#impossible to write for ha

[paulgadzikowski]

I like to say, the way to write a Superman story is to write about what he won't let himself do

The claim that "Superman is too strong to have any meaningful conflict" is a ridiculous statement and makes the assumption that all conflict is rooted in violence.

Superman has conflicts around philosophy, societal issues, loneliness, balancing work and personal life, human empathy, rescue and yes, he does fight things. Things that are as strong as him. Just because he can move fast and punch good doesn't mean he can't have anxiety.

(This story isn't related to this post, but the art is from Superman Lost #2)

[hawkinsbnbg]

Considering Steve isn't good at being honest most of the time, Eddie takes pride on being the only one who can read him like a book. And by book, no one expects Eddie to mean it literally.

They're going out with their friends when Eddie turns to Steve.

Eddie: What do you want for dinner, sweetheart?

Steve: I'm fine with whatever.

Eddie: Pizzas? Chinese takeouts? Burger Kings? Or we can have Meemaw's chili again.

Each one receives a nope (and a pout) from Steve. As Eddie goes on with his suggestions and keeps getting more nopes, everyone pretends to be in some kind of conversation but is actually waiting to see if Steve's just being indecisive or joking.

Gareth: What doesn't he want??

Robin: That's just another Tuesday with Steve for you.

Nancy: Yeah, he's been like that.

Jonathan: That's why he takes so long to do his hair.

Jeff: So he's just indecisive?

Robin: But only sometimes.

Gareth: I'm so confused– Dude, stop shaking me, I'm trying to connect something here–

Grants: Dude, look!

Everyone looks up from their conversation to see Eddie already wearing a pair of glasses and squinting down at the open book in his hands. They watch him lick his finger and leaf through the pages until he finds whatever he's been searching for.

Not one to be left out, everyone surreptitiously lean closer and listen to what he's murmuring under his breath.

"No fast food, no takeouts, no Meemaw's recipes... Hm, he said 'whatever' in that tone... According to section B, part C, point A, he wasn't in the mood for actual food. Well, that's not good... But he said 'it's up to you' when I mentioned having a movie night... Hm... Aha! He meant this! Why didn't I remember it sooner?"

Dumbfounded, they all watch Eddie turn back to Steve with that triumphant smile and do a subtle fist bump when Steve agrees to have cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for dinner.

"... Is that an actual book?" Jeff asks, sounding in awe.

"So he's been bringing it around in his shoulder bag this whole time?" Gareth gasps like he's just solved a great mystery.

"Yeah," Argyle confirms with a lazy smile. "He's a good dude."

"Well." Nancy blinks, glancing at a dazed Jonathan. "He's certainly good for Steve."

"Of course," Robin snorts. She's never known someone who can read Steve's mind as well as she does. That's part of the reason why she has trusted her best friend with Eddie in the first place.

"That's commitment for you," Grants says and everyone can't help but nod in agreement.

[sunnyknight-original]

Currently, my favorite potential Forgettable!AU Gaster and Papyrus dynamic:

My personal favorite interpretation of what Papyrus and Gasters relationship (whether it be (grand)father/son, or just mentor and trainee) would be like, is them both being equally as enthusiastic about everything, and in general just matching each others energy 100% 😭 ITS SO AMAZING ITS ALWAYS A TREAT WHEN A COMIC PORTRAYS THEM AS SUCH

“GASTER!!!!” “PAPYRUS!!!” “GUESS WHAT I DID TODAY!!!!” “WHAT DID YOU DO MY SON?????” “I FINISHED THAT PUZZLE I WAS WORKING ON!!!” “OH MY GOD!!! I AM SO PROUD OF YOU!!!! GIVE IT TO ME RIGHT NOW!!!!”

and sans sitting on the couch like: :)

Its just so pure….

SO ANYWHO, taking that dynamic and shoving it into this AU is currently my favorite thing to think about

Then its even better with Wingdings being canonically unnerved by Papyrus, and being (ID IMAGINE) not too thrilled with being in the same room as Gaster for too long.

