#thoughtless writing

[narrators-journal]

Strawberry-scented

This is just a mindless little thought I wrote between kinktober asks to try and warm up a bit before writing. I went back and gave it a bit of a clean up, and I’ll post it for the funsies, but for anyone curious, this has no barring on any story or au I have for RyoMina. It’s just a cute little thought experiment I had of a baby Shadow!Ryoji and Minato’s handling of him, lol. Hope you enjoy!

With a shrill scream like that of a child crossed with a bird, Minato Arisato sighed heavily. The blue-haired man threw his legs off of the couch he’d been napping on and got to his feet. “Ryoji! Where are you?” He called into the empty dormitory he called home with his other shadow-hunting friends. Of course, the lack of a response was expected, as Ryoji Mochizuki was little more than a handful of baby fat, sparse feathers, and an uncanny mix of human, and predatory intelligence.

Of course, neither being the size of Minato’s hand nor said intellect changed the growing sense of dread in Minato’s belly at how the wails of the baby monster drew him closer to the bathroom. “Ryoji? Did you fall in the toilet again?” He asked as he pushed the bathroom door open and flicked on the light. Yet, found now inky blobs in sight. Which, only meant his charge was where he least wanted him to be.

Opening the cabinet beneath the bathroom sink, Minato found the little harbinger right where he expected. Sat amongst the colorful bottles of bleach, spare bathing products, and toilet cleaners with fat tears rolling down his chubby cheeks from his empty sockets to mix with the slightly frothing slime running down his chin. “Seriously? Mr. Apex predator for humanity can’t figure out to not eat strawberry-scented fuckin’ body wash?” The man scolded, only to get another weird mix of a sob and a caw from the pudgy monster, who held his nubby arms out to him to be picked up. And, while some annoyed part of him did want to just slam the cabinet shut and leave the baby predator to suffer his own consequences, his compassion won out. So, instead, he picked the pudgy monster up to set on the sink instead.

Though, he did mutter in annoyance as he found the spare toothbrushes, “Alright, I’m gonna need you to be a bit reasonable, you got that?” He asked the baby, who started to flail in a tantrum at Minato for not magically fixing the bad taste in his mouth. “Oh hush, you can’t die. Calm down and listen to me, or I won’t wash that stuff out.” Was the best his attitude got, as all of his tantrums and petulant fits tended to receive. So, upon hearing his caretaker's cold tone, Ryoji halted his flailing and wailing. Still letting heavy tears pour from his empty eyes, but he’d calmed down enough for Minato to continue, “You, will need to be reasonable about this. You’ve drank liquid soap, I need to wash it out. It will taste worse for a moment, but if you bite me, or claw me, or kick, you’ll be eating bubbles for dinner tonight, got it?”

When the little monster nodded, Minato turned on the sink and picked Ryoji up to start trying to wash out the strawberry scented slime from his toothless mouth. Which, was as easy as he’d expected it to be, even when being rational to the equivalent of a three-year-old.

Ryoji was fine for the first five seconds of the toothbrush being in his mouth, but as soon as the layer of goo covering his tongue began to sud up like rabies, he gave another awful wail. His under-developed limbs batted at Minato’s hand, and he chewed on the plastic of the toothbrush, but the midnight-haired shadow hunter powered through his protests. “Mochi, you need to let me wash your mouth out.” He said, trapping the little monster against his chest so he couldn’t wriggle free to run away. “I’m just trying to get the soap out, quit kicking at me.” But, his scolding went unheaded, so he was forced to trap Ryoji’s jaw in his hold so that it was forced to stay open, something that got a very angry, strawberry-scented bubble blown, but also allowed the man to scrape up what he could of the soap before he moved onto the worst part.

Naturally, Minato Arisato did not expect the equivalent of a three-year-old toddler to enjoy getting water squirted into his mouth to rinse the soap off of his tongue. But, the way the little blob of inky baby fat squirmed and kicked and yowled, the SEES would’ve thought the emo was trying to cook him alive instead of get luke warm water in his mouth. And, with the way Ryoji’s almost-furless body was soaked with water by the end of the ordeal, Minato didn’t know if he could’ve blamed them.

