#and what is this obsession with fracturing things and breaking them down until their smallest part?

[prettypangolins]

Yay, a new way for neurodivergent people to struggle socially and be ostracised from things they love!!

Another idea: Communities on Tumblr

For a while now folks have asked us for better ways to connect with other people who share similar interests. We’re listening, and at Labs we’ve been looking into fulfilling that need, Tumblr style.

Introducing Communities, a new place to connect with others on Tumblr:

Here in Labs, we’re working on big ideas that could transform how Tumblr is used, while keeping that Tumblr vibe alive. You can see one of those ideas above. We’re calling it “Communities”, a new dedicated space on Tumblr for people to share and discuss all the content they love. Communities can cover topics like your favorite show, artist, movie, video game, your school, your board game group, friend group, big or small, whatever you want.

Each Community has their own semi-private safer space away from the regular dashboard where you can interact with other Tumblr users who share the same interests and passions as you. There are moderators and members (you!), rules, and privacy settings. Each community has its own feed of posts from members, separate from your Following and For You feeds. Interactions within community spaces stay there and replies will work more like a traditional comment section. Folks will be able to reblog posts into a community, but not out — at least not yet.

We’re very excited for you to try it, and help define the best path forward. What we have is a prototype to help us validate the idea, but there’s still plenty of questions that need answering. Over the next couple of weeks, we’ll be reaching out to people across Tumblr, and the internet at large, to try our prototype. Based on the feedback we get, we’ll iterate on the idea to see what resonates best with all of you on Tumblr.

If this sounds interesting, please like, reblog, or reply to this post, and we’ll invite you to beta test this feature when we roll it out to a wider Tumblr audience, as a little perk for following the Labs blog.

Stay tuned for more!

[river-bottom-nightmare]

i want dick grayson to be annoyingly perfect in the smallest of unimportant ways. and i want it to irritate the living hell out of everyone around him

every now and then, jason and dick will go to different chili dog carts around the city, and dick will sit and nod in agreement as jason nitpicks the food, occasionally offering his own two cents. the conversations are tense and if the topic strays from anything except food jason books it, but it’s progress, and dick’s grateful. but he doesn’t understand why jason always growls at him when he’s preparing his chili dogs, chalking it up to jason’s obsessiveness about that food in particular. dick figures he’s probably doing it wrong. until one day, jason bites out a rough question, asks him how he did that. dick’s confused, until jason points out, “you tear open the top of the ketchup packet in a perfect line every time. and you get all of the ketchup out of the packet in one smooth squeeze, and you never get any on your fingers, and i don’t understand how.”

roy was, arguably, a better archer than ollie. green arrow had been birthed from the island, from the trauma of survival. roy, however, had been practicing since he was a kid, and now that he was well into his twenties, he could safely say he was one of the best shots in the world. he could beat all his friends at darts, shoot an apple off wally’s head, and was generally pretty awesome. or, he would be awesome, if only dick fucking grayson would stop making every single shot of anything he threw in a trash can. no matter what he was throwing away, no matter the angle, no matter the wind or rain, as long as the trashcan was in eyesight, anything dick tossed would inevitably end up inside the garbage. sometimes, dick barely even glanced at the damn thing, just took note of it a threw the trash, expecting it to land in the proper place. and it always did. the worst part was, dick didn’t even seem to notice it. he wasn’t actively trying to make every shot. when asked, dick just shrugged and said “we had some pretty good knife throwers in the circus.”

tim’s memories starting out as robin were a whirlwind, a push-pull of bruce’s mistrust, then bruce’s acceptance, of dick’s fear and hesitation, then of dick’s love. he still remembered dick making the two of them hot chocolate in the kitchen after a day of training, tim’s muscles sore and entire body aching but the feeling of pride, because he was good enough to be robin, he knew he was. he hadn’t expected that to happen anytime soon again, given the way their relationship had fractured after tim had left dick’s batman, a terrified fury in his eyes. yet, he’d been proven wrong when, after a particularly rough arkham breakout, alfred asked both dick and tim to stay instead of returning to their own apartments. just because the manor brought back a feeling of warm nostalgia, however, doesn’t mean it kept the nightmares away. he came down to the kitchen and saw dick already up, moving around the stovetop. with a knowing look in his eyes, dick grabbed another mug to make tim some hot chocolate. tim was washed over with a feeling of relief, of acceptance. dick slid the mug towards him and tim took a sip, letting the rich chocolate warm him up from the inside. it was delicious. his little sigh of pleasure must have been audible, but then he remembered something he noticed. “dick. did you use alfred’s recipe for this?” and dick laughed, responded with, “nah. too much work. i just sort of tried to remember what was in hot chocolate, and eyeballed most of the ingredients. i’m glad it turned out good though. no clumps too, that’s good.”

