#snip goes the snippets

[whatlovelybones-if]

There’s a severe lack of Sebas asks, my husband deserves so much love 😤 Can you tell us how he met the MC ? What made him so interested ?

i agree, bonnie 😞 our resident wet cat journalist deserves some love and attention too <3 i’ll just give y’all a not-so-little snippet of the scene in which they met. spoiler warning since this will be present in the game:

‘this is the worst fucking day of my career,’ sebastián thought bitterly.

the clouds thunder heavily in the night. rain drops fall in tandem with the unrelenting wind which makes the trees sway surrounding the road. the whole atmosphere was miserably cold and wet.

every single bone in sebas’s body hurt like crazy. he wonders why the hell did he even try to fight off the muggers, they outnumbered him by a lot and he had multiple cuts and bruises to show for it. darkness threatens to encroach his vision but he fought it off. he knew he’d really end up dead if he let his growing fatigue overpower him.

but hope was dwindling inside him. no one was going to come looking for him. it’s not like he had many friends. the only man he even dared to call a friend had gone missing weeks ago. and now sebastian was going to end up joining him too. the only difference was that they never found henry, while they’d find his body on the side of this abandoned road.

his stomach growls and a weary sigh leaves his body. what he wouldn’t give for a warm meal right now. maybe a bowl of his mom’s homemade chicken soup.

“you’ve been working hard again, mijo,” she’d tut while running her fingers through his shaggy dark hair. “díos mio, you worry your poor mother too much.”

a broken sob threatens to leave his throat. sebas knew he made for a pathetic sight. it was his fault he ended up in this situation after all, and he could not change it no matter what.

the stab wound on the side of his stomach stings and almost makes him blackout as he tries, in vain, to keep it from bleeding out. his assailants had made sure that he couldn’t go for help, even if he tried to crawl to the nearest hospital.

this is it. this is where he dies. this is where the short life of sebastián rafael navarro ends. shivering and sobbing on the side of an abandoned road while he dreams of a warm meal and a life unfulfilled.

suddenly, the screech of a pair of tires halt his increasingly pessimistic musing. he vaguely notices the touch of a gloved hand on his neck and wrist, checking for a pulse. sebastián wonders if he’s already dead and is currently being examined by an angel. he questions himself if they can feel how faint his pulse is, how faint he feels.

sebas hears them curse, and he wonders if angels are allowed to do that. struggling to open his eyes against the onslaught of the rain, he manages to catch a glimpse of a white coat and a face which makes his breath catch in his throat. he decides that his angel theory didn’t seem so ridiculous after all.

“it’ll be okay. i’ll take care of you.”

it is the last thing he hears before he feels himself fall unconscious while the ‘angel’ hauls him up with an unnatural strength and places him on a warm leather seat.

[raikirikiri]

missing-nin kakashi who leaves the village on his own accord. he’s pushed to the edge, and despite all the anbu missions he’s taken to get himself killed, it just doesn’t work. so he leaves and becomes a mercenary and thinks he might have some luck dying that way. he thinks part of him is still loyal to konoha but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. plus the constant needling of his ex-classmates insisting their his friends when he knows he doesn’t deserve friends, he barely deserves comrades.

so he leaves. and he does the jobs he takes well and yes, he’s still hoping he dies but he’s too good at being a shinobi so he keeps living. no matter how accidental.

he has a good fortune by the start of canon time but id like to believe he lives in a cave with a ratty futon and a few shabby changes of clothes. he lives an extremely solitary life but he’s…healed. a little. he’s never forgiven himself, he probably never will, but he’s made some sort of peace with himself and his actions.

meanwhile. the akatsuki is forming. itachi, kisame, sasori, kakazu, pain, konan, zetsu, obito (still in the shadows). almost the whole crew is there, they just need to round out their numbers a little. and who better to approach than missing-nin copy ninja kakashi? pain brings it up first one rainy day in ame. obito, or madara, is meeting with pain, konan, and zetsu and pain brings up kakashi first.

obito chokes out a no, barely hanging onto his madara act. no, he denies vehemently. the mean thought enrages something in him and the thought of having to see kakashi’s beautiful ugly mug more than he already does (because yes, he may be a missing-nin but obito wouldn’t be a stalker if he couldn’t find his prey over and over again) is brain melting and heart stopping in a very very negative way.

of course pain has to ask why, madara has never had such a visceral reaction to suggestion for a recruit.

his pants around his ankles, obito has to scramble for an excuse and it’s a little more elegant than “he’s not evil enough”. obito shuts the conversation down then and there, deciding to come back to it at a later date when he can be prepared for his ex-teammate’s name to be brought up again.

for the next three years, any time they’re low on numbers, kakashi’s name comes up and obito always struggles to react normally and his answer is always some iteration of “he’s not evil enough”. so hidan comes up with the brilliant idea to force him to be evil, similar to how they forced deidara to join the akatsuki.

obito, failing to come up with counter arguments and running out of excuses, concedes. pain, during their monthly meetings where tobi is madara, is pleased. he suggests sending itachi to fetch him, since they were once anbu together and seeing a familiar face may help. obito vetoes this and decides he’ll go get kakashi himself. he’s, of course, seen how being away from the village has affected him. and while he’s entirely competent, he’s almost too competent. and doesn’t do well with surprises.

without further preamble, he kamuis into kakashi’s cave, startling him and causing him to spill his soup everywhere. now, kakashi is very much attack first, talk second at this point in his life. having been away from society for so long has allowed his hatake genes to really take over and he’s become much more uhhh instinct driven.

so once he gets over his initial shock and his initial reaction of ‘kill kill kill’, he freezes. he’s always had a sharp sense of smell but it’s on a different level now and there’s something familiar about this strange ghost man. for someone so ghoulish, he has a scent and it lights a lamp in kakashi’s subconscious.

‘i know you’ kakashi accuses, a snarl rising in his throat. this ghoul man is in his cave, his private space, he wants answers.

‘do you?’ a deep voice asks, sounding surprised and amused.

kakashi weighs his options of arguing with ghost guy or figuring out why the hell ghost guy just…appeared in his cave.

‘i’m here to take you to join the akatsuki’ ghoul man decides for him. kakashi grunts and picks up his overturn bowl.

‘no thanks’ he states, scooping some soup from the pot into his bowl.

‘it’s not an invitation’ the apparition snaps and kakashi pauses. he sniffs towards ghost guy again but he still can’t place the scent to the man.

‘can you please leave? i’m trying to eat my dinner and well…’ kakashi asks (but of course it’s more of demand), pointedly gesturing to his mask.

‘what? no. you’re coming with me,” obito growls, his eye twitching in irritation. after all these years, all his suffering, all he’s learned and how much he’s grown…bakakashi still gets under his fucking skin.

‘i don’t want to’ kakashi pouts, petulance and amusement in his tone.

‘you don’t get a choice’ obito hisses in madara’s voice. it sounds wrong and entirely too much like obito.

