#;;D R A B B L E

[actressposts]

[stoat-party]

[thegoldenelite]

I saw this PICTURE a while back, and it's haunted me ever since. So I went digging around, and I found this reddit post. It's the DDT roster depicted as anime girls!

DDT did a collaboration with a flash game called "Ring ☆ Dream". So these are official! The game was about managing a women's wrestling promotion

(this game is no longer available to play).

Kota Ibushi

Konosuke Takeshita

Tetsuya Endo with Mad Paulie

Daisuke Sasaki

Michael Nakazawa

The rest is under the read more!(Long post under the cut)

Kazuki Hirata

Antonio Honda

Shigehiro Irie

HARASHIMA

Toru Owashi

Masahiro Takanashi

Ken Ohka

Yukio Sakaguchi

Makoto Oishi

KUDO

Keisuke Ishii

Akito

Soma Takao

DJ Nira

Cherry

Yoshihiko

Sanshiro Takagi

Danshoku Dino(Dino is topless but you can't see anything lol)

[rotteneldritchhorror]

Sorry but the memories that saved max being the ones with El— literally girlfriends

[bisnes-socks]

the pronunciation hit me right in the cuteness aggression

[dittaturamonegasca]

IDK YOU but this pic makes me cry

[aoitakumi8148]

𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓤𝓹 𝓐𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼, 𝓢𝓸𝓷... 𝓝𝓸𝔀 𝓖𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓤𝓹𝓸𝓷 𝓞𝓷𝓮, 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓷...

𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓃-𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒷𝑒 ‹𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓅› 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃? 𝐼𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 ‹𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃› 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝑔𝑜?

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to dull the edge of it is what I have been doing since v.1. As if something has indeed been fragmented & this is the pain of my conscious life. And every time I travel the melodious/glamorous path of frenzy, every time I complete it, I am going to experience the same precious pain intensity, purity of pain/ecstasy. I am going to eventually be bound to this inmost/overwhelming awe, this vehement impulse to feel/fondle/kiss what is loved, to kneel down before it, to cuddle up to its heart, to recompense bliss with bliss... More and more. Neither the good boy nor I are free. I do not want to be free... free from... These bare feelings are ‹clawing› at the reconstructed interpretation of the organ inside me. The great minds will not know what they have done, neither will Anthony... It speaks louder-truer than anything, but the sounds are not obvious... Words. All I possess, this rich but poor instrument for... And you always do end up in the point where...

The aesthetic masterwork, perfused with the golden brilliance of authentic ideality x pierced with the darkest blade of bitter-salty inaccessibility, inevitability, impossibility.

Excruciation, pleasure, euphoria, art. Blended together. Find yourself... or lose yourself on this journey. Emotionally. Totally. An unparalleled effect... and the lulling sparkle the vessel has never actually had. Something in this body x mind has died, and I do not know if there is a way to accept it, to recover it. I have described the lesson of unprecedentedness I have learned, not the expected story of ‹insult-betrayal-contempt›. No one will ever f-g hear it. Not from me, not in this lifetime. / Loving extraordinary is merciless a priori, დ/დ become telepathic... & the severest trial ~ the unhealable wound ~ is to be a 𝓟 son without the cause to be... *If I have to detest many donkeys for a chance to protect one venerated Father figure, I will go for it.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒 𝓀𝑒𝓅𝓉... 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎. 𝐵𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒸𝑒, '𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝓉𝑜𝑜. 𝐵𝑒𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊... 𝒮𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒹𝑒𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈... 𝒮𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹. 𝒮𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈...

While I am willing to imbibe all the anguish of the human I love, to ease his suffering, the loss of us is taking its toll on me irretrievably. I see him. I see what is inside him... & I am incapable of safeguarding it, saving it truly.

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to put up with this gift is what I have been doing since v.1. The chest is ‹cut open› too deep, the fragility of the organ is exposed... Would you allow me to grow more flowers? I wanna do it... Because it is you, It has always been you. The one who has given us everything, endued me to the brim with the intimate fatherly affection that this organ never remembered. My eternal wish & exuberant price for humanity, the misunderstood nature. *What an odious irony. / I do not know if there is a way to recover what is gone.

I would sacrifice the lot to be with the human that needs me, needs to be healed, heals me. I would rip my core out but I cannot, the limitation of freedom. *Tell me that the ‹strings of abuse/child neglect/lies› are finally cut. Tell me to ‹celebrate›. Tell me that both 𝓟inocchio/I are wrong x naive, ‹fix› me. You have no f-g clue about it. / When it is written that your starving heart must be left half-empty & helpless... No freedom is scarier than this.

Affording harmony to the sapphire star that is going to fall away... The sentiment it deserves. All I have ever hankered for. & I am terrified of that my grandest instinct x fear will not grant any lasting peace to me.