I wanna make a Seinfeld ass sitcom series of all 3 of them living in an apartment together and also Sans and/or Alphys visits periodically

Gaster and Papyrus are like staring daggers at the newspaper puzzles tryna solve em, and Wingdings comes in all tired with a cup of coffee and as he’s about to greet them they both go “SHH!!!”

They’d kinda be like Spongebob, Patrick, and Squidward

There would be a running gag where they would always find clearly unintentional hidden messages in the horoscope because of the letters that they correspond to in the wingdings font

Gaster would just randomly talk in like jokerman font because he can

LET ME COOK 😭😭😭😭 id go on. And i probably will on my shitpost account

They should all have a group name like- “Papyrus and Co” or “The Three Skeleclones”

[thimblings]

sometimes i play around with the headcanon that the companions did ask Rook to join book club or to go camping or to hang out or any of the various things they do together - but Solas obscured it/erased it/controlled Rook's responses, in order to make sure Rook would feel more and more isolated and full of regret. eventually, after being turned down enough, he didn't even have to do anything anymore - they just assumed Rook didn't have the time or desire.

(very quick and dirty/cruddy comic to illustrate an idea, like most of my comics are lmao)

[paulgadzikowski]

you’re twelve years old and you break your father’s hand when he hi-fives you. the first thing you learn is that the smallest slip up can hurt the people you love. your (foster) father smiles and says it’s okay (it’s not). 

your parents are not your parents. the idyllic farming community that raised you is not your home. you’re a You-Don’t-Know-What from You-Don’t-Know-Where. all you know for sure is that you’re not human. 

so you can fly. so you can run fast. so you can lift cars. so what? why do you even have this power? what should you even do with it? 

your father said do what’s right, so that’s what you do. 

you stop a robbery. the man’s knife shatters against your skin and you see the same fear in his eyes that you saw in your father’s when you were twelve. you catch a falling child before it can hit the water. his mother looks at you like you’re a god. 

they love you, even though they don’t know you. the most powerful man in the world hates you because they love you. 

you wanted to write when you were younger. you wanted to tell stories that needed to be told. you never wanted to star in them. you never wanted super-geniuses and demi-goddesses looking to you for advice; like you have any idea how to handle threats to reality itself. you’re just a kid from smallville who’s trying to do the best he can with what he’s given. 

you try and get back to the farm as much as you can. it feels normal being back among the open wheat; where everyone smiles because you’re that nice Kent boy. 

when you were younger, you pretended to fly, hands out to your sides and running through the tall grass by the river. it doesn’t look as beautiful from on high; the details get lost and the colors of your hometown blur together from a mile above ground. 

the problem with flying is that it puts you so far above people you care about

[stickyspeckledlight]

A Boutique Just For You [Phainon x GN!Reader]

Phainon has a hard time convincing you.

Notes: Felt warmth in my cold dead heart buried deep in the ground and fossilized with misery and wrath untold and boundless today

“…But it’ll be fun!” He whines.

“Still no.”

“Isn’t it common for—”

“Not with that you’re holding.”

Phainon creases his brow, frowning in hurt. “What’d they ever do to you?”

“Simple. They existed.” You huff, glaring at the offending items. Your eyes hurt just looking at them.

“That’s pretty harsh,” he retorts, “I think they look—”

“Phainon.” You put down your foot, “Either you’re putting those outfits away, or I am.”

Phainon gasps, a touch dramatic, and quickly defends the two matching outfits in his hands: a bright, almost sickly yellow shirt, and bold purple pants. A little sun is etched proudly on the shirt, and the pant legs are patterned with dromas faces. He balances two hats on his head, boldly declaring “Honeycakes!” and “Pumpkin!” respectively. Two shoe boxes sit next to him, and would’ve been normal brown leather boots if not for the amateur stitching of smiley faces and suns on them. It looks like a toddler drew all over them in cheap crayon. The whole ensemble positively looks to have emerged from a trash heap.

