I got curious and translated the title of the OST ‘’ Yonaka Ni Kiku To Kowai ‘’
And that’s when all the piece came together.
Yonaka Ni Kiku To Kowai means something like:
‘’ I am scared when I hear it in the middle of the night. ‘’
The ‘’ I ‘’ here…. Is Shinsou.
Shinsou is scared when he hears ‘’it’’ in the middle of the night…
‘’ It ‘’ is all the noises you hear in the song. The laughing children, the whispers, the bloody screams… That’s what he hears everytime he tries to sleep. The voices from his past.. And because of them, he just cannot sleep. That’s where his bags comes from.
The humming in the background must be his mother’s lullaby. Because he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, she would sing him to sleep. Her voice would cover the voices in his head….
My mother insists that I write you to formally thank you for speaking on behalf of us at the Wizengamot. Without your testimony, we most certainly would have faced time in Azkaban.
So: thank you.
If you were expecting any heartfelt words of gratitude, then you’ve mistaken me for those hero worshippers who submit their amateur poetry about you to The Daily Prophet. Even as a child, I could write better poetry than that.
Hoping to never speak to you again,
Please pass my appreciation on to your mother. I sincerely hope she is well.
As for you, I don’t need or expect your gratitude. That’s not why I helped you. You wouldn’t understand this of course, but those of us who have a heart, help others simply just to help others.
I also happen to enjoy and appreciate the notes people leave in The Daily Prophet for me. I’ve never heard any poetry from you, so I wouldn’t be so quick to throw stones.
Wishing you horrible misfortune,
Don’t give me that load of crock, Potter. Even heroes have ulterior motives.
I also highly doubt you enjoyed last week’s poem: “I see Harry Potter’s emerald eyes, they sparkle and shine, all magic defies.” What does that even mean?
Seeing through your media-trained lies,
Malfoy. You only think I’m lying because you can’t comprehend anyone’s perspective but your own.
That poem was heartfelt and thoughtful. I have a copy of it on my fridge - that’s a muggle appliance.
Someone important to me believes that something I wrote is based off of them and it as been hurting our relationship, how do I get them to know that it's not them?
I don’t know. I don’t think it’s possible to persuade people that you didn’t write about them. There is one long-ago short story of mine in which every former girlfriend of mine saw herself reflected, and each of them made a point of telling me that she had read it (I think they were flattered) and obviously the person in it was her, and I realised that nothing I could ever say about the story would change anybody’s mind.
That’s because it’s almost impossible to explain to anybody who hasn’t done it that the way we make fiction is a sort of composting process in which things we see and feel and experience and think and imagine are put into our minds and then rot down into a black compost, in which new things grow. Or for that matter that you can steal the way that one person plays with their hair and the way another person sighs and always turns up late and grow a third person who isn’t either of them out of it.
So you can tell them it’s not them in your fiction. But they will still believe what they will. Perhaps instead you should just work on the relationship, and if they are worried about issues of privacy (or whatever) being compromised by what you write, tell them you must have done it without realising, and will do your best to make sure they aren’t in any more stories of yours, even unwittingly.
I hope this helps. (You will probably find a lot more wisdom than this in the comments or the reblogs.)
Summary: While at Vidcon, Phil can’t seem to fall asleep, even after the whole ‘missed flight’ ordeal. His mind begins to drift, and his thoughts start to be filled with pride for his most favorite person.
Genre: don’t let the title fool you, it’s all FLUFF
Warnings: umm none that i can think of
Word Count: 1486
a/n: apparently my brain always comes up with stories about people who can’t sleep. also pLEASE DON’T JUDE ME i couldn’t think of a good title so i named it after zayn’s song and yeah i wrote thing while waiting in lines and legoland and universal studios and finished while at dinner so yeah ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
It’s been a long two days. Phil still couldn’t believe they had made it to Vidcon. He thought, for sure, that they’d miss it. He still couldn’t believe they they had gotten so lucky with that flight that had two seats left, perfect for him and Dan.
