#traumatised..

[bogkeep]

ok so i think that my favourite fantasy subgenre is The Inherent Tragedy Of Being Born Into Royalty. which mostly means that i like to read about gay princes but with some nuance

[softestaries]

my fav thing about sunrise on the reaping was when haymitch was like yeah caeser i'm a lone wolf 😏 i'm with the newcomers but i'm not WITH the newcomers, yknow? they call me a rascal. a rebel against the gamemasters. I scored a ONE and that is a THREAT. you do not want to mess with me 🙅

cut to him with like 20 kids following him around like ducklings, him hiding in his t-shirt, him letting a bunny guide him to safety because it reminded him of his girlfriend, and him making nightlights out of potatoes.

[noodles-and-tea]

I don’t know if it’s just because of Alex’s personal voice quirks or whatever but Bill and Stan talk in quite a similar manner and my personal head canon is that Bill does it on purpose to mess with Ford :(

[siriusly-dc]

The boys are fighting

Tim: AT LEAST I DONT STAB PEOPLE FOR HAVING A DIFFERENT FAVOURITE CEREAL

Damian: YEAH WELL FATHER SHOULD HAVE ABORTED YOU AND YOUR WRONG OPINIONS

*silence*

Dick:… Dami… did you forget that Tim’s adopted

Jason: this is the best day of my life

Duke: right of passage I fear

Bruce: *is on concussion number five of the week and it’s only Wednesday trying to remember if he gave birth to Tim or not* what?

Just the Batkids forgetting that most of them are adopted when fighting

Bruce birthed those kids r u kidding me they all look like freaky ass clones of him

[notrobinsomethingworse]

Damian: Richard I demand you read this book to me.

Dick: Aww Dam! Of course I will! Do you want me to do the voices?

Damian: If it brings you joy… I will allow you to do them.

Dick: Sure Dami I can do the voices!

Damian: …

Damian: Thank you Richard.

[prlssprfctn]

Batboys, who finally got Jason to agree to join them in their Farm Weekends at Kents, and who beforehand warned Kon and Jon that, well, Jason can be a little flippant, but it nothing personal, only to find out that Jason has an awful, tooth-rotting soft spot for Supers.

Kon, sighing: Okay, Jon, remember, this guy is probably like Damian but older and worse... On the other side, you probably would like that, but just in case if he makes you cry, call me. I'll deal with him. Jon, giggling: Don't worry, Kon. Jason, appearing on the doorsteps: Hey, little ones. I wasn't sure what people usually bring as a gift when they are staying at someone, so I bought the bunch of sweets for ya. You don't mind, do you? Kon: L-little ones? Jon: SWEETS!

Batboys are flabbergasted. Jason never acts like this with them, so what the actual fuck. Tim checks on Jason's temperature, like, three times in the row, and gets his hand smacked. Damian stares at Jason, trying to figure out if the Pit madness had returned in a different light. They have no explanation for this.

Kon: Dude, you said that he was meanie. Tim: He IS. Usually. Kon: I don't know, man... He lets Jon sit on his shoulders and piggybacked me this morning. That's not really mean to me. Tim: WELL. HE NEVER DOES THIS WITH US. Kon: Maybe he just doesn't like you that much. Tim: SHUT UP.

Jason, helping to Lois with some chores: So, I need some help in stalls. Pretty boy, come and help me. Kon: (keeps standing cluelessly) Jason: (glares at him, confused) Kon: Oh! I am pretty boy? Jason: Yeah? Chop-chop, come on. Tim, muttering: All I get is Timbers. And Timberline. And Timmers.

Jason, cooing on Jon: Aw-w, here goes my itty bitty tiny- Damian: (growls) Tim: Somebody sedate me. Kon, twirling around in new leather jacket that he stole from Jason: Yeah, we are his new siblings at this point.

Dick: I am. SO. Happy. That. Little. Wing. Finally. Can. Unleash his. True. Cringey brother. Personality. Tim, concerned: Is that kryptonite in your hands? Dick: No. No. Don't get me wrong. I am very happy. I had waited for this day for years, even. Well. I expected ME to be his itty bitty tiny weenie. But. That's fine. I am fine. Damian: I'll fetch father... Tim: Yeah. Please.

[captainsaltypear]

this. this is what happened in that scene right

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

I will die on the hill that to understand Anidala you have to accept that Padme saw the red flags clear as day and went for it anyway. Why? Because Anakin was honest with her. Because Anakin, for all his idolising and putting her on a pedestal, still saw and treated her as a human being, even argued against her at times without fear or without hiding behind clever words. Because Anakin made her feel the youth that was taken from her at a young age. She was captured by the boyish charm and the awkwardness and the blunt honesty, and so when he came to her with a billion red flags, she went for it anyway. He was a breath of fresh air to her.

To understand Anidala you must understand they are 100% freak4freak. They are both children who grew up too fast and are now in a secret relationship giggling like teenagers in their twenties. This is vital to them. Padme is not a flawless character or an idea of perfection, on the contrary she is a very human character who was put in charge of her people at fourteen, something that had a lasting impact on her, and so she is choosing her childhood joy and a fairytale romance over the red flags her husband is waving. She is the OG ‘I can fix him’ mentality. No one is doing it like her.

‘The red flags are mass murder’ and the point still stands.

[yeyinde]

Thinking about post-war/70s era Price coming home to an empty house (his wife divorced him while he was overseas) and a child he can't take care of all on his own, and snatching up the sweet little neighbour-next-door as a babysitter.

Temporarily, you stress, all soft smiles and polite little sir's that go straight to his cock. You're going back to university in September, after all. You have big aspirations that go beyond the whims of the men around you, ones who seem to want to confine you to the kitchen where your mother spent most of her life. And he can respect that. He likes people who have that grit. That determination.

