#i will stop clowning here

[wafflessquad]

not to be a 🤡 but cocktail d'amore 0:06-0:08 vs the beginning of incenso thank you for your attention

[neurovarious]

[aimbutmiss]

The sun was setting as the two sat on the beach in silence. Buggy stared out into the sea with sad eyes, feet buried in the warm sand. Shanks was familiar with that look; it was something his friend did every now and then, after he ate the devil fruit. Buggy was the one to break the silence, asking him a question without taking his eyes off the horizon:

"Do you know what it feels like to have something you want literally in your grasp, but never being able to have it?"

Shanks stared at the man with longing. His blue hair was flowing with the evening breeze, and his eyes were fixed on the vast ocean in front of them. The final rays of sunlight were illuminating his skin, and all Shanks wanted to do was to touch him. Even one brush of his fingers against his cheek would be enough, but he held back, looking away from the other.

"No. I don't know what it feels like at all."

[inkskinned]

maybe i'm a bitch but if i hear you go out of your way to judge someone's weight, i immediately lose trust in you & will probably forever find you a little unbearable . yes also the little floating bar over my head will start reading [hostile]. this is natural and u caused it.

[fun-esta]

Ok, hear me out guys 🗣️📣

If I were in Christopher's shoes, and Joker just brought my soul from the depths of hell to revive me and be free to pursue my life goal again, and in return he asked me to be his playmate/companion/friend in this dramatically sensual way in the rain, I would completely rethink my sexuality, my heart would be already in his hands for him to tear it apart, i would bite my lips to not moan, and my highly death-driven ass would say yes without a second's hesitation 😭

[oceans-beloved]

Meme dump yayyy🥳✨️

(off to make more now muhahaha >:3)

[iaxsl]

domestic cross guild, where mornings start off with a sleepy Buggy floating to the kitchen, eyes semi-closed. Mihawk at the kitchen island with two ready-made coffee mugs in front of him, silently sipping from his own while he passes one of the mugs to Buggy who wordlessly accepts and sits down across from him. Crocodile is soon trailing after him, also accepting the offered mug from Mihawk. no words are exchanged. Crocodile sets to making breakfast while Mihawk and Buggy move to sit at the table to give him more space. eyes still heavy with sleep, Buggy drapes himself on the table, trying to get a few more minutes of shut-eye. the sounds of Mihawk turning the pages of the newspaper and Crocodile humming as he cooks is a soothing lullaby to Buggy's ears by now. he has never had peaceful mornings like this before.

[slasherscream]

wait everyone STOP RIGHT FUCKING NOW..... jordan li x reader The BodyGuard au

[nobodysdaydreams]

Nathaniel Benedict/Ledroptha Curtain (TMBS) and Count Olaf (ASOUE) are proof that mentally unstable former theater kids with sad backstories make the most entertaining villains, especially when their main adversaries are genius children they lose to every episode. And one of them is canonically a literal toddler/baby.

[zukkaoru]

saying people shouldn't ship an unlabeled (or bi/pan/etc) sapphic character with a male character just because she's canonically dating a woman is actually biphobic. hope this helps 👍

[samstronomy]

I HATE THIS STUPID FUCKING SHOWWWWWW

why did you make me get so attached to that goofy ass clown guy when i KNEW FROM THE BEGINNING HE WAS GONNA DIEEEEE

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Man. How did I forget that an entire subplot of Dazai's main story was just. Trying to trap him into having a single conversation with MC like a normal person I'm so akhdjgfkljshgskjd

I just love watching her, Arthur, and Isaac deadass plot with glee to get one over on Dazai it's killing me, this is some Hamlet level shit (no Charles do not stand behind the curtain to kill Dazai coming in the window!!! yamero!!!!!)

Also because I felt personally attacked (/j) when Isaac said this:

I love you Isaac but pls have mercy on creatives we only have one brain cell and we're trying s o hard oTL

Although, and I'll leave it under the cut since I'm back on my Comte-posting, but the way Comte talks about Dazai fascinates me. Also just as fair warning, I do broach a lot of the topics that come up in Dazai rt so trigger warnings for self-harm, suicide, CPTSD and PTSD, trauma, etc. I don't go too too in-depth, but they are there.

Comte: "Dazai is quite skilled at concealing what he's really feeling, even from himself, perhaps."

The way he instantly remarks on how Dazai is not only working to conceal what he feels from others, but also from himself. Tbh I think that's enormously perceptive, because at first glance most people tend to think Dazai is lazy, troublesome, flippant, or erratic (and sometimes, a combination of all of these).