donna didn’t care how old she got, playing in the park with dick never got old. as one of her oldest friends, the two of them could just walk around the park, in companionable silence, just letting themselves relax and enjoy the moment. so, of course, dick would break the silence and ask if she had any earbuds, because it was getting to quiet for him. donna laughed, and reached inside her pocket, fingered past the keys, and grabbed the headphones. the tangled little ball that came out made her sigh, and she pulled on an earbud to loosen it, only managing to make one of the many knots tighter. then, dick took the headphones out of her hands with a here, i got it, and with a few quick tugs, the tangled monstrosity unraveled easy as breathing. then, completely unaffected, he handed her an earbud, putting the other in his own ear. “i’m the one who’s got a lasso,” she said, ignoring dick’s snort and quip about how earbuds and a lasso are two completely different things, donna.

cass hadn’t expected to enjoy such a gentle, graceful form of athletics, but after a few lessons, it had become apparent that ballet could be far from gentle. it pushed her, made her practice and strengthen herself, and she’d fallen in love with the art quickly. however, the most frustrating part of the entire thing had little to do with actually dancing. the school bruce had helped pick out was prestigious, which meant a strict dress code, which meant her hair had to be in a bun. unfortunately, her hair never seemed to want to cooperate. after her latest attempt, falling into a mess of hair at her nape that had so many locks falling out, cass contemplated how mad the teacher would be if she showed up in a ponytail. at that moment, dick peeked into her room, having heard her frustrated noise, and asked if he could do anything to help. cass pointed to the mess of hair, not even remotely contained by the hair tie, and blew a strand out of her face. dick smiled with understanding, then came into her room, grabbing the comb on her bed and standing behind her in front of the mirror. he smoothed her hair with the comb, then pulled it this way and that, twisting and turning and wrapping until, two minutes later, a picture perfect bun sat atop her head. cass blinked with surprise. “first try,” she said, staring up at him, but he just shrugged and said, “it’s not that hard. you want me to drop you off?”

bruce could admit that he rather enjoyed undercover missions. it was an extended game with high stakes, a test of his own acting skills. with makeup changing his face, an expertly made wig, and a demeanor completely different from both brucie wayne and from batman, he swept through the crowd of greasy men, looking for a specific contact. then, he caught sight of someone specific indeed, though they weren’t his contact. eyebrows raised in a what are you doing here? gesture, he slid onto a barstool. from behind the bar, dick offered him a blinding smile, cleaning a glass. he tapped his wrist twice, a clear message. undercover, same as you. then, dick grabbed a couple bottles from underneath a shelf, flipping them in his hand and pouring with grandeur. bruce noticed he hadn’t put any alcohol in his little mixture, only making it seem as if he had. the flashy moves were entertaining, bruce could give him that. dick slid him the drink and bruce took a sip, eyebrows raising in brief surprise. “this is good. bartending?” dick put the bottles and the lemon away, unimpressed. “it’s not like it’s hard. just mixing a couple ingredients. no biggie.” bruce was fairly certain bartending was more difficult than that, but just then, his target came into view. 

steph understood some of the bats’ frustration with dick, she really could. he hadn’t exactly been a welcome and opening batman, that’s for sure. regardless, as the few masks left in gotham had to work together, and she’d gotten to know the man pretty well. and she enjoyed his company as nightwing much more than batman. she dropped onto his balcony in his bludhaven apartment, announcing her presence in that loud-subtle way. dick was nestled in a couple blankets on the couch, going over a couple files, apparently just back from patrol if the small bandage on his neck and bags under his eyes were any indication. nevertheless, he brightened when he saw her and she nodded when he asked if she wanted to spend the night. he moved some of the papers to make room for her on the couch, but she flitted into his bathroom, going through the nail polish bottles she knew he had, and grabbing a shade of red that caught her eye. she tossed him the bottle and put her fingers in his lap, talking aimlessly about a movie she watched with cass. dick seemed to relax amidst her jabbering, and he shook the bottle a couple times before opening it and focusing on her right hand. but as he started, steph paused her rambling and focused on him instead, holding her hands gently and brushing paint onto her nails. he managed to cover her entire nail in three easy strokes, smooth and glossy, not a hint of paint on her skin. the nail was practically perfect. oh god she was jealous. “got a lot of practice with this, grayson?” she asked, and laughed at dick’s mock-offended of course not!

