#burying a body

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I’m having a thought! So we all want to see Antoni smut cause we’re thirsty, but of course respectfully understand that he is Ace. But Artyom ….👀 OR Antoni remembers those things…. Endless possibilities there Ash

CW: At first NSFW for like... Four paragraphs, some initial consensual spice, more or less whumper POV in a way, death threats/murder, creepy whumper

Antoni allows no direct smut, Anon. This is as close as he will let me get.

-

Sweat trickles down the back of Artyom's neck, and his breath is hot and damp against hers. Her little cries are right against his ear, high-pitched. Her fingernails drag down his back, a little further with each rock of his hips.

He couldn't begin to describe how this feels. Hot, tight, wet - all the usual words come to mind but none of them are good enough.

Carly Riggs digs her nails so deep into his back he's sure he'll find blood later, whispering oh god oh god oh god as she comes. The way she goes tighter than ever around him, the prickle of pain near his shoulder blades, even just the way her voice sounds all overwhelms him and he follows her, eyes tightly closed as pleasure takes him.

The leather of her car's backseat sticks to his arms, his head nearly knocking into the door, but finally they slow and then stop, both of them breathing hard.

"Eto bylo khorosho," He groans. "Tak khorosho, tak korosho..."

Carly reaches one hand up to wipe the back of her hand across her forehead, smiling at him. It's a dopey expression, sweet and sated. He likes that look on her. "What?"

"Sorry. I mean... Very good. It was good." His accent is rougher just after sex, voice slightly breathless and rasping. He pulls back reluctantly, dropping a hand to dig around for his boxers and jeans. "We should do again sometime, see if I can be even better."

"Better than tonight?" Carly laughs, pushing herself up to seated, wriggle her jeans back up over her hips. "I might die."

"Only in little ways." He winks at her before pulling his shirt back on. "This is the idea, right?"

"Oh my god. Artyom, you are the weirdest." She's still grinning as he offers her a hand to scoot along the seat and finally stand. The breeze outside the car cools and dries the sweat on them both. Her hair is a rat's nest of tangles in the back, and they're both flushed and have a sheen of sweat. Not entirely subtle. "Are you sure you don't want to come to the party with me?"

"I am sure." He smiles, leaning back against the side of her car. She eases the door shut and follows suit, their elbows nearly touching. She yanks her tank top back down.

"Whenever somebody gets you to agree to a date, I bet you'll be an amazing boyfriend," Carly says, teasing and not-teasing.

"Maybe." He has no intention of dating anyone. Ever. But he doesn't say that to her. "Be safe at the party, eh?"

"Of course." She leans over to bump affectionately against him, as close as he allows to a goodnight kiss. "I'll see you at work on Tuesday, right? We both open that day."

"Da. You will see me then. Now I need to go inside. Keep off your lights until you are gone from my neighborhood, please."

"Just tell your mom to fuck off." Carly sighs, finger-combing her hair as best she can. "You're a fucking adult. Do what you want."

"Mmmn. Easier to say than to do."

It isn't his mother he is worried about getting a good look at Carly Riggs.

But he just gives her a hug, her perfume and the scent of them together a heady mix in the air, and opens her front door for her to settle inside and drive away, easing slowly down the road to make as little noise as she can.

His key in the lock makes only the slightest sound, and he oiled the hinges so the door never so much as squeaks. The house is dark and silent, the TV for once is off. He moves with perfect knowledge of every obstacle between him and his bedroom - avoiding the box of clothes for donating that has been sitting for three months now, his mother's little dog's pile of toys, even a kitchen chair out of place.

The vodka in the freezer pours easily into a shot glass, and he knocks it back to feel it freeze and burn, tasteless, down his throat.

Two more shots and the warmth spreads further than the cold, so he adds a little water to cover what he stole and puts it back, turning the bottle so the label is exactly the way it was when he came in..

He has long experience at this. His father will never know, never guess. The better for his health if his vodka turns more and more to simple water, anyway.

He showers, washing Carly off him as well as the smells of his job. When he checks the mirror after drying off and pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants, he sees - yes, scratches, with bright red spots where blood welled up, from just below his shoulder blades down nearly to his waist.

He smirks at the sight, but then realizes the bathroom door is open. His smile fades as his eyes raise.

Reflected in the mirror, Misha stares at him, expression somehow both empty and avid.

"... The bathroom is taken," He says, after a breath. His younger brother, head tipped against the doorframe and mop of hair falling over his eyes, smiles. It's thin, and it doesn't reach his eyes.

None of Misha's expressions ever reach his eyes.

"Got mauled by a tiger at work tonight?" Misha's voice is light. He makes a little claw gesture with one hand, fingers bent. "Rrrrow."