‘maa, what do i get out of it?’ hatake drawls, a glint in his eye that tells obito hes enjoying this far too much.

‘nothing. you get nothing except me letting you continue to live your sorry life’ obito snaps back, unable to stop the heat of annoyance racing up his spine.

‘how do you know my life is sorry?’ kakashi taunts loftily, crossing his arms and lifting his nose to the ceiling.

‘for the love of sage’ obito takes kakashi by the arm and warps them into kamui, uncaring if kakashi recognizes the jutsu or not. he just wants him to shut up. he should kill pain for making him do this. he would kill hidan but that fucker can’t fucking die.

‘hey i recognize that foot’ kakashi mutters to himself, eye squinted at the severed foot he warped into the dimension months ago. huh. that’s where the things he disappears go. interesting.

hey wait—

‘i know that look’ obito bites out, letting his facade drop. stupid fucking genius asshole.

kakashi gasps, eyes watering in disbelief. ‘don’t—don’t fucking do that. get it together already. you’re about to meet a bunch of fuckin’ s-ranked missing-nins, you can’t be crying’

obito’s voice is a little awkward this soft, but he’s sincere. he doesn’t know how or why he’s sincere, he hates kakashi. he thinks. he’s not too sure but he hasn’t been…soft…in years. but the sight of kakashi, broken and worn down, has something in him melting just a little.

‘you fucking dickhead’ kakashi croaks, shoving obito’s shoulder. ‘you fucking— fucking asshole! you were dead! you bastard, how could you not come back? how could you not tell me?’

kakashi’s voice is hard and cracking at the edges. it throws obito off entirely. his mouth opens and closes like a limp fish behind tobi’s mask, trying to find the words he should say.

after a few moments of kakashi’s hardened stare, obito finds himself feeling indignant. ‘i never thought you’d care’ he sneers. a lie.

‘you’re not that fucking good at lying still and i’m not dense. you’ve been stalking me. at least since i left the village’ kakashi accuses with a scoff.

‘i run a terrorist organization!’ obito shoots back hotly. ‘excuse me for thinking duty-driven kakashi wouldn’t take his dead sunshine-happy teammate becoming an s-rank criminal well!’ he seethes, finding he isn’t all that angry. this feels familiar.

‘oh please. i’d follow you till the end of the fucking earth’ kakashi spits before his eyes widen in shock, much like obito’s eye does. kakashi drops his full bowl of soup on the floor of kamui and covers his mouth with both hands.

obito makes a noise in the back of his throat, ‘don’t—‘ and then he’s ripping his mask off and pulling kakashi’s hands away from his face and tugging him close. lips to mask, he doesn’t care, he kisses kakashi fervently.

he tastes kakashi through the clothe of his mask, moaning at the way kakashi moans against him, the way kakashi’s fingers find themselves in obito’s hair. when they finally pull away, obito manages a please smile, cheeks bright red and pupil blown, ‘don’t follow me. walk with me.’

kakashi rolls his eyes and pulls him in for another kiss. ‘told you i knew you’ he whispers against obito’s lips, before nuzzling his face into obito’s neck, scenting him, marking him.

———

AHEM ANYWAY:

i think kakashi’s hair would be grown out, similar to how obito’s hair was during cave life with old ass madara. his already long canines would grow, and he’d be super in touch with nature. i think he’d be able to communicate with animals similar to how juugo is. basically, once away from the village and society, he becomes a lot more hatake-ish. just. kakashi growling and snarling snurfing at any akatsuki member that isn’t obito. or itachi. he’ll accept kisame eventually too, but that’s it. everyone else he does not talk to, only growls at.

[albatris]

Snippet Sunday!

it's sunday it's time for snips!!

have some Quinn being absolutely awful

“Don’t do this to me. Don’t. Quinn, please.”

Quinn shrugged and headed for the kitchen, taking their knife with them. They fetched a roll of duct tape from the cupboard and cut off a strip, before throwing their knife in the sink.

Emery continued to whine from the other room, though she was trying to keep her voice low. “There must be something I can do!”

“Sure.” Quinn wandered back in to her. “You can struggle and fight while you’re being drained. Make it fun, won’t you? Give him a thrill.”

They laid the duct tape over her mouth and smoothed it down gently, even as she twisted against them.

“Just in case you decide to take your chances yelling to the neighbours for help,” Quinn explained. “I doubt they’d reach you in time, but still. More bodies, more stress.”

Their own phone buzzed, and they pulled it out. Chase was calling. They stepped away from Emery to answer.

“Chase, darling,” they said. “How goes the stakeout?”

Emery made a series of adorable muffled noises from beyond the duct tape.

“I’ve found Alistair Thiele,” Chase said, oblivious. “He arrived back to his apartment just a couple of minutes ago. What would you like me to do?”

“Wonderful,” Quinn said. “But, as it turns out—I’ve actually found a much better victim for the feeding session. I’ll keep him in mind for later, though.”

“Oh, okay,” Chase said. “Is that all?”

“That’s all!” Quinn said. “I’ll see you later.”

They hung up the phone.

Emery was crying now; Quinn strode back over to her and wiped the tears from her cheek with their thumb.

“Aw, come on. Chin up, dear,” they said. “At least you’ll finally be doing something worthwhile with your life!”

“Mmff,” she said, which Quinn could assume roughly translated to, Now that I think about it, you’re absolutely right, Quinn. This IS a huge honour!

“I didn’t drug you, by the way,” they added as an afterthought. “You’re just terrified.”

[firenati0n]

several sentence sunday <3 :)

hello friends :) thank you to @ships-to-sail @indestructibleheart @suseagull04 @zwiazdziarka @blueeyedgrlwrites

@miss-minnelli @kiwiana-writes @rmd-writes @welcometololaland for the tags <3

I FINALLY POSTED CHAPTER ONE of the full spectrum of human emotion aka the proposal au that I've been posting snippets of for an eternity and a half. it's my first multichapter so i am Nervous but...onward and upward! YEEHAW!

here's a snip from proposal au (all snips here). yeah yeah it's nine sentences okay HERE YOU GO <3 :

Alex enters the car, fighting to hold onto the pole. There's no way he has time to stand in line at the busy artisanal tea shop Henry makes him go to—his delicate tastebuds can't stand the subpar garbage the rest of the plebeians consume. He makes a game-time decision he hopes won’t bite him in the ass in about thirty minutes, using his free hand to tap the Starbucks app and quickly place a mobile order at the one next to the office before he loses his internet connection, and is forced to instead brave the storm of harried New Yorkers wanting their fuel for the morning. He hopes it doesn’t come to that. He can't afford another mishap after last week. Once he's out of the subway station, Alex sprints first to the tea shop, dipping inside only to ask his regular barista for two of their to-go cups and lids, throwing a “Thank you!” over his shoulder at her confused face. He goes next door to Starbucks, picks up his three drinks and snacks, and quickly empties the Starbucks Earl Grey into the Fancy Schmancy Tea Shop to-go cups, fastening the lid with a snap. Alex prays for the second time that morning. Please, please, please, let the Tea Gods be merciful today in helping trick Henry's elitist taste buds.

