taropotwrites

[taropotwrites]

Hello loyal readers,

If you thought you’d heard the last of this blog – think again.

The time has come to once again retire your vacation manors and lake homes, and flock back to our beloved Gotham City for the welcoming of a fresh crop of young bachelors and bachelorettes. I hope you’ve all been properly primed and baited for this season of galas, charities, and white-tie dinners. The first of which is expected to be hosted by Mayor Hayes himself.

If you’re unlucky enough to find yourself fallen off the guest list, don’t worry – this ever-dedicated blogger will be your eyes, ears, and unapologetically judgmental tongue for the evening. Starting with this little teaser: The theme of the evening? Wings of Night — a charming homage to our city’s favourite family of Bats. Subtlety? Never heard of her. But then, never let it not be said that Gotham lacks its glamour. Or its drama.

Which I’m sure Mrs. Lawford would agree with me — after all, was it not her husband’s bed that Nicole Albrecht found herself in?

But I know that’s not what you’re here for, dear readers. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten just who’s entry we welcome to society. Or shall I say, welcome back to society.

After a mysterious five-year absence from the social scene, Mr. Jason Todd-Wayne was spotted rather unexpectedly at the grand re-opening of the Gotham Public Library – in the company of none other than his adopted father, the city’s adored darling and resident disaster-billionaire, Bruce Thomas Wayne.

And yes, Mr. Todd was sporting a new look to boot. Let me be the first to say: the new hair is a dashing choice. Dare I say — trendsetting? Don’t be too sure, though. Not everyone can pull off skunk-chic with quite the same brooding charm.

So, to all the throwaways and throne-sitters of Gotham, I leave you this:

This season is shaping up to be one of the most entertaining in decades. And I, for one, cannot wait to see just how many reputations are made (and broken) under Gotham’s discerning eye.

As always, loyal readers – keep your gas masks stocked, and your eyes on the skyline.

The Gotham Ghost

What if Batman but in Bridgerton mode?

[taropotwrites]

What if Batman but in Bridgerton mode?

[taropotwrites]

So, how do we feel about a fic where Loki attends Hogwarts as a student?

[taropotwrites]

Wish I could relate but I have commitment issues apparently and can’t finish a proj before starting something new

you know what doesn’t get talked about enough in writing circles

completed story grief

That feeling you are left with when you have finished a long project - whether it is long because it contains a lot of words, or long because it took you a long time to write, or long because it took you a long time to start writing it - when you’re happy because you finished it but empty because it is finished. You took out all of the words that were inside of you, at least all of the ones that pertain to that story, and the relief that follows such an action can be devastatingly exhausting.

On top of just the empty feeling, there follows that bittersweet sense of understanding that this thing which has for so long been your companion is no longer just your companion, and that you have in some ways severed the ties with it, because you will not be writing it anymore. You might write other stories related to it. You might write stories in the same world. Or stories with the same characters. But THAT story is finished. That story has been taken out of you and put where it can be a part of everyone that reads it. That is unimaginably happy and sad at the same time.

So I just want to say, I guess, be nice to yourself after you finish a story. Yes it’s happy, yes it feels good. But if you also feel a little like you’ve just lost something, give yourself some time to process that, because in a way you did. It’s a happy loss, the sort of loss wildlife rescuers feel when an animal they saved is able to go back and be wild again. It’s a good, happy thing, but it’s also okay to take a little time to be sad and take care of yourself.

[taropotwrites]

there’s absolutely nothing better than reading a 100k word fanfic, that is until you remember you have a body that is starving, thirsty and incredibly sleep deprived and hasn’t used the bathroom since the sun set 8 hours ago

[taropotwrites]

Mood boards for Jackson and Holt while I procrastinate writing the next chapter

[taropotwrites]

What it's like going through Holt Hyde's chats probably

You can tell who is who, right? I feel like Holt would give all his contacts dumb nicknames

(Inspired by random text screenshots I've seen all over the internet)

[taropotwrites]

Jackson Jekyll except it's his texts with other Monster High students

Should I do a Holt vers?

(Inspired by random text screenshots I've seen all over the internet)

[taropotwrites]

Three figures emerged onto the balcony, and Jackson took in a sharp breath as he caught a glimpse of brown hair and tanned skin. Too surprised to care if he was being rude, Jackson stumbled forward, accidentally shoving Clawd out of the way. “Bekka?” he gaped.