"Misha-"

"Which girl was it? The cute brown-haired one?"

Artyom turns away. "None of your business. Go back to bed." He wets a toothbrush and gets toothpaste, hoping to stave off the conversation long enough for Misha to lose interest.

At first, he thinks he might have succeeded. Misha disappears from the doorway, and Artyom makes his way to his bedroom in the dark. His father's snores are deafening, down the hall. His mother will be sleeping in the guest room, and even if she snores, too, it would be impossible to hear it over his father.

He pads barefoot over the hardwood floor until he heads into his room, letting the door close behind him and collapsing onto his twin-sized bed with his feet hanging off the end. He can hear Misha's television in his room going through their shared wall, low murmuring voices.

There's a beat of silence. Artyom takes a deep breath, holds it for a beat, slowly exhales. Outside, the breeze shivers the leaves into a soft rustle. His clock reads past midnight, but if both his parents are asleep already, they won't know to bother him about it.

Not that anyone ever minds when Misha misses curfew, but if Tyoma is late, oh, let hell rain down...

He groans and rolls onto his side, pulling the covers up. He can feel bitter tomorrow. Besides

"The blonde, then?"

Artyom shoots upright with his heart in his throat, eyes briefly wide. "Chto za khren', Misha!"

His brother is a shadow in the corner, leaning against the wall with his hands in his jeans pockets, shoulders hunched.

Smiling.

In the dark, he has only even deeper shadows for eyes.

"Tell me which girl it was, Tyoma."

"I... Why?" His heart pounds, and he scoots until his back hits the wall, watching as Misha pushes lazily away from the wall and takes the two or three strides he needs to drop into the computer chair Artyom keeps next to his desk. No computer, but maybe one day. If he can save up.

"Because I want to know, dumbass." Misha laughs, leaning over. There has always been something strange about his laugh. "I want to know who's out there stealing my brother's heart."

"No one is." It's an honest answer. "Not sure I even have one to steal, Mishka." Less honest. But his voice is still too airy, and he can tell Misha enjoys the idea that he has frightened him. "It's just... friends with benefits. Da?"

"Is it?" Misha scoots the chair closer, clicking over the boards on the floor. Artyom feels strangely trapped, even though he could push Misha back and run. But he doesn't. His brother won't hurt him.

Not yet.

"It is." He drops his voice even further. "I promise, Mishka. There is no one outside the family. No one."

"No one but me." Misha is inches from him, his knees touching the side of Artyom's bed. Now light from outside, dimly white, glimmers over his dark eyes. "Right? Right, Tyoma? Family first."

"Right." Tyoma meets his gaze. Misha's eyes are like dead things, empty marbles in a moving face. "Family first. No one is more important than family."

"Right. And I'm your family. Me. So you can't run off to screw people if it means not taking care of me, right? If you get some girlfriend-"

"I don't even want one." Artyom cuts him off. Misha leans even closer, somehow. And there's a glint, a sheen of moonlight off metal. His little brother is holding a knife. "Carly and I are just friends who, who fool around sometimes."

"Carly, then." Misha's smile widens, like a skull's rictus grin. "The blonde. I figured."

Artyom winces, internally. But all he does is swallow the lump in his throat and nod. "Da, Mishka. She has a boyfriend at college. This is just for fun."

"Khoroshiy, Tyoma."

The silence draws out, and then Misha moves in almost a lunge forward and upright. Artyom flinches back, but Misha only ruffles his hair, giggling like he used to do when they were kids and he would push other children down the slide before they were ready.

"Relax. You are my family, too, Tyoma." He pats the side of Artyom's face. The knife in his other hand disappears back into a pocket, closed up into harmlessness again. "Family first."

"Family first," Artyom whispers.

Misha turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Artyom doesn't fall asleep until it's nearly dawn.

A week later, Misha calls him for help, and he spends the night digging a grave in the woods, just deep enough to cover two bodies with pine needles and fallen leaves without it being obvious. It takes hours, and his arms burn, muscles screaming for him to stop. He ignores the pain.

Misha helps, which he doesn't usually do. He digs, too, his eyes locked on Artyom's face. The dead bodies mean nothing, now. They've served their purpose.

"They're both pretty," Misha says idly. "Good luck I found them, huh?"

Artyom grunts.

"Hey. Tyoma." Misha snaps his fingers and Artyom looks up. Misha is only a couple feet away. He has the same look on his face as he had in Artyom's room the other night.

"Don't see her again outside of work, Tyoma. Don't. You don't need friends. You have me."

"... Mishka-"

"Don't 'Mishka' me. I said don't hang out with Carly Riggs anymore unless I'm with you. Okay?"