xoxo roop

+ tags below the cut and open tag as always <3

@ninzied @priincebutt @leaves-of-laurelin @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead

@getmehighonmagic @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @orchidscript

@myheartalivewrites @dumbpeachjuice @anchoredarchangel @sparklepocalypse @anincompletelist

@wordsofhoneydew @nocoastposts @tintagel-or-cockleshells @sherryvalli @lizzie-bennetdarcy

@heysweetheart-writes @onward--upward @celeritas2997 @inexplicablymine @affectionatelyrs

@happiness-of-the-pursuit @littlemisskittentoes @14carrotghoul @cultofsappho @alasse9

@nontoxic-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @piratefalls @mikibwrites @porcelainmortal

@captainjunglegym @itsmaybitheway @tailsbeth-writes @adreamareads

@duchessdepolignaca03 @onthewaytosomewhere

[additiva]

Last line game!

I got tagged by @drivestraight 🤍 and this time I actually have something to post bc I was writing during FP2 lol. But it's going to be a brief snippet, not a line.

Who knows if it'll turn into anything.

Anyway I'm sure many of you have already done it, but I'll tag @powerful-owl @eirianerisdar @formula-fun @foggieststars @liesmyth

No pressure tho!

Snip below the cut ->

The truth is, Max finds Charles unbelievably annoying.

He's chaotic and unpredictable. He's staring at Max across the club one moment, and in the next, seems to have forgotten he exists.

He swaps clothes with people at random, whipping off his faded Gucci t-shirt in the middle of the dance floor, to trade it for some girl's crop top, laughing and crowding close to her to block the view of her breasts while they make the exchange.

When he disappears to the bathroom, Max never knows whether he'll reappear with glitter on his eyelids, or white powder on his nose.

He never pays for his own drinks, but he never gets too drunk. He never passes out or gets sick; always sharp: sharp eyes, sharp tongue.

He flirts with every person in the room, and probably sleeps with them too.

He sucks and tongues obscenely at a lollipop all night, making sure Max is watching as he hollows his cheeks and lets his eyes flutter shut, then he leaves with someone else.

He ignores Max completely, then goes home with him.

Not always.

But sometimes.

He's always gone when Max wakes up; nothing left behind, nothing missing.

He refuses to stay the night, but refuses to let Max forget him. And he refuses to let Max know anything about him.

[diazsdimples]

Several Sentence Sunday

Hi, I'm back with a (large) snippet of Frostpunk AU, this one set before the last one because I cannot write chronologically it seems. Also I've had beans for the smut at the end of this so who knows, the next snip might be some seggs!

The coals lying in the firepit in the middle of the cabin are still warm, indicating another scouting team had been here not too long ago. Tommy starts up the fire as Eli gives Edmundo a once over, and then helps Buck to release Christopher from his burrow in Buck’s clothes. Both Edmundo and Christopher’s temperatures are up a couple of degrees, giving Buck hope that they might make it back in time. Edmundo’s heart is still racing, and his breathing is still shallow. Buck watches as Eli’s face goes tight when he reads the amount of oxygen in Edmundo’s blood, and he pulls Bobby aside for a hushed conversation. “10 bucks says the kid makes it, but the dad doesn’t,” Sal says as he settles himself between Buck and Tommy on the floor. Immediately, Buck’s blood boils. That’s someone’s life Sal’s talking about, betting on an outcome that would make Christopher an orphan (Buck assumes, he has no idea what happened to the boy’s mother) and would turn the kid’s life upside down. Sal’s usually a decent enough guy but sometimes, he can be a total prick. “Twenty says they make it back to the city and both survive,” Buck replies fiercely. “They’re going to make it. They’ve got to.” “Buck, man, don’t get too attached,” Tommy says placatingly, resting his hand on Buck’s shoulder. “We can’t save everyone.” Buck shrugs it off, annoyed. “I’m not getting attached,” he insists, though as the words leave his mouth, he knows they’re not entirely true. He’s spent four hours holding this kid close to him, sharing his warmth and energy so the boy might survive. It’s hard not to feel some kind of responsibility towards him. Not helped by the fact that as he walked behind Tommy, Eli, and the stretcher, he couldn’t help but catalogue Edmundo’s features, too. The way his eyelashes stood out against his cheeks, long and brown against the olive of his skin. The way his lips were slightly parted as he breathed, full and pink and just a little bit chapped from the wind. The way the wind would rustle through his hair, making it fluffy and pillow-like, with the occasional wavy strand falling over his forehead. Buck’s not blind, he can appreciate beauty when he sees it, but there’s something more to Edmundo. Something in the way he waited to know his son was safe before he let himself succumb to the exhaustion, as though he valued his son’s life more than his own. Or perhaps the way he’d sought out Buck’s hand, clinging to him the way a small child clings to their father in the face of fear. Edmundo may seem like a tough, no-nonsense man on paper, with his credentials from the military, but Buck can tell that deep down, he’s a lost boy, trying to find his way home. It makes Buck want to protect him and Christopher all the more.

tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @thewolvesof1998 @disasterbuckdiaz @puppyboybuckley @bucksbackwardcap @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @pirrusstuff @housewifebuck @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @tizniz @wikiangela @steadfastsaturnsrings @buckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon @cal-daisies-and-briars @wildlife4life @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @evanbegins @nmcggg @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @rainbow-nerdss @kitteneddiediaz @elvensorceress @babytrapperdiaz @ci5mates @hermscat @thekristen999 @epicbuddieficrecs

[hippolotamus]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday 🪩

tagged by the always lovely and talented @dangerpronebuddie 🔪 @loveyouanyway 💔 @diazsdimples 💖 definitely go read their snips!

Thanks to some prodding from James (and inspo from the tune that goes with this scene) Mirrorball fic has made a return (*chants to self* please stay, please stay, please stay) This scene happens way after anything posted so far. Nonetheless, master list of snippets and lore here. Bon appetit or whatever