In the last chapter, we had Draculaura asking her vampire daddy about the border between the monster/human world, and Frankie being a naive little cutie thinking a party will fix all the world's problems. 

In this chapter, Jackson is roped into venue-hunting with the others, wondering why tf no one ever listens to him. Oh right, and the normie clique is back.

[taropotwrites]

Don't know why I started a Miguel O'Hara/Reader fic but it ended up escalating to have a full blown plot and everything

[taropotwrites]

something I think we all know about fanfic, but don’t talk about because it would hurt writers feelings is that some fics are like fast food. I mean this as a compliment. I don’t always want to sit down for a six course meal that will be a flavor experience. Sometimes I just wanna dip some fries in a frosty. Sometimes I want something homecooked and delicious and super niche, but super comforting. Sometimes I want to eat an entire dark chocolate cheesecake in one sitting even though I know Its gonna make me sick. Just. holy crap, y’all. Sometimes I don’t even want fast food, I just want to eat an entire bag of chips. and yeah, I’m ashamed of myself afterwards, but at the time it was exactly what I wanted. So, no, we’re never going to say to our fanfic writers that we consider their writing to be the equivalent of a midnight run to taco bell - and we shouldn’t, feelings would be hurt by that. But writers, please, please, please, remember this. You don’t need to create a six course meal if you don’t want to. You don’t have to make something complex and homemade if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to finish cooking it - because someone will be thrilled that you brought a bowl of cookie dough and a spoon, because they cannot even consider sitting down and having a proper meal right now. It’s okay writers, whatever you decided to make. Someone was happy to have it. You gave them what they needed. You made them happy. You did good.

[taropotwrites]

screaming, crying, throwing up, as I force myself to write a story i'm very passionate about and love writing and have no obligation to write except that i want to

[taropotwrites]

me as a writer

[taropotwrites]

pulled an all-nighter and then promptly passed out, i drew this sometime and have no recollection but i think i get what i was going for

[taropotwrites]

Headcanon that since Jason can’t go out with his family publicly, what he does instead is show up in random disguises.

Bruce is chatting up some socialites at a gala, talking about the joys of fatherhood and how rewarding it is. Meanwhile he made eye contact with Jason disguised as a waiter twenty minutes ago, and is currently trying to stop his eye from twitching.

Dick is speaking to a third grade class as a part of the Bludhaven Police department outreach program, except when he walks in Jason is sitting behind the teachers desk, playing the role of substitute.

Babs can’t help but stare when Jason hands her a coffee from behind the counter of her favorite coffee shop. (His name tag reads Peter, and for a second she thinks she’s actually lost it).

Tim walks into Wayne Towers one day and on his way in, he waves to his secretary- lo and behold Marjorie has been replaced by Jason. It takes him three hours to notice.

Cass walks into ballet class to discover her teacher had to take a sick day- his replacement is Jason in a beret who talks in a terrible French accent the entire class, only to drop it at the very end to talk in a thick New Jersey accent. Her entire class talks about it for weeks.

Stephanie hails a cab on her way home one night, only to find Jason driving. She’s not sure how he pulled it off or how he got a cab, but her mind is effectively blown.

Duke is on a school trip to the natural history museum, and when the tour guide introduces himself, Duke can’t help but role his eyes. Jason gives a surprisingly good tour, even throwing in some tidbits about a robbery that went down just last week that the Signal stopped.

Damian’s encounter happens when he’s with Jon in metropolis. He’s watching Jon play baseball, and when Jon steps up to bat, he can’t help but notice a the umpire looks a little familiar.

[taropotwrites]

Son

[taropotwrites]

“I can’t speak!” Jason screams, but all that comes out is a gargled mess that sends the expression on Dick’s face plummeting into the icy depths of hell. It’s so pleasing. So, so pleasing to see the joy and humour wiped clean from the face of Dick Fucking Grayson. That’s right, the grief in Jason crows, feel just an ounce of the pain that you left me in.

