DPxDC Prompt:
[this is a long one please forgive me]
Bruce lied to the others about his trip through time. Not all of it! Just…one specific thing.
During the early parts of his timeline hijinks, before Tim realized Bruce was still alive, he had a bit of a respite in between his endless time jumps. (Maybe a certain ghost was helping him out.) With a fuzzy memory at best and a strange itch to investigate the unknown, Bruce had been taken in by an old couple who had no kids but wanted to pass on the family name. And who better than a thirty-something amnesiac stranger who could actually be related by blood?
Bruce, with nowhere to go, accepted his new name, grew out his hair, and quickly got accepted into college for engineering. There, he met two of his closest friends; a redheaded woman who could kick his ass and a wet chicken of a man who could also kick his ass. They both made him nostalgic for something he didn’t remember, and that made him sad sometimes, but the two were always there to cheer him up.
Years passed, and Bruce’s life moved on. He settled well into his new name, mourned his parents when the eventually passed, celebrated his wedding with the redhead, and grieved when the last of their trio fell out of touch. He had a daughter, and then a son! They were both so smart, even if they didn’t share the same passion he had for exploring the science behind the afterlife. (Something about the dead just itched his brain in an infuriating way, and Bruce wasn’t one to let sleeping dogs lie. He just had to find out why he was so obsessed with this stuff!)
Eventually, his and his wife’s research yielded results, and that’s when bits of Bruce’s former life started coming back to him. After the portal opened, he spent his days with his head in a fog, oblivious to the world around him as he struggled to continue his work.
Why did he remember a boy named Dick? Who would name their child that? And Jason…who was Jason? That name always made him sad. There were more names, more faces, but none of them were his. He could never remember what his name was supposed to be. All he had was the one his adoptive parents gave him.
His wife was worried. His daughter was struggling. And his son…his son sometimes hurt to look at. Bruce didn’t know why. He knew he was being a terrible father, but something in him wanted to cry whenever he gazed at those clear blue eyes, just like his own. His son was too smart for his own good, and realized his dad had started avoiding him.
The day his son purposely left the room so Bruce could relax was one that hurt him even now.
Time kept passing, and Bruce was becoming anxious. His brain fog was as bad as its ever been. He had constant headaches, and his hands kept twitching for nonexistent tools on his belt. Something was going to happen. Something had happened. A voice in his head told him it was all his fault.
So in an attempt to clear his head and spend more time with his family, Bruce insisted they all go to dinner at the local diner. His son invited his friends. Even better! More people meant more distractions from his messed-up thoughts. He wouldn’t spiral with the kids around.
And then something exploded.
The last thing Bruce remembered was his son’s (green??) eyes widening in fear and horror as something yanked him violently backwards. He fell farther than expected, through a portal and a green sky full of black stars. A hand tightened on the back of his jumpsuit, hauling his giant body through another portal with a roar of a motorcycle.
And then…and then…and then what?
All of a sudden, Bruce was sprawled in some mud in the middle of a forest, dizzy and coughing from the explosion’s fumes. He’s singed all over, and his ears still rang from the force of the…what happened again?
Bruce sits up, and all of a sudden, he’s in the era of the pilgrims. His memory has been wiped clean, his new name and family forgotten thanks to the hands of time. His adventures through the time stream continue, with him assuming many different identities throughout many different decades.
The memories of being Jack Fenton don’t return to him until he’s back in 2004, once again in his own time and living as Bruce Wayne. A glowing green sticky note informs him that “The Nasty Burger Incident” had just occurred. His “other self” just had his ass dragged to another era, so the time loop would continue.
It also informed him that he had an orphaned son crying for him at Bruce’s own grave.
Well, his forgotten son (that sounded bad, even to him) was supposed to be about fourteen now, right? Bruce hopes he doesn’t have to fight anyone for custody.