"... Yeah."

"Say you won't. Say it out loud. I can finish this myself, you know."

Artyom thinks of the knife Misha keeps, one he never uses on anyone else. He knows that knife is for him.

Artyom's heart pounds all over again, exertion and a dim terror beneath. "... I will not hang out with Carly without you."

"Good. Let's finish this up."

He goes back to digging, and Artyom follows suit, trying not to look too hard at the bodies.

A couple Misha saw in a bar and wanted to destroy. So he did. And now Artyom buries them for him, as always. Because his mother's heart would shatter if her youngest son was caught doing such evil things.

Because he knows what he must do to protect the brother who has been the center of his life since his birth. The brother who will one day, he thinks, be the center of his death, too.

He feels Misha's eyes on him like a brand as he dumps shovels of dirt over the open dark, slightly feline eyes and messy dark hair of the man. The tangled blonde hair and bright blue eyes of the woman. She has a t-shirt on from the restaurant where Artyom's been working.

It isn't a coincidence. It's a message, and Artyom understands.

Family first.

Or else.

[trexalicious]

[maxgicalgirl]

Being a “Fun Fact !” kind of autistic is all fun and games until you get halfway through sharing an interesting tidbit and realize that it probably wasn’t appropriate to share in polite company and now you have to deal with the consequences :(

[amaliatheartist]

I wanna see ’em

[scapegods]

Date Night

[deadsetobsessions]

Fae! Adjacent Danny, adjacent bc I’m really tired and can’t remember all of the rules.

Even before he died, there was something off an out Danny. It’s why his bullies existed, and why his friends were so loyal.

Danny was fae. Kind of. Different, to say the least. Those who fit in instinctually felt a sense of weirdness, of a just barely there shiver. Those who were outcasts loved it.

It stands to reason that when Danny moved to Gotham, everyone and their goddamn cousins loved him. Gotham was made of misfits, and Danny was one of their own.

A boy who could have been his own brother walked into his store. Danny glanced up at the slight ting of the doorbell. A head full of fluffy black hair, eyes bluer than the skies, and a camera hanging its heavy weight against the boy’s neck.

The boy glanced down at the circle- the very obvious circle- Danny made of polished stones and gems that was placed on the side of the counter.

The boy looked at him, nerves apparent in his posture, and stepped into the circle. Danny straightened. Ah, a customer.

“I came here to make a deal.”

“I see. And what is it that you desire?”

The boy puffed up and handed Danny a written contract.

“The full and complete revival of one Jason Peter Todd, buried at Gotham Memorial on lot #537.”

Danny glanced through the contract. It was as foolproof as possible.

“Very clever. But you’ve forgotten something.”

“What?”

Danny smiled a small eldritch thing at the boy. “There is always a price, little sparrow.”

“I’ll pay it.” The boy said.

“And what if what I want…” Danny placed a thumb under the boy’s eyes. He must learn not to be going around and making deals with beings like Danny. “Are your eyes?”

The boy trembled.

“You can have them in exchange for the contents… the contents of that paper being completed.”

“And what if what I want is… your full name?”

A terrible price. Once you gave people like him your name, you could never come back.

The boy closed his eyes. “Okay. Okay. You can-” the boy opened those eyes again and looked at Danny with determination. “But only after you complete the tasks.l

Danny wasn’t fae. He was almost one, yes, but he was always a little more human than the rest of his kind. It made him gentle. To them, it made him weak. The fae are rarely ever kind, and Danny was made of kindness.

“This price, I will not take it from you.” Danny raised a palm when the boy made to protest. “Instead, it will be taken from your… brother himself, for that will be the nature of his revival.”

“Are you sure you don’t want my name? Or- or something?”

Danny smiled.

“Not while you are within my circle, little sparrow.”

“Why do you call me that?”

Danny smirked. “One day, I might even tell you. For now, we will complete your contract. The price…”

The boy tensed up.

Danny pointed at the camera. “The price will be that camera. You may keep the pictures.”

“Deal.” The boy’s face lit up. Danny grinned with a bit with too much teeth.

“We have a deal.” And Danny released the boy with his- no, with Danny’s- camera from the circle. When he stumbled out of it, Danny gestured to the door, and flicked the switch that connected to the sign, turning it from Open to Closed.

“Lead the way, little Sparrow.”

The boy stared at him… then stuck his hand out.

“I’m Tim.”

Danny laughed. “I’m Danny. Don’t go making deals with people like me if you can help it, kid.”