“But…” Phainon looks almost helpless in the face of your blatant rejection, “We’ll match!”

“I can deal with that,” you hiss, “But Phainon, and I swear on Kephale’s soul, I am not wearing that.”

“But, but,” he blinks rapidly, unable to understand your distaste, “It’s got a lot of character and boldness. Clothes that are just one color as kind of plain, you know? The sun perfectly matches the yellow, and aren’t all of the little dromas faces just adorable?” He puts it up, pointing at each little face, “How can you say no to these faces?” He asks, giving you…giving you those damned puppy eyes—

No. You cannot fall here. Phainon may be able to take you with his charms in the moment, but you will not fall prey to them. To wear this outfit would be akin to suicide.

Your steel your heart. “Prof Nax might approve of that, but not me. It’s just so…tacky.”

“Tacky?” He struggles, like you and he are speaking in completely different languages. “But…I, I thought you’d find it cute. You tend to the dromas so much that I thought…” His face falls, “What about the hats? You can’t say no to the hats at least—and you can’t refuse those boots!”

You fluster, “We’re not wearing our pet names out in public!”

“But, honeycakes—”

“No!” Even as you think your heart dies a little, “It’s just—it’s just really embarrassing. So. No, I’m not wearing the hats.”

“Embarrassing? But we call each other like this out in public all the time…” Phainon tilts his head, like a confused puppy—befitting your affectionate moniker of him.

You’re certain that if you touched your face, you’d be met with lava, “That doesn’t mean it’s good fashion wear.” You clear your throat, steeling your expression, “Phainon, let me make this final: I. Am. Not. Wearing. Any. Of. This.”

He whimpers like a kicked puppy. “But the shoes—”

“Good quality,” you admit. Even for someone with as little fashion sense as himself, Phainon has trekked enough to know his way around good, lasting footwear. “But it’s the stitching. I have no clue how you found a seamstress this incompetent, but if we wore these we’d get no shortage of people asking us if the baby got their hands on our boots. And we don’t have a child, Phainon.”

Devastation and dejection wreck his expression. He crumples to the ground, and the embers of a destroyed home flicker in his eyes. “…I stitched those…”

“Oh. Oh.” You nod, pleased with the explanation, “Oooh.” Your face cracks. “Oh. Oh no, Phainon, I’m—!”

He shuts his eyes, shooting a hand up, “No, don’t. I…I should’ve known better. Aglaea has always told me I’m not allowed to pick my own clothes for a reason. But I just got really excited, so I couldn’t help myself,” he hangs his head solemnly, ensuring every bit of this apology to be heartfelt, “But I should’ve known better. I don’t really get what’s so bad about it, but that just means I end up neglecting what everyone else thinks,” he sighs, looking up at you with genuine sorrow and regret, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to force this. I’ll pack this all away.”

Phainon begins to gather the clothing. He limps about like a kicked puppy, and clasps each and every article as if damning himself. A heavy cloud follows him, obstructing the sunlight you’ve grown to adore and fawn over.

You can’t do this anymore.

“Phainon,” you swallow, “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so…harsh,” you feel a little guilty now. Phainon was so enthusiastic when he showed you, and you, in a kneejerk reaction, set out to destroy any notion of you ever wearing that outfit. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, really, and stifling his passion like that was likely very demoralizing. All in all, maybe you were a bit of a jerk to him. You might’ve gone a bit too far with that comment on the shoes. “You were clearly very excited, and I uh…I didn’t return that.”

It’s almost jarring how Phainon practically leaps toward you. Just like a puppy.

“So…I went too far with the shoe comment,” you admit, “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think about how much time and effort you must’ve put into all of this. You shouldn’t be apologizing to me over something where you only had the intention of making me happy.”