Chim taps on the screen, opening Buck’s message and lets out a disbelieving huff. He scrubs at his chin, occasionally flicking his gaze up to Buck then back down to his phone. This goes on for what must be a solid minute before Buck’s curiosity and impatience get the best of him.  “What?”  Chim pockets his phone and looks at Buck, really looks at him. A piercing and disarming stare that makes him squirm, and not in a good way. It’s not often that this side of Chim shows up. The part that’s more like an older brother, loving and caring for Buck even when he probably doesn’t want to. Buck knows he should be more grateful, but right now he really hates it. He wishes Chim would go back to teasingly calling him a dumbass about whatever ridiculous thing he did or said.  “I know you’re not asking me that right now. Like, I’ve always known you weren’t the brightest sometimes, but jeez, Buckaroo, I didn’t think you were this stupid.” Buck resolutely stares at his shoes, at the album covers and other kitschy knick knacks decorating Chim’s small office, at the imaginary dirt under his fingernails. Anywhere but at the man in front of him. “Have you tried talking to him, Buck? Like actually talking to him.” “No need,” Buck sniffs, aiming for nonchalant and missing by a mile. “He made it pretty clear how he feels about things. About us.” He crosses his arms defensively and bites the inside of his cheek. He’s done crying over Eddie. (Okay, he’s not, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let himself do it in front of Chim.) “You don’t think that maybe there’s a chance-” “I don’t have anything to say to him!” He curls his hands into fists, digging the nails into his palm. “And there isn’t a damn thing he could say that I wanna hear from him right now. Or ever.” Nothing except I’m sorry, I was wrong. I fucked up and I didn’t mean it. I love you.  “He made his choice and now I have to deal with that. Because I still have shit to do. If this is how I choose to make sense of it all in my head, Chim, then so be it. So.” His breaths are ragged and shallow, his voice trembling. He swipes away the tears beginning to escape before they can roll down his cheek. “Are you going to do this for me or not?” Chim studies him for a moment and Buck thinks he’s about to get an earful. Except he doesn’t.  “Yeah.” Chim sighs, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Buckaroo. I’ll take care of it.”

The Tunes™️

np tagging @actuallyitsellie, @epicbuddieficrecs, @a-noble-dragon, @tizniz, @mountedeverest,

@fortheloveofbuddie, @weewootruck, @saybiwithme, @bidisasterevankinard, @shipperqueen6,

@ramonaflow, @taketheplanspinitsideways, @spotsandsocks, @theotherbuckley, @stereopticons,

@kitteneddiediaz, @mrs-f-darcy, @daffi-990, @drowsy-quill, @your-catfish-friend,

@thekristen999, @filet-o-feelings, @wikiangela, @underwaterninja13, @lizzie-bennetdarcy,

@rainbow-nerdss, @steadfastsaturnsrings, @queenmabcreates, @inell, @jesuisici33,

@shortsighted-owl, @queerbuckleys, @bi-buckrights, @elvensorceress,

@bucksbiawakening, @giddyupbuck, @hoodie-buck, @indestructibleheart, @ladydorian05,

@lemonzestywrites, @monsterrae1, @statueinthestone, @slightlyobsessedwitheverything, @the-likesofus,

@thewolvesof1998, @watchyourbuck, @wildlife4life anyone else who wants to 😘

[michi-hawkeye]

*chin hands* Tell me about the stickynote

Ooh you’re gonna love this it’s a alternate first meeting and it takes place 2 years pre canon, where Tommy and Buck meet at a book signing of their favorite author. Also the sticky note mentioned in the title is plot relevant I just don’t wanna spoil why

Here’s a snippet (unfortunately I haven’t written Buck and Tommy actually talking to eachother yet 😂) (cause you know why I have too many plot bunnies)

Tommy had been reading Chasing Starlight by Savino C. Zambrano in the bunkroom for a good chunk of his shift after getting his usual tasks done, to make up for the fact he couldn’t go to the signing event for the latest installment that was being held today. Sure he could have asked for the day off weeks ago but he’s pretty sure Captain Gerrad would have laughed in his face and deny the time off if he had, he’s pretty sure the only books his captain had read were the textbooks at his time in academy if the old man’s ability to be obtuse and a asshole were anything to go by.

The novel was the first book in the series and if he had his way he would have had the 4th book today, but for now he’ll be content to reread the book that got him into Sci-Fi in the first place, with the cracked spine and age worn, tea and coffee stained pages that are threatening to fall out. He had finally gotten to his favorite scene where the sweet but jaded bounty hunter turned hermit finally admits to the optimistic hero of the series that he sees him as a friend, when the alarm bell started to blare throughout the firehouse. He tries not to groan but he can’t help it he hates getting interrupted even though its work. He goes to hide his copy underneath the mattress of the bottom bunk that he had unintentionally claimed as his during A shift, so long ago.

Its not like he’s ashamed of his favorite series or his love for reading but he would rather not have to deal with the less than kind ribbing the team tends to do being aimed at him if they find out that he likes reading what could be seen as softer but dramatic character driven books, but its also not like he’s any better than them if him not stepping in to help Hen or Chim when they had been the targets was a sign, he’s gotten used to laying low at best and humoring the team at worst. There’s a reason Eli would rather keep to himself or take Chim under his wing when he had worked at the firehouse.

——-

He tries not to look too interested when he hears Captain Gerrad rattle out the address for Lavender Sprig Bookstore where the signing event was taking place, he would think the universe was trying to mock him or something if it hadn’t been for the fact that Gerrad had stated that the emergency was that a bookshelf had collapsed on top of a group of civilians, hopefully it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

When they arrive they’re greeted by a bookseller who’s hiding her worry surprisingly well for someone’s shop dealing with a pretty sizable event telling by the line at the signing table they passed that he tried not to eye to long, regular flow of customers, on top of possible several medical emergencies. “A Good Samaritan seemed to have the bookshelf handled, he’s been holding it up and when others tired to move the injured from under the shelf he told them not to and to wait until the proper medical professionals have it handled” the bookseller, Mara said as they weaved through bookshelves and people which explained why she was more calm than frantic which isn’t a reaction that’s seen very often on the job.

“Sounds like a dumb kid trying to play firefighter who’s just going to be more of a hindrance” Captain Gerrad grumbled out as they finally got to the collapsed shelves.

“More like he’s just trying to help and he clearly has look around you” he hears hen snip back as she and Chim brush past the crew. Tommy does give a quick courtesy glance at that and notices that despite how close this area of the bookstore is to the signing, the front of the store and registers it’s clearly deserted instead of being filled with the typical nosy bystanders.

He hears captain Gerrad angrily retort “Kinard, De Luca secure the shelves and make sure that kid is out of the way” he gives Gerard a nod in response as he says to Sal “you take the left side I’ll take the right” Sal gives him a thumbs up as he hands Sal the other cord to secure the shelf. As they follow Hen and chim, Tommy taps on the stranger’s shoulder to get his attention since he was clearly crouched in a way that was easier to bare the weight of the bookcase as one person instead of what should be two at minimum which was made harder since the stranger was also being careful to not be in the way of the injured civilians

[olrinarts]

Snippet Roundup

A collection of 'brief' (they are not very brief 😔) snips from each of the fics in my 'incomplete' folder right now, provided w/title and a little bit of context

1. Poor Loser - a lost knucklebones bet goes awry, and there is maybe less than ideal communication immediately following that. 90% lighthearted, 10% 'oh so they're both stupid' fare

‘Yes, that is the point of the weighted odds,’ he said agreeably. ‘What is the worst that happens, you owe me a minor favour?’ ‘Why do I think we have different definitions of minor?’ The smile they didn't trust grew wider. ‘Would you like to find out?’ Sometimes they really hated Narinder. Even when they didn't. 'Fine,' they said, picking up a die. 'But I'm going to make you regret it.' Five minutes later, the Lamb was throwing their hands up in the air as Narinder set down his last five. 'Thirty nine!' they exclaimed. 'Thirty-fucking-nine!' 'Thirty fucking nine sounds unreasonable,' he said thoughtfully. 'Ten to every three? That is just unmanageable.'