I love that he sees to the core of who Dazai is and what he's feeling; fear. Dazai is afraid of hurting someone again, but I also think on some level he's made it an ontological problem; he's afraid of himself. He thinks his very existence is a negative entity, something that exists only to hurt and/or estrange other people, something wrong/different. I'd argue that's why he's so adamant about mood-making and keeping to himself. If you never express how you truly feel or live true to yourself, on some level you can't entirely reach others. Because fundamentally, being close to other people does require some level of lowered defenses and sharing. Ergo, never dwell too long or give too much of yourself away, never make a mark on anyone--good or bad.

As a side note, Theo calls him "a half-strewn dandelion puff" and I agree that's rather blunt, but on some level Theo operates on a level of utility. His entire operating precept is that life and work must serve a discrete purpose. And Dazai, in choosing to opt out of living with meaning/intent out of fear, makes this description entirely consistent with Theo's perspective of the world. Though his phrasing is harsh and perhaps one-dimensional, I do find it interesting that he comes to a similar conclusion as Comte as to what Dazai is doing.

Comte talks about it with such clarity and calm, he really does feel so parental in this moment. He's not necessarily minimizing the reality of how Dazai is experiencing the world, but he also clearly doesn't agree with Dazai's self-perception. Perhaps most striking to me is how Comte seems to understand that the only threat Dazai poses is to himself...Sometimes it feels like, in the case of conditions like mental illness/depression/etc. people are so eager to assume ill will of a person. This is only exponentially compounded if they prove to have striking intelligence and strategic capacity, the same way Dazai does. I guess I can't help but appreciate that Comte knows the difference between strong and scared, and even how the lines between the two can and often do blur (perhaps best exemplified in his relationships with Jeanne and Dazai).

(Side note: I forgot which event it was but, one time when Dazai was homesick for cherry blossom watching, Comte had the entire house filled with flowers to cheer him up [insert ugly sobbing]).

For someone so enigmatic, evasive, and distant, Comte still notices instantly that Dazai is much, much happier with MC. I suppose it makes me wonder if Comte knew all along that Dazai's real wish was to be accepted and loved as he was, but kept quiet out of respect for his privacy. I would offer too that sometimes people need to realize these things on their own for the information to have value.

But what really gets my ass is what Comte says right after:

This is my bread and butter (so is he but that's not the point of this particular TED talk). In the last few years I've done a lot of exploratory work on how trauma is mapped both internally but also visibly on the body. What I think is engaging here is that, while it could be read on a surface level as "body language gives people's true intentions away" I don't think that's quite what he's getting at. Or perhaps better phrased, it's an oversimplification. I don't think it's that body language can't communicate real and important information about people's lives. Rather, that people associate rigid and absolutist interpretations to singular mannerisms, which does a disservice to both parties. Nobody can know a person at a glance; to say that you do reduces the lived reality of the opposite party.

Comte gives simple examples and couches his words for the context of the moment, but I think that first line is incredibly telling. "But the body is remarkably truthful." It makes me think of how, in moments where Comte is overcome with anxiety as a result of traumatic recurrence, he has acute panic attacks (i.e. shortened breath, racing heart, trembling). How Leonardo's lethargy (i.e. napping on the floor everywhere like the hobo he is) belies the reality of his very real exhaustion, the emotional turmoil that comes with a fraught immortal life.

Dazai's endless struggle with dissociation and self-harm, the way he stood in the rain unmoving at the thought of MC returning home to the modern era. Whether to numb himself from the pain of that grief/loneliness, or perhaps more likely the self-immolation of subjecting himself to the re-enactment of the most harrowing moment of his life. To relive that anguish as a reminder; to abstain from making the same mistake ever again. Jeanne's endless bodily tension, struggles with basic self-care (appears to be interoception-based; reduced signalling of the need to eat/rest/etc.), and self-isolation to cope in a world where only the strong survive. Never safe, always alone, always defensive.

I think, for many people in general but especially people who have been through intense PTSD/CPTSD/etc., it can be hard to express these feelings directly. Whether they are forcibly silenced, ridiculed into self-derision/self-concealment, or are overwhelmed by emotions that are difficult to process--each manifests itself in unconventional ways. It means a lot to me when those phenomena are portrayed so sensitively in written works/media, that they're explored with real intention and narrative subtlety to communicate how hard it is for people who are wounded or simply different (or both, as often is the case).

