#i love my fucked up little guy.

[whumpcloud]

Delirium

taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg @gala1981 @whump-in-the-moonlight @ohwhumpydays

content: buried alive, lady whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, two whumpers, captivity whump, defiant whumpee, claustrophobia, brief + non-detailed past whump (whumpee is fourteen, development of claustrophobia and brief reference to suicide), brief self-harm reference

They're dragging Derian outside.

The outside consists only of the forest outside the Wainwright cottage, but Derian feels as though he's barely breathed fresh air since being brought here.

Of course, Ophelia isn't giving him a single opportunity to get away. He's still injured, broken bones not quite healed, so he isn't sure what she thinks he'll do. He doesn't think he could run even if he tried.

Ophelia drops him on the edge of a shallow grave, and Derian only doesn't fall because Nicolas grabs the back of his shirt collar to hold him steady.

"Spent the better part of thirty minutes digging this out," Nicolas grins. "Hope it's worth the effort."

Derian looks into the grave. Its only contents are an open, empty wooden box, a deadbolt affixed to it, just big enough to fit someone of his size.

He flinches when he notices Ophelia on his other side, nonchalantly resting her head against his.

"This is for Nicky, really," Ophelia sighs, like this is the most mundane thing in the world. "He thinks it might fuck you up a bit. But it doesn't even mark you."

"W-Wait." Derian is already starting to push against Nicolas. "Y-You're not-- you're not putting me in there."

"That's exactly what we're doing, pretty boy," Nicolas grins.

"N-No!" Derian can already feel the pressure closing around him. "Please, please, I-- I'm claustrophobic, I can't--!"

"Then we'll hear you scream from up here," Ophelia shrugs.

They shove him into the shallow grave, and Nicolas kicks the box shut.

A strangled scream rips through Derian's throat as soon as he hears the thud of the bolt. He's trapped. This isn't real. It's a nightmare that he's going to wake up from any moment now, and curl up tightly and press his face into Charlie's shoulder until it reminds him where he is.

"PLEASE!" Derian slams his fists and feet against the lid of the wooden box. "LET ME OUT! P-PLEASE!"

"Come on, you've seen movies like this before, right?" Nicolas says, and Derian knows he hasn't dropped that stupid, smug smile. "You're only wasting your air."

The tears are streaming down Derian's face. He can't breathe anyway. His chest feels like a taut elastic band, sharply spasming every time he breathes in, breathes out, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out--

Derian weakly kicks at the box, but he knows it's useless. He covers his eyes with his hands, even though the pressure is closing around him. He's going to die. He's going to suffocate in a stupid wooden box in a stupid forest and nobody is ever going to find him.

The air feels so thin. How long has he been down here? It can't have been longer than a few minutes. It's still too much.

What was it Charlie always told him? Grounding techniques. Five things you can see. But he can't see anything.

Doesn't matter. Move on. Four things he can feel. His clothes - Nicolas' old clothes, always oversized on him. The wood of the box, flaking into splinters. His hair on his face. The sweat on his shaking hands.

Three things he can hear. The thump of dirt. They're actually burying him. He thought it was his heartbeat.

He slams his head back, physical pain to snap himself into focus, and presses his palms flat. Don't tense up. Stay calm.

"H-How long?" Derian's voice cracks when he speaks. "'Til I need air?"

The thumping stops for a moment. Derian hears the sound of the shovel sliding into the dirt. He tries to picture something that isn't the engulfing darkness around him - Nicolas leaning on the shovel, smiling, Ophelia lying boredly on the grass for Nicolas to be done with this so she can beat Derian to a bloody pulp.

"Five hours," Nicolas says. "Give or take."

Five hours. Derian bites his lip hard enough to make it bleed. They don't want him dead yet, and they know he won't be able to tell how long it's been. Four hours at most.

"Nnh…" Derian turns onto his side. At least he can move. It isn't like then.

A cupboard, packed in tight, banging on the door while his mom shakily locks it. A gunshot he has nightmares about. He isn't stupid. Something in him breaks. It's seven hours until his dad comes home, and he can't even curl up on the floor to sob. It's too close. He can't breathe. He is fourteen and his mom is gone.

Derian's breath catches in his throat, and he swallows. He's twenty. Buried alive. There are two people above him who want him to suffer.

He wants to suffer too.

But more importantly, he wants to live.

He laughs, an awkward, sobbed sound. He's not supposed to feel like this. Near delirium to even think it. But God, he wants to live. He wants to feel a car rushing past, the cold of an ice cream, the fear of a rollercoaster just before the drop, another cigarette pressed against his skin. Everything that doesn't hurt and everything that does.

