#i'd probably post some snippets unprompted

[phoenix--flying]

would anyone be genuinely interested if i started a lil ask series on here ab my titans win au

[creativenicocorner]

The Runaway's Gamble! (pomodori . .?)

Thank you so much for the ask @niemalsetwas ♡

Okay! So The Runaway's Gamble is a fic that is set post everything in Discworld, and centers around the concept of Young Sam feeling the need to runaway...he does this...in a not great way, right into on Moist von Lipwig's mail coach as he sets off to personally deliver an important letter to someone in the Sto Plains (take your bets now as to who the receiver might be hehe)

Since Moist is in his gray suit Young Sam doesn't recognize Moist as the Postmaster...meanwhile Moist is having a panic attack and is internally screaming cause "oh gods that's the commander of the watch's son!! I'm doomed!!"

To which Moist tries to subtly figure out why Young Sam has run away from home, and tries to just as subtly convince him to Not Do That.

Angua ends up joining them, as she was sent to track down Young Sam...and now Young Sam has two known runaways trying to subtly convince him to Not Be A Runaway and Go Home

Shenanigans ensue

The way the wip is going....it's probably going to be longer than three chapters lol Cause there's just so many delicious small nuances I'd love to explore

Especially, though not limited to: Moist and Angua friendship (I just think they'd have so much to talk about)

I don't entirely remember if I shared this on tumblr already... I'm pretty sure I shared it with Babblish at some point

ANYWHO a small rough snippet:

“I may have to update my message to her.” Angua shrugged. “So you’re just… going to continue tailing us until I convince the kid to return home?” “Obviously.” “Dressed like that?” Angua stared at him blankly.  “He’s a smart kid, and if he catches just a hair of you, everything can go kaput!” Angua volleyed with a smug smile, and pulled a little something from her back pocket. “Turn around.” Moist raised a brow, the sort of brow that suggested ‘you and I both know there’s a dirty joke in there somewhere’. “Just do it,” growled Angua. Moist raised his hands, and turned, wordlessly, eyebrow still arched. Once he realized what Angua was doing, he started whistling through her change process so not to hear any hairy details.  A snuffling huff caught Moist’s attention again. He turned.  It was Angua, with a bandana, a pretty one to be sure, a blue base color with cherry red and gold designs. But it didn’t change the fact that it was Angua, in wolf form, with a bandana. Moist clapped his hands together, and couldn’t hold the sarcasm back as he said, “inspired.”  Her upper muzzle curled. Angua swore she’d never mention this was Carrot’s idea. 

And then a newer one just a bit later, still rough. I'm trying to work on how to make the difference between them speaking Morkporkian and Überwaldian distinct beyond just saying 'they're speaking Überwaldian' unfortunately I'm not a linguist lol and am doing just that...for now, we'll see... perhaps I'll change the quotations to another kind perhaps to the guillemet («...») to indicate a language change hmm... ANYWAYS:

"I have insights I want to share with him too," whispered Angua, unprompted. She was speaking in Überwaldian once more, meaning she didn't want to be mistakenly overheard by the sleeping Young Sam. Moist looked up from the fire, and halted in his log poking. He spared a glance at Young Sam, to ensure he was still asleep before responding, likewise in Überwaldian, "I don't know how well the bandana trick can work in your human form. Your physique, if you don't mind me saying, isn't too forgettable." Angua sneered at him, a human faced equivalent of a warning growl. Moist raised his hands in airs of harmlessness, "I'm not saying anything that isn't known, Baroness." Angua rolled her eyes, and clicked her tongue. "You're right," she said, sneer turning into a smirk as her posture changed to a more confident position, "I do have an unforgettable body." Moist nodded his agreement in the airs of one concurring that 'yes the painting of Reclined Nude with Vase and Flowers is beautiful'. "So you see how it'd be difficult for you to talk to him like this, in uniform no less." "But not impossible," said Angua straightening. Moist sat up a bit more, attentive. The hairs on the back of his neck standing up a bit at the promise of Angua's mischievous tones. Moist could sniff mischief like a spider could sense the change of an air current over it's many little hairs. He leaned forward with a grin, mischief in persona. "Yeees?" It may have been the firelight, but for a moment Angua could have sworn his eyes glinted and shon. It was a little distracting. She shook her head, and powered on ahead, "Well, you're good at disguises..." "Yeees?" "Perhaps, uh...I could-" "Steal a set of clothes off a clothesline, and have your make up done in a certain way unrecognizable to yourself?" Moist said all in one breath. His grin grew toothier by the vowel. "Oh. Um, yes actually." "What are your thoughts on eyepatches?" "I'd probably hate it." "Excellent!"

As for imbottigliando pomodori (working title) that is a mp100 Reigen centric fic that came to me at the end of summer last year while helping my aunt harvest make and bottle tomatoes for tomato sauce.

The fic is one of many I enjoy exploring in which Reigen learns healthier ways to improve as a person instigated by himself. Cause I love it when Reigen decides to better himself, and doesn't want to get left behind while Serizawa and Mob and everyone else are doing their best to better theirselves.

In this fic Reigen deals with the after trauma of what happened at the end of the REIGEN spinoff manga...as I sort of love exploring the post REIGEN manga space and the lingering consequences Reigen had by not only accepting but fully Embracing Rusty-sama (even if it was briefly)

It's still a very vague vibe of an idea atm.

I'm playing with the idea that Reigen leaves Seasoning for a bit to join a group of enthusiastic gardeners to learn how to make their own tomato sauce...perhaps occasionally sending letters to Serizawa and Mob?

