#feedback for the writing raven

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Do you have any RSA headcanons? Love your blog btw ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Thank you, thank you 💞

A popularish speculation I've seen regarding RSA is that the school and the people associated with it aren't actually as squeaky clean as they appear and actually have a very sinister side to them. While I do think this is an interesting idea to explore, I genuinely don't think this is canon. (Think about what that would do for Vil and Neige's conflict in book 5; by making Neige a "villain", it strips book 5 of its nuance and would position Vil as the one in clearly in the right.) So when I talk about my headcanons, I will NOT be considering that fan theory.

I'll be honest though 💦 I don't think about RSA a ton, so I have way fewer ideas and the ones I do have aren't super fleshed out. Here's a handful:

There are also 7 dorms at RSA, each mirroring the Great Seven-inspired ones at NRC and upholding different values. For example, Ignihyde's equivalent might feature the Son of the Thunder God (Hercules) or the Thunder God (Zeus) himself, and maybe they value courage/bravery or the strength of one’s heart.

Cooperation and friendship is promoted and integrated in many aspects of campus life. For example, a lot of courses involve group projects and it's part of RSA athletic club culture to do group chants before a sporting match.

... The staff at RSA actually give a shit and intervene quickly if trouble arises among their students, LOL (as opposed to NRC staff, who either scold + assign punishment or just leave the students to resolve the problems on their own).

The students are such good sports... Like, they'll go up and offer hugs and handshakes to the NRC students (who only stare at them with expressions twisting from disgust).

The Seven Dwarves and Neige are almost always seen together. Everyone knows they're the bestest of friends!

Neige is influential in his own dorm due to his status as a celebrity, even if he doesn't hold a formal title.

Chenya is also infamous around campus. He's known as a lax, easygoing guy that speaks in tongues and pulls the occasional prank.

Chenya's dorm leader is constantly daydreaming and getting lost; because of this, it's usually one of his duties to find them and lead them home. Yes, I have a twisted Alice OC that I barely talk about and I am giving them a cameo here--

When RSA students visit NRC, they are greeted with hate and get chased off campus. When NRC students visit RSA, they're welcomed warmly and even offered snacks. Big contrast between them.

Getting hired as staff at RSA is extremely competitive (this is somewhat confirmed in Trein's Strict Suit vignettes).

Most students love to sing and dance. Stepping onto RSA campus feels like walking into a Disney live action musical (but like... a GOOD Disney live action musical). The Theatre Club also boasts a high membership.

The campus newspaper has a section dedicated to naming a Good Samaritan of the edition, as many of its student body engage in charity work or are just generally nice.

Like NRC, there are black sheep amid the students. I like to imagine these are usually students inspired by Disney characters that have bad intentions but present themselves as good people (such as twist villains).

[lilac-ravenclaw]

Adding links to the newest chapters:

Chapter 7 on Ao3

Chapter 5 on Wattpad

(slowly adding chapters on here)

Currently working on the new chapter. Thank you to everyone who is reading! ✍🏽📖💜

[ravencincaide]

Hi Raven.

Do you think It's okay to give your own opinion about a story of a fanfiction, even if it isn't just compliments?

Like I wanted to suggest to a writer here on tumblr to fix a thing on their story, so that it could be more readable, but I don't want to come off as rude.

I mean, I know what constructive criticism is but... yeah. My question still stands

Hi anon! What a good question. Love these types of asks! The short answer is it depends on the writer, it depends on the story and it depends on your comment. Let me exemplify what I mean below. First, there's a huge difference between an established writer, who is semi active, engages with comments on their stories and encourages discussions and feedback, in contrast with writers who are just starting out. OR writers who are publishing without looking at comments because they are just happy to share without caring about feedback. OR writers who are getting back into it after years of NOT writing. They are aware that they aren't at their best but still fucking trying and with time will get better and figure it out. In the later cases a critique wouldn't achieve much, be a waste of both your times and could actually do more harm than good. Second it depends on the story; for example if the writer says 'warning lowercase writing' and you point out that it's written in lowercase then it kinda doesn't do much but cause frustration. Similarly if you point out on my writing that 'hey you have a lot of simple errors that you'd catch with a re-read or a beta' when I've clearly said that I don't do heavy editing at the moment because I'm working on combating perfectionism and focus on getting stuff out then once again said comment wouldn't really achieve much. There are so many more examples when a critique will just not achieve much- if anything. So please be mindful of that and attentive to what the writer says. Finally it depends on your comment, how you write it and why. Saying something like ' your character is sooo OC get a better read on X, Y, Z' is just rude and will disregard the writers interpretation of the characters, story and creative liberty. OR 'Your twist sucks/ you overuse it/ its predictable cuz of this- this and that' doesn't do much but put the writer down, makes them tempted to quit or block you. So the question becomes are you critiquing to help or to show your own frustration at the way they write their story? Critique is valuable to a writer; it helps us improve. It gives us things to consider and be aware off. It can also push us down a peg when we get too cocky. BUT this type of feedback should be written with care. If you give a writer critique on tumblr, keep in mind that they most likely produce this content for free, at their own time, for their own enjoyment and decide to share it with you out of the goodness of their own heart. Therefore the critique should be written with care and due diligence; write it in the way You yourself would want to receive it. Be kind, polite and humble. We're all human, we're all trying to do our best and to improve. Please remember that. After saying all that, l am honestly a person who often encourages feedback and gives feedback back, following the model of 'two stars and a wish'. So that it's not JUST negative but a combination of both. That way its easier to write it, often its better received and creates a better atmosphere all around. Best of luck <3

Hope this helps ~ Raven

[raven-cincaide-words]

Think before you type

No but seriously, think twice before you leave a comment on a fic someone has put out there. Maybe you think you're helpful but truth be told you don't know what this particular writers point of improvement is, so you just come across as a snob. Even more embarrassing is if there's a warning exactly for the thing you don't like... So be kind and read properly- Okay? So some things to remember: - Is your comment helpful? ( "This sucks!" "It's overused prompt" is NOT helpful!) - Is your comment constructive? ( "Why so OOC?" "Learn English!" "Where is the smut?" are also things writers don't wanna see) - Is your comment kind/motivational/inspirational? ("Update NOW." "Frfr" and similar aren't really doing much for most writers) - Is your comment necessary? ("I don't like *insert theme/style*" "*Warning! Minimal edits.* The comment: Omg there're typos here!" "You're taking too long to update so I used AI to finish your fic" aren't good comments, in fact they are downright rude.) So what do we take away from this? Don't be a jerk. Plain and simple and be thankful for the gorgeous content people put out for you to read FOR FREE!

[paranoiddreams]

Insane!!

«Satoru whispering the most deprived and dirty things in your ear as Suguru fucks his cock into you slowly…»

꩜ bf!Gojo x fem!reader x bsf!Geto

꩜ Warnings!! - Threesome!!!, unprotected sex, Satoru is a dirty mouthed lil shit, creampie 🫶🏻, pussy-drunk Suguru lolololol, this is kinda short and the first smut I’m posting so be nice pls😇😞

꩜ A/n!! - Decided to write smth in 2nd person instead of 3rd to see how I like it and honestly, I think I’m gonna start switching between the two bc I like both. Anyways, any feedback is appreciated, and ty for all of the notes on my previous works!!!🤍

Your cheeks are tinged pink as lewd squelching sounds and soft moans fill the room. You would’ve never thought that you’d be here now, sitting against your boyfriend’s chest while his best friend slams his cock into you with a desperate fervor; but guess what? You are.

“Mmm, listen to her, Sugu,” Satoru purrs, his warm breath against the shell of your ear, “her pretty pussy is just heavenly, hm?”

Suguru could barely hear his best friend’s voice over the insane pleasure your cunt is giving him. His thick length is shiny with your slick and his precum, the sheen of both your fluids combined making him grit his teeth every time his eyes catch a glimpse.

“F-fuuuck,” he groans out, his raven black hair falling over his face. “Feel s’ good.”

Your pussy clenches around him as he lets out more whines of ecstasy, his fingers digging deep into the skin of your hips.

“Look how pussy-drunk he is already,” Satoru chuckles lowly from behind you. His fingers move down to rub small circles into your sensitive clit, drawing a lascivious moan from your lips.

“G-gonna cum,” You cry, closing your eyes as Suguru bullies his cock into you deeper. You can feel that he’s close too, both of your orgasms rushing into reach with each sloppy, wet thrust.

“Make her cum, Suguru,” Satoru smiles, quickening the tips of his fingers on your poor, sensitive bundle of nerves, “she’s ready for you to fill her~”

Suguru’s eyes flutter open, a hazy lust fogging his irises. He looks down at you, then back up at Satoru’s head resting on your shoulder. He looks cool and relaxed, as if his best friend wasn’t fucking his girlfriend stupid right in front of him. It only seems to fuel Suguru’s desperation even more although, his length throbbing inside of your tightening cunt.

“Oh fuck,” Suguru moans as you look up to him, your eyes glossy with tears of pleasure, “fuck, gonna cum—m’ gonna fill you up.”