damian wasn’t one for photography, and he could grudgingly admit drake was far better at that particular skill than he was. however, his art class had promised to cover all types of media, and had upheld that pledge. the next two weeks were dedicated to photography, and their final project for the unit had to be a small collection of photographs. animal photography, of course, was damian’s chosen subject, and the knowledge that animal photography was one of the hardest skills to master only had damian wanting to do it more. days later, however, he could admit that it was trickier than expected. how had he never noticed how active his animals were? they never sat still, and every single picture came out blurry. grayson, upon coming across him in the manor grounds, noticed his futile attempts and asked if he could help. damian acquiesced the camera to grayson, who looked through the lens, finding the right angle and background, adjusting the focus settings slightly. then, he let out a sharp whistle and snapped his fingers. in nothing short of a miracle, damian’s pets pasued to look at him, only for a second, and the shutter clicked furiously. damian flipped through the photos, a good many of them clear and wonderful. damian snapped in irritation when dick ruffled his hair and said, “now you try!” it definitely wasn’t as easy as grayson made it look.

babs didn’t really know what she was expecting when she broke up with dick. there was hurt on both ends, and distance for a while, and she had no idea how much she’d miss him. but after a couple months of working together, of remembering that underneath the romantic tangles, their friendship was strong, she’d gotten to the point of dick randomly dropping by her apartment again. the downside was, dick kept randomly dropping by her apartment again. he stole her snacks and messed up her filing system and was so irritating that barbara almost forgot how relieved she was at having one of her best friends back. fortunately, it did come with benefits, because when he was bored, he did some of her chores for her. pausing in the doorway, she smiled at the sight of dick folding her clothes and putting them away. the gesture was platonic now, but no less appreciated. she pushed her wheelchair forward, and in greeting, dick told her how much he wanted to steal all her patterned socks. babs reminded him they wouldn’t fit, and laughed at his pout. dick grabbed one sock off the top of the laundry basket, then dug his hand into the pile of clothes randomly, coming up with the second sock in an instant. folding them together, he repeated the process for each pair. “that...that was fast. you got all of them?” babs asked in confusion. “yes? why, did you expect some to be missing?” was dick’s reply as he shook the wrinkles out of a sweater.

wally was never surprised. he knew dick better than probably most people in the world. he’d gone from frustrated and jealous of dick’s random talents, to admiring and appreciative, to just accepting them as a fact of life. dick’s phone never cracked if he accidentally he dropped it. dick never buttoned up shirts wrong, aligning each button with the right hole perfectly on the first try. dick could plug in usb ports the right way. dick always remembered which light switch was for which room, no matter whose house they were at. dick could pop a cd out of its case without ever smudging the disk, holding it by the rim perfectly. and dick always seemed to know when wally needed a day off, to just visit their old haunts, grab some ice cream, and spend the day talking away on a rooftop. that was just something his best friend could do. and wally would never tell dick, but underneath his fake irritation at it, but he loved him for it.

tag list:  @comicsandhoney @birdy-bat-writes @elles-shitposts-personified @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @astroherogirl @yesboopityboop @dangerduckjpeg

[yandere-daydreams]

Could we get head cannons for either Izuku, Bakugo or Shoto with a darling who is getting cold feet on their wedding day? I just love darlings breaking down and relapsing

Weddings are kind of a sore point for me, but I’m all for that pre-ceremony drama. Izuku, being the feral Obsessive he is, would eat that kind of shit up, too, *especially* if his Darling needs some convincing.

TW: Mentions of Kidnapping, Emotional Manipulation and Unhealthy Relationships.

~

You couldn’t rub your eyes.

That was what hurt the most. You couldn’t rub your eyes.

You lost track of how long you’d been crying, by now. It’d started some time after the hairstylist and make-up artist had left, and you knew you didn’t have long until someone came looking for you, if not a whole group of concerned tones and prying eyes. As you sat at the polished vanity, locked away and alone in the backroom of an extravagant venue, you were hyper-aware of the mascara slowly forming streaks down your cheeks, how every movement, every tear threatened to stain the white that covered your body. Your hands, too, gloves Izuku’d chosen stretching from your fingertips until the end of your sleeves. The lace was thin, as smooth and as fragile as cobweb, and you weren’t sure you could take them off without ripping it.

So, you didn’t try.

Izuku always got so mad when you tore something pretty.

You weren’t sad, honestly. If you were sad, that would’ve meant all of this was real, and as much as you tried to convince yourself it was, it just didn’t feel like reality. You’d been pulled out of the real world the moment you woke up in Izuku’s basement, a smile on his face and a collar in his hand, and you hadn’t found your way back to it yet. In a few hours, you’d be married to a man you hated, and none of it would feel real. You’d cry, but you wouldn’t be sad. You’d kiss him, but you wouldn’t be in love. You’d start fights for no reason and dredge up all the awful things he did to you and be angry, but you’d just be following whatever distorted, cruel plotline you’d fallen into. The only difference between now and then would be the kind of ring around your finger, the type of metal Izuku chose to decorate you with.