“I tell aspiring writers that you have to find what you MUST write. When you find it, you will know, because the subject matter won’t let you go. It’s not enough to write simply because you think it would be neat to be published. You have to be compelled to write. If you’re not, nothing else that you do matters.”
Even if you don’t do art, gifsets, edit videos and photos, write fanfics, you are important and fandom wouldn’t exist without you.
That also doesn’t mean that you’re not an artistic type of person.
There are two types of artistic personality:
a creator, who writes, paints, draw, do videos etc.
and a consumer.
The person, who sees art, for whom it’s made. Without them it wouldn’t matter, because there would be nobody to see the creation. It’s one of the most important roles, but many people do it badly.
How to be a good recipient?
First of all, you need to give feedback. Every time you take time to see/read something. And it can’t be any feedback. It must be good.
Doesn’t matter if it’s a fanart, fic, video, poem or something else. Give kudos. Comment it. Even if you didn’t like it. Especially, if you didn’t like it. It takes only 30 seconds to write something and it shows the author that you saw their work and took time to think about it. It really motivates them.
What you should write?
Well, anything you want. “Great job, keep going!”, “I love the way you did it!”, “Wow, amazing work, I’d love to see more!” is enough. Really.
Of course, if you decide to say something more it’s great! Authors love to read your thoughts about their work. Tell them about the colours they used, how they match the scene and character, how they build the atmosphere with words, how you love the character development, the typhography they made. Tell them about everything that made you “wow, this is amazing”, about the piece that made you smile or cry or laugh or any reaction you had.
Tell them that you are waiting for sequel for this fic. That you can’t wait for the next fanart of this pairing. That you love seeing their work.
Thank them for it. I know that you know that they do it as a hobby, but thank them for spending their time anyway.
Reading this makes their day. And they’ll tell you that.
Okay, but what if you didn’t like it?
Then you have to write a comment anyway. Criticism is the most important for artist. Without it they can’t make progress.
Writing critique is harder than writing a positive feedback. You have to be precise here. The most important rule is:
DO NOT WRITE “I DON’T LIKE IT”
if you want to write something like that, then better don’t write anything.
You must add what you didn’t like, why, and how they can change that. Constructive criticism is the only one which matters. Otherwise you’ll make them not want to create anymore.
So how good criticism looks like?
“The colours you used don’t fit together. If you used warmer shade of red it would look better!”
“The main character of the story is too perfect, you should add them some flaws to make them more real. Perhaps something with their looks - too thin mouth or some scar? Their personality is also too mary sue. Try to give them some bad traits, maybe they can be blunt or a bit ignorant and listen to nobody’s advice?”
“The person you drew has anatomically incorrect legs - it looks like they don’t have knees. Try to work on it looking at some photos.”
The problem with criticism is that inexperienced artists often take it too personally, like an attack. Good solution is to tell them something nice.
“The scenere is beautiful, but…” “I love how you write descriptions, but there’s something you need to work on…”
When you write comments it’s also important NOT TO DEMAND ANOTHER PIECE OF ART/CHAPTER/SEQUEL/WHATEVER
It makes them not wanting to contiune their work. So, yeah, encourage them, but not demand. “Is there any chance you’ll do it?”, “I can’t wait for more!”, “Please, continue this, I really want to know what happens next!”
What else you can do as a recipient?
Reblog. Not only like, but also reblog, so more people can see it. Don’t repost and if you have to ALWAYS GIVE CREDITS. And no, “source: tumblr” is not a credit (I feel like I should do another post about it)
Buy. I know all of us are broke, but many artists are really cheap (and that makes me sad). Just ask them to do something customized for you, like keychains or something like that. And pay them for it. Or just donate.
EVEN IF YOU DON’T CREATE YOU ARE IMPORTANT IN FANDOM AND IT WOULDN’T BE THERE WITHOUT YOU
YOU ARE IMPORTANT
(feel free to add some things that I forgot and tell me all mistakes I made, it’s late and my brain is tired so I could use some wrong words but I tried)
by thoughtsickles pairing: harry/louis word count: 16,000 rating: Mature tags: AU, pregnant louis, baker harry, past emotional/psychological abuse
It all feels too easy, too good to be true. It all feels like a scene from Louis’ daydreams, the kind of life he’d always imagined he’d have when he was younger and bored at his momma’s work, sneaking around the hallways of the maternity ward until the nurses let him in to hold the babies. He’d felt so important being allowed to touch them. He’d told them stories of the lives they were going to have, houses with nice wallpaper that wasn’t peeling, yards filled with sunshine and flowers and grass that never went yellow. A hammock to nap in, cuddled up with his husband.
