#find a fanfiction

[enidrad]

Does anyone know fanfiction on fanfiction.net that had Hermione given to the malfoys when she is little, and Draco goes to Hogwarts, but she can't because she is a muggle. Muggles are not allowed to learn magic in the fanfiction, but they do teach her. Also, she writes letters to him while he is away.

[kyri45]

[johnconstantinesdick]

The most popular fic in the Steel Samurai fandom had an unexplained seven year hiatus only to update at like 3 am on December 21st, 2027. The author explains that they couldn’t update fic while in prison (huh?) but now that they’re off death row (WHAT??) they’ve transcribed seven years worth of writing (Jesus Christ). The update is 130k words long. Edgeworth and Maya don’t sleep that night.

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

After some very eventful weeks of Jason’s debut as the Red Hood he takes a well deserved night off and decides to crash in one of his safe houses.

He did not count on one of the Bats finding him there.

So to keep his plans from being torpedoed entirely Jason goes with the split second decision of pretending he was held captive by the Red Hood.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

"How come there's no multi-war chess?"

Tim looked up at the entity that had been haunting him for the past few weeks now, "What does that even mean?"

"You know how chess is basically a game about two kingdoms going to war with eachother?" The being asked, his white gloves gesturing about lazily, "well wouldn't it make sense for chess competitions to make the players go into the next round with only the pieces that "survived" the last war? It would be more interesting."

Danny smirked as he watched Mr. Drakes mind whirring at all the new strategies and potential. Comforted in the knowledge that Mr. Drake wasn't going to get much paperwork done tonight, let alone have time to work on his project for the competition, Danny let himself vanish from the other boys office.

All he needed to do was keep distracting Tim from the competition and that prize was all Tuckers.

He just prayed Sam didn't find out he was doing this or that he was getting chased around by bats every other night or else she'd kill him the rest of the way

[technically-human]

THEY CANCELLED DEAD BOY DETECTIVES :(((

Guess they belong to me the fandom now

[150en]

Bdubs sweet home.

[just-french-me-up]

me lying to myself, clicking on the mark for later button on AO3 : i will be back for you baby, i will be back for you I promise

[kettlefire]

Constantine & the King

First time Constantine meets the Ghost King, he's expecting problems. In his line of work, when all the shadows in the room seem to be pulled toward a point in the room. Creating a dark portal that suddenly glowed a startling green, it's more than concerning.

However, Constantine was thrown off by the young man that stepped out of the portal. Young man could be putting it generously. The kid looked barely legal to drink.

However the kid was holding a scroll that looked thicker than his own head. A crown, ring, and cape that just screamed royalty.

Constantine did not expect the kid to greet with joy and friendliness.

It was the Ghost King. The being that held full control over that aspect of the mythical realms. His name was Danny, and Constantine found the kid's lack of professionalism a nice break.

That scroll? Every contract Constantine ever signed that used his soul as a bargianing chip.

Now, Constantine expected annoyance. If his soul was technically meant to end up in the grasp of thw King, wouldn't the kid be pissed?

After all, Constantine was certain one of those contracts was with the prior Ghost King.

Except, Danny loved it. He was all grins and laughter as he spoke about it. The kid complained about the amount of paperwork, sure. Who wouldn't?

Aside from that, Danny adored Constantine's work. His nonchalantness when it came to signing away his soul.

Danny relished in the chaos he has happening among various other entities. Praised Constantine, and thanked him for the entertainment.

Constantine realized that this Ghost King was a brat. He enjoyed the chaos and the drama as long as it hurt absolutely anyone. This kid was a little shithead.

And Constantine got a confirmation. No matter what, no matter what contracts he signed. His soul was going to end up in Danny's hands.

Constantine didn't mind that. He liked the spirit the kid had. Found a fondness for the King.

A fondness that only grew with every impromptu meeting. Every time the room grew colder, and the shadows moved and warped in the room.

Constantine grew accustomed to it. He looked forward to it.

Then it happened.

Constantine was at the Justice League Watchtower. A simple consultation, nothing too crazy. It was all going to be fine.

Until Constantine felt the shift in the room.

The temperature dropped. The shadows shifted and contorted, and a portal began to form.

Constantine waved off the other heroes concern and defense. Turning towards the forming portal, and prepared to see the kid. The kid who was easily his favorite being in the world at this point.

Except that changed once he saw the familiar being step through the portal.