He's going to live as long as he keeps the siblings entertained. If they want him to suffer, he's all too happy to oblige. Pain means he's still alive.

He takes slow breaths. He knows his shaking is getting worse the longer he's trapped here, knows if he stops focusing his breathing will become so erratic he won't be able to control it again, but he doesn't let himself think about anything else.

Two things he can feel. Pain and the dirt falling through the cracks.

One thing he can taste. Blood.

However long it's been when he hears the shovel again doesn't matter. He's in control. A rush of adrenaline courses through him.

Derian gasps in the fresh air when Nicolas pulls him out of the box and up onto the grass again. He hadn't realised how much of a struggle it was before.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Nicolas says softly, putting a hand on Derian's shoulder. "That's it. Breathe."

If he gives them the chance to bury his body, they'll bury it here. He's going to be buried kicking and screaming.

Derian punches Nicolas in the throat.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

while we wait.

may i offer you all a pubby?? lil bby barns?

[lazylittledragon]

do any other artists feel like. yeah you're a 'good artist' because you draw things that look nice, but like. TECHNICALLY? you're really not great

i really hate that i can recognise that yes, my art is good, but is it VARIED? is it dynamic?? is my anatomy good? is it full of texture and colour theory? do i know how to do This? can i do That? no, not really. and that's quite painful actually

[lotus-pear]

bsd rewatch w my friend means obligatory art of my fav found family ever

[florallylly]

less steve harrington "i try to be a good guy despite my past" and more steve harrington "i've always been a good person (albeit probs annoying asf), you just stereotyped me based on my interest in sports"

[croweofthebog]

oh so we’re all about subverting the chosen one trope until the chosen one nukes the earth and eats the solar system. i see how it is

[camthecatchameleon]

a few days ago my brain demanded i draw polywitchlight RIGHT NOW and who am i to refuse

original and closeups under the cut

original/template is from “Go For It Nakamura!” by Syundei which i have not read actually

+ closeups; feel free to use as icons with credit smile

[yayll]

~ a little something about Beast Dazai and his inability to let you go ~

Your hand trembles as you're about to knock on the massive office doors and you wonder if you're about to make the biggest mistake of your life.

You got too close working for this terribly lonely man, and now you're knocking at his door with the only solution you can think of to put an end to your silly infatuations that have gone on for longer than you'd want to admit and can possibly handle. You open the door slowly, and walk into the elegant and massive office space, your eyes falling right onto the dark haired man in all black hunched over the desk, scribbling away as if he didn't hear you come in. You walk quietly, and when you reach the wooden desk, your voice comes out soft and firm.

"Dazai, sir? I wanted to speak to you about something sensitive, if I may."

You chew on the corner of your bottom lip, but quickly compose yourself when you see the face of the man you've spent so much time with, the unfortunate love of your life. if it weren't for his Maroon scarf, he'd look like nothing but a black void. A burnt Black cat. He looks up, narrowed eyes scan you as he takes a sip of his tea, replying in a monotonous tone.

"What is it?"

"After much consideration, I think.. I need to leave the Port Mafia. We've worked together for quite a while now, and I can assure you it's not about the quality or enjoyment of my work. You don't even have to acknowledge this beyond me simply saying it, I just have to confess something that makes my heart ache. You make my heart ache. I know how unprofessional that sounds and that you have no use for such affections, but I can't keep pretending. It's why I think it's time for me to move onto something else otherwise my work will become disrupt-"

A lifted finger is shoved into your face, signaling you to stop, and so you do. Of course you do. You always had a habit of word vomiting when you were anxious. Dazai is staring down at his tea, and he stays quiet for a long time, trying to pick what emotion he can mask his real outraged ones with. Finally, he flashes you an unbothered look, his eyes half lidded as they taunt you. A cruel smirk curls onto his lips.

"Oh? What an awful time for your honesty! I'm currently drowning in work and responsibilities, ones that you're supposed to aid me with, actually. Thus, I have no use for your confession." He simply says.

You can feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You expected this. Looking down at your shoes, you chew on your lip again.

"I had to tell you.. Like I said, you can just forget about it."

"Well you see, that's the problem. I can't forget it. The moment you uttered those nasty little words to me, I realized I have to carry the weight of finding a new secretary. And I resent that."

He looks away for a brief second, his words are bitter and laced with what sounds like remorse and irritation.

You cross your arms and sigh, your voice comes out lower than your confidence.

"I just thought that we were... I suppose I should have never dared to assume you'd ever see me as more than a-"

He instantly leans over his desk, now placing a finger on your lip, his voice just above a whisper.