You feel the warm pressure in your stomach spread throughout your body, teetering on the edge of nirvana, before your orgasm quickly washes over you. You open your mouth to let out a string of moans, tears now rolling down your cheeks as Satoru press his fingers to your throbbing clit to extend your intense high. Suguru can feel his cock being sucked in by your cunt, and spills into you quickly, thick ropes of pearlescent cum filling your begging hole.

“Wow,” Satoru says as he pulls his hand away from your clit, licking his fingers covered in your and Suguru’s cum, “bet you’re both glad I had this idea, huh?”

Suguru collapses against your chest, his head resting in the crook of your neck as you both attempt to catch your breath. “You were right for once, get over it,” he mumbles, his lips tickling your skin.

You smile lazily, rolling your head back against Satoru’s chest as your hand rakes through Suguru’s soft hair.

“You’re both insane,” you giggle, only affection in your tone.

[mrsriddlenott]

okay I just need pussydrunk mattheo 🥵

It is honestly embarrassing how long this has been in my drafts unfinished(literally a few days over a year🤦‍♀️) I have been awol for so long but I have been GOIN through it y’all. I think I can finally at least try and actually come back to this blog. I love writing so much and I hate when it just isn’t fun anymore. And when I saw this I actually got excited to finish it so let’s see how it goes. Please correct mistakes and give feedback

Warnings: suggestive content but not actually full smut, public oral(f!receiving), heavy petting, play argument/kinda roleplay, some teasing.

{masterlist}

~Needy~

To plenty of people having a needy boyfriend would be the end of the world. But when that boyfriend is Mattheo Riddle, who seems to have an unnaturally high labido and stamina, it’s more of a pro rather than a con.

But what comes with needy is clingy. Mattheo just needs his hands on you whenever he can. You weren’t complaining but he certainly was. There was just too much time out of the day that he couldn’t touch you. So me made sure to cut thay time down as much as he could.

“Come oooon Baby” Mattheo groaned as he tugged you towards an empty, shadow filled corridor, “Just think about it, how many days a week do we have Potions, and how many weeks are in a term, how many terms in a school year….we can miss one hour of Potions Baby it’ll be fine. Plus you’re the smartest, prettiest, hottest person at this school you’ve got options for you future.”

“Um first of all,” You start, crossing your arms across your chest, poking your hip out to make Mattheo groan out loud as he restrains himself from touching you, “This will be the fourth time we missed Potions so far this term, and second of all who said I was worried for my future, nuh uh Baby I’m worried about yours.”

“Merlin you’re sexy when you’re being all bossy”Mattheo sighs, stepping closer to you and fanning your face with his breath, “I don’t care about my future as long as you’re in it, I need to keep you excited don’t I Princess?” He laughs out as he watches your resolve melt away, moving his hand up to grip your waste.

“That’s no fair.” You pout, desperately trying to hold a straight face as you continue, “You know you’re not allowed to call me Princess in an argument, you always win with that.” Mattheo sighs dramatically and steps even closer to you, breathing your air as he holds your hip tightly, tugging you into him aggressively.

“I’m so sorry baby, please forgive me,” He begs dramatically, smiling before dipping his head into the crook beside your shoulder to trace small pecks across your collarbone, forcing a moan to slip past your lips despite your pretend protests.

“How could I ever forgive you for such a lapse Mattheo,” you smile at how fast he halts his mouths assault of your collarbone giving you time to slip your fingers into his raven curls, giving them a tug to force his eyes up to yours, “You know, I can think of something you can do to earn my forgiveness.”

“What?” He rasps out, his breath caught in his chest at the feeling of your hand in his hair and the other slowly slipping down his chest at an agonizing pace, “What can I do to make you feel better Baby, I’ll do anything for you, you know that.” His voice his breathy and desperate, sending heat down your abdomen as your thighs squeeze together subconsciously. At the gentle shove to his shoulder, Mattheo knew exactly what you wanted, smirking as you looked down to him where he leant into you with those pretend innocent eyes. Mattheo fell to his knees immediately, his hands tracing their way under your skirt while his eyes stay on yours.

“Is this what you’re asking for…Princess?” Mattheo asks, smirking as he gains dominance from below you, “You want me to make you feel good?….But Baby what about Potions, we-we can’t miss class i-it’s impo-“ You cut off his teasing with a tug to his hair and small sigh at the feeling of his hand ghosting across your underwear. Mattheo groans, his eyes falling into the back of his head as your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Okay okay, I’ve got you Princess.” He laughs breathlessly as his fingers tug your underwear down your legs, allowing you to step out of them before he shoves them in his pocket with a wink. In a flash Mattheo has his lips on you, his head vanishing under your skirt, his hand trailing upward to squeeze at your chest through your button up, the other gripping your thigh to give you support as you begin to wobble.

“Oh fuck Mattheo,” You moan loudly before clamping your hand over your mouth, almost forgetting your very public location at the feeling of Mattheo’s tongue meticulously swirling around your clit. His chuckle from below almost pisses you off enough to fight for dominance but as though to wipe your mind of it, Mattheo flattens his tongue and leaves a strip up your heat, making you whimper into your hand and bite your skin to prevent getting caught.

You shake as Mattheo’s fingernails dig into the skin of your thigh while it wobbles, unsteady as you begin to lose balance at the fast pace of Mattheo’s tongue, “Fuck Baby, can you stand or do I need to hold you?” He chuckles against you at your whine of protest, not wanting him to stop even for a second. Mattheo quickly tugs your thigh over his shoulder, allowing him to gain more access, speeding up his actions, moaning at your taste and the thought of you coming on his face as you depend on him to hold you steady. Your head falls back against the stone wall, your eyes rolling backward as your hand falls to his shoulders for balance not caring anymore about your volume. Your little whimpers and squeaks drive him insane below you, he knows your close, he can feel it.

Without warning Mattheo shifts lower, shoving his tongue into you, lowering his hand from your chest in a flash and using his thumb to stimulate your clit as his tongue moves in and out of you, matching his own pace and groaning as he feels your legs begin to shake for him. Your moans become screams as you release on his tongue, falling into his hold while he rises to look at your post-orgasm face he loves so much.