[frownyalfred]

hurt/comfort superbat fic where Bruce occasionally has to chase Clark down when he's being a little more Kryptonian/Eldritch-y than normal (it's fine, he has the resources/ships/etc). when Clark's happy, he's in orbit outside of the Watchtower, floating and absorbing the sun. but when he's down or depressed? he avoids the sun. because the sun means energy, it's a reminder of his powers, of everything he's lost, a reminder of difference down at the very cellular level.

that's all to say, sometimes I think Clark goes down instead of up and hides away from the sun the only place he can: deep, deep underwater. somewhere maybe even Arthur only goes sparingly, deep in a trench where the water isn't oxygenated or habitable. and he just floats down there, trying to block it all out and failing miserably.

[sunchasedkiss]

Honestly Hop, you should be more worried about your other kid.

[ceilidho]

Imagine it’s like a home invasion when Simon ain’t there. He comes home and sees the door broken into, thinking the worse he comes in and sees Bird crouching in the corner holding a shaky knife. Blood all over her as she stutters and cries while pointing to the body laying in the once clean kitchen. She’s blubbering apologizes and whimpering out “I didn’t mean to do it.” Meanwhile Simon just stares at her, her pretty face smeared in wet, bloody tears, thinking to himself “where’s the nearest ring shop?” And can he frame the knife…

doesn't remember the anniversary of when they started fucking/dating, but remembers the day of his bird's first kill 😒😒

[sparkleworm]

Oh to be a big, soft Pokémon plushie.

[zoe-oneesama]

Honestly if canon didn't want people to think this should work then they should have just had an episode where gabriel tries it with the repaired peacock or self-akumatisation and it fails. Like early on the reason he didn't try was kinda obvious: he didn't want to get sick by using the peacock. But after it's fixed that reason doesn't really work. The show needed to explicitly outline that miraculous illness can't be cured especially since the main audience is children. But it seems like they didn't think of it.

The only real way I can justify it is if Emilie is in fact just straight up dead already. And like fair, a foreign kid's show might not be allowed to just come out and say that. But when you can't come out and just call a dead person a dead person, it leaves it open for some people (me) to interpret them as Not Quite Dead. As "Mostly" Dead. And well...

[dhddmods]

Please stop sigmatizing small phalluses.

We see it in almost every queer space we go, and it is humiliating, degrading, and saddening that our own community can be so intersexist, altersexist, and transphobic, without even seeming to realize it.

We know that "small dick - big dick" is a joke, a meme, but frankly, its just not funny. Phallus size has been stigmatized and mocked so much that its caused countless people gender dysphoria, sex dysphoria, body dysmorphia, depression, anxiety, and stigma. This stigma leads to a lot of people with small phalluses having a more difficult time getting into relationships, because people are judgmental of their bodies. Small phalluses don't make a person bad in bed, nor is it something to be ashamed of.

Not only that, but it is rooted in intersexism. Micropenises are an intersex trait, and yet it is belittled, laughed at, and treated like some joke. People's bodies are not jokes.

Mockery of small phalluses, even if done with good intent or in "good fun", stigmatizes and humiliates real intersex people - people with congenital buried penises, clitoromegaly, fused labia & clitoromegaly, and similarly structured genitals. Please read (and reblog) about intersex variations & traits here, for a better understanding and compassion for their community - a community that very frequently overlaps with the trans community, and is a part of the LGBTQIA+ community as a whole.

It also stigmatizes altersex, transsex, transmasc, and non-binary people. This includes those that desire/have metoidioplasties and that desire/have T-dicks or enlarged clitorises. It also includes those that have penises/phalluses, and take estrogen (or intersex people who produce high estrogen) that causes phallus shrinking. It makes many people feel sad and ashamed of their genitals, as if there is something wrong with them.

We mean no hate to anyone that has made these jokes in the past. This post is simply a plea to expand your mindset, and think of the psychological and social damage those jokes do to real people.

Please reblog to spread awareness.

[ruby-white-rabbit]

I wonder if anyone found the dead body my teacher buried right before the pandemic

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

OP: Check out. The fully-sexual charged cinematic movement design.

Cnetizens: How did the director come up with the idea to have him kneel on a playing card, adding so much aesthetic energy, is that some kind of genius?

[finzphoenix]

A drawing of CV!Edward with the request to have him casually lean against the front of his trusty Buick, commissioned by none other than the insanely skilled @voiceboss!

To say I'm honored would be the understatement of the century, of course. I was beaming with excitement throughout the whole process and frankly, I still am! ;///;🖤🤍

Riddler © DC comics

CV!Riddler © Codot

Art © FinzPhoenix

[shyjusticewarrior]

Jason: I'd bury a body for you.

Damian: Tt, burying it would be foolish when you could dissolve it in acid.

Jason: Fine. I'd dissolve a body in acid for you, you pedantic little bastard.