#fanfiction snippet

[fanfic-forever]

How (thanks to Gabriel) Dean and Castiel (accidentally) raised each other (and Sam).

By Vee (Vera_DragonMuse) on Ao3

[dysfunctional-doodle]

Yep, these boys have so much trauma.

I finally updated In Nightmares, read the latest chapter here with this link :)

This is basically a 2003 TMNT fanfic that is the 2012 episode Fungus Humungous rewritten but with more angst because I must write my hyperfixation with angst only.

Sorry for all the delays, I’m just so freaking busy right now.

[wickjump]

my motivation to do whumptober died the second i put finger to keyboard so im just bullshitting my way through writing right now. anyway yeah cross is dead unless i get too sad at my own writing

[frostyblustar]

3.3k words into a oneshot I started writing a few days ago

The Percico fans will be eating good soon

[jassymay]

EVAN

Buck settles with a bottle of water on his balcony, thinking about the coffee not- date with Tommy, watching the stars begin to show in the twilight sky. He knows it’s too soon, but he really wants to spend more time with Tommy – a lot more time, Tommy was a lot of fun, he could joke with Buck without leaving him feeling hurt or belittled, Tommy looked at Buck as if he was a precious treasure that he only had a once in a lifetime chance to see, and needed to absorb every detail of Buck, commit him to memory.

Buck normally hated his given name, it brought up too many bad memories, when his parents called him Evan it was always sharp - like a child that needed to be corrected, he couldn’t wait to lose the name and become BUCK, cut the final ties with his old family. He had a new family now – the 118 firehouse he had a new brother, Eddie, (with Eddie came Christopher) and a new sister Hen, Hen brought her wife Karen and their son Denny into the family, Bobby, he had a dad, not a father but a proper DAD, one who accepted everything about him, even his boyfriend, as long as his son was happy and his new boyfriend was good to him –Bobby had already said Tommy was good people - Bobby cared. Bobby also brought another brother and sister, May and Harry, May told him that Athena brought two kids into their family and Bobby brought one, May saw him as a brother, and a mom, MOM- Athena was a great stepmom she would listen to him, and gave the best Mom-Hugs ever, Buck could count on one hand how often Bobby called him Evan, and each time had been deserved –

Intended to get his attention and focus.

But Tommy, ohh Tommy, he loved when Tommy called him Evan, Evan, so soft almost like a caress, like a love name, Baby, Babe, Sweetheart, Honey, And now Evan.

Buck would need to talk to Bobby, ask him not to call him Evan any more, that was Tommy’s name for him now.

[l0v3-qu4rtz]

Sneak Peek Of "Cat and Mouse"

You've been chasing Spencer for months, and finally catch him.

Warnings that only apply to this snippet: cursing, violence, romantic (?) angst, UNSUB REID !!!!

A/N: Hey yall :3 this is a snippet of the middle-ish of the fanfic I've been working on for the past month. I've been losing some motivation so i wanted to show (to who cares) this snippet and get some reactions or feedback. Please be nice I'm sensitive :(

...With one swift swipe, you bring your gun up and pistol whip him. He grunts in pain as the butt of your gun makes contact with his forehead and he stumbles backward. You quickly back up more and aim your gun back at him. Spencer lays his hand on the wound, blood trickling down and filling his palm. Even with a gash in his head, he still looks up at you with a mischievous smirk. 

“You could've asked nicely if you wanted to hit me, darling” He wipes away the blood and puts his hands in the air again. His cockness and nonchalant behavior only makes you more pissed off.

“The only reason I haven't killed you is because I wanna be able to watch as you age in prison and become a sad shell of a person.” You spit, hoping to crack his pride even just a little bit.

Yet, somehow all your threats only succeed to make him even more cocky. He chuckles for the millionth time. “Ah, yes...” He begins, his tone sprinkled with fondness. “The classic "watch your enemy rot in prison" tactics.” He takes a sharp breath in through his teeth. “It's not exactly original but i'll give you points for effort” He shrugs as he mocks all your attempts to break his image.

“You're a bitch” You spit through gritted teeth as a weak attempt to break him down as much as you possibly can. 

