#BUT!!!! i do have some little snippets and minifics i do plan on posting in the coming weeks while i turn my attention to

[mangofresca]

halcyon | 18+

Romano feels like he’s dancing in his sleep, that shifting, swaying motion like waves across the beach and toes dragging through sand, like water and rhythm pulling his chest high, his shoulders low, stretching out his hips, his knees, his ankles. The soft cotton of his pillowcase scratches and tickles at his cheekbone when he turns his head into it, wisping itself against his clavicle, and he sighs against it, lets it swallow his breath the same way it swallows the heat of his body, an echo of warmed contentment and easy dreaming.

The mattress beneath him dips, and he almost pushes away the palm that slides across his stomach, his sternum, but it’s warm, too, and Romano always liked being warm, and he liked being warm beneath this hand even more. He leans into it, instead, keeps his eyes closed, and he makes a small noise that’s half deliberate and half desultory—because he does mean to acknowledge Spain, but he doesn’t mean to acknowledge him like a cat waking from a nap in lazy, dozy sunbeams, purring.

But that’s fine. That’s fine. He knows Romano sometimes sounds like that when he’s waking, and even not, just sometimes when he’s beneath the pads of Spain’s fingers, and Romano feels fine when the mattress dips again and Spain hovers over him, knees sweetly nudging his apart.

Romano keeps his eyes closed when lips skim his jaw, keeps himself ensconced in the soft sunlight that shines itself across his eyelids. It’s good like this, he thinks. It’s nice. He can hear himself breathe with an awareness he never really has when he’s around Spain, always too preoccupied with other things, irrelevant things—what he’s doing, what he’s not, what he could be doing to Spain, instead. He likes being conscious of it, of his body and his reactions, and he sighs again when that palm moves to his side, his rib cage and lower, fingers skimming over his thigh as they drag heated sheets down, away.

There’s a laugh twinkling in his ear, something bright and charmed, and his skin pricks with cognizance when he feels the breath of it, lips curving into a smile against his cheek. “Awake yet?��

Spain speaks his vowels in a whisper, his consonants always catching on the tip of his tongue, and Romano’s shoulder shifts back in a shiver, presses into the bed when soft breeze meets skin, humid and carrying the smell of midmorning sunrise.

He makes a noise again, some groaned mhm that rumbles itself up his chest and out his throat, that gets lost somewhere around his lips when the heat of Spain’s laughter leaves his cheek and instead drifts across his nipple—and the gasp that leaves him is a surprised one.

He feels stupid like this, naïve, foolish, as if he isn’t war- and weather-worn, born and raised in the echoing, thundered footsteps of the Roman Empire, older than the New World and older still, as if his own sand dunes aren’t his brothers, the rolling fields his sisters. But this is his life now: homes across his country and Spain’s, furnished with soft beds and yellow kitchens and flowing curtains that always let the light in, because neither of them ever really do well when away from the sun, too used to its bite to go without for longer than a day, two. He wakes, now, to sheets that settle across the curves of his body, to someone in his bed, wiggling his legs until they settle around tanned hips, to sea-chapped lips that hum the song of his name until he is something melodious, made of more than sinew and sand, of memory.

Spain whispers his name, a question carried softly through balmy air and that sounds so fucking in love Romano almost opens his eyes, almost gives into the needling whine of it—

But Spain always did his best work when given a task, and Romano knows Spain has no qualms about being set to work on Romano, no end to the things he would let Spain do to him, and though his mouth goes dry as Spain nips at his throat and presses a finger against him, he can only find the energy to laugh, just dry air, enough to breathe Spain in, too.

When Spain dips down and kisses him, Romano kicks the sheets up and over Spain’s back. They are still warm, and so is he.

[cyclone-rachel]

so I was tagged by @morepopcornplease to do the WIP meme

Rules: Below are the names of all the files in my WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous*. Please send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet or tell you something about it!

so I don’t actually have a WIP folder, or separate documents, the minifics I post are all just in one labeled “theories and headcanons”. But I can share/describe some prompts I haven’t posted! (either things people have sent me or prompts I’ve given myself)

1. Prompt: “family matters” (an alternate version of this fic)

(starting lines: “It was one of her last lessons, before her world ended. Kara remembered Alura coming home,”)

2. Lex not being able to stop seeing ghost-Brainy

3. Bottle Brainy reuniting with his Kara

4. Brainy going to Clark and Lois’s house after he’s healed from the radiation poisoning (and I knew I wanted to start this one with one of the twins calling him “Uncle Brainy” because of course)

5. Five meeting Five (as my friend @winterskywrites calls the alternate Brainy with the ponytail and round sunglasses and yellow boots “Five”, I knew I also wanted him to meet Five from Umbrella Academy somehow. But I haven’t seen season 2 yet)

6. Kara calling Querl on a rainy day

7. Winn seeing Brainy taken over by the spider alien and being very turned on

8. for the Hogwarts AU that @mistyautumn and I have, Kara getting injured during a duel, and Querl taking care of her (but being accused of making things worse)

9. I was planning to write another thing for The Boys about Maeve and Elena, but never did

10. Old Kara meeting Brainy just before he goes to Legion headquarters, he has doubts but she tells him she thinks he’s going to be a great hero

11. Brainy while still healing, thinking that he won't be invited over for Thanksgiving. So the SuperFriends bring Thanksgiving to him.

12. Something that started with the line “He doesn’t remember what age he is when he learns about the inhibitors.”

13. Random headcanon that I was planning on writing about at some point: Brainy has a weighted blanket