Phainon pursues his lips, “But…” he looks disheartenedly at the outfit in his hands, “Maybe it wasn’t so unreasonable. This outfit was the reason Aglaea said I wasn’t allowed to pick out my own clothes.”

“I’m not saying I like the clothes. I don’t,” you reply truthfully, “But…I think I did go a bit too far. I don’t like seeing you all glum like this—and it’s not over anything that major. You do a lot, Phainon, and I really should have thought about all you put into this. Even if our…tastes differ, that doesn’t mean you didn’t put a lot of thought and care into this. The stitching too! You’re already so busy, so the fact that you did it all yourself is really sweet.”

Phainon hums. The cloud following him lightens, “You really think so?” He leans in, eyes wide and innocent.

“I do.” You grin, “I’m so lucky that I get to be with such a sweet, thoughtful man.”

You can practically see his tail wagging. There’s no trace of his previous dejection to be seen. He grins widely, leaning further toward you with a giggle. Red softly dusts his cheek. Fire ravages your cheeks. “And I’m the luckiest man in the world,” he confesses, warm breath lightly fanning your cheek, “since I get to be with someone so benevolent,” he looks up at you through his lashes. His smile widens.

From anyone else, you might either sneer or retort with your own show of playful dramatism. But Phainon is special. Hearing that from him breathes renewed vigor in your chest. Your heart threatens to soar. It takes everything in you to not take his cheeks into your hands and squish them together.

“You charmer,” you mutter, putting no weight behind it. Your hand goes to his hair, playing with the soft locks between your fingers.

Phainon hums, grinning playfully. He tilts his head, looking up at you from where he rests his head on your chest. His arms wrap around your waist. His legs follow, folding below him to kneel on the stone floor.

“Charmer?” He chuckles, taking in a deep breath, “That implies I’m just throwing words around with a mere goal.” He sighs. His eyes retreat, as his face nuzzles into your chest. His hair brushes against you, and you dare say it is softer than even the most well groomed of furs. “I just tell you the truth as I see it.” He inhales deeply, then sighs blissfully, “And my truth posits that you are the most lovely being of all the lands.”

“…!” You stammer. “…I thought I was s-supposed to be the, the one who embarrassed you…?”

Phainon giggles mischievously, playfully wiggling his eyebrows when he returns his gaze to you. “This puppy’s got bark.”

You wheeze. “How do you say that with a straight face?”

“Well, when I’m with you, I can do anything,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And as it is most of the time, you can tell he’s being completely sincere.

…This man really will be the end of you. How did you two manage to go from arguing about horrendous fashion to this? If Mnestia were still around, they’d surely give you a standing ovation.

You sigh, leaning down to wrap yourself around him. “You don’t have the throw away the outfits.”

He perks, yanking his head away to meet your gaze. “Are you saying you’ll wear it?” His tone lilts on disbelief, but hopeful.

A crooked smile crosses your face, bashful, “Yes! I’ll wear it. BUT. Only when it’s in private with the two of us! An—woooooahhh?!”

Your feet no longer touch the ground, and the world becomes one big blur. Then you’re vaulted above, then caught by two arms. A wet, messy kiss is pressed to your cheek, “Thank you! I knew you’d agree!” He presses his forehead to yours, “Do you think you’ll start to see fashion my way when you wear it? I’d still love to match outfits with you out in public~”

You scoff, but out no hostility behind it, “No,” you say, but this whole series of events has made it so your chest only produces giggles. “We can wear them as much as you want; but just let me pick the public facing clothes, okay?”

Phainon hums, rocking your body back and forth, “Sure, I agree to your terms,” he kisses you again, this time to your nose, “How about we change now?”

You laugh, ��Alright, alright. I assume you want pictures, too?”

“The more the merrier.” He kisses you again, then sets you on the ground gently. He retrieves the clothes, presenting your outfit with a goofy smile. Though you still think the outfit is an affront to style, you can’t help but return a smile back.