He only laughs at your poor attempt, not in the slightest deterred by your repeated jabs. “Such harsh language, lovely” He takes a step forward, frankly you're amazed how determined he is to get so close to you. After pushing him away countless times, he still yearns to be close to you. You find this slightly enduring but you quickly push that feeling away. “But let me ask you something” He begins, never looking away from your eyes. ”Why do you keep pushing your love for me to the side ?” If you didn't know any better, you would've guessed he was hurt. 

You scoff slightly, backing away again “I'm not in love with you” You clarify plainly.

Spencer continues to get closer to you, you're like a magnet to him. A drug he has to have on hand at all times. “Oh yea ?” He responds sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at your denial. “Deny, deny, deny it all you want” He says as if it's some matra, or a sick lullaby. “But actions speak louder than words.” He says lowly, his signature smirk falling off his face. His body is now close to yours, he lightly rests his hands on your hips and his fingers hide a spot in your pant belt hoops.``Your body language, your flushed ears, the way your breath hitches as I get close” He reads you like a book before reaching up and tilting your chin up with his pointer finger. “Admit it, You're already mine”...

Please leave feedback or reblog 🩷

[creepiecreator]

I was damn near asleep when my brain cursed me with this silverusso snippet

"If Terry was the snake, forever tempting humanity to sin, to endulge in their truest dark desires, Then Daniel-who was once Eve. Innocent and oh so naive, was now the apple. Sweet and beautiful, flesh tainted with sin, mine consumed by knowledge never meant for mere mortals. Both of them cursed to remain side by side for all of eternity, standing together in defiance of man, government and god"

[lets-try-some-writing]

Time Locked: Snippet #1

Did you lot think I only had one WIP? Nah, I got more. And again, its shipping angst. Well its not nearly as bad as the other, and this one has a happier ending, but nonetheless, its a kinda sorta angsty thing.

Enjoy. Ratchet has been the muse as of late and I have no intention of stopping it.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Arrogance was his downfall. He saw himself as above his fellows. He thought nothing could stop him. For vorns he studied, dragging himself from the bottom rungs of society up to the lofty position of CMO. He was on top of the world, known around the planet and respected for his unparalleled skill in medicine. He hardly ever lost a patient, and when he did, it was because of the incompetence of others and a lack of additional servos.

He had no doubts about his abilities. Why would he? 

Of course his fellows were not fond of him, but what did their opinions matter? His achievements spoke for themselves. He needed no aid, nor did he need to adhere to their thoughts on the happenings in his hospitals. He was the greatest Doctor on the planet, and he had his rank to prove it. Even the Quintessons acknowledged his skill, to which Ratchet always tended to scoff.

He knew he was the best in his field. He had all but killed himself in an effort to study to reach his place. Forging friendships was useless, a waste of time. Being delicate and soft with patients was ridiculous. He had better things to do, more cases to look over. Patience was not something he could afford, and pride kept him firmly above the criticism thrown his way. He was young, but he was no fool. He knew his worth and he would flaunt it. He had long ago earned the right to be a little arrogant after all the work he put in.

When the Council called him to assist in what they called ‘Project Regen’, Ratchet had no concerns. They were testing a new type of portal and wanted him there to scan the unlucky fool being sent through. He got in his gear, stood behind the protective glass, and waited for the project to activate. 

Something went wrong with the controls and the portal wasn’t activating. The original tester stepped away to figure out what was wrong and Ratchet sighed. He had better things to do than stand around. There was work to be done. Thus, he didn’t think twice about stepping out from his protective vantage point so that he could march across the lab and leave.

That was the biggest mistake of his entire functioning.

Just as he stepped into the open, the portal bloomed to life. The stabilizers promptly failed, and Ratchet, along with a few assorted items, were dragged into the portal. He only had time to scream before his world began a mess of color and the portal exploded around him. Darkness surrounded him, and within that void, he heard a chorus of voices speak in perfect synchronization.

“You who sit yourself upon your throne of pride, the will of the world condemns you.”

The voice echoed all around him, digging into his very core like frigid ice. He wanted to scream as invisible blades cut into him, marking his very essence with a brand he instinctively sensed as it burned itself into place.