Maybe step was the wrong word. Danny basically stumbled out of the green portal. Landing harshly on his knees in front of the league.

Constantine wasted no time rushing forward. Pulling the kid close to him, and taking in the sight. Looking for any sign of what was wrong.

Blood and a green substance coated the kid's closed. And Constantine noted the cape was completely missing. The kid was in tears, shaking horrible and in a state of complete hysteria.

All Constantine knew, was that he was going to make them pay.

Whoever brought this normally confident and carefree king to his knees, wasn't going to last much longer.

Those bastards will pay.

[opera-is-not-cool]

i'm sorry but i find it lowkey hilarious that in almost every modern au merthur fic, arthur's a CEO/CEO's son. i know it's not intentional, but it's so funny to think that we immediately translate prince/king of an entire kingdom to the head of a business. because they hold the same power, resources, and money. like i feel like we SELDOM make arthur a prince in a modern au. nope. give our boy a corporate office job, he'll still hold the same power over people's income and means of supporting their families. AND I EAT IT UP EVERY TIME

[soupyloopyx]

James: so, peter, tell me about yourself

Peter: ??? what do you mean? we've been friends for years

James: but i don't know you. tell me something interesting. something juicy

Peter: james, you should know this by now. i'm not as interesting as you three. i'm not a smart, intelligent person

Sirius, whispering to Remus: he's talking about me!

Peter: or someone with a sad, tragic backstory

Sirius: oh

Peter: or someone who's in love with his best friend's brother, for god's sake!

Sirius: james. what the fuck.

James: .... shit

Sirius: REGULUS? MY BABY BROTHER? AND YOU?

[justaz]

post magic reveal merlin who is so used to working in the shadows and continuing on as if he wasn’t dying the night before disappearing for a day and showing up like nothing happened until someone points out blood seeping through his clothes and merlin going “oh! whoops! lol” and arthur has a heart attack

[darylssunshine]

“Have I ever told you that I find you smoking really hot?”

That caught Daryl off guard. He blew the smoke out of his lungs in a slow and smooth motion and cocked his head over to you, brows furrowed. “Why? Not a very healthy thing to find hot.”

“Oh I know.” You snickered. “It's just… the way you hold the cigarette in between your fingers. The way your lips purse. The way you inhale so smoothly without even a cough afterwards. It's mesmerizing, if I'm being honest.”

Daryl rolled his eyes at that comment, looking forward again. “Guess that's why yer always eyein’ me while I'm on mah smoke breaks.”

“I'm always eyeing you!” You quickly corrected.

Daryl then took another long drag of his cigarette, but instead of blowing it forward, he turned his head and blew the cloud of smoke directly in your face.

Your brain faltered, almost as if your thoughts were lost in the cloud of smoke that now surrounded your head. You gazed back at Daryl, pupils wide with adoration. You didn't even care that Daryl was now chuckling as a result of your reaction.

“Can you… can you do that again?” You sheepishly asked.

He chuckled again, amused that this was getting such a jarring reaction out of you. He smirked, almost deviously. “I can do somethin’ even better.”

He took yet another drag, but looking at you directly in the eyes this time. It was purposefully as slow as he could make it, building the tension to its peak. After he was finally done breathing in, his hand suddenly grasped your chin. He pulled you into a slow and sensual kiss, while simultaneously blowing the smoke into your open mouth. The warmth from Daryl's mouth combined with the smoke that you were unconsciously breathing in was driving you up the wall, and Daryl could tell.

Daryl pulled away first, leaving your eyes closed for a second. When you opened them, you were met with a sneer plastered on his face, his eyes half-lidded and slightly looking down on you. You, on the other hand, were frazzled. After your mouth being agape for a couple seconds, you burrowed your face in the archer's chest, not being able to look him in the eyes.

Daryl's deep chuckle rumbled throughout his chest. “Ya liked tha’, sweetheart?”

You vigorously nodded against his bicep, and he brought his hand up to the back of your head to pet your hair.

“‘Kay. I'll remember tha’.”

~~~

just read @blairespandora smoking daryl post and got inspired (he's SO HOT when he smokes)

[sotwk]

Many fanfic writers and artists are just one bad day or one discouraging experience away from throwing in the towel and leaving your fandom.

If you don't want to risk this happening to a favorite creator of yours, today might be a good day to let them know how much their work means to you. :)