Death will do our Sun-hugged family apart ~ but I will still be yours, for ever. The core has never felt as good x feverish as it does when with you... as astray x anxious as it does when deprived of you. I am not lying to you, I hold no resentment... Let me ‹feed on› the emotions of your heart... Even if it means your pain x my love turn the vessel inside-out & your love x my pain do the same. Not blurred, always remember. Always. If a masterpiece could be made into a masterpiece, I would prefer to share this fate. My bona fide mission, however, is not allow anything to be in vain... Even if it hurts. ~ The atrophied ability to express love verbally has been ‹roused› again, in a fervidly devoted but preciously righteous way... The ‹lash› of despair, compulsion, dream, reality.

𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓂𝒷𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒦𝓇𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓃... 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓊𝒷𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈. 𝐿𝒪𝒫 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝟙/𝓂𝓊𝓁𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓂𝓎 𝓋𝓊𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇.

...Take the whole meaning of this, its flavorful, pathetic, shameless, lonesome taste. Take it all, for it is all that is absolute. Teach me how to ‹merge› with it, the mortal desire of a puppet child, a human Mastro x a faceless observer like myself ~ & when the desire full of unexploited majesty is cutting off the oxygen to the lungs... True geniuses of any kind are among the silent. These eyeballs will not dry up, never fully. I have tried so many times to resist it, but why live if you repel what puts your ‹dehydrated› pieces together? I would spare no effort to keep them hot and uncurb what is being restrained... Nothing affects self-perception and ‹unmasks› the unconscious like sensation, nothing genuinely matters without it. / Shivering with cold, this body is burning. My atrophied reality in exchange for a moment of irrepressible happiness, agony, guiltless x not bottled up impulses ~ just a moment. It keeps consuming me without reserve. I do not need God. ✒

[csyakult]

✻ ⌣ 🦦 ˚ 𖤛

[qkmlh]

Still ducking hilarious to me that Zoro & Sanji began their beef because they thought the other was misogynistic and it came to a head of no return when Zoro felt his title of ‘Luffy’s specialest boi’ threatened by Sanji’s comment

[visualtaehyun]

This might just be the rowdiest and funniest cast reaction I've ever seen:

Tee, Por and Save are the ones who are most consistently focused on watching - Tee clearly LOVES the romance, and Por and Save get teased endlessly for their characters' behavior with their crushes

Pat has that annoying (affectionate) younger sibling energy, unexpectedly saying the funniest shit like "โตเป็นผู้สาวแล้วน่ะ" /dtoh bpen phuu saao laaeo na/ = "(Teerak's) grown up to be a young woman now", being clingy with his phis, and adorably getting encouraged to sing along to the ost in the final scene ☺️

Tho and Kong are still arguing about which of their characters fell first, made a move first, initiates anything at this point lol

Au always has a joke ready ("ฮ่องกงรึห้องฟ้า" /haawng gong reu haawng Fah/ = "Hong Kong or Fah's room?"), often playing back and forth with TeeTee, when he isn't twisting himself into a pretzel reacting to his own scenes lmao

...and every couple interaction has them all yelling and fighting over the blankets555555

[rofax]

Thinking about Army of the Doomstar again and how right before they play Aortic Desecration, Nathan is all, "What if this is the wrong song? 😧😨 "

Babygirl the first words are "we are all going to die", what the fuck made you think this was the RIGHT song???

[child--ish]

OMG THE HAIR PINS

ROOK—

[gallade-x-treme]

Was it worth it, Chilchuck? Was that adorable smile on her face worth keeping her in blissful ignorance? Will you carry that weight to the grave?

[aroaceloverofgarlicbread]

I'm not the only one with a folder on my computer with over 200 pictures of Garlic Bread, right?

[senjutsunade]

~Rain~

It was a rainy morning.

The kind of rain that seemed endless, pouring from the heavens as if the sky itself was mourning. It wasn’t a gentle drizzle or a passing storm but a relentless, driving downpour that blurred the edges of the world. The streets outside were rivers of silver, the rooftops slick with a mirror sheen, and the air smelled of damp earth and the faint metallic tang of rain.

Tsunade stood at the window, her forehead resting lightly against the cool glass, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The cold seeped through the pane, brushing against her skin like a ghost’s touch, but she didn’t move. She wasn’t really looking at anything—just the endless cascade of water streaming down the glass, turning the world outside into a shapeless, shifting mass of gray.

She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there. Long enough for the ache in her back to settle into something dull and familiar. Long enough for the weight in her chest to grow heavier with every passing second.

That’s how Dan found her.  

She didn’t turn at the soft creak of the door, nor did she react to the muffled sound of his footsteps as he crossed the room. She felt his presence, though—a steady warmth at her back, grounding and unyielding. He stopped just behind her, close enough that she could feel the faintest hint of his body heat, but he didn’t touch her. Not yet.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the rain, a constant, rhythmic patter against the window and the distant drip of water from the eaves.

