First EnnoTana-work Inspired By Marchingduck's EnnoTana-piece Listen Between The Lines That They Did

116 pages of shit-all-first-draft done fuck yeah.

you used to have to keep fires going alllllll the time and i bet thats why theres always some dude at the bonfire who really fucks with keeping the fire going. instincts deep within their minds of a purpose long since lost

Being a pro censorship ao3 user is so insanely cringe. Either use the (incredibly effective and well designed) filtering system to avoid seeing the shit you don't like or stop complaining. Leave the pro censorship rhetoric to Wattpad or smth

His phone vibrates off the ledge and drops on his nose with tear-jerking insistence.

Fucker.

Satori rolls over with the grace of a half-dead street rat before he sits up, feet touching the clean, cold concrete of his apartment. Tenderly he rubs at his face, fingers prodding as he inhales deeply through his sore nose.

people will say "why cant the eldritch gods just be nice to humans :((" and then kill a bug for existing near them

letter to theo by vincent van gogh

Magic breathes against her, Arcana soothing her overwrought skin. The night is alive with Kaos’ winds howling like possessed things- like it’s time for the Oskoreia. The House trembles under her fingertips, walls bracing against a growing pressure, humming with power. Her nerves are raw, her ears too conscious of every loud rush of wind.

She moves on bare feet, silent as a shadow even in the confines of her own home. Guttering candlelight meets the shifting shadows of outside branches against the old tapestry on their walls, warping the home she’s known for so long eerily unfamiliar. Her heartbeat jumps with the first roll of thunder overhead, her hands tremble against the wall as she splays her fingers over the moving facsimiles of trees on the cold tapestry.

The House hums under her skin. Agitated. Like a current waiting to find expression. The hum of galvanization before something pops- sparks- releases.

Hitoka tastes metal.

hoot hoot

Heyaa.. As you mentioned previously.. may I ask why you don't like iwaoi as a ship that much? I really wanna know cuzz I feel that would really help me story<3~

Oh! Well goodness. It's more of a preference thing? Personally I just don't see them in that constellation, but I also love how other people depict/ describe them in a relationship!

When I say I don't like it it's more of a: I don't go out looking for it, but if I happen across a piece and it's well written, maybe I'll read it and maybe I'll even like it (has happened and likely might happen again).

Personally, when I see Oikawa, I see someone terribly focused and determined, and also someone who grows so much (this is, imo, shown better in the manga than the anime). But I don't relate to him that much (except for playing volleyball with a dang knee injury, been there, done that) on a personal level and, to me, rarepairs and polycules are a much more interesting fare to read and write.

You probably wanted a short answer, sorry for the rant, but also: in terms of helping your story-- as someone who writes themselves just... don't focus too much on what other people think of your ship/idea/story? Write it. Be glad you can write it. Revise it. Again and again and again if necessary- just enough that you've felt the ache of writing and come out satisfied with the piece you've made- and don't mind what others say.

If you take away anything for your story I hope it'd be that.

“Alright, Princess,” he mutters, when he finally feels the first tendrils of The Hive reaching for him and his eyes alight on the red-yellow sign of one of their street-level eateries.

He shifts her so she can burrow deeper into his hold. “If you ever had any fleas, the river drowned them good and I don’t have to be disappointed that a life on the street made it hard for you to uphold your royal standards.”

A wet, cold, nose presses against his collarbone in response and Satori feels it when she tucks herself carefully into the space he gives her. A warm, gentle weight pressing right against the beat of his soft, dumb, heart- already nine-tenths in love with her.