”Now what did we learn about getting under fucking sinks and eating shit we aren’t supposed to?” He scolded the baby monster as he put the angrily chittering and cawing bundle of towel into the plastic tub he used as a containment pen. The chubby, eyeless face that popped out with his peach fuzz of hair a static-y mess only holding a glare for his caretaker before he crawled out of the towel bundle to hide beneath his blanket without another noise. Which, Minato simply sighed at before he flopped back onto the couch to await the return of his friends with an angry baby harbinger, and tv shows.

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[suusoh]

gonna b slightly honest here. but i've been losing my writing flow lately because of how terribly shy i've gotten..... which, is really ironic and no bueno for a blog that's built and thrived on being shameless at the start 💀

[bonefall]

whats your take on the “palebird not caring about talltail leaving” scene? i always thought it was WEIRD, like yes she was a little distant because she was blatantly depressed, but not to the point where she would straight up not care about her first son leaving potentially forever?? it feels like one of those scenes the writers put in to make the The Woman look bad so the Bad Dad isnt aaaasssss bad.

I feel like many of my problems with it come from the end of TR being a mess. It sets up a ton of plot threads and either goes somewhere strange with them or drops them completely.

Palebird's is one of the ones that just gets dropped.

On one hand, I'm glad that Palebird isn't demonized, but they don't seem to know what to do with her. She's cold towards Tallkit and increasingly short and snippy as he gets older, reacts in a way that's pointed out as aloof and uncaring when he leaves and when he comes back, and Talltail takes it like betrayal when she moves on with a new mate... and then they just don't really have a thesis for that.

In the end, Talltail never stops and teases out his feelings on her, they never show a conversation where some characters talk about why she acts that way, Tallkit's upbringing isn't contrasted with his halfsib's upbringings... their last talk is actually about Shrewclaw and the kits his wife's going to give birth to. Talltail's BULLY.

This book that shows an abusive father and a nasty little jackass redeems both of these boys, making a sharp 180 to say they Weren't So Bad, but has barely any interest in Palebird. When she gives Tallstar one of his 9 lives, it's laughably short;

That's it. That's the resolution. She doesn't even act happy to see him return, they have a conversation about Talltail's bully, and then after she's dead he's like, "I'll never doubt she loves me ever again."

Like, ok? All right?? Did we just miss the falling action or did Ms. Hunter not feel like it that day?

In general I have so many feelings about Tallstar's Revenge... I can't say I HATE it because it is fun to read, and I like a lot of the things it lays down, but I can't LOVE it for how every step forward it feel like 2 steps back. And the differences in the narrative's sympathy towards Sandgorse (emotionally abusive and committing child endangerment because his son is disappointing him) vs his wife Palebird (completely unsupported while displaying a near textbook case of PPD) are like a tiny little microcosm of the problems in WC.

Sandgorse gets a whole journey dedicated towards finding out he was actually a hero who gave his life saving Sparrow, abuse forgotten, but Palebird... exists, and Talltail's mad she had new kids until he's suddenly not.

So in a nutshell, my take is that this soup is bland and watery. Look at all these complicated potential feelings they just cast out the window so they can talk about Shrewclaw the Bully and his Very Sad Death.

There's much better individual examples of how the narrative tends to treat their male and female characters (which is why I compare Sparkpelt and Crookedstar more than I compare Crookedstar and Palebird), but Palebird's a good place to talk about the pervasive disinterest that WC has in its girls. And how much of a waste it is.

[cementcornfield]

A Retrospective on Ja'Marr's Rough Rookie Preseason (and How Joe Was There for Him Throughout)

Ja'Marr on The Pivot: I just wanted to get in where I fit in, just slowly make my mark and show the guys around me I could still play... Joe even knew that I was getting too hard on myself but Joe was just telling me like, 'I know what you can do, just get back in the rhythm, play your game, and you know we're gonna take off from there.'

Ja'Marr on Pat McAfee: It had a toll on me, it was a little mentally draining, knowing I was getting attacked just getting into the league... it just took a little minute for me to get back into the rhythm of things, get used to the offense again and once all that was coming on, I wasn't really worried about it. Joe helped me pick myself back up and get back on the road.

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Snippet 4, 1, 2, 3

She traversed the long hallway with grim determination, feeling like a soldier marching into a doomed battle.  Ser Criston walked at her back, silent and frowning, his dark eyes full of terrible pity.  

It was a pity mirrored in Ser Harrold’s face.  As they approached the double doors of the King’s chambers, she could see it even at a distance.  She hated it, wanted to scream and rage at them for it, but didn’t.  Her circumstances were not their fault.  They were at least sympathetic to her, unlike most, having stood witness to her plight for the past five years.  She couldn’t meet their eyes, however, requesting entry while fixed on the wood grain in front of her.