“There is a part you still must play, but no longer shall you wander freely. Arrogance has corrupted your spark and disdain for your fellow children of Primus has broken your purity.”

Chains dug into him, binding him on a fundamental level in ways he failed to comprehend. 

“No longer shall this world be yours to command. Only those who seek you shall find your domain. Time shall be your tormentor and eventually, your savior.”

Ratchet tried to cry out, but as the voice deafened and dug into him, he was met with blinding light instead of any sort of relief. When he came to himself again, he was within the ruins of a devastated building, long since burned to ash. 

“What in the Allspark…” He wheezed as he stood. It took a moment, but it was clear he was within the remains of the facility. Distortion in the portal evidently caused some sort of long scale warp, perhaps redirecting him and leaving him in the void for a time. He was no expert on portals and their workings, but that was the most logical assumption he could come to. He was going to sue the Council to the pits and back for this mess. 

Something had gone wrong, and now left in the middle of nowhere, he needed to get back to civilization and make sure everything was as he left it. The facility had been located about a cycle out from Iacon, a safe distance from any civilians who could be caught up in a blast if things went south. It wouldn’t be a far walk. Ratchet had endured worse coming out of Polyhex and traversing the wilds during the early cycles of the Quintessons occupation of Cybertron. 

He wrote off the voice that spoke to him in the void as he gathered his bearings, and marched toward the edge of the burned remains of the facility. Most of the structure had already fallen to pieces, with only a few pillars and pieces of wall jutting out from where nature had already begun its reclamation. Ratchet cursed as he noted at least a vorn’s worth of crystal growth from the sprouting spires. The Council was never going to hear the end of this. He wouldn’t let them walk off scott free after such a horrific accident. Being absent from his position for a whole vorn had likely had him written off as dead. 

“Those absolute fraggers! I better receive the best compensation the planet has to offer after all this!” He growled as he quickened his stride, moving without regard for everything else as he contemplated how to get back at the Council. However, the closer he came to the edge of the fallout zone, the heavier his limbs began to feel. He tried to write it off, but every single step grew harder to handle. His vision began to falter, and before he knew it, just as he reached the edge of where the last crystal had begun to grow, he fell to his knees in unnatural exhaustion. 

“This… isn’t right…” He managed to choke out as he looked down at his shaking servos through blurred optics. His servos never shook. Why was he shaking? Everything felt so fuzzy, his limbs so heavy they were impossible to ignore. He could only withstand it for a moment longer before he fell face down on the ground, recharge pulling at his very spark.

Darkness again claimed him, and in what felt like a mere nanoklik, he found himself again back in the center of the ruins, surrounded by crystals and other flora that had grown an exceptional amount. Panic grew within him as he frantically tried to access his comms only to be met with static. His internal chronometer was a mess of ever changing numbers and all of his system alerts were just a string of errors. Whatever the portal did was far worse than he anticipated. 

He got up and tried to run out of the ruins once more, but again the exhaustion forced him to fall and recharge consumed him. He woke again in the center of the ruins, once more finding the flora around him to have grown dramatically larger and more prolific. It had to be a dream, a horrible and fragged up dream. And yet as he looked up at the sky, desperate for some sort of reference for time, he could only shake in pure shock.

Luna 1 had turned three degrees, and Luna 2 was already through its fifth rotation. Three vorns, it had been three whole vorns. The moons did not lie in that regard and Ratchet was sure his optics weren’t lying. He grew up in the middle of nowhere, he knew how to tell time from the moons. Somehow, be it due to the portal or whatever that voice was, Ratchet was stuck within the ruins.

He tried again and again to leave the ruins. Every attempt ended in failure. But through his efforts, he learned the rules of his newfound confinement. 

He could not step beyond the bounds of the farthest crystal spire without being pulled into the void that was recharge. He tested the limits, edging closer to the border and calculating how long it took him until he fell through marks on his armor. Those marks always vanished when he woke, along with any other injuries he obtained during his tests. At one point, he stabbed himself with a piece of the nearest crystal spire just to confirm his theories. When recharge took him, he awoke good as new once more.