Addendum:

Even more than that, and this is an observation at the end of Dazai's route, is Comte's open belief that life is something to be cherished. Of course, like any other person he has behaviors he won't abide and people he doesn't feel partial to, but by and large he doesn't take life lightly. Perhaps that's why he doesn't expect Dazai to resort to such measures again, in conjunction with the circumstances of his transition. From an outsider perspective, I could see how Comte might assume Dazai no longer wishes for that if he seemed to regret his initial course of action by seeking resurrection. There is also the implication that Dazai is always at war with himself, and therefore might give contradictory impressions; one moment he wants to live, the next he doesn't. This is precisely what led him to ask Charles for help to subdue his own 'cowardice.' (His terms, not mine. [bonks him]) There is a sizeable subset of s-word survivors who, after recovery, feel that their problems were actually solvable despite their despair in the moment.

Of course, that doesn't apply to everyone, but I think there's something to be said of Comte feeling such real affection for the mansion boys that he is stricken to find out what Dazai attempted. And perhaps unsurprisingly, very adamant to keep him from ever pursuing such a course of action again. He's incredibly vulnerable about his horror that he might have inflicted something on Dazai that he never wanted in bringing him back, though Dazai comfortably refutes any lack of agency in the situation.

I guess I feel very compelled by the duality inherent in Comte's glass heart, precisely because of how realistic it feels. His greatest strength is his sensitivity, but it's also his greatest weakness in tandem. His genuine care for Dazai--the unwavering belief that his life is valuable and worthy--ends up being the reason he doesn't anticipate Dazai's rather deeply entrenched self-loathing. And to be honest, I'm a bit inclined to agree; looking back on a third reading Dazai feels way too hard on himself. It feels like the young girl's death was more a catalyst for what Dazai was already feeling, than anything. Dazai wanted so badly to have a reason to despise himself (as he already disliked how different and out of place he naturally felt) and with this, his self-reproach could have a viable, rational explanation. A locus outside of his body by which to rationalize his self-hatred. Accident or not becomes irrelevant; he was involved, and thus he is guilty.

He reminds me a lot of that post that was circulating once about how cultish behavior inculcates intelligent people with more devastating pull than one might expect, because intelligent people can more easily and more insistently find ways to desperately rationalize their situation to function in that whirlpool of abuse. Dazai feels like he's in this same such Catch-22, so busy believing he deserves to be scorned (because of how well he hides his perceived abnormalities) that he takes steps to ensure and reinforce it. He wants and needs to see his reality make sense, and if it won't answer his designs he will find a way to make it so.

It fascinates me because Dazai is an incredibly complex example of someone who desires control, but instead of inflicting it with external rapacity, he targets his own internal state. I once heard a Buddhist explain: yes, it is a sign of disturbance to engage with others aggressively and without grace. However, it is also a sign of disturbance when the mind seeks to harm one's own body. Although Dazai's disturbance is not as apparent, it is there. And that's part of what makes him so excruciatingly compelling to me, in a lot of ways he is the manifestation of the Sisyphean suffering of being ill in a quiet way. In enduring and smiling and laughing because you don't want to burden others--or know you're not allowed to--all while you slowly bleed from the inside out.

[ganondoodle]

i really like tumblr bc despite its reputation i get way less annoying people being clowns on my posts on tiwtter i can mention literally anything i dont like about totk and you bet theres some guy that either gets really salty about me not worshipping the game like a god that can do no wrong or straight up get mad about what they IMAGINED i said

[merbear25]

Pincushion

Having to work along side Caesar was never going to fair well for you. You were both devoted to your love of science, sure, but your morals regarding it couldn't have been more polarizing. Letting your guard down around him was one of the things you'd end up regretting the most.

CW: NSFW!!, MDNI!!, fem!reader, fingering, being experimented on, bondage, manipulation

There hadn't been any progress with this new serum in a few weeks, which was making you doubt the formulas you'd been testing out. You were determined to find the breakthrough you'd been chasing after but were weary of asking your colleauges for any assistance; their methods were a far cry from what most would consider ethical, especially their ringleader―Caesar.

Even after being ordered by your higher-ups to work alongside him in hopes of speeding up the process, you were reluctant to do so. The warm and inviting smile that was paired with friendly, open gestures seemed to always have an ominous shadow, yet this appeared to be something only you took notice in. Am I being overly judgemental towards him? Thinking to yourself, those skepticisms of his character began worming their way into your better judgement, blanketing doubt over it.

Having got lost in your conflictions, you failed to see the wolf in sheep's clothing approaching you. When you saw the bits of white cloud dissipating around your sides, you shot him a look.

Throwing his hands in the air at your glare, he tried to desfuse the hostility brewing in you, "Talk about if looks could kill! I come in peace." When your guard wouldn't fall, he added, "Promise" at the end.

Huffing at the stress he was creating for you, you impatiently asked what he wanted.

"I believe I've found the answer we've been looking for."

Spinning around, your disbelief was apparent in your line of questions, "Really? Are you sure? How can you know?"