Viserys was inside, bent over his model as he could be found most nights.  He greeted her but didn’t immediately look up, leaving her to stand at one end of the table while he fiddled with a small ivory building.  In the corner, a fire crackled and danced in the hearth, raising the room’s temperature to a heinous degree.  Targaryens, she scoffed, sweating irately through her dress.  They’d live in the Dragonmont if they could, in the same caves as their stinking beasts.

“Are you well, my dear?”  Viserys asked absently.

“Yes, my love.  I simply wished to see how you fared after the long hours in court today.”  An act.  She didn’t have to ask to know how drained the King was by the time he left the throne room.  The Maesters insisted he was on the mend, that his wounds were finally closing and free of infection, but even the work of healing was exhausting to the body, and her husband had begged off all his afternoon appointments to rest.

“Oh, I am fine,” he said, finally glancing at her.  “Though it did drag on rather long today, didn’t it?  All these reports of drought and crop failure.  What were there?  10, 12?  I’m embarrassed to say they started to blend together.  They rather wear a man out after a certain point.”

Already growing tired of the charade, Alicent took a breath, put on her sweetest, most adoring expression, and approached her husband’s side.  “Can I do anything to ease your tiredness, my love?”  She stared at him meaningfully, stretching her mouth into a simpering smile.

“No, my dear, I will be well,” he said, turning back to the model and flatly ignoring her.  “Your attentions do me much good, but tonight I think I will retire early.”

She cast her gaze to the floor and clasped her hands together to prevent them from balling into fists.  She could not let him see her eyes burn at his thoughtless dismissal.  “Are you certain?  It brings me joy to assist you.  And I do not wish to be remiss in my duties.”  Please!  I ask you for nothing and give you all.  Just grant me this!

She didn’t even want to be here.  She wanted nothing from him but was forced to beg for it all the same.  “Thank you kindly, my sweet, but no.  I will release you to enjoy a night free of me.”

Mortification wasn’t a strong enough word for what she felt, staring at the polished stone floor.  Neither was rage.  “Well.  Good night then, Viserys.”  

“Good night, my dear.”  She could hear the door opening behind her, and wondered how long Criston and Harrold were listening in on her humiliation.  Wondered further if she could have them whipped for it.    

“Your Grace?”  She turned without acknowledging Criston’s question and marched out of the room.  Her face burned.  She refused to look at either knight as she retreated back into the hallway, only hearing armored feet fall in step behind her.  She didn’t stop until she stood alone in the center of her room.

“I will retire now, Ser Criston,” she said, each word clipped and barbed.

“As you say, my Queen.”  The door closed slowly behind her.

Her chambers were completely silent.  Not even the nighttime bustle of the city below seemed to penetrate the walls.  

She didn’t know how long she stood there before she lost the battle for composure, but lose it, she most certainly did.

All her septas’ lessons about respecting and honoring her husband flew out the window in an instant, followed by the fine porcelain vase that once sat on her side table.

How dare he!  That useless, good-for-nothing bastard.  Not satisfied with just the vase, she tore the blankets off her sofa and flung them across the room, before marching over to her heavy copper bathtub and shaking it by the rim like a feral beast, biting down on a shriek that would surely wake the whole Keep if she let it free.

She was the queen!  His queen, Gods damn him!  Apparently she was fine enough for him to marry, fine enough to use at his convenience, but when it was something she needed, he couldn’t be bothered with the one duty he owed her!

“Your Grace, are you alright?”  Criston's concerned voice sounded through the door.

“I am fine,” she bit out, white-knuckled fingers trembling.

“...Are you certain, Your Grace? I heard a commotion.”  He sounded uncertain, and like his hand was already on the latch.  By the Gods, was no man in this castle capable of listening when she said something?

“I am fine,” she repeated sternly.  “You need not come in, Ser.”  You can't give me what I need.  So leave me be.

Her savage mania passed at this interruption, however, sapping away that furious burst of energy.  Weakened, she collapsed to her knees in a heap, and leaned her forehead heavily against the tub.

She was truly alone, she realized.  She couldn’t rely on anyone.  Not her husband, not her father, not her loyal sworn shield.  Not even the Gods would intervene for her.