He attempted calling for aid several times, but nothing he did proved successful. His internal systems were totally useless. All he had was his medical coding and the basics needed to keep going. Anything that gave him range was offline, and when he tried to get attention from anyone by building a haphazard SOS sign, he found out about yet another rule regarding his situation.

He spent the whole cycle building his sign, hopeful that all would go well now that he knew he could not leave without causing time to pass around him. He was wrong. As soon as darkness set in, that same pull that overcame him when he went too close to the border dragged him into recharge. And just like every time he went to the border, when he woke, the moons had turned and another vorn had passed. His sign was destroyed by time and plant life. He could not escape, nor did he find himself able to live out more than a full cycle without the void recalling him.

The words that he heard played in his mind more frequently as his surroundings changed and he remained all but completely static. He only had a single cycle each vorn to do what he could, and so he used that singular cycle to build what he hoped would one day become something permanent enough to aid him. He did his best with what limited time he had to guide the crystal spires so that a few would grow into more platformed shapes, giving him a decent vantage point from which to observe the cities in the distance. His SOS sign had proved fruitless, and while he tried to write it off as a byproduct of his location, in the end he couldn’t help but partially blame his fate on the words spoken to him when the portal consumed him.

His domain could only be found by those who sought him out. He wanted to curse as the words spoken to him became more and more apparent as being true in some form. He caught sight of shuttles flying over his garden more than once, but even when he finally guided the plants around him to grow into a vaguely organized shape to hopefully draw attention to his situation, not a spark paused to come see what was happening. 

 Perhaps due to the phenomenon that kept him bound to his location, a garden had flourished in his prison. Spires rose high into the sky, wiry vines pulsing with energon crawled along them, solarium bushes with leaves reaching up toward the sky like blooming stars, and so much more all grew around him. Most notable, a techtite tree grew around where Ratchet always woke up. Its roots ran deep and developed in an almost protective manner around Ratchet’s resting place, shielding him from wind and rain with mighty branches and long hanging branches that glowed when the skies grew dark.

He was no gardener, but by Primus he threw everything he had into trying to learn if only so that someone, anyone, would come to save him from his living torment. He could see the cities growing, he could see the world changing, and yet he was locked in his little pocket. He could not leave, nor could he age significantly. He had his garden, his anger, and enough determination to burn a world to keep him company. Despite the growth all around him, no creatures wandered his garden. He was alone.

Somehow, that was more frightening and spark breaking than the idea of dying.

He did everything to try and find a way out, but the borders never grew and he never had nearly enough time to build anything of use. Time was his enemy and his jailer. And as the world passed him by, he could only wait beneath the cover of his garden and pray that someone would come to get him out since obviously, he was unable to do so himself.

He waited.

And waited.

Vorns were counted with marks on the crystal spires, records being kept in the only way he knew how as he bitterly endured his torment. A few passed by his gardens, some drawing near enough to see him before moving on in a hurry. Nothing was ever enough to free him from his prison. All he had was himself, his garden, and his thoughts.

There was no escape, and as much as it hurt him to accept that, it was the truth. He was trapped, and the most he could hope for was to hear another mech’s voice. If Ratchet, the best doctor on Cybertron, was unable to find a way out of his situation, Primus knew if any other could. His expectations were lowered, and with every vorn that passed, he stopped wishing for freedom and more so for someone to talk to. He wanted to know about the world and hear about the changes outside.

He just wanted to hear the voice of another…

Eventually, after what he counted to be six hundred and seventy two waking cycles trapped in his prison, someone finally found his domain. The sheer joy he felt was beyond description when a mech of red and blue curiously wandered his garden.

━━━━━

“Hello? Is this your property? If I have intruded, I apologize.” Ratchet stood up from where he was seated below his techtite tree. His optics were wide and coolant threatened to gather there before he scrubbed his face and schooled himself. There was a real mech in front of him, an actual person.

“Your garden is quite lovely. You take excellent care of it.” The mech, a tall red and blue civilian, smiled slightly awkwardly as he stepped further into the garden. Ratchet reset his audials and optics a few times before he smiled and gestured for the mech to continue forward.