"... And though these feelings you have for me may be inconvenient, it doesn't mean that they're unwelcome."

He lets his finger rest on your lips for just a second too long, meanwhile you're frozen in place feeling like your chest is going to collapse in on itself. His voice becomes softer.

"Sit, please."

You sit down, now facing each other. It's quiet for a few moments as you both study each other's expressions. This form of intimacy was unusual to everyone else but the two of you, having spent countless hours in the past working across one another without uttering a single word, yet communicating in perfect sync. You were a part of each other's routines, a never ending spiral. Dazai feels himself teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something peeling away at his very soul. He's usually so arrogant and domineering, but in this instant, he suddenly feels an exhaustion wash over him trying to keep that going. He's kept it going for so long, he forgot that he doesn't like doing it with you. You don't deserve to be a part of all of this, and he doesn't deserve to want you.

Oh how he loathes his true identity: A simple man. A human man. Your man.

When he can't take it anymore, he slowly creeps his bandaged hand on top of yours, applying light pressure, but his eyes don't dare look into yours. Not yet. Finally, you break the silence, staring down with furrowed brows at the way your hands fit around one another. You mutter under your breath, tired of being vague.

"What are we to each other, Dazai? I mean really?"

"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" He snorts, trying to cling to the last of his cruelty but failing as he lets his emotions sway his judgement.

You sigh, flipping your hand over so that your fingers can fully intertwine.

"I just don't know how I could ever take up any space in your mind. I didn't think you noticed whether I stayed or left."

He looks up, flashing you a mildly offended look, his sharp eyes narrowing. He scoffs quietly, dropping your hand and standing up from his desk. He walks over to you, his full height now looming. He bends down and scolds you.

"What an obscene thing to say. You're invaluable. You have always been occupying my mind, every minute, every second, every microsecond. I always notice. I'd notice even if I was on my deathbed."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you finally manage to swallow the lump that's building up as you stare up at your reckoning.

"I just- I'd never try to leash you, sir."

His eyes soften, and he tilts his head slightly. You drive him mad with the way you don't realize what a dog he is for you. His voice comes out strained.

"You wouldn't need to. And don't call me that. You know my name, and as your superior l'm ordering you to address me properly."

Your cheeks flush, and you part your lips, letting out the breath you can't stop holding. A faint smile appears on your face, and you stand up slowly to meet him.

"You're like the moon, you know? You control everything like the tides. You control me, Osamu."

He shakes his head, and sighs deeply. If only you could see how wrong you were. He steps closer, moving his hand up your arm gently as he trails his way to your collarbone with ghost-like strokes.

"Did you know that sometimes when I'm laying in bed, all alone after a long day of controlling things, my only thoughts are about you?"

He confesses, sincerely. Dazai brings his face inches from yours, his voice now becoming a pleading whisper. His hand travels down to your waist, gripping it gently.

"Do you find it hard to believe that you bring me to my knees, the big scary Port Mafia boss? Because if so, you're a great fool! I love spending my time with you. I quite literally need you by my side in my times of need and at any random and mundane moment that passes. It brings me unimaginable joy when you nag me to get more sleep, especially when I don't listen because I can't wait to hear you say it over and over again. I don't like it when you have plans, or when you report to anyone else but me. I want you to stay with me tonight and every single night after and I don't care how awful this sounds. I don't care about you having a life outside of me."

Your throat feels tight, eyes wide at the fervor of his words alone. You reply with a shaky breath.

"Every single night after?"

"Every. Single. Night. After..."

"As if we were together?"

"We are together." He declares as if it were obvious this entire time.

Hearing Dazai be so blunt makes your mind fog over quickly, a whiplash of feelings that you never thought would ever see the light of day suddenly surface. He feels the same, realizing how much he's given away to you in such a short amount of time, but for him it's been rotting inside for years. He's been held together by the glue of your support too long not to kneel for you now. It's over for him, he's run out of masks to wear. He slowly guides your body backwards towards the opulent leather couch at the center of the room. You stop when you feel yourself backing up into the cool pebbled hide, and he slowly lowers you down onto your back with his arms supporting you. He delicately hovers over you, looking deeply into your eyes as he takes in the way your bodies feel against each other. For a moment he worries he might actually be trembling.