Dan didn’t speak. He never did—not until she was ready. That was the thing about him. He didn’t try to fix things with empty words or platitudes. He didn’t try to fill the silence. That was who he was—always trying to understand her perspective before engaging in a dialogue . It drove her utterly insane. It made her love him all the same.  

The silence stretched between them like an invisible thread, taut but unbroken. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just... there. A space they shared without needing to fill it.  

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his voice broke the quiet. “What do you see, Tsunade?”

Her throat tightened. Her eyes stung. She blinked, focusing on the raindrops racing each other down the glass, but the burning in her chest didn’t ease. “Rain,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the storm. 

He didn’t press her, didn’t rush to fill the quiet that followed. But this time, the silence was heavier, no longer a comfort but a weight.  His silence was an invitation, a nudge without force. Her chest ached as her lips trembled with the words she hadn’t planned to speak.  

“Nawaki hated the rain,” she whispered finally, her voice trembling.

And the cold.  

Her breath hitched, and she hugged herself tighter, as if the force of her arms could hold back the flood threatening to break through her carefully constructed walls. She shuddered, but she refused to give in. She wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t.

Her brother’s sacrifice deserved more than her tears.  

Tsunade had cried the night she lost him—once. After rushing away from her teammates, the weight of their pitying gazes too much to bear. Alone in the suffocating dark, her sobs had been muffled against her pillow, her heart breaking into a thousand jagged pieces that seemed to pierce every breath she took. But not again. She couldn’t let herself crumble, not when his sacrifice deserved more than her tears. Not when being strong was the only thing she could offer him now.

Even as her heart bled.

The quiet creak of the floorboards behind her was the only warning she had before Dan’s hands settled lightly on her shoulders. Warm, grounding, his touch was a gentle reminder that she wasn’t alone, even though her grief made it feel like she was. He didn’t pull her away from the window, didn’t say anything at first. He simply stood there with her, his presence solid and unshakable, as constant as the rain that continued to fall outside.

When he finally turned her to face him, his movements were slow, deliberate, and careful. Yet there was a quiet firmness in the way his hands guided her, as though he understood how fragile she felt beneath the weight of everything she refused to let herself feel.

“Tsunade,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence, “you don’t have to carry this alone.”

His fingers brushed her chin, tilting her head gently—so gently it made her chest ache.  

“Tsunade, look at me.”

The way he said it, the steady reassurance in his voice, left her no choice. She looked up.  

And there it was. No pity. No judgment. Just quiet understanding. The kind that made her want to crumble.  

Her resolve wavered, and she clenched her teeth, arms wrapping tightly around her middle as though holding herself together. Shaking her head, she silently begged him.  

Don’t make me... 

Her eyes pleaded with him, silently begging for an out, for the mercy of avoidance, but Dan didn’t relent.  

The air in the room grew impossibly heavy, thick with the unspoken weight of grief and regret, pressing down on her like the aftermath of a thousand battles. Each breath felt like a struggle, an unsteady push against the tide threatening to drown her. Tsunade’s fists clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms with enough force to draw blood, though she barely noticed. She couldn’t notice—not with Dan’s words cutting through her defenses, piercing the fragile armor she had worked so hard to maintain.  

“Let it out, Tsunade,” he said, his voice low but steady, each syllable a precise strike against the walls she had built around herself. “You can’t keep it locked away forever.”

The words hung in the air, unwelcome and piercing. She shook her head frantically, her golden hair whipping around her face. “No,” she said, her voice sharp, final.

She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not again.

That night, clutching onto the blood-stained necklace, she’d broken down. But the next morning, she had patched herself up, shoved the grief into a box, and locked it away. He had died as a shinobi, fulfilling his duty. That was how she had to frame it. That was the only way to survive.

“You need to mourn him,” she could feel the warmth of his palms even through the fabric of her blouse, a stark contrast to the cold storm inside her. “It won’t make you weak,” he said quietly. His voice wasn’t commanding—it never was—but it carried a weight she couldn’t ignore. 

Her breath caught, a ragged hitch that threatened to betray her. Anger surged to the surface, boiling and bitter. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he leave it alone?

“I can’t!” Her voice cracked, a jagged edge of desperation slicing through the words. “We’re shinobi. It’s not—”

“Not what?” Dan interrupted her, his tone still maddeningly calm, yet firm enough to stop her cold. “Not allowed? Not acceptable? What exactly do you think mourning makes you, Tsunade? Weak? Broken?”

“Yes!” she spat, her voice rising. “It does! We’re not supposed to feel like this. We’re not supposed to—”

“To what?” he challenged, his hands tightening ever so slightly on her shoulders. “To be human? To care? To grieve?”