“Good thing we did this during class, someone might have heard otherwise.” Mattheo says simply with a laugh as you weakly smack at his broad shoulder.

~~~~

Pretty short compared to others I have but I just really wanted to start posting again. I’m probably gonna be cleaning out my drafts and trying to get them out even old ones ppl probably aren’t waiting on anymore to try and get back into a groove on here.

[dollwrites]

WAAAAAAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT! You write Tokyo ghoul???? I NEED to be aware when you open requests again, I crave anything with my favorite Uta 😍🥰 I don’t see enough of him and I think you’d write him really really well!!!

ᴡɪᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᴜᴛᴀ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!ghoul!reader, oral fixation ( fingers ), masturbation ( her! ), reader’s nonverbal, very very subtle pet play ( just the vibes i feel ), finger sucking, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰 ∣ intermission [ oral fixation ]

“Gently,” Uta reminded you, without so much as looking up from his work. with his right hand steadily swirling obsidian spirals over his newest creation, his left had been outstretched for you, willowy digits tracing the shape of your parted lips before slipping past the threshold, only to be welcomed by your eager tongue. upon tasting the pads of his fingertips, you have the sudden urge to clamp your lips down around the extremities, to suck on them, and relish the flavor of your lover, but you heed his warning and simply stroke each digit from knuckle to nail with your tongue, mouth hanging agape.

“Still quite a feral, little thing, but mind those teeth this time.” his pointer finger twisted slightly, to tap against the shape of your canines, and test their sharp edges, but you had no real intention of biting him. of course, that didn’t mean that you wouldn’t do it by accident— which has happened before. you get a little too eager, a little too excited, and you snap your jaws shut like a hungry pup.

usually, you would grip his wrist with both hands, a silent plea not to take the taste of his fingers from your mouth, but right now yours were busy, too. they had both been occupied beneath the loose fabric of the oversized nightshirt you wore, one palming your breast, squeezing and pinching at your own nipple, whilst the other was shoved hastily into your panties, strumming your greedy pussy. you had become accustomed to Uta’s doting ever since he took you in; his constant touching on you, his affectionate lips and tongue seeking out your most sensitive parts, but when he worked you were utterly neglected.

so, you would find yourself in such a position, panting like a happy bitch on your knees at his feet, sucking and licking on his fingers as you tried to mimic the pleasure he could give you with your own hands. your skill paled in comparison to his, but it was all you could do to keep from interrupting him.

Uta knows this, which is why there’s a subtle tickle of pride in the way his lips creeped up, even as his crimson gaze remains fixed on the mask before him, at every sound you make. every heavy breath, every moan of his name. he knows that you’re needy, that your desperate for him, and he knows that to make you wait was probably a cruel punishment for a sweet, but ravenous little thing like you.

“Naughty, messy little girl.” he offers in a soothing tone, feeling webs of sticky drool tether his fingers to your tongue as you lick and suck on each one. the excess dribbles down your chin, either soaking into the fabric of your shirt or leaving a small puddle on the floor between your knees. “You can pet and pet that pretty pussy of yours, but you still can’t make yourself cum like I can, hm?” there’s a hint of arrogance in his soft chuckle, but it’s one well warranted. you shake your head, your tongue too busy to answer by forming words— drawing loops against the base of each finger, allowing the tips to reach deep into your mouth as they could, nearly gagging you as they prodded at your gullet. you rubbed your own fingers against your clit faster, pressing harder until you were squirming on your knees, scooting right up to his leg to press your whole body into it. your own, deep ruby stare flickered up to him, piercing… begging.

“That’s quite alright, I like being the only one that can tame you,” he offers, retracting his digits from your mouth. you let out a soft, disgruntled huff, attempting to follow them, to pull them back in, and worship them again with your tongue, but he doesn’t allow it. they travel downwards, and you watch as strings of saliva sever and drip from them and your own lips. grabbing the fabric of your nightshirt, he gives it a tug, pulling you upright, balancing tall on your knees, so that he can reach between your thighs without bending too far away from his mask in progress. your head swims, and you let out a little whimper as slick, svelte pads push your own away and tap against your puffy button, teasing you further, assessing your sticky sex. Uta lets out a soft, fond sigh, “There she is. Throbbing and swollen for me.” your tongue flicks and rolls impatiently just behind the seal of your couplet, desperate to be occupied, too, so your own fingers pry beyond the barrier created by your lips, leaving the scent and taste of your own cunt on them. you suck on them, purring in pure ecstasy at the sensation of Uta teasing your clit. it wasn’t enough to make you cum, but it was plenty to keep you right on the edge you’d led yourself to, so as not to sully your hard work with a ruined orgasm.

“But you’ll have to occupy yourself for a bit longer, little thing.” he said, resolved, gently pulling his hand back, sitting upright in his seat again. you whine, and -to keep from losing that built up tension- slam yourself down against his foot, grinding your damp panty-clad pussy against his shoe as you lean against his leg. he gives the top of your head an affectionate pat, before he immersing himself in his art. “I’m still busy, you know.”

[pitchsidestories]

golden girl II Alexia Putellas x Jenni Hermoso x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1732

a/n: as always this is just fiction, your feedback is always welcome. We saw that other people recently wrote fics with a similar topic and just wanted to clarify that we had the idea while writing one night in ibiza, so all similarities are purely coincidental.❤️

You watched from behind the camera as Alexia carried a football and set herself up to take a free kick. The ball spun through the air and landed perfectly in the top right corner of the goal.

You beamed.

This would make a nice video for the Spanish national teams social media sites.

As Alexia proudly turned towards the camera, her eyes met yours for a brief moment. She smiled, suddenly all flustered.

You held back a laugh to not ruin the video. Only once the recording stopped, you said: “Well done, babe!“

Alexias smile grew wider and you could have sworn the she even blushed.

“Ew!“, Jenni commented from somewhere behind you.

You turned to see her grimace in mock disgust.

Alexia barely glanced at her: “Shut it, Jenni.“

“No.“, the dark-haired player replied quickly and determinedly, similar to a stubborn child.

“Ignore her.“, you laughed as Alexia walked towards you and pulled you in by the waist for a kiss. Her gaze was still directed towards Jenni.

“Stop making out.“, she said and wrinkled her nose, repulsed by the showcase of affection.

Alexia only smirked at her: “I’m sorry but this point goes to me.“

“Whatever.“, Jenni rolled her eyes.

You were well acquainted with their bickering. They were both so ambitious, even when it came to you they always tried to one-up each other. This could go on forever if you didn’t put an end to it.

“Sorry, girl. But I’m not a trophy to be won.“, you said calmly and walked away without looking at them again.

Still, you could feel their eyes lingering as you walked towards the other players.

“Oh, little Miss Independent is back.“, Jenni teased, slight annoyance vibrating in her voice.

Alexia raised her eyebrows: “Also that was a lie, she clearly loves it.“

“Of course she does.“

“Just look at her.“, the Barcelona captain said, nodding in the direction where you were talking with Laia and Ona.

Another smile played on Jennis lips: “I love it when she’s acting all innocent.“

“Walking around, giving hugs to everyone. Oh, that Ona hug was extra long.“, Alexia commented your actions.

“She knows this doesn’t work, right?“

Behind all of the jokes and teasing however, was the slight sting of jealousy.

You didn’t notice the two player approaching you, you were too focused on your conversation with Ona.

“Oh my god, really, Oni?“, you laughed.

The defender went quiet: “Yes, uhm…“

“We definitely need to go on a walk with our dogs after the Olympics.“, you continued happily.

“We do.“

“Sweet.“, Alexia said cooly.

“Huh?“ You turned towards her, one eyebrow raised in expectation of a good excuse for interrupting your talk.

Jenni just smirked: “Quit flirting with Ona, you already have our attention.“

“I wasn’t flirting with her, we’re just good friends.”, you corrected her annoyed.

 “Quit rolling your eyes.”, the raven-haired woman demanded grinning.

“You know exactly what you did.”, Alexia shook her head amused.

“No.”, you answered innocently.

“See? She’s playing blameless again.”, Jenni sighed.

With a devilish grin, the blonde midfielder hugged you from behind, whispering into your ear. “You’ll confess everything tonight.” Her words send a shiver down your spine.

“Tonight?”, you repeated quietly.

“Yes.”, she affirmed.

“But we’ve our first Olympic game tomorrow!”, you protested.

“Don’t worry about it.”, the older forward assured you, while driving her hand through her dark open hair nonchalantly. The urge to touch her like she did in that moment was almost overwhelming, but you hold yourself back.

“And the beds are really small.”, you thought out loud.

“We can make a big one out of the three.”, Alexia suggested rationally.

“Easy.”, Jenni nodded enthusiastically.

“I guess we could do that.”, you admitted.

“Leave that to us, y/n.”, the oldest winked at you.

“I’ll let you do it.” A staff member called your name, reminding you that you had to do an interview for national television. To your girlfriends you explained. “Shit, I got to go, media duties.”

“Have fun.”, Alexia responded before turning her head to face the dark-haired forward.