2. chimes of bone - that eldritch dieselpunk one i've been going on about, the one where Lamb gets their hand stabbed into a table right before Narinder gets kicked in the chest and into the wall? yeah that, have that and the next bit

‘Cease this,’ he spat. ‘I was here willingly! You have no need –’ He wheezed as a dark shape darted towards him, striking him hard in the diaphragm with powerful hind paws. He staggered back, gasping as the air was knocked out of him, careening into the wall. Red instantly ripped itself free from the Shepherd’s hand, unspooling through the air in its serpent shape and wrapping over his shoulders defensively as he struggled to breathe. The Shepherd rolled off the table, landing on one hoof and pivoting to face him before the second one landed, their bleeding left hand spattering blood on the table as they swung their arm out. The Pale Crown leapt from the table, landing on their arm and pivoting with the same sharp precision, claws digging into its Bearer’s skin. It was some kind of – hare, maybe, some sort of leporid, but one with branching horns and something wrong with it. Too lean. Too predatory. The Shepherd and the Pale Crown both glared at him with one eye each, radiating the same uncanny air of a predator hiding beneath the face of prey. Pale was bearing its teeth, glittering gold incisors in its ink black mouth to match the Shepherd's false golden eye, its own round white eye narrowed in loathing. Red reared up from Narinder’s back in answer, hissing in warning. He’d never seen Red so committed to a form this organic, but he was grateful for it at the moment; until he caught his breath again, he would be less than useless. At least the Shepherd had one stabbed hand and one broken wrist. Likely why the Pale Crown had taken this form.

Two more - the politific i've been talking about, and another one that is kinda best described as apocalypse-lite - below the cut (just so i don't clutter dashboards more than i already have)

3. Untitled Political Fic (Politific) - a complicated emerging political landscape in the Meadows is made significantly more complicated extremely quickly.

The Mystic Seller inclined their head. ‘Then I grant you this boon, a cementing of the new future we establish: a toy for you.’ A light began to glow in front of the Mystic Seller, a disc of white a few feet in the air higher than the Lamb’s height. ‘Benefactor, comrade, malignant foe… redemption or punishment, ‘tis yours to confer as you see fit.’ Then something began to fall, flailing a bit with a startled cry, and the Lamb instinctively darted forward to catch it before it could crash onto the steps. The body was limp, dazed and barely conscious. It took a second for who they held to really register. ‘No,’ they said in horror when it clicked, gaze snapping from the mortal face of the One Who Waits up to the Mystic Seller. ‘No, this isn’t – why have you done this?!’ ‘‘Tis not the reaction I expected,’ the Mystic Seller replied, intrigued and nothing more. ‘You remain unpredictable.’

4. in the kernel - Weird crystal growth things are starting to pop up in the Lands of the Old Faith, and it would've been really nice if it stayed that simple

To their relief, the rune's glow turned from red to white, meaning the call was going through. They waited for Narinder's charm to open the connection, not sure what they'd say after this long. Then the rune turned blue, the Lamb opened their mouth - only to drop the rune onto their bed when the first thing they heard was a blood-curdling scream. 'Lamb?' Narinder's voice said a second later, a strangled whisper. 'Of all the - do not speak, you will give my location away. Give me a moment, I am almost out.' The Lamb was only silent because he'd asked, but they'd snatched up the charm again, clutching it close as fear swam through their gut. There was another scream, then several more. ‘Fuck,’ Narinder said, which was a bad sign. ‘I need to run – do not end the call no matter what you hear, Lamb, please.’ ‘I won't,’ they whispered. ‘I promise.’ What followed were several of the worst minutes of the Lamb's life, which was saying something. They could do nothing but sit on their bed, crushing the rune against their chest, listening to Narinder run through whatever the fuck was going on. Agonised screams, the sounds of shattering glass, an ominous pulsing rumble – their only comfort was the sound of Narinder's creative swearing, because it meant he was still alive to curse the world and everything in it. Finally, after what felt like hours and couldn't have been more than minutes, the screams and other sounds began to fade, leaving only the sound of Narinder's ragged breathing. ‘I am safe for now,’ he panted. ‘I suppose if ever you were to decide to stop ignoring me, now would be the most advantageous time.’

[queerdiazs]

snippet sunday 🎄

hi friends, i've had a day and now i'm at home eating sketti and enjoying silly lil tv shows

have a lil snip from mall jail fic <3

ps if you see a typo mind your business

“Okay, Eddie. Throw me a bone here.” Buck turns and leans against the front of Eddie’s truck, crossing his arms over his chest. They’re so big, bulging so pretty it squeezes his tits. Eddie goes a little cross-eyed. “What happened?”  Eddie shrugs. “It’s not my fault,” he says, reaching out to pick at a glob of mud on the hood next to Buck’s shoulder.  “It’s not your fault—you were in jail,” Buck exclaims, loudly, and kicks Eddie’s shin a little hard with the toe of his Croc. Motherfucker needs to cut his toenails; there’s no way his Croc’s got a damn blade in it. “That kind of feels like you did something.”  “Mall jail. It was mall jail. It’s not the real thing.”  Buck sputters, as if there’s so much he wants to say but he can’t get the words out in enough time, and it’s so cute, and Eddie has to bite his lip before he says as such.  “That doesn’t matter,” Buck insists, holding his hands out in a placating manner. “Just tell me what happened, man.”  “What do you mean what happened? Will Atkinson happened!”  “Eddie.”  Eddie takes one look at Buck’s amused, exasperated expression and caves immediately. “Fine. Fine.” He makes a face, screws up his nose and huffs. “I found you the perfect gift.” 

tagged by @eowon, @callmenewbie, @jeeyuns, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @hippolotamus, @devirnis, @giddyupbuck, @disasterbuckdiaz, @thewolvesof1998, @theotherbuckley, @daffi-990, @jamespearce9-1-1, and @wikiangela, mwah

tagging @spagheddiediaz because this is the one fic of mine she isn't going to read before it's posted 🫶🏼

[sp0o0kylights]

aaaaaand we're back, where did I leave off again? oh yeah! number 14! (I'm a sucker for soulmate aus)

my soulmate AU, Illustrated, haunts my fucking life and has done so all year. I'm not gonna swear it'll be updated by the end of the year given how fucking long Chap 5 is, but it is actively being worked on.

Snippet:

Steve was his soulmate. 

Had been, the whole time he'd been in Hawkins. Just a class below. 