And if they were so resolute in their silence, then she would take the final option left to her.  The only person who would help her now was herself.

[lavenderjewels]

im cool and normal (i repeatedly tell myself ‘yuuji will save megumi’ multiple times a day)

[chocogi]

Your job as the reaper has taken you around the world, meeting souls of vastly different paths.

And here, in a bloody train station, underneath the earth, a man with a mohawk hisses at you with blood on his teeth and a hole at the side of his head.

"Ah'm not goin' anywhere," he hisses, "still got shite ta do. Ya ken?"

You rise elegantly from your staggered position. "I do. But like you, I have a job to attend to." Your scythe, forged from the belief of the people who believed in your existence, twists and fades to leave your hands free.

So many souls demanded one last fight. A chance to come back to the people they've gutted with loss.

He grits his teeth. "Got no pity fer a man like me, eh?"

You lock gazes with a dead man. "Johnny," you echo, "there is no running away from death."

All Johnny sees is a skull. He tenses when he blinks and the next thing he's facing is his lieutenant. The same lieutenant begging on his knees for him to wake up.

"Pity disnae fit in tha eyes of Death, ya ken?" He snarks, charging towards you.

You simply allow him to stab into you, dry bone cracking and snapping like fragile chalk under his force.

Bony hands wrap gently around Soap's neck, and Ghost is wrenched away harshly from a cold man's corpse.

[lesbianwyllravengard]

It is a valid criticism of the Re4 remake to point out when a certain scene with Ada was swapped with Luis. But if you genuinely think they made her less important of a character in the remake, or that, because the one scene of her saving Leon from Krauser was swapped with Luis saving him, she's no longer important to the story, you're beyond mistaken. Just admit you never actually paid attention to Ada as a character, and you falsely equate screen time/frequency to character worth.

Leon wouldn't have survived without Ada in the remake. Ada saved Leon's life multiple times in the remake. Leon would have lost Ashley for good without Ada. Leon never would have made it to Luis's lab without Ada. Leon would have died to Saddler almost immediately without Ada. Many. Times. Luis's development is not to Ada's detriment. She is just as important, necessary, and significant of a character as she was, if not more so than she was, in the original.

This game has so many instances where a character's goodness saves the lives of Leon and Ashley. Leon and Ashley were doomed from the start of the game to die; and it is only because of Luis's cure, because of the Merchant's supplies, because of Hunnigan's backup, because of Ada's repeated interference and information, that they survived. Don't you understand?? This story is about interconnectedness and kindness extended to those in need, and Ada is central to that. She wasn't reduced. She wasn't "taken away from". She is one more character that without the presence of, this story could not exist, and Leon and Ashley's lives would not be saved. She is vital to this story; she always has been. And her impact was not lessened just because Luis got some more scenes.

[eikichi-supremacy]

hey so do you think wtv keiko had to deal with growing up with yusuke could be considered a type of parentification

[compacflt]

hey! i was just going through your blog, and i saw a post about ice&carole and mav&goose. i looked a bit more but i couldn't find a post about your take on mav and goose's relationship, so i wanted to ask what it was. if you have answered this, i'm sorry about asking you again. imo i think what they had was wayy deeper than friendship but complex and probably not romantic, but again, i just wanted to know your thoughts on it.

thank you! and this blog has probably been one of the best finds i have ever come across on tumblr, i'll be sad to see you go.

yeah, i was really trying to be suave and subtle and mysterious about it with this parallel

like, you should be able to figure it out for yourself.

but luckily for you i looooove beating dead horses. to a problematic degree.

the full story of my vision of mavgoose (moose?) is in the completed draft of the extras that are coming out on Saturday. about halfway through. But i want to bring it back to the internal craft-of-writing debate i brought up yesterday—my inability to summarize, or to cut superfluous sections that don’t really matter.