“Great, that gives us enough time for the project bed.”, Jenni clapped excitedly into her hands. The enthusiasm reminded her of a child when it was about to open it’s present.

“Let’s go.”, the blonde told the woman who played in Mexico now.

The small cardboard beds were quickly put next to each other to form a bigger one, ready to hold the three of you.

“I think we’re ready only y/n is missing.”, Jenni announced delighted. The level of anticipation has been rising to the next level, the warmth and the near Mediterranean Sea added to it and the sun was about to set painting the sky in the prettiest colours.

“I’ll go see where she’s.”, Alexia decided, the taller woman following her immediately, in the hallway their hands were almost touching.  

Meanwhile, you were too focused on answering the questions of the journalist to realize that your girlfriends turned up behind your back.

“Oh, I can’t wait for the tournament to start, it’s so special as it’s the first time for our team to play at the Olympics.”, you raved, beaming with pride.

“Why’s she smiling like that? Y/n’s genuinely excited, huh?”, Jenni asked the blonde surprised.

“She’s.”, Alexia agreed.

“I could watch her do interviews forever.”, she declared swooning over you. Her green eyes admiring your sight, the gestures you made while talking about something you clearly loved and were passionate about.

“With whom I’d like to do a jersey swap? Definitely Marta, she’s such a big inspiration and everything she did for the women’s game is incredible. The only problem here is that Ona and Alexia want hers too, so we’ll see who gets it in the end.”, you laughed light-heartedly.

“Of course she would say that.”, Alexia scoffed.

Jenni watched on as you answered more questions: “Those young girls are such media pros.“

“I think she’s finally done.“, Alexia said, seemingly relieved that you were unable to embarrass her anymore.

You politely said goodbye to the interviewer and got up up.

“Hey! Y/n!“, Jenni called.

You heaved a sigh and gave her a death stare: “Jennifer, you don’t need to shout when we’re in the same room!“

The dark-haired player shrugged: “Wasn’t sure you saw us.“

“I’d always see you two, even in a crowded room.“, you replied, shaking your head.

“Don’t flatter us.“, Alexia said with a half-smile.

Confusion flashed across your face: “No, I mean you two, Misa and Irene are usually the tallest in every room.“

Alexias face dropped: “Seriously? I thought you were trying to be cute!“

Before you could say anything about how ridiculous that assumption was, Jenni clapped her hands: “Anyways, it’s time to take this to bed.“

You cocked your head teasingly: “Oh, is it?“

“Yes, it is.“, Alexia agreed with her teammate.

“Let’s go then.“, you shrugged.

“About time.“

“We did our waiting!“, Jenni complained and scooped you up into her arms.

You shrieked as she carried you off towards her bedroom. “Jenni, put me down!“

Alexia followed behind, closing her eyes for a second like she was fighting a headache: “Children.“

“Ale, help!“, you begged but the Barcelona captain barely gave you any attention.

“No.“

Jenni threw you down on the bed they prepared earlier: “Finally!“

“Finally?“, you echoed. The bed wobbled as she laid down beside you.

“Yes.“

“Are we sure this is stable enough to hold us three?“, you worried as Alexia climbed on your other side.

You suddenly remembered why the beds at the Olympic village were made out of cardboard. It was supposedly to prevent athletes from having sex and this might have worked for some. But apparently whoever came up with this had never met Jenni and Alexia.

“Don’t worry about it, darling.“, Jenni said while brushing a strand of hair out of your face. As she leaned over, the cardboard made the typical noise of being crushed.

You yelled in surprise: “Jenni!“

“Careful!“, Alexia laughed, trying to grab Jennis arm. Her movement made the whole bed collapse in a pile of mattresses and flat cardboard.

“Oh my god.“, you breathed out once the initial shock wore off.

“We broke the bed.“, Alexia commented unhelpfully.

“Just great, you two geniuses.“ You tried to sound mad but the ridiculousness of the situation made you grin.

Jenni instead was extremely amused by this: “I’m sure this will bring us luck.“

“Since when do broken beads do that?“, Alexia frowned at her.

“You can trust me.“, she kept smiling.

“I sure hope you’re right.”, you remarked.

“Me too.”, the Blonde stared at the forward.

“Just believe me girl.”, Jenni answered with a smug smile on her lips.

“And where are we supposed to sleep now.”, Alexia questioned while nodding to the destroyed beds.

“We still have our mattresses. Can’t be more uncomfortable than the beds.”, the older woman proposed.

“Good point.”, you said while the three of you lay down on those, you in the middle.

“I guess that’s my life as a professional athlete now.”, the midfielder hid her face behind her hands.

“You two are such pillow princesses.”, Jenni commented.

“Coming from the real pillow princess here.”, you countered, elbowing her softly.

“Lies.”, the dark-haired woman clicked her tongue.

“Truth.”, you disagreed smiling.

“Shut up.”, Jenni requested.

“Make me.”, you responded, sticking your tongue out for a second.

“Don’t worry, amor. I will.”, she hummed, pinning your arms downs, so you were unable to move, while her eyes wandered from your face to your breasts, under her gaze your cheeks turned hot.

“Go on.”, you muttered, you didn’t want to wait any longer.

With that intention Jenni got down on you to give you a feverish kiss. Taking her time to devour this one.

“Ah silence.”, Alexia sighed happily beneath you.

“Way better, right?”, Jenni looked up.

“Definitely.”, the midfielder noted, kissing both of you before her eyes were closing, sleep was calling her name.

“Is she asleep already?”, you questioned.

“Yes, good night my golden girls.”, the oldest woman chirmed.

“Golden girls?!”, you repeated.

“Quiet.” The demand coming from Alexia.

You apologized with a kiss to your cheek.

It was time to sleep, tomorrow was a big day, you were about to play your country’s first Olympic women’s football game, you three and your team were about to write history. Or should you rather say herstory.

[wings-of-ink]

Plans, Updates and News!

The Future (and why that's a little scary)

Hello everyone! I hope you are all safe and well.

I wanted to make a post to keep everyone in the loop of where I'm at personally and what that means for the future of my creations, and also give an exciting update!

How about the update first! After some concerns brought to my attention via this post. I decided to change the MC's best friend (Lakota's) name. I received a lot of feedback with reassurances that it was okay to keep this as his name, but at the end of the day, I realized it still has the potential to do harm. That's not what I'm about. Even if most people feel okay with this, someone out there may genuinely not be. The name is easy to change here, and it's not something I feel comfortable trying to justify or anything like that. It hurts me and readers less to change the name than it could by not changing it.

So, I had subscribers on Patreon and Ko-fi vote on a new name! I chose a list starting with 7 names. Voters narrowed down the selection to a top 3. The first 7 were: Kuno, Thamir, Emre, Lailoken, Kalei, Avi, and Asa. After the first round of votes, we narrowed it down to: Emre, Lailoken, and Kalei.

And the winner is...

Emre!

The name will be updated in a future patch!

Up next, I'll give you a heads up on future developments. Here I'll dip into a bit of my personal life. I'm not dipping too far for my comfort zone, and I might put a few things...delicately. But I want you to know what's up and where my head is at right now and why.

So, the second IF is likely not going to happen right now - I think (more on that below). I am not writing this to "stir the pot" or create fear or debate, but it's no secret that things in the States are super not okay. This happens to be where I am. My future is feeling rather uncertain and unsteady and some days I am just scared and not just for myself and loved ones. I am not going to go into all the little details, but my time is already at a premium with working full time and my personal life, and that free time is about to get a bit more narrow in the next 6 or 7 months.

I am prioritizing God-Cursed and Subscriber benefits and have decided that now is not the time to start a second project. I would rather focus on getting GC updates out if my extra time will have more limitations.

Now, the reason I said "I think" it's not going to happen is that - frankly - I'm at risk for suddenly losing my job. Yaay, go me! Part of what I do is funded through the federal government. I'm not employed through them directly, but no money for social services means I'm out of work. If this happens though - I'll have the time for a second project! Yaay???

My partner and I have some emergency plans in place for all kinds of things that might happen be it job loss or something much worse. If this happens, I will prioritize and expand my subscriber benefits to help us survive financially until more work can be found. I am already looking for a new job since the uncertainty is...difficult.

So, if I do find myself with extra time and still employed, I will work on a short story-based IF instead where you can romance 1 character per story. It will be much easier to produce than a fully plotted game. It will likely be a subscriber-only project, but full stories should be released at once (fully interactive with optional spice of course). If I lose my job, you can expect details on a new public IF shortly after, lol.

Okay, moving on to happier things...March is like...here. And March is Duri-month on Patreon and Ko-fi! Around the middle of the month you can expect a cute extra story featuring our favorite demigod for the "Crows" tier and a spicy extra for the "Ravens" tier. I anticipate posting around the 15th or 16th.

Here's a sample!

Currently chapter 6 sits at around 15k words and the first section of it is done (just needs some editing and the like). I'm also making my way passage by passage in previous chapters to improve grammar, word choice, coding, etc....

Anyway, I think that's everything! Take care and be safe!

~Lunan ^_^

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hi Miss Raven! I'm really enjoying reading the things you wrote for the future event and trien sensei event! Wonderful writing as usual ^^