Then the same class and then gone from school entirely but--

Eddie's thoughts started and stopped wildly, as if his brain tried to follow several threads of thought at once. 

"Steve." He says breathless, hands trembling. Begins to reach out, to grasp onto Steves hand, show off the back of his own--

"Steve!" Henderson screams and fuck, Eddie is going to kill that kid! 

"Steve, Max is leaving!" Dustin howls this time and Eddie manages to shake off his annoyance as Steve launches off the couch.

Gets to his own feet as Max has her second show down of the day with Lucas and Dustin. 

"I will be delivering these." The redhead snips, a series of letters clutched in her hands and a challenge in her eyes. “I refuse to just stay here, with all my fingers crossed and my head down, hoping Vecna won’t take me.” 

“Hold on.” Steve calls frantically, eyes tracking the freshmen who are swarming around Steve’s entryway. 

Dustin has thrown himself dramatically across the front door, blocking access as Lucas tries in vain to calm down Max.

He’s trying to look into her eyes, her hands smacking at his as he tries to grab one to hold.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Steve grumbles, vaulting over the couch and striding towards the kids. 

“What the hell, Max? I thought we agreed I’d deliver the letters?” He asks loudly, bulldozing over the argument that's brewing. 

Max glares at him.

“I changed my mind.” She snarls, before taking one finger and purposefully jamming it into Dustin’s armpit.

“Ch-hee--ter!” Dustin shrieks in a forced laugh, folding right in on himself as he crashed to the floor. 

“Max. Seriously!” Steve barks, long arm reaching above her to slam the door closed. “I'm not joking, and I am not driving you anywhere.” 

Eddie doesn’t get to see Max’s face, but he does hear the raw fury in it, the way her back goes ramrod straight as though Steve is an obstacle she fully plans on plowing through. 

“Steve, if you think that I'm going to spend what is likely the last day of my life hiding out in your house like a vampire, then you're out of your mind."

She takes a menacing step foreword.

"So either take me where I need to go, or you're gonna have to tie me down which--” Max ducks right around Steve, to take hold of the doorknob. “is technically kidnapping of a minor and if I live to see another day, Steve, I swear to god, I will prosecute.”

She elbows him, hard enough to successfully get some room at the door. Wasting no time, Max whirls around to open it--and quickly finds herself struggling with the lock.

Eddie knows now is a terrible time to laugh, but just barely manages to hold it back when the redhead fumbles twice with the key before whirling back around to glare at Steve.  

“Open the door.”

"Yeah that's gonna be a no, Mayfield."

"Open. The. Door." Max grit out. "Or. I. Tell. The. Cops. You kidnapped me."

Steve stares at her in blatant disbelief, before running a hand down his face.

"Dammit." He hisses and Max gives him a smile that's more feral than anything else.

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

If you would like to share more of the Sunday Snip (or anything you're working on) 🌹🌹🌹🌹

Thank you my wonderful friend. The basic premise is Jamie struggling during the Zava era and then being injured when they run the decoy play with Zava in the role of the decoy. I'm trying to find a good bit I haven't shared yet. I'll share more after the cut.

Right now, it's broken up into three chapters:

Jamie's POV from Zava through being injured in a match.

Ted's POV from the same time period.

Alternating POVs from the hospital after Jamie is injured.

1 and 2 are first draft finished but three needs a lot more (and might end up being split in two, you know how it goes!)

My problems so far are sticking the ending, and Ted's POV.

But for now, here is a snippet:

“Zava does not run decoy.” “You do now,” Beard said. “Let’s try it.” Jamie sighed. This was not going to go well. And it didn’t. Or it did fine enough, Zava ran through, attempting to draw the defenders. Ted didn’t give Zava the instructions he gave Jamie about wanting him to win an Oscar at the ESPYs. No, Zava got a well done. Jamie was so thrown off he’d missed the net completely on the first run-through. On the second, he’d hit the crossbar. By the third, when Jamie hit the post, he didn’t miss the frustrated looks from his teammates.  “Maybe we should have Colin do it?” Isaac suggested. “Jamie’s got this,” Roy said. “Jamie, you feeling alright today?” Ted asked. Like he gave a fuck.  “Yeah, sorry, Coach.” The 4 am training was catching up to him. Jamie attempted to go to bed at a reasonable time, but this week, he found himself staring at the ceiling most nights. By the fifth try, Jamie finally found the back of the net.  “Don’t worry, Jamie, not everyone can be Zava,” Zava said to him as he roughly clapped him on the back. His hand lingered a little too long for Jamie’s liking, though Jamie wished he had never touched him at all, and Jamie shrugged him off as if Zava’s hand had burned him. Prick. 

[heysweetheart-writes]

Welcome to six/seven (or more) sentences Sunday! Thank you @kiwiana-writes @getmehighonmagic @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @orchidscript & @tailsbeth-writes for your tags and word amazing!!

Im sharing with you a small snippet again from ch3 of Watermelon Sugar that it's very close to be done!! I everything goes well it'll be poste by next weekend, I think!

“Aw,” Sam says fondly at the sight of the beautiful table that Alex and Henry put together: a cheese platter at the center, two candles burning a cinnamon scent and a small bouquet of flowers at the end. “There was no need to butter me up, I already agreed to this.”  Alex’s jaw drops. He turns to Henry and gives him a soft smack on his chest. Before he squeals, “I told you!” Henry is already laughing. “He just used almost those exact words not five minutes ago. Are we sure the Crown hasn’t started secretly experimenting with clones? Because this here,” Alex actually points from Sam to Henry, “is kinda freaky. Hot, though.” “Very eloquent, Alex,” Sam says.  “Yeah, he says that too.”  “Maybe I’m just right darling, ever thought of that?” Henry gives him a kiss on his temple and squeezes one of his biceps before he moves to pull a chair out for Sam.

tags under the cut!

I’m tagging both people I want to see what they’re up to and people I’m hoping will see this snip: @read-and-write- @theprinceandagcd @hypnostheory @happiness-of-the-pursuit @daisymae-12 @indomitable-love @cricketnationrise @suseagull04 @pridepages @clottedcreamfudge @anincompletelist @myheartalivewrites @three-drink-amy @lizzie-bennetdarcy @zwiazdziarka @callumsmitchells @raysletters @cultofsappho @priincebutt @notspecialbabe @firenati0n @bigassbowlingballhead @onward--upward

[noxturnalpascal]

IF YOU DON’T TELL ME ABOUT CULT LEADER JOEL RN PATTI ISTG!!!

😡🧡🧡🧡🧡🐴🍆😡🧡

Since you ASKED!!! 😍😍😭😭🫂🫂

DEVOTION 🖤

will be my first *fully planned* series. There's 3 parts and Part 1 will be released before the end of this month. If anyone wants to be on a tag list, just lmk.

below is 🎉 the world premiere of Devotion 🎉 - here is the first snippet released (unedited & unbeta'd). thank you for asking!