"Oh, please don't act so surprised! Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" Setting aside his slight irritation at you for lacking faith in his skill, he pressed, "But there's a problem, you see."

When you raised an eyebrow at him, he continued, "Well, usually Monet volunteers her services when it comes to testing the quality of these types of serums, but I can't seem to find her anywhere."

"And? Don't you have your lackies who would do anything for you?"

"Hm, I do but they're far too busy carrying out my many other requests."

Understanding his real purpose for bothering you, unease set in. Picking up on this, he coaxed, "This is something that we've been trying to find the answer to for so long and this could be it! We must find out if it's the key. That is what you want, isn't it? To find a solution?"

Swallowing your fears, you agreed to help him, "Fine. If it's for the greater good, then I guess I'll help you..."

"And so many will have you to thank, I'm sure of it." Grinning at you, he motioned for you to follow him.

Leading you into what looked like an operating room, he gestured for you to lay down on the table.

Hestitation was your body's way of screaming at you to turn back. However, he was quick to act before your common sense took control; he offered you his hand to help you get up on it, "Let me help you, my dear."

Your hand was shaky when placing it in his, "Easy now," he soothed your worries.

"Now," he started, "to avoid any possible injuries, I must warn that these restraints are necessary."

Nodding for him to get on with it, your heartbeat quickened as you watched him take away your capability to flee. Pulling out the syringe, he assured you, "You'll just feel a slight pinch."

You avoided eye contact with him as he stood over you, watching intently, "How do you feel?"

Focusing on any changes, you answered, "F-fine, I think."

"You think or you know? There's an obvious difference."

Glaring at him, you waited to see if there were any signals letting either of you know about the possible side effects. When you felt your body getting warm, you told him in a hitched breath.

The sides of his mouth curled into a devilish grin.

Your thighs started twitching and rubbing together. The friction was bringing on lewd urges. Remembering where you were, you immediately stopped and demanded for him to let you go.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. We wouldn't want to run the risk of you hurting yourself from any other side effects that may appear, now would we?" denying you, he seemed to be enjoying the sight of your flushed face being overtaken by dread.

His hand hovered over your inner thigh, making you grip at the sides of the table in anticipation. "What do you feel when I do this..." His grasp sent shivers throughout your body. However, when he pinched the fatty upper part, shock waves shot directly across your folds and tangled around your clit―throbbing from the sudden neglect.

"Answer me, dear."

He had just witnessed your hips bucking from his teasing, yet he had the nerve to insist on hearing you tell him. You sobbed, "Fuck you," before twinging at the new waves of sin finding their way to your now weeping cunt.

Smirking at the pathetic mess you were turning into, he taunted, "That still doesn't answer my question."

He carefully lifted your skirt, exposing the shame you were holding between your legs. His hand was hovering over you again, which caused you to squirm more in a desperate attempt to evade him.

Stopping over your drenched pussy, he slid a finger over the lips. As you threw yourself against the table and muffled your cries by biting your lower lip, the sensation became more unforgiving; he swirled the tip of his finger over your hardened pearl, chuckling to himself when this broke your silence. Your disgraceful sobs were echoing around the room, while your hips were eagerly seeking out to abandon your prior morals.

"Use your words. How do you feel?"

Completely giving into his wicked ways, you admitted to how incredible it felt.

Upon hearing this, he slipped your panties to the side and shoved his fingers deep inside your aching walls. You couldn't hold on for much longer; you bounced yourself in motion with him, calling his attention to your breasts.

Ripping your top down, he hurridly grabbed at your expossed breast, which made your shrieks shrill from the overstimulation. Practically begging for him to stop the torment, this was only inticing him to push your limits further: pinching your tender nipple, flicking it for his own sadistic pleasure to see you descend into madness under his care.

Your walls clenched around him mercilessly, barely giving him any more leverage. Making him resort to using his upper arm strength to plunge into you, he admired the sight of your swollen and reddened lips gripping his hand.

The vulgar sounds seeping out of your slit were making it hard not to involve himself any further in his experiment.

Your mewls were intoxicating: your hitched breaths and begging were laced with the most addictive narcotic. When your finale had finally been seen through, you were barely conscious―having been forced to endure such abuse of power.

Clearly satisfied with your performance, he began releasing you from your restraints.

"It would seem that I'd grabbed the wrong sample," he informed, playing it off as a simple act of carelessness. "The side effects should wear off shortly, though."

Still unable to speak properly, all you were able to muster was a distressed whimper and scowl.

[nyaskitten]

You can tell I'm autistic because I've memorized a good portion of the DRs1 finale already.

[pardonmydelays]

it's so funny when someone tells you you look happier now because you smile all the time when in reality you know damn well you couldn't get out of bed today