If you don't mind me asking, I actually want to see some yume content to certain twst characters from japanese players but I don't know what tag to use or where to look Do you know where I'm supposed to look? I'm not sure how jp player tag their content.

NOTE: I know shipping can be a sensitive thing, but please, please, please be civil about it. This is meant to be an informative post; if I list particular tags or examples here, they are just meant to be that: TAGS and EXAMPLES. It is not equivalent to me endorsing certain content or ships.

Thank you for the feedback 🎵 I have a lot more requests to write so you’ll be fed for a while please look forward to those~

The Japanese fandom LOVES to tag works so it's easy for other fans to find what they are interested in and to avoid what they dislike. Keep the fandom etiquette in mind and practice it yourself! This means don't use unrelated tags to boost exposure when sharing your own posts; it's seen as disrespectful and rude. It also means you do NOT go out of your way to find content you know you dislike and attack the creator.

I believe the general tag for Twst is # ツイステファンアート or #ツイステ. #twstファンアート or #twstイラスト are used for Twst fan art. Most people I know look for Twst stuff on Pixiv, Twitter, or doujin purchasing sites.

If you're looking for shipping content, there are different tags for that:

# twstプラス is for any Twst character x Prefect

#女監督生 is female Prefect

#男監督生 is male Prefect

#男装監督生 is female Prefect dressed in male clothing or pretending to be male

#twstプラスNL is for Twst character x female Prefect

#twstプラスBL is for Twst character x male Prefect

#twstBL can be used for Twst character x Twst character (no Prefect)

#オリ監 (may also include 創作), #顔あり, and #監督生顔あり refers to the creator's OC or their interpretation of Yuu; Prefect generally has a "face" in these works

#モブ is a generic or “mob” character; typically means Prefect is faceless or can easily be self-inserted or projected onto

#ツイステ夢 or #twst夢 is “yume” or self ship works

If you see a B or Q in the tag, the former means male and the latter means queer or genderfluid

Here are tags that may help you find a particular genre or more specific content:

#夜のツイステ or #夜のツイステプラス refers to general 18+ Twst content

#夜のtwstプラス is for 18+ Twst character x Prefect

#twstマイナス is for yandere Twst character x Prefect

#夜のtwstマイナス is for 18+ yandere Twst character x Prefect

#女化 or #にょた is a scenario in which a character's gender changes to female

#ケモノ is animal features, generally ears and tail (ie kemonomimi); this doesn't refer to beastmen (who already have these traits by default), but generally refers to Prefect or a non-beastman gaining them

#ツイステプラス or #twstプラス is typically “feed good” romantic content

#ツイステマイナス or #twstマイナス is basically angst or content that makes you feed bad

#twstパロ is literally “parody” or an AU; you can add other phrases ahead of it to denote the kind of AU

#卒業後 is "after graduation" and generally means a work setting

受け refers to a submissive or passive personality while 攻め refers to a more aggressive personality; these typically describe the dynamics in a romantic relationship

If you’re looking on Twitter, specific emojis tend to refer to the characters or groups of characters, which I have listed below. I’ve also included the first 2-3 katakana of each character’s first names.

The beginning katakana are combined with one another in order to write ship names. For example, if you want Leona x Prefect, you’d combine the first few katakana for Leona, レオ, and Prefect, 監 or ユウ, to create レオ監 or レオユウ (LeoPrefect or Leona x Prefect). Use a similar formula for your desired character. For example, swap out the レオ (Leo-) part for ジェイ and you get ジェイ監, or JeiPrefect, or Jade x Prefect.

Generally for yumeshipping, it’s the canon character’s name first and then Prefect in the end.

If you’re looking for a BL ship, name order matters. The name that appears first is the “proactive” one in the relationship, while the name that appears second is the “passive” one. For example, カリジャミ (Kalim x Jamil) has Kalim as the lead in the relationship, but ジャミカリ (Jamil x Kalim) has Jamil as the lead in the relationship. YOU DO NOT CROSSTAG; the name order basically makes the ship two entirely separate things and they are treated as such in the JP fandom.

Heartslabyul -> 🃏 ビュル

Riddle Rosehearts -> 🌹 リド

Ace Trappola -> ❤️ エー

Deuce Spade -> ♠️ デュ

Trey Clover -> ♣️ トレ

Cater Diamond -> ♦️ ケイ

Savanaclaw -> 🏜️ サバナ

Leona Kingscholar -> 🦁 レオ

Ruggie Bucchi -> 🐆 / 🍩 ラギ

Jack Howl -> 🐺 ジャク

Octavinelle -> 🐚 オクタ

Azul Ashengrotto -> 🐙 アズ

Jade Leech -> 🐬 ジェイ

Floyd Leech -> 🦈 フロ

Tweels -> イド

Scarabia -> 🕌 / 🧞‍♂️ スカラ

Kalim Al-Asim -> 🦂 / ☀️ / 🦦 / 🕌 カリ

Jamil Viper -> 🐍 ジャミ

Pomefiore -> 🍏 / 👸‍ ポメ

Vil Schoenheit -> 👑 ヴィ(ル)

Rook Hunt -> 🏹 ルク

Epel Felmier -> 🍎 エペ

Ignihyde -> ⚙️ / 🔥 イグニ

Idia Shroud -> 💀 イデ

Ortho Shroud -> 🤖 オル

Diasomnia -> 🐉 ディア

Malleus Draconia -> 🐲 マレ

Lilia Vanrouge -> 🦇 リリ

Silver -> ⚔️ / 💤 シル

Sebek Zigvolt ->⚡ セベ

Ramshackle -> 👻 オンボロ

Prefect -> 🦐 (🌸 or 🚺 = female, 🚹 = male) 監 or ユウ

Manga Prefect (usually refers to Yuuken) -> 🦞 コミ監

Grim -> 🐱 / 🐈‍⬛ グリ

NRC Staff -> 🎓 NRC(の)職員

Dire Crowley -> 🎭 / 🐦 クロ

Divus Crewel -> ⚗️ / 🐶 クル

Mozus Trein -> 📚 / 📖 モゼ

Ashton Vargas -> 💪‍‍ バル

Sam -> ☠️ / 🎩 サム

Lucius -> 🐾 ルチウス

Halloween Characters

Rollo -> 🔔 ロロ

Fellow/Ernesto -> 🦊 フェロ

Gidel -> 🐱 ギデル

Skully -> 🎃 スカ

Family Members and NPCs

Ace’s older brother or Anippola -> 兄ッポラ

Dylla -> ディラ

Chenya -> 😺 チェーニャ

Cheka -> 🧶 チェカ

Falena -> ファレ

Kifaji/Neji -> キファジー

Najma -> 💫 ナジュ

Ambrose the 63rd -> 🧙‍ ア ン

Neige -> ❄️ ネイジュ

Marja -> マーヤ

Baur -> 🐊 バウル

Dawn Knight 🌅 -> 夜明けの騎士 (this is his full title since we don’t know his actual name), have also seen 夜明パパ and シルバーパパ (“Dawn Papa” and “Silver Papa”)

Maleanor -> マレノア

I hope that helps you out ^^ Happy hunting, English-speaking Twsties!!

[monsterfactoryfanfic]

aaron, why did you take 5 months off of revising your novel to make a 50k word tabletop game about it?

Because that was easier than doing the revisions

it's not a competition but my god is writing a novel harder than writing a tabletop game. There's no expectation of audience interpretation of text, there's no obfuscation by mechanics that will never get played.

It's just the words, and when they're bad, everyone knows it.

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ if i believe you ˎˊ˗ jon snow

jon snow x reader words: 2.4k synopsis: "There is a queen in the Red Keep who speaks of liberation with fire upon her tongue and necks beneath her heel. and Jon Snow unravels by the hour." notes: finally posting some jon yaaay <3 lit had no idea what to title this so whatever... but im rly trying to learn to write his character so all feedback is appreciated!! n e ways i think this could be read as reader being a targ, but there is no physical description nor much background at all. so do what you love! dedicating this to @dipperscavern & @systraes words can't describe... but u know warnings: major show spoilers, p light smut, angst, references to danyxjon, canon-divergent; i lit don't know my own timeline here but i hope you guys are willing to overlook that LOL. post battle of winterfell. jon is still in the north & dany just took kl. idk. i dont know im sorry im so sorry please i just wanted to post this masterlist requests for jon snow are open.

WHEN NIGHT FALLS, THE KEEP OF WINTERFELL GROWS QUIET. 

These days it is a welcome change; not particularly due to any lack of solitude when sought – but because you, a creature brought forth to the world from a nest of bustling civilization, find yourself rather placated with the silence of Winterfell’s blizzarded walls. You quite enjoy the snow in the North, and all things serene and quiet that it has brought in the days following the fall of Death’s march; but tonight, your heart aches. 

Because it is dawn you dread this evening.

The flames before you dance; and you, rooted to the settee, hold your hand over the flames and consider not for the first time what it would be like to never feel the burn of heat licking flesh. 

Outside, snow comes in droves of howling wind and tiny icicles pelting the glass and stone; Some part of your heart mends itself at the sound – for you know your solitude will be relieved quite soon. 

Because it always snows when he comes. 

This evening, it is not the gentle kind; No flurries dance from the heavens to kiss your sleeve, no wayward lace drifting down from far-off peaks like some god’s idle sigh.

No; this snow is heavy. Relentless. 

It worms through the stones of the old path, creeps into the marrow of the earth, blankets the frozen bloodstained ground in a thick quiet, numbs the breath before it can even leave your mouth. 

He doesn’t knock. 

Jon hardly ever does. 

And you feel him before you see him; always, with a gust of flurries and a hitch in your breath, his footfalls come with that same strange stillness that has seemed to shadow him ever since his heart began beating again. A stoicism, some odd stutter in the world – as if he’s come from the past. 

As if he’s still part of it. 

You have always kept your chambers warm – a habit that often drips in tease from Jon’s lips in the light of morning, though he hardly ever makes any effort to quell your quest for warmth in his embrace when the sun has yet to rise. 

Snow melts in rivulets down the dark furs clinging to his shoulders, beads into cold stars on his lashes as your eyes find his own. Behind him lingers his Ghost – perhaps the only being in Winterfell more quiet and haunted than he. 

He crosses the chamber with a slow pace and you do not so much as rise, far past used to the lack of formalities required between you and Jon.  

You know why he is here just as well as he does.

The raven came this morning to the hands of the Direwolves; speaking of victory and scorched earth of a sister – of nobody – roaming ash-whirling roads and blood-slick alleys.

Someone new sits upon the throne of swords as night falls over the smoldering remains of King's Landing.  

Jon’s gaze casts down to where you sit upon the settee, back to him, warming your weary bones before the hearth. He admires your frame; though he speaks not of it, still you know – you have never required the pretense of courtesy. He does not hide his admiration of you anymore. 

Jon steps just behind you, not daring to disrupt the hazy solitude of you and your blazing hearth. 