Feeling like feral animals, you lick and moan into each other’s mouths as the table creaks beneath you. You shove your hands under the back of his shirt, clawing marks down him. He moves his face along your neck, taking deep inhaling breaths and nipping at your skin. Fisting your hands in his hair, you tug on his locks, earning groans that he muffles into the crook of your shoulder. Suddenly the lights in the kitchen flip on, and Tess is standing in the doorway. “Please,” she says calmly, “not on the table where we eat.” You clap your hand over your mouth, silencing your loud yelp. Joel pushes himself off the table, also startled by her appearance. You take the opportunity to scrabble away and run up the stairs. Hearing your door slam closed, Joel turns to Tess, snarling. “What the FUCK Tess, WHAT THE FUCK,” grabbing the edge of the table in a splintering grip.  “Why don’t you two just fuck already?” she chuckles, trying to get his goat.  “THATS WHAT I’M FUCKIN' TRYIN' TO DO,” he growls, slamming his fists down several times.  “Don’t break my fucking table,” she snaps at him.  Joel grabs her by the hips and pushes her face down bent over the table, slamming his body into her ass. Tess just lays there, letting him rut into her for a moment. He grabs her by the hair, yanking her up, and takes a big inhale into the back of her head, continuing to grind his pelvis into her. He takes a few more breaths and stops moving his hips, calming down. Eventually he releases her, pushing her away from him harshly.  “Yeah, I don’t smell like her, do I?” Tess says.  He mutters something she can't quite make out, still pissed off. She can see his softening erection but a wild fucking look remains in his eyes. She watches him point to the table several times before he opens his mouth.  “That’s my fuckin' table. I’ll do whatever I fuckin' want to it,” and with that he goes up to bed. 

I hope you're as excited as I am for this. These are unfinished - both the snip, notes, and warnings - things might change.

[diazsdimples]

Number 5 👀👀👀👀

Akjsdhksahjs naturally you pick out my one smut wip

Okay so I was extremely sick a couple of weeks ago and told @hippolotamus that I was going to the sauna to try and sweat out the demons, made a weird comment about smearing Vicks on the rocks to open my airways again, and then smearing *myself* in Vicks (I was desperate) and then it somehow spiraled from there and lo, Buddie Sauna Sex was born. Here is a wee snippy snip.

“Hey Buck?” “Hmm?” Buck replies distractedly as he fishes through his wallet for his eftpos card, barely registering that Eddie’s ground to a halt in front of him. “Did you – and forgive me if I sound a little incredulous here – but did you know this place was a nude sauna when you suggested we come here?” Buck’s train of thought comes screeching to a halt and slowly, praying Eddie’s just misread something, he follows his best friend’s finger upward to where he’s pointing at a sign. Buck’s mouth goes dry. Towels only in the sauna. “I-“ Buck begins, really not sure how he’s going to excuse this because truly, he hadn’t known. If he had, would it have changed his mind? He swallows thickly, hardly daring to look at Eddie. He can see the bolt of Eddie’s jaw twitching out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t – I swear – we can turn back if you want?” There’s a pause, the offer hanging there, giving Eddie an out if he chooses to take it. The air is thick, nothing to do with the steam rolling in from behind the sauna doors. Eddie’s throat clicks as he swallows, and when he speaks, the air rushes out of Buck in one sharp breath. “No, we’re here now. Might as well enjoy ourselves.” Buck has to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to speak. “Okay.”

Honestly gonna use this as my Fuck it Friday so thank you to @rainbow-nerdss @disasterbuckdiaz @cal-daisies-and-briars @hippolotamus @exhuastedpigeon @wikiangela and @puppyboybuckley for tagging me (and you too Daffi), I promise I'm getting to all of your snippets

Tagging @theotherbuckley @watchyourbuck @thewolvesof1998 @bucksbackwardcap @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buckbuckgoose @wildlife4life @evanbegins @nmcggg @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @kitteneddiediaz @elvensorceress @epicbuddieficrecs @smilingbuckley @actuallyitsellie @spagheddiediaz @giddyupbuck @loserdiaz @thekristen999 (lmk if you want to be removed or added)

[butmakeitgayblog]

Can you share a snippet from Medusa au? We need to cleanse your dash

*smudges the air and lights incense*

For everyone who stayed during the insanity 😅

As always it's just copy and pasted without editing so forgive any mistakes (it'll get cleaned up for ao3)

Medusa and the Blind Woman

/////////////

Lexa watches her from her corner. Her little nook made up of nothing more than a rickety chair and table, chin resting on her shoulder and hands frozen in her work as she takes in the form of her resident home invader half-hobbling toward the nest of leaves that takes up the better portion of what used to be her lounging room. 

Clarke leans heavier on her stick than usual, less using it to find a path for herself, instead wobbling with it as more of a crutch. Her steps are slow and lopsided as she lowers each foot with delicate precision, humming in pained breathes with every inch forward.

"What's the matter?" Lexa finally asks when she can't take the wincing hisses anymore. 

"Huh?"

She releases an annoyed sigh because despite all evidence that Clarke shows whenever she mercifully doesn't feel like talking, Lexa is painfully aware she is, in fact, not deaf as well as blind. "I asked what was the matter."

"Nothing," Clarke says, sounding strained and tired as she takes another hobbled step across the room. "All good here. What's wrong with you?"

"You're limping."

"Nope, just taking my time."

"Clarke."

"Medusa."

Lexa fails to swallow the rumble of her growl. "Fine then. Forget it." 

Her words are snipped. The matter is all but settled as she goes back to her work of stripping the bark from stems and saplings. What should she care about this obnoxiously stubborn intruder to begin with. She heats her knife over the flame of her candle and meticulously shaves away the outer layer of prickly bits and fibers, laying each out in perfectly divided piles according to length, thickness, and strength.

It's only when another hiss, more pained than before, sounds against the stone walls of the cave that Lexa looks back up from her work, hands pausing mid stroke of her knife at what she sees. 

Clarke is hunched over in her little nest, stick forgotten at her side as she gingerly peels away a stripping of leaf tucked securely into the loops of her sandals that Lexa had failed to notice before. 

A lump lodges itself in Lexa's throat at the site of the flesh beneath. 

The skin is swollen, red and riddled with welts, pocked by debris and tiny sores that weep and look far too tender to touch. A few calluses along the heel and the ball of her foot sit cracked, angry and bleeding in sluggish trickles as Clarke peels away the covering inch by agonizing inch.

"Clarke." The name sits like grit on her tongue. She's up and out of her seat without a thought, looming over the woman still gingerly cradling the foot in her hands.

Clarke doesn't turn her head up as she sighs and lowers her leg to the ground, careful to set it in a soft lump of bedding rather than the cave floor. 

"It's fine."

Lexa nearly chokes on the way her chest clenches, an eerie ringing flooding her ears as Clarke bites back a yelp and begins the process all over again on the second foot. Her stomach curdles at the sight of ragged and gnarled flesh beneath the leafy bandage. Shredded in red and raw strips along the arch, toe, and heel. 