You can’t stay here, he tells himself, but Baby doesn’t want to listen.
Would you write some Kolivunk angst???? Like Hunk being suuper scared of Kolivan not returning from a mission, or getting captured but the galra. But then the exact opposite happens, and Hunk is taken, and Kolivan moves earth and sky to get him back...
Not quite what you asked for, but close enough? This is from an au I’ve been tossing around for ages in which Hunk and Kolivan are stranded on an uninhabited planet together, and no one knows that they’re there and their pod was destroyed, so they have little to no hope for contacting anyone.
Kolivan dodged clumsily to the left, only just avoiding another swipe from the beast’s whip-like tail. He stumbled, almost losing his balance, and clutched his arm where the creature had sliced its claws through his flesh.
Neurotoxins, he thought, clenching his teeth in frustration. Of course.
Usually, he’d be able to handle such a beast on his own easily, but he’d left his knife with the yellow paladin so he could skin their dinner and the beast was standing directly in front of where it’d knocked his sword out of his hand.
He studied the beast across from him, looking for some kind of weakness he could exploit before he lost control of his body and became its dinner. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to the yellow paladin if he wasn’t there to protect him.
The Blade could go on without Kolivan. He wasn’t sure if Voltron could recover from losing Hunk.
Fandom: Marvel Ship: Peter Parker x Reader
Warnings: Nerves, Kissing A/N: Thanks to my main hoe @parkrr for the next to last line in this imagine; go check out her blog and imagines and give her a follow!! Part OnePart TwoPart Three
The weekend had passed, and Peter didn’t hear from you. He asked Ned and Michelle if you had reached out to them, but it seemed like you had fallen off the face of the earth. Your group chat remained silent.
Peter was worried. The two of you would always text non-stop during any part of the week, and for no response from you after he had practically poured his heart out to you— well, that was a bit concerning in Peter’s eyes.
“(Y/N) probably doesn’t like me,” he sighed as he walked to first period with Ned by his side, keeping an eye out for your face in the crowd of many students. He didn’t see you, and he dropped his gaze down to the ground.
“Oh, come on, Peter,” Ned said, lifting an arm to smack his friend on the shoulder lightly. “People need time to think about these kind of things.”
“Three days is enough time to think,” Peter complained, walking into the classroom with Ned. “I need to know if I screwed this up or not. I didn’t think I would actually be ignore-”
“Peter,” his head turned towards the familiar voice, and he gasped when he saw you standing by your usual seat.
“(Y/N),” he murmured in response, and he could feel Ned staring between you two with wide eyes. “Uh-”
“Can we talk?” You asked, your expression laced with hopefulness. Your eyebrows were raised on your forehead and you bit your lip, waiting for him to reply.
“Yeah, yes, of course!” Peter stumbled over his words, and took a step backwards to walk back out of the classroom when the teacher stood up.
“Alright, class. Take your seats, it’s time to begin,” she said, and Peter looked at her with wide eyes. She didn’t notice.
“Uh,” you stuttered, looking just as panicked as Peter was. “Later?”
“Yeah,” he replied, nodding quickly. Ned snickered under his breath at both of your expressions and took his seat as you and Peter did the same.
Peter fidgeted nervously as the class went on, taking quick glances towards you whenever he got the chance. Unbeknownst to him, you were doing the same. His gaze switched between the clock and the front of the room numerous times throughout the class, counting down the seconds until the bell would ring, until he could talk to you.
His mind raced, not being able to pay attention to anything the teacher was saying or writing on the board. You must have been happy with what Peter was trying to tell you by the songs he chose, considering you didn’t slap him as soon as you had seen him. You didn’t run away, or look at him with disgust.