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the thing that frustrates me the most is people saying "its just the 3rd day" my brother in christ, the members dont know for how long they will have to pause their lore that they have been building up to for god knows how long for this
like yeah, its one thing to say about the items and the grinding which ngl i dont give a fuck that they lost those, but lore specific items being lost for who knows how long is annoying. i'm sorry that some of the most attractive things of the qsmp is the individual character driven lore and how frustrating it is that time and time again it had to be paused for the overall island plot to suddenly be brought up in the most unconvenient way as if they didnt forget about it for like 4 months
one of my biggest issues with the qsmp story is how it doesnt wrap up things, and if it does it somehow feels underwhelming, most of it being from the players not even being able to participate on it and had to be informed of what went on by a "third party". like hell how many times do we have to pause resolving loose ends for another event that who the hell knows what will happen that will deviate the main plot for the next month or so again
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I hope this is okay to ask but are you still pals with other mods ever since or just with some? Or just still mutuals but don’t talk much? You don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable with it!
well, it's been over a decade and relationships ebb and flow all the time and people change, or situations change. and you can't keep the exact same relationship with someone for that long i don't think. at least not in my experience.
so yeah i've had my positives and negatives with fellow mods. they've come and gone. some of them have stuck around, and others have moved on. it's just how it goes.
some of them i'm still on good terms with, we just don't keep up. others we're comfy-but-quiet mutuals. and others i'd say we're still friends, even good friends. and then there are the ones where it happened to go real sour, unfortunately. it's just a lot of different folks from a lot of different strokes of life and a bunch of things have happened. i feel like it's to be expected.
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hi! for the choose violence asks: 7 and 13
Hi you!!! Thanks for stopping by ❤️
7: the character I hate not because of canon but because of how fandom acts about them
...well, this is the violence game on the getting too personal website, so I'll get a little too violently personal.
Honestly, a big part of why I stopped writing fic and ultimately left the fandom for over a decade was that I started to hate Dooku. I felt so fed up with having to justify and explain writing him as a Good Master, as a steadfast Jedi, when it felt like the much more popular version was to write him as a grimdark asshole who mainly existed to give angst and whump to Padawan Qui-Gon. (At the time, a major blorbo.) And yes, I got that the guy ultimately becomes a villain, I loved me some Sith era badness fics, but there were so few people writing in pre-prequels era/Dooku's Jedi years as it was, and that idea felt really pervasive.
I say "felt." It's funny, over the years I've wondered how accurate my perceptions even were: I had great, supportive friends and a small but wonderful handful of readers, and I was writing mainly in a community of people who cared about the character as much as I did. You know, who was this mean cabal of people who I thought were judging me for not writing him evil enough in his Jedi era?? Was that real, or did I just have that perception because I was an insecure teenager uncomfortable with my own writing and projecting on it?
Over the weekend, I got Boli's kind tag in the WIP Graveyard and I looked at my old account to see about maybe pulling a snippet from my one big WIP from that era. Kind of a cute throwback post. You know, "wanna read my writing from when I was a baby Jess?!" But reading it again made me so unhappy! Not because it was bad or because of not loving my younger self enough or whatever, but that tension in how I was writing Dooku, the way that I could tell how much I was frustrated with and agonizing between how I wanted to write him and how I felt I should write him. How "the good writers" were writing him. The inconsistency all over the page. That's sounds SO dramatic but you know, it was a big deal to me at the time, and I could remember hating that feeling.
I will say now I feel totally differently. Jedi-era Dooku being a categorically good guy or bad guy is missing the point. He isn't an idea I'm defending in an essay, he's a character, he has good days and bad days, triumphs and failures, times when he gets it and times when he totally wipes out. Flaws, loves, moments of valor and moments of ugliness, contradictions, humor, rare sweetness, and above all, the strangeness that makes me love the guy.
13. Worst blorbofication
Have you SEEN me with Sifo-Dyas?! My friend, I have no room to be hurling stones about blorbos from my glass house, which is itself shaped like the tragic, yet beautiful figure of Sifo-Dyas.
But probably Obi-Wan. :D I genuinely love him, but just saying... Fandom king blorbo? Probably Obi-Wan.
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