“I—“ Dick can’t seem to speak either, but for a different reason. His own voice box, whole and unslashed and never silenced, bobs as he swallows. “How did this happen, Jay? S-Since when…”

‘Are you fucking stupid!’ Jason feels his useless larynx tear at the force of his rage, mangled vocal cords vibrating painfully, feeding iron down his throat, ‘Who do you think did this to me!’ And the knife in his heart demands more agony, so Jason tears the collar of his under-armour down.

Dick’s eyes go straight to where he wants it, to Jason’s neck, where his mutism is slashed across his throat in one vicious, horrible, line. Seven inches stretching perpendicular to his oesophogus. Six months healed, but forever an angry, jagged scar of raised tissue.

And Jason knows that Dick knows. He hears the sharp intake of air, and sees Dick’s eyes grow round enough that he almost looks like his younger self. The self that had taken one look at Jason wearing his colours and cursed him for it.

Jason waits for the satisfaction to hit, begs for the high of the pain when he finally gets to see the horror, the anguish, on the face of the Robin that Jason had once watched flying over rooftops with nothing but stars in his eyes. Now neither of them are starry-eyed. Jason’s are poison green, while Dick’s are a few shades away from sharing the riteousouness of their mentor. So Jason waits, for disgust, or fear, or— Or anything! Anything that he could latch on to instead of noticing the wetness in his eyes, or the beat of his lungs expanding irregularly.

But Dick disappoints him. Because there is no anger from him, only an overwhelming sense of grief. Only a sharp recoil, and a sound almost like a sob.

Suddenly, Jason is uncomfortable. And ashamed.

“Jaybird…”

‘Stop looking at me like that,’ Jason’s mind says. ‘Get the fuck away from me,’ his body language says.

Dick swallows hard, tripping backwards. Away from Jason. “I-I’m sorry, I need to—“ He bolts from the room and takes Jason’s rage with him.

Dick is shaking. He’s shaking so hard his brain mistakes the floor as a ship adrift at sea, his side hits the corner of the table as he drops to his knees. It probably hurts, but not as much as the engulfing, stuttering pumping in his chest. His heart is trying to leave him through his throat, his lunch is successful.

Jason will never make jokes at Dick’s expense again.

Jason will never wittily insult his opponents again.

Jason will never quote Jane Austen or reenact Shakespeare again.

Jason will never speak again.

Oh god. Dick couldn’t even remember the last time he had heard his brother’s laugh. Was it before Ethiopia?

He wipes the sick from his mouth and goes back. Jason looks… not fine, his eyes are near glazed, but his head tracks movement so Dick tries anyways. “Does he know the full story?”

Jason’s shoulders come up in a kind of half shrug. Then his hands come up, flipping and moving. Dick scrambles to keep up, his signing is functional but inferior. The first Robin didn’t learn how to sign until Jason, who sat on a fire escape of a crime alley apartment building every night for months just trying to make conversation with a young boy who was deaf.

“His batarang,” Jason tells him in sign, a condemnation. It’s an answer for a lot of things. Because, Bruce had sat at a workbench for years, Bruce could slice an apple from a branch without rustling the leaves. Bruce knew what his batarangs could do.

Dick trembles. Rage? Fear? He doesn’t know, but it forces him to open his mouth. “He won’t fucking come near you again, Jay, I swear it.”

And that smashes the floodgates to smithereens. Jason is heaving, a wretched, ugly, soundless thing of pain and betrayal. His fingers jerk, pressing a phantom trigger, aimed at nothing until Dick steps forward. After that, Dick can barely keep up with Jason’s fluttering hands. “He chose him over me. He chose him. He killed me and he chose him.”

Him. Jason’s killer. Joker.

“I know, Jaybird, I know,” Dick whispers uselessly. “Tell me what you need.”

A breath, two. Jason exhales and it sounds like a rockslide in a thunderstorm. Sinew tearing, blood gushing. Dick’s toes curl at the sounds but Jason makes his lips move, soundlessly, at first. Pointlessly. Then gravel forcing itself off his tongue.

“K…ill… ‘im,” Jason rasps, the effort staining his teeth red.

And Dick closes his eyes, and swears it on the universe.

Usually I don't really enjoy the 'deaf Red Hood' trope 'cause Jason goes through enough in canon without the added angst. But, I dunno, I just really wanted to write like a hurt!Jason type thing and what better than if Dick finds out that Bruce's batarang did some lasting damage.