“Thank you. I have had little else to occupy myself with over the vorns. My domain… requires constant attention.” Ratchet settled on commenting as the mech drew near enough that he stood underneath the tree alongside Ratchet. The mech’s optics were wide, but not overly so as he curiously examined the space. Ratchet all but shook with excitement as he tried to keep himself in line long enough to not scare the mech off.

He had so many questions, so much he wished to know. How much had the world changed in his absence? Surely he had long been written off as dead, but he had to have left a legacy.

“My designation is Ratchet, formerly one of the greatest Doctors on Cybertron. I received my education in Iacon central and my caste designation is MID-MEDICAL-298.” Ratchet blurted out as he held out his servo in what he hoped was a friendly manner. He never was good with socializing, and while he tried to smile, he most likely held a slightly less aggressive frown than usual. 

“I am Orion Pax of Iacon, a data clerk in the Hall of Records and serving under Alpha Trion. Your caste designation is… unique.” Orion Pax’s helm tilted ever so slightly and his finials twitched as he shook Ratchet’s servo. An archivist was in Ratchet’s garden. There could have been no better mech to give him information.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve left this place. You are the first mech who I have spoken to in vorns.” Ratchet quipped somewhat sharply before internally kicking himself. He needed this mech, he couldn’t afford to drive him off now. 

“That would explain your attitude.” Pax noted as if he were observing the weather. Ratchet frowned at the tone but did not comment as he settled down on the ground against the trunk of the tree, gesturing for Orion to do the same. 

“Good that you understand. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to know about all that has happened within the last few dozen vorns back in Iacon. A data clerk would have access to such information, am I correct?” Ratchet tried to hide the desperation in his tone, but he was unsure if he succeeded. Orion observed him in silence for a long klik before slowly settling down onto the ground beside him, the archivist’s long legs brought up close to his chassis in order to not get caught on the roots.

“You are not particularly polite, but I will adhere to your request. The garden is pleasant enough.” Ratchet scoffed as Orion’s words reached him. Data caste mechs were usually soft creatures. But it seemed this one had some spine. Out of all the things that had likely changed, Ratchet could find it within himself to be fond of this particular shift in trends.

“There is plenty to cover, but luckily for the both of us, today is my cycle off.” A certain light entered Orion’s optics as he dove into the most recent changes in Iacon. Most of it was so strange that Ratchet had no idea what was being said. Cultural differences he no longer knew and government officials he was totally unaware of were apparently huge players in the new world. Still, he listened with rapt attention as Orion spoke and quickly found himself wrapped in the mech’s voice.

Orion, despite the hint of snark that laced his tone off and on, had a pleasant voice. It was almost too easy to lose track of time. It was only as shadows began to creep that Ratchet interrupted the archivist to put forward what he hoped did not sound too much like a desperate plea.

“My time here is almost up. However, I wish to know more. If you have the time, please, come here again on this cycle one vorn from now. That is the only time I will be able to interact with you as I am now.” Ratchet’s voice took on a pleading undertone despite his best efforts. The archivist looked at him strangely but ultimately nodded as he stood. Ratchet sagged in relief as Orion flipped open some sort of device on his forearm and imputed what Ratchet hoped was a reminder.

“Odd as you are, I have enjoyed this interaction. I shall see you next vorn Ratchet. Perhaps you will elaborate more on your inability to converse at other times during our next meeting.” As it was, Ratchet was willing to give an arm and a leg for Orion to come back to speak to him. He nodded and bid Orion farewell quietly as he watched the light of the nearest star fade. Exhaustion that he knew all too well began to overcome his will, but as it did, he found himself hopeful.

Someone had found him in his prison. If Orion kept his promise, then Ratchet would at least have no information to mull over in his ever static environment.

[smolgaycat]

i like living on the edge: i like writing fanfiction in public

😎😎😎

[amiserableseriesofevents]

A snippet from chapter three of Love at second sight ("https://archiveofourown.org/works/55253749/chapters/140155690")

I was hoping to upload it sooner but I've had to work and now I'm going away for the weekend, so the snippet will have to make do!

Yes, Gale is unhinged. That's why we love him 🥰

[bolognamayhem117]

mmm hand... And a snippet of some fanfic that will never see the light of day in its entirety.

