other people struggling to recognise jason post-res, sure. but-- jason coming back to gotham and keep walking into dead ends because some parts of the city plan shifted just a bit when it got rebuilt after the events of "no man's land." jason getting lost in the manor; jason opening the door to where his room once would be, finding it to be just a carbon copy of other guest bedrooms. jason struggling to read bruce's expressions because they used to be so much more open. jason surprised at the ruthlessness of minor villains who used to just stick to their gimmicks but now are dedicated serial killers and terrorists. jason being scolded by batman for not following a protocol that he does not know of during a rare team up... etc... etc... so what follows is not quite relearning; relearning assumes a certain level of previous familiarity he does no longer possess... the city got colder, and crueler. but it's his home. he can keep up. he can even be two steps ahead (the relativity of distance is a problem. ahead might look dangerously like behind. but trust him, he knows what he's doing.) the new rules can be broken before he finds out about them. he won't be surprised about his bedroom being no more if he never wanted to go back there in the first place. no need to read into bruce's expressions; they obviously convey the worst. minor rogues can be disposed of before they turn out to pose real danger. and that dead end, the wall? nothing an explosive won't fix when he's in a hurry.
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I see and appreciate all the takes on Hob teaching medieval history, but I raise you Hob teaching queer history. Hob teaching about the Thatcher Regime and the police violence of the time, about the rise of the queer scene between both world wars and the steadily rising persecution starting in the 50s, about the Buggery Act, and Section 28, and the wilfully ignorant, actually malicious response to the AIDS pandemic. But not only that; Hob teaching about resistance, about ActUp's die-ins and OutRage's kiss-ins and the alliance with the striking miner's that changed so much. About countless people who lived and loved and resisted regardless all throughout history, and how they—we, Hob still needs to remind himself, some days, that he can say we—have always been there. How it's all about making the right choices even when that is not "how it is done" at the time because what else is history for than keeping us from making the same mistakes, over and over?
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I don’t feel like our love is brand new. There must have been lovers, soulmates, before us, experiencing what we get to have. And it’s giving me comfort to imagine there will be many more like us to come. Our kind of love is the kind of love that makes this rotten world worth living in.
prince simon in madrid
a pilgrimage along the world that @prince-simon created 🥹
Simon’s neighbourhood, Chueca
“It’s actually the Queer Neighbourhood of Madrid, and coincidentally also where I live.” He lowered his voice as if to tell a secret, “It’s actually not a coincidence at all.” (chapter 2)
Casa de Campo (view from the Royal Palace lol oop)
Wilhelm didn’t even recognise himself. He didn’t think he’d ever looked that happy. And Simon… his eyes were closed and his curls were a mess and Wilhelm had never seen anyone more beautiful. (chapter 3)
El Retiro
Simon looked at Wilhelm much too adoringly for a statement this goofy. “The ducks are gay!” He yelled at Santiago and Paula, “Just so you know!” (chapter 9)
Palacio de Cristal
“Here’s a funny thought - bear with me, okay? But just imagine. Flowers. Everywhere, like on the ceiling, up the walls. Fairy lights scattered all through it. It would be so gorgeous as a- uh, like. For a wedding…” Realising where his train of thought had gotten him, Wilhelm fell quiet, looking at Simon with wide eyes. (chapter 9)
El Palacio Real de Madrid (more specifically the Throne Room lmfao)
Simon traced his fingers over the bruises on Wilhelm’s neck and in the opening of his dress shirt, humming contentedly. Wilhelm followed the movement in the mirror, and marvelled at how good they looked together, how well they fit together and how much Simon belonged right here – on the throne, with Wilhelm. He deserved the world and so much more. (chapter 12)
Museo Nacional del Prado
Around them, the other visitors kept moving, admiring the art on the walls, and for the moment Wilhelm felt infinite, imagining himself a painting, looked at and analysed hundreds of years from now. El Abrazo de los Príncipes.
Lo Spasimo, Raphael, 1515-1517
“Are we allowed to kiss in front of Jesus on his way to crucifixion or is that tasteless? Because I really want to kiss you right now, Simon.”
Las Meninas, Diego Velázquez, 1656
“He made me look at Velázquez in the painting and how he was looking back at the viewer, at me. I still remember the exact tone of his voice, how he was so certain when he told me that I had every right to be where I am. That I am the subject of this painting, the king being painted. All those tyrants, King Felipe and Emmanuel and all those that came in between, they are trapped in that mirror forever while I am here, alive, we’re here. Velázquez is looking at two queer princes, ready to paint us.” (chapter 13)
Casa Alberto
“So, tell me more about this special part of Madrileñan history.” He was slightly teasing but mostly actually curious.
Simon seemed all too eager to answer that question, and it hit Wilhelm how genuine Simon’s care for his city — his country — and its people was. It made him a little sad to know that a lot of people didn’t get to see that because they only focused on Simon being too gay or too Latino, or even just too carefree and enjoying life because he was young, to be their future king.
bonus content:
Iglesia de San Antonio de los Alemanes (where Simon goes to church)
“I think I need to go somewhere.”
“Oh?” Wilhelm said softly, “Right now?”
Simon hesitated before he nodded. “I need to- get some clarity? Or - I hope that I’ll get it there?” He whispered, voice shaky.
“Do you want to tell me where you’re going?”
“To- uh, to pray? I mean- to church? I don’t know if I’ll pray…” Simon’s voice was shaky, uncertainty shining in his eyes when he dared to look up at Wilhelm. (chapter 11)
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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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"I'd love to," she finally said, "on one condition."
I steadied myself, hoping it wasn't something too awful.
"Yes?"
"You have to promise that you won't fall in love with me."
I knew she was kidding by the way she laughed, and I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes, I had to admit, Jamie had a pretty good sense of humor.
I smiled and gave her my word.
-A Walk To Remember
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There was a time when the world was sweeter...when the women in Beaufort, North Carolina, wore dresses, and the men donned hats...when something happened to a seventeen-year-old boy that would change his life forever. Every April, when the wind blows in from the sea and mingles with the scent of lilacs, Landon Carter remembers his last year at Beaufort High. It was 1958, and Landon had already dated a girl or two. He even swore that he had once been in love. Certainly the last person in town he thought he'd fall for was Jamie Sullivan, the daughter of the town's Baptist minister. A quiet girl who always carried a Bible with her schoolbooks, Jamie seemed content living in a world apart from the other teens. She took care of her widowed father, rescued hurt animals, and helped out at the local orphanage. No boy had ever asked her out. Landon would never have dreamed of it. Then a twist of fate made Jamie his partner for the homecoming dance, and Landon Carter's life would never be the same. Being with Jamie would show him the depths of the human heart and lead him to a decision so stunning it would send him irrevocably on the road to manhood.
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