She flinched at the words, her chest heaving as the tears she refused to shed burned behind her eyes. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unsaid truths, until Dan’s voice broke it again, softer this time.

“Outside these walls, your brother was a shinobi,” he said. “He died honorably, in service to his village. But inside these walls, Tsunade, let yourself just be his sister. An older sister mourning her little brother. There’s no shame in that.”

The words hit her like a hammer blow, breaking through the cracks in her armor. Sister. That word, so simple and so devastating, unraveled her. It was a role she had cherished, a part of her that felt more genuine than all the titles she carried now: Senju, Sannin, Kunoichi. Sister.

'Onee-chan...play with me?'

Her hands trembled, and her knees threatened to buckle, but still she resisted. The walls she had built around herself over the years loomed tall, unyielding. Yet Dan’s voice slipped through the gaps, steady and unrelenting.

“In here,” he said, his thumbs brushing gently against her shoulders, “you don’t have to be a Senju. You don’t have to be the granddaughter of the First Hokage, or the heir of some great legacy. You don’t have to be a Sannin, or a kunoichi, or even a medic. You don’t have to be anything but yourself. Just... be Tsunade.”

Her breath hitched again, but this time it wasn’t anger or defiance that caught in her throat. It was the enormity of what he was offering her. Just Tsunade. The woman she didn’t know how to be anymore, the girl she had buried under the weight of duty and expectation. Who was she, stripped of all those titles, all those roles?

She looked up at Dan, her vision blurring as the tears she’d fought so hard to hold back began to fight her control once more. His expression was calm but full of understanding, his blue eyes meeting hers without judgment. He simply stood there, holding her in place, grounding her.

Her voice trembled as the words slipped free, barely audible but carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken struggles. “I don’t know how to be just Tsunade anymore.” The admission lingered in the air between them, fragile and raw, as though the very act of saying it might shatter her completely.

Dan didn’t speak right away. He simply watched her, his expression steady and calm, offering none of the pity she dreaded but all the understanding she didn’t know she needed. When he finally broke the silence, his voice was soft but deliberate, a steady anchor in the storm raging inside her.

“Who was Tsunade to Nawaki?”

The question caught her off guard, cutting through the fog of her grief like the sharp ring of a bell. Her mind drifted back to Nawaki’s smile—bright and full of admiration. The way he would follow her around the compound, pestering her with endless questions about jutsu, the village, the legacy they were meant to uphold. He’d been so small, so full of life, and he’d believed in her with a conviction that sometimes scared her.

'Onee-chan...'

She felt something hot on her face. Hot, wet, a trail of heat streaming down her cheek. Another tear joined the first, carving a path through the fragile façade she had clung to for so long. And then another, as if the dam within her was cracking, letting everything escape.

She parted her lips, intent on yelling at Dan. To tell him he was being ridiculous. That Nawaki—

Nawaki...

“Nawaki…” The name escaped her as a pained whimper, barely audible but deafening in her ears. Her lips trembled, shaking with the weight of it. 

“Nawaki hated the rain.” The words slipped out, unbidden, soft and broken like a confession she had never allowed herself to speak before. “When we were children… he hated the dark too. Wouldn’t sleep if it was too dark. I told him I’d keep him safe. I… I promised him I’d keep him safe…”

A sob tore through her, raw and jagged, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her body shook as Dan’s arms closed around her, pulling her against him. His warmth was the only thing tethering her to reality, a fragile lifeline in the storm of her emotions. The tears fell harder now, unstoppable. “I promised to protect him. I couldn’t. I couldn’t keep my promise!”

The pain surged through her like a wave, relentless and unyielding, crashing against the walls she had built to hold it back. “He hated the rain. And the cold. He hated the dark. And now he’s out there. In the cold ground. All alone. In the dark. Because I couldn’t keep him safe!”

Her voice broke, hoarse and frayed with the weight of grief she had buried too deep for too long. She screamed, the sound wrenched from her soul, her throat raw. It was as if her soul fractured anew with every breath, the shards cutting deep. She grieved for the brother who had been her everything—the boy who had followed her everywhere, whose first steps were taken while clinging to her hand, whose first words were a butchered version of her name that she had cherished like a treasure.

The brother she had raised like her own child.

Even when the tears began to dry, the grief did not. Her body remained wracked with silent sobs, shaking with the aftershocks of a pain she could no longer contain.

And through it all, Dan held her. He didn’t let go. His arms stayed strong around her, his presence unwavering, her anchor against the raging tide. When the waves threatened to pull her under, he held her steady.

And outside, the rain kept falling.

[raddest-laddest]

i love when people headcanon hollow to be this sweet lil child who likes to take naps and pick flowers and loves their family and wants to make their father proud

and then ghost is just a fucking cryptid