Rorik's hands were square in their shapes. The knuckles scarred until the skin remained thick and rough. There were off-angle fingers from many breaks. Under the flesh were protuberances of bone that betrayed how many times he'd fractured his dominant hand as he gripped his sword and struck a shield or armor rather than meat and bone. Astarion could feel every callous like a knot under the skin of Rorik's leathery palm. Their textures were jagged and would pull runs in fine silk.

Such a gnarled paw might've repelled Astarion a month ago. His always empty guts used to twist at the touch of a victim with hands like these. Those nights and those marks very much felt as though they'd pulled vicious runs in the silk of his skin.

Rorik was, as per fucking usual, the one outlier. Terrible hands on him but they squeezed his fingers carefully, they were warm, and their textures were becoming nuanced to Astarion's touch. He was starting to think, perhaps, if you queued up ten men of the sword, whose hands were all terrible, he could pick out Rorik's while blindfolded.

[fanfic-forever]

A Different Kind of Monster by roadtonowhere (lastoryx) on Ao3

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel (Supernatural)

[dysfunctional-doodle]

Every Donatello is a little bit unhinged, it’s normal.

A snippet from the latest chapter of Too Many Turtles! In which there’s someone unknown playing their 5D chess games and apparently only 03 Don is concerned about this.

[glamlet69]

I grant unto the people a Snippet!

I'm currently writing a little ficlet about the Djinn episode in season 2 of Supernatural. I was fascinated by Sam and Dean's heart-to-heart at the end and wanted to expand on it, and generally just use it as a writing exercise. I hope you all enjoy!

Just a warning, this is a sad one :)

----------------------------------

Dean forced himself to clear his throat again, forced out the words, “You were such a wussy.” A lame attempt to diffuse the situation, but somehow it worked.

Sam choked out a laugh, and it helped Dean shove down the memories again so that they wouldn’t overtake him completely.

“So we didn’t get along then, huh?”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “No, we didn’t.” He couldn’t bear to say any more than that. Couldn’t bring himself to voice the terrible thoughts that were bouncing through his head. You would have been happier without me. I couldn’t live without you. 

[frostyblustar]

Soo Ao3 went down yesterday-

Celebrating it being back up with...

Chapter 2 of my Percico Assassins AU!

“I’ll be there in fifteen?” Nico nodded before realizing Percy wouldn’t be able to see that, and he was being forced to respond audibly. He would rather die on the spot, but he didn’t have any weapons on him.

“Yeah… Yeah, that’s fine.” He kept his voice low. Nico was so close to cussing the other man out for using cringe worthy nicknames on him, but he held himself back. Just in case Hazel was still around, listening from the hallway.

Percy responded, “Love you!”

He hung up as soon as he heard the word you, Nico found it overkill. How was he going to pretend to be dating Percy when he could barely tolerate speaking on the phone with him?

Read the fanfic here ^^

[entropy-mephit]

Dream of the Endless holds a rose in his fingers. Long stem with sharp thorns, fresh and crisp red petals crowning the flower. He doesn't know why te rose is in the Waking world with him. He just intended to manifest suitable outfit for his appointment, collecting appropriate details from minds of sleepers. And somehow rose is here.

But there is nothing about the centennial meetings that would warrant him bringing such a flower with him.

He considers petals for just moment more. Possibly one of his siblings is trying to play games, but there is nothing magical to the flower. As he walks towards the White Horse, he just throws rose to the side of path.

He opens the door to the inn, allowing the wave if voices and ever present stink of too many humans pass by him, ignoring everything as much as possible. The perfume so many people wear only adds to the unpleasantness of mixed smells.

He drifts in and out if the stream of daydreams, alternating with listening to the voices filling the space.

Sir Robert Galden has everything he wished for and Dream has nothing to offer. No warning can prepare the man for the loss that is already creeping on him. And his wife just another tragedy waiting to be written. Another blow that likely will soon break the man who bragged to never die. Dream doesn't want to see more ways it's going to turn into disaster.

He is glad he threw the rose away. Robert Galden would need to refuse it and Dream could never forgive such a slight. It's better that flower's fate was to be trampled, never to be seen.

Less people hurt in the process.