie Company on a mission to confront a crack outfit of Vietcong enemies. Instead, over several hours, the soldiers killed 504 unresisting civilians, mostly women, children and elderly men, in My Lai and a neighboring community."

source 1

source 2

source 3

[hussyknee]

Yesterday I watched a video of a toddler in Gaza playing with a little red bicycle startle and cry at the sound of a bomb. Today I found the IOF had invaded their house, shot and killed the little boy in front of his mother and thrown them all into the street.

And it wasn't even the only child on my TL that had been killed the same way because the IOF are taking over all the houses still standing in Northern Gaza. They took over the school shelters, made the men hiding in them strip to their underwear in the freezing winter, lining them up and shooting them like dogs. They're ripping up hundreds of years old trees in groves. THEY'RE FLOODING GAZA WITH SEA WATER.

Meanwhile:

I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANY FUCKING MORE. HE'S SENT ANOTHER TWO HUNDRED CARGO PLANES OF WEAPONS TO ISRAEL. WHY IS THIS MOTHERFUCKER STILL BREATHING??????