His breath hitches when you place a hand on the bandaged side of his face that covers his left eye. You stroke the fabric lightly, eyes twinkling with unfiltered adoration. He thinks about the only other person who's ever looked at him with such reverence, and how painful it is not to be able to tell his best friend he's in love. He leans into your touch, humming softly and closing his eyes as he molds his lips deeply into yours. It's not a kiss of sexual desire. This is a kiss born of romance and intimacy, a mutual oath of surrender. cold bandaged hands instinctively wander your body, starting at the waist down to your hips, and slowly exploring the plush of your thighs, kneading them. He runs them higher, lightly tracing your ribs with his index finger while the other hand cups your face. Dazai's mouth moves gently, and slowly pulls away from yours with a soft whine. His fingers trace your jawline as he stares at you. You taste like milk and honey. Like the moon and rain. He smiles at you, eyes sparkling like the night sky. You feel his heartbeat against your body. Every single pore of your skin is connected.

"Please— don't leave the Port Mafia, and don't leave me alone... Not tonight. Not ever. I'd become a tyrant without you."

"Is that also an order?" You murmur in between shallow breaths, dreamy eyes trained on him.

His eyes flicker over to your lips for a moment, then return to your eyes. His voice drops to something that resembles a soft whimper.

"Noo. No, it's not. I could never demand anything from you. But if you'll allow me to act selfishly, I just want to make you happy, to see you smile. I want you to keep greeting me with that tea you make every morning before our meetings. I also never want to hear you call me 'Sir' again. I am not your boss or your friend... I'm so much more than that. We've always been together. We will always be together— Is this too much?"

You shake your head, smiling uncontrollably at the way Dazai rambles in this moment, it's a side of him you've never seen in all the years you've known him. A stark contrast from the detached and cruel presence that frightens others on an almost daily basis. This seems like a person pretending to be the boss of the Port Mafia, an almost perfect imitation. You're not sure what barriers within him had to break for him to become the mushy and needy mess you see before you and what it all means in the long run, but you dismiss it for now. You get the feeling this might be the real Osamu Dazai. And that excites you.

"Never too much. I'm here and I'm staying. I would always stay."

He chuckles, it's a broken shaky laugh bordering on a sob. He buries himself in your neck, smiling against your soft skin, nibbling on it. He lightly runs his tongue against the mark he leaves, and slowly lifts his gaze to meet yours

"... I know you would. You always do."

You tilt your head, and hum in mild confusion at his odd little comment.

"Do you know something I don't?"

He flashes you a knowing smile and speaks prophetically as he lightly traces a finger over a large vein on your neck, following it down to your soft chest. He murmurs lazily while bringing his lips down to where he won't be able to get them off for the rest of the night.

"I know everything, silly.~"

The Port Mafia can wait, he's going home first.

[dizzybizz]

ms jay herself (and apple)

[remxedmoon]

fortified by age-old condolences

drawings of the northern lights

god, give us clearer skies

open-eyed, entangled in promises

furthering the questions asked

hands tied behind our backs

bared fangs behind a mask

shaking violently. hey guys. aur. aura mirabelle animatic. can anyone hear me in here. c

ok. i’m not actually making any promises here. i don’t know video editing and also!!!! ive got weird fucked up motivation. the last time i tried to make an animatic was like 4 years ago and i forgot about it after a day. but the Temptations. so for now (indeterminate amount of time) you’re just getting the intro tarot cards. For Now.

also for anyone who’s curious, the cards shown here are the sun reversed, the moon upright, and the stars reversed!! i just kept them the same as they were in the mv. from my Extremely Surface Level understanding, the sun reversed can represent pessimism and ignorance, the moon can represent mystery and self-deception, and the stars reversed can represent a loss of faith! again though, i’m not well versed in tarot card readings in Any Way, please let me know if i’m wrong about anything here!

also for convenience and stuff, here’s the flipped version!! again, no idea if i’m ever going to do more with this idea lol. dddon’t get your hopes up or anything

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

another little barn for us all while we Anticipate <3

[royaltea000]

Pose practice! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

[dootznbootz]

Hi. I'm cyberbullying a long dead poet because of his shitty fanfic. Enjoy. I'd love it if you joined me.

(Before you get mad at me, yes, I know Eugammon of Cyrene is an important figure and all that. I'm sick with some sort of flu. Let me cyberbully an ancient dead fanfic writer in peace.)

[bandtrees]

they would get divorced in one universe just to find eachother in another one

alternatively titled: sometimes you're the level-headed token flesh-head impulse-control-and-polycule-member of a stubborn, eccentric, and hearty telephone-headed drug addict, and there's cruelty in the world you deem fit to suicidally fight, and that either goes about as well as you'd expect it to, or you learn about love and the value of your life and junk along the way

[isogenderskitty]

more of these because they're really fun to make

[turrondeluxe]

*grabs drawing tablet in a cold sweat* what if mutant apocalypse mikey had april's hair color-