Now, he has become something of a shadow of your own; with a sturdy chest, burdened shoulders, and a gaze that cuts through any hesitation you’ve ever foolishly entertained. Your head turns once again to take in the dark kiss of fur across his shoulders, the slope of his jaw, the tied gathering of dark hair along his temples. 

Jon’s eyes are warm with a tenderness you know as no other has ever known; affection in that spiraling pit of solemnity. Though he does not yet remove his cloak. 

It is not long before his voice comes, heavy as the snowfall beyond your door. “I saw your torchlight.” 

The doors in this wing of the keep have thin gaps above the warmed stone; your gaze leaves the curve of his shadowed jaw to trace the lines of light stretching their curled talons beneath the oak slab where they fade against the bitter bite of freeze. 

“I could not sleep,” you sigh, if only to answer the question he does not ask. 

His sigh is gentle, consolatory; and his hand twitches upon his side, as though his fingers yearn to caress the stray tresses that come loose near your neck. 

You know he cannot sleep either – and you do not have to say why. 

Because the why is here; it is woven into the threads holding the freshly spun Stark banner out in the courtyard, it is leaking through the weakened gasps recovering in the infirmary, it trickles from the very thick flake that falls from high in the gods’ skies and beats the remnants of frozen blood far beneath the earth. It’s in the emptiness in the town and the whistling calls of the hills, in the beat of echoed horses towards the Kingsroad hardly more than a fortnight ago.  

The war in the North is over, but peace has not come. 

The ravens came this morning. It is ture: There is a queen in the Red Keep who speaks of liberation with fire upon her tongue and necks beneath her heel; there is ash and blood in the streets, howling screams carrying through the wind.

The realm is spun in a thick web, and Jon Snow unravels by the hour. 

He stands there, your shadow grown behind the settee; Perhaps he watches the flames, or perhaps he watches you. 

The glint of firelight in your hair, upon your cheek. The stillness of your breath, how it rises and curls over the neckline of your dress, how your fingers tug at a thread of upholstery beneath you. The curve of your hips along the fabric of your dress, the slight curve of your neck. 

It is a look of love, by any other name. And perhaps, if you were a different person, and he, a different man – you might ask something from him. A promise, perhaps. 

But you ask for nothing from him; because you know what Jon Snow is. 

He is the man who leaves – who kisses you in the shadows and becomes a pillar of salt in the first shy wink of morning light; and you cannot, for all the spite and selfish hunger in you, bring yourself to blame a frost bitten tree for refusing the hope of spring. 

You love him in spite of it. Or, perhaps, because of it. 

And so you hardly stir when his palm finds the junction of your neck and shoulder, a creeping and almost apologetic thing.

A calloused palm, one so weary and hardened and yet relentlessly kind; Your jaw tilts in quiet invitation as he stands behind you, letting his thumb soothe over the raised gooseflesh of your skin. 

When he says your name, a flood of warmth pools in your stomach; you ease into his touch, sighing when his palm slides away to rest upon the back of your settee – though his warmth remains. It always does. 

His voice comes once more, still low, resigned. 

“You’ll hate me.” 

You don’t speak for fear of the tightening in your throat; for the visions of cloudy skies and floating ash, of sliding breaths and sharp daggers. Of fire, and blood. The thought is bitter and it breaks something far buried within your chest.

A harsh thing, reality has always been. 

There is a long road ahead for Jon, and it is not large enough for two. You’ve known this for some time. 

His voice is exhausted and it comes in a breath, as though he swallows back the burden of which you both refuse to name outright; and perhaps it is some effort to defend the necessary, to excuse the pain to come. 

“She burned them.” 

And you know the name which dances upon his tongue, though he does not speak it. 

The firelight licks over the chambers – some false illusion of warmth in a room which now drips with solemnity. Your throat is tight with the grip of a fading hand and a thick swallow claws its way down your neck. 

“She was a girl once,” you say faintly, biting your lip. “A girl sold. Traded, abused, hunted.” Your heart, a fist beating at your battered rib cage; Your lip does not tremble, though you think it might. “Of course she burned them.”

His breath comes slow and long. “She burned children.”

The words come before you recognize them from your own mind –

“And Stannis did not?” 

He flinches. 

You feel it rather than witness it, through a still air and a stretched silence in which your heart thuds dully and sings the songs of souls long since burned to the gods you do not know. 

“I don’t want to argue.” It’s that tone once more; exhausted, tired – trying. The chambers are warm, and yet somehow his presence is warmer. 

“You never do,” you whisper. You never do, and I love you for it. 

He comes round to face you, backlit then by the greedy warmth of the hearth; how the flames curl around his frame, melting the last stubborn flakes from his shoulders. His hair curls; tresses tied from his drawn brows, pouted lips defrosted and pink in the firelight. 

“I had to see you,” his words come once more, eyes deep and searching your own. “Before–” 

You’ve risen to meet him before the fire, and your immediate presence stuns his words. 

“You mustn’t do this, Jon.” Your eyes sting with unwanted grief; a hollow thing, to know what fate worse than the worst awaits your love. “You mustn’t say goodbye if you’re not going to die.”

His breath trembles, a ripple of wind in a steady sea of pine; the stubborn shake of a handsome visage as he denies the path of ease for the sake of what is right. You love him for it. You hate him for it. 

“I might.” 

And this, it seems, is your final straw. “No,” your hands shake with an unknown ache. “You won’t,” your breath hits his lips as you exhale, “that’s always the curse with you.”

Your words are cruel, and their verity cuts as deep into your heart as they do his own. His face, somber and patient, is warm in the firelight. And that’s just it; memories bloom from behind your eyes, bruises unhealed. Visions of frozen lips and lifeless eyes – of a hollowness that, somewhere deep inside, never quite filled again. 

You had loved him before those scars.

Before death stitched its silent seams across his soul; before hearths blew out in the far North and shadows crawled across the sun. 

And still you love him after, though he came back to you strange and faraway; sometimes angry in a way you will never quite understand, try as you might. 

Sometimes you believe there is a part of him that never truly left the snow – some part of him that does not any longer belong to this realm.

You love him for it the same. 

Jon’s hands caress the curve of your arms when you plant yours on his chest; a steady heartbeat below your palms, through even the scarred skin and breaths of hunger that grows yet never feeds. 

He wants you.

Gods, he does, and he burns for it. You see it in the hitch of his breath, in the way his gaze traces the curved bend of your lips when you let out a small breath. You see it other times, too, in the tracing of your collarbones across halls, in the aching bewilderment of a man who cannot help his hunger. And though his jaw sets and his eyes flick away, though honor sings louder in him than impulse – you know, you know. 

There is no shame in it, not anymore; Jon does not know how to lie with his body. 

But Jon will not take first. He will not take what he wants until it is surrendered to him with bitten lips and soft sighs and breathy pleads; it is a dance unspoken but entwined in your shared nature more than breathing itself. 

And you know; If you asked, he would unmake himself entirely – king, bastard, man – simply to feel your palm in his and your warmth by his side. 

A surrender not out of duty, but devotion; a willing unraveling, thread by thread, until all that remains is the man who wants you. Without titles, without name. 

With nothing.

Though you do not dare betray him with such a request. Because wanting is the first sin, and what comes after is unspeakable. 

Jon was made to lose what he longs for. To hold a knife against his chest and remain unflinching even as the blade pierces through; To blink only when the wound begins to bleed.

And still, you would bleed with him. 

Again and again, in that selfish, aching way, you would – if it meant one breath more of his hands in yours, of that tired, torn, unbearably tender gaze; one final glimpse of such warmth before he turns from you once more.

You study his visage; a grim one, swimming in that dark molten hunger that lives unspoken and unsated in his stare. A kind man – a man who once held you so tenderly and spoke with words far too kind for the world which gave him nothing but pain.

A man who keeps burying the ones he loves.

His hands curl at your waist, a reserved thing that still yet coaxes your skin to sing, to crawl in that hungry way toward his warmth even as it slips away. 

“You love her,” you say. 

The line of his throat is thick in the firelight, and his swallow is heavy. You do not waver in your resolve, and he does not betray you with any feigned sympathy. 

“I tried to.” 

It does not sting like, perhaps, it should. Your nod is stiff and placated only by memories of ruddy youthful stares, brooding glances secretive and rapt across both torchlit halls and flurried yards. 

Outside, the wind howls and pelts snow in thick layers over the rapidly disappearing print of his footfalls. Ghost lies still and solemn, quiet against the pelt upon the stone floor near your door. 

And it is a foolish thing to ask, when he is here and holding you; but you say it anyway. 

“And me?”

Jon’s glance is one that brings the rush of the deepest warmth to your cheeks. A look as though you are the one preparing to leave and never return; a glance of knowledge, of ghosts over lips and hands over trembling skin. 

His heart beats, and its rhythm is your name. 

Jon does not blink, nor does he look away. His palm, large and inexplicably warm despite the howling squall outside, cups your jaw – and then he says your name; a whispered secret to his gods who have long since ceased to listen. 