[sugarcoatednightshade]

thinking about how Humans Are Space Orcs stories always talk about how indestructible humans are, our endurance, our ability to withstand common poisons, etc. and thats all well and good, its really fun to read, but it gets repetitive after a while because we aren't all like that.

And that got me thinking about why this trope is so common in the first place, and the conclusion I came to is actually kind of obvious if you think about it. Not everyone is allowed to go into space. This is true now, with the number of physical restrictions placed on astronauts (including height limits), but I imagine it's just as strict in some imaginary future where humans are first coming into contact with alien species. Because in that case there will definitely be military personnel alongside any possible diplomatic parties.

And I imagine that all interactions aliens have ever had up until this point have been with trained personnel. Even basic military troops conform to this standard, to some degree. So aliens meet us and they're shocked and horrified to discover that we have no obvious weaknesses, we're all either crazy smart or crazy strong (still always a little crazy, academia and war will do that to you), and not only that but we like, literally all the same height so there's no way to tell any of us apart.

And Humans Are Death Worlders stories spread throughout the galaxy. Years or decades or centuries of interspecies suspicion and hostilities preventing any alien from setting foot/claw/limb/appendage/etc. on Earth until slowly more beings are allowed to come through. And not just diplomats who keep to government buildings, but tourists. Exchange students. Temporary visitors granted permission to go wherever they please, so they go out in search of 'real terran culture' and what do they find?

Humans with innate heart defects that prevent them from drinking caffeine. Humans with chronic pain and chronic fatigue who lack the boundless endurance humans are supposedly famous for. Humans too tall or too short or too fat to be allowed into space. Humans who are so scared of the world they need to take pills just to function. Humans with IBS who can't stand spicy foods, capsaicin really is poison to them. Lactose intolerance and celiac disease, my god all the autoimmune disorders out there, humans who struggle to function because their own bodies fight them. Humans who bruise easily and take too long to heal. Humans who sustained one too many concussions and now struggle to talk and read and write. Humans who've had strokes. Humans who were born unable to talk or hear or speak, and humans who through some accident lost that ability later.

Aliens visit Earth, and do you know what they find? Humanity, in all its wholeness.

[paulgadzikowski]

There's the classic Swamp Thing issue when Jason (THE FLORONIC MAN) Woodrue has gone into the green and is driving all plant life on Earth to overoygenate the entire atmosphere. The Justice League has convened to consider solutions to the problem and Firestorm says, "I can use my nuclear transmutation powers to change the oxygen molecules into something else!" Superman says, "Do you know how many molecules that is? I could count them for you ..."

Well, that exchange is more of a dig at Firestorm, but the point is - especially appearing in someone else's book - there are cases which challenge even the entire Justice League and you only have to be a competent writer to come up with them.

God I hate that narrative. "What's the point of Superman being on a team when he's stronger than all the other heroes combined?"

Firstly as I've said elsewhere, the math is not complicated here, having multiple heroes is objectively more effective than having just one. Supes can do a lot but he can't be in two places at once (most of the time).

Secondly it's just wrong on its face. Plenty of other heroes are more powerful than Superman. Plenty of heroes can solve problems in ways Superman can't. Superman has plenty of weaknesses that other heroes don't. Plenty of villains are too much for Superman to handle on his own.

Superman is very strong but he's not literally omnipotent. He exists in a universe chock full of people on his level, problems big enough to challenge him and threats he can't face alone. Please stop making stupid complaints.

[littlefankingdom]

It's kind of annoying (and weird) how DC keeps trying to rewrite how Jason and Bruce met to paint Bruce in a worst light.

Originally, Batman finds Jason stealing the Batmobile's tires, the kid runs away, and Batman finds him. Discovering the kid is homeless, he gives him to the authority and Jason finishes at Ma Gunn's school. Ma Gunn is actually teaching the kids to be gang members, so Jason tells Batman. Together, they win again Ma Gunn, and Bruce takes Jason in because he sees himself in him.