I’ll stick it under the cut for spoiler reasons, but i wanna show the simple first draft of this scene versus the complicated, heavier final draft. And I want to ask any of you, if you’re interested—as a reader, which is more impactful? which should i end up publishing?

the simple first draft:

then i kept turning it in my head thinking of different ways to edit it to say something slightly different, to get a little more specific, coming up with things to add, and ended up adding like five extra paragraphs. which is this:

about 1/4 of the final draft (by which i mean, this is about 1/4 of the whole final discussion scene, but the goosemav-specific content only goes on for about another graf [omitted bc spoilers]):

(so to answer your ask explicitly, i actually don’t think they were anything deeper than good friends. imo there’s no evidence that they were anything deeper than good friends, especially with maverick blowing goose/goose’s wishes off soooo many times [‘she’s lost that lovin feelin;’ volleyball; refusing to do the responsible thing at least twice even after goose tells him it puts his & his family’s livelihoods at risk…bro all he does is blow off goose]. see me bitching in the tags for more on this)

obviously in my head the complicated in-depth version ⬆️ is the True version, the version of events that really Happened. i think the writing is in some spots much more compelling. But it just doesn’t make for a particularly good reading experience when it’s surrounded by like 3/4 pages of other discussion of history! sometimes too much of (what i think is) a good thing turns that good thing bad! & this is a major keystone dynamic of my whole series so i just want to get it right, for my own peace of mind. I guess im asking you to be the harsh editor i wish i had sometimes, if ur interested in doing so—this is genuinely a major major problem i have with my writing, i can’t ever just leave well enough alone 😭 please let me know if simpler is better/less is more in this case! do i publish the short vague “the reader fills in the blanks” version or the long boring “here’s EXACTLY how i see it” version?

[narrators-journal]

Ryomina soft

I can’t think of much at all rn, so just mindless soft for today <3

The bed was little more than a massive, circular pillow. Stuffed with angel feathers and clouds, dressed in a kitten-fur soft fitted sheet with an arm full of other plush pillows and a silky flat sheet  and thin comforter. The perfect accomodation for Ryoji's massive wings and how sensitive the feathers could be.

Despite all of that though, what really drew the brunette into the moonlit room wasn't the bed. No, Ryoji didn't require sleep, so the siren call of sleep had no effect on him. The thing he couldn't resist sliding his shirt off and crawling under the flat sheet for wasn't slumber, but the grumpy expression that popped up from the hills of fluff and sheet when his weight disturbed the bed. The sheer sight of the Minato's midnight-colored hair being mussed with sleep, his stormy gray eyes glazed over with sleep, made the brunette's heart swell.          "where have you been?" Minato croaked while the brunette wormed his way under the sheet with him, stretching out on his belly and extending out his wings.          "I was restless, I didn't want to fidget too much and wake you up." He explained, Minato simply grunting and letting the weight of Ryoji's wing when they flopped down onto the bed squish him back down into the bed. squirming closer until the brunette could hook his arm over him and pull him in the rest of the way.       "Did you miss me?~" He hummed, nuzzling into the wildcard's wild hair and relishing the smell of his lavender-linen scented shampoo before his boyfriend mumbled again,       "'s cold without you here..." As if to emphasize that point, he reached up to pull the massive, iridescent, black wing draped over him closer like some form of blanket. Something the reaper didn't mind at all. "Don't leave again." Ryoji smiled at that and gave him an affectionate squeeze before settling down on the pillow-bed with the boy. Enjoying the way Minato melted under his arm, his breathing slowing back into a steady rhythm. Ryoji, though, didn't go to sleep. He simply laid there, running his fingers through his boyfriends soft hair. His chest burning with so much affection he could almost feel tears welling into his eyes. That sight. The view of Minato curled up beside him, his beautiful face so peaceful. That was what lured the god of death into bed.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Casually having the characters I headcanon spend a lot of time around Harold unconsciously using the term "Gosh!", like it's some sort of virus they've picked up from him. One of his 300 diseases, if you will.

[sleepwalk-living]

me: i hate self insert and y/n fics so much- they're too intimate for a parasocial relationship and cross too many boundaries. SO cringey and kinda gross.

niall: im making fun of my fans for partaking in fanfiction by reading this self insert fic for cringe and comedic purposes.

me:

[funnywormz]

been having a mild identity crisis lately so if my blogs just randomly get deleted out of nowhere sometime dw abt me i'm fine i'm just figuring shit out

[absensia]

when talking about the challenges of writing and the journey of improving as a writer, something I notice in myself is how it can feel like there's a wall between myself and the character I'm writing, not because I don't know them well enough to write them, but rather, because I know them too well and so (especially in the context of roleplay where you are responding to a potentially novel and unexpected situation) there's just this knee-jerk knowledge of how Char is going to react/what she is going to say/what she is going to think, without me really having to think about it too much, and that feeling... that reflex of just knowing what Char is gonna do, can be hard to trust sometimes, tbh.