"Clarke," she says again, quieter through the thick sludge of mud suddenly clogging her windpipe. "What happened?" 

Clarke lets out a pained laugh as she drops the blood soiled leaf wrappings to the side. "Don't worry, Medi. I'll have this all cleaned up by morning. Don't want to get blood on such rare stone flooring, I know."

The shake of Lexa's head feels as useless as she does. "How long have they been like this?" Her words sound sharper than she means to.

"Few days."

"Clarke."

"Can you stop saying my name like that? You sound like my mother."

"How long?"

"I don't know. Few days." Clarke sighs in relief this time, having finally laid her foot down in a comfortable position after a few hiss-laden tries. Her chest heaves with it, brow littered with a dusting of sweat as she collapses onto her back with a groan. "The rocks here are murder. They just chew through these damn shoes—"

"That's because those are meant for sand and chiseled stone, not a cave floor. Or a forest for that matter. Are you saying all you brought was those sandals?"

Clarke's arm flops in a vague motion toward her satchel. "What you see is what they gave me."

Lexa glances back down at the angry, shredded remnants of Clarke's feet as the realization fills her with rage.

Without so much as another word, barely an inpatient grunt of rage that she can't manage to contain, Lexa storms from the cave, not bothering to give a sound of farewell to the idiotic, prideful, mess of a woman splayed across her living room floor.

It's reprehensible. Beyond comprehension, the lack of intelligence at play. She awes at the lack of planning, or forethought, or any kind of concern for Clarke's survival her so called people must have had for her as Lexa gathers her tools and stalks away from their cave. 

The ghouls had sent this woman to a jagged, snake infested island made of rock, with barely more than a pair of slippers to use for shoes.

A simmer rage engulfs her as she makes her way across the island, trampling none-too-gently through the thickets of overgrowth that make up the forest line to chop a few more saplings for the day, making an annoyed mental note that she'll have to replace the decreased number of her yield come spring. She's worked herself up into a state of pure seething when she collects a few spare bones and strips of hide from her storage before slamming logs and sticks into a haphazard pile to quickly build up a fire. 

The mental image of that chewed and gnawed skin makes her hands shake as she rips the saplings and fires the hide, having to work to steady her hand as she rounds sharp edges of bone and scrapes the heated leathered hide to rid it of any stubborn fur. She forces her breathing into a rhythmic beat, smelling the fresh salt spray in counted intervals of three as she twists twine and threads bark and slices the softest shoots among her supply. 

She takes her time in each task. Measures and re-measures each piece, bend, and bow before tying and scorching things into place. From the sole to the straps to the hardened edged toes and the protective curve of a slender heel, working each section with practiced eased despite the anger that sits simmering and white hot in her chest. 

When only embers remain under the star strewn night sky does Lexa deem her work finished, flexing and turning one creation in her hands after the next. Thumping them on stones and testing the shock against her hands, and then, only then, does her anger begin to fade.

The fire dies in a hiss of smoke and ocean, taking with it the last dregs of Lexa's thoughts of bloodshed as she tosses aside the pail and scoops up her tools and returns then to their place. With the scorched earth vibrancy of her anger averted, her fingers feel clumsy as they clutch at the straps, the walk back to the cave spent in the sudden heavy silence of her mind.

She sighs the second she rounds the corner of her cave, finding the room in total darkness. Just as expected after her hasty retreat. 

The test of her aim turns out to be spot on when her creations get tossed in the direction of the nest in the corner, her march back toward her work nook barely stopping long enough to hear the thump of them finding their mark and the startled groan that followed. 

"Ow."

"Good, you're still awake."

"Well I am now. What was that for—"

"Stay there," Lexa cuts her off in quiet command over the strike of rock and flint. She lights a series of candles and places them in a half circle around the sorry excuse for Clarke's bed. Goes to the row of clay pots and shifts through them until she finds the one marked with the particular symbols of berries and leaves she's looking for.

Mercifully, Clarke is quiet through the process, merely sitting still and unmoving, save for the occasional twist of her head at new sounds.

Lexa settles on the ground, surprised at feeling just how quickly the chill of the stone bleeds through the linen of her wrap. She ignores Clarke's jump of surprise when her fingers wrap around a slim ankle, not fighting or fussing when Lexa gives a light squeeze and tsk in warning before she lifts the injured foot out of its cradle and places it into her lap.

"What are you doing?" Clarke asks hesitantly but remains still. 

Lexa scoops her fingers into the pot at her side to collect a generous dollop. 

"Helping."

She doesn't expound more than that, figuring the act of smearing the soothing ointment over a particularly nasty looking welt would be explanation enough. 

Her work is methodical,  slow and steady in a way that barely earns her the occasional hiss between mutters for the patient to stop fidgeting. But she knows it has to be done, that the numbing will take effect in just a few moments, and any pain now will save Clarke from losing her leg, much less her life.

She keeps her touch light, fingers smoothing over the welts and wounds that feel hot to the touch. Fingertips gliding along the ball and gentle arch of Clarke's foot with reverent care. Her patient shivers at the feel of it, neither of them saying a word during the process that extends from heel to toe. Lexa rubs her thumb in soothing circles over the notch of Clarke's ankle to calm her, feeling a wave of goosebumps erupt under her touch as she hums consolingly with each shift of discomfort.

She doesn't bother to bite back her smile when little heads lean down in a curtain around her face to investigate the matter at hand themselves. 

The second foot goes faster, the process made easier with Clarke not jerking at every swipe of Lexa's fingers quite as much. With them settling into a silent rhythm of breathing meant that flows peacefully between them.

When every gash is covered and the patient seems sufficiently numbed, Lexa takes the strips of boiled, sterile cloth and wraps them over her work, taking the time to secure the ends in folded loops so they don't unravel through the night. 

"There," she finally breathes when she deems her work finished on both feet, safe from harm for the time being. She takes more time than strictly necessary, ghosting her fingers over the bindings to check for tenderness and watching for signs that they're too tight, before gingerly lowering Clarke's foot to rest in the bed of shredded leaves covered in linen. 

She busies herself with cleanup in the stilted silence that follows. Only pauses at the sound of a throat being cleared pulls her attention from gathering up the salves and spare bits of covering.

"You didn't have to," Clarke says quietly. It takes another moment before she seems to try again, sounding more steady than before. "Thank you. Is what I mean to say. Thank you for… It feels better."

Lexa grunt is as eloquent as she can manage as she returns the pot of salve back to its place among her collection along the wall. "It's nothing."

"It kind of is though," Clarke immediately argues. Because this is Clarke. Who is apparently allergic to simply letting things be, Lexa thinks. "I didn't want to be a bother, but you really have no idea how bad that hurt."

"Yes I do," Lexa says quickly, quietly. Heavy with the memories of her first weeks stranded here on this god's forsaken island as she takes the spare rags and wipes her numb fingers clean.