If anything, you looked happy. Nervous too, but happy. That had to mean something.
His positive thinking was interrupted by the class phone ringing.
“Hello?” He heard the teacher say quietly when she picked it up, and he saw her eyes turn towards him. He stiffened in his chair immediately, feigning alertness. “Peter, you’re wanted in the office.”
He groaned internally as he felt his eyes on you. He took a look at the clock to see only a few minutes left in class, and he bit his lip, anxious to get back in time to talk to you. He stood from his chair and took a step when his teacher spoke again.
“Take your bag with you. Class is almost over, anyways.”
Peter breathed deeply through his nose, picking his bag up from the ground and slinging it over his shoulder. He didn’t glance towards you as he walked towards the door, but he did send his teacher a glare that she didn’t see as he left the room.
He sighed and grew more annoyed when he arrived at the office to only receive a letter for his aunt, and he was sure it was simply about the next baking fair that she insisted on participating in every year. He walked quickly back to class, although the bell had already rung and students were filing into the hallways.
When he arrived, the room was already filling up with the class due after his. Peter groaned, audibly this time, looking around for you. He couldn’t find you.
The rest of the day went on, and Peter couldn’t seem to catch even a glimpse of you. He yearned to go to your classes instead of his, but he couldn’t afford to miss anymore class time this year.
When it reached lunchtime, he nearly sprinted to the cafeteria. This was one place he knew you’d be. The two of you would have enough time to talk now. His head darted in every direction after he crashed through the cafeteria doors, breathing heavily and his impatience bursting out of him.
You weren’t at your usual table, and he didn’t see you at any other one. He didn’t see you in the lunch line, or even walking around the cafeteria. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Peter muttered, a defeated stance overcoming his body.
He didn’t know why the world was making this so hard on h-
“Peter,” the relieved voice spoke from behind him, and he whipped around when he felt a hand touch his shoulder softly. He smiled when he saw you standing there, although his impatience quickly transformed to nerves.
“(Y/N),” was the only think he could think to say, and he saw your mouth twitch into a smile slightly. “We, uh, do you want, uh, to, um-”
You stopped his stammering, and his cheeks grew red at the clear amusement on your face. “Do you want to go talk, somewhere, alone?”
He only managed a nod before following you as you walked to who knows where. He swallowed nervously, walking through the halls and into a random classroom behind you. Only he noticed that it wasn’t a random classroom. It was the same one that he had taken you into three days ago to give you the mixtape.
He wondered if you had done this on purpose.
“So I listened to the songs,” you began, breaking him out of his astray thoughts, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach.
“Mhm,” he hummed, voice cracking, and he cleared his throat immediately. He felt the embarrassment creep back in.
You bit your lip, and he clenched his jaw. The anticipation was nearly killing him. He thought he would drop dead at any moment if you didn’t just give him an answer.
“And, uh,” you continued, looking down at your feet. Peter stared at you, waiting and waiting and waiting. And then you looked back up at him, a determined expression on your face, yet you looked so fragile as you said, “I’m in love with you, too.”
His heart, instead of dropping again, just stopped. He knew it did. He couldn’t feel anything around him, his body going numb, so it had to have stopped. He didn’t know what he was expecting, and he figured that that would have to be an option of what you were about to say, but still.
He stood there, silent, looking at you with wide eyes.
“Peter?” You said softly as you took in his stricken expression, and you laughed nervously. “I didn’t read this wrong, did I?”
You looked so vulnerable in that moment, and Peter forced himself to operate properly. “No, no!” He burst out, taking a step towards you, and he saw you jump slightly. “I, uh, you didn’t read it wrong.”
You waited for him to say more, but he simply looked at you, gaze fond. You loved him, he thought. He couldn’t quite believe it. He always imagined this moment in his mind, but he couldn’t remember any past scenarios he had thought up about how this would go. He could only focus on right now, with you standing in front of him with anticipating eyes, and a smile growing on his face.
“I love you, (Y/N),” he said, and you began to smile too, for hearing him say it out loud made it all the more special. “Even though you already knew that.”