But unfortunately for you, he thinks all devotion would be better suited to taking care of a family. Particularly, his.

NONCON. MISOGYNY. AGE GAP.

It's cute, though. The way you keep reminding him that you're going to college when he slips in sly comments about how good you look with his baby in your arms. barefoot in his kitchen as you make him dinner, his child on your hip, babbling at his new mommy. nervously stuttering around the notion that you're going to become something more than a mother, Mr Price. more than this deadbeat town stuck in the fifties, where women wearing pants is still an anomaly that makes men shake their heads and stare disapprovingly.

But you get these notions in your head. These little ideas he finds so adorable, and ones he sees no qualms in manipulating to his advantage—and why would he? You want to act grown, independent, then he'll teach you what happens to silly little girls when they get too deep in over their heads.

(like letting you think this is just a fling. flirting with an much older man is harmless, your friend says with a shrug. a little summer fun.)

And he plays into it, too. humming along dutifully as you stammer out that you don't want children when he shoves his hand under your skirt after steadily chipping down those walls of yours. Or that you don't want to be tied to just one man when he slips a little extra wine in your cup to loosen you up before dragging you upstairs to his bed. You want to experiment and enjoy life as a single woman while you're in college. And this is just a fling, right? Your friend said losing it to an older man was normal. perfectly okay as long as you were safe about it.

But he doesn't have any condoms, and you're too tipsy to put up much of a fight when he pulls you into his bed (beautifully obedient, as always). A nervous little tremble to your voice as you beg him for more—

(and please, please, please, Mr Price, don't put a baby in me—)

You're skittish around him the next morning, but that's fine. It's common for newlyweds, isn't it? And when you try to avoid him, pretending to be sick the day after—

Well. It doesn't hurt to remind your parents just who he is, and who he has stuffed inside his pockets, so he isn't too surprised to see you at his doorstep the next morning, wringing your hands as you apologise for getting sick. An indiscretion that's easily forgiven when you shiver against his hands, nervously asking how you can make it up to him.

(you want autonomy. agency. control. and he's always been the type to coddle, hasn't he? so he teaches you the most powerful position you'll ever be in next to him—on your knees, mouth wide open, begging for him to cum on your face like the naughty thing you keep pretending you want to be.)

It's a much better alternative than taking you over his knee like he was planning when you didn't show up to take care of your child the way a new mother should, and he tells you this after you put the baby to bed. Whispers it into your skin as he grips your hips and makes you take him deeper than you ever did before. Coos softly about places—

(and yours, sweetheart, is under him. takin' his cock like a good little wife should—

wide-eyed and shivering from more than just pleasure as he spells out your future beneath him.)

—something that seems to scare you a bit more than he expected when he finds out you sent your college applications out when he thought you had come to an agreement already. But luckily for you, he knows how to pull strings and keeps you right where you belong: with him.

Of course, the rejections come at the perfect timing, too, and he watches the fight inside of you dwindle to smouldering embers after your father pulled his funding, and even the local college refuses your application.

You just feel so confused, you tell him, biting nervously on your nail as he prowls after you. The baby is in bed. The other in your belly. His glass of whiskey after dinner did little to soothe his hunger when you showed up at his door with red-rimmed eyes and the ghosts of your father's anger snarling down at you. He, too, disapproves of college—and it's just so sudden, Mr Price, because he used to be so encouraging, but now, he's telling me it's not right, and i don't know why—

Everyone around you is pushing you towards the inevitable, it seems. And he manages to feign enough sympathy when you turn to him, teary-eyed, as your carefully laid plans fall to pieces under the weight of his own. Cups the back of your head softly as you weep into his chest over this craziness—this sheer madness, Mr Price, because surely you don't want to even marry me? god. you can't even think straight anymore.

but that's the problem, isn't it? he asks, rapping his knuckles softly against the side of your head before offering a smile oozing with thick patronisation.

"You keep thinkin', mm," he rumbles, chipping away the last of your meagre defences as he pushes you towards the bedroom—your bedroom, now. "Thinkin' 'bout things you don't need to, love. Not anymore. Got all these silly little ideas inside here—" his hand curls around the back of your skull, thumbs stroking your skin in a way that might feel comforting if he hadn't been adding a slow, unrelenting pressure to the cup of his palm. Pushing you down, down—

Your knees hit the carpet in a muted thud, and he doesn't even need to tell you to do anything—your hands are already there, trembling fingers unlatching the clasp of his buckle before clumsily pulling him out. Scared and cornered and with nowhere to go because he changed the locks, didn't he, mm? mum ain't answerin' the door? but that's okay. you belong here, anyway, don't you?

And really. You don't have much of a choice when you wake up feeling sick to your stomach at the end of August. belly already swelling with his second child. Your first. ain't that excitin'? givin' your little baby a brother.

He presses a kiss to your sweat-slicked forehead when he finds you hunched over the toilet that morning, cooing in your ear about how happy he is.

"and jus' think, sweetheart," he murmurs, eyeing the shredded acceptance letter sitting in the trash beside you, the one you tried to sneak past him, with a withering distain before aiming that dulled hostility back towards you, a mockery of a smile toying along the edges of his mouth when you shiver, pushing yourself closer to him. The only thing you have left.

"you thought this—we—would be temporary."

[eethok]

springtime in the castle gardens

[softestaries]

i'm going to become one of the most annoying people you've ever met in feb 2026

[hypo-critic-art]

What did you see, Fiddleford?

redbubble ▪︎ kofi

[sarasade]

We love to see TDP's two weirdest (and most traumatised) characters hanging out

[nothing-impt]

Odysseus in Book V of the Odyssey wearing Leucothea's veil

[bitem4rked]

he do be pondering