“I’ve never had to try.” 

His words from minutes ago rebound in your mind; and you, with soft palms and a heavy heart, pull him close. You’re going to hate me. 

“I won’t hate you,” you whisper into his palm, lips brushing over the tremors he hides. “Not even then.”

He closes his eyes with a flickering inhale, sharp and thick with unshed emotion. And then, when he returns his stare so devoted to your parted lips – his hand drags lower, trailing from your jaw and down to your throat. 

A stray thumb presses gently against your heartbeat, as if assuring some deep worry hidden below furrowed brows and a tremorring heart; breath catches in your throat, that dull hunger rising from your stomach and curling warmly through your very veins. Jon’s stare devours; and your eyes hook a yearning ache over the curve of pink lips, flickered by dark shadows and weak restraint. 

You’re eager; an unwitting lean towards him with caught breath, you let his palm trail warmth over your skin and pause at your collarbone – as if he’s unsure he has the permission to touch you at all. 

You don’t wait for him to ask, because he never will. You simply give. 

“Please, Jon,” you whisper, hardly more than breath and want. “Touch me. Let me feel you.” 

And there in the faint flicker of the hearth, the corner of his mouth twitches; the echo of some disbelieving, admiring expression he’s long since forgotten how to wear unless he is with you.

Soon his gaze drops, hazed and sultry, to where his thumb rests just above the hollow of your chest; searching, as if your heartbeat might answer some riddle he’s carried since boyhood. 

You wonder if perhaps it does, because he moves.

It comes not with the fevered gasp of relief that falls from your lips but with the gravity of a man laying down his sword; Jon’s hand trails lower still, hands grazing the rise of your breast and flexing against the touch. From his lips falls a desperate sound; something swallowed soon by his mouth upon your own, heavy and hungry and far too much for what the night could be. 

Dexterous fingers spread, cupping just below the swell of your breast as your own slip under the fur-lined cloak still hung round his thick shoulders. Rough linen lies underneath – cold with the remnants of the snow yet warm with the body he tried for so long to keep away from you.

Your fingers slip beneath the fur draped over his shoulders, and he shudders – shudders – like it’s the first time he’s been touched since his gods forgot him.

“Jon,” you whisper against his lips; needy, wrecked – and that alone breaks the dam already so brittle and wanting; his arms come to pull you tight against the firm heat of his chest. “You’re trembling,” you murmur. 

His lips find your throat; open-mouthed, reverent and hungry, teeth grazing and tongue soothing. The tug of his tresses between your fingers kicks his shaky moan against the hollow of your throat and a warmth spreads heady through your trembling body. 

“Aye. It’s you,” he breathes with honesty, lips brushing your pulse. “I always do.”

The words send a tremor down your spine, a flush pooling between your thighs as his mouth descends, grazing the dip of your collarbone. Teeth catch slightly on your skin, not rough enough to mark, but just enough to make you gasp; just enough to make your hips tilt toward him, hungry and unsatisfied.

The wind howls, wails. The snow swallows the horizon in a dark smother. Your knees back into the mattress; the weather beyond the castle is wild and sharp in its longing, and with you Jon is no different. 

You reach for him and he follows you down, a storm dragged from the mountains and rolling over the hills of sheets. The furs kiss your dress beneath you as Jon takes you into his arms, heavy with heat and muscle and hunger; pressing you into the feathered mattress. 

Hands tug at the laces of your bodice; breath harsh against your throat and words murmured into the damp skin of your throat. Your thighs, then, parting with the shared tremors of fevered desire; a sudden steadiness of hands whose muscles remember the shape of you. 

His mouth hovers just above yours, breath shared, noses brushing. 

Jon takes you with a low and slow groan pressed into your hair; and you with trembling thighs and nails embedded into thick-corded shoulders, head thrown against downy pillows.

The window flickers with the swallowing blanket of the flurry; the hearth’s light spills over the hardened planes of Jon’s body, softened under your fingertips and coaxing raised bumps of desire. 

And when he moves inside you – slow, aching, right – you wonder if perhaps the world might end this very night. 

And if it does, you think as lips press to the corner of your mouth, as a moan strangles his breath, as your body takes him in, if it does, let it end here. Beneath him. Around him. 

Here, with the snow pelting outside, with the fire licking shadows of your entwined bodies upon the wall, licking warmth over his back, up the curve of his jaw, into the wrecked chasm of hunger pooling in his eyes when he looks down at you and thinks, I was never meant to have this.

You pour your love into each kiss he steals; Hands finds your thighs, pushing higher, gripping your heady skin like something already lost. Every inch of him is warm, heavy, solid – and you, reveling in the weight of a man who has only ever known how to carry things that break him. 

When all that’s left is heaving, sweat-kissed chests and intermingled breaths – when your fingers soothe over his cheeks, trace the furrow of his brow, press to his temples; when his calloused palms rove over your hip, tugging you by the neck into his chest, tangled in furs and heat and silence – then, then you allow yourself the heartbreak. 

“I love you,” you whisper into the night air, into the slinking shadows with webbed wings and smoking breath – into the unfurling frost around the casements, into the chest of the man you have known and lost more times than you can recount. 

He says nothing for some time; a shaky inhale as your hands trace over the jagged scars which litter his torso, as his own fingertips idly swirl over your own marks. 

And Jon tells you he loves you with his eyes closed, with his lips pressed to your own. You drink in his words and you do not wish for anything else. 

He says it again, and again, until his voice cracks and his lips dry the tears you swore would not fall.

You do not sleep much that night. 

Lied beside him, you trace the curve of his spine, follow the silky webs of scars above his ribs, across his abdomen and up to the hollow of his throat, where a dagger once claimed him. 

Your hands will remember him.

Slowly, you memorize how his breath deepens in the soft surrender of sleep. You memorize the twitch of unconscious fingers slung across your own bare hip. You memorize the beat of his heart against your palm.

You memorize the shape of him as though you’ll be asked to describe it to the gods. 

And when dawn comes and you stir from the rest that’d claimed you, he is already dressed. 

Ghost waits at your door. 

Jon does not say goodbye, and you do not torture him with words that you both are thinking. 

He says nothing; just presses a kiss to your forehead, cupping your neck, thumb caressing that cherished beat of your pulse – and leaves with a curls of snow brushing into the entryway of your chambers. 

And you stay.

You stay in the room where his warmth once brought you over the edge of sanity; you remain beneath furs once shared, listening to the swirling silence he left behind. You drown in sheets and pretend they are arms. 

You stay – undaunted by snowflurries and howling winds, by hard men and hard women and hard weather. A blue moon waxes and wanes for the first time in seven years. 

The war ends; the queen falls. 

The North remembers.

The seat beside the Queen in the North is worn and a welcome warmth beneath you. The hearths remain bright each nightfall. 

But you remember him. 

And the snow still falls, even now.

tagging some mutuals since this is a new character :') @dipperscavern @dr9carys @inkandarsenic @systraes @swordgrace @kenna-the-cosmic @snow-blower @cregan-starks

[missmisnomer]

Just encountered something that made me so viscerally mad I had to stop everything I was doing and scream about it into the void (you are the void, tumblr, thank you for your time)

Ever seen that little test tube icon at the top of your Google search? That's Search Labs.

This led me to reading about all the "experiments" they have going on and OH BOY, this is the one that got me mad enough to actually leave feedback (bear in mind I like NEVER leave comments or reviews on things so you know it's bad)

Of all the "experiments" they are launching with their Search Labs, this one is the most egregiously transparent attempt to capitalize on the human brain's superiority over a computer's.

I see what they are doing.

"Look at these auto generated images and try your best to tell us what you think the original prompt is! Teehee, isn't this a fun test? Don't you want to have fun?? Play our game, uwu".

This is about as blatant as you can get: they want to train their Ai to get better at generating its frankly often garbage results by using real people to tell it how it could have done better.

My guess as to why Google is even doing this: ◽️Let’s say you use of one of Google's programs to generate an image based on your own personal written prompt (I know YOU wouldn't, fair tumblr user, but stay with me here)

◽️You are subsequently frustrated at the slop Google generated for you, and select a button that says something along the lines of "I am not satisfied with this result".

◽️This auto-triggers something on Google's end, which I assume captures this response along with the image it is attached to.

◽️Now, they can put that picture in front of thousands of unwitting people who can tell Google EXACTLY what "prompt" they associate with that image instead. Exactly the words that it SHOULD be tagged with.

These pieces of ai "art" are NOT good, let me make that clear. What financial benefit would Google have to present a panel of testers with perfectly generated images? To make this game in the first place? The only way ai can advance is when humans tell it what it did wrong. Because the computer doesn't fucking know what a raven vs a writing-desk is. It needs us to give it the words to think. Poor baby gets confused when we are vague. :(