Currently the summary is: In which Reigen learns about matters of the heart, that self improvement does Not mean self isolation, and tomatoes. 

Again, right now it is just a vague jumble of vibes and feelings haha I don't think the rating will get higher than Teen and Up for this...

Thank you so much again for asking! ♡

Best wishes!

[drlucypreston]

I'm loving all the little Timeless snippets you are posting! It's fun to read. If you have any more that you'd like to share, I'd love to read them! (No pressure). :-)

I’m glad you’re enjoying them! I’m happy some of these are getting to see the light of day, and the reaction has been lovely 😄 I do, indeed, have more - a lot more, in fact! I’m a perfectionist, and I seem to pretty often run into little bits of fic that never quite do exactly what I want and thus sit in my fic folder forever, and I also seem to often just jot things down with no real plan for them - until a handy unfinished fic meme comes along, apparently! A lot of them are honestly too long to be posted here as snippets, probably including this one, but I’m going with it anyway. Here’s half of what started as a ‘and there was only one bed’ fic and just turned into a lot of pining because I’m weak like that. (To the anon who also sent me another snippet request - that will be tomorrow!)

“Can I have your shirt?”

Flynn's eyebrows shoot up, until Lucy gestures at her clothes. "I can't sleep in these, and it’s all there is.”

He opens his mouth, nothing happens, and he shuts it again and gives a brief nod, looking off to one side as he shrugs the offending garment off his shoulders and hands it over.

(She has most definitely not thought this through. The shirt is still warm and smells of the cologne he wore to the party, and between that and the slightly too-narrow bed they’re about to share half-dressed, it’s going to be a long night. Before, when they’d been actively flirting with the edge, it wasn’t something she even thought about. She’d steal his clothes, or curl next to him on his narrow bed, and it just seemed natural. Things are different now. The wanting, she can deal with - from a distance. Up close like this is a different matter.)

Lucy goes to bed first - it’s late, after all, and the evening’s exertions plenty for one day. Flynn sinks into the chair by the fire, and Lucy rather unashamedly watches the way the firelight illuminates the lines of his arms. He keeps watching the fire anyway, so it’s fine.

The bed is surprisingly comfortable. Cold as the sixth circle of Hell - fittingly - but soft, and big enough for both of them.

“I’m just going to keep this going for a while,” Flynn says, unprompted. “Are you warm enough?”

“I’m fine,” she replies, and Flynn chuckles.

“You’re always cold.”

“Not always,” she protests, feebly. “Promise me you won’t just wait until I fall asleep and sleep in that chair?”

There are several long quiet moments that tell her that’s exactly what he was planning on doing, but he quietly says, “I promise.”

“Good.”

They lapse back into silence, Flynn watching the fire and Lucy watching Flynn.

“You looked like you were having fun tonight,”

Flynn nods, with a hint of a smile. “It’s not very often we get to just enjoy ourselves, out here. It was nice.”

The mission took longer than expected; the storm had already set in, leaving the four of them with no choice but to wait things out until morning. So, Jiya had reasoned, they may as well go to the party.

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance like that.”

“Yes, you can thank my mother for that one - though, I don’t think she ever thought I’d use it like this.”

“Your mother made you dance?”

“She loved music. Loved the mathematics of it, the patterns. Dance is just an extension of those patterns. Or, that’s what she would say, at least.”

“Well, it worked out for you. She couldn’t take her eyes off you.”

Flynn chuckles.

“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” he says. “Apparently, when accompanying someone to a ball, it’s very bad form to spend most of your time wishing you were dancing with someone else.”

“Oh.”

“Her words, at least. Not wrong though, I suppose.”

He does this, sometimes - these casual declarations that he is utterly hers - still, now, maybe forever. Not meant to hurt, or to ask for anything she won’t give, just a truth he recounts from time to time.

Flynn does climb into the bed eventually, about fifteen minutes later - presumably once he thinks she’s asleep. Even with the promise, she still thought he might not, but the cold in the room must have been too much for him. They’re both aware of this tension between them, a carefully drawn line they’ve decided they can’t cross. He lies flat on his back, on what must be the very edge of the bed, and sighs.

And oh, she’s missed this. That itself is a strange realisation, because it isn’t as if he ever left her side. They just stopped doing this, receded from each other just enough to seem safe. But, as it turns out, it was a loss she wasn’t even aware of - his solid, comforting presence, his warmth, the soft sounds of his breathing.

She sleeps, and because her mind is a terrible, terrible traitor and also she’s spent the whole night wondering anyway, she dreams. Of him. Of what his skin would feel like under her hands, what he’d taste like, how he’d touch her. It’s not the first time, it probably won’t be the last, but it’s certainly an issue.

It’s still dark when she wakes up, the dying fire casting everything in a dim orange glow. A couple of hours later, no more. If anything, the snow hitting the window has only gotten heavier, and Lucy briefly allows herself to entertain the idea that they won’t, in fact, be able to leave tomorrow after all, and will have to stay at least one more day. One full day here, with him.

Flynn has at least moved a little closer to her in his sleep, rather than trying to quarantine himself on the seams. He’s frowning, not free from all that weight he carries even in his dreams, which doesn’t seem fair in the slightest. She has the urge to lean down, soften the furrows in his brow with her lips - but doesn’t. That would be far too dangerous now, when she’s still hot and wanting between her legs, when as soon as he opened his eyes she’d smash down the walls she’s built to stop just this from happening. When she wants him to touch her so badly her whole body aches with it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to his sleeping form. “I wanted to dance with you, too.”