Well, in Nightwing: Year One, they change it for "Batman kidnapped Jason when he found him stealing his tires and forces him to become Robin", with Jason ATTACHED AND GAGGED in the batcave. (I like this comic except for that because wtf)

In Red Hood and The Outlaws (2011), they changed it for "Jason stole drugs from Leslie and Batman was ready to beat and throw a young teen in jail, but Leslie begged him to give him a chance", which again, wtf. Batman beating up a child. Okay.

In Red Hood and The Outlaws (2016), they changed it for "Bruce put Jason in Ma Gunn's school because he couldn't handle him after taking him in". The only good addition they made is "when Batman caught Jason stealing his tires, he bought him food".

I do not understand why they need to make him awful to this 12 years old so bad. What do they want to make it as if Bruce forced that life on Jason but also didn't want to deal with him. Why they cannot let it as it is, with Bruce having fun dealing with this lil shit that stole his tires and being there for him when he needs him later on, until he finally craves and takes Jason home.

And that's why I am so critical on how Batman and Bruce is written in Nightwing and Red Hood stories, because the writers are incapable to make their main character have conflict with Bruce, without changing his character and their story to make him abusive. They need him to be the bad guy of Jason's, and sometimes Dick's, story because they don't know how to make you side and care for their character without making the other side a monster.

[random-cockroach]

[liketolaugh-writes]

Related to my heart research last night, did y’all know that your heart actually has multiple failsafes built in? There’s one specific node, the sinus node, that is primarily responsible for making your heart beat, but if that isn’t working there are like three other nodes that can kick in instead

However these nodes are like. Progressively worse at it so it’s still not good but it keeps you alive

[piracytheorist]

Yor worrying that her disappearing because of her job would mean she betrayed the Forgers vs Yor realizing that the risk is worth protecting them.

Grey colours, the Forgers as she first met them having their backs at her with empty, disappointed faces, vs bright, warm colours, the Forgers as she now knows them facing her directly and smiling at her.

She starts the story feeling like an outcast, fearing that no-one, not even her brother, will accept her as she is. That people will turn their back on her, and her life will continue being colourless and lonely.

Then her life fills with colour, with people who will face her head-on and accept her. She develops into confidence that the Forgers care for her and is reminded that even if she ever has to leave because of her job, the knowledge that she protects innocent people...

and that this work of hers will be acknowledged...

... is enough to give her the strength to carry on.

[luthienne]

throwing severance & somatic memory into a room & letting them fight. if the version of me that was severed can't remember then she'll still be able to sing. the way i did before it became a precursor to something dangerous. & that means that some version of me would still be singing. even if i couldn't remember it. even if i couldn't experience it myself. maybe it could be enough to know that some version of me was still singing

[rookflower]

i don't think I'm as much of a hater as scrolling through this blog since I started making more textposts makes me out to be, but frankly it's just way easier to make new posts that are complaining about shit than it is being happy. "I love dovewing" ok water is wet I'm sure at least 80% of wc tumblr holds this sentiment in some way. I hope anyways

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: dismemberment / ]

I think a lot about how Leo’s rescue could have easily ended in him losing a leg as the portal snaps shut on the Krang still clutching the limb, or, alternatively, only having Leo’s right arm make it out, still held dearly in his brother’s hand as the rest of Leo is left behind. (The latter hits even harder, as it directly parallels his future self in the worst of ways.)

I think a lot about how so many things could have gone wrong during the course of the movie with even a little bit of a change, but it really is harrowing how much of a coin-flip the entirety of the Prison Dimension rescue was.

[innocet]

beginning to think you guys dont know that screenwriting is a different skill than prose. yknow. because its a different form. kate orman is my favorite novelist full stop end of sentence but i think it is flat out Nonsense to believe that a novelist who has never written for television or as far as i can tell Any Visual Medium Whatsoever should be the Next Showrunner Of Dr Who. I don't think she knows how to do that