So consumed with trying to stifle the whimpers slowly crawling their way up your throat, you didn’t notice when the dressing room’s door swung open, closing silently a second later. Izuku didn’t bother announcing himself, he never did, just making sure no one was around before approaching you, an arm draping itself over your shoulder carelessly. You noticed his reflection first, your eyes going wide and your body tensing reflexively, but you forced yourself to relax as you glanced over your shoulder, scanning gingerly over his grin. There were dozens of people to come running if you screamed, hundreds. If he was going to do something, he was going to have to wait. Unless he wanted to put his reputation on the line.

“Just checking up on you, sweetheart,” He explained, unprompted. There was a light peck to the side of your head, the faintest hint of a laugh, but he settled in quickly, leaning more of his weight onto you as he continued. “Someone mentioned you were acting strange. I didn’t want our guests to worry.”

You cringed, flinching ever-so-slightly. He wasn’t wrong, you’d gotten to invite a few of your friends and family, but any spare seats were quickly taken by Pro-Heroes and childhood friends and journalists who all wanted to be there for the big event. All those eyes, all those cameras… it made you anxious. You couldn’t stand the thought of standing up there, shaking and stumbling your way through half-hearted vows. Izuku said you’d be fine, he promised he’d be there, every step of the way. You still weren’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting. “I… I just don’t know if I can do this,” You admitted, hesitantly. “Don’t you think we’re doing this too quickly? It’s barely been two years, and I’m not exactly… people might--”

“People might what?” Izuku was still trying to be playful, his tone light, cheery. Your eyes dropped to the wooden tabletop. You didn’t want to look at him. “They’re going to stare adoringly, and compliment the happy couple, and make all sorts of comments about how beautiful you are and how lucky I am and how perfect we are together. That’s all. Then, we’re going to get out of here and have three weeks to yourselves. I don’t think we’ve had that much time alone since we first got together!”

When he’d kidnapped you. His phrasing incited the smallest spark of hot, burning rage in your chest, but you didn’t let yourself dwell on it. That was a long time ago, and you had things to deal with now. “I still don’t know, Midoriya, it’s not just the people.” You tried to be a little more firm, a little more confident, but your voice cracked, fracturing into jagged, awkward angles. You didn’t like the way it sounded. “I never really pictured myself doing anything like this. I don’t want to be with someone permanently, not so soon. I have a lot…. I had a lot I wanted to do, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to just forget about that. Maybe if we waited, I’d be ready.”

You only paused for a moment, meaning to go on, but Izuku didn’t give you the chance. He stepped to your side, his hold falling to wrists and pulling you jerkily to face him. It was meant to be loving, the way he clasped your palms between his, his hands encasing yours completely, but the only feeling you could scrape up was dread. “Angel, love, sweetheart,” He started, his grin broadening with every word. “You don’t have a choice.”

You frowned, at that. More out of disappointment than shock. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve done this before, haven’t we?” He leaned in, kissing the top of your head, his lips lingering a second longer than they should've. “You ask for space, but when you get it, you start to forget I exist. You push me away and try to run and ignore me, and when I have to take it away, you whine and sulk like you’re blameless. I love you, and you know I’d do anything if it means making you happy, but we don’t have time for a fight, right now. I love you enough to know you won’t be able to handle a choice, if I give you one.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, biting back the urge to argue. Izuku was trying to be patient, and you weren’t going to test his resolve. “I know you care about me, but--”

“I do.” The confirmation was accompanied by an over-exaggerated nod. “And if you cared about me, you wouldn’t try to ruin this. You’d go along with it, long enough to get cleaned up, at least.” You were suddenly painfully aware of the black streaks marking your cheeks, of the itchy, irritating tears slowly reforming, taking their rightful place in the corner of your eyes. You curled into yourself, caught between the desire to wipe them away and the knowledge of how badly it would hurt if you dd. If Izuku noticed your turmoil, he didn’t bother addressing it, just bringing your hands up to his face and nuzzling into the soft material. “Think of it this way… It’s better than going back to real chains, right?”

He pulled away, laughing, and you absentmindedly scanned over the pink dust now coating your gloves, remnants of Izuku’s excess blush. It was obvious, even from an arm’s length away, but you doubted Izuku would care.

The stains only ever seemed to matter when you were the one to make them.