You both laughed in sync, and the moment was so precious that neither of you wanted to move, in fear it would be disrupted. But you still spoke, and you quirked your eyebrows lightly when you said, “Uh, what now?”
Peter let out a giggle, and his eyes widened at the fact that he could, in fact, giggle. Your eyes widened too before you burst into laughter, folding in half with your hand on your knees as you squeezed your eyes closed and laughed as hard as Peter was sure he had ever seen you laugh.
“(Y/N),” he murmured, looking at you with admiration as you laughed so joyously in front of him. A small smile graced his face, barely there, as he took a few steps towards you and bent down to take your hand in his, pulling you up from your crouched position.
You still laughed as you opened your eyes to look into his, but you grew more subdued as the fondness on his face became more prominent. “(Y/N),” he repeated, just as soft, and your laughing turned into smiling.
“Yeah?” You whispered, and you weren’t sure when his face got so close to yours, but you didn’t question it.
He smiled so adoringly at you before he leaned in the littlest bit closer, noses grazing against each other lightly. “I want to be in a relationship with you,” he whispered back, and you only responded with pushing your lips together.
He moved his hands to your cheeks, pulling you closer to him, and your feet stumbled forward. You caught yourself on his waist, and you gripped his Midtown School sweatshirt in your hands, all the while his lips still locked with yours.
Peter pulled back to grin, and he knew your answer from the kiss and the grin you were giving him back. And he was fine if he didn’t have the words, because he had always been able to read you.
“But my mixtape was fire though, right?”
And again, the loud laugh you let out gave him his answer.
********************* Ahhh we’ve finally made it. This one was a bitch to write so I hope you guys like it, and please let me know what you think!! Requests are open :)
Uhhhhh so I might be forced to ask for dramionarry for the 'what they're doing" prompts! <3
*clapping* (thank you for letting me steal that prompt! this is so fun!)
If you were standing outside of 12 Grimmauld Place right now, and could somehow know that you were standing outside of 12 Grimmauld Place and somehow hear what was going on, you’d probably be glad you aren’t the neighbors to this odd townhouse.
Inside is a great deal of shouting going on. If you were a neighbor and could hear the shouting, and didn’t really know the occupants of 12 Grimmauld Place, you may be concerned. If you did know the occupants and could hear what was going on, you’d probably roll your eyes and walk away.
Draco and Hermione had started it. Harry joined in because he was trying to get between them and figure out what was going on. (That never worked - they just turned on him instead.) As nobody was using wands, or even trying, Harry figures it must not be a fight of consequence so he walks away, deciding to let them hash it out.
Apparently nothing’s actually wrong at all. Sometimes Draco and Hermione just get so riled up that they start shouting at each other.
I’m so happy Lili is sharing her poetry with us, because she’s a wonderful writer and her words are absolutely beautiful. She has clearly been feeling very happy and very loved for one reason or another and, naturally, that’s amazing for us to see as a fandom who care so much about her.
However, please try not to read too much into her poems and most definitely never address her directly with what you assume she must be writing about.
As a poet myself, it is one of my biggest fears that people will over-analyse my words and look for a meaning that I feel belongs only to me. And Lili has clearly expressed these fears, too. I, personally, don’t believe poetry is written to be picked apart and analysed.
Just a general thought, as I completely understand how daunting it can be, let alone when you have such a huge audience as Lili does. Again, I’m so happy she feels she can now start to share something as raw and personal as a poem with all of us & I really hope she feels she can continue to do so 💖
In 2013, my boss’s wife got an email. It went something like this:
Dearest *** ******,
You husband told me not to write to you, but I decided I must. It is unfortunate what will happen to you, and I feel I have to say something to you in advance. ****** and I are in love, and he is going to leave you to be with me. He has kept the affair from you a secret, and he has kept it a secret from the other people in the military, but it will come out soon. Please be strong, and know that I do not wish you any ill will.
At this point, I had been an Army officer for about 10 years. My boss was a general, and I was his speechwriter. His wife forwarded this email to my account, so it fell on me to confront him with the news.