All this under the guise of a cutesy little "test". A "game".

This is not fun, and it is extremely scummy. Do better Google. Be better. I'm attaching some screenshots of the first "level" so you too can enjoy the art of prompting!!! (she says with so much dry sarcasm the Deserts of Arrakis spontaneously turn into an ocean)

And to have the audacity to show the actual real pieces of art made by real artists that they trained this stupid machine with. Fuck entirely off.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🕯️ Shadows & Symbolism: The Gothic Writer's Grimoire 🦇

Hello writers! I hope you're all doing well. Autumn is my favorite time of year, and I'm sure many of you love it too. With Halloween just around the corner, I thought it would be nice to start getting into the spirit a bit early. For those of you working on a gothic or fiction book, I wanted to share some themes and symbols to help bring that spooky, gothic, and dark vibe to your writing. 🦇

.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆

🕸️Themes and Symbols for Gothic & Horror Stories🕯️

🌙 The Moon 🌚

Symbol of mystery, the unknown, and the supernatural

Represents the cycle of life, death, and rebirth

Can signify madness, hysteria, and the primal forces of nature

🕷️ Spiders & Webs 🕸️

Symbolize entrapment, deception, and the unseen

Represent the intricate, tangled nature of evil and darkness

Can foreshadow impending doom or the unraveling of secrets

💀 Skulls & Bones 💀

Signify mortality, the fragility of life, and the inevitability of death

Evoke a sense of the macabre, the morbid, and the occult

Can represent the lingering presence of the dead or the afterlife

🖤 Darkness & Shadows 🌑

Symbolize the unknown, the subconscious, and the mysterious

Represent the hidden, sinister forces that lurk in the corners

Can signify a descent into madness or the loss of control

🦇 Bats & Ravens 🦇

Portend ominous events, death, and misfortune

Symbolize the supernatural, the occult, and the Gothic

Can represent messengers from the underworld or harbingers of doom

🕯️ Candles & Flames 🕯️

Signify the fragility of life and the ever-present threat of extinguishment

Represent the struggle between light and dark, good and evil

Can symbolize the human soul, spirituality, and the afterlife

🧠 The Mind & Madness 🧠

Explore the depths of the psyche and the fragility of sanity

Represent the battle between reason and the irrational

Signify the descent into obsession, delusion, and the unknown

🏰 Crumbling Mansions & Castles 🏰

Symbolize the decay of the old order and the erosion of power

Represent the weight of the past and the burden of history

Can signify the collapse of the elite and the rise of the macabre

Use these evocative themes and symbols to craft your next Gothic or horror masterpiece and chill your readers to the bone! 💀 Let me know if want more post related to everything spooky!

.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆.˚⊹.🎃₊˚.˚⊹.🎃₊˚𖦹⋆

Happy Writing! - Rin T. 🍁🎃🍂

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors. 

[problemduetest4life]

You’ve ruined my life with your fics & I can’t even be mad because everything you’ve written is so amazing.

Your characterization of everyone is so spot on and your story’s are just so awesome to read. they are absolutely devastating.

I’ve read everything you’ve written and wish i could read a hundred more works by you. i was wondering what some of your favorite aftg fics were?

Thank you, holy shit, this made my day :') I aim to please and I aim to devastate, so this is great feedback

ALSO! YES! RECS! HOLD ON!

I read a LOT of Jean centric stuff, but also some of my favs are some rogue pairings, so buckle up...

This Time With Feeling by Ocean_Adjacent (WIP/170k multi-chap/Jerejean/pre-TSC canon): This is probably the fic I’ve re-read the most ever, it follows Jean joining the Trojans post TKM and the writing is just CHEFS KISS. TTWF follows three plots: the Trojans, the Foxes, and the Ravens. Chapters alternate btwn Jean's POV and different characters(OC's and canon characters alike). HIGHLIGHTS: Slowburn Jerejean, The College Experience™, backstories! layers! themes!, AND an octopus I have cried over.

The Later Parade by @hourafterhour (Oneshot/40k/Kevjean/Post-canon): AKA The Kevjean BIBLE! If you have not read this fic, you really should. It follows Jean as a pro-Exy player, including his journey with sexuality and KEVIN DAY BEING MESSY. HIGHLIGHTS: Obvious knowledge on sports/drafts by the author, Kevjean angst up the wazoo, Kevin's relationship with Exy/The Nest butting heads with Jean's, The Bisexual Jean Experience™, and DUPUIS!!!

Not Yours To Bleed by Coffeexandxangst (WIP/385k multi-chap/Andreil/Raven!Neil AU but in the pros): If you have wanted more insight into the gang/crime aspect of the AFTG, this is the fic for you (but mind the tags!) Some chapters will be so romantic and lovely and then BOOM! Suddenly it's a thriller and I'm clenching my cheeks in fear. HIGHLIGHTS: Side Jerejeanee, getting to hate on Kevin Day for free (which I only do bc I LOVE him), a morally ambiguous body guard, and PAIN PAIN PAIN!

it's semi-automatic by @wyverningx (WIP/38k multi-chap/Jerejean/Mafia AU): This fic follows Jean trying to take care of himself and Elodie which ofc get's him wrapped up with the Moriyamas and Jeremy, who is the head of his own organization. Despite some devastating details, it's a super fun fic. HIGHLIGHTS: Jean and Elodie sibling cuteness, Jeremy being one sexy mf and a dog named Lexapro. I would rec the Jerejean text fic ALSO by wyverning, but if you haven't read that, I'm assuming you live under a rock (IT'S SO GOOD! READ IT!!!)

Ailleurs by revengeandotherdrugs aka @keirametzbrassknuckles (WIP/45k multi-chap/Kevjean/AU + pre-canon): THIS FIC HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD! In an AU where Stuart Hatford took Jean in instead of the Moriyamas, alternating pov's between Kevin and Jean explore their relationship as Kevin and Riko travel through London for Exy Press Reasons. HIGHLIGHTS: Stuart Hatford being a Good Dad, Liverpudlians, angst CITY, and Kevjean as bumbling teenagers.

nothing to be kindle[d] by @poetic-ivy (Oneshot/8k/Kevallison/post-canon): Allison goes pro and is aiming to make the Olympic team. Kevin is also there. Friends with benefits but also friends with feelings for one another. HIGHLIGHTS: Banter/Flirting, Allison getting what she deserves, and some lovely freaky times.

Like Being Known by OfficialStarsandGutters (Oneshot/19k/Kevaaron/post-canon): Kevin suffers a head injury and doesn't remember who he is. Aaron offers to house him and take care of him while he recovers and they grow closer. HIGHLIGHTS: SO SOFT, Aaron the begrudging caretaker, Kevin being #difficult, and a wholesome conclusion

Already Gone by @nina-reads1804 (WIP/150k multi-chap/Andreil/post-canon): ANDREIL BREAKUP! YE BE WARNED! Andrew handles the inevitable of him and Neil moving apart after graduation by breaking up with him during his senior year. This fic follows Andrew in the pros, newly single and struggling. HIGHLIGHTS: Great Andrew and Aaron bonding, Patrick the Therapist, chaotic coping, and crying over sad Neil Josten.

Kintsugi by Zombiecowboy65 (Oneshot/18k/Jerejean/TSC canon): Cute, perfect, gorgeous Jerejean. Jeremy and Jean communication and healing that touches my soul. HIGHLIGHTS: Core four friendship, Jerejean first kiss and MAGNET RESCUE

OKAY SO MAYBE THIS IS A LOT! But here's my reasoning! I have friends who do not read things over 80k, but I also know people who really want a big ol fic to sink their teeth into. Lots of relationship representation in here as well, so hopefully something here is to your interest! Thank you again for the WONDERFUL ask! :)))

[yourlocalravendork]

Anxious flyer

Cw: Reader is anxious about flying, Morgan being Morgan, Spencer spouting statics

An: This is my first fic that I've published. Feedback is welcome since I'm not used to writing in the second person. Also, Matthew Gray Gubler reading The Tell Tale Heart and Annabel Lee is my roman empire.

You'd never liked flying. You didn't think that much through when you joined the BAU. You didn't think that you'd be flying as much as you were, yet here you were. Freaking out in your seat.

As much as you thought you could hide your fear, you were on a jet full of profilers. They could all tell something was up from the way your knuckles were white as you gripped at the armrest.

"Hey kid, you know the armrest isn't going anywhere," Derek said with that usual playful teasing tone he took to you and Spencer, the youngest of the team. You couldn't even dignify a response, a bout of turbulence shaking the plane. Derek could see the pure panic in your face and decided that playful jabs probably wouldn't help. "Everything will be alright, kid. We've made this plane trip a thousand times and we'll make it a thousand more." He left you with a reassuring pat on the back.

Spencer, ever the analytical mind, was watching just over the top of his book. Once Derek had left you, he got up and made his way over to you.

"Did you know that if you were going to die, you'd be dead by now?" Spencer said quietly. It was his own way of comforting you. But your panic was clouding your mind. "What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, snapping slightly. Spencer couldn't blame you. "Statistically you're more likely to die in a car crash than in a plane crash. So if you were going to die travelling, you'd most likely die in the car ride to the airport than the plane," Spencer elaborated. You looked over at him, letting out a deep breath. That thought was... Somewhat comforting. It didn't completely remove your fear, but it was slightly more manageable. Spencer could sense the lingering fear and he felt a little useless. He could hardly regulate his own emotions at times, how could he help someone else. "I... I could read, if you want," Spencer suggested. He held up his book to you. It had a red cover with a black raven on it. 'A collection of tales and Poems by Edgar Allan Poe' the cover read. "Y-yeah, sure," you said, trying to focus on Spencer's voice and not the turbulence. He offered a soft smile, an attempt to reassure you. He cleared his throat before beginning. "True, nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?" Spencer began. You lost yourself in his words, finding an odd sense of comfort in it. Sure, your anxiety wasn't cured, but it was manageable.